Part 32 - In the Direction of Badness "At that time, I commented at the time that I felt that lower temperatures were in the direction of badness for both O-rings, because it slows down the timing function for both of those, but the effect is much worse for the primary O-ring compared to the secondary O-ring, because the leak check forces the primary O-ring in the wrong side of the O-ring groove, while it forces the secondary O-ring in the proper direction; and this fact should be weighed and considered in making an evaluation as to what the recommended temperature should be." - Allan McDonald, Director of the Space Shuttle Solid Rocket Motor Project of Thiokol's Space Division, explains how he explained that space shuttles should not be launched at temperatures below 53'F. (Wednesday, 22 July 1970) "Let me see if I've got this straight," Caroline said, interrupting Bobby's stream of invective about 'that Texan shedkicker', "Lyn had a choice between propping up a racially based military dictatorship or supporting the reversion to constitutional arrangements that would protect the working class majority. He chose the latter and so you've resigned as a matter of principal." "Aw, honey," Bobby sighed, "It's not like that. What happened in Fiji was largely the decision of locals. We should let them sort it out themselves otherwise we're just..." 'Neo-colonialists' wasn't the right word. Bobby settled for, "...interfering busy-bodies." "Besides," he continued, "At least an army junta can improve itself. If that British constitution had been established it would have been almost impossible to reform, even with a simple majority of the population supporting it. And Lyn's way risks war." Bobby still hoped it wouldn't come to war. His original plan had been to ship large quantities of arms onto the islands and then leak the fact - without specifying types and deployments - while the Royal Navy was still en route. This would have forced negotiations and some non-violent settlement. He assumed that Hank and McCone would have cancelled this operation following the cabinet decision. But Mara seemed to be a proud man, Bobby doubted he would back down even if he only had the light arms of the Fijian regiment. If the locals took to the hills it could be a long and bloody process to subdue them. Still, it was a good time to get out of Washington. Bobby had a hunch that the Watershed scandal could eat the Johnson presidency. Still, he had no fears - he had only been Secretary of State. They couldn't link him to Vietnam, which was a straight DoD show. "So what now, Bobby?" Caroline wanted to know. "Mid term elections in November," he said, "I start campaigning." "Campaigning?" his wife asked, "But the primaries are long over." "Not for me," Bobby smiled, "For my fellow Democrats. Put down some markers, earn some favours." "You mean?" "Yup. Getting ready for '72. Lyn can't run and you don't want to see Hubert being our candidate, do you?" "Hubert?" Caroline grimaced. "That shallow, contemptible and hopelessly dishonest old hack!" She sobered. "But you be careful, hon. Remember what happened to Jack." He kissed her. "I will be," he promised.

Monday, 27 July, 1970 Dear Diary, Extraordinary cabinet meeting. Which was nice, as I had missed last Thursday's while recuperating in that Australian city. Peggy began by giving a fire-and-brimstone address about protecting the democratic rights of the Islanders against military oppression. You can take the girl out of the Methodist church but you can't take the Methodist church out if the girl. Much the same stuff as the public speech she gave at the Guildhall that was shown on News at Ten, only they left out the inspiring anecdote about that Russian general from 50 years ago. The rest of the meeting was spent with Roy summarising his plans to bring aeroplane and bus timetables into lockstep. Found it v. distracting with his speech impediment. Must give him the name of the elocutionist that Peggy put me on to.

(Monday, 27 July 1970) John McCone was a worried man. There had been an official announcement that the Administration was backing Britain over the Fijis. That was to be expected. But neither McCone nor the Secretary of State pro temp had been present at last week's cabinet meeting. What did the President really want? McCone had set up arrangements with the equivalent of the CIA in Australia[1] in order to distance the Administration from any fallout in the unlikely event that things were to go in the direction of badness. But mines, missiles, anti-aircraft guns and infantry heavy weapons were pointing in the direction of badness if the President now really did want the British to prevail. Should he speak to Dr Kissinger? No, the former Secretary of State had made it clear how sensitive the matter was. This was for the President's eyes only. McCone sat down to draft a memorandum, bringing the pertinent matters to the President's attention. But, as a trained Washington bureaucrat, McCone wrote in such a way that if the memo should fall into the wrong hands, it would be virtually incomprehensible.

