A mere year later huh? This should be interesting.
Its true, the Dutch have some sweet hats.
Its true, the Dutch have some sweet hats.
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Griffin.Gen Thank you!
Kurt_Steiner TBH, they reminded me more of German colonial troops.
Raaritsgozilla Well, back in the day I was unfamiliar with Carrier warfare, having never really built them in numbers before.
Kurt_Steiner TBH, they reminded me more of German colonial troops.
Raaritsgozilla Well, back in the day I was unfamiliar with Carrier warfare, having never really built them in numbers before.
trekaddict
Great timeline.
Just hope we see more soon as Dathi has been quiet for a while. One small flaw with the map in that, at least currently, Tejas is recognised as an independent Duchy [or Grand Duchy if you believe the inhabitants.
] True its occupied by the Mexicans at the moment but once we're wiped the US [again] it will be liberated.Steve
Read the long thread... it would have reverberations in Asia in the late 19th and early 20th century...
I am most interested when the Germans come knocking sixty years down the road.
I know what you mean about being scared of the IJN - having suffered some horrendous defeats to them I always give them a healthy respect when planning my Pacific wars!
Great few updates Trek, loved the SAS one. Sorry I haven't been around much of late...
Great few updates Trek, loved the SAS one. Sorry I haven't been around much of late...
All caught up, though doubtless I will fall behind again shortly.
Dutch Boomerangs you say? Is that the CAC Boomerang in Dutch service? If so very interesting, though I suspect it has the British aero-industry having kittens! Not only are the Australians making aircraft, but someone else is buying them. It'll be the end of the Empire, mark my words.
Dutch Boomerangs you say? Is that the CAC Boomerang in Dutch service? If so very interesting, though I suspect it has the British aero-industry having kittens! Not only are the Australians making aircraft, but someone else is buying them. It'll be the end of the Empire, mark my words.
Le Jones No worries, and thank you.
El Pip Well, when the RAAF was starting to get/licence build at CAC late model Spits, they started flogging their Boomerangs to anyone who wanted them, and since the KNIAF never had access to American Aircraft since the 1930s, the Dutch bought the Boomerangs for service in the DEI, sending what Spits they had to Europe. The British Aero-industry doesn't like it much but hasn't got much of a choice, since the Ozzies are providing much needed local capacity. If this keeps up, RAF Squadrons in the Far East might one day fly Australian and Indian made Spitfires.
El Pip Well, when the RAAF was starting to get/licence build at CAC late model Spits, they started flogging their Boomerangs to anyone who wanted them, and since the KNIAF never had access to American Aircraft since the 1930s, the Dutch bought the Boomerangs for service in the DEI, sending what Spits they had to Europe. The British Aero-industry doesn't like it much but hasn't got much of a choice, since the Ozzies are providing much needed local capacity. If this keeps up, RAF Squadrons in the Far East might one day fly Australian and Indian made Spitfires.
Thanks for posting that link to alt-hist, cos I don't spend enough time reading random forum postings
Actually read the whole thread over the last 24 hours and I've now started on DoD over there.
I don't know what's wrong with the world, I though the internet is for porn :rofl:
Actually read the whole thread over the last 24 hours and I've now started on DoD over there.
I don't know what's wrong with the world, I though the internet is for porn :rofl:
Chapter 228
While the Dutch were battling the Japanese outside of Batavia, Ian Fleming was sitting in his Office in the mansion and going through After Action Reports by some of the returning field Commanders that had helped the Royalist Resistance in Yugoslavia while happily whistling 'Hearts of Oak' in spite of the gruesome literature he was reading. Royalists, local Nationalists, remnant Communists, Muslims, Christians, Albanians, Croats and Serbs, all battled for supremacy not only against the Soviets but also against each other, and with the SOE officers in the middle. Felix was out and about to brief one of the attached SAS patrols on a mission into Yugoslavia where they had to blow up a bridge, so he was alone. When the phone rang, he immediately picked it up as it would give him something else to do than sorting out the mess that was the Allied position in Yugoslavia.
