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Chapter C: The Blue Heat of Technology.
  • Chapter C: The Blue Heat of Technology.

    The most unfortunate part of the Lindemann-Tizard clashes was that had Lindemann actually stuck to his instructions, instead of veering off on his own tangent, he could have been a great success. On the question of turbine research Lindemann agreed with Tizard; jumping straight to an operational engine was premature and that the next step should be a flying prototype. This verdict, which had been unacceptable when it came from Tizard, was made acceptable to Churchill as it came from "The Prof". On the question of how to get to that flying prototype however things were less straightforward, not out of disagreement over the way forward but due to the lack of an obviously palatable option.

    For the RAE's (Royal Aircraft Establishment) turboprop the matter of a flying prototype was simple; Griffith, along with the more practically minded Haine Constan, were dispatched to find a suitable industrial partner to develop the engine. By early summer they had selected Metropolitan-Vickers (Metrovick) one of the leading steam turbine manufacturers who, through the vast Vickers industrial empire, had access to almost any other specialism you cared to mention. On this basis Metrovick were given a standard Air Ministry contract to build and develop Griffith's turboprop engine (i.e. turn a bespoke prototype into an efficient and reliable design ready for flight testing). The engine was to be produced under the direction of the RAE teams and was to be flyable by the summer of 1938, an ambitious goal given the shear size of the laboratory prototypes. While this project would encounter considerable difficulties it was at least commercially straightforward, a stark contrast to the mess around Power Jets. While the promise of the jet engine meant the Air Ministry felt it had to pursue the idea there was no clear way forward, the ideal would have been to separate the wheat (Whittle) from the chaff (Power Jets), however the Four Party Agreement complicated the matter, not to mention the attitude of Whittle himself. The solution to this problem would come from a most unexpected source; the British Army.

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    Alan Arnold Griffith, a true giant of British engineering. Griffith pioneered countless advances and developments that were crucial to the jet age; his work on metal fatigue shaped a generation of aircraft, his application of aerodynamic theory to turbine design made modern efficient turbines possible and he pioneered the use of 'cascades' to test compressor and turbine performance outside of the wind tunnel, an approach that was (fortunately) ignored by rival nations until well into the 1950s, giving Britain time to build a dominant position in the world engine market. By the mid-1930s Griffith's perfectionist nature had led him to become fixated on theoretically more efficient (but considerably more complex) axial compressor gas turbine, while a natural caution led him to doubt the potential of jet thrust as an efficient means of propulsion. He therefore directed the RAE's research in the direction of the axial turboprop engine, a very different proposition from the relatively simple centrifugal jet engines of Whittle. When the Air Ministry decided to pursue both projects they began a development race between the two projects, made all the more hard fought as both Whittle and Griffith sought to prove the other was wrong.

    The slow but steady "sweeping out" of the Army's old guard, or at least some of them, had finally taken with it the Master-General of the Ordnance Lieutenant General Hugh Elles. Replaced as Director of the Mechanisation Branch in the aftermath of the Matilda I debacle he was pushed out of the Ordnance early in 1937, though it would take until the end of the year before he got the hint and finally retired completely. His replacement as the new Master-General was Lieutenant General Frederick Pile, formerly commander of the Canal Brigade Mechanized Force he had had an outstanding Abyssinian War by the simple virtue of being the only armoured unit in Egypt. While his promotion to the Ordnance had been earned it was not entirely on merit, after the mistakes of Elles being 'double hatted' the Army Board wished to hedge their bets with mechanisation. A strong Ordnance would provide a useful counterpoint to the Mechanisation Branch under Major General Martel and, it was hoped, settle any disagreements between the Branch and the Royal Armoured Corps. The impacts of this on armoured design and the mechanisation of the British Army (and others) will be covered in later chapters, for our present purposes it is enough that this appointment prompted a shake-up of the work of the Ordnance and specifically the Ballistic Research Department.

    The Ballistics Research Department (BRD) is an excellent example of the complex, but just about logical, world of British military research in the 1930s. A sub-department of the Ordnance based at the vast Royal Arsenal complex in Woolwich, it was notionally an Army unit, devoted to developing and testing shot and shell, from the smallest pistol to the mightiest heavy artillery. Over the years, however, its purpose had mutated somewhat, with a distinct shortage of new shells to test during the 1920s the department had become decidedly more theoretical in it's outlook, using the shell testing to become a centre of expertise on high speed aerodynamics and supersonic research in general. As a result of this drift (and the Army's decidedly stingy pay grades for scientist) the Director of Research was an Air Ministry man, Dr Alvyn Crow, and much of hiw staff was on secondment from either the Royal Aircraft Establishment, the National Physical Laboratory or the Admiralty Research Laboratory.

