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Agent Larkin Hehehe. :D

I'm more partial to the Mosquito, but what with the lamination difficulties and the fact that the Aussies needed planes yesterday when the war broke out in the Far East Beauforts and Beaufighters make more sense.

Oh I agree the Mosquito is brilliant. However I just have a soft spot for the old "two engines followed closely by a plane". :D However the Aussies looking t the Mustang is a brilliant idea, with droptanks included it would be the answer to all there air needs until the jet age comes.
 
Oh I agree the Mosquito is brilliant. However I just have a soft spot for the old "two engines followed closely by a plane". :D However the Aussies looking t the Mustang is a brilliant idea, with droptanks included it would be the answer to all there air needs until the jet age comes.

Which is why the RAF will also adopt the Mustang for service in the Pacific. In Europe the range doesn't matter as much, whereas in the Pacific it's the one and all.
 
Now it's when the Yamato begins its surprising converesion into a submarine :D:D:D

Step 2. Read through till you see the jaw-droopingly beautiful Beaufighter.

If my eyes don't lie to me, they are Beauforts, not Beaufigthers.
 
Yes, they are too BEAU after all :D:D:D
 
Mustangs you say? AVRO Mustangs? Canadian aviation design comes out on top again eh?
 
Mustangs you say? AVRO Mustangs? Canadian aviation design comes out on top again eh?


Alas no, the Designer of the Mustang merely hates the Commies so much that he grabbed what plans he could from North American Aviation and legged it to Canada, ending up working for Avro Canada. Mind you, that gives the Company a far stronger legacy and basis to build on than copying Lancasters...
 
Alas no, the Designer of the Mustang merely hates the Commies so much that he grabbed what plans he could from North American Aviation and legged it to Canada, ending up working for Avro Canada. Mind you, that gives the Company a far stronger legacy and basis to build on than copying Lancasters...

following the traditions of our southern neighbours a person who at any time entered/passed over or near our sovereign territory who accomplished something cool/invented something cool is deemed to have been a canadian at the time of said accomplishment/invention.

thus the Mustang is a canadian aircraft.
 
Maybe I miss-phrased that. What I meant was that planes like the Canuck or the Arrow are fully Canadian whereas ITTL the Mustang is based loosely on some NAA design studies of pre-Civil War times.
 
Well, as long as you keep your promise about the Arrow, I'll let you get away with this. :D
 
Characters shamelessly stolen from Ken Folletts 'Eye of the Needle'. No copyright infringement intended, no profits made, only much fun had.


Chapter 297


Liverpool was drenched in autumn weather and it wouldn't change any time soon. The area around the busy harbour was so soaked with rain that the locals joked that soon all the Army units would have to apply for service with the Royal Navy. That however did not mean that Crime stopped and the local Police Force was as busy as ever, and the longer the war lasted the more it influenced crime. The stealing and forgery of ration books had slowly declined since the Navy had started to announce that they were getting a handle on the U-Boats and with Irish wheat and meat adding to the sum total of food on all the British Isles. Since the rations had been increased somewhat from what they had been the year before people were inclined to agree with what the papers said.


What was on the up was petrol theft and strangely enough conventional murders although that was seasonal and Hunt's landlord liked to joke that it was the depressing weather that drove men to murder their Mother-in-Laws.


For now he wasn't working on anything as mundane as murder. No, he was coming back from a Special Training Course in London that had made him fall asleep with boredom. Port Security..

He snorted and was trying to stand somewhat more comfortable in the cramped compartment of the train.

Port Security was half his work in Liverpool and with the Irish in the war that workload hadn't decreased even though some convoys now made station in Dublin instead of Liverpool before going to the Med or beyond.

As the train pulled through the suburbs of Liverpool the almost solid mass of people inside the train began to shift for the impending arrival at the station and Hunt was looking forward to being able to breathe without problems again.


The train pulled into Liverpool Limestreet railway station and Hunt stayed behind until the worst of the crowd outside had dispersed. This way he would be able to walk across the station without getting his ribs bruised and robbed blind left and right by those elements that took advantage of the cramped situation. He finally disembarked five minutes after the train had stopped and walked past the Service-men only shop that sold the weary men passing through everything from weak war tea to basic staple foods and decided that he had to get something to eat at the first opportunity. With bread not rationed though still husbanded carefully by most he would be able to get a decent sandwich at some bakery or other.

Hunt was just about to exit when he saw a man wearing a suit and Fedora fiddling with the door of the lugguage compartment. He was originally going to just ignore what he saw but when the man suddenly exerted pressure on the door and looked around as if he had something to hide Hunt was convinced that he did and decided to satisfy his own curiosity. He walked up to the man and just as he was about to yell out the man slipped through the door and out of view.

Hunt slipped through the door behind the man just in time to see him disappear into one of the side cubicles where packages of all shapes and sizes were awaiting collection during peace but that were now almost empty. He suddenly wished he was armed but he couldn't help that now and in the end it did not matter. The man, about half a head smaller than Hunt himself lunged out of where he had been hiding. He brandished a knife that missed Hunt's throat by inches and any less experienced man would have been felled by it.

