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Gaspard peered out of his hiding place, about fifty meters south of the motorcycle. The first truck was slowing to a stop. He grinned. The motor was loud as hell.
Loud enough to cover the sound of his silenced rifle as he picked off the driver, when he stuck his head out of the window.
Godenot would be watching to make sure no one started that truck back up. Gaspard crept further down the road. The second truck stopped, right on schedule. The driver popped his head out of the window. Again, Gaspard fired and the driver slumped back into the truck.
Two agonizing minutes crept by.
Finally, the rear hatch flew open and the soldiers inside laid down a sheet of fire from their carbines, bullets whizzing overhead. Gaspard waited until one got his hand on the handle of the driver's door before firing again. He dropped two more soldiers before his muzzle flash was sighted. As the bullets started coming closer, Gaspard dropped to his belly and started creeping to his left. Just as a soldier lifted his arm to fling a grenade, he was killed by a shot from in front- Godenot, God bless him. The soldiers redirected their fire. Gaspard took advantage of the distraction to take down another soldier.
The hatch on the first truck cracked open. Deciding the time for subtle measures was past, Gaspard grabbed the machine gun- a Schmeisser, excellent- that he had salvaged from the motorcycle. He pulled the catch and braced the gun against a dead tree. He laid down a withering fire, catching six soldiers as they poured out of the truck. Two or three were only wounded, and their shouts added to the growing pandemonium. Godenot had taken advantage of the confusion to start up his own machine gun, killing three soldiers who had rushed to their truck's driver seat. Gaspard calculated quickly. Only twenty or so left. He rushed to a new hiding spot, waiting for a clean shot. He bared his teeth, looking at the sky- soon it would be light enough for the Italians to take him down, if they didn't succeed in getting their trucks moving.
Gaspard fired his rifle again, and the report was loud enough to alarm him. These silencers weren't worth a damn after four or five shots. A sheet of bullets flew overhead, raining him with leaves and twigs. A splinter of bark lodged itself in his right arm.
The soldiers in the front truck had gotten their door open. There were ten or twelve soldiers firing wildly into the woods, stopping Godenot from getting a shot off. Gaspard backed up warily. The soldiers facing him were advancing by turns, five or six firing cover while the rest crept forward a few meters. He grunted. This was by far the stupidest thing he had ever done.
Loud enough to cover the sound of his silenced rifle as he picked off the driver, when he stuck his head out of the window.
Godenot would be watching to make sure no one started that truck back up. Gaspard crept further down the road. The second truck stopped, right on schedule. The driver popped his head out of the window. Again, Gaspard fired and the driver slumped back into the truck.
Two agonizing minutes crept by.
Finally, the rear hatch flew open and the soldiers inside laid down a sheet of fire from their carbines, bullets whizzing overhead. Gaspard waited until one got his hand on the handle of the driver's door before firing again. He dropped two more soldiers before his muzzle flash was sighted. As the bullets started coming closer, Gaspard dropped to his belly and started creeping to his left. Just as a soldier lifted his arm to fling a grenade, he was killed by a shot from in front- Godenot, God bless him. The soldiers redirected their fire. Gaspard took advantage of the distraction to take down another soldier.
The hatch on the first truck cracked open. Deciding the time for subtle measures was past, Gaspard grabbed the machine gun- a Schmeisser, excellent- that he had salvaged from the motorcycle. He pulled the catch and braced the gun against a dead tree. He laid down a withering fire, catching six soldiers as they poured out of the truck. Two or three were only wounded, and their shouts added to the growing pandemonium. Godenot had taken advantage of the confusion to start up his own machine gun, killing three soldiers who had rushed to their truck's driver seat. Gaspard calculated quickly. Only twenty or so left. He rushed to a new hiding spot, waiting for a clean shot. He bared his teeth, looking at the sky- soon it would be light enough for the Italians to take him down, if they didn't succeed in getting their trucks moving.
Gaspard fired his rifle again, and the report was loud enough to alarm him. These silencers weren't worth a damn after four or five shots. A sheet of bullets flew overhead, raining him with leaves and twigs. A splinter of bark lodged itself in his right arm.
The soldiers in the front truck had gotten their door open. There were ten or twelve soldiers firing wildly into the woods, stopping Godenot from getting a shot off. Gaspard backed up warily. The soldiers facing him were advancing by turns, five or six firing cover while the rest crept forward a few meters. He grunted. This was by far the stupidest thing he had ever done.
Great work Prufrock. Keep it up! I want to see what they are up to.
