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Maybe I haven't been paying attention, but the actions of Valles confuse me :wacko:

Excellent battle scenes - I hope we get to read about more air action, since a lot of AARs cover mostly ground action and sea action.

:) Jesper
 
DK- Well, let's talk about that with Valles himself.

September 17, 1936

Valles gulped at the water greedily. The major smiled placidly.

"So, Capitán. Tell us about the forces in Burgos."

Valles gripped the empty glass. He took a deep breath. "Four divisions of militia, at half strength and exhausted. A division of tanks. Two divisions of regular infantry, and the French Volunteers. Miaja is in overall command."

The major nodded solemnly.

"We know all this. But we need more."

Valles swallowed. Despite the water, his throat was still bone-dry, and he winced at the awful clicking noise his tongue made when it started to move.

"There are more than enough supplies. Food and ammunition, spare uniforms, medicines, everything. Even without the looted Nationalist stores. Oil, there's enough." He noticed his hands wringing, planted them firmly on his thighs. "The frontline forces are exhausted. Some of the units have marched from Catalonia without stopping. But given a week or two, they'll rest up. Entrench."

The major wrote something on a slip of paper, and handed it to an aide who disappeared silently. He leaned forward.

"And you, Capitán. Why are you here now? Why did you defect?"

Valles glowered. "The Republicans killed my uncle- a priest. They say they fight for the rule of law and the people's will. But they look the other way while the Comunistas and the anarchists... they rape, they burn. They loot the churches. They mock civilization. It is not democracy. It is chaos."

The major nodded encouragingly. Valles shifted.

"And?"

Valles swallowed. Another grotesque click. The major poured more water. Valles drank.

"And. I... swore an oath to protect Spain. I do not believe that the Republic is Spain anymore. I believe your- our- cause. The... the Nationalist cause. That is Spain."

The major nodded. He twirled idly in his comfortable office chair, staring at the ceiling, his eyes lost in deep cheerful thought.

He stood up and kicked Valles in the kidney. Valles tumbled to the ground, gasping and writhing.

"You Communist swine," hissed the major. "You think you can just walk into our camp and poison us with your sweet talk?" He kicked Valles again, this time in the testicles. Valles vomited, and the major stepped over him, checking his boots. "You bastard! You swine! Hearing that truth from your forked tongue-" the major was on one knee, yanking back Valles' hair- "it's worse than all your lies put together."

Valles coughed, wrenching out his next words. "It's true- it's all true-"

"You admit you're a spy?"

"No! No-"

"Now you deny it, Communist?"

"I'm not a spy- I believe- I believe-" Valles retched again, tears stinging his eyes.

The major stood up. He regarded Valles, his face a mask of loathing. Slowly, he transformed, smiling and calm again. The flush of anger disappeared. He poured more water and handed it down to Valles.

"You know we get so many spies. We cannot be too careful. Please forgive me."

Valles nodded shakily, grasping the glass of water. The major held out a hand and helped him back into his chair. Valles leaned on the desk, breathing heavily and slowly. The major walked back around the desk and sat back down. He took out his pen.

"Now, Capitán. If you please- just one more time from the beginning."
 
The counterattack was swift and brutal.

No sooner had the Republic reclaimed Burgos (with some elements pushing as far as the Portugueuse border) than Franco ordered counterattacks on every front. In Galicia, Phalangist militias squared off against the Communists, sparking some of the worst atrocities in a war noted for atrocity. Bombers based in Madrid concentrated on the eastern parts of the province, disrupting attempts to bring in fresh troops or haul out looted supplies. Nationalist commanders in Valladolid and Madrid launched a coordinated attack.

The Republican forces fought fiercely, but they were at the end of a long advance. They buckled and broke in under a day.

When the Nationalists swept back into Burgos, Franco ordered followup attacks. The retreating Republicans, unable to rest, were shortly forced out of Oviedo and Siguenza.

A month after the Republic's victory at Burgos, half of Republican Spain's advances were undone- and the newspapers began wondering what would happen after the Nationalists completed their Reconquista...

From The Volunteers of 36
 
Vann- That they are.

