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Thank you, and well, it is a painting of everyones favourite Battlecruiser in the Denmark Strait.
 
And may your eardrums burst from a broadside at point-blank range. :D
 
Smashing stuff indeed, nice!
 
aye, merry christmas to all!
 
ColossusCrusher And the same to you, good Sir! :D

Sir Humphrey Thanks!

BritishImperial
And returned.

Also I went back to my old Avatar, because that one at least works. :(
 
Update a coming, later today. Also, which idiot at Paradox found it realistic to code the ARMA 1.2 AI so that the UK totally ignores rocketry techs?


Code:
ignore 		= {
		# Rocket Assembly
		5170

		# Battle Cruiser
		3190 3200 3210 3220 3230 3240

		# Battleship 3250 3260 3270
		3280 3290 3300 3310

		# CAS
		4170 4280 4180

		# Mountain Unit techs
		1110 1120 1130 1140

		# Marines 1150 1160
		1170 1180

		# Atomic Research
		5470 5480 5490 5500 5510 5520 5530 5540

		[COLOR="Red"][B]# Rocketry
		5550 5560 5570 5580 5590[/B][/COLOR]

		# Airborne 1070 1080 1090
		1100

		# Air Transports 4250
		4260 4270

		# Mechanized
		1260 1270 1280 1290

		# SP Rocket Artillery
		2260 2270 2280 

		# Rocket Artillery
		2370 2380 2390

		# Armoured Cars
		2150 2160

		# CAS Air Doctrines 9040
		9050 9060 9070 9080 9270 9280 9290 9300
	}

This doesnt make sense! In 1946 my TA-183s were up against bloody Typhoon prop-interceptors, and this, considering Frank Whittle and Gloster! Curse these dastardly Swedes and their fiendish plots!

I'm am going to hard-install DAIM. Thats for sure. Lets hope that's going to be fixed in HOI3. Goddamn.
 
Chapter 79

c-1.jpg

October 4th, 1939

Outside Halifax, Canada

The cold weather did nothing to improve the mood of the Harbour-master who had been ordered to wait at the old BOAC flying Boat pier. When had been ringed up in the dead of the night, despite having a day off for the first time since the war in Europe had started, he had cursed in his native French tounge and wished he had stayed a hunter back home in Quebec. But then his wife had reminded him that he had never been one to remain at home and sit around while others went off and did their bit. So here he was, cursing the English, the Jerries and the Ivans, and generally being cold and miserable. He did not even know why he was here anyway, the caller, his foreman had only said that he was to meet two men here at 07:00 AM. He glanced at the watch hanging inside the locked customs office. It was almost time, and so far no once else was here. He once again cursed the cold and rainy weather and the fact that he was living in a city that had almost two-hundred days of fog a year. He made a pact with himself. If he was still alone in a quarter-hour then he would go home and simply claim that no one had arrived, no matter if they still did. He was just about to turn around and go home to his wife when he heard a car pulling up outside the gate. Out came two Officers wearing the winter Uniform of the British Navy. One of them was cursing with a muddled but still noticeable American accent, while the other simply looked on with a cheeky grin on his face. The two men noticed him and waited by the car for him to open the gate. While he walked to the door he could still hear the younger one ask: “Then why is it so hard to get a bloody cup of Coffee in best place in town?” He opened the gate and did not hear the answer, but rather a murmured greeting and a question: “You are the Harbour-Master I assume?” He nodded and answered: “Indeed, Mr...” in a questioning tone.

Ian ignored the question for his name and purposefully walked past the Canadian official. “We should go somewhere warm.” After a few minutes the three men were seated in the masters warm office, helping themselves to warm tea and crumpets that had appeared from somewhere. “To make it short,” Ian opened, “we would like to see the maintenance manifest of the BOAC flight that came here a few days ago.” The Master had stopped trying to pry any information from his guests other than their Identification Papers, and went to get the manifest for the flight in question. “So, what do you think?” Ian asked. “Either he's a very good actor or a very poor liar. Either way, his ways of fishing for information are very amateur-ish. We need to be careful.” By the time the whispered conversation was over the Master had returned with the manifest and the report in his hands. After politely throwing him out of his own office, Ian and Felix went to study what he had brought them. Beforehand they had agreed that they would have to talk to everyone even remotely associated with the Golden Hind, but Ian felt that going over the list beforehand might give them some clues or ideas. He was not really convinced it had been the Russians, Germans, or, much to Felix' surprise, the UAPR for that matter. “We'll have to pull them all in, that's for sure, but we should go and talk to the head of the maintenance crew right now. Even if he is innocent he might know something.” Ian said, closing the manifest with a heavy thump. When they exited the Office a few minutes later the Harbour-Master could see that both had a look of determination in their faces when they passed the small cubbyhole/office where he was trying to concentrate on tomorrow's duty roster. He didn't expect to see either of them again, but he would be told otherwise in an hour when three Constables from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police knocked on his door.