The person on the other end was none other than Field Marshal Alexander, and that alone told Ian that something was up. He did meet with the Field Marshal on a regular basis, but they had spoken only the day before, so why was he calling again? After all, CINC Europe had enough to do with clearing out northern Italy.
“Field Marshal, what can the Naval Liaison Office do for you?”
“It seems you have friends in strange places, Captain. You better get up here. Alone.”
Ian was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. He would now spend several hours in a Land Rover driving to Rome, and probably not reach it until it was dark.
“I will come, Sir, but can't you tell me anything more?”
“Not over the Phone. Pack for a couple of days.”
At this moment Felix stepped inside and Ian signalled for him to sit down.
“I see, Sir. I'll n....”
He had hung up. Felix looked at Ian curiously and asked: “What was that all about?”
“I haven't the foggiest, mate.” came the reply as Ian raised his hands in defeat. “Can you mind the shop for a couple of days? The Powers that be want to see me in Rome.”
“Why?”
Ian just shrugged and picked up the phone again. This time he called the in-house car pool and had them release one of the tuned up Land Rovers to him. He always had some spare No.2s and civilian clothing in a bag waiting fur such eventualities and simply put in some necessities and drove off the property less than half an hour after being called. The roads to Rome had been hastily repaired by the Italian Civilian authorities, but they were still choked full with military traffic going north, even though by now it were mostly lorries carrying supplies. Rome was at the time the centre of the Allied War effort, and the number of Allied military personnel showed it. The Headquarters of Commander in Chief European Front actually lay to the north of Rome, and when Ian worked his way through the several layers of security, he saw that the multi-national nature of the War effort was clearly evident, with the long row of flagpoles in front from where the flags of all the Allied Governments flew. Six more layers of security had to be passed before he entered the heart of the Allied War effort on the continent, the map room. Field Marshal Alexander took him aside and after twenty minutes of hushed conversation, Ian again found himself in a car, a civilian limousine that officially belonged to the British Charge d'affairs with the Italian Civilian Administration that was now being groomed to take control of the areas south of Rome. The corridor going to the Swiss border was getting wider and wider, but it was still far from save. Milan had been declared an open city and occupied without bloodshed a while back, and the road going towards the city was now officially declared safe since the Army now claimed that they had pushed the enemy out of Artillery range. Still the side of the road was dotted with crude signs telling people how to behave in air or artillery attacks, and here and there burnt out vehicles told the tale of them. Ian had seen enough of the war not to trust the Army fully, and had for that reason stashed his Browning Hi-Power in his bag; the driver was armed with a drum magazine RAC issue Thompson for the same reason. At one point Ian could see a battery of 7.2 inch Horwitzers in the distance, shooting at something which gave him a good idea just how close the front still was. Even so, the farther north they got the lesser signs of the war could be seen and by they stopped for the night, only a faint rumble in the distance and the ever-present allied convoys told of the death and destruction that had engulfed Italy. On the next morning, shortly before eleven, they reached the Swiss border. Ian hid his gun at the bottom of his and quickly stepped behind the car to change out of his uniform and into the unfamiliar civilian clothes before getting back into the car. The border crossing went smoothly, probably helped by the diplomatic plates on the car and the suspiciously thick envelope that the driver handed to one of the border guards. Once inside the Mountain Republic, Ian's mind went back to the conversation he had had with the Field Marshal. “Why me?” Ian had asked after being briefed. “They asked for you specifically.” “Smells like a trap, Sir.” “It's quite obviously one.”
Ian liked to think that he was doing a good job and that the Allied Commandos were raising hell for the Axies, but was it enough to have the Germans want him dead? He doubted it. For one the SOE was a secretive bunch, and it was unlikely that the Germans even knew that he was running things, evidenced by the fact that they has asked for 'Commander Fleming' and not used his forth stripe, yet apparently someone still knew that he was running around in Italy, because the message had been sent to the Allied European Headquarters via the British Embassy in Switzerland. It was all very curious, and the Intelligence Officer inside Ian was looking forward to finding out. He checked if his gun was loaded and once he was satisfied that it was, he leaned back in his seat and quickly fell asleep; he would need all his faculties at full capacity once he was in Bern. He was jostled awake when the car suddenly decelerated at a crossing and saw that it was almost dark again and they were close to the outskirts of Bern. Something about the scene outside of the struck him as odd, and when the car began to drive among the houses of the Swiss capital, it struck him. There was no blackout. For someone who had spent the last years in countries that were at war with each other, seeing street lights, cars and houses with the lights on and proclaiming where they where for all the world to see was decidedly odd.
