Against all Odds: The British Empire in World War Two

[Raaritsgozilla]

Wow, things look rough for the Exiles. I think that it was a good idea for Garner to use that plan, but maybe because I am from the defensive doctrine side of the fence. It makes more sense no?
Will Japan be getting hacked off with the UAPR?

 

[unmerged(110969)]

The United States government in exile has so many problems. So George C. Marshall is dead and Patton likely to go, there goes the US fighting spirit; and nothing against Ike, if he doesn't have his best commanders (Patton) then he inturn ammounts to absolutley nothing.

Another great update! Looking forward to more between the Americans.

 

[Raaritsgozilla]

Well now I feel embarrassed:
Call of Duty 2
Call of Duty + United Offensvie <--- Only $10 like you said! weird.

 

[Kurt_Steiner]

Oh gosh... Marshall down, Patton sure... I hope that they still have Ronald Reagan...

 

[trekaddict]

Raaritsgozilla (1) The Exiles are in a far better position than the Cuban Exiles in OTL Miami, as they have the back-door, unofficial and clandestine backing of the British and Canadian Secret Service. As to Japan: I didn't mod anything that really affects Asia and Japan in particular, so it's more than likely they will attack at some point.

TheEnlighted1 Patton is MIA since the Battle of Omaha in the early 30s, so it's a good guess he's dead. The Exiles can't do much of anything, and they have now realized it and will resort to indirect methods for now.

Raaritsgozilla (2) No need to, I was equally surprised when I saw it in the shop in my town.

Kurt_Steiner :rofl:

 

[El Pip]

Oh gosh... Marshall down, Patton sure... I hope that they still have Ronald Reagan...

I'm just hoping Tricky Dicky made it.

 

[unmerged(61356)]

I'm just hoping Tricky Dicky made it.

Undoubtedly. You can't put a shifty SOB like him down!

 

[trekaddict]

Well, there's still every dictators favourite, the good old 9mil brain aneurism.

 

[ColossusCrusher]

So that's what it's called.
I always thought it was a 9mm brain hemmorhage.

 

[trekaddict]

Easier to spell, at least for me.

 

[unmerged(85800)]

well Colossus Crusher doesnt have it right, either, so i wouldn't worry about that and actually Trek, i did think you invented that term. i heard it first in one of your earlier aars.

 

[trekaddict]

well Colossus Crusher doesnt have it right, either, so i wouldn't worry about that and actually Trek, i did think you invented that term. i heard it first in one of your earlier aars.

I didn't really, I heard it some other book, where someone was essentially saying: "They say he died of a Brain Hemorreage." "Ah, probably the 9mm variety."

 

[ColossusCrusher]

Yeah, I don't remember the source material for my quote either.

 

[Lord Strange]

Yes. We need Nixon leading the reconquest of the US. NIXON'S BACK! (stolen from Futurama)

 

[trekaddict]

Thanks to dodgy Internet and the neccessity of shutting down everything to fix it the next update will be delayed for a few hours.

 

[trekaddict]

I've been made a Fellow of the Tempus Society!

 

[Lord Strange]

All hail trekadiict. Lord and Master of the forums.

 

[trekaddict]

Lord Strange :rofl:

And here's the update!

Chapter 74​

September 25th, 1939

RAF Short S.26 'Golden Hind', somewhere over the north Atlantic, en route to the United Kingdom

The massive flying boat was on the backward leg of one if it's regular tours to Canada. What made this one special was that it was not only the first cruise since the beginning of the war, but also the first one the plane did under the temporary ownership of the Royal Air Force. The last months since August had been spent with retrofitting the plane with the needed equipment, most prominently two gun turrets and a new RDF set that have it a unique, almost 360° coverage. It was packed to the brim with servicemen, a few civilians and the RAF crew. The Officers were the Advance party for the CANZAC conference that was to be held in London, and the Civillians had been picked up in Halifax, obviously for some conference or other. The Crew did not care, they had enough to do with not getting lost and testing the new-fangled RDF set for its durability. At the moment the operator made a pause, having given his post to his replacement. He was currently dozing away in one of the empty seats, totally ignoring the roar of the engines. Beside him sat a man dressed in a business suit but with unmistakable military behaviour. He was on his way to meet certain high figures of the British Establishment but he was very much bored. He had always hated travel, but his work had always entailed lots of it. Whenever he travelled he liked to converse with those around him. That way he always learned new things, and even in wartime some people were more than willing to share, so when the RAF RDF operator, a very young Pilot Officer, was yawning and waking up he asked with the unmistakable accent of his home: “Slept well?”

