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The British are a little like the Russians in this senario, they have practicaly unlimited manpower and compaired to the Boers, who can field around 20,000 to 25, 000 troops at a maximum, plus the British being the stubborn proud people that they are, casualties are not going to get in the way of keeping this little part of their Empire.
I would be greatly appreciative of input even possible plot lines as to how you think it will turn out from here as frankly I dont know myself.....
In other news the mysterious guest AuthAAR shall be making an apperance later this week sometime with a suitably shocking plot twist, stay tuned!
Iron-Chef said:
However, we all know the Soviets could have been beaten if Hitler had listened to his generals...tsk tsk tsk!
Iron-Chef said:Does noone desire after an update?
But of course I do. I just don't, as a rule, post to that effect.
Great series of updates. I do hope you can force a quick peace with the British before they decide they want to keep South Africa no matter what the cost in blood.
"Winnie! You 'eard 'em. Ay'll right 'ang you up wi' the 'ol beefy carcasses they do catch ya' tryin' to 'scape 'gin." Busbee looked to his tall friend, Gavin, for assistance in ending this foolishness.
"He's right, old chap! Three times'll wind up their patience good, it will!"
"Aww, they're a bunch o' softies, Busbee!" young Churchill assured his ruddy faced friend. He continued fashioning a makeshift backpack to carry the food he'd stored up, and some necessaries. "They've been right friendly to us!"
"Got all twitterpated when they caught ya' under the straw 'at last time!" Busbee reminded.
"Yeah, well..." Churchill frowned at his inability to convince his friend. "Look, Busbee. Some one of us has got to get back to the English lines and bring word that it's the Germans! And that guy's going to be me! You know not a one of you's faster than I!"
Busbee frowned. "Ain't no one know that for right sure, 'e don't. Not like guns don't go changin' hands."
"They're Mauser rifles, Busbee... And Krupp field guns. And instructions in German..."
Now Gavin had switched sides. "And then there's that chap we saw the other day -- speakin' German and got a ram rod up his butt! Don't see that every day in Londontown! Winnie's right. We've got to get word out. And I'm going too!"
Churchill looked shocked. "No, Gavin! I need you to distract them while I sneak out."
"I... I's goin' too, I am!" Busbee insisted. "'ese feet o' mine be as good as Winnie's any day, an' ain't a one o' you chaps got 'alf the haymaker I got either!"
"Anyone in this camp can distract for you, Winnie.... For us," Gavin corrected. "Three of us will have a better shot than just you!"
Churchill frowned, knowing the logic of it. "Well, you'd better hurry and get some food from somewhere, then. Get to it! Right snappy, now!"
The two soldiers hurried off to make the rounds, begging stowed and squirreled food from all the British prisoners. Most were happy to oblige, and those few who held out were stared down by their peers. At midnight they waited for the sentry to pass their barracks door, counted thirty, and slipped out into the night air.
At the sight of a second sentry rounding a corner, the three men dodged into a shadow and behind a hay wagon. They crouched until the courtyard was clear again.
Without a moon, no one could have seen a thing. But they needed moonlight to see their own path, and the half-moon they had this night offered certain advantages.
Reaching the white-painted mud wall to the compound, they stopped to ensure they weren't being observed. Far in the distance, they saw a flicker of movement, but the two guards were chatting. No concerns.
"Up an' o'er, Winnie," Busbee offered him interlocked fingers as a stirrup. Winston went up first, and slipped half-way over, but remained on the wall. Busbee offered his hands to Gavin. "'ait a sec, 'ere! 'ow's I get-in' o'er once you chaps is up?"
"I'll hold Gavin," Churchill explained, "while he pulls you. Then we all three drop down."
"You fellows want to quiet it down?" Gavin asked. "Whole town's going to hear you two yapping!"
They went through the motions, and soon they were all three on the dry grasses of the African plain, just outside the camp.
Churchill felt responsible to watch to make sure things went off right, so Gavin went first. He picked a twin-trunked tree not too far from the wall, and ran to its sheltering shadow. Peering around, he signaled to the remaining pair.
"Go, old chap!" Churchill urged. Busbee picked up and dashed to the tree. Arriving, he nearly bowled Gavin over. They huddled together, looking expectantly at Churchill.
Not much room in that shadow, he reflected. Could it hide all three? Even two? Winston raised from his haunches, and prepared to launch himself into a sprint.
"Stillhou! Gaan staan!" Shouting had erupted from their left, soon to be joined by an excited murmur from several places along the wall.
"Alarmeer! Alarmeer!"
