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Yes! Gaspard is back! It is just a matter of time before his (omnipresent in AARland) German counterpart appears on stage...
Ah, Prufrock, another HOI AAR! Another France AAR! Most excellent, I'm looking forward to this. Knowing that, sooner or later, there's going to be a massive war going on, is only the icing on the cake of suspense and intrigue.
I do have a little nit to pick with the line in your signature: having just read my way through 1936 and the Spanish Civil War, having flitted through the non-happening 1937, I was all poised to read about 1938, 'Where things are actually happening'... And I'm forced to wait for the next update!
Nice change of character for Gaspard: I wonder how the good professor will come into his own this time round. Somehow, I doubt that grease-blackened combat knives will feature...
I do have a little nit to pick with the line in your signature: having just read my way through 1936 and the Spanish Civil War, having flitted through the non-happening 1937, I was all poised to read about 1938, 'Where things are actually happening'... And I'm forced to wait for the next update!
Nice change of character for Gaspard: I wonder how the good professor will come into his own this time round. Somehow, I doubt that grease-blackened combat knives will feature...
Oddly, at the moment I'm observing, the three AARs at the top of the HOI forum list are all French! Never seen that before.Stuyvesant said:
And while I've indicated an interest in another of them, I'm certainly attracted by the Prufrock writing style, too! I'll see if I can catch up, here.
Rensslaer
First off, hi to everyone who's commented. I'll be more forthcoming in the future.
Coop- Down, boy!
Elbasto- Gaspard's German counterpart? I don't know if I can handle more than one nerdy professor.
Stuyvesant- I'm working on it!
Rensslaer- And that's all to the good.
Elbasto- Maybe!
March 22, 1938
"Quite interesting, quite. Although, I have to disagree with your statements on the free market."
Gaspard blinked. "Well, they're not necessarily mine. But the research shows it- tariffs always hurt a national economy in the long run."
The German grad student blinked. "But, surely they allow a nation to build indigenous industry?"
"Which is not always to the good. It forces the consumers of a nation to pay high prices to subsidize a developing industry, instead of paying less for a particular good and focusing on a specialization."
"But, surely, it is good for a nation to stand on its own, regardless?"
Gaspard knew where this would end, but he had to play it out. "The closer the nations of the world are economically integrated, and the more evenly wealth is distributed between them, the better it will be for producers and consumers everywhere."
The German smirked. "Ah, but this is impossible. There are always winners and losers in economics, as in anything else! What you suggest is Communism!"
"On the contrary. An efficient market will smooth out regional variations in cost and wages, and modern technologies like the telegraph and telephone allow information to-"
"Pardon me, Professor." The young German walked away quickly. Gaspard was ideological poison, and German academia was ideological to its bones. No point risking tenure for the sake of an offhand discussion. Gaspard sighed. Over and over, this same reaction.
He glanced around the room. There were no Gestapo thugs, no parades of Hitler Youth. They weren't necessary. These comfortable men and eager students would police themselves just as easily. He hadn't even been questioned over his last-minute addition to the list of speakers- no Nazi paranoia in academia. No, here they were scientific- Nazism had apparently succeeded, so it's logical that it would succeed, so we must wholeheartedly embrace it. Gaspard sighed. There must be dissidents and eccentrics here, but he hadn't found a single one.
Gaspard frowned. The conference was half over, and nothing had happened. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps they'd forgotten about him, or cancelled whatever this mission was. But in the meantime- he was stuck in Berlin. The belly of the beast.
The dinner program was a panel on the economic merits of paid maternity leave. Another progressive notion twisted by Nazi ideology. Gaspard headed for the door. He needed air.
The conference was being held at a hotel, and there were a few shops and restaurants in the area that catered to foreign visitors. Gaspard could get a break from the pounding of ideology. He made a beeline for a place across the street- he'd smelled their pies that morning.
A large man appeared out of nowhere. "Jean! Haven't seen you in a dog's age!" An American, ruddy-faced and grinning. "How's that conference going?"
"It's..." A warning glance. "It's going fine!"
"Great, great. Hey, you're going for food? I know just the place." The large man clapped Gaspard's shoulder with one hand, pointing with the other. Gaspard hesitated. The man's grin widened.