Also, LB, we need an update from you too!
Also, LB, we need an update from you too!
I will be completing my long-overdue finale today.
LB, I apologize for slacking on this.
Avanti!
LB, I apologize for slacking on this.
Avanti!
Prufrock451 said:
So where's this promised finale Prufrock? I want know what Gaspard and Gadenot are up to!
WoWz
- this thread is so long and has been active for almost a year over one game. Awesome by both authors by the way. Just read over it and am missing the screen shots tho - wish could of seen them
- this thread is so long and has been active for almost a year over one game. Awesome by both authors by the way. Just read over it and am missing the screen shots tho - wish could of seen them
Finally, the finale.
His position well marked, Gaspard bared his teeth. There was little to do now but fight his way out. He got back to his knees and fired two quick shots. One Italian soldier went down, and the others trained a fusillade of bullets on him. Gaspard began crawling behind a log, preparing himself to dash to another hiding spot.
Gaspard had read an interesting study the War College had published about a year into the war, stating that for each man killed in battle, anywhere from a thousand to three thousand bullets were spent. Most people just didn't have the courage (or madness, he mused) to look someone in the eye and shoot them.
Now that the Italians had recovered some of their wits and pinned down both French snipers, and they had had a chance to think things through and become extremely upset with Gaspard and Godenot, those odds were likely to drop a bit.
Gaspard gritted his teeth as a bullet kicked up dirt right in front of his left arm. He and Godenot were still outnumbered ten to one. It would take a miracle to get out of this.
Suddenly, a bark came from inside a truck. Two Italian soldiers retreated back to the door. The line halted in its advance, forty meters in front of Gaspard. It was still too dark to see him, but that would change soon. Gaspard muttered a brief prayer of thanks- these Italians obviously hadn't expected any company on the road. A few grenades, or a few flares, and this whole fiasco would be over.
A voice, in Italian. "Come out! You've made your point, and you can't win. Come out and surrender!"
Gaspard kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to reveal his position without a damn good reason. He crept a bit to the east, figuring the Italians would be too deafened by the battle to hear him rustling through the leaves.
"Are you French? Russian? I guarantee you fair treatment!" Gaspard peered onto the road. Italians were creeping back to the doors of the lead truck. Godenot snapped off a quick shot, getting one just below the nape of his neck. The Italians fired back, and one genius finally remembered to shoot out the headlights on the motorcycle. The road was plunged back into darkness, although there was still enough light for Gaspard to make out the Italians' silhouettes.
His position well marked, Gaspard bared his teeth. There was little to do now but fight his way out. He got back to his knees and fired two quick shots. One Italian soldier went down, and the others trained a fusillade of bullets on him. Gaspard began crawling behind a log, preparing himself to dash to another hiding spot.
Gaspard had read an interesting study the War College had published about a year into the war, stating that for each man killed in battle, anywhere from a thousand to three thousand bullets were spent. Most people just didn't have the courage (or madness, he mused) to look someone in the eye and shoot them.
Now that the Italians had recovered some of their wits and pinned down both French snipers, and they had had a chance to think things through and become extremely upset with Gaspard and Godenot, those odds were likely to drop a bit.
Gaspard gritted his teeth as a bullet kicked up dirt right in front of his left arm. He and Godenot were still outnumbered ten to one. It would take a miracle to get out of this.
Suddenly, a bark came from inside a truck. Two Italian soldiers retreated back to the door. The line halted in its advance, forty meters in front of Gaspard. It was still too dark to see him, but that would change soon. Gaspard muttered a brief prayer of thanks- these Italians obviously hadn't expected any company on the road. A few grenades, or a few flares, and this whole fiasco would be over.
A voice, in Italian. "Come out! You've made your point, and you can't win. Come out and surrender!"
Gaspard kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to reveal his position without a damn good reason. He crept a bit to the east, figuring the Italians would be too deafened by the battle to hear him rustling through the leaves.
"Are you French? Russian? I guarantee you fair treatment!" Gaspard peered onto the road. Italians were creeping back to the doors of the lead truck. Godenot snapped off a quick shot, getting one just below the nape of his neck. The Italians fired back, and one genius finally remembered to shoot out the headlights on the motorcycle. The road was plunged back into darkness, although there was still enough light for Gaspard to make out the Italians' silhouettes.
Not to mention the esteemed Skorzeny.Regent Horthy said:So where's this promised finale Prufrock? I want know what Gaspard and Gadenot are up to!
We still don't know what happens next, Pru! Are there more parts to the finale?
