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But wasn't formation not a preference but a forced reaction to the French superiority in cavalry, particularly heavy cavalry and lancers?

Absolutely - Wellington was rightly concerned with the strength of the French cavalry arm. I make the point just to show a) how the Black Watch fought at Waterloo and b) that they weren't alone in their tactics that day.
 
Why is there still a blue spot when Mexico could be there?
 
the flags of the blue guys look vaguely like american flags from the tiny thing you can see. maybe the union formed in the southwest?
 
All wrong. THat bit is the remnant United States. I simply went to war against the Yanks instead of the Germans and gave them a damn good thrashing. I liberated Florida and the extended Canada and gave myself cores on what is labelled as British North America. The blue bit is simply what I left the yanks. :D Getting some lost colonies back if you will.
 
New England should be part of the British America, methinks...
 
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Technically yes, but so should Canada, and the Canucks need the manpower provided by these east-coast cities, namely New York.
 
the americans have to take down the japs with that??!! and the germans might come sooner or later..
 
The Japanese rule the Pacific, for I am not at war with them either.


Anyway, since I some questions arose while I was writing the next update, so I am on the side writing a piece about early Jet Fighters. BAC fains despair!
 
Your map reminds me of the time I got General De Gaulle to a trip to Canada, a little longer than normal (few months), covered a little more distance (Halifax to Vancouver), and a little more "escorts" than usual (200+ divisions). :p

Anyway, since I some questions arose while I was writing the next update, so I am on the side writing a piece about early Jet Fighters. BAC fains despair!

Yay! :D
 
Chapter 182

7th November 1941


“Do you think this is a good idea?” Churchill asked with his Minister of Defence hat on. “Yes, Sir. This would give us much more flexibility in terms of appointments and promotions and would allow us to avoid any more troubles with seniority.” “Hrm.” Churchill replied and began to read through the proposal again. “This smacks of Communism, because as you know the Soviets have done something similar.” The aide's face did not change as he replied: “Well, unlike them we do it because it eases administration and reduces bureaucracy, instead of just for propaganda purposes. Besides, Stalin is not CIGS for real.” Churchill mused for a second and looked at the map on the opposite wall, where more aides were just plotting the newest developments as reported from Italy and tried not to look too interested in the conversation. Churchill looked down at the paper in his hand again and studied the drawing. It showed the rank Insignia of a Field Marshal of the British Army with a few additions, and similar drawings for the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force. His eyes flew to the headline immediately above the drawings:

'Proposal 1141/23B – Introduction of a new Rank to be awarded to the CIGS'
[1]

Marshal-of-the-Empire.png

Marshal of the Empire

admiral-of-the-Empire-shoulder.png

Admiral of the Empire ( Shoulder )

admiral-of-the-Empire-cuffs.png

Admiral of the Empire ( Cuffs )

Air-Marshal-of-the-Empire.png

Air Marshal of the Empire​


'The rank is to be awarded to the sitting CIGS to allow said Officer seniority not only through the chain of command through the British Armed Forces, but also through rank, allowing his Majesty's Government to elevate more deserving Officers to Field Marshal rank, avoiding confusion. The Chief of the Imperial General Staff would also have automatic authority over Allied Forces fighting alongside British Forces, once again making the political aspects of the.....'


Churchill put the paper down on the wooden surface of the desk, and once again glanced at the map where the Italian Front was now shown. He looked at another map where British troop concentrations all over the world were displayed, from India where the Indian Army, and the British Army in India were defending the subcontinent as well as their low numbers allowed, to Australia where the Commonwealth Forces were assembling, and back to Britain where it seemed that the Island was turning into an even bigger armed camp. Troop convoys, supply convoys, convoys for the wounded, convoys for more aircraft, more everything. Britain was expending every bit of effort she had to give and he hoped that it was enough. “We will go to the Palace today, because this is a good idea.” “Yes, Sir.”

