"We'll Keep The Red Flag Flying Here" - A Union of Britain Kaiserreich AAR

Milites -The proletarial must shall and will prevail against the forces of feudalism and reaction!

Vesimir - Very well then, who am I to deny the will of the proletariat?

OutsiderSubtype - Well I didn't get to choose the options (remember that I was playing as Qing until June 1942)

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The Year was 1943. Britain stands defiant.

In British skies new fighters have finally wrested control of the air from the hated Prussian Imperialists and their feudal lackeys.



In Canada, the forces of reactionary royalism are reeling from the near death blows that have been inflicted. The bulk of the Canadian army stands trapped, without supplies in a pocket.



In the factories - proud proletarians produce planes and other needed items for the war effort at a mighty pace.



Meanwhile - in the research facilities, the harnessed brain power of free men continue on with their efforts. A bomb that is capable of levelling entire cities is their goal.



The year was 1943. Britain stands defiant.

(I just thought I'd provide a gameplay update before I do either a narrative vignette or a history book style update of the invasion of Canada etc.)

For quite a while after rejoining the Popular Army, Comrade General and Chief of the Inter-Service Liaison Office Tom Wintringham had worked underground, in War Ministry offices that officially didn’t exist. His prestige was such that he tended to get quartered in places like that. For one thing, inter-service liaising did seem to require spacious offices. For another, if you didn’t have to look at recruitment you could use the meat they spat out and feed it into the meat grinder of battle without looking at it too closely and realize that the meat you fed were people.

After hedging his bets and disconnecting his phone lines during the Mostley-Blair coup, he'd been promoted to full General and his inter-service Liaison Office received additional prestige and more importantly resources. As a reflection of his newfound status, Tom received an office above ground in a nice modernist building just across from the Hall of the Trades. Being able to look out at London and the river Thames instead of grey concrete walls was
very nice. It had been very nice and remained so up until German bombers started coming over London in quite large numbers. These days, only the foolhardy, the unessential and those who had no choice worked above ground in the heart of London. A lot of "essential" War Department operations had moved to the countryside. Those that couldn’t moved underground. That Tom's office had done neither had... unfortunate implications for his status. Officially he had chosen to stay, opting to tell anyone who would listen that he had "absolute faith in the fighting ability of our Revolutionary Air Force" Tom knew that this wasn't so, the RAF was so heavilly outnumbered that the Luftwaffe had complete domination of the skies. Fighting ability counted for very little when outnumbered 5 to 1. Still, as long as a bomb didn't fall on him, Tom knew that he could carry on with his ...work.

Tom suspected that his ... work had been the root cause of his recent disgrace. Tom had tried every trick he knew, he cajoled, threatened, begged, made promises, pleaded, sweet-talked and lost every inch of dignity in a futile attempt to get the Revolutionary Naval Air Forces to cooperate with the Revolutionary Air Force in the end to no avail. Fred Copeman's rationale was that the carrier-based air forces had to be ready at all costs to repel any 'attempt to land Prussian troops.' Tom had threatened Fred, at the time it had seemed like a good idea as Tom assumed that any blame would lay at the feet of Fred and the Navy. He calculated that he could dramatically denounce Fred and replace him with a more... pliable candidate after waves of bombers attacked the Army. The move had dramatically backfired however, the Chief of the Popular Army - none other than the General Secretary Eric Blair expressed his 'displeasure, dismay and disgust at your failure to handle the situation' and cast the blame at Tom and the Chief of the Revolutionary Air Force - William Wedgewood Benn. And so... Tom had an above ground office and was in disgrace.

Tom glared at the situation papers at his desk. Although he hadn't read them he knew what they would say. The recent spate of victories that the Army and Navy had won had also done his position no credit. In a stunning series of moves the Popular Army and the Revolutionary Navy had seized the Canary Islands and then afterwards the Bermudas in an 'island-hopping' campaign. They steamed right into Halifax afterwards meeting no resistance. The Royalists then attempted to crush the landings by rushing as many troops as possible to Halifax. It was then that the Popular Army and Revolutionary Navy pulled another massive coup by landing in undefended Quebec therefore encircling the advancing Canadian troops. The encirclers had become, in effect the encircled. The Popular Army had managed to fight their way to the very gates of Toronto... and had been driven back by massive Royalist Air power. The situation reports would be in reality indictments against him and would be... another nail in the coffin. Tom's eyes started towards the liquor cabinet... if he took one nip it would be alright.

Tom had walked halfway to the liquor cabinet when he heard a strange rapping sound. He froze, could they be... bombs? Tom shook his head realizing his absurdity. He'd be dead now if it were bombs. But what could it be? The strange rapping sounds grew lounder and more insistent. They seemed to be coming from the direction of... the door! It had been a while since anyone visited the disgraced Chief of Inter-Service Liaison. Friends, colleagues, even workmates had been avoiding him like the plague. Who could it be? A chill ran down Tom's spine. So this is how it would end. He would open the door and find tough men and women wearing the blood red uniform of the Security Police and he would be taken away in the place where there is no darkness Tom had heard rumours. The knocks grew louder still. Tom headed towards the door with the knowledge that he was going to die. With a voice as grave as night, he said "Come in"

"Thank You Comrade." It was... Oswald Mosley, the President of the British Trade Union Congress. Theoretically the most powerful man in The British Union (although he had been overshadowed by Blair's success as of late.) Tom started to come to attention. Mosley waved him back to his seat, "don't bother with such bourgeioise affections comrade."

