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Against all Odds: The British Empire in World War Two

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Griffin.Gen said:
It would be "Vive" since its about France.
:rofl:
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me bad grammar. :eek:o

Kurt_Steiner said:
He wasn't on board of the Hood, thereby, obscure.
:D
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Wait till I put Rommel on board the Mighty BB Richelieu in my AAR (still a long time to come, though), mwahahahaha :p

trekaddict said:
Griffin.Gen He is not wel-known enough yet, and just starting to make his reputation. I have great plans for him.
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Great plans as in the Afrikakorps or in the Ghost Division? Perhaps both?
 
gaiasabre11 said:
me bad grammar. :eek:o



Wait till I put Rommel on board the Mighty BB Richelieu in my AAR (still a long time to come, though), mwahahahaha :p



Great plans as in the Afrikakorps or in the Ghost Division? Perhaps both?
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Great plans as in I can't tell you because MI5 would be after me.
 
trekaddict said:
Great plans as in I can't tell you because MI5 would be after me.
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Don't worry if you tell. I'm sure the Deuxième Bureau will provide you with protection. :p
 
Chapter 115​


westminster-ground.jpg

5th June, 1940

Ibry Street, London

Ian Fleming was silently cursing whomever dared to call him this early in the morning. The sun had not risen yet, and the only light coming in through the blackout curtains was a thin sheet of light from a nearby Royal Artillery Air Defence light. He tried not to make any noise when he rose from the bed, desperate not to wake the blonde woman next to him. He dashed over to the phone, trying not to hit any of the various items that were strewn across the floor. The phone was situated behind a small curtain, a concession to the security that came with his job, and he quietly pulled up the receiver, ready to silently curse down whoever had interrupted his time with Sandra. “Ian you old bugger, how are you?” came the voice of one Felix Leiter through the phone. “Whilst I don't want to know what exactly you were doing when I called, I am to tell you to stop and get your bu....arse over to the Office. The old man wants us. And if there's a pinch I am glad to explain to the dear sister of mine that you are not making this up.” “No worries there, Felix, as she is still asleep.” Thirty minutes later he was walking out of the temple-like building, not knowing how long he would be gone. Had he known, he would have taken more time for a proper good-bye. Outside Felix was waiting for him in the green sports Car the Lieutenant had bought cheaply from an Army Officer. Walking past the bonnet with the winged insignia and the white scribe, and took his seat. Without a word Felix shifted into gear and the car moved off. “Any idea what he wants?” Ian asked. “Not the foggiest.” They both stared ahead while the car wound through the traffic. After a while Felix cast a quick glance at Ian and argued with himself if or not he should say what he wanted to say. “Sooooo....” he said, reaching a decision. “Did you get it?” Ian made a point of studying the billboards praising one product or another and the barrage balloons that were marring the sky over London. “I do not know what you are talking about, my good fellow.” he said. Felix just grinned and turned back to the street, before talking again. “You sure, mate?” Instead of replying Ian showed.

Some time later they were pulling up in front of the back entrance of the non-descript Office building that was doubling as SOE Headquarters. The building didn't in the latest show outwardly that it housed the military Arm of the British Empire's intelligence apparatus, not even when one got inside on the ground floor or looked through the windows. All that could be seen there were Secretaries and clerks, all in civilian clothes. Only when one tried to ascend the staircase to the second floor was something noticeably amiss. Suddenly the Uniforms from all Services took over, and at the door a Royal Marine Sergeant with a heavy Service Revolver would ask you for your papers. If you had none, then a tour of the Isle of Man for the duration was suddenly on your agenda. Ian and Felix, although well known enough as the Operations Officer for the Navy and his deputy respectively, but they were still asked. Bypassing their own Offices, they went straight for the uppermost, the 7th floor where M had his Office, along with the liaison to the SIS. Having the usual “bad feeling” as Felix put it, they knew, or at least thought they knew that they would not like at all what M was about to say to them. They had to show their papers again, this time to a crisp young Corporal who wore the livery of the Royal Scots, and were shown inside. Much to their surprise, and anxiety for that matter, 'Colonel' Carwright, who had taken over MI6, was there waiting for them with M. “Glad you could join us, Gentlemen.” Without a further word M pushed two manila envelopes. After a few minutes of reading Felix was the first to speak. “With all due respect sir, but why in the bloodiest depths of hell, why we?” “I can't order you to do this. I know I should, but I can't. You and I, we all know how hazardous this kind of duty is.” Now Ian spoke up. “Am I reading this correctly, Sir....” “Yes. We want to infiltrate you into Germany. Not for too long, but we have some deeds that need to be done there, and the Invasion of the west has pretty much wiped out the continental assets we could have used. This is all very short notice.” This didn't exactly raise his confidence. “Then again, Sir. Why us?” “For one, you speak impeccable German, Commander and Lieutenant Commander Leiter is of Irish ancestry.” He didn't say more, as Ian and Felix were both smart enough. Cartwright broke the uneasy silence after a few minutes. “Let me brief you on the particulars.”