The voice chuckled. "It's just a matter of time. Come out now. Spare your lives. We've already radioed ahead to our destination. Reinforcements are on their way."
Gaspard cursed. He should have expected that. He put his ear to the ground. Sure enough, he could hear (or feel, rather) the approach of a truck. He clenched his fist around his rifle.
This was the end. Gaspard unslung the Schmeisser machine gun and readied it again. The time for subtlety was drawing to a rapid close. He whistled softly to Godenot. A low whistle came back, and the die was cast. They would fight to the end. Gaspard allowed a short stab of sorrow to wash through him. Godenot had risked everything for their friendship, and now he would lose his life.
The rumble of the truck was audible now, coming in fast. Gaspard readied himself. The headlights shone on the horizon, and then slipped through the sky to pierce the gloom and illuminate the road again. The Italians were blinking, trying to readjust. Gaspard caught a split-second look of grim satisfaction on one Italian's face before he opened up again with the Schmeisser. He walked a line of bullets across the line along the road, running to take cover behind another tree. He heard a satisfactory amount of screaming- he must have gotten one or two more. Godenot was firing too. The Italians shifted to return his fire, and Gaspard tossed aside the Schmeisser, snapping off more shots with his rifle. The headlights were much closer, but the truck showed no sign of slowing. Gaspard blinked and decided, against his better judgment, to see what happened next.
The truck rolled easily over the motorcycles left in the road, and slammed head on into the lead armored truck. Gaspard caught a dark blur tumbling out of the truck's rear just before the impact, and suddenly an unholy racket exploded out of the road. In the strobing flash of a squad-support machine gun, Gaspard made out the hulking frame and grinning visage of Otto Skorzeny as he rained bullets left and right, the fifty-kilogram gun punching holes through men, trees, and vehicles. Gaspard shrugged and added a few shots of his own, when the wave of bullets wasn't flying directly over his own head. The belt ran dry and Skorzeny had disappeared into the woods before the gun hit the ground, but to little purpose; the road was completely still, except for the hissing of ruptured radiators.
Godenot spoke before Gaspard could think of anything witty. "You have a real flair for this sort of thing, don't you?" Skorzeny barked out an icy laugh. Godenot popped out of the woods, and Gaspard did as well. The rear door of the lead truck was cracked. Gaspard slammed it open and shone his flashlight inside. A bald man knelt on the floor, holding his head. He'd suffered a nasty crack to the skull when the truck was hit. Papers and suitcases were strewn around him.
"Benito Mussolini," Gaspard said, "I now arrest you in the name of the French Republic." Mussolini staggered to the door of the truck. Gaspard offered him a hand. "Sit in the road there."
Skorzeny and Godenot were sizing each other up. Skorzeny broke the silence.
"Orders. You two are good, but you're just not politically dependable." Skorzeny drew out a cigar and lit it. "I secured the house and radioed for pickup. They'll have a small plane here in an hour to get Ciano and Mussolini- and us- back into Germany."
Gaspard spat. "Your disappearing act damn near got us killed!"
Skorzeny shrugged impassively. "Keeping you safe wasn't in the dossier I got."
Gaspard cursed. He should have expected that. He put his ear to the ground. Sure enough, he could hear (or feel, rather) the approach of a truck. He clenched his fist around his rifle.
This was the end. Gaspard unslung the Schmeisser machine gun and readied it again. The time for subtlety was drawing to a rapid close. He whistled softly to Godenot. A low whistle came back, and the die was cast. They would fight to the end. Gaspard allowed a short stab of sorrow to wash through him. Godenot had risked everything for their friendship, and now he would lose his life.
The rumble of the truck was audible now, coming in fast. Gaspard readied himself. The headlights shone on the horizon, and then slipped through the sky to pierce the gloom and illuminate the road again. The Italians were blinking, trying to readjust. Gaspard caught a split-second look of grim satisfaction on one Italian's face before he opened up again with the Schmeisser. He walked a line of bullets across the line along the road, running to take cover behind another tree. He heard a satisfactory amount of screaming- he must have gotten one or two more. Godenot was firing too. The Italians shifted to return his fire, and Gaspard tossed aside the Schmeisser, snapping off more shots with his rifle. The headlights were much closer, but the truck showed no sign of slowing. Gaspard blinked and decided, against his better judgment, to see what happened next.
