Let's hope that the Luftwaffe can keep the air clear of Jabos to allow the Panzerwaffe to strike home...
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Crusader Kings III Available Now!
The realm rejoices as Paradox Interactive announces the launch of Crusader Kings III, the latest entry in the publisher’s grand strategy role-playing game franchise. Advisors may now jockey for positions of influence and adversaries should save their schemes for another day, because on this day Crusader Kings III can be purchased on Steam, the Paradox Store, and other major online retailers.
Honestly?
Right now, I based the description of the E-50 "Wildkatze" off my own E-50 in World of Tanks. Plus it will fit part of the story later on.
I've been playing on! Playing on! Took part of this weekend so far to play a little HOI3 and Victoria 2 AHD!
Work on the next update has begun. The working title is: "Prototype Party", there is no timeframe for its publication and most likely will not be this weekend as I'm taking some time to work on my new powerful machine. I'm not exactly sure why I'm upgrading my computer right now especially since after Memorial Day I won't be able to use it till late November/December! But who cares about logic!
Alptraum (Nightmare)
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
Prototype Party
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
Prototype Party
“Reload faster!” shouted the gunner Unterfeldwebel Adolph Puttkamer.
“I am!” responded the winded Unteroffizer Adelino Hilpert, who had thus far reloaded only three shells, but at near rapid pace.
I heard both men, though it seemed like they were far away in the background. The noise in the tank was immense. I really wanted to get out of the tank and see if somebody was banging it with a thousand hammers. It really sounded that way. My ear drums felt like they were going to burst after a shell bounced us off. “Target acquired,” I yelled into the wireless.
Adolph looked through the sights and I hoped he saw what I saw. “Confirmed, Sherman 751 yards ahead. Firing!” The tank rocked back for a moment as our shell exited traveling thousands of feet a second towards the unexpecting Sherman tank. I was hoping for our fourth kill of the offensive; and would quickly be excited by the confirmation of an exploding metal remains.
The Allies had been caught off-guard. Franco, for all his posturing and declarations of Spanish military might, was having his reality broken by us. I had briefly noted when scoping out the field that the Spanish insignias were painted over the Sherman tanks. It seemed America was producing these in numbers far more capable than our own production capacity. However, it seemed America’s numbers were no match for the…
“Where did that come from?” screamed the driver Helmut Saalwachter into the wireless. “We are luck that mother fucker seemed to have bounced.” Suddenly another thud occurred this time against the front armor of the tank.
“Sounds like the bastards are firing blanks,” chuckled the youngest member of the crew, the radio operator Diether Tungen. Upon those remarks we all shared in a brief second of laughter. At either moment there was the feeling that the Spaniards would score a lucky shot at a weak point within the armor. Three shots had bounced off. There is a saying that my father use to always say, you can mess up ninety-nine times before making the best decision of your life. I’m hoping it takes the Spanish at least ninety-nine shots, because quite frankly they won’t be around for the hundredth one.
I continued looking for the location the projectile that bounced was fired from. I thought I knew where the enemy was, there was a bush roughly about 500 yards ahead that. “Shit!” I yelled as I saw the enemy target fire its projectile. I had never seen a projectile so scary as it propelled towards us. Seconds had passed and was there no loud clanking sound as if had bounced. “Did it hit us?”
“No,” seemed to be the unanimous response from the crew. “Must have missed us by a mile” said Puttkamer.
“Let’s show that Spanish bastard how we hit targets,” I said with a great sense of urgency.
“With pleasure commander,” Puttkamer said while pulling the firing mechanism on our beautiful weapon of destruction.
“Target hit! That’s how you hit a target!” I said, refraining from saying more. I was not already myself. I. I’m not sure what I was at this exact moment. I had satisfied my urge of revenge against the Allies killing Hausser. I returned to examining the field to see if any targets were available. Another E-50; a burning Sherman; destroyed halftrack; engulfed in flames building; and retreating Spanish. Excellent.
“Helmut, give her all she’s got! We have traitors to chase!”
“I am!” responded the winded Unteroffizer Adelino Hilpert, who had thus far reloaded only three shells, but at near rapid pace.
I heard both men, though it seemed like they were far away in the background. The noise in the tank was immense. I really wanted to get out of the tank and see if somebody was banging it with a thousand hammers. It really sounded that way. My ear drums felt like they were going to burst after a shell bounced us off. “Target acquired,” I yelled into the wireless.
Adolph looked through the sights and I hoped he saw what I saw. “Confirmed, Sherman 751 yards ahead. Firing!” The tank rocked back for a moment as our shell exited traveling thousands of feet a second towards the unexpecting Sherman tank. I was hoping for our fourth kill of the offensive; and would quickly be excited by the confirmation of an exploding metal remains.