“We're there, Commander.” the driver said when they stopped at the inconspicuous rear entrance to the embassy. The gate was opened by by the security guard and Ian stepped when the car came to a halt behind the residence. The man that had come to meet him was...
“Well bugger me, Ian Fleming!”
Ian smiled and looked at the face of an old Friend from his Berlin days.
“Maximilian Turner you old fraud!”
He exchanged manly slaps on the back as Turner guided Ian inside.
“Trade attachee?” Ian asked before the other could say another word.
Turner just nodded and led Ian into an office in the cellar of the building.
“So, Turner, where, when and how?” Ian said as soon as the door was closed.
“It's pity you must persist in being so business-like.” Turner sighed and poured both of them a cup of tea.
Ian took the tea and listened as Turner began to describe what had happened.
“Some days ago, I was approached by my German counterpart when I was taking lunch in a small restaurant a few blocks down the road. He asked my to convey a message to those with the decision-making powers and that you were to come north to meet an old friend from your time in Berlin.”
Ian was puzzled, because as far as he could remember there were no old friends from his time in Berl.....but of course! The man who had given him the information on the offing of the Duke of Windsor. Ian had theorized quite a few times since then who it might have been and had his ideas, but then again that high a member of the Abwehr was unlikely to leave Germany during wartime, so it was probably just a ploy to catch his attention. It had worked though, because he was determined to get to the bottom of this, and if it was the last thing he did.
“And before you ask, he said that you were to meet him in front of the League of Nations complex in Geneva in two days.”
“Great. More cars.”
“You Naval Officers, get all soft when you have your fancy Dreadnoughts to ride around in, but us poor footslogging folk have to actually work for a living!” Turner joked, having been in the Army between the wars.
“Oh shut up.”
The League of Nations Palace in Geneva, today part of the Swiss European History Museum
Two days later Ian was standing in front of the closed League of Nations complex and feeling increasingly bored. Not only was he wearing a civilian suit instead of the No.2s he liked so much, but also he was here for almost an hour now and he had the strong urge to just not bother waiting any more.
Suddenly however someone spoke to him.
“Commander Fleming?”
Ian turned and was dumbstruck for a second because the person talking to him was none other than the man he had talked about with Felix a few weeks ago and who normally wore the uniform of the German Paratroopers.
“Well I'll be...Oberst Steiner, isn't it?”
To the untrained observer the Colonel's face didn't move, but Ian could see a flash of surprise running over the face of the man.
“We should go somewhere more private.”
Ian followed Steiner into a small pub, full with people. He nodded approvingly, because he knew that in places as crowded as this one it was harder to overhear a conversation than it was if one was sitting in an empty room.
“Colonel, unless you want to tell me that you are about to surrender unconditionally, there is nothing much I can help you with.”
Steiner smiled mysteriously and looked at the Britisher on the other side of the table.
“You may not trust me Commander, but my principals anticipated that, and I was told to tell you that you did a good job on Pinie, even though you did cause some harm to the Abwehr as an institution. The Führer never really forgave us, mainly because your Ambassador dared talk to him such. Reportedly the only other time he was this angry was when the Bismarck was sunk.”
Ian couldn't help but smile.
“He better be, I still have the scar.”
That surprised Steiner. From what he had heard about British Intelligence Officers they left their Offices even more seldom than the German ones, but this one went against the reputation.
“In any case, there is once again something going on that we would like you to know about, and...”
Ian interrupted him when the waiter came to take their orders, and they did not speak again until the cups of Coffee were standing in front of them.
“So who are you offing this time? The King? The Queen? The Prime Minister?”
The reply came as a rude shock.
“No, General Franco.”