The truck rolled easily over the motorcycles left in the road, and slammed head on into the lead armored truck. Gaspard caught a dark blur tumbling out of the truck's rear just before the impact, and suddenly an unholy racket exploded out of the road. In the strobing flash of a squad-support machine gun, Gaspard made out the hulking frame and grinning visage of Otto Skorzeny as he rained bullets left and right, the fifty-kilogram gun punching holes through men, trees, and vehicles. Gaspard shrugged and added a few shots of his own, when the wave of bullets wasn't flying directly over his own head. The belt ran dry and Skorzeny had disappeared into the woods before the gun hit the ground, but to little purpose; the road was completely still, except for the hissing of ruptured radiators.
Godenot spoke before Gaspard could think of anything witty. "You have a real flair for this sort of thing, don't you?" Skorzeny barked out an icy laugh. Godenot popped out of the woods, and Gaspard did as well. The rear door of the lead truck was cracked. Gaspard slammed it open and shone his flashlight inside. A bald man knelt on the floor, holding his head. He'd suffered a nasty crack to the skull when the truck was hit. Papers and suitcases were strewn around him.
"Benito Mussolini," Gaspard said, "I now arrest you in the name of the French Republic." Mussolini staggered to the door of the truck. Gaspard offered him a hand. "Sit in the road there."
Skorzeny and Godenot were sizing each other up. Skorzeny broke the silence.
"Orders. You two are good, but you're just not politically dependable." Skorzeny drew out a cigar and lit it. "I secured the house and radioed for pickup. They'll have a small plane here in an hour to get Ciano and Mussolini- and us- back into Germany."
Gaspard spat. "Your disappearing act damn near got us killed!"
Skorzeny shrugged impassively. "Keeping you safe wasn't in the dossier I got."
The silence stretched out again. Skorzeny lazily drew an arc in the road with his right foot, flexing his knees ever so slightly. Gaspard leaned forward imperceptibly, his hands drifting quietly up and away from his torso. To most anyone watching, they would have seemed motionless. Godenot, though, recognized the standoff for what it was.
The Italian dictator did as well, apparently. He started speaking in an atrocious French.
"Listen. Listen! There is a kilogram of gold in this truck. I know where there is more, yes? I recognize you, Skorzeny, I do not know you, French comrades, but I hear you say you do not love the government. You three, you take this gold! Take it! I will hide you here in Italy! You will have more!"
The three men stared at each other, the impasse broken by a simple curiosity. Skorzeny spoke first, in a slow and deliberate Italian.
"I have never broken a promise. I have never acted dishonorably in battle. I will not take your money." He looked at Gaspard and Godenot, and winked with the eye Mussolini could not see. He whipped the rifle off his shoulder. Gaspard started to see the truth, and his heart began to hammer in his chest. He raised his arms slowly.
"Both of you," Skorzeny growled, "into the woods. Now." He whipped up his left arm to point at Mussolini. "Move, fat man, and you'll take three days to die."
Gaspard walked slowly, his hands clasped on his head. His heart was beating faster and faster, the blood singing in his ears. He couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet.
There was a sharp crack as Skorzeny fired the rifle, and then another. The echoes rolled across the quiet road.
Skorzeny leaned in, taking a long pull off the cigar. He sighed.
"Take the kilogram of gold. You have the passports. Go. Get out of this fucking war." The Austrian chuckled, low. "If you get bored, of course, and put aside your priggish idealism, you should look up our mutual friends in Switzerland. I'll certainly put in a word for you."
The heavy footsteps crunched through the leaves and twigs, back to the road. Skorzeny barked something, and Gaspard turned around to watch the Austrian march Mussolini into the distance. He turned to look at Godenot, who was staring back at him.
"Well," he said, "what now?"
The Italian dictator did as well, apparently. He started speaking in an atrocious French.
"Listen. Listen! There is a kilogram of gold in this truck. I know where there is more, yes? I recognize you, Skorzeny, I do not know you, French comrades, but I hear you say you do not love the government. You three, you take this gold! Take it! I will hide you here in Italy! You will have more!"
The three men stared at each other, the impasse broken by a simple curiosity. Skorzeny spoke first, in a slow and deliberate Italian.
"I have never broken a promise. I have never acted dishonorably in battle. I will not take your money." He looked at Gaspard and Godenot, and winked with the eye Mussolini could not see. He whipped the rifle off his shoulder. Gaspard started to see the truth, and his heart began to hammer in his chest. He raised his arms slowly.
"Both of you," Skorzeny growled, "into the woods. Now." He whipped up his left arm to point at Mussolini. "Move, fat man, and you'll take three days to die."
Gaspard walked slowly, his hands clasped on his head. His heart was beating faster and faster, the blood singing in his ears. He couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet.