As it was Hunt leapt backwards and immediately brought his hand upward to grab the man's arm.

A struggle for the knife ensued and Hunt realized that his opponent was at least as good if not better at this sort of brawl than he was.

'Time to play dirty then.' Hunt thought as the man charged again and instead of making the appropriate countermove Hunt did something ridiculously dangerous and stood almost still, only jumping away at the last second. The man's momentum carried him forward towards a pile of dusty crates, quickly aided by Hunt putting his entire weight into one blow that broke the man's nose as he stumbled past Hunt and then a kick against his knee. He fell into the pile of crates face forward and found his arms behind his back and Hunt kneeling on him.

“Now listen here old boy. I don't know what you are doing here, but I could already arrest you for compromising Her Majesty's General Post Office, but you trying to stick a knife into one of Liverpool's finest doesn't endear you to me at all. So if you want to see daylight again this side of Hitler's 100th Birthday you better tell me what you were doing.”


“F*ck off you English bastard!” the man said with an accent quite obviously from across the Irish Sea.

“Now now, that isn't the nice thing to say.” Hunt replied, “you paddies and us are allies now!”

With that he applied the hand-cuffs and dragged the resisting Irishman to his feet. He was bleeding from a scratch where his head had made contact with the blunt end of nail and when they emerged two panting constables, someone from the railways and a few concerned onlookers were waiting for them. Quite obviously the racket they had been making had been heard.


He left the Irishman with the constables and went back inside to take a look at what the man had been trying to pick up. What he found made it necessary to put a call in to the station.




~**---**~

british_grenade_box_1.jpg

“What made you go into that damn hole in the first place, Hunt?” the Chief asked.

“I had a feeling, Sir.”

“That fits. When you have those feelings things and people usually get broken.” the Chief sighed, “Still, good thing we found him before he disappeared into the great unwashed. Has he said anything yet?”

“He made it clearly known that he prefers his kindred Irishmen over us Scots and Englishmen.” Hunt said, “Nothing else.”

“Hrm.” came from the phone in the ticket Office.

“As is we had to call this in to... Special Branch.”

“A case of hand grenades is certainly that, Sir.”

“Well, turns out that they had someone in the area anyway, and I wouldn't be surprised at all if they were going after our man. They should be with you in a few minutes.”

Then the two were really after the same thing. The station that served the line between Liverpool and East London was not often attracting the Special Branch.

What the Chief had implied but not said outright was that they were likely working for someone even closer to No.10 than the Special Branch probably the institution where every member claimed not to be working for the Army.

He was busy getting the Constables to get the people out of the station when someone tipped him on the shoulder.

Turning, he looked at two men waiting to talk to him. One of them was an middle-aged man of average height who had the look of a university Professor about him while th other was clearly a fellow copper or at the very least had been once upon a time.


The older man spoke first.


“I am Percival Godliman and this is Frederic Bloggs. We are from..Special Branch.”

The hesitation was only the fraction of a second but it told Hunt all he needed to know.

“I know,” he nodded, “my Chief has instructed me about you.”

Nothing more needed or was said on the subject.

“Now, I hear that you may be looking for the bloke I stumbled over?”


“That is correct.”


“So, how long until I am told to turn my attentions elsewhere?”


The two men looked at each other and seemed slightly offended, so Hunt added that he hadn't slept for two days.

“I am sorry about that.”


“Well, for the moment we need your help, Detective Chief Inspector.” Bloggs said. “If our hunch is right then we would have requested your assistance anyway.”


“How come?” Hunt asked in surprise.


“We've been told that you have encountered these people before...






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Comments, questions, rotten Tomatoes?
 
I have the feeling that someone is taking "Britain's problems is Ireland's opportunity" too seriously.
 
Not all of the Sons of Eire are focusing on the war, it seems...
 
Well the Irish fascist movement has a long and ignoble history true but at the moment the country are fight a war against fascist states alongside Britain so there should be a lot less support for them currently.
 
Agent Larkin It's not a stereotype, as you know a large part of Ireland is firmly behind the war and at least the suspending of hostilities with the Brits for the duration.


Kurt_Steiner Indeed.


ViperhawkZ
Most of them are though, and I think that whatever these guys are planning a lot of Irishmen won't like it.


stevep Only too true...


Ehran&talt Not to do politics, but the German Republican Party is two hues shy of Neo-Nazis..
 
Oh I know they are behind the suspending of hostilities for the duration.

It's just the IRA wasn't known for the ability to pick up on how the majority of people felt.

However I can't rule out a UDF plot as it would make a lot of sense for them to try and disrupt the Anglo-Irish relationship that is springing up. Heck OTL Churchill offered the North if we would join in against Hitler TTL Loyalists are probably fearing that such a deal might have been secretly made and are trying to sabotage the two countries as much as possible.

Probably not what's going to happen but I felt I had to type up that theory any way.