Shame about having to leave Poland the Axis Pact, one day they shall be liberated, greater than eve before.. if a dominion of the British Empire.
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Shame indeed about Poland. Would be fantastic to actually save the french. You know, it might be possible.
Lord Strange True, but as much as I wanted to help them, my Army was much too small at that point. If/when I liberate them they will be an independant nation again. I will try not to aquire any more territory if I can avoid it.
Griffin.Gen Saving the French. Hmm. Well, I can't promise anything but I can say without having a spoiler that the Battle of France is going to be interesting.
Griffin.Gen Saving the French. Hmm. Well, I can't promise anything but I can say without having a spoiler that the Battle of France is going to be interesting.
They fell, didn't they? 
Interesting? Then they either got their ass kicked more than in the OTL or that they survived for a long time.
Interesting? Then they either got their ass kicked more than in the OTL or that they survived for a long time.
Griffin.Gen said:They fell, didn't they?
Interesting? Then they either got their ass kicked more than in the OTL or that they survived for a long time.
You'll have to read to find out.
I would if you would updatetrekaddict said:You'll have to read to find out.
Just kidding, take your time.
humancalculator Hehe. It's going to be some months until that happens. The early part of the war went surprisingly historical.
Update to follow immediately.
Edit:
Update to follow immediately.
Edit:
Chapter 60
September 6th, 1939
Cafe “Etienne”, Paris
The Etienne was a known meeting place for the radical Socialists and the French Communist party, and it was again filled with leftist activists of all imaginable form and colour. The left in France was in a difficult position. On one hand their doctrine and political indoctrination forced them to condemn the war, on the other hand they were French, and as such fiercely patriotic. Still the orders from Moscow were clear, and even those groups that were not really connected to the CPF were feeling the pressure of the DGSE. “Comrades, we cannot allow this! In Britain the Imperialists are throwing our comrades in jail, and now our very own Government has followed them into a war against Russia!” The response was the expected growl from the assembled, punctuated by occasional yells for action. “Luckily,” the speaker continued, “luckily our own country has not yet completely fallen into the hands of Imperialists or Trotskite counter-revolutionaries like the so-called British Empire or America, and luckily this is still France! We cannot let this happen. Go back to your factories, offices, workplaces, and tell the others to lay down their tools, to stop working until France has withdrawn from this illegal war of aggression against the Soviet Union and her allies!” Within hour of this meeting the strike spread, and all over France the Army was torn between having to mobilize their Divisions and at the same time supporting the Gendarmerie against the strikes that luckily for the French, were localized but fierce. In Brest the Dockyards had to be stormed by Cavalry, in Paris three munitions plants shut down production for almost three days and several rural villages were in the hands of rioters. The Lebrun Government almost fell over the inaction on the first day, but after a while the large crackdown, paired with the arrest of the higher echelons of the Party, including Chairman Thorez. But while France seemed docile on the surface the it simmered below. The Communists, although forced from the Popular Front, were still a potent political force, and would only wait for their day.
September 7th, 1939
Somewhere over the Franco/German Border
Flight Lieutenant Hanson looked around himself, scanning the horizon for German Aircraft, but all he could see where the three other planes in his section, flying slightly spaced in order to maximise the area they could guard. The four Hurricanes had taken of from RAF Metz twenty minutes ago, after forward French observers had claimed a huge formation of Aircraft coming from the east, heading for Paris. So far they had come up empty. The rest of the 547 Squadron was searching their own sectors, and they too had yet to announce any sightings over the wireless. Hanson once again looked everywhere, seeing nothing but... What was that? “Tally Ho, Tally Ho, Red section!” he announced into the air, and one by one the others reported in. “At about Angel 10, at 351 degrees. Looks like some bombers to me lads.” he said, while flipping the safety off his guns. “Can anyone see any fighters?” he asked, and after all had reported the negative he ordered them into the attack. “Baker control, this is Spider Red, have sighted twelve enemy bombers, no fighter escorts we can see, attacking now. Out.” The Hurricanes split into two pairs and Hanson, along with his wingman, Pilot Officer Mc Tavish dove directly onto the Bombers they had now identified as Soviet DB-3. The other pair would circle above, watching out for the enemy fighter that had to be