Ian thanked Lady Luck that he hadn't had any coffee in his mouth for it would surely have landed on the German.
“Two things on that. First, why? And second: Why on earth should I be interested in it? The Spaniards are in no shape or form to wage a war, and pulling them in would just stretch your Air and Ground Forces even further.”
Steiner had been prepared for this question.
“The Führer doesn't want Spain in the Axis, thanks to the OKW. The Generals managed to convince him that Spain would be a greater liability for us than Ireland is for you. No, the idea is to replace Franco with someone more open to our needs.”
Ian snorted and replied after a while:
“Let me guess, he asked for more and more economic and Military aid and tried to exact more than you were willing to pay using his position regarding Gibraltar and the western Med?”
Steiner nodded, and had he been an intelligence Officer instead of the military one that he was, he would have been pleasantly surprised. Instead he thought about nothing but what to say next.
“I cannot tell you that, Commander, because I haven't been told. My principals however stressed that I was to tell you that it was meant not only as a sign of good faith, but also to show your principals that there are Germans who can be reasoned with.”
'So that was what it was all about!' Ian thought.
Apparently some of the Germans were getting cold feet and were looking for a way out, and the crafty old Admiral was using a large but in essence insignificant operation at the periphery of Europe to make informal contact with the British. He had to admit, it was well chosen, because unlike the Germans, London couldn't ignore what was going on in Spain because of the rock. Well chosen, well chosen indeed. He doubted though that the PM, or the French, and least of all the Poles would go for any form of negotiated peace. On the whole the war in Europe was going the way of the Allies, and Ian still had enough contacts in HQ Europe to know that Alexander was more than confident of being able to destroy the Wehrmacht and the Red Army once the terrain was more suited to the superior mobility and mechanization of the Allied forces. If Sandra's letters were to be believed (seeing as they weren't censored thanks to Ian's position) Britain was determined to fight it out, and so were probably the col...Imperial Dominions. 'We need a shorter term for that' he thought. No, the Empire was in this for the long haul, and Ian honestly believed that only after the pre-war Polish borders were restored at the very least, there would be no settlement.
“Why should I believe you?” he said. “You haven't exactly lost the war, and you know as well as I do that you outnumber the Allied Forces.”
“Because the war will be far more destructive to us than it will be to you. Your Empire allows you to disperse more of your Industry than we will ever be able to, no matter how much we hit the United Kingdom.”
'Tough luck you bastard. Shouldn't have gone to war in the first f*cking place then.' Ian thought.
“Very well, hand me what data you have, and I will forward it. That's all I can promise.”
[Notes: The description of Alexander's HQ is inspired by NATO HQ in Belgium.
]
Thanks for posting that link to alt-hist, cos I don't spend enough time reading random forum postings
Actually read the whole thread over the last 24 hours and I've now started on DoD over there.
I don't know what's wrong with the world, I though the internet is for porn :rofl:
PrawnStar
Surely porn is in the eye of the beholder.
Steve
So no UN in Geneva, does that mean there is no UN at all? Interesting.
Characteristic misstep by the Abwehr, cool as Steiner is they really should have sent an intelligence officer instead of the muscle. Then again given the inept reputation of their intelligence officers I suppose Steiner was one of the few they could trust not to set fire to his own shoes through shear incompetence.
Kurt_Steiner While I do have plans for him, that isn't on the list.
Raaritsgozilla It's not on the books, but not totally out of the question.
stevep Indeed. That particular thread for example will make for very erotic maps of North America.
El Pip There will be some form of UN, but where, how big and with what powers is something I haven't decided yet.
Steiner is one of the few Officers that Canaris trusts to a certain degree, and probably the only high-ranking Abwehr man that the Germans can be sure is known to the British. As you know, Ian was given information on how the Duke of Windsor was going to be killed, and this information comes from the same source. Thanks to help from the NKVD, the Abwehr is slightly more competent, instead of setting fire to their shoes, they simply step in dog poo seventy-five times a day.
Raaritsgozilla It's not on the books, but not totally out of the question.
stevep Indeed. That particular thread for example will make for very erotic maps of North America.