"Yeah, I know, I know. You don't want to talk business. But I gotta ask you about the talk you had with what's-his-face who consults for Krupp. I have a feeling he'll ask you to a meeting." The man leaned in. "If you're talking to him, I want you to put in a good word for me."
Gaspard's breath sighed out of him.
The man nodded. "One way or the other, hear me out. I know a great place. Cozy. Quiet."
He started walking. Gaspard followed him.
Coop- Down, boy!
Elbasto- Gaspard's German counterpart? I don't know if I can handle more than one nerdy professor.
Stuyvesant- I'm working on it!
Rensslaer- And that's all to the good.
Elbasto- Maybe!
March 22, 1938
"Quite interesting, quite. Although, I have to disagree with your statements on the free market."
Gaspard blinked. "Well, they're not necessarily mine. But the research shows it- tariffs always hurt a national economy in the long run."
The German grad student blinked. "But, surely they allow a nation to build indigenous industry?"
"Which is not always to the good. It forces the consumers of a nation to pay high prices to subsidize a developing industry, instead of paying less for a particular good and focusing on a specialization."
"But, surely, it is good for a nation to stand on its own, regardless?"
Gaspard knew where this would end, but he had to play it out. "The closer the nations of the world are economically integrated, and the more evenly wealth is distributed between them, the better it will be for producers and consumers everywhere."
The German smirked. "Ah, but this is impossible. There are always winners and losers in economics, as in anything else! What you suggest is Communism!"
"On the contrary. An efficient market will smooth out regional variations in cost and wages, and modern technologies like the telegraph and telephone allow information to-"
"Pardon me, Professor." The young German walked away quickly. Gaspard was ideological poison, and German academia was ideological to its bones. No point risking tenure for the sake of an offhand discussion. Gaspard sighed. Over and over, this same reaction.
He glanced around the room. There were no Gestapo thugs, no parades of Hitler Youth. They weren't necessary. These comfortable men and eager students would police themselves just as easily. He hadn't even been questioned over his last-minute addition to the list of speakers- no Nazi paranoia in academia. No, here they were scientific- Nazism had apparently succeeded, so it's logical that it would succeed, so we must wholeheartedly embrace it. Gaspard sighed. There must be dissidents and eccentrics here, but he hadn't found a single one.
Gaspard frowned. The conference was half over, and nothing had happened. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps they'd forgotten about him, or cancelled whatever this mission was. But in the meantime- he was stuck in Berlin. The belly of the beast.
The dinner program was a panel on the economic merits of paid maternity leave. Another progressive notion twisted by Nazi ideology. Gaspard headed for the door. He needed air.
The conference was being held at a hotel, and there were a few shops and restaurants in the area that catered to foreign visitors. Gaspard could get a break from the pounding of ideology. He made a beeline for a place across the street- he'd smelled their pies that morning.
A large man appeared out of nowhere. "Jean! Haven't seen you in a dog's age!" An American, ruddy-faced and grinning. "How's that conference going?"
"It's..." A warning glance. "It's going fine!"
"Great, great. Hey, you're going for food? I know just the place." The large man clapped Gaspard's shoulder with one hand, pointing with the other. Gaspard hesitated. The man's grin widened.
"Yeah, I know, I know. You don't want to talk business. But I gotta ask you about the talk you had with what's-his-face who consults for Krupp. I have a feeling he'll ask you to a meeting." The man leaned in. "If you're talking to him, I want you to put in a good word for me."
Gaspard's breath sighed out of him.
The man nodded. "One way or the other, hear me out. I know a great place. Cozy. Quiet."
He started walking. Gaspard followed him.
March 22, 1938
"First thing. Those restaurants for foreigners are dangerous." The large man talked around hunks of bread. He was speaking in French now, still heavily flavored by a Southern American drawl. "Informers, spies. You know the drill."
"Excuse me, but-"
"Second thing- Klaus von Neibel, the professor from Heidelberg. The guy who talked to you about your paper on production planning techniques?"
"Yes... I remember him, but-"
"Well, he consults with Krupp, and some big boys are interested. Big. Boys. So, you'll get approached tomorrow-"
"What am I supposed to do?"
The large man stopped chewing and sighed. He took a gulp of wine. His drawl got almost unintelligibly thick. "If yew'd gimme a minute, Ah'd tell ya."
"Who are you?"