(Monday, 27 July 1970) Enoch was appalled. That woman on the news, giving a speech that was pure Communism. Speaking in support of that blasted Fijian draft constitution that was Marxism incarnate. And then figuratively wrapping herself in the Union Jack and the Cross of St George as she wished her brave boys Godspeed as they went to fight for the virtues of Magna Carta and the last eleven verses of St Luke's gospel, chapter one. How did one oppose that and not appear a traitor? It would be difficult but Enoch would try to find a way.

(Monday, 27 July 1970) Ted was not a happy man. He hadn't been happy for a while. Liberal spokesman for European Affairs had been a bit of a step-down for a man who had once been Chancellor of the Exchequer. Somehow Jeremy had sensed his unhappiness. There had been a reshuffle, not as traumatic as it sounds as the Liberal party had fewer MPs than there were ministries to shadow. George Brown seemed happy enough to now be shadowing Foot in Economic Affairs so that Ted could shadow Jimmy. Fortunately Liberal numbers had remained low after Ted's defection, as only two Conservative backbenchers had followed him. Ted was picking up a bit of resentment over this from Jeremy. Best to talk about a common enemy. Peggy. "It's just outrageous, her speech. She was daring us not to toe her line on Fiji and if we don't come to heel, she'll say we're not British! It's as if we have to pretend we're one big government of national unity only she'll be calling all the shots." Jeremy made encouraging "Yes, I know" noises. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying Jeremy?" "Of course, Ted. Now can you be a sweet and get me some water?" Jeremy handed him a glass. Ted, grumbling, stood up and slid his feet into his slippers. He took the glass into the bathroom thinking, "Honestly, he's just using me."

(Wednesday, 29 July 1970) Duncan was a happy man. The telegram told him that the Burnie Maru was en route to Suva with the supplies. The British had declared the waters around Fiji an exclusion zone. But Duncan had it on very good authority that the Royal Navy did not yet have the wherewithal in the area yet to make that exclusion zone stick. Most vessels, of course, did not know that. But the master of the Burnie Maru had been given assurances and he and his crew were being paid very well. Still, Duncan did not trust the telegram completely. Its contents would be verified by a telephone call. Printed words were slippery but you could rely on conversation, on the nuances of tone and inflection. This distrust of the written word perhaps went back to Duncan's childhood. The son of a country policeman whose family had moved from village to town to village. Along the way the reading skills which so many take for granted were not impressed upon young Duncan. It still took him the best part of a morning to read the front page of a newspaper, tackling each word laboriously, one by one. But Duncan was not stupid, far from it. He had an elephantine memory and a mind that, if not organised, was extremely efficient in regurgitating related facts. Where others relied on documents he had mastered dialog. Documents lied. Sometimes it was by accident, when the author wrote other than they intended. Sometimes it was by omission - key facts were left out by oversight or design. And sometimes the document was written by someone who knew it to be wrong, someone who would not dare lie to you if they were speaking face-to-face. People could rarely lie when facing Duncan. Which was odd, as he had no such trouble with others. So Duncan regarded reading as occasionally necessary but always to be viewed with distaste. The author was doing things to your mind while you just sat there, taking it in. There was something passive, even feminine, about reading. Yet conversation. Conversation was active, even when listening to someone else. You could massage a conversation, ask questions, seek clarification, probe, nudge the intercourse in a direction the other had not intended at first. And then the climax - summarising what the other had said. And they would reply, "Yes! That's exactly what I meant." Duncan loved getting to "Yes!" It hadn't been difficult getting most of the weaponry. Oh, these days Australia didn't produce much more that rifle bullets. A pity. But the whole region was awash in arms, spillovers and leakages from the Vietnam war. However, it was his locating the naval mines that most pleased Duncan. If you're going to stop an invasion the best time is before the troops have even landed.

(Wednesday, 29 July 1970) Senator Don Willesee was not a happy man. He was Australia's first Foreign Minister[2] but the job was worse than being Vice President of the USA. Any trip of import, any substantive decision, and it would be made by Eddie. Only if something went off like a prawn in a hubcap, then who was the drongo who had to front the press? Mike's dad[3] was starting to wonder if Lance[4] or JC[5] mightn't be a better bet for PM. Lionel[6] was sure to have some ideas on this. Lionel was good value, even if he was always urging Don to clean up the non-diplomatic division within the Department. "Half those bastards are probably working for the," growled Lionel before using a most undiplomatic epithet for 'Americans'. "You're a fine one to talk," teased Don, "As Attorney General you're responsible for ASIO. They still haven't found whose been bombing those travel agencies and the Yugoslav consulate. Wouldn't surprise me if they've been funding those 'Ustashi' themselves. You should take some Commonwealth coppers round to St Kilda and bust their doors down." Lionel harrumphed. "I might just do that."

