NationStates Jolt Archive

“Oh, I don’t know, Wilson, I’ve got better things to do than to come out here... I’ve important state business in Nouakchott.”
The Deputy PM rolled his eyes.
“Well, perhaps you could attend to it, there’s really no need for you to be here, after all, they’ve already dragged me away from my holiday to see this little display.”
“Oh, nonsense, they can’t expect to carry out a procedure important enough to call away the Deputy Prime Minister, and not expect me to feel obliged! This is obviously important business!”
Wilson was irritated enough to be called here, more so to have Mainwaring turn up and then to complain about it.
“Well perhaps I could go, then.”
“I won’t hear of it!”
“But if you want to be here, and I’ve a gi...holiday waiting...”
“Oh, I don’t want to be here, Wilson, I happen to be the Prime Minister!...”
Wilson was clearly by now biting his tongue.
“Gentlemen! Your attention, please! Mr.Bromley Davintosh!”

A ripple of polite applause washed over the small desert assembly. Mr.Davintosh, father of the Wychwood Siren low-wing piston engine fighter aircraft, appeared from behind one of several Stockley soft skin trucks, followed by a number of white-coated assistants carrying all manner of equipment.

“Thank you, gentlemen!” Said Davintosh. “Now I know some of you have careers or holidays to get back to, but I’ve been allowed to call you all here today for a very good reason!” He went on, stepping aside to indicate a...thing.

“Looks like a waste of time.” Said Mainwaring, quietly, tilting his head towards the morose Wilson.

“Now, this tripod is hardly the most interesting thing in the western Sahara... well... perhaps it would be, ordinarily...” Polite laughter escaped two or three pairs of lips. “...Ah, but to-day, gentlemen, I have something rather better to show you! I call it, “The Box-Kite Anti-Bomber Rocket!” As he finished, smiling and pointing a finger to the sky, four or five of his assistants wheeled forth a little trolley and unloaded a fantastical item over five feet long and wearing two pairs of wings that seemed to be pointed in arbitrary directions from the long, chubby body.

“Ohhh dear.” Said the PM to his Deputy. “Rockets? I hardly think there’s a place for these on the modern battlefield. Look at this! The beastly thing’s behaving like a spinning firework! Leave this sort of thing to the ancient Japanese!”

Wilson’s face contorted in the common fashion that’d surely contributed to his wrinkled brow as he barely managed to keep from sighing aloud at the PM’s remarks.

True though, the two sets of wings were indeed spinning and throwing out an impressive shower of sparks as they went.

“Now stand back, stand back!” Cried an excited Davintosh as his lab coated assistants scurried away, one batting at his hair as smoke rose from it.

There was a hiss from the base of the rocket, then all the crowd felt some deep vibration and a split second later the ‘beastly thing’ was rising from its pedestal. Bromley Davintosh positioned himself beside a folding table that’d been erected behind one of the trucks, and at which sat a rather intense looking young man.

“My colleague here, Captain Cadbury, whom some of you Air Force boys may know already, is for to-day playing the part of a child holding the string that tethers and guides the box-kite.”

Seeing the confused looks about him, Davintosh elaborated. “Ah... well, the string, as you can well see, is not actually... there’s no string... or rather, the string’s part is played by radiowaves.”

A resounding, “Ah!” belied the continued confusion felt by most observers.

“If I may direct your attention to the large balloon we have tied over there at eight hundred feet...”

The crowd watched as Cadbury apparently steered Davintosh’s wildly-flailing rocket through the air in a wide, wobbling arc towards the balloon, under which hung a basket that Davintosh’s men had filled with more high explosives than were contained in the rocket itself. Seconds later the force of over five hundred pounds of TNT sent a shockwave through the west African sky with a flash that dazzled the onlookers.

Applause all around, even from the PM, though Mainwaring later approached Davintosh and Cadbury, rubbing his chin and looking as if he was about to astutely point out some fundamental flaw in the project.

“Ah... very good, gentlemen... but... it wouldn’t be the same against a Nazi bomber flying at two or three hundred miles an hour, would it?”

“We rather feel that it would, Mr.Prime Minister!” Said Bromley. “The only reason we used a balloon was that... well...it’s rather hard to find pilots who want to have rockets shot at them! Perhaps, if we can win funding with demonstrations such as this, we can afford to have a glider towed for us to shoot at...”

If Davintosh wanted Mainwaring’s approval right away, he would be disappointed. The PM was not going down without a fight.

“Well, I don’t suppose it’d be much good if there was a wind up... or heavy cloud!”