The man leaned in. "You don't need to know that." Gaspard scanned the restaurant for the eighth or twenty-eighth time since they'd entered. The proprietor had vanished into the back. One other pair of men had come in and quickly been shown into a private room. "Professor. I am who you think I am, and that's enough. Either you're in or you're out." He started tearing more chunks of bread off the loaf. "At this point, being out is a very bad idea."
Gaspard nodded miserably. He cut a tiny piece off his sausage, but he had no appetite.
The large man resumed eating. "Now. Krupp. They're interested in your production planning papers. You'll be invited to a meeting. Your visa doesn't allow you to stay long, so suggest dinner." The large man slid a folded piece of paper across the table. "One of these places. They're all nearby, they've all got good reputations. He'll accept. He stands to get a big fat consulting contract if he can milk your ideas." He smirked. "And good luck cashing in on any promises they give you about a consulting fee. Man, those Krupp boys are lawyered up good."
Gaspard sighed. "So I meet them. And then?"
The large man grinned. "Aw, hell, that's what's got you all tied up? Here." He lifted a briefcase. "We took the liberty of going through your papers and redoing some of your calculations. It's all subtle- a percentage here, a percentage there- and they'll find it. But, it'll waste months of time. What, it took you three years to put this together?"
Gaspard frowned. "But it doesn't work that way- you can't just tweak one set of calculations! It'll stand out like a sore thumb to anyone with a grounding in statistics when-"
The large man waved a hand dismissively. "We got bright guys too, you know. Like I said, it's all subtle. Tell them you've got an updated version- unpublished work. They'll wet their pants, they'll be so happy. And even if von Neibel notices something, he'll try and hide it. He won't want to jeopardize that consulting fee, and he's got debts. Oh yes." The large man took out some Reichsmarks and stood. "Now, that's it."
Gaspard stood too. "Professor von Neibel will approach me. I suggest a restaurant from this list. I hand over the doctored papers."
"You got it nailed."
Gaspard nodded. "Very well. Very well."
The large man put on his hat and winked. "The guy's on third, game's almost over. Just bunt. You'll do fine." He walked out. Gaspard let out a long, long breath.
"First thing. Those restaurants for foreigners are dangerous." The large man talked around hunks of bread. He was speaking in French now, still heavily flavored by a Southern American drawl. "Informers, spies. You know the drill."
"Excuse me, but-"
"Second thing- Klaus von Neibel, the professor from Heidelberg. The guy who talked to you about your paper on production planning techniques?"
"Yes... I remember him, but-"
"Well, he consults with Krupp, and some big boys are interested. Big. Boys. So, you'll get approached tomorrow-"
"What am I supposed to do?"
The large man stopped chewing and sighed. He took a gulp of wine. His drawl got almost unintelligibly thick. "If yew'd gimme a minute, Ah'd tell ya."
"Who are you?"
The man leaned in. "You don't need to know that." Gaspard scanned the restaurant for the eighth or twenty-eighth time since they'd entered. The proprietor had vanished into the back. One other pair of men had come in and quickly been shown into a private room. "Professor. I am who you think I am, and that's enough. Either you're in or you're out." He started tearing more chunks of bread off the loaf. "At this point, being out is a very bad idea."
Gaspard nodded miserably. He cut a tiny piece off his sausage, but he had no appetite.
The large man resumed eating. "Now. Krupp. They're interested in your production planning papers. You'll be invited to a meeting. Your visa doesn't allow you to stay long, so suggest dinner." The large man slid a folded piece of paper across the table. "One of these places. They're all nearby, they've all got good reputations. He'll accept. He stands to get a big fat consulting contract if he can milk your ideas." He smirked. "And good luck cashing in on any promises they give you about a consulting fee. Man, those Krupp boys are lawyered up good."
Gaspard sighed. "So I meet them. And then?"
The large man grinned. "Aw, hell, that's what's got you all tied up? Here." He lifted a briefcase. "We took the liberty of going through your papers and redoing some of your calculations. It's all subtle- a percentage here, a percentage there- and they'll find it. But, it'll waste months of time. What, it took you three years to put this together?"