October 22, 1936

Prime Minister Blum smiled. "Did you see today's Times? They're calling the intervention a brave and noble act." Blum chuckled. "There's half the war right there."

Vincent Auriol smiled tersely. "Indeed."

Blum laid the paper down. "So what are the figures?"

"You can see- here, yes. The recovery's slow, but steady."

"The cuts to the military budget- supplies, recruiting, modernization?"

"You'll remember, we had to shift about ten percent of the military budget into other measures to battle the dissent. But we're shifting money back. About forty percent of the cuts have been reversed."

"Excellent!" Blum moved a piece of paper across. "Then you can do this."

Auriol scanned the summary. "Another freighter-load of supplies to Spain? Every day?"

"Ah, but not an aid package. They're transferring their currency and gold reserves to Paris."

"That will destroy their central bank!"

Blum shrugged. "That's where you come in, Vincent."

Auriol thought for a moment. "We can announce we're holding it in trust."

Blum smiled. "Excellent!"

Auriol leaned forward, warming to the idea. "But the exchange market will still try to devalue Spanish currency. So, as the trustee, we use the gold to buy it up. We invest it in industry. And we keep the profits. We'll have enough to turn the hard currency back over to Spain down the road."

"How much do you think?"

Auriol jotted some numbers down and passed them across Blum's desk. The Prime Minister smiled.

"This is enough for that project we've been discussing."

Auriol's eyes widened. "I believe you're right. This will speed it up immensely. We've got the infrastructure in place."

Blum's smile turned into a grin. "Make the call."
 
October 29, 1936

Karl Hoffman glanced around the cafe quietly. He sat down near the red-haired man. He ordered a coffee and read his paper. He set it aside and started to eat his sandwich.

"Excuse me, sir- might I borrow that paper if you're done with it?"

"Please do."

"Thank you." The red-haired man picked up the newspaper and left the cafe.

Down the street, the red-haired man tucked the newspaper into his coat pocket. He got on a streetcar. No one noticed that when he pulled the newspaper out to read it, an envelope fell out into his pocket.

The red-haired man got off the streetcar and walked into the offices of the German Meteorological Society. He was surrounded by equipment, and packages, and special papers that gave him permission to be in all sorts of places at all sorts of hours. He corresponded with colleagues in America, in Italy, Britain, Japan, France. And of course, sheafs of papers covered in statistics and numbers went through the mails. He was a harmless hobbyist, an eccentric bachelor, and a quiet dues-paying member of the National Socialist Party. He got out the envelope and perused the contents. He unscrewed the bottom of a large rain gauge, and pulled out a wheel covered in letters and numbers. He began laboriously re-imagining the envelope's contents as rainfall estimates over the Swiss Alps for the next few years. The Reichsmarks in the envelope, he tucked in his sock.

No one at the time asked the red-haired man why he did what he did. No one knew if he was a patriot, a traitor, an idealist, a mercenary.

The red-haired man completed his calculations and posted an envelope to a Dr. Mauren in Nimes.

No one knows to this day what his motivations were.

The envelope was taken by motorcycle to a quiet chateau near a military garrison, where a small team of men took quiet notes.

What we do know is that the red-haired man spent most of 1936 and 1937 mailing his eccentric notes back and forth, until the French found sources within the Abwehr, the Gestapo, and all the other evil branches of the Nazi government. The red-haired man was found facedown in a river. The French quietly and deliberately erased all traces of him from their records. The Germans never thought to put him in theirs.
 
November 10, 1936

Neville Chamberlain stood and smiled.

"Ambassador Corbin!"

"Prime Minister!" Chamberlain bowed again. The two men shook hands.

"I understand you bear good tidings from Paris."

"I do, sir. Valladolid has fallen, and Miaja is back in Burgos. The Nationalists are near their breaking point."

Chamberlain nodded. "I can't say I supported your government's intervention, but I'm quite happy to see the Nationalists at bay. You received the Foreign Office's memorandum?"

