1965 - Surfing the Sand
Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2023 12:40 am
Surfing the Sand – 1965
Cultural Zone A, Nile Valley
Thank God that we have got
The Maxim gun and they have not
The Viscount flew into Runway 310 without the benefit of a normal circuit and she came in hot and steep, stooping down in a tactical approach that suggested if the pilot worked for South African Airways they weren't his first employer. Admittedly most of SAA's pilots had learned their stuff flying for the air force, but Springbok 450 out of Nairobi was hardly one of SAA's normal services or Cultural Zone A one of its advertised destinations.
The Cultural Zone around Giza was a relic of human idealism, ideology and the power of the atom. Perhaps it was the Washington Monument's classical inspiration, populism, scientific regard or some personal reason that had prompted the White House to take the relics of ancient Egypt under its wing. But after the Americans flattened Yaffo. The Pyramids, what was left of the Sphinx, the Valley of the Kings and a number of other significant sites were excised by nuclear fiat to be preserved by an unholy collation of Universities, the International Red Cross and of all the world's organised bodies, the Army of the Republic of South Africa. Stuck in the middle of the Caliphate, the humanitarians and academics were in dire need of a strong right arm holding a gun, but for that role to fall on the Boers… well irony has a way of coming to the surface.
Saving the Pyramids was probably the only aspect of the 'Yaffo Exchange' to be really hailed around the world. Some consider it to have been the only magnanimous gesture to have emerged from Washington since Wilson's 14 points, and in truth it was about as practical. Naturally this appreciative international audience did not include the circles of power within the Caliphate, any tendency the mad Mullahs and Satraps might have felt towards taking the events of '59 in the spirit of Inish Allah, were less than nothing to the continued irritation and humiliation of the Cultural Zones. Flight 450 landing with the grace of a plummeting piano was but the culmination of cause and effect over more than 15 years. No one took any chances over Giza Airport, or Abraham International, neither SAA or Swiss Air had lost a plane yet, but they'd picked up more then a few holes over the years and come uncomfortably close.
Being the headquarters of the International Mission to Egypt and Palestine, Zone A at Giza held the largest population of westerners in the Caliphate, just over 3,000 infidels on average, although Johannesburg would fly in another battalion every so often if things were looking a little tense. This little island under the Red Cross was about the most perfect example of a military's place in a civilized society imaginable. There can be few pursuits less practical or more harmless than Egyptology, but without a ring of soldiers armed and ready, the enclave would not have lasted five minutes. The might of SAC was great and its reach long, but alas, so too was its flight time when scant hours were eternity and a howling riot could swirl up like a desert wind. It wasn't that the troops promised any more salvation than the Spartans had, today's Persians could still win the field, if not immortality, any time they chose. Yet the Caliphate could not wipe the mote from their eye quietly or by 'accident.' It would take a proper application of military force to reduce the South African garrison; organised and impassioned mobs might have clawed their way through many regular formations over the years, but not out in the open where barbed wire, machineguns and all the tools of the infantryman's art could be bought to bear.
The domestic economy of Zone A was as peculiar as its circumstances, a larger country than the Vatican City it had a greater Gross Domestic Product than Bhutan but no citizens. As a 'Humanitarian Dictatorship' run by the International Committee of the Red Cross it had the largest military per capita in the world and charitable bequests represented a significant portion of the national income. It was tax free and duty free, with no unemployment and the highest average income on earth, but not a single privately owned home or motor vehicle. 25% of the population had attended University and a similar portion could claim tertiary technical qualifications, providing the most educated population and best student teacher ratio on the planet, yet the one school stopped at the 6th Grade. An extreme imbalance in the male to female ratio accounted for the lowest rates of recorded births, deaths and venereal disease respectively. Yet while the crime statistics showed an unhealthy tendency towards 'Assault' in the population and a distressingly high rate of road accidents; rape and robbery were noticeable by their virtual absence, all of which the Gun Control lobbyists found a mixed blessing. If Zone A was a remarkably odd place on paper, no flight of fiction could encompass the reality.
Take language for example, the official languages of Zone A were French, English and Arabic as befitted the highest circles of international diplomacy and the host country; yet Arabic was never heard and pure French only within gallic academic circles. That's not to say English ruled, even if it was generally understood. No, Zone A had its own language, a proper one with recognised dialects and a modest shelf full of learned publications on it, as could be expected given the number of PHD students and anthropologists that passed though. High Gizzy spoken by the ruling elite was a bastard blend of Swiss and Cape Dutch, with a dash of English and half a splash of French thrown in for good measure. Low Gizzy tended more towards the South African patois of Afrikaans and English but drew heavily on the other European tongues and indeed Arabic for its descriptive vocabulary. Between the two hovered Middle Gizzy the voice of acidemia, biased more towards the Romance languages and English but naturally incorporating elements of the Classics, Ancient Egyptian, Latin and Greek.
Most of the passengers debarking from Springbok 450 were soldiers, South African conscripts on the endless eight-month rotation cycle with a smattering of regulars to keep an eye on them. Egyptian duty wasn't the best or worst straw a National Serviceman could pull. Day to day it was generally safer and more comfortable than any other posting north of the Orange river, which balanced the isolation and boredom if not the danger of living in the lion's mouth. For the regulars, mostly Officers and NCO's with a few long service 'Oud Troopie' rankers, Egypt was a three year duty free posting that was at least a little variety to the usual African roulement and attracted a surprising number of 'repeat offenders.' The worst of these Gizzy-lizards were a small group of NCO's, mostly Army with a few Air Force types and the odd sailor too, but evenly divided between the Intelligence/Signals and transport branches of their respective services. They were the observers and driver/mechanics, who provided the bedrock of what had to be the most peculiar aspect of this most unique operation, SAXMIS.
