Those dark and ominous clouds are gathering about Hong Kong. I sense a storm coming down on somebody's head here right quick. The question is, upon whom's head will it fall?
Nice set of updates, Pru.
Nice set of updates, Pru.
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October 1, 1940
Charles Lindbergh shifted uneasily in his seat. He still hadn't had instructions from Ford, so he was keeping rigidly to the schedule he'd had set up. The Foundation had carefully kept him from events where he would bump into the hordes of doughboys swarming through the city, scheduling him in front of friendly crowds. Tonight he was giving a speech to the Hong Kong chapter of the Imperial Neutrality Society, a group of businessmen who wanted no part of the looming war.
The introduction was over. Polite applause and a few scattered cheers. Lindbergh put on his smile and raised his glass of water, taking a last sip. He walked to the podium.
"Gentlemen, thank you for that gracious introduction. I'm afraid that I've given a lot of speeches lately, and I've gotten into the habit of getting straight to the point. It won't be a long speech, but I promise you, I'll say what I came to say." A couple of faint chuckles. Lindbergh smiled to himself. Play up the yokel. That's what this room of snooty Brits wants to hear.
"There's a war coming. This entangling, bloody mess in China is an awful thing. No one can dispute that. But haven't we seen enough of war? Didn't your country and mine just spend fifty thousand lives in Europe? We got lucky- luckier than we deserve- going up against Germany and getting away as cleanly as we did. Do you think we'll do any better in a war in Asia, so far away from both our homelands?"
"Look at the chaos just outside these doors. These men are far from home, far from their bases, and, let's face it, far from organized." Again, faint chuckles. "Roosevelt and Churchill talk a lot about our duty to democracy. Well, I say they have a duty to those boys outside. A duty to keep them alive, and not to waste them on someone else's fight."
Lindbergh leaned into the microphone. "What if we defeat Japan? If that is even the point of this endeavor?" Stirring and mumbling- the rumors of war with China were starting to make the rounds. Good. "Shall we deposit another hundred thousand troops there, as we did in Germany? Is this truly a war for democracy? Was the war in Europe a war for democracy? I don't seem to recall the Germans electing Eisenhower. I seem to recall them voting for Hitler." A few coughs. Ease off, then. Lindbergh leaned back and smiled.
"Now, you know that I've devoted my life to democracy and progress. I've done what I can to improve the human condition. And if this truly were a just war- if I truly thought the future would be better after it- I'd be behind it in a second. But I don't think that. I think that the place of the United States is in America. I think the Allies have enough to do in rebuilding Europe. I think, gentlemen, that the time for war is past. Let Japan and China fight. That's their business. Not ours."
"How does it affect us? It does not. There was never a threat from Japan to either of our lands before Churchill moved to ally with China and Roosevelt moved the army to Hong Kong. Our leaders have grown hysterical and proud, slaves to the ridiculous fear that another nation could threaten our alliance, and blind to the point of hubris in assuming that we'll win any war as easily as the last."
"Democracy was born of courage and hardship. It grew on the spirit of the pioneer, the industrialist, the man of vision." Lindbergh pointed to the sky, gesturing dramatically. "Ours must not be the generation that kneels in fear of future hardships. I do not believe we will ever accept a philosophy of calamity, weakness, and fear. I do not believe that our leaders can forever accept the doctrine of surprise attack and treacherous backstabbing. I believe that peace will come, because I have faith in democracy and the peoples of our great nations. We will reject the warmongers, we will protect our own interests and beloved lands, and we will turn away from the temptations of fruitless conquest. I hope that you will help me in this. Thank you and good night." The applause was distant. He'd failed to connect. He shook a few hands mechanically, angry with himself. Too wrapped up in this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Losing his touch. Not listening to the crowd.
It was time for dinner, and Lindbergh took his seat again, smiling at the perfect roast duck that had magically appeared during his speech. He leaned in to the man next to him on the podium, some local muck-a-muck. The man looked distracted, tired. Lindbergh knew how he felt.
"Don't know why I came out at all tonight, but this duck looks like it'll make the trip worth it."
The man chuckled wanly, tweaking his extremely British mustache. "The chef here is excellent."
Lindbergh raised his glass. "Here's hoping it beats the speeches."
The British man shook his head. "No, the speech was just fine. You made your points well and concisely."
Lindbergh chuckled. "We'll see how much good it does."
The British man chewed his duck. There was a distant look in his eye. Lindbergh watched him for a second before returning to his meal. He chewed for a while before realizing that the British man was staring at him. He glanced up.