Meanwhile Ian and Felix where in their car again, arguing over whom to pull in first. They would get the local law enforcement to do the job on most of them, but they had decided to go and get the head of the BOAC ground crew and the engine mechanics themselves. Felix had said that he had a hunch, a deja-vue esque kind of feeling with one of the names, so in the end they decided that they would go and visit the chief mechanic first. They drove through the countryside outside Halifax, and both internally debated the wisdom of going there without backup. When they however reached their destination after almost an hour's driving, all these thoughts were forgotten. The house was an old, run-down farm, a few hundred yards back from the road. In the distance they could see a few ramshackle buildings, seemingly deserted. They opened the gate and slowly drove towards the largest building at the far end of the road, which was more a dirt-path than a country road. The large vehicle slowly rolled up to the house and before they got out of the car they speedily flipped off the safeties on their guns, because both had had a bad feeling about the whole situation, and reinforcements were far away. They walked up to the door and Ian proceeded to knock on the door. Silence as no one answered. Suddenly all hell broke loose. Even years later Felix would insist that he somehow saw it coming, and tried to yank Ian away, but it was too late. The world exploded in noise when a rifle was fired through the door. Luckily either the shooters aim was off or Ian had not stood exactly in the middle, because the bullet missed his heart, instead catching him in his upper right shoulder. He was thrown back and fell to the ground bleeding heavily from the wounds. Felix would never remember screaming “NOOOOO” at the top of his lungs, would never remember dragging Ian to relative safety behind the car while blindly firing his own gun through the door. Only when they were behind the car, facing the open countryside, did his senses return and allowed him the quickly appraise the situation they were in. At least one Gunman in the house, and armed more heavy than he was, although no more shots had been fired. Ian bleeding heavily, but still semi-concious. He was faced with a simple choice, either risk his best friends death and face the possibly multiple enemies, or worse, the wrath of his sister if Ian died.

He decided that caution was the better part of valour, and haphazardly bandaged Ian's wound with a strap of cloth from his shirt. He was still bleeding, drifting in and out of conciousness, and Felix was very much afraid. When he quickly peeked over the bonnet of the car he could see a single man running away, through the small gap between the house and the adjacent barn. Deciding that the risk was low enough, and that he didn't have any more time anyway, Felix quickly opened the rear car door and strapped Ian in, who was by now out cold, still loosing small amounts of blood. Felix thanked the lord that the vehicle was left-hand drive and wrestled himself behind the steering wheel, starting the engine while ignoring the small puddle of blood in front of the shattered door of the house. When the big V-8 roared into life Felix slammed it into reverse, stepped the accelerator down to the metal and reversed the car on the small square it was standing on, knocking over the only small tree on evidence while doing so. He slammed the gear into first and sped down the street they had been coming from. He curved onto the road, not bothering with slowing down or opening the gate, his dying friend the only thing on his mind. Despite the massive understeer he managed to keep the car on the road and raced towards Halifax, ignoring the speed limit and the sparse traffic that was about. The next hour was pure agony for him. Ian was put cold, but Felix regarded him as the brother he had never had and felt an anxiety that threatened to tore the twisted remnants of his innards to shreds before they reached the nearest hospital. When he finally reached the outskirts of Halifax, Ian was as white as a sheet, and the makeshift bandage was soaked with blood. He scrambled out of the car and yelled for a doctor, with the bleeding Ian perched between the wall and his own shoulder. His friend was ripped from his hands by two nurses, while a third one guided him to a small waiting room, where exhaustion and adrenaline made him collapse into a chair from which he could see the door behind which Ian had disappeared. His own uniform was soaked, but he ignored it, staring mindlessly at the door, not knowing wether or not his brother in all but name was still alive.

[Game Notes: Sorry, I couldn't help myself!]
 
:eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:

That was beyond unexpected. Really interesting twist to the plot though. :)

Let's hope that he pulls through.
 
a nice, happy, christmas update. thanks, trek, i'm all worried now. you wouldn't kill off one of your proffessed favourite characters... would you?
 
humancalculator I didn't expect it either. When I started that chapter I had a carchase in mind, not that.

Kurt_Steiner Aye. Its no coincidence, that city really is named like that.

BritishImperial I can only refer to my Game Notes on that I'm afraid. This chapter pretty much wrote itself.
 
Kurt_Steiner Aye. Its no coincidence, that city really is named like that.

I knew it, those Canadians are so mad sometimes, but I was wondering if you selected the place by its name:D
 
I don't get it...:(
 
Total coolies indeed!
 
NOES! But its ok, we know he survives, he makes up James Bond :D What a stunner, good update. But whom could it be?!
 
ColossusCrusher&humancalculator&Faeelin Indeed. I often stated that I hate him.

Raaritsgozilla Heh. :D Now who could it be?
 
Ahh the eternal problem of investigating dangerous enemies; the heavy mob is never there when you need them.

I profess total and utter faith that Ian will survive, if only because the wound doesn't seem too bad. Of course if he doesn't make it that will also be good, because it will establish an 'Any character can die' precedent, which means in any future suspenseful situation I'll never be sure if they will make it (as the author has form for killing characters with long back stories)