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That is supposed to say "... when she was hit." Will be edited.
 
Trekaddict

Whoops! Well Nagato's manoeuvre brings a new meaning to friendly fire.;) Also to sibling rivalry.:D Talking of sister's where's Yamato's?

Even given the intense hatred between the two services would Kusaka really have been that stupid? Knowing he had no naval air cover - presuming no land based naval units nearby - and given how effective carriers have been in the war, it seems suicidal [as it proved to be] to not ask for air cover. Especially since even if he didn't think, for any reason, that the empire had carriers in the region land based a/c would be a potential threat.

Steve
 
Yamato's youngest sister has been converted to a CV while still on the slips, the other one is at Subic Bay and likely to remain there for the foreseeable future.

Kusaka declined to ask for Army Air Cover, and their Naval Counterparts failed to show (the sentence explaining this didn't make the cut which was a mistake now that I think about it). Japanese Intelligence put the Carriers farther North, raiding the Mandates again and Kusaka figured that he could dash in, drop off the troops and get out again before the CVs arrived.
 
got to wonder if the yanks will be so enormously lucky in this time line as they were at midway in ours. i've read they have been replaying that battle ever since and no one has ever managed to have lady luck be so entirely lopsided in favour of the american fleet.
 
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Maybe the Japs will be granted a Divine Wind to push the Americans away from Midway - an ironic turn of events.
 
The Yanks won't be as lucky, the first big action they have is re-taking Midway and let's leave it at that. :D
 
Here comes the next stock one.

Chapter 303


“The problem is, Detective Inspector, that there are almost as many Irish in this town as there are in bloody Dublin, and that's probably a very conservative figure.”

It was an overstatement, but Hunt had to admit that there was some truth in it, because since the time they had found the grenades at the station little had happened.

“Something else is that a whole bloody lot of my contacts went and joined the Irish Army, so our window in is pretty much gone.”

Goodliman nodded. “Agreed.”


The trail was cold and would likely remain so.

“So all we can do is wait until something explodes for no reason.” Bloggs added and that was the crux of the matter.

“The Chief won't like it, but...”

“Indeed.” the Professor replied. As a historian in his civilian life Goodliman was aware that this problem was as old as law enforcement.

“I don't feel like sitting here and waiting for these grenades to blow up the innocent in my city though.” Hunt said and went on in a lower voice, as if they were being observed, “If I had to guess though, I would wager that the Paddies are going for the port in some kind, it's the biggest military target within the city and sealing it off effectively is nigh impossible.”

“Agreed.” Goodliman said, “but we can't prove anything, and have no indication at all...”


He was interrupted as the phone rang.


Hunt leaned over and picked it up while the two other men in the room watched as Hunt first went pale and then red with fury and anger. He slammed the phone down.


“Well, there goes the waiting period.” he said in a voice that befitted the emotions he felt. “Half an hour ago someone tossed three hand grenades into a service-men only mess near Pier Seventeen. No information on how many dead, but it's bad.”


The fire was out by the time the tree arrived at the location but the blackened walls and seemingly wanton destruction told a tale of death.

“And next,” the Constable who had been the first responder, “I came around the corner like and saw that bloke hurling something through the window and next thing the club explodes.”


That did indeed look a lot like hand grenades, but even several grenades alone couldn't have produced an explosion and fire of this sort. The common hand grenade was of the fragmentation type and for the most part dissolved into fragments that usually killed more than the explosion itself. As Hunt looked around inside the burnt-out shell of the room he thought that most likely some of the booze stored here or any of the furniture or something hadn't taken too kindly to red-hot fragments of metal. Either way there was no way to tell, even though the possibility of the Grenades having been enhanced somehow.


“And this will not be the last time.” Goodliman said as he and Bloggs followed Hunt into the grocery store across the road that had the nearest telephone.

“Afraid it will not.” Hunt replied. He turned towards the other two.


“And why do I also get the feeling that you know more than you are saying?”




~**---**~​


Two days after Hunt had confronted the two Londoners in an flat across the Irish Sea Liam Devlin was pacing back and forth in the tiny room. He had taken advantage of the general pardon and returned to Ireland from his Spanish exile, content to let his struggle against the British Empire rest until the godless Communists were defeated.

The last thing he had expected was to be approached by one of the IRA Brigade Commanders through various intermediaries something new, even more than being actually called to meet the man instead of being shot out of hand was newer still.

But by far the most ridiculous thing he had heard in the ten years since independence was what they had asked of him.


“Why the bloody hell should I do their work for them?” he asked the unresponsive walls. “And in bloody England to boot!”

He had good reason to be unhappy. The Republic of Ireland might have issued a Pardon for those of the IRA that were willing to let bygones be bygones but the British were still on the lookout for him. True, he hadn't been in Britain since that botched attempt at capturing Churchill in 1934, but Five and the Special Branch in every major city had to have the rough description he'd once seen. At least there was no photograph.