in this area somewhere, while Hanson and Mc Tavish made their own attack runs. Hanson pushed the stick forward and soon he could see the Bombers with the Red Stars on their wings through the circle of his propeller. He flipped a switch to activate his reflex visor and sighted the lead Bomber in the centre. The second he was in optimum range he pressed the trigger and the Hurricane began to shudder in mid-air from the recoil of the twelve machine guns in the wings. The Soviet Bombers did not notice the British Fighters or return fire until Hanson's accurate fire tore into the left engine of the lead bomber, setting it ablaze. A moment later the Bomber cartwheeled to the ground. Hanson pulled up, manoeuvring in all directions to avoid being hit by the beginning return fire. When he had reached height again he looked around and saw Mc Tavish right beside him, while in the back the second pair already made it's own attack run, downing a bomber and damaging another severly, forcing it to drop it's bombs into the open French countryside and limping home, black smoke trailing from his starbord engine. “Tally Ho Red Leader, fighters coming up, 11 o'clock, same height.” It was Mc Tavish's voice, and when Hanson looked into the indicated direction he could see six little black dots against the cloudy sky. He ordered the rest of the section into position and prepared himself for dogfighting with a larger force. When the planes came closer he saw to his relief that it was a flight of French Mouranes, obviously on a mission similar to his own. When the two formations passed each other Hanson thanked the lord that the French and British Air Forces had managed to agree on using the same frequency for their Fighters once in the air. He directed the French fighters onto the Bombers, that were in the meantime running east after loosing a third of their force within two minutes, and soon he could see the French hacking the Soviet bombers to pieces while the Hurricanes stayed top to provide cover against enemy fighters. Just when they were making themselves ready to fly home two German Me-109s came at them from above and behind. One of the Hurricanes from the second Section was hit, the pilot bailing out. The others flew evasive into diverging directions, letting the Germans shoot through their formation at top speed. The enemy fighters tried to follow them, but Hanson and Mc Tavish managed to shake their pursuers in a cloud. When they leveled off a thousand feet below their original height they looked around for the Germans and the remaining Hurricane. The sky was empty, both from German and British fighters. The French seemed to have retreated, all that was clear was that they were out of sight. Suddenly a voice could be heard over the airwaves, screaming for help. and slightly below them they could see the third Hurricane, hounded by the two Germans. The two British pilots communicated quickly through gestures and then dove downwards, each of them sighting on the Messerschmidt they had selected. A few well-placed salvoes later everything was over, and the three Hurricanes, one leaving a white trail that indicated he was loosing fuel.
Image taken from Hanson's gun camera
They flew back to the airfield as fast as possible, no longer caring about the bombers. The three were utterly exhausted, low on fuel and ammunition, so it was clearly time to call it a day. It had been a good day, despite the loss of a plane, three Bombers and two fighters that would never fly again. When they reached the airfield the damaged Hurricane landed first, with the other two circling overhead. Later at the airfield they gave a detailed report to the Co. “Ivan seems to be sending his bombers in unescorted, at least as far as we could tell, there were no Soviet Fighters in the area.” Hanson said. Mc Tavish added, with a slightly annoyed look on his face: “The Jerries however they are a bit more straigthforward. They are sending in roving patrols, one or two pairs apiece I think. The one we faced seemed to have nothing to do with the Soviets.” “And why is that, Soap?” the CO asked, using Mc Tahvish's nickname from flightschool. “Well, Sir, for one thing they came in from a completely different angle, and secondly the Soviets ran as soon as the Frenchies arrived, so I think that they were maybe unaware of the Germans.” The CO nodded and soon the two pilots, after checking up on the pilot of the third Hurricane were sitting in the mess hall, sipping on freshly made tea and discussing today's combat. Soap was sitting on a comfortable, fluffy chair, while Hanson was leaning on the piano that stood in the room, but was sadly unused this evening as the only one able to really play it was the pilot if the fourth Hurricane, Flying Officer Plummer, was still on his way back to base, after he had been picked up by a patrol of French Cavalry. The Air war over eastern France was currently decidedly in favour of the Allies. The Soviets had sent only their most obsolete aircraft, and the Germans had only a token Air-Defence force in the west. It seemed as if the axis were concentrating all their efforts on crushing Poland.