"Colonel Lindbergh," he said formally, "would you do me the honor of dropping by tomorrow for tea? If your schedule permits?"
Lindbergh smiled. "At your disposal, and delighted." He held out his hand. "Didn't catch your name, sir."
"Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins. And the pleasure is mine. Shall we say four o'clock?" He held out a card.
Lindbergh took it and nodded, grinning. "Absolutely. I look forward to it."
Charles Lindbergh shifted uneasily in his seat. He still hadn't had instructions from Ford, so he was keeping rigidly to the schedule he'd had set up. The Foundation had carefully kept him from events where he would bump into the hordes of doughboys swarming through the city, scheduling him in front of friendly crowds. Tonight he was giving a speech to the Hong Kong chapter of the Imperial Neutrality Society, a group of businessmen who wanted no part of the looming war.
The introduction was over. Polite applause and a few scattered cheers. Lindbergh put on his smile and raised his glass of water, taking a last sip. He walked to the podium.
"Gentlemen, thank you for that gracious introduction. I'm afraid that I've given a lot of speeches lately, and I've gotten into the habit of getting straight to the point. It won't be a long speech, but I promise you, I'll say what I came to say." A couple of faint chuckles. Lindbergh smiled to himself. Play up the yokel. That's what this room of snooty Brits wants to hear.
"There's a war coming. This entangling, bloody mess in China is an awful thing. No one can dispute that. But haven't we seen enough of war? Didn't your country and mine just spend fifty thousand lives in Europe? We got lucky- luckier than we deserve- going up against Germany and getting away as cleanly as we did. Do you think we'll do any better in a war in Asia, so far away from both our homelands?"
"Look at the chaos just outside these doors. These men are far from home, far from their bases, and, let's face it, far from organized." Again, faint chuckles. "Roosevelt and Churchill talk a lot about our duty to democracy. Well, I say they have a duty to those boys outside. A duty to keep them alive, and not to waste them on someone else's fight."
Lindbergh leaned into the microphone. "What if we defeat Japan? If that is even the point of this endeavor?" Stirring and mumbling- the rumors of war with China were starting to make the rounds. Good. "Shall we deposit another hundred thousand troops there, as we did in Germany? Is this truly a war for democracy? Was the war in Europe a war for democracy? I don't seem to recall the Germans electing Eisenhower. I seem to recall them voting for Hitler." A few coughs. Ease off, then. Lindbergh leaned back and smiled.
"Now, you know that I've devoted my life to democracy and progress. I've done what I can to improve the human condition. And if this truly were a just war- if I truly thought the future would be better after it- I'd be behind it in a second. But I don't think that. I think that the place of the United States is in America. I think the Allies have enough to do in rebuilding Europe. I think, gentlemen, that the time for war is past. Let Japan and China fight. That's their business. Not ours."
"How does it affect us? It does not. There was never a threat from Japan to either of our lands before Churchill moved to ally with China and Roosevelt moved the army to Hong Kong. Our leaders have grown hysterical and proud, slaves to the ridiculous fear that another nation could threaten our alliance, and blind to the point of hubris in assuming that we'll win any war as easily as the last."
"Democracy was born of courage and hardship. It grew on the spirit of the pioneer, the industrialist, the man of vision." Lindbergh pointed to the sky, gesturing dramatically. "Ours must not be the generation that kneels in fear of future hardships. I do not believe we will ever accept a philosophy of calamity, weakness, and fear. I do not believe that our leaders can forever accept the doctrine of surprise attack and treacherous backstabbing. I believe that peace will come, because I have faith in democracy and the peoples of our great nations. We will reject the warmongers, we will protect our own interests and beloved lands, and we will turn away from the temptations of fruitless conquest. I hope that you will help me in this. Thank you and good night." The applause was distant. He'd failed to connect. He shook a few hands mechanically, angry with himself. Too wrapped up in this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Losing his touch. Not listening to the crowd.
It was time for dinner, and Lindbergh took his seat again, smiling at the perfect roast duck that had magically appeared during his speech. He leaned in to the man next to him on the podium, some local muck-a-muck. The man looked distracted, tired. Lindbergh knew how he felt.
"Don't know why I came out at all tonight, but this duck looks like it'll make the trip worth it."
The man chuckled wanly, tweaking his extremely British mustache. "The chef here is excellent."
Lindbergh raised his glass. "Here's hoping it beats the speeches."