The Allies had been caught off-guard. Franco, for all his posturing and declarations of Spanish military might, was having his reality broken by us. I had briefly noted when scoping out the field that the Spanish insignias were painted over the Sherman tanks. It seemed America was producing these in numbers far more capable than our own production capacity. However, it seemed America’s numbers were no match for the…
“Where did that come from?” screamed the driver Helmut Saalwachter into the wireless. “We are luck that mother fucker seemed to have bounced.” Suddenly another thud occurred this time against the front armor of the tank.
“Sounds like the bastards are firing blanks,” chuckled the youngest member of the crew, the radio operator Diether Tungen. Upon those remarks we all shared in a brief second of laughter. At either moment there was the feeling that the Spaniards would score a lucky shot at a weak point within the armor. Three shots had bounced off. There is a saying that my father use to always say, you can mess up ninety-nine times before making the best decision of your life. I’m hoping it takes the Spanish at least ninety-nine shots, because quite frankly they won’t be around for the hundredth one.
I continued looking for the location the projectile that bounced was fired from. I thought I knew where the enemy was, there was a bush roughly about 500 yards ahead that. “Shit!” I yelled as I saw the enemy target fire its projectile. I had never seen a projectile so scary as it propelled towards us. Seconds had passed and was there no loud clanking sound as if had bounced. “Did it hit us?”
“No,” seemed to be the unanimous response from the crew. “Must have missed us by a mile” said Puttkamer.
“Let’s show that Spanish bastard how we hit targets,” I said with a great sense of urgency.
“With pleasure commander,” Puttkamer said while pulling the firing mechanism on our beautiful weapon of destruction.
“Target hit! That’s how you hit a target!” I said, refraining from saying more. I was not already myself. I. I’m not sure what I was at this exact moment. I had satisfied my urge of revenge against the Allies killing Hausser. I returned to examining the field to see if any targets were available. Another E-50; a burning Sherman; destroyed halftrack; engulfed in flames building; and retreating Spanish. Excellent.
“Helmut, give her all she’s got! We have traitors to chase!”
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Too bad it is mostly under-gunned Shermans; which are not capable of denting the paint on my precious E-50s!Finally Spanish has a decent tank. A pity that Germany has better cats
Major spoiler alert: an upcoming chapter will feature a major character from the timeframe of the story dying, and their initials are not AH.
Realistically, I don't think the Allies really had anything in development that would have been able to match the E-50 if it were actually on the battlefield during World War 2. I think only the Soviets would have had comparable vehicles in the sense of speed, armor and firepower.
And enjoy the surprise - another section "Prototype Evaluation" to be posted after this!
Alptraum (Nightmare)
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
Prototype Evaluation
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
Prototype Evaluation
The E-50 “Wildkatze” had proved remarkably successful as far as I was concerned. In the initial hours of combat, before we halted and I departed from “my” tank, we had sustained a dozen incoming shots that had all deflected. The armor of our beloved prototype was remarkable. I know I stated it before, but the sloped frontal armor of 120mm proved to be remarkably effective against the Sherman’s the Spanish had been leased by the American benefactors. I recollect that the enemy never got a shot off at either or sides or rear, but I believe that the 80mm armor on the sides and rear is adequate.
Shortly after exiting from the hatch of the tank, I walked over to the smoldering ruins of a nearby Sherman. The crew that I had done battle with accompanied me. The stench was overwhelming; the Spanish crewmen had been burning for at least an hour. Pulling a handkerchief over my mouth and nose, I approached closer to the charred hull to confirm my suspicion. “Ah, yes,” I said aloud. “Just what I thought, these Shermans weren’t the up-gunned variants we received reports of in northern France.”
The velocity and penetration of the under-gunned Shermans compared to the up-gunned variants still would be negligible to new weapons of destruction. I recall we had captured a quite a few hundred versions of both variants from repelled invasions in the Calais and Brittany area. Shermans, also known as the M4, while under-gunned and armored compared to our later Panzer 4, Panther, Tiger, Tiger II and now the E-50, was an overall well designed armored fighting vehicle. My son, Sebastian was surprised when about three dozen Shermans were sent his way to reinforce his unit. It felt kind of odd sending captured Allied weapons to defend our capital, but I knew Sebastian was quite technical and could help find good use for the vehicles.
German advances by June 14th, 1944.
Our initial victory over the Spanish was more of a massacre. By the end of the first week of the offensive; which I only took part in the first day; we had driven a wedge well into the Allied lines. The overall objective of the offensive was quite simple – a spearhead by the best divisions of the SS and the Heer thrown against the Allies – towards a small town simply known as Dax near the French-Spanish border on the Atlantic. I remember sitting at the beginning of the second week of our offensive, its June 14th, 1944, and I my jaw dropped.
Apparently, we had already forced the surrender of nearly 7,000 Spanish troops who proclaimed they were forced by Franco to fight against their “national socialist brothers”. I almost believed them, expect for the fact that Franco, even to me, displayed his true colors. The Third Reich has no allies. We have only enemies and states we have propped up with our blood, our equipment and our time. We have been betrayed and will be betrayed again. I sometimes feel as if I should give into the crowd and worship of the Fuhrer. My life would be so much easier, but I would be betraying the my family’s reputation, honor and would most likely wind up dead in a ditch, never to be remembered for the acts that I seek to commit.