[Game Notes: I checked France to see what they were building and saw they had 3% dissent from somewhere, hence my idea. Besides I can't see the CPF sit idly on the sidelines when France is at war with the SU. Expect more clandestine Communist operations in the future. Note that I have decided to adopt the Hurricane Mk.IIb as my RL avatar for the ingame Hurricane Mk. II.]
oh, are you german?
nice to see the air war going the way it should, is that encounter based on a game battle or direct from your brain? hopefully the situation will stay that way though the luftwaffe isnt usually a walkover.
and soap mctavish? took me a second or two to remember him
nice to see the air war going the way it should, is that encounter based on a game battle or direct from your brain? hopefully the situation will stay that way though the luftwaffe isnt usually a walkover.
and soap mctavish? took me a second or two to remember him
Yes, I am German. The encounter was mostly based on a game battle, I did in fact intercept a lone squadron of Soviet TACs in that area. The German fighters are role-played though.
Seeing that SAS isn't founded (yet) I had to find other employment for him.
Seeing that SAS isn't founded (yet) I had to find other employment for him.
Darn communists. Can't wait until the SAS gets formed, We're gonna see raids
Anyway just a small thing there, it should be PCF for Partie Communiste Français for more flavour
Anyway just a small thing there, it should be PCF for Partie Communiste Français for more flavour
Griffin.Gen said:Darn communists. Can't wait until the SAS gets formed, We're gonna see raids
Anyway just a small thing there, it should be PCF for Partie Communiste Français for more flavour
I know, but I didn't find out until after the update was posted, and was too lazy to change it. In the future I will use the correct spelling.
Edit: as for the SAS: Only two words: Airborne Commandos!
Hey, It's called the Special Air Service for a reason no?!
Wonder who's gonna be the SAS character...
Wonder who's gonna be the SAS character...
Griffin.Gen said:Hey, It's called the Special Air Service for a reason no?!
Wonder who's gonna be the SAS character...
Well originally the name SAS was simple used to disguise the true nature of the Regiment from the Germans, but in TTL it will be a true and fullblown Paratrooper unit as well as commandos.
Really? I always thought it was originally an airborne unit but later evolved.trekaddict said:
We learn new thing everyday.
Note: This is one of these “because I can” updates.
September 7th, 1939
Army Base in northern Wales
The 6th Airborne Division was technically far too weak to be called a Division yet. All that freshly promoted General Browning commanded were two brigades of Paratroopers that were still in basic training and enough headquarters-troops for a full Division. And now he had received orders to take his best man from his best company in his best Battalion and send them on some venture that was apparently a pet project of the Prime Minister. But he could not complain about this, as it had been started as a reaction of a white Paper that he himself had sent to the IGS some time ago, and anyway, the unit he was taking these men from would still be a fearsome and very capable Regiment. He walked through the front gate of the base, and looked upwards, where the crest of the Royal Airborne Corps and the 6th Airborne Division were proudly displayed side by side. This special status had prevented that any of his men were being called to those Divisions that would form the first wave of the BEF, and Browning was thankful for that. It took months to turn some ordinary Tommie into a Para, and starting all over again whenever another three men were called to join some Territorial or Imperial Army unit that was forming in the Area was not what he considered to be good work. He walked through the base in full Paratrooper Battledress, his red paratrooper beret proudly displaying the insignia of the Paras. On the left of the camp were the barracks of the 6th Parachute Brigade, and on the right, where he was headed where the barracks of the 1st “King's Own” Royal Gurkha Airborne Rifle Brigade. He could still remember his amazement when the War Office had approved his semi-serious and technically very informal request to form the Brigade. He had brought it up on a luncheon in London, when he had sat beside Marshal Gort. It had been at a rather advanced hour when Gort had asked Browning what he needed to make the 6th Airborne Division perfect. “A Brigade of Gurkhas would be very nice, very nice indeed, Sir, but I would be content with some plans to jump from.” Apparently someone had overheard and brought this to the attention of the Nepalese Crown. And now he had what he had never dreamed to be possible, a Brigade of Gurkha Paratroopers, lead by very competent officers and a core of British troops attached, transferred from the 6th to teach them the ropes of being a Para.