(Wednesday, 29 July 1970) Lyn stared at the memo for a third time. The last two times he had only read as far as "in the direction of badness" before losing the thread. He was just about to ask Dolores to put a call through to McCone for some verbal clarification when Dolores appeared at his shoulder to say, "Hubert on line two". Lyn knew better than to swear out loud with only Dolores there. He'd asked for no interruptions. If she was interrupting, and for Hubert of all people, it must be an important. Dolores pressed a button. Lyn could hear his Vice President's voice saying, "Mr President. I've had a call from Houston. They say they have a problem." That would be Apollo 15. Ironic that six months ago a mission with the hard-luck number 13 had returned from the moon in triumph.[7] "Hubert, are the astronauts OK?" "So far, Mr President but getting them back looks touch-and-go." "Jesus, Hubert, what else can go wrong? I'm up to my ass in alligators over 'Watershed', I've lost Bobby and now three men's lives are in the balance. What else can go wrong?" "Funny you should mention Watershed, Mr President. The Senate has just voted to establish a Select Committee on Presidential Activities..." "The Hell you say!" stormed Lyn, "We own the Senate, Hubert. Those whey-faced bastards don't so much as belch, if we don't say so. "Mr President. There's mid-term elections. The House feels just as strongly about this. And you, sir, you're a, a..." "A lame duck, Hubert? So all the congressmen are pissing in their pants for fear of being linked to big bad ol' Lyndon. They'll tell their districts about all the appropriations I signed, claim credit and then dance on my political grave. If you want loyalty in this town, get a dog." "You can rely on me, Mr President." "Yes, I know where you stand. Good-bye Hubert." "Good-bye, sir." Lyn turned to Dolores. "At least I can rely on you, Dolores." "And Mr Humphrey it would seem, Mr President," said Dolores. "Hubert?" snorted Lyn, "That son-of-a-gun organised that Select Committee. He wants to distance himself from me for his run in '72. Well, I can't blame him." The President smiled grimly, "But I can make his life a misery. Delores, please fetch me Hubert's special file." "Yes, Mr President."

(Tuesday, 4 August 1970) The Liberation Fleet was in the Gulf of Guinea. Twenty-five more days to get to Diego Garcia. The three weeks to get to Fiji. It would late September before they hit the fuzzy-wuzzies, thought Commander Harry Ashton of the HMS Cavalier. Not that those primitives could be expected to prepare, even given all the time in the world. Black men had fought well under British officers in the last war, take the Gurkhas or the King's African Rifles. But left to their own devices, oh dear, oh dear. Where was Number Two? He should have been relieving three minutes ago. Of all the Lieutenant-Commanders in the Royal Navy... "Hullo, dere!" came Neddie's cheerful voice. "Number Two, the bridge is yours," Harry snapped a salute. "Aye-aye-sir!" saluted Neddie. Harry fixed his subordinate with an icy glare. There wasn't anything Harry could put a finger on, but Neddie, with his too ready smile, oozed an attitude of superiority over his commanding officer. One day the precious Lieutenant-Commander would be hit full force with the realities of life. And wouldn't Harry be smiling then? [If you'll just let me continue.]

[1] In our timeline there is no equivalent of the CIA in Australia. PM John Gorton once suggested to the House of Representatives that there might have been but he was tired and emotional at the time. [2] Prior to this the job was known as Minister for External Affairs. Which is just plain wrong. Can you imagine anyone calling Andrew Peacock "the Minister for External Affairs from Central Casting?" [3] In our timeline the former Foreign Minister's son, Michael Willesee, is far better known. Primarily for appearing live, coast-to-coast, as anchor of A Current Affair when tired and emotional. Celebrity is a fickle thing. [4] Barnard [5] Jim Cairns [6] Murphy [7] The Apollo project in 'Thaxted' is running 3 to 6 months ahead of our timeline. This could be due to greater US success in Vietnam, the longer life of the Johnson administration, or just the vibe that comes from having so much great folk music in the world.