Tom stood shocked and speechless before he spoke: "To what do I owe the Comrade President the honour of this visit?"

"I told you not to bother with such nonsense, didn't I." Mosley replied his voice filled with wry amusement. "Very well then, Comrade General. I understand that you've had some... dificulties which is not entirely of your making?"

Tom nodded.

"Then we can help each other out comrade."

Mosley held out his hand . Tom took it.

screamingeagle - Thanks mate! Glad to have you on board

rule_them_all - Hmm, have you two tried asking for help on the Kaissereich Mod thread or forum?

FlyingDutchie - I had no trouble at all as a matter of fact - the invasion armada consisted of 3 carriers, one superheavy battleship, 3 heavy cruisers and two light cruisers and 9 transports.

It's time for another song style update!
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1 May 1943


Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.

William Temple, Archbishop of the Progressive Universal Church reflected silently on the large crowd of troops gathered him. God had indeed sent his blessings on the Union. From being nearly strangled the year before, British Arms had taken the war to liberate the oppressed massess from the stranglehold of the reactionary king. Now the time had come to land the final blow against the Royalists. Significant gains had been made, the bulk of the Royal Canadian Army was trapped in a small pocket - cut off from supply by the powerful Revolutionary Navy. Montreal, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec City and all other major cities had fallen to the might of the Revolutionary Army. Only the Royalist Air Force was causing any trouble, but the reinforced Revolutionary Air Force was capable of at least limiting Royalist Air sorties to night bombings. On the eve of one of the holiest days of the Socialist movement a massive attack would be launched to take the last bastion of Royalism - Winnipeg and to destroy the Royalist troops in the Quebec Pocket. Once "Operation Alaska" was completed, the proletariat would be one step closer to being liberated. Archbishop mulled over these thoughts as he presided over the large mass mechanically. The exception was the end of the ceremony when he gave his final blessings:

"Go forward comrades! Liberate your fellow Canadian Brethren! Deus Vult!"

The troops burst into song:

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.



Stalwart Lily Backhouse-Smith wished she was home - a not at all uncommon experience even in the short duration of time she'd been in Canada. She wish she'd never signed up to volunteer for Canada. The Republican Stalwarts - the new combat formations consisting of the Pioneer Stalwarts - the term given to the various political youth movements, the Home Guard - the term applied to the town, factory and village militias and the International Brigades - the term given to the exiles fighting in the Revolutionary Armed Forces. "An alliance of the infant, the crone and the foreigner" some had cynically called it. Lily thought a bit about the planned offensive tommorow and wished she hadn't. The photo she was posing for now with her squadmates might well have been her last.


I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.



Stalwart Sergeant Julio Dominguez huddled with his comrades in the little campfire. Soldiers like him similarly sat or stood awake and attention all around Canada - waiting for the signal flare or the whistles or the order to attack. Julio's brigade - the 1st Spanish Brigade was posted in Ottawa waiting for the flares to go up. Julio's rifle was clean, his canteens full and his mind ready. A blow against Imperialists in Canada would be the first rung of the ladder in the eventual liberation of his beloved Spain and eventually - the Global proletariat. Julio smiled, warmed by that thought.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His day is marching on.


Finally a red flare went up. Julio's squad began to move up, not in a charge or even a march, but as a crawl, spaced far apart. Their goal - and the goal of the 1st Spanish Brigade was to infiltrate the enemy lines undetected and then attack. This would cause the enemy to be attacked from all directions - confusing and throwing off the defence.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."



Julio thought the attack was going well so far. His squad had moved in about 2 miles, stealthily avoiding opposition and silencing it quitely when they could not avoid it. All of a sudden shells began bursting around Julio and his squad. "Hit the dirt!" Julio has barely time to scream when a shell picked him up and flung him. The wolrd turned dark.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since God is marching on.



Tom Wintringham looked somewhat worriedly at the reports he was receiving -two hours into Operation Alaska, Royalist troops were putting up a greater and more resisted resitance than was previously thought possible.

In Saul Ste Marie:



In Vald'Or:



and in Riviere-de-Loupe:



Worryingly, the offensive in Monron had been called off due to the larger than expected number of Royalists. Still, Tom felt that they would triumph in time - and his Republican Stalwarts and his Infiltration Tactics would get their due recognition.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.



The front was Winnipeg. Lily Backhouse-Smith huddled in the rubble strewn street her rocket aimed towards Royalist positions. The thin-armor of the armoured cars sent to defend was no match for what they were calling "pocket artillery" - the new shoulder rockets which the Revolionary Army was being equipped with. Lily elevated and fired - the rocket blasted off into the narrow crevice of a building reduced to rubble. The whistle sounded, Lily charged forward.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.