The British man shook his head. "No, the speech was just fine. You made your points well and concisely."
Lindbergh chuckled. "We'll see how much good it does."
The British man chewed his duck. There was a distant look in his eye. Lindbergh watched him for a second before returning to his meal. He chewed for a while before realizing that the British man was staring at him. He glanced up.
"Colonel Lindbergh," he said formally, "would you do me the honor of dropping by tomorrow for tea? If your schedule permits?"
Lindbergh smiled. "At your disposal, and delighted." He held out his hand. "Didn't catch your name, sir."
"Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins. And the pleasure is mine. Shall we say four o'clock?" He held out a card.
Lindbergh took it and nodded, grinning. "Absolutely. I look forward to it."
Prufrock, your writing is truly magnificent. This AAR would translate beautifully into a film!
Nice to see you put those speech-writing skills to good use! Lindbergh, for all his failures (he's allied with Ford. And he likes the Nazis. And, most damning, he's against Roosevelt <boo! hiss!>) is starting to find a soft spot in my mind. Now, wasn't he running for Prez against Roosevelt as well? How does that sit with his Hong Kong tour for Ford?
Lindbergh, for all his failures (he's allied with Ford. And he likes the Nazis. And, most damning, he's against Roosevelt <boo! hiss!>) is starting to find a soft spot in my mind. Now, wasn't he running for Prez against Roosevelt as well? How does that sit with his Hong Kong tour for Ford?
First:
And still, I find that Lindbergh is far smarter than he may be given credit for (both here and in RL.) I like how you have compared the reactions of Sir M-H, Lindy and even Heydrich here. It shows that they all are pawns of a sort, but not quite. They are each working towards ends that they feel just, even if some of those that are pushing them towards those ends may not have the same outcome in mind.
I think you are quite right there, Prufrock. I don't buy into that canard that he "duped" the U.S. into war (i.e. - knowing about Pearl Harbor ahead of time, etc., blah, blah, blah) but I certainly think he saw it as inevitable and figured we needed to sooner rather than later. I frankly think - shame it took us so long, but then the U.S. might have found themselves in the pickle that your AAR U.S. finds themself in - what next? A whole new war...and with who?
And still, I find that Lindbergh is far smarter than he may be given credit for (both here and in RL.) I like how you have compared the reactions of Sir M-H, Lindy and even Heydrich here. It shows that they all are pawns of a sort, but not quite. They are each working towards ends that they feel just, even if some of those that are pushing them towards those ends may not have the same outcome in mind.
Prufrock, you may add another reader to your ledger.
This is a superb story, although I admit the military action itself has been somewhat anticlimactic. As I do not play HOI2, I don't know if your gameplay was just super good or if this is a "standard" bashing of the AI.
As for Roosevelt -- hmm, you've brought up some good questions. Without doubt he was edging us closer to war once the European War actually started (for example, with very aggressive escorts of British convoys). But it does seem pretty farfetched that he could have moved the country very far in this direction back in 1936. We were so weak -- I think the Dust Bowl drought was still at its worst -- and the Supremes were upsetting much of FDR's domestic agenda. It's really a stretch to suppose much movement away from isolation that early. On the other hand, if anyone could do it, Roosevelt would be the one. And his political manipulations as you have written them sound right on the mark.
I am curious and a bit disturbed about the ambiguity presented in your story over a possible war in Asia. Although the US was officially neutral during this part of the Japan-China war, sympathy was overwhelmingly pro-Chinese. It seems pretty incredible to suppose that a hypothetical US alliance with Japan would fool anyone, even a naive and wishful thinking Japanese officer. And if you actually change it from hypothetical to a real alliance vs. China, all I can say is !!!
The "shadow war" of various spooks has been quite intriguing, though at this point it is hard to understand what realistic gain Heydrich can get from anybody. The one disappointment in this area in the story is that we should be seeing some actions by the NKVD. Even if Uncle Joe's army isn't doing anything, the NKVD certainly must be.
This is a superb story, although I admit the military action itself has been somewhat anticlimactic. As I do not play HOI2, I don't know if your gameplay was just super good or if this is a "standard" bashing of the AI.
As for Roosevelt -- hmm, you've brought up some good questions. Without doubt he was edging us closer to war once the European War actually started (for example, with very aggressive escorts of British convoys). But it does seem pretty farfetched that he could have moved the country very far in this direction back in 1936. We were so weak -- I think the Dust Bowl drought was still at its worst -- and the Supremes were upsetting much of FDR's domestic agenda. It's really a stretch to suppose much movement away from isolation that early. On the other hand, if anyone could do it, Roosevelt would be the one. And his political manipulations as you have written them sound right on the mark.