“We hope to make faster rockets, and more stable ones, of course, and against a fast moving target on a clear course, I’m sure that men like Captain Cadbury here could fly a more straight course without worrying about going to fast to hit something like a balloon! As for the cloud, well, we’d be blind, perhaps, but then the same was true of anti-aircraft gunners until Radar, Prime Minister!”

“But you can’t have a machine fly the rocket! It sounds like you’re going to need half a division to operate one of these things effectively in a combat situation!”

Davintosh went on trying to rebut the PM’s criticisms, saying that even old retired warriors could sit in a chair and steer a rocket, should the need arise. Next, Mainwaring would imply that this was really the sort of thing that the Nazis did, and that Walmington should have no part of it.

Wilson had slipped away and headed back to the coast long ago.

((Ah, very interesting...this deserves a tag, methinks. The Shieldians don't have anything to counter this, of course. Well, except Wyclyfe, which has been buying surplus Beth Gellen AA missiles, but they're only about a million strong and paranoid about sharing with their nominal allies.

It wouldn't be an Iansislean tag unless I rambled on for forty words about self-fulfilling nonsense only vaguely related to the topic. :)))

ooc: Tag.

Resurrecting Ercolana is becoming more and more attractive as an option, especially with the great posts coming from you two (looks at WoS and Ians). Hopefully us Italians can play catch up.

OOC: Heh. Part of the reason for this is to establish Mainwaring's snooty resistance to new ideas that he didn't come up with, thus keeping us from advancing too far. I think we'll continue to lose most of our jets to accidents and sabotage in the American conflict, too.

Norbray Air Force Testing Range, Walmington on Sea, three months later

"Oh...Jesus!"
"What? ...What? Geoff, don't say that while you're operating a guided missile...For God's sake, Geoff, what're you doing? The sky's up! Up! Run!"

The technicians and military men alike were sent scattering as the Box Kite design's fifth test firing began to go horribly wrong, and the big fire-belching device dipped and span over head, eventually making evident its intent to make a trip into quaint Besthisle town. Nice day for it!

"Oh God! It's the tearooms!"

The Standard Air Force wonder weapon explodes Norbray café, three hurt in shock blast

Locals and tourists out for afternoon tea in the sleepy Norbray town of Besthistle were yesterday disturbed by what one witness described as a dragon-like entity that swept down from the sky and destroyed the local Marigold Tearooms.
Victims of the shocking attack were taken to Norbray County hospital where they were treated for shock, and three were kept over night, suffering from burns.
Fire fighters called to the tearooms arrived in cricket whites, having been called away from a match against the local Police XI, and were at first inclined to treat the situation as if a gas explosion. The local air force base later sent a bomb squad before the area was declared safe once more.
Captain Cadbury, with the RWAF, called the disaster, "promising" apparently convinced of a new application for the experimental, "anti-bomber" weapon that was responsible for yesterday's events. It appears that Captain Cadbury is politically isolated in his opinion, as The Standard has been told by sources in the government that funding for the dangerous programme is likely to be cut.

Continued on page five.
Firemen return to claim sixty run victory, inside back page.
Crime spree hits Norbray as emergency services found absent, page three.

tag

Port Royal, Roycelandia

"This would all be terribly amusing if it wasn't so important that the Walmingtonians not make a mess of this" Commander Sword announced over breakfast with his wife.

"Of course, dear" his wife said, not really listening. "Are you taking the kids to school this morning? I've got some errands to run."

"I'll take them. Anyway, the Walmingtonian Rocket programme isn't coming along very well at all, so Jeff was saying the other day."

"Jeff?"

"Jeff Lebowski. The Foreign Mnister. His wife bakes those lovely Meringues you like so much."

"Oh, that's right. Look at the time! I have to run. Sue's expecting me at the hairdressers, then we're off to look at shoes. Have fun at work".
She pecked him on the cheek, gathered up her handbag, and disappeared out the door.

Jack sighed. He was used to it.

"Tom, did you know that the Walmingtonians are having trouble with their rocket program? I was thinking of offering them some of our engineers to help them out, along with some of our Thundercloud guided rockets left over from the end of World War II."

Tom looked at Jack over his food, chewed thoughtfully, then said "Meow."

"Excellent. I'm glad you agree with me. I'll let the Walmingtonians know."

This wasn't the first time the Sword's cat had helped decide International Policy, and if the Newspapers found out there probably would have been a scandal. Or probably not. Roycelandia was that kind of place.