    This had not been a problem with low volumes of actual 'Army' work, the Army Board where happy to get the benefit of high class scientists without paying the wages, while the other services were spared the expense of building their own test sites. This cosy arrangement was disrupted by the ramping up of Ordnance work and the concurrent of appointment of General Pile to oversee it. On the ballistics side there was a flurry of new work; The .256" and 9mm rounds for the next generation of small arms needed modern testing, HE and smoke rounds for the widely used Ordnance QF 2 pounder were under development and the brand new BL 4.5" medium gun needed new general purpose shells as combat experience had indicated a specialist counter battery piece (i.e. one dedicated to destroying enemy artillery) was of limited value. With all this work on, not to mention the more speculative long term research, General Pile decreed the BRD would have to refocus itself back onto purely on Army work.

    UZ6cVut.jpg

    The brand new QF 3.7” anti-aircraft gun undergoing trials at Woolwich. While the QF 3.7” was being put through it’s paces elsewhere on the same site the BRD was working on a radical alternative to standard AA guns – rockets. The basic problem with an AA gun was inaccuracy; the Ordnance and the BRD expected a single QF 3.7” would need at least 20,000 shots to register a single hit on a high and fast target. With a sustained rate of fire of (at best) 15rpm this meant the gun could expect one hit per 24 hours of continuous firing. To make matters worse the barrel life was expected to be in the region of 7,000 rounds, meaning the gun could be expected to wear through three complete barrels per hit. Taken together this was not a ringing endorsement of the anti-aircraft gun as an efficient or reliable defensive system. In contrast the proposed AA rockets were simplicity itself, with no expensive machinery or parts to wear out the only requirement were simple launching rails and vast numbers of cheap rockets that could be fired in 'barrages' at the target. With a cordite rocket almost as cheap as a shell it was an attractive option, if it worked, and finding that out was one of the Ballistics Department's main roles in the mid 1930s.

    While the other services were naturally less than pleased they could hardly argue, there had never been a definite agreement about the use of Woolwich for rocketry work and it was undoubtedly true the Army needed it's ranges back. It was at this stage that the Air Ministry stepped in, proposing a new research establishment dedicated to rocketry research with a permanent base and a generally more secure footing than the ad-hoc arrangements at Woolwich. Quite aside from their genuine interest in rocketry the Air Ministry had realised that such an establishment would be the perfect home for Power Jets and various other speculative programmes, providing laboratories and workshops for experimental work but without the RAF having to shouldering the entire expense. While the other services soon rumbled the Air Ministry's ulterior motive, no-one in Whitehall is ever entirely altruistic, there was still a solid logic behind it; all three services were interested in rocketry and combining their efforts was the cheapest and most sensible option. That did not mean things went smoothly, if nothing else the Air Ministry had to be beaten down from it's overly optimistic hopes of an equal three way split of costs between the services, but by the summer of 1937 a basic agreement was in place.

    The Air Ministry would provide and equip the site, with limited assistance from the Army and Admiralty, then all three services plus the civilian science agencies would provide the manpower. The site selected was RAF Martlesham Heath, close to the main rocket testing site at Orford Ness and convenient for the port of Felixstowe were cordite could be shipped in from the Royal Ordnance Factories by coastal freighters. Interestingly the area was already home to two existing research establishments; the Marine Aircraft Experimental Establishment (MAEE) in Felixstowe, then the subject of an unedifying fight between the RAF (Coastal Command) and the RN (Fleet Air Arm) over control, and the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment (A&AEE) which was also based at Martlesham Hall. For Tizard's committee this was not just a happy coincidence, while the proximity to the existing test range at Orford Ness was the main selling point for the other services, Tizard was focused on the experimental workshops and laboratories of those two establishments, either one ripe for considerable expansion in otder to accommodate both rocketry and Power Jets. In the end the tussle with the Royal Navy tipped the balance and it was A&AEE which got the nod, the Air Ministry trying to avoid needlessly aggravating the Admiralty over Felixstowe.

    Frank Whittle and Power Jets did not take the news of their move to Martlesham Heath well, particularly the revelation they would not be getting their own facilities but would once again be tacked onto the side of a larger organisation. However there was little they could do, the Ministry had made it perfectly clear that no large grants would be forthcoming unless, and until, Power Jet's backers took up all their shares and made a significant capital investment, something the bankers at O T Falk still refused to do. Restricted by the Official Secrets Act he had signed as part of the Four Party Agreement, and fearful the alternative was seeing his work given to one of the big engine companies he desperately wished to avoid, Whittle re-located, consoling himself with the relative luxury of a well equipped workshop and competent staff to support his work. Before we leave Martlesham Heath it's worth looking in on Power Jet's other neighbour aside from the Rocket Establishment and the A&AEE, the RAFs decidedly unusual 'missile' programme.