I am curious and a bit disturbed about the ambiguity presented in your story over a possible war in Asia. Although the US was officially neutral during this part of the Japan-China war, sympathy was overwhelmingly pro-Chinese. It seems pretty incredible to suppose that a hypothetical US alliance with Japan would fool anyone, even a naive and wishful thinking Japanese officer. And if you actually change it from hypothetical to a real alliance vs. China, all I can say is
!!!The "shadow war" of various spooks has been quite intriguing, though at this point it is hard to understand what realistic gain Heydrich can get from anybody. The one disappointment in this area in the story is that we should be seeing some actions by the NKVD. Even if Uncle Joe's army isn't doing anything, the NKVD certainly must be.
October 2, 1940
Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins nodded to his majordomo, who bowed deeply and left a fresh ashtray. Sir Ian tapped out his pipe and packed a fresh bowl of Indian tobacco, musing to himself.
Was this a bit too far, this last bit of roleplaying? He hadn't been able to resist last night- the chance to have a private chat with Charles Lindbergh! He remembered taking Charlie to see Lindbergh in Paris- Charlie was just a lad then. The crowds, the roaring, the distant view of the handsome pilot emerging to wave...
Charlie. Damn you, de Gaulle. Damn you.
Sir Ian rubbed his forehead. He had to get his thoughts together.
Lindbergh was against the war, and obviously reporting directly to Henry Ford. He'd been sent here to troll for information. The obvious thing would be to give him information, something to back up the China fiction.
He leaned back, tapping the pipe nervously on the endtable. But with agents about- they'd be spying on Lindbergh. And now him.
Sir Ian lit the pipe, casually heading to the veranda. His garden was empty, his Chinese groundskeeper weeding around the magnolias. Chinese firs around the edges, and meticulously trimmed hedges. Enough places to hide. He drummed his fingers on the balustrade. Don't even need to show up. A few pound coins. He stared at the groundskeeper. The man kept his eyes fixedly on his work.
Sir Ian tried to keep his stride casual as he walked back inside. Any of his staff... there was always a wall, built out of propriety and class and language and race, a wall he'd never considered. But that practice of disguise, the polite roleplaying. A thousand lies and secrets could hide behind the wall of good manners. Necessary when you lived in a house with thirty people constantly moving from room to room. But heaven for a spy.
Sir Ian's gut grumbled. He hated the life he'd set out for himself. If he'd just chuckled instead of leaning forward when Humphries told him about that "one little job" back in '22. An eyeblink and his life was forever changed. At least his wife was visiting a cousin who worked for the Company in Bombay.
What to do?
The majordomo walked in, bearing a calling card on a tray. Miffling-Hodgkins stared at it in dismay and glanced at the clock. Bloody Americans and their bloody punctuality. He took the card and nodded. The majordomo slipped out, his poise betraying nothing more than it ever had. Sir Ian stood, straightening his cravat, and took a long puff off his briar.
You played Hamlet at Oxford, he told himself. This next bit of theater will be nothing next to that. Chin up, Ian. Take up arms against a sea of troubles.
Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins nodded to his majordomo, who bowed deeply and left a fresh ashtray. Sir Ian tapped out his pipe and packed a fresh bowl of Indian tobacco, musing to himself.
Was this a bit too far, this last bit of roleplaying? He hadn't been able to resist last night- the chance to have a private chat with Charles Lindbergh! He remembered taking Charlie to see Lindbergh in Paris- Charlie was just a lad then. The crowds, the roaring, the distant view of the handsome pilot emerging to wave...
Charlie. Damn you, de Gaulle. Damn you.
Sir Ian rubbed his forehead. He had to get his thoughts together.
Lindbergh was against the war, and obviously reporting directly to Henry Ford. He'd been sent here to troll for information. The obvious thing would be to give him information, something to back up the China fiction.
He leaned back, tapping the pipe nervously on the endtable. But with agents about- they'd be spying on Lindbergh. And now him.
Sir Ian lit the pipe, casually heading to the veranda. His garden was empty, his Chinese groundskeeper weeding around the magnolias. Chinese firs around the edges, and meticulously trimmed hedges. Enough places to hide. He drummed his fingers on the balustrade. Don't even need to show up. A few pound coins. He stared at the groundskeeper. The man kept his eyes fixedly on his work.