Gaspard frowned. "But it doesn't work that way- you can't just tweak one set of calculations! It'll stand out like a sore thumb to anyone with a grounding in statistics when-"
The large man waved a hand dismissively. "We got bright guys too, you know. Like I said, it's all subtle. Tell them you've got an updated version- unpublished work. They'll wet their pants, they'll be so happy. And even if von Neibel notices something, he'll try and hide it. He won't want to jeopardize that consulting fee, and he's got debts. Oh yes." The large man took out some Reichsmarks and stood. "Now, that's it."
Gaspard stood too. "Professor von Neibel will approach me. I suggest a restaurant from this list. I hand over the doctored papers."
"You got it nailed."
Gaspard nodded. "Very well. Very well."
The large man put on his hat and winked. "The guy's on third, game's almost over. Just bunt. You'll do fine." He walked out. Gaspard let out a long, long breath.
March 23, 1938
Gaspard and von Neibel walked down the street, discussing Galbraith. Von Neibel was an old Prussian aristocrat. He was stuffy and difficult, but he wasn't quite as ideological as the other German economists Gaspard had met. He could occasionally bend his ideas to meet the truth halfway.
They came to the restaurant. Von Neibel smiled. "It has quite the reputation, this place."
Gaspard nodded, smiling. "I'd heard it recommended- thought I'd sample just a bit of the local fine dining before I left." He clutched the handle of his briefcase.
Von Neibel nodded. "You must try the veal here. I'm positive it matches anything you'll find in Paris." The doorman swung the door open and they entered. The maitre'd nodded as von Neibel said his name and ushered them to a side room. Von Neibel introduced Gaspard to several men who were already there. He glanced around.
"Still a couple coming. Have a seat, Professor Gaspard." Von Neibel leaned in. "I'm afraid I didn't tell you everything."
Gaspard blinked, trying to hide the sudden panic that seized him.
"This method of yours- it's quite revolutionary in many respects. It's not just Krupp that's interested."
"There will be representatives from other corporations?"
Von Neibel shrugged. "Well, you'll-"
The doorknob turned. The Germans came to their feet, and Gaspard joined them.
Two men entered, and Gaspard recognized them immediately. Dr. Fritz Todt and Dr. Hjalmar Schacht. He gulped- silently, he hoped. These men basically directed the German economy. If they swallowed the doctored version of Scientific Analyses of Production Planning Techniques, then it could set back the whole German economy. It wouldn't just be Krupp wasting time and money. This could cost the Nazis millions- billions. Gaspard began to see what all the fuss was about. As the door closed, he noted two guards outside.
The men waited for Schacht to seat himself before sitting again. Schacht nodded and adjusted his spectacles.
"Professor Gaspard," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I think we should get business out of the way." He nodded thanks as von Neibel poured him a glass of wine. "Then, I look forward to talking over dinner."
Gaspard nodded. "Of course, Minister Schacht." He held up the briefcase. "Professor von Neibel has informed me of your interest in my paper on production planning. I thought it would be best to inform you- I have been working on a revised version. I haven't published it, but I have it here." Happy whispers went around the table. He thought fast. "I'll have to revise my consulting fee estimates, of course, if you plan to provide this to other corporations besides Krupp."
Schacht grinned. "This is what I get for showing up." He turned to Todt. "You see? I said we should stay at home or he'd try to Jew a bigger contract out of us." Gaspard squirmed a bit as he tried to join the laughter around the table. Schacht nodded. "Naturally, Professor. Of course, it won't do to get a fee from my Ministry, but we'll arrange something with Krupp." He pulled a contract out of his coat pocket. "I'd like you to review this. Perhaps you can't sign today. But I would like to see your work before I offer it."
Gaspard nodded and pulled out the doctored manuscript. A loose page slid out. My God, he thought as he read it and tucked it back in, they'd even added a notation in his handwriting. He slid it across the table.
A sudden ripping noise echoed through the restaurant. Gaspard jumped- it was gunfire. Screams outside, and shouting.
"Don't move! In the back, in the back!"
Another ripping noise, and holes appeared in the room's wall, around the door. Bullets whined in. It was a tommygun- and judging from the German faces as they dived to the ground, Gaspard wasn't the only veteran who remembered the noise.
The door was kicked open. Two men in masks. "THIS IS A ROBBERY!" one bellowed. "WALLETS, NOW! EVERYTHING ON THE TABLE!" He swung his tommygun back and forth, the barrel still smoking.