A gunshot rang out. The pair at the tree seemed to try going in three directions at once, and then -- like a startled pair of doves -- took off running at an angle to each other. More gunshots.
A gate creaked behind Winston, and two men ran out. One stopped, a mere twenty meters from his hiding place, while the other kept running toward the tree. The one went to his knee, and began aiming. Depooter! A sharpshooter!
Without a doubt of his course of action, Winston burst from his enclosure. He was a fast sprinter, and within moments, he was on the man. But not before his first shot rang out. Churchill registered a cry from his left -- his friends... one of them -- and then he was tackling the man with a headlong leap. He rolled to his feet...
What to do? If he stayed, he would be captured or shot. If he ran, the man would just pick up his weapon and be as much a danger as before. Winston moved -- not for the sniper, but for his gun. The other man leapt for it, too. They scuffled, Winston whacking the guy on the back of the head with the barrel, then bringing the butt around to crack into his forehead.
The man halted... and fell backward. Winston turned to run, still grasping the rifle, but...
The second man who had run out was standing there. At point blank range. With a pistol leveled...
Winston didn't hesitate. Neither did the Boer.
"He's right, old chap! Three times'll wind up their patience good, it will!"
"Aww, they're a bunch o' softies, Busbee!" young Churchill assured his ruddy faced friend. He continued fashioning a makeshift backpack to carry the food he'd stored up, and some necessaries. "They've been right friendly to us!"
"Got all twitterpated when they caught ya' under the straw 'at last time!" Busbee reminded.
"Yeah, well..." Churchill frowned at his inability to convince his friend. "Look, Busbee. Some one of us has got to get back to the English lines and bring word that it's the Germans! And that guy's going to be me! You know not a one of you's faster than I!"
Busbee frowned. "Ain't no one know that for right sure, 'e don't. Not like guns don't go changin' hands."
"They're Mauser rifles, Busbee... And Krupp field guns. And instructions in German..."
Now Gavin had switched sides. "And then there's that chap we saw the other day -- speakin' German and got a ram rod up his butt! Don't see that every day in Londontown! Winnie's right. We've got to get word out. And I'm going too!"
Churchill looked shocked. "No, Gavin! I need you to distract them while I sneak out."
"I... I's goin' too, I am!" Busbee insisted. "'ese feet o' mine be as good as Winnie's any day, an' ain't a one o' you chaps got 'alf the haymaker I got either!"
"Anyone in this camp can distract for you, Winnie.... For us," Gavin corrected. "Three of us will have a better shot than just you!"
Churchill frowned, knowing the logic of it. "Well, you'd better hurry and get some food from somewhere, then. Get to it! Right snappy, now!"
The two soldiers hurried off to make the rounds, begging stowed and squirreled food from all the British prisoners. Most were happy to oblige, and those few who held out were stared down by their peers. At midnight they waited for the sentry to pass their barracks door, counted thirty, and slipped out into the night air.
At the sight of a second sentry rounding a corner, the three men dodged into a shadow and behind a hay wagon. They crouched until the courtyard was clear again.
Without a moon, no one could have seen a thing. But they needed moonlight to see their own path, and the half-moon they had this night offered certain advantages.
Reaching the white-painted mud wall to the compound, they stopped to ensure they weren't being observed. Far in the distance, they saw a flicker of movement, but the two guards were chatting. No concerns.
"Up an' o'er, Winnie," Busbee offered him interlocked fingers as a stirrup. Winston went up first, and slipped half-way over, but remained on the wall. Busbee offered his hands to Gavin. "'ait a sec, 'ere! 'ow's I get-in' o'er once you chaps is up?"
"I'll hold Gavin," Churchill explained, "while he pulls you. Then we all three drop down."
"You fellows want to quiet it down?" Gavin asked. "Whole town's going to hear you two yapping!"
They went through the motions, and soon they were all three on the dry grasses of the African plain, just outside the camp.
Churchill felt responsible to watch to make sure things went off right, so Gavin went first. He picked a twin-trunked tree not too far from the wall, and ran to its sheltering shadow. Peering around, he signaled to the remaining pair.
"Go, old chap!" Churchill urged. Busbee picked up and dashed to the tree. Arriving, he nearly bowled Gavin over. They huddled together, looking expectantly at Churchill.
Not much room in that shadow, he reflected. Could it hide all three? Even two? Winston raised from his haunches, and prepared to launch himself into a sprint.
"Stillhou! Gaan staan!" Shouting had erupted from their left, soon to be joined by an excited murmur from several places along the wall.
"Alarmeer! Alarmeer!"