When he entered the compound he could see men all over the place, training one thing or another, but the man he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. He stopped one of the soldiers..no, paras, jogging around the camp and asked him: “Where can I find Lieutenant Drake, Private?” “The last time I saw him he was at the shooting range, Sir!” “Thank you, carry on.” Browning walked through the camp, past the jump tower and the parachute packing hut to the shooting range, located behind the camp in a small, horseshoe-shaped former quarry that was been covered by high grass and bushes when the camp had been opened after the lake had been filled up. He could hear small-arms fire coming from the range. It seemed that Lieutenant Drake was not alone there, training with the new Sten-gun that the Division had been issued a few days ago. Drake held the Division record on the range, and if one man was born to be a para then it was him, although with his tall and lanky figure and his blonde hairs he could also have been an SS posterboy in Germany. When he reached the range Browning stood back to observe, but after a few minutes and two more clips Drake had apparently enough and stood up to get back to the Barracks. “Lieutenant Drake! A second.” Drake came to attention in front of the General. “What can I do for you, Sir?” Browning mustered the Lieutenant for a second. Originally Drake had been a part of the RAF regiment, but when the Airborne had started to recruit in all the services he had jumped to the opportunity and had quickly risen through the ranks, getting his commission only three months ago. “Nothing for me, my dear Malcom, but it seems someone in Whitehall is interested in you. Be that as it may, you are to take your senior NCO and go to Liverpool. Once there you will get further instructions.” Drake was clearly displeased, Browning could see that. “Sir, why am I transferred from the Division?” “That, Lieutenant is something I cannot tell you. You have an hour before you will be picked up.” With that Browning handed Drake the papers, turned around on the heels of his boots and walked back towards the Division CP. Drake folded up the papers and was rather surprised when it only read that he and his senior NCO were to join 22 Regiment at RAF Liverpool. No reasons why, no new commanding officer to report to, simply: “Lieutenant Malcom Drake is hereby ordered to join 22 Regiment at RAF Liverpool No.4 Hangar, no later than the 11th this month.” Still, a King's officer did not complain about such trivial things. He would miss the Brigade, as he had come to admire and even love these men, but there was a war on and everyone had to do his bit, even when the new orders were a bit fishy. He ran back to the barracks to find Warrant Officer Turner. The two men had become good friends, despite the difference in rank, and Drake was sure that Turner wouldn't be too sad about a change of tapestry and besides, if his gut was wrong, and it rarely was, then whatever awaited them up there would be most interesting to them both.
September 9th, 1939
RAF Liverpool, No.4 Hangar
Drake and Turner had arrived only a few minutes ago, but where already completely mystified as to what was going on. They weren't alone, it seemed as if enough men had been pulled together to form at least two Regiments, and judging by the Uniforms everything was represented, from the Airborne to the Royal Marines. On the wall someone had painted a huge crest of an unknown unit, complete with the motto: “Who dares wins” There was hushed talking among the assembled men, and from what Drake and Turner picked up no one knew what was going on and the wildest rumours were flying around, from a special unit meant to kidnap Hitler or Stalin, both, over a Intelligence Battalion meant to infiltrate the UAPR to the an assassination squad that worked directly for the crown. This all changed however when a small man in the Uniform of an Army Captain walked on a stage that had been erected below the badge. To get silence to talk he raised a Lee-Enfield and fired a single round into the ceiling. He had everyone's attention instantly. “Gentlemen, as you might have just noticed the outfit we are building here will be anything but conventional. You have been selected by your superiors not only because you are the best, but because you are resourceful and inventive, quick-thinking, able to show initiative and above all damn fine soldiers. We will make you better in all those respects. Gentlemen, you have been selected as candidates for 22 Regiment Special Air Service. I can spot a few paras among you, but let this be told in advance: 22 Regiment is not only a Paratrooper Regiment. You will jump behind enemy lines, you will swim behind enemy lines or simply walk through enemy lines and perform special duty, from blowing up bridges to extracting persons of all colour. Training will be hard, training will be dangerous. If anyone thinks he would rather spend the war with his original unit: there is the door, and rest assured no one will think any less of you. Those of who who remain: Better forget everything you believe you know about soldering. We will teach you different. We will teach you better. You will march different, you will jump different and above all you will fight different. If you, against all Odds, make it through the training then you will be part of a secret, but elite Regiment. Although you will not be able to talk about your exploits for a long time you will be better than the best, faster than the best and you Gentlemen, will be the cream of the Armed Forces of the British Empire.” The Captain walked off the stage, amused about the stunned silence in the Hangar. When he had gone two Sergeants walked on the Stage. “Now, whatever the Captain has said. Ranks mean nothing within the SAS. Whatever rank you held within the normal Army, you will have to re-earn it. There will be no distinction whatsoever between enlisted folk and Officers. Everyone will be equal. Now get your bloody arses on that fucking Bus out there. We have somewhere to be.”