Cultural Zone A, Nile Valley
Thank God that we have got
The Maxim gun and they have not
The Viscount flew into Runway 310 without the benefit of a normal circuit and she came in hot and steep, stooping down in a tactical approach that suggested if the pilot worked for South African Airways they weren't his first employer. Admittedly most of SAA's pilots had learned their stuff flying for the air force, but Springbok 450 out of Nairobi was hardly one of SAA's normal services or Cultural Zone A one of its advertised destinations.
The Cultural Zone around Giza was a relic of human idealism, ideology and the power of the atom. Perhaps it was the Washington Monument's classical inspiration, populism, scientific regard or some personal reason that had prompted the White House to take the relics of ancient Egypt under its wing. But after the Americans flattened Yaffo. The Pyramids, what was left of the Sphinx, the Valley of the Kings and a number of other significant sites were excised by nuclear fiat to be preserved by an unholy collation of Universities, the International Red Cross and of all the world's organised bodies, the Army of the Republic of South Africa. Stuck in the middle of the Caliphate, the humanitarians and academics were in dire need of a strong right arm holding a gun, but for that role to fall on the Boers… well irony has a way of coming to the surface.
Saving the Pyramids was probably the only aspect of the 'Yaffo Exchange' to be really hailed around the world. Some consider it to have been the only magnanimous gesture to have emerged from Washington since Wilson's 14 points, and in truth it was about as practical. Naturally this appreciative international audience did not include the circles of power within the Caliphate, any tendency the mad Mullahs and Satraps might have felt towards taking the events of '59 in the spirit of Inish Allah, were less than nothing to the continued irritation and humiliation of the Cultural Zones. Flight 450 landing with the grace of a plummeting piano was but the culmination of cause and effect over more than 15 years. No one took any chances over Giza Airport, or Abraham International, neither SAA or Swiss Air had lost a plane yet, but they'd picked up more then a few holes over the years and come uncomfortably close.
Being the headquarters of the International Mission to Egypt and Palestine, Zone A at Giza held the largest population of westerners in the Caliphate, just over 3,000 infidels on average, although Johannesburg would fly in another battalion every so often if things were looking a little tense. This little island under the Red Cross was about the most perfect example of a military's place in a civilized society imaginable. There can be few pursuits less practical or more harmless than Egyptology, but without a ring of soldiers armed and ready, the enclave would not have lasted five minutes. The might of SAC was great and its reach long, but alas, so too was its flight time when scant hours were eternity and a howling riot could swirl up like a desert wind. It wasn't that the troops promised any more salvation than the Spartans had, today's Persians could still win the field, if not immortality, any time they chose. Yet the Caliphate could not wipe the mote from their eye quietly or by 'accident.' It would take a proper application of military force to reduce the South African garrison; organised and impassioned mobs might have clawed their way through many regular formations over the years, but not out in the open where barbed wire, machineguns and all the tools of the infantryman's art could be bought to bear.
The domestic economy of Zone A was as peculiar as its circumstances, a larger country than the Vatican City it had a greater Gross Domestic Product than Bhutan but no citizens. As a 'Humanitarian Dictatorship' run by the International Committee of the Red Cross it had the largest military per capita in the world and charitable bequests represented a significant portion of the national income. It was tax free and duty free, with no unemployment and the highest average income on earth, but not a single privately owned home or motor vehicle. 25% of the population had attended University and a similar portion could claim tertiary technical qualifications, providing the most educated population and best student teacher ratio on the planet, yet the one school stopped at the 6th Grade. An extreme imbalance in the male to female ratio accounted for the lowest rates of recorded births, deaths and venereal disease respectively. Yet while the crime statistics showed an unhealthy tendency towards 'Assault' in the population and a distressingly high rate of road accidents; rape and robbery were noticeable by their virtual absence, all of which the Gun Control lobbyists found a mixed blessing. If Zone A was a remarkably odd place on paper, no flight of fiction could encompass the reality.
Take language for example, the official languages of Zone A were French, English and Arabic as befitted the highest circles of international diplomacy and the host country; yet Arabic was never heard and pure French only within gallic academic circles. That's not to say English ruled, even if it was generally understood. No, Zone A had its own language, a proper one with recognised dialects and a modest shelf full of learned publications on it, as could be expected given the number of PHD students and anthropologists that passed though. High Gizzy spoken by the ruling elite was a bastard blend of Swiss and Cape Dutch, with a dash of English and half a splash of French thrown in for good measure. Low Gizzy tended more towards the South African patois of Afrikaans and English but drew heavily on the other European tongues and indeed Arabic for its descriptive vocabulary. Between the two hovered Middle Gizzy the voice of acidemia, biased more towards the Romance languages and English but naturally incorporating elements of the Classics, Ancient Egyptian, Latin and Greek.
Most of the passengers debarking from Springbok 450 were soldiers, South African conscripts on the endless eight-month rotation cycle with a smattering of regulars to keep an eye on them. Egyptian duty wasn't the best or worst straw a National Serviceman could pull. Day to day it was generally safer and more comfortable than any other posting north of the Orange river, which balanced the isolation and boredom if not the danger of living in the lion's mouth. For the regulars, mostly Officers and NCO's with a few long service 'Oud Troopie' rankers, Egypt was a three year duty free posting that was at least a little variety to the usual African roulement and attracted a surprising number of 'repeat offenders.' The worst of these Gizzy-lizards were a small group of NCO's, mostly Army with a few Air Force types and the odd sailor too, but evenly divided between the Intelligence/Signals and transport branches of their respective services. They were the observers and driver/mechanics, who provided the bedrock of what had to be the most peculiar aspect of this most unique operation, SAXMIS.