There was a sharp crack as Skorzeny fired the rifle, and then another. The echoes rolled across the quiet road.
Skorzeny leaned in, taking a long pull off the cigar. He sighed.
"Take the kilogram of gold. You have the passports. Go. Get out of this fucking war." The Austrian chuckled, low. "If you get bored, of course, and put aside your priggish idealism, you should look up our mutual friends in Switzerland. I'll certainly put in a word for you."
The heavy footsteps crunched through the leaves and twigs, back to the road. Skorzeny barked something, and Gaspard turned around to watch the Austrian march Mussolini into the distance. He turned to look at Godenot, who was staring back at him.
"Well," he said, "what now?"
There!
Back over to you, LB, and my apologies again for imposing on your hospitality.
Back over to you, LB, and my apologies again for imposing on your hospitality.
*applauds*
Very, very good... especially the parallels to RL--gliders, Skorzeny, Mussolini--except this time Skorzeny went to capture Mussolini, not rescue him. I wonder what they'll do with the guy?
Very, very good... especially the parallels to RL--gliders, Skorzeny, Mussolini--except this time Skorzeny went to capture Mussolini, not rescue him.
I wonder what they'll do with the guy?
Nice scene with Gaspard and Skorzeny, Prufock, and good story so far. I'd take the bar of gold.
Prufrock451 said:Back over to you, LB, and my apologies again for imposing on your hospitality.
Thankyou very much Prufrock, I really appreciate your excellent contribution to this AAR. Splendid work.
chibus said:
A year? Wow, I didn't realise this AAR has been going for so long! Sorry about the screenshots, I have just realised that the uploader I was using before no longer exists.
Greedy General said:
Thankyou Greedy General. I hope you enjoy the rest.
Thankyou Mettermrck.Mettermrck said:
Thanks cthulhu. I am sure France will be victorious once again.cthulhu said:
The USSR has definetly been weakended by the Japanese in the east, and a large numer of Red Army units are fighting in the far East. This will definitely make it easier for my forces. If France had to face the entire might of the Red Army, I would no be very confident right now.Machiavellian said:
Where Diplomacy Ends, War Begins – Part 2
The trees lining Helsinki harbour gently swayed, as a refreshing and temperate sea breeze swept across the blanket of clam blue ocean. Boats bobbed on the sea as the clam waves rippled towards the shore, and the sound of seagulls resounded along the old wooden docks. It was a perfect summer afternoon in the peaceful Finnish capital, but the pleasant backdrop was devoid of life. There were no cheerful children playing along the seashore, no fisherman on the docks, no women browsing through the fresh food markets that usually lined the roads along the harbour.
A small motorcade, made up of a black staff car followed by two armoured vehicles suddenly broke the melancholic silence as it sped along the deserted harbour side road. The motorcade, bearing the flags of a French Army commander, came to a halt outside a five-story nineteenth century building that faced the clam sea. General Gentilhomme, commander of the French forces in Finland, stepped out of the black staff car as six Finnish materialised from the side of the building. The soldiers, attired in their flawless Finnish Army uniforms, escorted the General and his adjutants into the dreary old building. Several hours later, as dusk descended on the city, Gentilhomme emerged with the Finnish war hero, Field Marshall C.V Mannerheim at his side. The two great soldiers shook hands genially before Gentilhomme slipped into the back of his staff car. The small French motorcade then hastily sped off towards the French field HQ on the western outskirts of Helsinki.
Helsinki harbourside. Centre - the building where Gentilhomme discussed the Finnish surrender with Mannerheim.
At the Château Borgonnesailon in the picturesque and serene Loire Valley, President Sanvea received a telegram from Gentilhomme in Finland proudly declaring, “Marshall Mannerheim, Commander-in-chief of the Finnish Armed forces has signed the unconditional surrender of Finland’s armed forces.” Five hours later, at exactly midnight, hostilities ceased between France and Finland. French troops on the western approaches of Helsinki triumphantly entered Finland’s quiet capital during the early morning hours of the 16th.
The distant rumble of artillery could be heard to the East. The Red Army was fast approaching the Finnish capital, and a sense of trepidation and angst set in amongst the city’s already frightened population. Marshall Mannerheim, who had been sworn in as President of Finland (on orders from Paris) in a hurriedly organised ceremony on the 17th, assured the people of Helsinki that “French and Finnish forces shall fight side by side to protect our city from the barbaric Russian horde.” That same day, Foreign Minister Bombardier warned the Soviet Union to not enter Helsinki. The Soviet Government did not respond. Over the next few days, the Finnish government attempted in vain to reach a peace agreement with the USSR. Stalin refused to waiver.