A gunshot rang out. The pair at the tree seemed to try going in three directions at once, and then -- like a startled pair of doves -- took off running at an angle to each other. More gunshots.
A gate creaked behind Winston, and two men ran out. One stopped, a mere twenty meters from his hiding place, while the other kept running toward the tree. The one went to his knee, and began aiming. Depooter! A sharpshooter!
Without a doubt of his course of action, Winston burst from his enclosure. He was a fast sprinter, and within moments, he was on the man. But not before his first shot rang out. Churchill registered a cry from his left -- his friends... one of them -- and then he was tackling the man with a headlong leap. He rolled to his feet...
What to do? If he stayed, he would be captured or shot. If he ran, the man would just pick up his weapon and be as much a danger as before. Winston moved -- not for the sniper, but for his gun. The other man leapt for it, too. They scuffled, Winston whacking the guy on the back of the head with the barrel, then bringing the butt around to crack into his forehead.
The man halted... and fell backward. Winston turned to run, still grasping the rifle, but...
The second man who had run out was standing there. At point blank range. With a pistol leveled...
Winston didn't hesitate. Neither did the Boer.
As promised, the Guest WritAAR has delivered
Many thanks Renss, a great piece of writing!
Many thanks Renss, a great piece of writing!
Oh superb. It's easy to forget, with his 1940 image, that he was once quite an athletic young man. The accents are brilliant.
Of interest, how true to life is that?
Of interest, how true to life is that?
A Foiled Escape
A POW Camp outside Pretoria, haistily erected by the Boers to house the many hundreds of British captured in the Natal campaign
The Prussian official flanked by two Boer camp guards recoiled as he entered the small dark shed that housed the two prisoners. The smell was enough to make his gut turn, they had only been here a little over twelve hours and yet the African heat had already done its work.
He carefully removed the hessian cloth covering the two bodies, stained dark red with dried blood, doing his best to keep any of the gore from being imparted upon his uniform, God knew it was hard enough to keep it clean out here anyway, he muttered to himself.
The Prussian turned to one of the guards.
"Do we have a possitive identification for the two prisoners?"
The guard replied in his native Afrikaan's, the gutteral language sounding as if someone had taken his pure German and completley rendered it limb from limb.
"Yes Sir, following Role Call today it was found three prisoners had attempted to escape last night, while these two were killed in the attempt a third has so far managed to evade our patrols."
"Please soldiers, just the names." Barked the Prussian, he had a job to do and wanted to take down the details as quickly as possible and then get the hell out of that fly ridden stinking shack that passed as a make-shift morgue. Why the hell had he given up a life back at the academy in his native Konigsburg and accepted the role of camp Kommandant, with every day it got hotter he cursed the decision further.
The Boer guard quickly glanced at his notes, "Prisoner one positivley identified as Gavin Saunders, captured allong with several score of his fellow Australians following the Battle of Colenso"
The Prussian quickly jotted down the name of the man and the company he had belonged to, the New South Wales Light Horse and noting the cause of death as multiple rifle-shot wounds to the stomach and chest before recovering the body with the damp hessian.
"And Prisoner two?"
"Identified as Winston Churchill, he wasnt a soldier but was serving as a field reporter."
The Prussian cursed silently, if it ever got out that a civilian had been killed here the positive opinion of the worlds powers may quickly deminish, just another problem heaped upon his doorstep. Again he noted the cause of death before turning on his heel and hurrying out the door, he needed a stiff shot of schnapps to rid himself of the terrible aftertaste of death that clung stubbornly to the back of his throat.
Several days later the log remained open on his desk, desregareded as the day to day running of the camp took priority once more, its omnious words displayed in the neat printing of the Prussian Kommandant.
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In this scene, the true-to-life portions include his earlier attempts to escape by hiding under hay/straw, and the hop over the wall. The rest -- including, obviously, his death -- is fictional.stnylan said:
In my own AAR, I had a scene ripped virtually wholesale from the true story, though I substituted Mr. Joachim Longanecker for Mr. Churchill: Longanecker's Escape.
Rensslaer
you...killed...Churchill! yep this sure will affect the world...the future that is 
Well the 2 biggest things that OTL happened soon and Churchill pushed for (and i can think oflifeless said:
):- The "Long-distance" blockade" of Germany in WW1. If Britain tries an old-fashioned close blockade of German ports in the time of mines and torpedoes, the Royal Navy is going to die a death by a 1000 cuts. Policy might still implemented by others in the Admirality though.
- TANKS!!
Churchill basically single-handedly pushed that project through, against opposition from the usual military dinosaurs.
So will there be no Gallipoli now or is that another Churchil that start that invasion?