    It's worth clarifying right at the start the project used the word 'missile' in perhaps the broadest sense of the word; an internally powered weapon that moved itself to the target with some form of guidance mechanism. The RAF had been experimenting with missiles for almost twenty years by this point, ever since 1917 when 'Professor' Archibald Low had produced the remote controlled Ruston Proctor AT (Aerial Target, a code name to mislead spies). The AT was essentially a remotely controlled aircraft, loaded with a large warhead instead of a pilot, and was intended to fly towards the target using remote and/or gyroscopic control and then crash into it. While the initial tests were less than successful, indeed they resulted in the AT programme being cancelled before the War had ended, the idea of a missile remained alluring enough to re-emerge in the 1920s. The concept went through several mutations and at various points aimed at gyro-guided flying bomb, a target missile, a radio controlled air-launched missile, an 'air defence' missile for disrupting and destroying bomber formations and, most interestingly, a missile capable of homing in on enemy radar sites.

    Of all of these the most successful was undoubtedly the target missile project which produced several excellent radio controlled gunnery target tugs, notably the Fairey Queen (a modified Fairey IIIF) and the Queen Bee (an equally modified DeHavilland Tiger Moth). The only other success was at best a qualified one, Larynx (Long Range Gun with Lynx engine), was perhaps the world's first anti-ship cruise missile, however it was not a particularly good one. The remote control system was delicate while the powerful Lynx engine was seemingly not well suited to remote control, shedding it's reliable reputation and suffering repeated failures. After a mixed testing programme in Britain, and a disastrous one in the deserts of Iraq, the RAE was forced to abandon field trials of Larynx and return to the drawing board. In truth by the mid 1930s the missile programme was in trouble, while the target aircraft were giving good service the other ideas were raising concerns for the Air Staff even as they overcame the technical challenges. The simple problem was cost; when a light bomber like the new Fairey Firefight was costing £15,000 a unit the estimated £4,000 cost of a one-shot missile was not very attractive, especially as despite all the progress the accuracy still left something to be desired.

    It is likely that the entire programme would have been cancelled had it not been for the unintended side effects of one of Air Minister Churchill's earliest decisions at the Ministry. The decision to move the RAF off biplanes and into monoplanes had given the Air Staff a considerable headache, despite the best efforts of the commercial arms of the Foreign Office there was no chance the stockpile of suddenly obsolete biplanes could all be sold on. Indeed there was growing opposition to the sales from the Board of Trade as they feared government 'dumping' was distorting the market for British firms to sell new aircraft into, a not unimportant consideration give the state of the economy and the importance of high value exports. Reluctant to just scrap otherwise brand new aircraft, but with no prospect of being able to more profitably dispose of them, the Air Staff realised this mass obsolescence had comprehensively changed the economics of the missile programme. Without the need to build an aircraft the costs of say the guided missile dropped considerably, falling into the low hundreds of pounds for just the control gear and the warheads.

    Thus it was that the missile programme was despatched to Martlesham Heath to join up with the A&AEE and continue it's work, the Air Ministry once again keen to rope the other services, in this case the Admiralty, into spreading the cost by rejuvenating the Larynx anti-ship missile alongside their own priorities. By the summer of 1937 RAF Martlesham Heath had become one of the hubs of aerial research and development in the United Kingdom, with experts on remote control, jets, rockets and experimental aircraft all rubbing shoulders on site and on the test ranges. Just as an extra spice the Orford Ness site was still in use by the experts from the Bawdsey Research Station as they continued to perfect RDF and the Chain Home system. With such a concentration of experts from different but related fields cross-pollination of ideas was inevitable, yet the Air Ministry was still surprised when the feverish atmosphere of experiment, research and testing produced something rather special.

    ---
    Notes

    Chapter 100! Huzzahs all round chaps and chapesses, we've made it this far. To celebrate have a monster update on previously obscure R&D porn.

    Beginning at the beginning;

    Frederick Pile was indeed head of armoured unit around the Suez Canal in 1936 so would have had an excellent war. OTL he ended up in Anti-Aircraft units, eventually being C-in-C of all AA units in the UK for the whole of WW2. This time round he's been diverted, AA units are a lower priority (something has got to give somewhere, AA is one of them) while mechanisation is higher up the tree. Pile had a solid enough background in armoured units, but was basically an artillery man (hence ending up in AA), however he had commanded enough tanks he should be solid enough and will certainly be able to stand up to Martell, if only because he's more senior!