Gaspard looked over at Schacht. He hadn't moved from his chair, frowning fiercely. Schacht leaned forward.
"Do you know who I am?" The man raised the tommygun and fired. Twenty .45 caliber bullets went through Hjalmar Schacht- or what was left of him.
The man fired a last round into the ceiling. "DO YOU GET IT NOW, BIGSHOTS? I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING BUT WHAT'S IN YOUR POCKETS!"
Gaspard shakily dug out his money. He'd spilled his manuscript on the ground. Suddenly, he realized something- that was his handwriting. This wasn't a doctored manuscript. It was his.
He felt a gun barrel to the back of his head. "You. Give me your damn wallet now."
Gaspard was floating, dizzy. "Is that really what you want?"
The barrel pushed in closer. "Careful. Just hand over the money."
"You're a murderer. My God, now I'm a m-"
He never finished the sentence. The bullet tumbled through his head and knocked off half of his face as it left. He fell forward. The large man with the tommygun dug the wallet out of Gaspard's coat.
The next morning, Gerard Basteaux and two other men were on a fishing boat in the Baltic. Basteaux glanced down and noted a fleck of blood on a cuticle. He scraped it off.
That was the last time he thought about Jean Gaspard.
Gaspard and von Neibel walked down the street, discussing Galbraith. Von Neibel was an old Prussian aristocrat. He was stuffy and difficult, but he wasn't quite as ideological as the other German economists Gaspard had met. He could occasionally bend his ideas to meet the truth halfway.
They came to the restaurant. Von Neibel smiled. "It has quite the reputation, this place."
Gaspard nodded, smiling. "I'd heard it recommended- thought I'd sample just a bit of the local fine dining before I left." He clutched the handle of his briefcase.
Von Neibel nodded. "You must try the veal here. I'm positive it matches anything you'll find in Paris." The doorman swung the door open and they entered. The maitre'd nodded as von Neibel said his name and ushered them to a side room. Von Neibel introduced Gaspard to several men who were already there. He glanced around.
"Still a couple coming. Have a seat, Professor Gaspard." Von Neibel leaned in. "I'm afraid I didn't tell you everything."
Gaspard blinked, trying to hide the sudden panic that seized him.
"This method of yours- it's quite revolutionary in many respects. It's not just Krupp that's interested."
"There will be representatives from other corporations?"
Von Neibel shrugged. "Well, you'll-"
The doorknob turned. The Germans came to their feet, and Gaspard joined them.
Two men entered, and Gaspard recognized them immediately. Dr. Fritz Todt and Dr. Hjalmar Schacht. He gulped- silently, he hoped. These men basically directed the German economy. If they swallowed the doctored version of Scientific Analyses of Production Planning Techniques, then it could set back the whole German economy. It wouldn't just be Krupp wasting time and money. This could cost the Nazis millions- billions. Gaspard began to see what all the fuss was about. As the door closed, he noted two guards outside.
The men waited for Schacht to seat himself before sitting again. Schacht nodded and adjusted his spectacles.
"Professor Gaspard," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I think we should get business out of the way." He nodded thanks as von Neibel poured him a glass of wine. "Then, I look forward to talking over dinner."
Gaspard nodded. "Of course, Minister Schacht." He held up the briefcase. "Professor von Neibel has informed me of your interest in my paper on production planning. I thought it would be best to inform you- I have been working on a revised version. I haven't published it, but I have it here." Happy whispers went around the table. He thought fast. "I'll have to revise my consulting fee estimates, of course, if you plan to provide this to other corporations besides Krupp."
Schacht grinned. "This is what I get for showing up." He turned to Todt. "You see? I said we should stay at home or he'd try to Jew a bigger contract out of us." Gaspard squirmed a bit as he tried to join the laughter around the table. Schacht nodded. "Naturally, Professor. Of course, it won't do to get a fee from my Ministry, but we'll arrange something with Krupp." He pulled a contract out of his coat pocket. "I'd like you to review this. Perhaps you can't sign today. But I would like to see your work before I offer it."
Gaspard nodded and pulled out the doctored manuscript. A loose page slid out. My God, he thought as he read it and tucked it back in, they'd even added a notation in his handwriting. He slid it across the table.
A sudden ripping noise echoed through the restaurant. Gaspard jumped- it was gunfire. Screams outside, and shouting.