An hour later, and equipped with brandy and cigars, the four men were still sitting around the table in the Office. “This is....ambitious.” Ian said, searching for a word that would not land him in prison for insubordination. M nodded. “That's why I can't order you. Going into enemy territory is hard enough, but like this adds some extra spice to it all.” He made a dramatic pause and said: “Think about it. This mission is vital, but also extremely hazardous for you.” Ian looked at Felix, and Felix, who had already decided for himself just nodded. “We'll do it, Sir.” “Good. You will move within the hour. We will take you to one of our safe houses where you will be trained in Detail. Your next of kin will be notified that you were called away on short notice and will be posted to...say... Singapore for the time being.” Cartwright said. “What we do for King and Country...”

Somewhere in Southern Belgium

Praporshchik ( Warrant Officer ) Carodnik was busy putting a stick of water against a tree when the Lieutenant stuck his head through the entrance of the nearby logbunker. “Move along, Carodnik. Regiment wants our Company to clear out the French from a position near here.” Carodnik knew what this meant. It meant hugging the dirt until Soviet Artillery and, if he was lucky, Aircraft had 'softened up' the British, Belgians or whomever he was actually facing. The Lieutenant had said it were French, probably based on Intelligence reports, but these had been wrong before, like the one time when they had had to clear out that village a few days ago, where it had said that it was unoccupied save for some Belgians and their rifles. Fat chance. They had run into a on the whole superbly led British Regiment with amounts of Artillery support that let even the vaunted Artillery of the Red Army look feeble in comparison. He would then wait until the whistle was blown, stand up, and race like a madman over open ground against an Army that was both relatively battle hardened by now and that also had fought a war on these grounds before, not to forget the hellstorms of shells that they were using. The men had already complained that there was probably a mountain somewhere in England that had a well on it that only produced shells for the 25pdrs the enemy was using to such great effect. When the company, or what was left of it was assembled in formation, they marched off. The last two days would have been heaven on earth for them, had they believed in such a thing, as they had spent it behind the lines, where Artillery was nothing but a faint rumble in the distance, comparable to a nearing thunderstorm. They were headed right for it, and many, if not most of them, would not come back. Beside the road shells were falling, but in low numbers, probably just overshoots instead of an actual attempt to interdict the road. While they were marching, the Lieutenant used his booming voice to brief them. Apparently a German Tank Division had broken the Allied lines in this sector, and they were to mop up what remained of the Imperialist Armies. This however turned out not to be true. When they were falling into the trenches the enemy troops had vacated, the remains of one of them and the density of the Artillery fire told them that they were facing British troops. Carodnik hugged the rear side of the trench, and waited for the barrage to begin, no matter who was shooting at who. The guns opened up, and the ground shook, a thousand times worse than an earthquake. After what seemed like an eternity The whistle sounded, and the men pulled themselves over the edge. Almost immediately, before they had covered more than a few dozen metres, the Artillery opened up, this time less powerful than before, and the cursed British Snipers started taking shots. Then the enemy opened up, and by the sound of their machine guns it was clear that they were indeed facing British Infantry. Not that Carodnik cared. He was busy with staying alive in this hell of steel, mud and blood. Surprisingly enough, he did reach the trenches and proceeded to lob the grenades he had strapped to his belt up and down the length of the trench, and the explosions told him that his surviving squadmates were doing the same. He jumped inside once only screams of the wounded and no more explosions could be heard. Quickly gathering in two small groups, the Soviet Infantrymen methodically cleared the trench against surprisingly light opposition from scattered British Infantry, in order to widen the breach. As soon as they had signalled the all-clear with a red flare, the tanks came. Soon the Soviet tanks roamed through the rear areas, having decisively broken the British line. It remained to be seen if the British could seal the breach.





[Notes: Just a solitary cloak&dagger chapter to set some things in motion. ]
 
I'm wondereing what is gonna happen in France. Maybe it's gonna end up like WW1 with the British trying to hold the Flanders while the french in Western France. Or the cowardly french will surrender faster than the Poles.
 