In my mind, if I were to betray my upbringing at this very moment, I would be no better than the 7,000 Spaniards who claim to believe in the values of Adolf Hitler and National Socialism. Just hours ago, these very men were firing shots against our men, men who they never had seen before. Men, that, they will never get a chance to fight along side with. It is kind of funny how fast a person will change a life time of beliefs and quickly give up their morals to spare their own skin. Again, I have thought on numerous occasions of betraying my better instincts. But the difference between me and the 7,000 prisoners or anybody else who seeks to save their self – I have not yet succumbed.
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Hooray, map! I have to say the Germans are doing incredibly well in the face of overwhelming odds. Hopefully at worst you'll be able to form a line in the Pyrénées, at best you'll take the treacherous Franco out for good!
It shall all be revealed soon enough. I have the next four "installments" planned. The next one will be rather big, I kind of consider it a good achievement for this narrative, as it will be the 20th installment of "Nightmare" according to the table of contents.
As a spoiler here are the names of next three installments that I know you guys can't wait for:
"The Man with Eight Arms"
"The Forest Becomes a Palette"
"No One Must Know!"
Alptraum (Nightmare)
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
The Man with Eight Arms
An Alternative History Affair
By TekcoR
The Man with Eight Arms
In my briefcase, there were dozens of typed documents with reports from around the theaters of operations we were fighting. There was an after action report I had written about the brief engagement with the E-50. There were also personal documents. Captain Einswald had always carried a diary with him. Shortly after the war ended, I returned the diary to his family. I had collected it after his death. His wife, who sobbed on my shoulder for hours on end, politely told me that I could keep the journal. I have kept the journal within an arm’s reach of me since then.
I carried a collection of photographs. There were thirteen pictures of my eldest son, the first eight pictures ranging from right after his birth to the day he left for his initial military training. The last five photos while meaningful to me do not carry the same sentimental value as the first eight. The first of five is a picture of Philipp right after completing his basic training. The second is of him receiving his promotion to first lieutenant. The third is a picture of him along with a group of fellow officers outside the Amalienborg Palace in Copenhagen. In the fourth and fifth picture, there is a beautiful woman resting her head against Philipp’s right shoulder. His dearest mother affirms my suspicion that he has found a female to possibly become his wife. I eagerly await a letter inviting me to the wedding.
I do not carry as many pictures of Sebastian as I do with Philipp. I have only nine. Similar to his older brother, the last four pictures are of his military service. The last image haunts me the most. Sebastian is being presented the Iron Cross First Class by Adolf Hitler. I have reviewed the image over a thousand times at least and have convinced myself that Sebastian is holding back his grimace in order not to reveal his true colors.
My daughter, my dearest Alessandra, I wish I had more pictures of you. Why are you so afraid of having your picture taken? You look so marvelous in the most recent picture; which I remember your mother clearly forcing you to have taken. I have only three pictures of you by yourself, four if you count the family photo that was taken before I first left for war. I don’t count the family photos as they do not do justice to you as an individual. I wish you could overcome your fear. I really want another picture besides from your first birthday, when you were ten and most recently.
Alessandra Schnack's most recent photograph.
Twenty five pictures I have are solely of my kids as individuals; which is just a small amount that waits for my review back home. The most precious pictures I have – the most precious of precious I should say – are the pictures I have of my beloved wife. I have the most pictures of her. I have countless pictures, at least a hundred minimum with me at any one time. It is understandable though, we have been married since April 19th, 1920. There have been good anniversaries, like the years we celebrated the birth of our kids; or celebrated our first, fifth, tenth, and fifteenth year of marriage. The twentieth was clouded by the fog of war; and the twenty-fifth is most likely to be the same way.
I often look at the pictures of my family, at the minimum of once a day. After the death of Hausser, while part of me called out for vengeance, the other part sought comfort in the pictures. Those of my family are not the only photographs I carry. Hidden well within the confines of the black leather companion there a dozen folders; that if found would instantly end me. There would be no gracious fall from the pedestal; only a slight chance at being offered suicide but most likely would be gunned down and thrown into a ditch. If I took suicide, there would be a small chance to avoid harm to the ones I love the most.
These thoughts are unnecessary at this time. One of the people from my hidden folders is coming to visit the front. I only received notice of his expected arrival yesterday; which is not enough time to use other means to dispose of a true enemy of the state. It seems my gloves will have to come off in order to get my hands bloodied for the incompetent commander of the late Paul Hausser, Henrich Himmler the Reichsfuhrer of the Waffen Schutzstaffel was coming to the front. There was a lot to prepare for the arrival of man who occupied folder number two.
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STOP! COOKIE TIME