“Oh, yes, thank you very much, Sir.” “So what's your job in all this? You seemed awfully bored for a member of the normal crew there when you sat down.” The Pilot Officer contemplated his answer. The new RDF set wasn't exactly secret, but he still had been encouraged not to talk about it if it could be avoided, so he settled for a half-truth. “Oh, we had to fix something with the Wireless when we started on the run to Canada, and I was aboard to test it out. In fact we....” he was interrupted when a loud explosion ripped the No.4 Engine of the plane to pieces. The pilot's head whipped around, and he immediately put the plane into a steep dive, as angled as he dared. “Cut the petrol to No.4!” “Done, but the extinguishing systems aren't working!” The pilot did not answer, but concentrated on pulling the plane up from a dive for which it wasn't made. Luckily the shattered right wing held together and by the time the flight levelled out, a scarce thirty feet above the water, the fire was out. By that time all the RAF crewmembers and strangely enough the older man who had talked with the RDF operator. The pilot only gave them a stern look and said. “OUT!” Everyone except the Wireless operator left. The crew had worked together during the plane's brief stint for BOAC, and he knew that his services would be asked for soon, no matter what. And sure enough, while he struggled to keep the plane level despite the now two dead engines on the starboard side, the pilot said: “Get on the horn to Portsmouth. Tell them what happened and that we will set down on the water. Add our position and that the hull is most likely not compromised, but tell them to come in sharpish, because the north Atlantic is bloody cold this time of the year.” The WO nodded and dashed off. Luckily for the Golden Hind they were only a few miles from the Scottish coast, so help would arrive in a few hours, given that no prowling Axis Submarines were in the area. He cut the engines on the port wing and gently eased the wounded plane onto the relatively calm surface of the water. For once there was no storm in this area, so the waves were relatively calm, and the movement was minimal. Soon the plane was slowly drifting north east. The passengers would have been told to stay in their seats and stay calm, but the obviously non-accidental nature of the whole thing had the plane buzzing with speculation. Two of the British Army officers had helped themselves to the Port from the onboard bar, now sitting with their glasses in their seats and discussing the situation just like they would in their London Club house. The Pilot Officer was on the other hand busy checking his gear for damage, and it seemed that the RDF antennas on the starboard side, and of course on the wingtip of the same had been destroyed, along with half of the electrics in this cabin. He felt slightly nauseous and cursed his chronic seasickness, something that had made him the target of many jokes during the emergency drills they had done before starting their Trans-Atlantic voyages.

He switched off what was left of his gear and half walked and half stumbled back to his seat. With a deep sigh of relief he sat down. Someone once had told him that if you stood still and concentrated your vision on a single point seasickness wasn't so bad, and he was going to test that theory in detail. The same co-traveller sat on the neighbouring seat. “Seasick?” “Yes indeed. These blasted waves.... I joined the Air Force for a reason you know.” “Well, boy, it's odd to have one of you brits suffer from that...” “You American?” “Indeed I am. I'm going to Engla... Britain for a conference.” The Pilot Officer thought that his neighbour was somewhat reluctant to reveal any more, and decided not to press his luck any more. “One thing is strange though,” he said, “the plane is brand new, so it's rather strange for the engine to conk out just like that.” The older man did not answer, but rather stared out the window on the open sea. What the Brit did not know was that he was not going to any conference, but rather to one with the highest echelons of the Government, and that he did not think that this whole affair was an accident. “Well,” he said after a couple of minutes of silence, “at least we're in luck, the hull isn't penetrated and the other engines can generate power as long as the gas doesn't run out. We won't freeze to death, and that's a consolation.” The younger men chuckled and said in response that it was an Airman's worst nightmare to run out of petrol in mid air, but that it was a new experience for him to run out of it on the ground, or rather the water. He stood up and went to the upper flight deck, in order to get used to the slowly moving aircraft. When he reached one of the windows he looked out again for the first time since the plane had touched down. The weather was still very good, and the waves were barely noticeable. On the port side one of the propellers was turning, which indicated that the engine was running, generating power for the heating and the wireless system. He noticed that the pilot was in the wireless compartment and was talking to the man sitting in front of the set. “Everything alright?” he asked the pilot when turned around. “Not at all. It seems that our calls have been received, and that someone is coming, but now we have picked up a report that the huns have a U-Boat in the area...”

The younger officer was struck by this news. The Golden Hind was armed, but her turrets weren't worth anything on the ground, much less on water and against a U-Boat that outranged them anyway. “Listen, Arthur,” the pilot said, using his first name, “we shouldn't tell the passengers that, and anyway..” Arthur would never know what the pilot had wanted to say, because at this moment his seat-neighbour stepped into the cockpit and asked with a enquiring voice: “Tell them what, Flight Lieutenant?” The pilot did not react at once, but after several seconds the strain of the day, the exhaustion of the long flight was catching up with him. “Who in the blazes do you think you are?” he yelled in frustration. “Get down to your seat and bloody well stay there or I will personally drag you down, is that understood?” The older man seemed taken aback, but then again he understood the tension of the situation. “Very well. May I introduce myself, I am Lieutenant Colonel Cramer, formerly of the United States Army.” He pulled some papers from his pocket and showed them to the pilot. “As you can see I am entitled to know as I am travelling as a formal envoy to His Majesties Government in London. Now may I suggest you tell me what is going on?” The Pilot gulped and took a few moments to compose himself. “Basically we have reports of U-Boats in the area, and it is save to say they know we are here.” Cramer nodded and was about to reply when, as if on cue, a lookout sighted a ship. “Ship on eleven o'clock, Captain!” The pilot looked in the indicated direction, and sure enough a plume of smoke could be seen coming towards them at high speed. “Get the upper turret ready, Mike!” the pilot yelled into his microphone. The upper turret on the back of the stranded plane sluggishly moved into the direction, and the gunner wondered what he was supposed to do with it against anything larger than a fishing boat. The ship came closer and closer, and when the shape morphed into a Battle-Class Destroyer the pilot and everyone else onboard was relieved. “Thank God, it's one of ours.” he said, while standing up. He walked down to the passenger deck. He addressed the passengers from the stairway. “Listen up, Gentlemen. It seems that His Majesties Destroyer Vanity has decided to drop by and pick you up. Luckily we are only a few miles from land, and so the crew and myself will wait here for the tugboat to reel us to the coast.” The boats from the Destroyer soon docked with the Golden Hind and the passengers filed out. Cramer was the last one out. He turned around to Arthur and said: “In all this I didn't catch your name, Son.” “Clarke, Sir, Arthur C. Clarke.”


[Game notes: When I was searching for a celebrity cameo in this chapter I came across Clarke when I was surfing random Wikipedia articles out of sheer boredom. When I saw that he had served in the RAF in WW2 I knew I had found my man. The Golden Hind will be featured in future updates too, so I had them save her.]

 

[Lord Strange]

Yey my favourite science fiction writer is here.

 

[humancalculator]

Good Update!