Ambassador Corbin nodded. "We have. I am empowered to inform you that Prime Minister Blum agrees completely. We have already taken steps to inform President Azaña's government of our concerns. The left will remain in control, but the worst excesses are being throttled back. The anarchists have lost control in Catalonia, and the Basques have negotiated a deal on autonomy. Once the Nationalists are gone, I believe we'll have no troubles from the Spanish at all."

Chamberlain nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent, excellent. And the trade deal?"

"Entirely to our satisfaction. We'd already earmarked the supplies for Spain, but given the recent successes they're just surplus. And we're eager to see your blueprints- modernization is the word of the day, after all." Ambassador Corbin leaned forward. "Prime Minister- while I believe we should continue to look forward, we should speak of the abdication."

Chamberlain nodded.

"Have you decided what is to be done with the King?"

Chamberlain sniffed lightly. "Well, it's his decision more than anyone's, you know. But I believe he'll be given a pleasant, quiet sinecure. That's the benefit of Empire- quite a few of those around."

"Governor-General of the Bahamas or something?"

Chamberlain laughed. "Quite good! That's really quite good!" He pursed his lips wryly. "It may be that indeed." Chamberlain leaned forward. "Once Spain is out of the picture, our governments will have basically no disagreements at all. Ambassador Corbin, I believe our relationship will be extremely productive, and I'm looking forward to our work together."

The Ambassador beamed. "Likewise."
 
Good GOD. I am done posting. Maybe for the next day or two, to give you guys time to catch up.

Next up: wrapping up the Spanish Civil War. Then, of course, a quick breeze through 1937.

I realize I've racked up a lot of subplots and characters just today, so if you have any questions, now's the time! :)
 
Prufrock451 said:
Good GOD. I am done posting. Maybe for the next day or two, to give you guys time to catch up.

Next up: wrapping up the Spanish Civil War. Then, of course, a quick breeze through 1937.

I realize I've racked up a lot of subplots and characters just today, so if you have any questions, now's the time! :)

Prufrock - you are always a good read!

Great start - though I am not a Francophile - I will be cheering for them in this TL
 
Thanks, Mett! Good to see you.

As for not posting, I decided to post anyway. So there.

December 24, 1936

Leutnant Adler stared at the map. The radios were down. There were a few airfields still marked blue, still friendly. But he didn't know how many had surrendered. He didn't know which were safe. And if he did? With the Balearics out, he didn't have the range to reach Italy.

Sweat broke out on Adler's forehead. He was trapped. You could hear church bells in the distance, over in the Republican half of Madrid. The Nationalists had their church bells stilled, in mourning. Tomorrow, Franco was going to surrender. If he didn't shoot himself tonight.

A couple of the pilots had already taken off. A couple of the others had surrendered. Adler walked out of the hangar, his mind racing for a plan.

He grabbed a noncom rushing past carrying papers. He knocked them out of his hand and pulled the man into an alley.

"You! What's your name?"

The noncom blinked. "Valles."

"Valles. You're the defector." The noncom nodded. Adler looked off, thinking. He snapped his head back, his mouth open. He spoke slowly, letting the idea ripen while he talked. "But what if you aren't? What if we took you prisoner, and then you escaped in all this chaos and captured me?"

Valles thought. "They'll believe that?"

"It'll be chaos. They'll need every pair of hands they can get, and when this is over a lot of people will have more than you to hide."

Valles held up his chin. "I don't expect you to fight to the end for Spain. But I-"

Adler shoved him into the wall. "That's shit! You think tomorrow is the end? You think there won't be another fight and another?" He came in close. "They want you dead. Living's the best revenge." Adler pointed to Valles. "If I surrender without a Spaniard watching, they'll shoot me in a ditch. I am going back to Germany and I am going to live." He pulled out his pistol. "Now you are going to help me or I will find someone with a shred of common sense and shoot you. That way, I keep my secret safe and you get your glorious end."

Valles stared Adler down, his gaze withering. Adler rolled his eyes and put his pistol to Valles' forehead.

"Choose, Spaniard."
 
Tsk- Yeah, I kinda got carried away there. Thanks!

Elbasto- Welcome aboard! I would tell you, but that would defeat the purpose of the AAR.