El Pip There will be some form of UN, but where, how big and with what powers is something I haven't decided yet.
Steiner is one of the few Officers that Canaris trusts to a certain degree, and probably the only high-ranking Abwehr man that the Germans can be sure is known to the British. As you know, Ian was given information on how the Duke of Windsor was going to be killed, and this information comes from the same source. Thanks to help from the NKVD, the Abwehr is slightly more competent, instead of setting fire to their shoes, they simply step in dog poo seventy-five times a day.
Chapter 229
The Royal Thai Air Force was a very small force and their equipment usually lagged at least half a generation behind that of the greater powers. They had managed to maintain their independence during the Colonial period, and now the Japanese were...something for them. Most of the pilots were willing to fight in this war that wasn't theirs, but then again, they hadn't seen much combat. The Japanese and the Chinese Air Force had displaced the RTAF from the best Airfields, but that was the price they paid, that and some few raids into Burma and air cover for the first half of the stretch towards Singapore. The Siamese pilots didn't realize that the Japanese had parted with the early-model KI-43 only because they considered them obsolete and because the IJAAF and IJNAF were stretched thin and could, at least at the moment, not spare enough aircraft to defend Siam as well. Even without wireless sets, self-sealing fuel tanks and with a less powerful engine the planes the Siamese pilots flew were a far cry from the old KI-27s thy had had, so no one complained. The Airbase the 12th Squadron was based on, near the old border between Siam and French Indochina, was one of the better ones that hadn't been ceded to the Japanese, it even had a concrete runway which allowed them to operate during the current monsoon, even though it was not raining today.
Suddenly the wail of the siren shattered the silence, and the pilots began to board and scramble their aircraft. In the five minutes it took them to do so, the station commander had found out just why his planes were scrambled and even before the first one began to role, his men knew too, but not from him, more because the sky over the airfield was suddenly black with aircraft. The Ki-43s launched, all 15 operational planes. The enemy aircraft were high, but at least not bombing the airfield and so they would only have to climb to altitude and try to get them. One of the pilots wondered what sort of planes they were, because the black shapes above and ahead were far larger than anything the RTAF or the Japanese had, and if he was not mistaken, four engined. He had heard rumours that the westerners sometimes had those, but so far they hadn't ventured beyond Bankog, so his Squadron had never faced them yet. Had their planes been equipped with Wireless, the few experienced men among the pilots would have told their comrades that the almost two-hundred bombers and their escorts were (mostly) British Lancasters and Mosquitoes. It was the first major Allied raid anywhere farther east than the Siamese capital, since the Japanese had concentrated a tremendous amount of air power in the region. CinC Air Forces Far East, Air Marshal Sir Arthur William Tedder, KCB was still less than happy sending his entire and very precious Lancaster Force into harms way like this, but London had insisted that some form of attack on French Indochina was needed, and in the end Tedder had relented, also because the raid would divert the attention of both London and Tokyo from an entirely different and much more risky Air Operation that Field Marshal Auckinleck had only reluctantly allowed to go forward.