An ambitious mission in Germany?

They're going to steal Hitler's Teddy bear, for sure!

Or even worse! :D
 
Do I see the assassination of Hitler coming? :cool:
 
Firstly: Are the black dots really back?

Secondly: Feedback!

Griffin.Gen I surely hope not. Not only is trench warfare rather costly, but also relatively boring to write about. Besides, this is 1940s France. :D

Kurt_Steiner If they meet Hitler or not is up in the air. I have a fair Idea about the mission and how it goes, but the exact details are, as always, still foggy.

humancalculator As tempting as that is, I have a more british fate in mind for the Führer.
 
trekaddict said:
Kurt_Steiner If they meet Hitler or not is up in the air. I have a fair Idea about the mission and how it goes, but the exact details are, as always, still foggy.
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Glad to know that you, the writer, has a fair idea about the mission that you are going to give to your characters. I bet that they are glad, too :D
 
Kurt_Steiner said:
Glad to know that you, the writer, has a fair idea about the mission that you are going to give to your characters. I bet that they are glad, too :D
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If they know what I am going to do, then definitely not. :D

Anys, two things coming in in the next 24 hours, an Update and the County Class General Purpose Cruiser.
 
trekaddict said:
If they know what I am going to do, then definitely not. :D

Anys, two things coming in in the next 24 hours, an Update and the County Class General Purpose Cruiser.
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I'm sure that what I want them to do will surely upset them the most. :p

Anyways, I should also find sometime to work on my ship designs. Aside from my mighty Alsace, I'm also planning to design a truly stealth battleship (possibly named Strasbourg) based on Alsace. ;)
 
pshhh... spotted a typo already :rolleyes:

nothing from you this month trek?
 
Unfortunately University ate up most of my time, and what little time I had went up for the AAR and a bit of gaming on the side.


Also, I present you the County Class! The Update comes later today.

 
Chapter 116​

maineE1.jpg


5th June 1940, 03:12 AM

Northern Union, UAPR ( formerly Maine, USA )

a few miles south of the Canadian Border

A few years ago the sight on the dirty, muddy side road was one all too familiar in North America. Refugees had then been all over the streets and roads of a country torn apart by civil war, but now, in 1940, it drew unwanted attention, and this was the last this particular group wanted, for they had no papers and were trying to cross a border that was increasingly more guarded. An added complication was that the two older people had to usher along a less than enthusiastic Teenager who had been openly flirting with the reds, something that was unacceptable for a mother that had fled the Soviet Union when she had been not much younger than her son. When they had taken the decision to go to Canada he had been reluctant to come, as he had sympathized with some of the UAPR's goals.. His mother knew that it was the best for him. She had only lived a few years under the Reds in the Ukraine, and the last years under the reds here, albeit much less harsh, had filled her with a sense of foreboding. Their son was following them now, still less than enthusiastic, but raised well and being young enough that he still obeyed his parents under normal circumstances. Behind them they were dragging a chart with their few remaining possessions northwards, ever closer to democratic Canada. The father had gone ahead to scout the route. This close to the border, the Internal Security Service and the Army had checkpoints on all known routes north, to try and prevent people from what they were doing. “It's all clear as far as I can tell. The reds are nowhere I could see.” Forward they went. The Father was an English teacher, or at least he had been until he had been fired after he refused to stop teaching authors like Mark Twain, Shakespeare and pretty much anything from the United King....no, the British Empire. When the son had made noises about joining the Party at the required Age of twenty-one, and when he was about to be drafted into the ever-expanding Army, off they went. He could still remember the fear of how his son would react when he had noticed that he had been all but abducted by his own parents, but despite being a bit grumpy, he moved along.