January 16, 1937

Prime Minister Blum appeared at the podium. The crowd roared. He held up his hands for silence.

"People of France! Do not cheer for me. Today, we have worthier men to applaud by the thousand. Spain is free! Our nation is stronger! And for this, we thank our volunteers. They are the heroes of the day, and heroes they will remain until the end of time. Applaud them!" The crowd did so wildly, and the veterans on the stage smiled awkwardly as they stood to attention. The Prime Minister let the crowd roar on for a good time longer. "Men- you have the gratitude of two nations. You have completed a great service to mankind. I am proud to stand here with you, and with the thousands who you represent."

With his right arm raised, Blum sucked in breath to bellow his closing line. "Vive la France! Vivent Les Volontaires!" It was short and sweet. It fit the day. The crowds went crazy. Fireworks over the Arc de Triomphe, singing and wine and the next day a national holiday. No one much minded the weather.

The next day ("Volunteers Day"), France was quiet, and happy. Families stayed home and spent time with their returned sons and fathers. Young men picked up romantic whispers where they'd left off six months before. The nation felt strong. It felt satisfied.

For Prime Minister Blum, the day was busy. In the morning, budget discussions: with dissent down, money was shifted back into modernization efforts. The afternoon was spent in long discussions with the chiefs of the General Information Service, the Directorate of Territorial Surveillance, and the Directorate of Military Intelligence. The men argued passionately over the allocation of scarce funding. Eventually, Territorial Surveillance won out by revealing a large Italian spy ring operating in the St. Etienne armory and research lab. Funding for 1937 would be focused on internal counter-intelligence.

In the evening, the Prime Minister drove out of Paris to a military base. There, he was shown through a warehouse full of war prizes; Messerschmidts, Panzers, rifles, armored cars, manuals and action reports, a goldmine. He smiled.

Auriol had come along for the ride. Blum turned to him and pointed. "How soon until we have these?"

Auriol chuckled wistfully. "Just a bit longer. We're still phasing out the biplane bombers." He pointed at a Panzer. "That, though. We captured a lot of these near the end of the war. Not just operational units- prototypes, blueprints, analyses... we even convinced a few technicians to defect. I spoke with some bright boys from Renault last week. They're really excited- they say as soon as they get the go-ahead, they could design the greatest tanks in the world."

"Can they build them too?"

Auriol smiled. "Again- at least a year out. Our infantry weapons, our artillery, our airplanes- all sadly out of date."

Blum nodded and walked out. He turned to point at Auriol. "One year, Vincent. I'll hold you to that!"
 
1937

Nothing happened in 1937.

I don't mean that the world came to a halt, or that Peace on Earth suddenly broke out. What I mean is that every schoolkid can rattle off what happened in '36 and what happened in '38, but I doubt if you lined up a hundred of us old-timers and asked us What Happened in '37, not one could tell you a damn thing. Not even the ones who got married in '37. Maybe especially them.

When I started writing these memoirs, I decided not to leave this chapter blank. So I did some research on just why the year is so barren, and here's my conclusion:

Nothing happened in France because Leon Blum planned it that way.

He wasn't the Apocalypse so many of us predicted when he took office. He didn't turn the means of production over, he didn't smile while the cities burned and the mobs came for the plutocrats. Nothing. Happened. That was on the left. And after Action Francaise actually beat the hell out of him on the campaign trail, he made damn sure nothing was left of them by '37.

Politics under Leon Blum was like whispering about your affair in a restaurant. Everybody was interested and it was a bit dirty, but no one was impolite enough to raise a fuss.

He built up the army, a scrap at a time. He motorized the cavalry and bought them armored cars, so they could keep up with the tanks. He tossed out the biplanes and the Somme-surplus rifles, to make way for the new Army he and General de Lattre were building. And that de Lattre- he was a genius at making the Army look manly. The reserves were chock full of us back then, all of us waiting for a spot in the regular army. I remember my best friend Jean bursting into the cafe where I worked, grinning like a fool. He was an engineer, and de Lattre called up six brigades. That night my girlfriend broke up with me for him. And that was before he even got his uniform.