But what would he gain from doing what he had been asked to do? If the hints and suggestions from that bastard O'Neill (with two L) desire that something be done had come from a few very specific places in Dublin and that alone was enough to make Devlin listen and very carefully indeed.

Still, he was conditioned by years of struggle that the only way one dealt with the British was to shoot them in the head, but then again the fact that he was unwilling to spend his days in Norfolk, mixing explosives in his land-lady's noodle bowl was part of the reason why he had broken with the IRA in the first place and what had happened in Liverpool had nothing to do with the struggle for a United Ireland. Blowing up sailors and squaddies who were fighting the same enemy as the good Irish lads in the Army was not to that end.

He still hated the British, but common enemies made for strange bedfellows.


As he stopped pacing at the lone window and looked out over the Dublin to the Post Office where he could still remember the Irish flag being hoisted during the Easter Rising when he had been little and where that very same flag was now being raised to fanfare every morning he realized that he would do it. His country needed him and while he was too old to join the Army he would do what his country needed of him. If he got to kill some of his country's enemies along the way so much the better.



With that he picked up his coat and hat from a hanger near the door and stepped out.

Down on the street that ran towards the Post Office, but he was intercepted by O'Neill who had obviously been watching the house.

“You are going to do it, I take it?”

“Oh I will, but the Brits will arrest me as soon as they see me, so I might not be able to help you for long.”

O'Neill shrugged.

“They don't have a picture of you, and forgive me if I tell you that there has to be a dozen blokes out there looking like you.”

“Thank you very much for that!” Devlin said and mock-bowed before O'Neill.

“And in any case, we can give you a full set of legitimate papers in your very own real name.”

That made Devlin's eyebrows rise. So the rumours about what the IRA was doing these days were true after all.

“And what would these papers do for me?”

“Travel permit, draft exemption and an identity as an representative of a Company in Shannon that produces the No.4 for the Army.”

Devlin whistled. That would get him in all but the most closely guarded military areas.

“Well I'll be damned and raised by the Shamrocks of Ireland. It seems that you really did think of all of it.”

It felt decidedly odd. Two years ago he would have killed O'Neill for talking like this and any British he could find along with him, but now the British were....not Allies but fighting a common enemy. That would not last long after the war, but the Reds were everyone's enemies.

“When and where and what do you know about this?”


+-+-+-+-+-

Comments, questions, rotten Tomatoes?

Inspired by a real-life attack in Germany in the 70s against an American O-Club. No disrespect towards the dead intended. The Red Army Faction was our very own home-grown terrorist movement, most active during the late 70s until they self-dissolved a couple of years ago.
 
Why do the IDF have to use the No.4? We were so happy with our SMLE's.

Also another fairly random question but TTL are the Irish still using the Krupps helmets or did they quietly swap them out for something more British?

Though if this is going where I think it's going I could be about to become a very happy Irish man indeed.
 
Good old Liam... you'll never change... :D
 
Good old Liam... you'll never change... :D
Good thing you spotted that one Kurtie, I would have had to ask you serious questions if you've missed it.
 
It was too obvious -at least for me-, as the "mixing explosives in his land-lady's noodle bowl" reference. :D
 
Agent Larkin They have a production licence and it's good for the local economy.

The Irish are, very reluctantly, using the British steel helmet.

Well, Northern Ireland will remain British, I'm afraid.


Kurt_Steiner He did break you out of Prison in the sequel book...

El Pip When I needed a name for an IRA exile the choice was obvious.

Kurt_Steiner I did think of you when I wrote that. :D
 
Kurt_Steiner He did break you out of Prison in the sequel book...

And we later did piss a bit gold old uncle Heini. A pity that we had to save someone who didn't deserve it...
 
Ah. Well then, when the time comes tell me if I got it right.
 
O'Neill (with two L). Could this be a Stargate reference?
It's getting better and better.

Someone caught it! It is indeed a Stargate reference.
 
Trekaddict

Catching up after visiting my mum for a week and fortunately it's been fairly quiet but I'm back now so if you can pump out another three chapters this evening please?:p:D

Seriously when I saw O'Neill Stargate was my 1st thought although it is an old Irish name, I think one of the major ruling families in Ulster prior to the Norman conquests?

I caught the 'the eagle has landed' reference, although didn't remember that the German office was names Kurt Steiner. Interesting that there was a sequence I had never heard of. Mind you I only knew it from the film.;)

Steve
 
Sorry, I was insanely busy and missed your post.

When I needed a one-off Irishman to give Devlin his mission I couldn't think of another one. The reference from "The Eagle has landed" is Devlin, the thing with busting Steiner out of prison is in the sequel book that I have yet to read and that was never made into a film.