"Don't move! In the back, in the back!"
Another ripping noise, and holes appeared in the room's wall, around the door. Bullets whined in. It was a tommygun- and judging from the German faces as they dived to the ground, Gaspard wasn't the only veteran who remembered the noise.
The door was kicked open. Two men in masks. "THIS IS A ROBBERY!" one bellowed. "WALLETS, NOW! EVERYTHING ON THE TABLE!" He swung his tommygun back and forth, the barrel still smoking.
Gaspard looked over at Schacht. He hadn't moved from his chair, frowning fiercely. Schacht leaned forward.
"Do you know who I am?" The man raised the tommygun and fired. Twenty .45 caliber bullets went through Hjalmar Schacht- or what was left of him.
The man fired a last round into the ceiling. "DO YOU GET IT NOW, BIGSHOTS? I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING BUT WHAT'S IN YOUR POCKETS!"
Gaspard shakily dug out his money. He'd spilled his manuscript on the ground. Suddenly, he realized something- that was his handwriting. This wasn't a doctored manuscript. It was his.
He felt a gun barrel to the back of his head. "You. Give me your damn wallet now."
Gaspard was floating, dizzy. "Is that really what you want?"
The barrel pushed in closer. "Careful. Just hand over the money."
"You're a murderer. My God, now I'm a m-"
He never finished the sentence. The bullet tumbled through his head and knocked off half of his face as it left. He fell forward. The large man with the tommygun dug the wallet out of Gaspard's coat.
The next morning, Gerard Basteaux and two other men were on a fishing boat in the Baltic. Basteaux glanced down and noted a fleck of blood on a cuticle. He scraped it off.
That was the last time he thought about Jean Gaspard.
Wow, nice twist. And indeed it hurts: Schacht gone is strong reduction in IC. But (for game purposes) wouldn't the AI remove him anyway?
So i was see i was wrong about the time machine. But right in thinking the update would be well worth reading. Updates even!
Latinsword- They lost a 10% bonus to production. Ouch indeed. And yes, he would have eventually gone, but replacing him now hurts- as we'll see.
Tskb18- Thanks! I haven't ruled out a time machine yet, though. Or, if I have a time machine, I didn't rule it out in the past. Or... you know, time machines are complicated. Maybe I will rule it out.
Vann- I know!
Congratulations to elbasto, the first person to guess assassination. And I think we'll see more of Gerard Basteaux. After all, I have just created a vacancy in the "kick-ass French commando" position.
Tskb18- Thanks! I haven't ruled out a time machine yet, though. Or, if I have a time machine, I didn't rule it out in the past. Or... you know, time machines are complicated. Maybe I will rule it out.
Vann- I know!
Congratulations to elbasto, the first person to guess assassination. And I think we'll see more of Gerard Basteaux. After all, I have just created a vacancy in the "kick-ass French commando" position.
That was brutal. Using an innocent French professor as bait to lure out Schacht - and then killing them both. I mean, killing a Nazi minister isn't particularly brutal (except that it's still peace), but blasting Gaspard's head to bits simply to wipe out the trail, that's cold.
It seems that sharing a name with a character from one of your previous AARs is a quick ticket to a early demise in this story. Does that mean that the scarred Austrian will only have a brief, futile cameo as well?
It seems that sharing a name with a character from one of your previous AARs is a quick ticket to a early demise in this story. Does that mean that the scarred Austrian will only have a brief, futile cameo as well?
Hmm... I am curious as to how they escaped from Berlin? The killing of a minister like Schacht - with U.S. manufactured machine guns - should have made the Gestapo and SD throw down an iron ring around the entire city. Not to mention start a fierce and brutal investigation sparing absolutely no one.
This is not your average mugging and the killing of Schacht, even if it is disguised as one, should not fool the Germans.
Other than that, great updates!
Jesper
This is not your average mugging and the killing of Schacht, even if it is disguised as one, should not fool the Germans.
Other than that, great updates!
Jesper
Aussieboy- MAYBE MAYBE NOT!!!!!!
Elbasto- I think you'll be pleased with the development of Basteaux.