RAF Cairo 4, the same day


The RAF Dakota touched down with it's desert camouflage gleaming in the early evening sun. The plane had set out from Tripolis this morning and had flown several hops across Allied-Occupied North Africa towards this secondary airfield east of Cario in Egypt. When Ian stepped off, he could still feel the additional weight of the fourth stripe on his shoulders, even though it was the better part of three weeks now. He hated being away from wife and son, but this was the lot of anyone who had taken the King's shilling, and Sandra had understood, even though she had still not gotten used to it. He sort of liked that she was missing him, but since he had no intention to make a closer acquaintance with one of her father's rolling pins he kept that to himself. He still had not the slightest what he was doing in Egypt though, his orders contained instructions to report to the station Commander. He did so, but much to his consternation he was merely given a map, keys and papers to a Land Rover and orders to drive to an address that had to be somewhere in Cairo. So twenty minutes later Ian drove into the ancient city on the Nile, in search of his next posting. From the arrangements as they had been so far he could deduce that it had to be Intelligence related, but what on earth was he supposed to be doing here? Back in the UK he had worked at what was called the 'Deception Office', but out here? There was no point in disguising Allied intentions in the Mediterranean Sea, that much was clear from the fighting in Italy. While he was waiting at an intersection for the traffic to clear, he began to run through what he knew again, something he had done on the voyage to Egypt already. The orders had been signed by Admiral Edwards and countersigned by someone in the Admiralty. He had been given passage on the next where had also failed to deduce why he was sent from spot to spot without so much as an inkling of where he was supposed to end up. When he shifted the clutch into gear and pressed down the acceleration pedal he thought that here in Egypt he hadn't gotten any more hints, and decided that it might be better to simply take things as they were coming, even though this ran against his nature. He grinned and silently hummed his favourite tune from HMS Pinafore with the 2.2 litre Diesel Engine roaring in the background. As he followed the map, he soon noticed that he would have to cross the city's entire length, something that he was not looking forward to in this kind of traffic, even though there were few cars, and it did indeed take him the better part of two hours to cross through Cairo. Soon he left the city, and he could see the great Pyramids in the distance. He pulled over to the side and gave himself five minutes staring at the sight, promising that he would one day come back with more time.

4-pyramids-giza.png

The instructions on the map told him to turn off the road roughly ten miles to the west of Cairo, but when the counter on the sparse dashboard of the landy he could not see any form of road as it was too dark already. Ian cursed in a way only a British sailor could and climbed out of the landy and lit the electric torch he had in his bag. He began to search for a road, but what he found a few minutes later was a goat track at best, even though it had clearly been used by vehicles in the not too distant past, and so Ian shrugged and walked back to the landy. He started the engine and drove down the 'road', and he had to admit that his vehicle was really taking the ground well, even though the blacked out headlights barely lit the ground two feet in front of his bumper. Suddenly Ian saw that the road was making a bend and heading towards what had to some sort of structure for it was darker than the night that hid it. When he came closer, he saw that it was a small-ish oasis, and even though he was not ten miles out of Cairo, the scene struck him as typically Egypt. When he entered the impression quickly faded as he stared into the muzzles of several Owens and Stens, just begging him to go a yard further. “I was ordered to report here!” he said and waved his orders through the open window, while he began to slap mosquitoes with his other hand. “Good, it took you less than three hours to get here. Normally when people come here it takes them at least three.” a voice said from the darkness. “Step out of the vehicle please.” Ian obliged and the guns were suddenly gone. Instead a wordless soldier wearing an Army uniform with a very familiar unit badge. He followed and saw a slimmer of light. He entered the door and saw the Officer whose voice he heard sitting behind the desk in the tiny Office.