Communique to Walmington On Sea

The Imperial Roycelandian Government has been following your recent attempts at Rocketry with some interest. Whilst we understand the desire for WoS to develop their own rockets, we would like to offer a helping hand in the form of:

A team of Roycelandian Rocket Scientists to advise on technical matters such as controls, radio frequencies, aeronautical design, and so on

3 Tigershark Biplanes for use as Target Tugs (we'd like them back afterwards, if possible...)

4 Thundercloud Radio-Guided Rockets (WWII Surplus) for technical study and reverse engineering

Continued funding for the programme in the event the WoS Government decides to discontinue it.

We trust this offer will be helpful to you.

[signed] Commander Jack Sword, Imperial Defence Bureau, Port Royal, Roycelandia

Perhaps it was hardly surprising, but the Mainwaring government took offence to the Roycelandian approach on several levels, from, "we don't need help!" to, "who're they to second-guess a Walmingtonian governmental decision?"

Bromley Davintosh would, however, hear of the communication, apparently through a contact in the diplomatic service. Davintosh had surprised friends and colleagues by admiting that he -designer of the Wychwood Siren fighter aircraft- hadn't two pennies to rub together. He would say that he made the mistake of designing a fighter plane during wartime, earning the right to serve his needy country by making a donation of his work to the government, which promptly sold it on to Wychwood Automation, and then bought back the finished products. Mr.Davintosh would now take a holiday in the wake of his failed rocket programme, which many people scornfully thought the best for him. He chose to visit Roycelandia, and perhaps while there to chance upon something of professional curiosity.

While Davintosh was away, a disappointed Cadbury spent his flight back into the American war sketching amaturish designs for an electronic release mechanism by which a bomber might carry and deploy Box Kite rockets.

The Roycelandian Government is somewhat confused by WoS' official attitude towards their offer of help. Senior Government Officials have put it down to Walmingtonian Pride, although persons not in a position to comment officially had less kind things to say.

Mr. Davintosh, however, would not regret his decision to holiday in Roycelandia. It would appear that an influential person in the Imperial Defence Bureau had been studying Davison's work and beleived that he "was on the right track, and just needed a bit of a hand."

Accordingly, Davintosh was waved through customs and met by a Chauffeur-driven Jaguar at the Airport.

His hotel suite was mysteriously upgraded to the Imperial Suite, and a few days into the holiday one of the PR people from the IDB contacted Mr. Davintosh and explained that a tour of the Imperial Aerospace facilities at Torpedo Bay had been arranged for him.
Apparently a Professor Julius Frink wished to discuss some developments in the field of rocketry with Mr. Davintosh, and had booked a table at the exclusive Metford Club for the evening after the tour.

The Metford Club was one of the most exclusive in the Roycelandian Empire- dinner there meant something important and usually profitable was on the agenda...

Davintosh was unspeakably relieved when finally contacted by a Roycelandian governmental agency, and laid out his best suit for the evening.

Bromley would arrive for the arranged tour looking something like Charlie Chaplain's slightly gruff twin, and the Cape Town harbour-master-cum-inventor would walk most of the way, as was Walmingtonian. That is, until he got lost -also quite a Walmingtonian thing to do- and took public transport, thus completing the hat-trick. Davintosh would most likely be full of complaints about the difficulty in finding a nice tram.

Trams in Port Royal are plentiful, cheap, punctual, and efficient. ;)

Nonetheless, the Tour through the Imperial Aerospace Plant would be most educational for Davintosh, and the Information Kit he was given all but gave the instructions for developing a relatively primitive (but effective) Radio-Guided Missile.

Dinner was even more interesting. Basically, the University of Roycelandia had a very well regarded Aeronautics Faculty, and the position of Overseas Fellow had recently become available. Of course, the Head of the Department had indicated that Mr. Davintosh would be a "Suitable Person" for such an accolade, if, of course, he was amenable to the idea...

Davintosh was rather bowled-over by the helpful and almost fawning nature of the Roycelandians, and kept trying to figure out what he may have done to so impress them. Perhaps they just liked his Siren- it did, by sheer coincidence of good design, of course- look rather like the Spitfire.

(Eh, sorry, I can't remember what the heck I was doing. I've been in my own little world, wondering whether Davintosh or some other character should be first to try rescuing the piston engine by use of the, "spin-wing gyro whatsit!")

OOC: Basically, Imperial Armaments has plans to take over part of the Walmingtonian Arms Industry, or at least buy a large stake in it. Of course, we're well ahead of WoS in tech levels, but there's something to be said about helping out other British-type Nations...