[Game Notes: Gurkha Paras! Any more awesome in a single unit isn't possible. I almost pity the poor souls going up against that Brigade. Hopefully the drone of the transport aircraft will be as terrifying to the Axis as the Katyusha was in OTL. Also in TTL the term “Red Devils” that was only the nickname of the 1st Airborne in OTL extends to the entire Royal Airborne Corps. ]
Chapter 61
September 7th, 1939
Army Base in northern Wales
The 6th Airborne Division was technically far too weak to be called a Division yet. All that freshly promoted General Browning commanded were two brigades of Paratroopers that were still in basic training and enough headquarters-troops for a full Division. And now he had received orders to take his best man from his best company in his best Battalion and send them on some venture that was apparently a pet project of the Prime Minister. But he could not complain about this, as it had been started as a reaction of a white Paper that he himself had sent to the IGS some time ago, and anyway, the unit he was taking these men from would still be a fearsome and very capable Regiment. He walked through the front gate of the base, and looked upwards, where the crest of the Royal Airborne Corps and the 6th Airborne Division were proudly displayed side by side. This special status had prevented that any of his men were being called to those Divisions that would form the first wave of the BEF, and Browning was thankful for that. It took months to turn some ordinary Tommie into a Para, and starting all over again whenever another three men were called to join some Territorial or Imperial Army unit that was forming in the Area was not what he considered to be good work. He walked through the base in full Paratrooper Battledress, his red paratrooper beret proudly displaying the insignia of the Paras. On the left of the camp were the barracks of the 6th Parachute Brigade, and on the right, where he was headed where the barracks of the 1st “King's Own” Royal Gurkha Airborne Rifle Brigade. He could still remember his amazement when the War Office had approved his semi-serious and technically very informal request to form the Brigade. He had brought it up on a luncheon in London, when he had sat beside Marshal Gort. It had been at a rather advanced hour when Gort had asked Browning what he needed to make the 6th Airborne Division perfect. “A Brigade of Gurkhas would be very nice, very nice indeed, Sir, but I would be content with some plans to jump from.” Apparently someone had overheard and brought this to the attention of the Nepalese Crown. And now he had what he had never dreamed to be possible, a Brigade of Gurkha Paratroopers, lead by very competent officers and a core of British troops attached, transferred from the 6th to teach them the ropes of being a Para.
When he entered the compound he could see men all over the place, training one thing or another, but the man he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. He stopped one of the soldiers..no, paras, jogging around the camp and asked him: “Where can I find Lieutenant Drake, Private?” “The last time I saw him he was at the shooting range, Sir!” “Thank you, carry on.” Browning walked through the camp, past the jump tower and the parachute packing hut to the shooting range, located behind the camp in a small, horseshoe-shaped former quarry that was been covered by high grass and bushes when the camp had been opened after the lake had been filled up. He could hear small-arms fire coming from the range. It seemed that Lieutenant Drake was not alone there, training with the new Sten-gun that the Division had been issued a few days ago. Drake held the Division record on the range, and if one man was born to be a para then it was him, although with his tall and lanky figure and his blonde hairs he could also have been an SS posterboy in Germany. When he reached the range Browning stood back to observe, but after a few minutes and two more clips Drake had apparently enough and stood up to get back to the Barracks. “Lieutenant Drake! A second.” Drake came to attention in front of the General. “What can I do for you, Sir?” Browning mustered the Lieutenant for a second. Originally Drake had been a part of the RAF regiment, but when the Airborne had started to recruit in all the services he had jumped to the opportunity and had quickly risen through the ranks, getting his commission only three months ago. “Nothing for me, my dear Malcom, but it seems someone in Whitehall is interested in you. Be that as it may, you are to take your senior NCO and go to Liverpool. Once there you will get further instructions.” Drake was clearly displeased, Browning could see that. “Sir, why am I transferred from the Division?” “That, Lieutenant is something I cannot tell you. You have an hour before you will be picked up.” With that Browning handed Drake the papers, turned around on the heels of his boots and walked back towards the Division CP. Drake folded up the papers and was rather surprised when it only read that he and his senior NCO were to join 22 Regiment at RAF Liverpool. No reasons why, no new commanding officer to report to, simply: “Lieutenant Malcom Drake is hereby ordered to join 22 Regiment at RAF Liverpool No.4 Hangar, no later than the 11th this month.” Still, a King's officer did not complain about such trivial things. He would miss the Brigade, as he had come to admire and even love these men, but there was a war on and everyone had to do his bit, even when the new orders were a bit fishy. He ran back to the barracks to find Warrant Officer Turner. The two men had become good friends, despite the difference in rank, and Drake was sure that Turner wouldn't be too sad about a change of tapestry and besides, if his gut was wrong, and it rarely was, then whatever awaited them up there would be most interesting to them both.
