In a leafy street of
“Kohlenkommando,” he shuddered. The Carbon Commandos – Wiederkoenig’s2 elite. The toughest brutes in the vehicle emissions standards game. Ex-foreign legion, KGB, SAS, or even … graduates of one of the larger German utilities groups. Then they would serve three more gruelling years of bone-wrecking training at a top secret engine manufacturing plant in the icy wastes of the
Disguised as Polish farm-hands, they perfect the art of engine revving at tractor-pulling competitions on bleak, wind-swept, heathlands of Schleswig-Holstein. Adopting faultless blue collar American accents, they prepare for the rigours of commuter driving at stock-car rallies in
These crack troops are the men charged with the ultimate challenge of further boosting emissions from the jewel in the crown of
“Wiederkoenig must have something up his sleeve,” thought Eb. He sensed that the Smog Wars were about to enter a new phase. After the first successful attack on
Wiederkoenig also fought the political fight on the TV screen and in mass rallies, whipping his troops into a petrol-fumed frenzy. “Imposing emissions standards ist UNFAIR on ze large car manufacturers,” howled Wiederkoenig, his incandescent face twitching with self-righteousness. “UNFAIR, I say. UNFAIR. How are ve supposed to build bigger, faster, greedier, and more polluting cars if ze European Kommissariat tilts ze playing fielt in favour off ze small
It was a matter of weeks before Wiederkoenig did indeed play his next card. One night a dozen of the world’s top automobile journalists were whisked by helicopter to the secret Siberian factory. As loudspeakers blasted out the Ride of the Valkyries, and smoke billowed over the factory floor, a vast, black, growling, throbbing machine – half car, half tank – emblazoned with the notorious Leafless Tree symbol and the fearsome letters “KK”, rolled off the production line, driven by Waldemar Kunt, Wiederkoenig’s right-hand man and notorious head of Kohlenkommando.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Wiederkoenig. “The Porsche Mephisto. A 25 litre monster which can drive any Hummer off the road. A monument to my Genuss, err … my Genius. Neuschwanstein on wheels, a mobile Baroque Basilica to Beelzebub,” he panted. “It is ze most powerful, exquisite, gaß-guzzling, smoke-belching, kakophonically glorious temple to phallic insufficiency that mankind has ever seen! Ha! Those fools at ze European Kommissariat! Vi need more and more emissions, not less and less. I vil SMOTHER ze vorld in a dark, swirling, smouldering fok-“
“Fok?” interrupted a journalist.
“Yes fok, you imbecile,” thundered Wiederkoenig as two leather-jacketed Kohlenkommandos wrestled the hapless journalist to the ground and kicked him to a pulp.
“I vill create a kabbage-souper fok of carbon dioxide and noxious fumes, so thick and dark, zat as my Porsche Mephisto emerges from these black Wagnerian clouds, like a great gothic stallion of triumph emerging from the night and the fok, it vill strike terror into the feeble hearts of the Kommissariat Nomenklatura.” Wiederkoenig paused as the enormity of his messianic vision sank in. A stunned silence fell over the assembled reporters at the press conference. The odd whimper could be heard.
1. For Part I see “The dangers of emissions standards” on www.thebustard.blogspot.com, January 2007
2. Wiederkoenig, the Supreme Ueberkommandant of the Allied European Forces of Freedom to Pollute.