Stuyvesant- Assassination is a pretty cold game. And yeah, I guess I have been working through my old characters at a steady clip (Denel, Shaughnessy, Gaspard). Oh, which reminds me:
June 30, 1908
Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins patted his mule's neck and followed its gaze skyward. A gigantic ball of fire was plummeting to earth. Before he could open his mouth to scream, a flash of light and heat rolled over him, consuming him in its blaze.
There! And as for our big Austrian friend, see my response to Aussieboy.
CommanderDK- I've been mulling this very question and the answer is coming shortly.
Elbasto-
I think you'll be pleased with the development of Basteaux.Stuyvesant- Assassination is a pretty cold game. And yeah, I guess I have been working through my old characters at a steady clip (Denel, Shaughnessy, Gaspard). Oh, which reminds me:
June 30, 1908
Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins patted his mule's neck and followed its gaze skyward. A gigantic ball of fire was plummeting to earth. Before he could open his mouth to scream, a flash of light and heat rolled over him, consuming him in its blaze.
There! And as for our big Austrian friend, see my response to Aussieboy.
CommanderDK- I've been mulling this very question and the answer is coming shortly.
SCHACHT MURDERED
5 dead, 6 wounded in Berlin restaurant robbery
5 dead, 6 wounded in Berlin restaurant robbery
On March 23, five armed men entered Schroeder's, a four-star restaurant in western Berlin. In the course of an armed robbery, they wounded five people and killed six others, including Germany's Armaments Minister Hjalmar Schacht, his bodyguards, and Jean-Pierre Gaspard, a noted French professor of economics. Their total take from the heist is estimated to be in the range of $12,000.
The German government has declared the perpetrators of the heist to be criminals of the highest degree, and martial law was declared throughout the city of Berlin. The Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, has hinted that the robbery was a cover for an assassination. All of the great Powers have been quick to deny any association with this event.
Until a permanent replacement can be found, Rudolf Hess has taken over as Armaments Minister...
...The news of Dr. Schacht's murder has deeply affected the German economy. The German government ordered the stock exchange in Berlin closed, and it is believed that the Germans will be able to prevent further economic losses. However, the stock market plunged ten percent before the closure went into effect...
New York Times, March 24, 1938
April 5, 1938
"Nothing."
Adolf Hitler swiveled his gaze to meet Canaris' eyes. They were quiet now, revealing nothing, just listening. Canaris stifled a shiver. He did not know when Hitler would flip the switch and those eyes would blaze with unholy fury. He pushed forward.
"We have rounded up a number of suspected spies, informers, Communists... malcontents of every stripe. No connections."
"What of Schacht's pocket watch? How did it turn up in Dresden?"
Canaris swallowed. "We interrogated the pawnshop owner closely. We are confident he was not part of the original plot. We also detained the man who brought the watch in- he found it in an alley. We entered the surrounding buildings, and found a room which had been used as a resting place by two or three men. But... no trace of the men or their identities. They wiped the room clean of fingerprints."
"No trace, then, of the identities. Or of how they left Berlin."
Canaris was now white with fear. "None, mein Fuhrer."
Hitler maintained his unnatural calm. He looked away briefly. "Himmler has also found nothing. The Kripo are baffled." He sighed, almost imperceptibly. "We are infiltrated."
"Mein Fuhrer, it is possible that the men simply bribed a policeman or SS officer- Himmler has refused to allow us to double-check any results of his internal investigation-"
"We are INFILTRATED!" Hitler roared the last word, slamming his hands on his desk, his eyes ablaze. Canaris jolted back, the front legs of his chair popping briefly off the ground. Hitler shot to his feet and swung around the desk. "This is a professional assassination! The watch is a red herring!" He slammed his hand on the desk again, so close that Canaris could feel his panting breaths. "It was given to an agent to carry south! They must have had uniforms and papers prepared in case we declared martial law. They went NORTH, you fool!"
Canaris blinked. "We stationed men at all the ports, border crossings, aerodromes-"
"The fishing fleet?"
Canaris' heart seized in his chest. Hitler leaned in.
"Did... you... ground... the fishing fleet?"
Canaris swallowed. "Mein Fuhrer, that is the responsibility of the Kriegsmarine in conjunction with-"
"NO! NO!" Hitler was now leaning directly over Canaris, his knuckles white on the arms of Canaris' chair. "It was YOUR responsibility as an investigator of this crime to think of this! It was YOUR responsibility to see that these traitors and spies were arrested!"