Sir Ian tried to keep his stride casual as he walked back inside. Any of his staff... there was always a wall, built out of propriety and class and language and race, a wall he'd never considered. But that practice of disguise, the polite roleplaying. A thousand lies and secrets could hide behind the wall of good manners. Necessary when you lived in a house with thirty people constantly moving from room to room. But heaven for a spy.
Sir Ian's gut grumbled. He hated the life he'd set out for himself. If he'd just chuckled instead of leaning forward when Humphries told him about that "one little job" back in '22. An eyeblink and his life was forever changed. At least his wife was visiting a cousin who worked for the Company in Bombay.
What to do?
The majordomo walked in, bearing a calling card on a tray. Miffling-Hodgkins stared at it in dismay and glanced at the clock. Bloody Americans and their bloody punctuality. He took the card and nodded. The majordomo slipped out, his poise betraying nothing more than it ever had. Sir Ian stood, straightening his cravat, and took a long puff off his briar.
You played Hamlet at Oxford, he told himself. This next bit of theater will be nothing next to that. Chin up, Ian. Take up arms against a sea of troubles.
...Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep...
Hamlet 3/1
Poor Sir Ian - I have a sick feeling about this. That soliloqy bodes nothing but death.
Great work Pru!
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep...
Hamlet 3/1
Poor Sir Ian - I have a sick feeling about this. That soliloqy bodes nothing but death.
Great work Pru!
A sense of foreboding well crafted, Prufrock. I like the way the last couple of posts establish the feelings of unease both Miffling-Hodgkins and Lindbergh are having.
And Therev, thanks for revealing the ominous other part of that quote from Hamlet. I've never read it, but having you give the rest of it sure makes me worry a lot about the immediate future.
And Therev, thanks for revealing the ominous other part of that quote from Hamlet. I've never read it, but having you give the rest of it sure makes me worry a lot about the immediate future.
To die, to sleep... perchance, to dream.
You caught my little reference, Therev, but left out part of the pathos. Sir Ian dreads death, but he also wants rest from the diabolical manueverings of world politics.
More tomorrow!
You caught my little reference, Therev, but left out part of the pathos. Sir Ian dreads death, but he also wants rest from the diabolical manueverings of world politics.
More tomorrow!
Pathos maybe - but I think there are more pressing concerns - Skorzeny high on the list. Maybe he'll get his rest from his labours - oops - starts to sound like part of a funeral service.
Admittedly - I'm not all that attached to Sir Ian and Lindbergh - but your writing certainly fleshes these characters out - I'm starting to worry about them!
Admittedly - I'm not all that attached to Sir Ian and Lindbergh - but your writing certainly fleshes these characters out - I'm starting to worry about them!
October 2, 1940
"They met for an hour."
Heydrich smoked, brooding behind his coffee-stained desk. He raised an eyebrow.
"And that is all?"
The ex-Wehrmacht man swiveled, barking out a question in Cantonese that, filtered through his Prussian accent, came out sounding like a strangled dog. The cook twisted his hat in his hands and stammered something. The ex-Wehrmacht man swiveled back and nodded. Heydrich admired the ridiculous precision of the man.
"Our informant was not close enough to learn more. Both men were serious. The discussion was heated. Another agent tailed Lindbergh, who returned immediately to his hotel room. When I left our base, he had not made contact with anyone."
Heydrich grunted, his face blank. The ex-Wehrmacht man managed to draw himself up another half-inch and nod. Heydrich wondered how he'd done it without cracking his spine.
"Fine, fine," he said. "You can go back and send a report to von Falkenhausen, then." He tossed over a bag of gold Krugerrands. "We'll let you know when we get answers our way."
The Wehrmacht man paused at the door, his facade cracking. "Leave me out of anything done your way, Nazi," he spat, and slammed the door. The cook scrambled to follow him, closing the door with a series of bows and apologetic gestures.
Skorzeny leaned off his leather chair. "'Slick,'" he quoted.
Heydrich snorted. "You don't make a very good American."
"You don't make a very good spy." Skorzeny cracked his knuckles. "So now we pay a visit?"
Heydrich nodded. "Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins." He glanced at the clock. "Four hours til sunrise." He grabbed his coat. "I'm going to have some of those noodles before we go, I'm famished. Go make sure von Falkenhausen's lapdog isn't lurking around."
