You mean it's not murdering animals twice and drinking lukewarm beer ?
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You mean it's not murdering animals twice and drinking lukewarm beer ?
Oi, keep this banter on the Football field, on which both of your nations are rubbish.
Oi, keep this banter on the Football field, on which both of your nations are rubbish.
And they wonder why the world gangs up on Germany sometimes...
Hmmm, I seem to remember that last game, England beat you 2-1 in Berlin. Still that aside... Oh and %-1 once, and in a certain World Cup Final, in which IT WAS a goal.
From the way you keep wheeling that first barb out it seems like a case of "The lady protests too much", perhaps you're aware French cuisine is little more than a fine reputation and a disappointing reality?
As to the second, perhaps if you brewed decent beer you wouldn't have to chill it to take the unpleasant taste away.
Trekaddict - Excellent intermission, couple of niggles for a navy buff like myself though (Erebus and Terror were WW1 monitors not Revenge class, the Revenge's themselves were economy QEs and no-one ever thought they be as good)
However a tantalising update and I look forward to a few more of these intermissions.
And don't forget us Spaniards thoroughly trounced you in the EuroCup.
I heard the announcers comparing it as "craft vs. graft" and other unflattering (for the Mediterranean side) names.
I heard the announcers comparing it as "craft vs. graft" and other unflattering (for the Mediterranean side) names.
Sometimes, a gentleman can only help the lady in her protest, gathering people who doth wear "Not in my name" armbands, others who doth burn effigies, and psychics who doth channel the poor soul of the cruelly defiled animal.
LEST WE FORGET !
, perhaps you're aware French cuisine is little more than a fine reputation and a disappointing reality?
As opposed to that, ah, uplifting reality that is lukewarm beer chasing down cheddar cheese with crackers, you mean ?
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Well, this is a case of the game coming before reality. In the 1938 Scenario Erebus and Terror are lvl I BBs, of the Erin class to be exact. I mainly made them Revenge Class because in my opinion a ship armed with only 2x15" doesn't rate as a Battleship. ( Curse them damns Swedes! ) I knew that the Revenges were economy QEs, and come to think of it, I probably should make Erebus and Terror ships of the Iron Duke class, which would push the PoD for this timeline even further back, but meh. Does taht satisfy your needs?
That's something a gentlemen could indeed do.
But what could a Frenchman do?
Surrender to the nearest non-french?
That's something a gentlemen could indeed do.
But what could a Frenchman do?
Eat mexican and fart in your general direction. Or maybe I shall taunt you hay seccond time-a.
:rofl: I love that Film.
So anyway, I went back and made Erebus and Terror two additional Iron Dukes.
Ahh that explains it, always a tricky balance to strike the game vs reality one. I think making the monitors as Iron Dukes is probably the best compromise solution.
Chapter 81
October 5th, 1939
The investigation of the farm had yielded no good results, much to Felix' annoyance. He could understand that Sanders wanted to follow procedure, but Felix was both a very annoyed man and a somewhat careless one, both factors that did not really help him to be patient, as much as he wanted to, as much as he knew that he had to be. For now, all that he knew was that the owner of the farm had bought it a year back under the name of Carl Johnson, but when Sanders and his mounties had promised to investigate this name further, and so, instead of watching the Army and the mounties pack up the weaponry and equipment from the cellar, he drove back in the car to check up on Ian and to track down Mr. Johnson. Leads were more than slim, but he refused to give up. Not only was it a matter of personal pride and revenge, but also because of the simple fact that everything pointed to Canada's southern neighbours, and Felix hated them with a passion. When he reached the Hospital, there was no news either, only that Ian was in a much better condition now, and would most certainly make it, something that relieved Felix to no end. It allowed him to concentrate all his energy on finding whoever was behind this. Sanders had given Felix his telephone number, but Felix knew that it would be at least a few hours before anything could be found out, and until then there was nothing much he could do, besides sitting around, or trying to follow up the only other lead he had, the Rifles. Unlike Sanders, who, as a Canadian wasn't all that well-versed on american weaponry, he had soon noticed the small differences to the Springfields he had used during basic training. Of course, several years of communist “management” were bound to change the manufacturing standards somewhat, but aside from that, Felix was of the opinion that these rifles were too crude to be made by an American Company that had the original tools and drawings, communist or not. The problem was though that it was nothing more than a hunch, and therefore impossible to really follow up on. For now he was stuck, and had to hope that either the clue and lead fell from the sky. The problem was that even if something turned up, it would most likely lead to the almost nine-hundred miles away Ottawa, because there was the biggest concentration of American exiles, and with it, the biggest concentration of Communist Spies in Canada.