Something in Canaris snapped and he began to boil. "Mein Fuhrer, then it was also the responsibility of Himmler to cooperate with my investigation and it was the responsibility of Reichsminister Hess to allow me access to Schacht's files. I have done my best with one arm." He stood up, looking directly into Hitler's eyes. "Let me work unimpeded."
Hitler slowly calmed down. Canaris could see the insane anger leach out of him. My God, Canaris thought. How does he control it? How long can he control it?
Hitler walked back to his desk. He took out a sheet of paper and began writing. He spoke, and there was not a trace of anger in his voice.
"I am ordering Himmler to allow you to review his investigation. I am giving you full access to all Armaments Ministry files and personnel. I am ordering the fishing fleet grounded, and you will coordinate interrogations of all crews on the Baltic." Hitler glanced up, his face mild. "Results. Soon."
Canaris saluted. "Thank you, mein Fuhrer."
"Nothing."
Adolf Hitler swiveled his gaze to meet Canaris' eyes. They were quiet now, revealing nothing, just listening. Canaris stifled a shiver. He did not know when Hitler would flip the switch and those eyes would blaze with unholy fury. He pushed forward.
"We have rounded up a number of suspected spies, informers, Communists... malcontents of every stripe. No connections."
"What of Schacht's pocket watch? How did it turn up in Dresden?"
Canaris swallowed. "We interrogated the pawnshop owner closely. We are confident he was not part of the original plot. We also detained the man who brought the watch in- he found it in an alley. We entered the surrounding buildings, and found a room which had been used as a resting place by two or three men. But... no trace of the men or their identities. They wiped the room clean of fingerprints."
"No trace, then, of the identities. Or of how they left Berlin."
Canaris was now white with fear. "None, mein Fuhrer."
Hitler maintained his unnatural calm. He looked away briefly. "Himmler has also found nothing. The Kripo are baffled." He sighed, almost imperceptibly. "We are infiltrated."
"Mein Fuhrer, it is possible that the men simply bribed a policeman or SS officer- Himmler has refused to allow us to double-check any results of his internal investigation-"
"We are INFILTRATED!" Hitler roared the last word, slamming his hands on his desk, his eyes ablaze. Canaris jolted back, the front legs of his chair popping briefly off the ground. Hitler shot to his feet and swung around the desk. "This is a professional assassination! The watch is a red herring!" He slammed his hand on the desk again, so close that Canaris could feel his panting breaths. "It was given to an agent to carry south! They must have had uniforms and papers prepared in case we declared martial law. They went NORTH, you fool!"
Canaris blinked. "We stationed men at all the ports, border crossings, aerodromes-"
"The fishing fleet?"
Canaris' heart seized in his chest. Hitler leaned in.
"Did... you... ground... the fishing fleet?"
Canaris swallowed. "Mein Fuhrer, that is the responsibility of the Kriegsmarine in conjunction with-"
"NO! NO!" Hitler was now leaning directly over Canaris, his knuckles white on the arms of Canaris' chair. "It was YOUR responsibility as an investigator of this crime to think of this! It was YOUR responsibility to see that these traitors and spies were arrested!"
Something in Canaris snapped and he began to boil. "Mein Fuhrer, then it was also the responsibility of Himmler to cooperate with my investigation and it was the responsibility of Reichsminister Hess to allow me access to Schacht's files. I have done my best with one arm." He stood up, looking directly into Hitler's eyes. "Let me work unimpeded."
Hitler slowly calmed down. Canaris could see the insane anger leach out of him. My God, Canaris thought. How does he control it? How long can he control it?
Hitler walked back to his desk. He took out a sheet of paper and began writing. He spoke, and there was not a trace of anger in his voice.
"I am ordering Himmler to allow you to review his investigation. I am giving you full access to all Armaments Ministry files and personnel. I am ordering the fishing fleet grounded, and you will coordinate interrogations of all crews on the Baltic." Hitler glanced up, his face mild. "Results. Soon."
Canaris saluted. "Thank you, mein Fuhrer."
Alas, poor John Miffling-Hodgkins. What he was he doing way out there?
And more to the point... will Canaris succeed? One hopes not. But to be sure... one will stay tuned.
And more to the point... will Canaris succeed? One hopes not. But to be sure... one will stay tuned.