It was like we were infected with a virus that turned us all into Teddy Roosevelt. All glorification of the outdoor life and the military, faith in progress, fighting for justice. We'd whacked fascism good in Spain. We'd dusted off the biggest military in Europe. So much for the Rhineland. So much for the Depression.

That was 37. It was like a summer weekend. It was like a picnic.

Ah! To live through another year no one remembers!

From Growing Up French, And Other Complaints
 
Read it all now, really a great job! It seems France will go offensive this time...

One question: in-game, did you kept some german units? If yes, how - shouldn't they go to the republicans?
 
Latinsword- Welcome! As to your first question: maybe, maybe not.

As to your second: The SCW Victory event for France reduces dissent and grants the "Improved Light Tank" blueprint. The Indiana Jones-style warehouse of wonders is how I'm explaining it.

As to why nothing else came out of it, well, that's because Leon Blum's government is still taking the easy way on just about everything and there's no point in researching wonder weapons that won't get built for years and years.

Research for these first couple of years was largely focused on industry and the infantry and armor trees. I got caught up with the Brits. We take turns researching two or three new things while we each work from two or three of the other's blueprints.
 
March 10, 1938

One by one, the dominos were falling.

Prime Minister Blum rubbed his eyes wearily. The pile of telegrams on his desk was getting larger and larger as the night wore on, and none of them carried good news.

Austria's Chancellor Schuschnigg was near the end of his rope. He'd legalized the Communists, he'd announced a plebiscite to affirm independence. Hell, he'd even set the minimum voting age at 24 to keep the Nazi youth gangs from participating. But Hitler wasn't allowing it to go forward, and that was it.

It had taken months and an unbelievable amount of money and heartache, but France had infiltrated every level of the Nazi government and military. Blum looked to the locked briefcase. Everything he needed was there- the troop timetables, manifests, orders. In three days, the Germans would march and Austria would simply end.

But the telegrams. The Austrian military just waiting to welcome the Germans. Mussolini, who was still shaking over the idea that Hitler would come after South Tirol next, was fighting off the wolf by befriending him. The Balkan Entente was a dead letter. Poland said it would follow France's lead.

Only one telegram left.

Blum buzzed his intercom. "General, please come in." De Lattre entered and saluted. Behind him were his current favorites; Juin, Giraud, De Gaulle.

The junior generals seated themselves at the conference table at Blum's invitation. Blum took the head seat. De Lattre unrolled a large map and pointed.

"Prime Minister. We are at the highest state of readiness. Troops are being withdrawn from every corner of the globe- Djibouti, Saigon, Algiers. We have also demilitarized the Italian border."

Blum snorted in disgust. "Little good that did. Mussolini has caved."

De Lattre wrinkled his nose. "I hadn't heard that yet. We just arrived." He sighed and stared at the map again. "We have sixty divisions, fifty here in France. They are not organized in battlefield commands- our main concern has been keeping down their supply consumption."

"How long to get them to the border under their battlefield commanders?"

"Perhaps a week."

Blum frowned. De Lattre cleared his throat and continued.

"We can assume that the Austrians will fight with the Germans. That means a total of seventy-five infantry and six armored divisions."

"If Poland enters the war?"

De Lattre mused. "They'd need twenty or thirty divisions to hold the Polish border. Maybe ten more if we can convince the Czechs to join the fight." He made a few quick marks. "They'll have to station at least ten divisions on their coast to defend against British invasion or raiding forces." He pointed at the German Rhine fortifications. "We'll have numerical superiority on the Rhine. But it'll be costly." He pointed. "Anti-tank ditches and heavy gun emplacements. Machine gun nests. Not the Maginot, but close enough. Ten thousand casualties to cross the Rhine alone. A tough slog."

Blum swallowed hard. "Well. Start the preparations. Move every division we've got to Metz. The British are due to reply to our telegram at any moment. We'll start coordinating our response with them immediately." He stood up. "I haven't eaten since breakfast. Let's break for an hour. We'll need clear heads."

The military officers stood and gravely saluted. Blum saluted in return. He stared at the map gloomily as they left him alone with his decision.