On the morning of the 20th, tension in Helsinki reached breaking point as Soviet artillery barrages began to rain down like a silver storm over the city. Historic buildings crumbled under the intense shelling, and plumes of dark smoke billowed into the ominous grey sky. The French government issued one last warning to the Soviets. In a telegram signed by Sanvea, Stalin was warned that unless he “suspends the aggressive attack on Helsinki within 1 hour,” France would have to act. As the hour slowly passed by, the Soviets displayed no signs of apprehension, and as if to mock the French, Soviet shelling was directed towards the western districts of Helsinki, where the French forces were concentrated. At 61 minutes after the ultimatum was issued to Moscow, Bombardier called the Soviet ambassador to his Ministry in Paris. He informed the ambassador that, due to Soviet belligerence and hostility, a state of war “now exists between the Republic of France and the USSR.”
Eastern Europe, on the eve of war
The trees lining Helsinki harbour gently swayed, as a refreshing and temperate sea breeze swept across the blanket of clam blue ocean. Boats bobbed on the sea as the clam waves rippled towards the shore, and the sound of seagulls resounded along the old wooden docks. It was a perfect summer afternoon in the peaceful Finnish capital, but the pleasant backdrop was devoid of life. There were no cheerful children playing along the seashore, no fisherman on the docks, no women browsing through the fresh food markets that usually lined the roads along the harbour.
A small motorcade, made up of a black staff car followed by two armoured vehicles suddenly broke the melancholic silence as it sped along the deserted harbour side road. The motorcade, bearing the flags of a French Army commander, came to a halt outside a five-story nineteenth century building that faced the clam sea. General Gentilhomme, commander of the French forces in Finland, stepped out of the black staff car as six Finnish materialised from the side of the building. The soldiers, attired in their flawless Finnish Army uniforms, escorted the General and his adjutants into the dreary old building. Several hours later, as dusk descended on the city, Gentilhomme emerged with the Finnish war hero, Field Marshall C.V Mannerheim at his side. The two great soldiers shook hands genially before Gentilhomme slipped into the back of his staff car. The small French motorcade then hastily sped off towards the French field HQ on the western outskirts of Helsinki.
Helsinki harbourside. Centre - the building where Gentilhomme discussed the Finnish surrender with Mannerheim.
At the Château Borgonnesailon in the picturesque and serene Loire Valley, President Sanvea received a telegram from Gentilhomme in Finland proudly declaring, “Marshall Mannerheim, Commander-in-chief of the Finnish Armed forces has signed the unconditional surrender of Finland’s armed forces.” Five hours later, at exactly midnight, hostilities ceased between France and Finland. French troops on the western approaches of Helsinki triumphantly entered Finland’s quiet capital during the early morning hours of the 16th.
The distant rumble of artillery could be heard to the East. The Red Army was fast approaching the Finnish capital, and a sense of trepidation and angst set in amongst the city’s already frightened population. Marshall Mannerheim, who had been sworn in as President of Finland (on orders from Paris) in a hurriedly organised ceremony on the 17th, assured the people of Helsinki that “French and Finnish forces shall fight side by side to protect our city from the barbaric Russian horde.” That same day, Foreign Minister Bombardier warned the Soviet Union to not enter Helsinki. The Soviet Government did not respond. Over the next few days, the Finnish government attempted in vain to reach a peace agreement with the USSR. Stalin refused to waiver.
On the morning of the 20th, tension in Helsinki reached breaking point as Soviet artillery barrages began to rain down like a silver storm over the city. Historic buildings crumbled under the intense shelling, and plumes of dark smoke billowed into the ominous grey sky. The French government issued one last warning to the Soviets. In a telegram signed by Sanvea, Stalin was warned that unless he “suspends the aggressive attack on Helsinki within 1 hour,” France would have to act. As the hour slowly passed by, the Soviets displayed no signs of apprehension, and as if to mock the French, Soviet shelling was directed towards the western districts of Helsinki, where the French forces were concentrated. At 61 minutes after the ultimatum was issued to Moscow, Bombardier called the Soviet ambassador to his Ministry in Paris. He informed the ambassador that, due to Soviet belligerence and hostility, a state of war “now exists between the Republic of France and the USSR.”
Eastern Europe, on the eve of war
Wow! I wish you luck LB, I hope you can best the Red Giant! Excellent update as always!