Skorzeny paused. "Heydrich, why would we even bother contacting Falkenhausen or the Tokyo SS? If this Britischer knows anything, why don't we just follow his lead and invest the money?"
Heydrich smiled icily. "Why invest one hundred percent of our million when we can make a hundred people each invest a million and then take ten percent?" Skorzeny twisted his lip and stood, towering above Heydrich.
"You're not telling me everything. That's fine. For now." Skorzeny put on his hat. "I'll go see if I have to murder a German for you. You've got ten minutes for dinner."
"They met for an hour."
Heydrich smoked, brooding behind his coffee-stained desk. He raised an eyebrow.
"And that is all?"
The ex-Wehrmacht man swiveled, barking out a question in Cantonese that, filtered through his Prussian accent, came out sounding like a strangled dog. The cook twisted his hat in his hands and stammered something. The ex-Wehrmacht man swiveled back and nodded. Heydrich admired the ridiculous precision of the man.
"Our informant was not close enough to learn more. Both men were serious. The discussion was heated. Another agent tailed Lindbergh, who returned immediately to his hotel room. When I left our base, he had not made contact with anyone."
Heydrich grunted, his face blank. The ex-Wehrmacht man managed to draw himself up another half-inch and nod. Heydrich wondered how he'd done it without cracking his spine.
"Fine, fine," he said. "You can go back and send a report to von Falkenhausen, then." He tossed over a bag of gold Krugerrands. "We'll let you know when we get answers our way."
The Wehrmacht man paused at the door, his facade cracking. "Leave me out of anything done your way, Nazi," he spat, and slammed the door. The cook scrambled to follow him, closing the door with a series of bows and apologetic gestures.
Skorzeny leaned off his leather chair. "'Slick,'" he quoted.
Heydrich snorted. "You don't make a very good American."
"You don't make a very good spy." Skorzeny cracked his knuckles. "So now we pay a visit?"
Heydrich nodded. "Sir Ian Miffling-Hodgkins." He glanced at the clock. "Four hours til sunrise." He grabbed his coat. "I'm going to have some of those noodles before we go, I'm famished. Go make sure von Falkenhausen's lapdog isn't lurking around."
Skorzeny paused. "Heydrich, why would we even bother contacting Falkenhausen or the Tokyo SS? If this Britischer knows anything, why don't we just follow his lead and invest the money?"
Heydrich smiled icily. "Why invest one hundred percent of our million when we can make a hundred people each invest a million and then take ten percent?" Skorzeny twisted his lip and stood, towering above Heydrich.
"You're not telling me everything. That's fine. For now." Skorzeny put on his hat. "I'll go see if I have to murder a German for you. You've got ten minutes for dinner."
I love the interplay between Heydrich and Skorzeny. They have just enough mutual admiration and contempt to have a wonderful relationship.
Jwolf took my comment, but I like the snide back and forth with Heydrich and Skorzeny. It feels realistic. Nice update, sir.
A fine read indeed
Prufrock...an absolutely outstanding yarn spun here...I join your growing list of fans awaiting with baited breath the next episode...
Same Bat time, same Bat channel...
Prufrock...an absolutely outstanding yarn spun here...I join your growing list of fans awaiting with baited breath the next episode...
Same Bat time, same Bat channel...
Tsatn
I just read your France HOI1 AAR...you really brought the actors to life as if I were reading Clancy or Turtledove...
The ending in Egypt was simply marvelous.
Oh, and little quote that fits this particular AAR for my siggy...
I just read your France HOI1 AAR...you really brought the actors to life as if I were reading Clancy or Turtledove...
The ending in Egypt was simply marvelous.
Oh, and little quote that fits this particular AAR for my siggy...
I don't remember the passage of time, so are Heydrich and Skorzeny going to bump into Angel and his American doughboy buddy tonight (storytime)? Or is that confrontation still some time off?
I can't decide who is the bigger bastard, Skorzeny or Heydrich. Skorzeny seems more instantly lethal, but Heydrich has that nasty mind. At times, Otto strikes me as more of a lumbering brute.
I can't decide who is the bigger bastard, Skorzeny or Heydrich. Skorzeny seems more instantly lethal, but Heydrich has that nasty mind. At times, Otto strikes me as more of a lumbering brute.
Well, others have already voiced my comments - great interplay between Heydrich and Skorzeny, and curious thoughts coming from Miffling-Hodgkins. Weaving a tight little bit of intrigue and perhaps not a few red herrings here, Prufrock. Now what about those Americans?