“Welcome to the home of mischief, adventure and general Chaos in the Middle East and soon the European Front.” Ian stepped closer and he could see why the man had shouted from the confines of his Office, for he had a bandage around one of his legs. “I see you have already worked with my men once, Captain?” “Indeed I have. But since you say they are your men you must be...” “Yes. Colonel David Sterling at your service.” the man said and followed up with an insolent salute. “The job in Holland right before the buggery upped and quit. Drake said that you were good for someone in the Andrew.” Ian didn't bother to ask for permission before he sat down in the chair opposite to Stirling. “What can I say, I aim to surprise.” “I heard the other things... so both my condolences and my congratulations.” Ian was puzzled and it showed, because Stirling answered. “Some mutual friends brought me up to speed.” Ian knew that this could mean any number of people, but since the other man had not revealed, Ian was not going to ask. “So what is this here?” “It is the SOE section for the European Front, Captain Fleming, and you are to lead it until further notice.” “Fits. Last orders I got were signed by Mountbatten himself.” Ian was not really impressed, having learned not to be overawed by anything long ago. “Outside I saw SAS, but what are the others?” “Our brethren from the senior service. Special Boat Section.” “Since when does the Navy dabble in Special Operations? Don't get me wrong Colonel, but wasn't that the speciality of your lads?”

Stirling shifted in his chair to be more comfortable, but did not reply. After a minute he said: “I gather you have heard of the German raids?” Ian nodded. “They were a reply to what we did in the run up to the Invasion, and they came in via boats from Submarines, at least we think that, and that is what the SBS is doing. From what I have heard their Lordships weren't too happy to have their toy taken away from them and given to the SOE...” “And what about you, Colonel? Still with the 22nd?” Stirling nodded and scratched his leg just above the bandage. “Indeed I am, I was just taking car for the last guy until you arrived. Couldn't you have come a wee bit sooner, Captain? I got this-” he gestured to his leg “three days ago when one poor bugger mistook me for a Gerrie trying to break into this very Office.” Ian smiled and tried not to laugh out loud. “Sorry to hear that, Stirling. But alas, their Lordships made this whole gig very short notice.” Stirling snorted and instead proceeded to explain the rest of what was going on and Ian listened attentively.





A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word.

His nose should pant
and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame
and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave
and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready
for a knock-down blow.


His nose should pant
and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame
and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave
and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready
for a knock-down blow.



[Notes: Just some housekeeping. :D That said, Stirling can't know that the Germans were planning these raids a long time ago, and nor can Ian since neither is cleared for more than select mission-critical ULTRA.]


[1] In the NATO rank code it would be OF-11.
 
Cloak 'n' Dagger ago-go it seems with Stirling and Ian together again. I am now officially predicting a string of excellent spying, sabotage and SMG updates! :D
 
Cloak 'n' Dagger ago-go it seems with Stirling and Ian together again. I am now officially predicting a string of excellent spying, sabotage and SMG updates! :D

SMGs can't beat assault rifles though... :p
 
Mmmmm. Ranks of the Empire......
 
Ian Fleming.. Ian Fleming!! Ian Fleming!!!!!! WEEEEE!!! :D

Go Ian, Go Ian, Kill the Jerries, bomb the panzers.. Ian for President!! YAAAAAAA....Erh... Wait a sec... Erhm.. No matter on that last part there...

:D
 
Griffin.Gen Indeed. After all, we have to show them Frog...erm Gerries who's boss.


El Pip Stirling will only be around until his wound is healed, after that he will go to... shall we say a place where the exotic spices and the fresh tea leaves are plentiful to raise another Regiment filled with mountainfolk. Trust me, you'll like it. :D But I promise that these two will go on a mission together, and that Ian's stay in the Med will be fun for us to read about.

gaiasabre11 :D

Lord Strange Aye.

Doge Robert What can I say, Ian is just one of many signs of one very simple truth: I lost control over this AAR long ago.
 
Mmmmm. Ranks of the Empire......

I know, my purist instincts don't like this - I hate to be a pain but is it necessary? I may be totally out of order - was anything like this ever considered?

Whinge aside, I really liked your description of the "Cairo Station".
 
I see I should have put my in-AAR reasoning clearer. It's being done so that the CIGS has automatic seniority over all Allied troops that operate with British Forces, this being aimed at mainly the French. In reality it's just me wanting to play with history for a bit.