No.50 Squadron Lancasters Mk..IIIb over eastern Siam
When the British did actually see them, several of the escort fighters broke away to attack the enemy, but by that time the KI-43s were in range and opened fire. It was a very unequal contest. The British were flying in a spaced formation so as to give the gunners aboard the Lancasters the optimal field of fire, and almost four-hundred L3A5 Machine guns, aka .50 Cal Brownings were trained on the Siamese Fighters. Of these only about sixty or so could actually fire at the approaching enemies, but that was more than enough, and a wall of bullets greeted the Fighters as they began to line up on their targets. Two were hit even before they managed to open fire, one was the victim of a lucky hit that splattered the brain of the pilot all over the cabin after smashing through the thin glass, the second was lost when a burst of .50 projectiles destroyed the engine and set the hideously vulnerable fuel tanks on fire. Then, before the Mosquitoes could intervene, the KI-43 were amongst the bombers. However if the Siamese had thought they were saver in there, they were instantly disabused of that, because here the overlapping fields of fire of the turrets. When the Squadron had run the gauntlet of criss-crossing tracer and bullets eight remained, and of those all but two were damaged. The Allies had lost a British and an Australian Lancaster each, with minor damage to several others. The Siamese had learned what the other Asiatic Pact pilots were learning, Allied Planes tended to be heavily protected and armed. Scurrying back to their base, the Siamese were not attacked by the escorting planes who instead formed up to sweep ahead and try clearing the airspace over Southern French Indochina from the Japanese, and over the next two hours an epic storm of death breaks out all over the area. Lacking RDF, many Japanese planes are caught on the ground, in spite of news of the raid arriving in Saigon some hours before, and those that do get off were quickly despatched. Allied losses were moderate, far lower than expected, thanks to many of the planes in the areas being either bombers or off escorting the day's raid on Singapore, to summarize, the British had utterly surprised the Japanese. Leading the attack was none other than No.617 Squadron, their deployment to Borneo cut short and now flying from airbases west of Imphal. Their target was the harbour of Saigon where supposedly several major IJN surface units were stationed, and even if they weren't, the 189 bombers remaining were loaded with 500 pounder bombs, allowing each to carry twenty-eight, which made for 5295 bombs being dropped on an average-sized naval base from about 10000 feet in daylight and uncharacteristically fine weather.
The Air-raid warning system over Saigon consisted of a few hand-powered sirens, but they still would have given ample warning to the population, had they not noticed the Mosquitoes roaring over the city, attacking airfields and generally creating havoc, as evidenced by the burning fuel. The sound of engines however did not quiet down, instead it got ever louder, for the Bombers had arrived. The Naval base was subject to the full fury of the Commonwealth Air Forces as the 500 pounder began to rain all over the area. Only two Destroyers were currently present, but both were instantly covered with direct hits, near misses and splinters and were both afire and in a sinking condition even before the bombs stopped falling. The bombs that fell on the rest of the harbour were too small to outright destroy the biggest structures, but the (almost empty) torpedo storage depot, the small arms munition storage and the fuel depot weren't part of them, and they went up as planned. The conflagration started by this would eventually destroy what little of the harbour the bombers had left behind. The British had soon done their work and withdrew.
At the same time an airfield in India was a beehive of activity. The New Zealand Squadron stationed there was the only such Squadron in that country's Air Force, and as a result they were not very pleased that they had been selected for this mission. It wasn't a Bomber Squadron, even though those existed within the RNZAF, but they were rather flying a twin radial engined transport Aircraft, the Douglas UK Dakota II as built by de Havilland Shadow Factories in India. The Squadron Commander was not flying today much to his own anger and directed his emotions against the poor RIAF Liaison Officer who had been the one to tell the Kiwis about the mission., since the Factory was at the moment producing a mere sixty Dakotas a month, and most of these went to the Commonwealth Squadrons that helped to supply the front in Burma. He knew that of these six at least two wouldn't come back, but the orders from Headquarters Far East had stressed that the mission was of vital importance. Just why six Dakotas were urgently needed on a small dispersal field on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean was beyond him, but he did as he was told. One by one the six planes took off and headed south-east. Six miles from the airfield they were joined by eight Spitfires of the Royal Indian Air Force's No.66 Squadron, who had exchanged the bombs that most fighters carried as a matter of cause when flying over Burma for external fuel tanks to extend their range. Their destination was easily within range for the Dakotas, given that they wouldn't have to fly back just yet. Unlike the Squadron Commander the Aircrew flying the Dakotas actually knew where they were going due to the cargo they had loaded. Spare parts and several fully assembled Merlin Engines told them Spitfires, and the only other Spitfire force outside of Australia was at Singapore. They weren't exactly volunteers for this mission, but had they been asked, they all would have volunteered. Their first destination was Smith Island, in the Andeman and Nicobar Islands that formed the border between the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea. The former penal Colony was now a Sea Plane base from which now three Squadrons of Sunderlands operated and kept a watch out for Japanese ships trying to enter the Indian Ocean. Ground-Based defences consisted of a locally raised Battalion and two companies of the 44th Punjab Rifles and three clapped out old Mathilda Mk. IIa's with the old 2pounder gun. Port Blair Airfield was near the town of the same name and was, at the time, not very long nor very well equipped considering that the aircraft permanently stationed on the Island were seaplanes, but it was more than capable of handling Dakotas, because before the war the BOAC had used it as a refuelling and mail stop on the route from India to Singapore.