September 9th, 1939
RAF Liverpool, No.4 Hangar
Drake and Turner had arrived only a few minutes ago, but where already completely mystified as to what was going on. They weren't alone, it seemed as if enough men had been pulled together to form at least two Regiments, and judging by the Uniforms everything was represented, from the Airborne to the Royal Marines. On the wall someone had painted a huge crest of an unknown unit, complete with the motto: “Who dares wins” There was hushed talking among the assembled men, and from what Drake and Turner picked up no one knew what was going on and the wildest rumours were flying around, from a special unit meant to kidnap Hitler or Stalin, both, over a Intelligence Battalion meant to infiltrate the UAPR to the an assassination squad that worked directly for the crown. This all changed however when a small man in the Uniform of an Army Captain walked on a stage that had been erected below the badge. To get silence to talk he raised a Lee-Enfield and fired a single round into the ceiling. He had everyone's attention instantly. “Gentlemen, as you might have just noticed the outfit we are building here will be anything but conventional. You have been selected by your superiors not only because you are the best, but because you are resourceful and inventive, quick-thinking, able to show initiative and above all damn fine soldiers. We will make you better in all those respects. Gentlemen, you have been selected as candidates for 22 Regiment Special Air Service. I can spot a few paras among you, but let this be told in advance: 22 Regiment is not only a Paratrooper Regiment. You will jump behind enemy lines, you will swim behind enemy lines or simply walk through enemy lines and perform special duty, from blowing up bridges to extracting persons of all colour. Training will be hard, training will be dangerous. If anyone thinks he would rather spend the war with his original unit: there is the door, and rest assured no one will think any less of you. Those of who who remain: Better forget everything you believe you know about soldering. We will teach you different. We will teach you better. You will march different, you will jump different and above all you will fight different. If you, against all Odds, make it through the training then you will be part of a secret, but elite Regiment. Although you will not be able to talk about your exploits for a long time you will be better than the best, faster than the best and you Gentlemen, will be the cream of the Armed Forces of the British Empire.” The Captain walked off the stage, amused about the stunned silence in the Hangar. When he had gone two Sergeants walked on the Stage. “Now, whatever the Captain has said. Ranks mean nothing within the SAS. Whatever rank you held within the normal Army, you will have to re-earn it. There will be no distinction whatsoever between enlisted folk and Officers. Everyone will be equal. Now get your bloody arses on that fucking Bus out there. We have somewhere to be.”
[Game Notes: Gurkha Paras! Any more awesome in a single unit isn't possible. I almost pity the poor souls going up against that Brigade. Hopefully the drone of the transport aircraft will be as terrifying to the Axis as the Katyusha was in OTL. Also in TTL the term “Red Devils” that was only the nickname of the 1st Airborne in OTL extends to the entire Royal Airborne Corps. ]
sweet, elite commonwealth soldiers everywhere to scare the shit out of the axis! but i had got the impression you werent forming the SAS. obviously i was wrong.
I wasn't planning to, but this update pretty much wrote itself. Originally I wanted Drake to end up commanding the brigade, but now he's in SAS, so meh. The Gurkhas will be the Elite unit of the Elite Arm of the Imperial military, so SAS will be the Elite of the Elite of the Elite.
The Gurkhas will be the Elite unit of the Elite Arm of the Imperial military, so SAS will be the Elite of the Elite of the Elite.