To have something to do Felix bought a newspaper, a local one, that still carried the generals of the war in Europe. It seemed that the Kriegsmarine once again claimed to have sunk the Hood, and pointed to the fact that she was nowhere to be seen. This time the Admiralty had answered, to stave off the growing anxiety about the ship and had stated that she was at an undisclosed location, receiving a new, and bigger set of secondary guns, and expected to be back out at sea by the end of the year. Besides that were several photographs of the Hood at sea. Felix shook his head. Despite his naval career he had never understood why the Brits were so attached to a single ship, and made a mental note to ask Ian about it as soon as he had woken up again. Felix looked around at the other passers-by from the bench he sat on and decided that he had wasted enough time sitting around. While Ian might not wake up today, he still was insisting on doing something. He walked back to the car, with the intention of driving to the address Sanders had given him. The engine roared to live, and Felix moved off, not seeing the car that followed him at a discrete distance. He did however notice it, two intersections on, and decided that he had to check whether it really was just someone who happened to go into the same direction. He turned left, and sure enough, the black Morris followed him like on tracks. Felix was now certain that he was followed, and was both worried and exited. 'This may be dangerous,' he thought, 'but it proves I'm right!' He was slowly leading the car towards the edge of the city, fruitlessly trying to shake them, not daring to risk any of the civilians in the area. He wished that he had a radio or something, because from what he had seen in the mirror, there were at least three goons in that car, and he was alone, only armed with the Colt he always carried. Felix shook his head and pushed these thoughts away. He was a professional, and was more than trained for situations like this, even when all his evasion techniques had failed.
Luckily for him he ran out of Halifax before the others ran out of patience, and soon they were out in the fields again. Felix had headed for the farm, in order to give them the impression he was actually heading somewhere, lest they get suspicious about their own cover.
While he automatically lured his followers out of town, he thought about the implications of it all. In a cold, objective manner he realized that his hunch was correct, that there was far more behind it all than simple sabotage or just terrorism, but the other part of his brain was exited as a little child, because he now knew he was right. Felix checked his rear-view mirror and the car was still there, three vehicles back. He had to admit that they were good. They had thwarted all his attempts at shaking them, but then again, if he did anything too drastic they would know that he was onto them. At one intersection, where he had to stop due to crossing traffic, he silently re-loaded his weapon, concealing his movements by pretending to fiddle with the car's radio. Soon the buildings disappeared, and they were on the open road again. Felix had decided to lure them in by faking engine trouble. Either way, it would work. If they were out to get him this would be their opportunity, if they weren't they would have to speed past him, in order to maintain their cover. He slowed down, letting the car roll out at the right-hand side of the road. Felix quickly glanced into the mirror, and was rewarded with the black car slowing down a few hundred yards back, but not coming to a halt. He calculated that he had at best a minute until they reached him. He got out of the car, and kicked it, cursing it at the same time, determined to give the opposition a decent show. He lifted the bonnet and proceeded to fiddle with the wires there, or at least seemed to be. Instead he was drawing his gun, putting it onto the radiator in order to be able to grab it in a split-second. He manoeuvred himself into a position from which he could see the other car. He took the Colt in his left hand, holding the bonnet with the other, in order to tempt them closer. The car sped up. Terrified, Felix realized that they were out to shoot him, in a classical, gangster-style drive by. He had only one chance. He took his gun in both hands and stepped away from his car to the side of the road. The others came closer, and he could see one of them leaning out of the window, wielding a Thompson. When they saw that he was armed, the driver sped up even more, and when they were at the level of Felix' car, the chatter of the machine pistol tore through the air. Felix dove to the ground, and so the salvo did nothing but shatter the windows of his own car. He raised his gun before the other car was even halfway past, and fired three quick rounds, not really knowing if he had hit anything. If he was lucky the driver was at least wounded. He rolled behind his car and turned, just in time to be able to see the other car veer of the road, break through the fence at the side of the road and smashing into a tree. He trained his gun at it, and slowly rose to his feet.
He walked up to the wrecked car, not a second leaving it out of his sights. When he approached it, he could see that he needn't be so careful. The driver was clearly dead, hit by two rounds and smashed through the front window. The gunner on the right-hand side of the car was equally dead, judging by the position of his head his neck was broken. When he slowly and cautiously walked around the car to the other side the door slowly opened and the other gunner fell out. Felix almost shot him, but the sight of the blood pouring down his face and the openly broken leg indicated that he was no danger at the moment. He tried to crawl away, but Felix pointed his gun at him and said: “If I were you, pal, I wouldn't move.” The wounded man turned to his back and tried to raise himself against the tree the car was wound around. In a desperate ploy to stop the bleeding he placed his hand on his broken leg, before howling in pain. Felix approached him and placed the barrel of his gun against the other's forehead. “Now, friend, who are you working for?” Instead of answering, he spat a swath of bloody saliva at Felix, missing his face by inches. “You want to play rough, eh?” The cold gun barrel disappeared from the forehead, and moved downwards. Felix pressed it into the wound where the broken bones threatened to pierce the skin. Felix applied only the minimum amount of pressure, but it was enough to make the wounded man screaming and howling in pain again, until Felix removed the gun after a few moments. “Now let's try again.” He cleared his throat and said: “Who do you work for?” This time the man whispered the name and last known location of his contact before passing out.
[Game Notes: It's snowing outside, I am perfectly warm and comfortable, have a warm cup of coffee in my hand and am writing an update. That's life. Also I can see this plotline running away with itself again, just like the entire AAR did the moment I had the idea for the Empire Plan...]
The next one goes back to Europe. As a matter of fact, would a Naval-based update suffice?