The six Dakotas had the luck that the break in the weather was holding, and even as the Spitfires turned around, they continued on. About two-thirds of the way from Smith Island, they were met by a Sunderland that was to guide them to the Airfield where they landed, only to refuel, take two hours rest and then set out again in the afternoon.
On that evening the RDF operators in Singapore were told to look out not only for an evening raid, but also watch out for a small group of targets coming in from North-North-West. The operators were, like the rest of the men in the Air Defence Operations centre at the brink of breaking down, they had been on almost constant duty for more than a week now, and even though two of the main RDF stations were down (if repairable) the coverage of the Island and the surrounding waters had to be maintained. Fortunately for everyone else, the Japanese had failed to knock out 'HMS Lion' as the battery of large land-facing guns was called. The attacks against the airfields however had been moderately successful. Two fields were out of action for good and would need some serious repairwork before they could handle anything again. The Fighters themselves too had taken a serious beating, but RAF Malaya Department had lost fewer pilots than expected, and for the moment there were enough spares ready for assembly waiting in crates. Still, several components were in scarcer supply than what was liked. Morale in Singapore wasn't exactly bad, but after days and days on end with daily heavy air-raids and anti-air artillery restricted in it's ammunition usage as an act of caution. The pilot of the single Spitfire was no exception, but when 'Angel Five' turned out to be six Dakotas in RNZAF colours he was intrigued and gladly guided the Kiwis along the Malacca Strait and into Singapore. The arrival of the transporters raced through the fortress at the speed of light. True, it were only six aircraft, but that six planes had braved the (perceived) gauntlet of Zeroes and whatever superweapons the Japanese were rumoured to be having that day. The New Zealand Aviators were celebrated like heroes and were photographed for The Straits Times with General Slim, an iconic photograph that would eventually find it's way onto the front pages of most major newspapers in the Allied and Neutral World. On the way back the planes would be loaded with evacuees and wounded men.
One of the RNZAF Dakotas in 1991. The plane was applied with British markings and the black-white stripes in a later operation.
As the last of the Dakotas took off again a day later, they were seen off by Air Vice Marshal Browning and Wing Commander Dashwood who had sneaked out of the hospital for that purpose. His body still showed the evidence of a crash landing in his Spitfire but at least he now knew that he would be up and flying again in a few weeks.
“What do you think, Sir?” Dashwood asked, “will they come back?”
“Lord knows.” replied Browning. “But at least it shows that Tedder has the balls to do something in spite of Auckinleck.”
Browning was known not to have a high opinion of CinC Far East.
“I don't know, Sir Miles. Tedder at least is not the worst Officer out there, I mean at least he knows how to fly.”
Dashwood showed the customary disdain of RAF Officers for the other Services.
“There is some truth in that, Wing Commander. Anyway, even if the planes return as these Kiwis said most of our supplies will come through the convoys, so I rather pray for them than our fellow aviators.”
Dashwood said nothing in reply. As a senior Officer he knew that it might be some time before the Navy risked some of it's precious Carriers and freighters again in the Nip infested waters of the South China Sea. His wife would never know just how close he had come to dying in the wreck of that Spitfire, and when he looked over to where some mechanics where rebuilding the write-offs into dummy aircraft his leg began to hurt again. 'Goddamn cast' he thought and slowly made his way back to where his wife was waiting with little Jonny, and made sure that his crutches didn't slip on a wet patch like this morning.
[Notes: Theatre Commanders are Field Marshals (like Alexander or the Auck), local and Army Commanders are full Generals (Slim, or O'Connor), and from then on it's Lt. General for Corps, Major General for Division, and Brigadiers for the much maglined and more and more insignificant Brigades.]
Its nice to see british heavies in the Far East. OTL they were never sent there, right?