The father told them to stop, while he went forward to scout the route. The last thing they wanted was to run into a patrol of the border guards, be they American or Canadian. The latter was much less trouble, but the years under the Reds had taught them to be suspicious of any forms of authority. While he was gone, the mother pulled the remainder of the food they had taken with them from a sack. It was reduced to a piece of stale bread and some incredibly hard smoked meat, but again, the last few years had taught them to be happy to have something to eat. When the father came back, they moved on. “The road ahead is clear as far as I could tell. We have to cross the border before dawn, so we better get moving.” The family moved north. Not too far ahead, but on the main road about a mile to the east, a border post with the hammers flying overhead was doing exactly what the family was fearing. They checked the papers of the few persons that were travelling that far north. These days though, fewer and fewer people tried to leave the UAPR, both because 'leaving the Union' was an offence that brought in at least ten years in prison and would lead to the entire family being labelled as politically unsound. Who actually did come north towards the border of the British Imperialist Puppet State of Canada had either orders or the papers he needed, and the fact that more and more of the more accessible parts of the border were already fenced off and patrolled by a specially selected unit of the Army. Still, there were still those that tried to leave the workers paradise, therefore vigilance was still needed. On this particular stretch of the border though, few actually tried. The troops over in the East had more to do. Their job here consisted of checking the papers of the occasional diplomat or ESB officer who came through here. Other than that they simply patrolled the stretch of paved road that ran five miles to the west and east of their post. For that purpose the twenty men had been allotted two small cars, or “Jeeps” as they were called. At the moment both were out, and driving up and down the road, despite the worsening weather, stabbing small pencils of light into the darkness. The Jeep to the west missed the family by literally inches, but the drivers, anxious to get back into their warm beds. They missed the cart and the three people sitting in the cold and dark night.

They waited until the Army vehicle was save past and then dashed over the road, towards the border that was only two miles to the north now. They felt relieved that they had come this far and started to believe that they might actually make it. Many others would have chosen to cross in the Rockys or generally somewhere where there were not so many soldiers about, but the family came from New York, and had only recently been 'invited' to move to this part of the Northern Un... no, the United State of Main. They had been watched for quite some time, and he supposed that this had been done to make it easier to keep an eye on them, as the density of Army and ISB troops in the north of the country was higher than anywhere else. Their house had been watched, and they had had to sneak out in the dead of night, trying to make as much ground north as they could. They slogged through the thick undergrowth, following a worn-out, half grown-over footpath that had opened up before them. Their mood turned from bad to slightly better, until they suddenly heard a dog barking behind them. “Run, run!” the father whispered as loud as he dared. Dogs meant one thing, they were still being followed, followed ever since they had left, as the barking got ever closer. Not bothering with noise now, they crashed through the undergrowth, pulling the cart behind them. The fear of getting caught gave them new strength to run, despite the exhaustion that three days of constant, and possibly mortal, danger had brought. “Quick, quick, it's not far now!” the Father said, not bothering with total silence. The barking was only a few dozen yards behind them now, and the border was somewhere to the north. They just ran and ran, with the cart behind them. The border in this district was by a dirt road at the edge of the wooded area, just on the American side. The Northern Union was starting to build a long fence all along the border, but had not yet reached this area. When the family reached the road the dogs were only a few dozen yards behind them, and they could hear the yells already. “Stop! STOP OR WE SHOOT!” came, and, as if it was meant to drive the point home, a bullet fired from a Springfield Carbine whistles past the head of the son who was trying to push the cart over a thick root in the ground. The bullet did no harm and smacked into a tree trunk on the Canadian side. Scrambling to the other side of the road, they were in Canada, but would that hold the UAPR goons back? It did in the end. They shouted, and shot, but did not actually cross the border. A last parting shot grazed the son's upper left tigh. While the mother was tending the wound in a small clearing, the son asked: “What are we going to do now?”

“Now, Elmer,” his father said, “we are going to follow that road there until we reach some village or other. There we will give ourselves up to the local authorities.” “But father, you said....” “I said a lot back then.” He paused, and then said thoughtful: “I said a goddamn lot, but the Canadians are a nice lot as long as you don't break their laws, and if we go on, they might just pack us up and toss us back over the border.” Three hours later they were picked up by an RCMP patrol, and brought to the local station to fill in some forms. Bureaucracy was the same wherever you went.

“Name?” the Officer in the Red Uniform asked. “Bernstein.”

[Notes: I know. I know. But the Update was inspired by this.. I can't leave this talent to the reds. That would be heresy for a film fan like myself. I started this last Saturday, immediately after the last update was posted. So-called “Republikflucht” or “Fleeing the Republic” really was an offence in the GDR. *insert rant about dictatorships*]
 
Huzaah escaping to freedom and tea! The two pillars of the British Empire. Also, like the county class - and whats this about cancelled nuclear cruisers I hear?
 
Hurray! I love the British Imperialist Puppet State of Canada!
Hey, at least I'm not under a "Republic" of Quebec. Bloody separatists.
 
Those peskie commies... they can threat and shoot at their oppressed people, but they don't dare to kill them...

They're getting soft.

:D
 
Loved the update - and more naval brilliance please!!!
 
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