Julio watched in wonder in his binoculars as Royalist troops tramped past - defeated, past Revolutionary positions. He was still recuperating from the full effects of the blast and would likely remain bed-ridden for at least a year - it was small wonder he'd come out alive at all! It was also a small wonder that a seemingly brain harred scheme would turn out successful after all!


In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.



A depressed looking Halifax stood in front of the Revolutionary Committee. "We accept your terms." Halifax intoned in a grave voice. Blair burst out laughing: "you mean you surrender unconditionally?" Halifax gave a brisk nod. He had half left the room when he turned slightly and said: "You will succeed, but you will not convince."

It was July 4 1943 and Canada was finally free.

Milites - That actually is quite good! And possibly more appropriate. As an aside - I don't see a Syndicalist Britain going full atheist ala Soviet Union - I think the likely outcome is for the communes to coopt Christianity and use it to spread the progressive message. That's what I'm going with in my story anyway.

FlyingDutchie - I don't know to be honest - I'm going to ask the readAARs in this AAR their opinions of what to do next.

KaiserMuffin - Not really no, I just couldn't think of any other name

General_Hoth - Well maybe! Vote in the next update

MercZ - Oddly enough no! THey didnt flee anywhere! The AI must've chosen the 'stay and fight' option. I'm assuming they're in hiding somewhere in Canada.

Spitfire_Pilot - Yes at long last! Is it on to the states? Perhaps - that is up to you!

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14 July 1943

Julio Rodriguez lay on his bed and contemplated. Contemplation was something that had almost become natural to Julio - there wasn't much else that he could do. Every move he made wracked his body in intense, intense pain, he was covered almost enitrely in bandages from head to foot - in fact he resembled a mummy in apperance and also in gait. Only his arms had come through relatively unscathed and so... Julio contemplated.

It was only 10 days after the 'defeat' of the 'Royalists' and although the memory of the victory was still fresh, some of the bitter aftertaste were starting to give the Union headaches. The first was the fact that the Royal family was still in hiding - somewhere in Canada. The second was the brewing insurgency in areas not intensively garrisoned. The third was the question of what to do with Canada. The fourth was what the Union of Britain would now do. Julio thought of the liberation of Canada as a bit like getting with your dream girl, something that you never thought would happen, but it had and now you had to deal with it.

Julio had heard some... rumours of deadlock in the Trade Unions Congress. Julio thought that there might've been merit to the rumours. After all - they were now resorting to the ballot. A ballot paper had been sent to all citizens of the Union of Britain, Liberated Canada and Liberated Quebec asking for their vote on what next to do. The ballot papers for Liberated Canada and Quebec however lacked the foreign policy option.

The various unions and interests in the Union of Britain had even managed to send out some 'information materiel.' It felt just like a Trades Union Congress election! Julio looked at some of them to pass the time:

"General Francois Hoth supports a Free and Independent Quebec. He has fought in nearly over 20 battles and his Quebeccois Fredom Fighters were essential in liberating Quebec. Vote for the right choice. Vote for separate republics."

"Spitfire pilot Buck Rodgers has singlehandedly shot down 102 enemy Aircraft. He is a patriotic Canadian exile who supports a stron unified Canada. A strong Unified Canada is in the best interests of Syndicalism. All loyal and patriotic workers support this option. So should you - vote for a Strong and unfied Canada!"

Julio looked at his own ballot paper again:

Place a single X to indicate a vote.

"1. What should be done with the newly Liberated territories of Canada and Quebec?"
[ ] Canada and Quebec should become constituent parts of the Union of Britain.
[ ] Canada and Quebec should form a single federal Democratic Syndicalist Republic.
[ ] Canada and Quebec should form separate Democratic Syndicalist Republics.
[ ] Canada and Quebec should be placed under military occupation for a year with the status being put into review the following year.
[ ] I abstain from this question.

Julio fumbled slightly as he reached for the pencil on the nightstand. He placed a slightly disjointed [X] Canada and Quebec should form a single federal Democratic Syndicalist Republic. Julio counted the words of a frontline fighter higher than some fancy General who in all likelihood cowered behind his troops when it counted (Sorry General Hoth )

"2. What should be done now that Canada has been liberated?"
[ ] Liberate all the oppressed peoples of America!
[ ] Liberate our comrades in France!
[ ] Liberate the oppressed masses in Africa!
[ ] Make peace with the world and build Syndicalism peacefully
[ ] I abstain from this question.

Unhesitatingly Julio placed an [X] Liberate all the oppressed peoples of America! The logistics of the situation was all but set. It would be too difficult to retool.

Julio felt drowsy - perhaps the effort of voting had drained him? He folded his completed ballot and placed it on his nightstand for the nurses to take away. Sleep took him again.

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Comrades! Vote for what you think the best option for the Glorious Union of Britain should be!