    A A Griffith, a man who could (indeed should) have been so much more famous and well regarded. Alas the poor bugger wasted years on axial turbines because he was just too much of a perfectionist. If he'd only focused on centrifugal turbines he could have got the turboprop up and running years earlier, maybe even in time for the Battle of Britain, which would have been fun for all involved. All his inventions are OTL, particularly the 'cascade' which was the only reason Britain kept her jet engine lead in the 1950s despite the government's best efforts.

    A Rocket Establishment was in fact created in OTL, but not till 1940 at which point it was fairly low priority and got sent out into the West Country for safety. TTL the Army rearmament is forcing them out of Woolwich and somewhere near the OTL Orford Ness range is the obvious place. The AA guns vs AA rockets was OTL and produced the truly awful Z-batteries and such rubbish as the aerial minefield, hopefully we can avoid that but I make no promises.

    So RAF Martlesham Heath, was indeed a big base for Experimental aero work along with Orford Ness and the Felixstowe area. Tempted as I was by Spadeadam for the Blue Streak parallel it just wasn't justifiable so Suffolk it is. Would the Air Ministry actually dump Power Jets out there? Well they didn't trust the bankers in OTL, and had doubts over the technical competency of the firm, so they were never going to just hurl money at them. However they also want to get things done so sending them to an RAF experimental base seemed sensible. However to counter that boost effort is being split three ways; jets, rockets and turboprops instead of a focused plan so it's not exactly perfect for jet porn.

    Finally the RAF missile programme, surprisingly that is entirely OTL. While I was aware of Queen Bee and Larynx the rest was all news to me. However the Air Staff did have big plans for missiles for much of the 1920s and 1930s, alas they also had shallow pockets and more urgent priorities so most of the ideas were canned in 1936. However this time round thanks to Churchill they have hundreds of biplanes and nothing to do with them so they're willing to press on a bit longer. Would they send the missiles to the same place as jets and rockets? Maybe, it was the experimental aircraft testing base in OTL so it's not that odd a choice, what is an unmanned biplane with a bomb in it but an experimental aircraft?

    Game Effect: If you haven't already guessed, I've stuck a rocket testing site into the queue. ;)
     
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    Chapter CI: The Importance of Succession Planning - Part I
  • Chapter CI: The Importance of Succession Planning - Part I

    The Spring of 1937 was not a peaceful time, for those inclined towards the morbid there was death everywhere; in Spain the winter lull had ended as the Republicans launched the first campaign of the year, in the Far East Japanese troops were provoking incidents with both the Chinese and the Soviets and even the Americas were not immune as Ecuadorian troops clashed with their Peruvian counterparts over the disputed border. In Westminster however there was but one subject worthy of attention, the death of the Prime Minister; Austen Chamberlain passed away during the night of the 17th of March, failing by a scant few weeks to reach the milestone of a year in office. Despite his relatively short term in office he had managed to leave a quite substantial legacy, if in places a controversial one. Foreign policy naturally dominated his legacy; the Treaty of Valletta had further confirmed the Mediterranean as a British lake, the support of King Idris as leader of Libya had established as reliably pro-British ally in the region while the Dominion of Rhodesia had managed to offend both the Left of the Labour Party and the Right of the Conservative Party, an event that normally marked out a policy as a reasonable compromise. At the time however the big changes were seen as the breaking down of the Entene Cordial, a major element of British continental policy for almost three decades, and the rising influence of the Dominions in Imperial policy as they began to seriously industrialise and have foreign policy objectives of their own. In contrast his domestic legacy was somewhat muted and it would be his successors who would reap the benefits, and the problems, on subjects such as social reform, the railways and industrial relations. One event can be taken to sum up his time as Prime Minister; the Abdication of King Edward VIII. While it was obviously a significant domestic event it would be remembered almost entirely for it's overseas impacts; Hertzog's attempted political coup in South Africa and the resumption of the Anglo-Irish trade war. In Westminster ,however, there was little time for thinking about legacies, instead the slightly more urgent matter of the next Prime Minister dominated attention.

    The process of selecting a new Conservative Party leader was something of an unusual process even by the standards of the day, the party eschewed anything so crass as a formal system, preferring instead the freedom (and pitfalls) of being able to use whatever method seemed best at the time. Barring exceptionally urgent circumstances, such as those that had propelled Austen Chamberlain into the role the previous year, the preferred method was usually for the party to leisurely argue amongst itself while the party's elder statesmen gathered opinions and took soundings before, eventually, a consensus would be reached and the new leader duly 'emerged' with the unanimous support of the party. This process was made even more opaque to outsiders (and many insiders) as there were no declared candidates, openly announcing an ambition to be leader and then campaigning for it was one of the few ways to guarantee not getting it. An ambitious 'candidate' therefore relied on allies to subtly promote his cause in public and lobby like crazy in private, a system that put the emphasis on experience and connections and worked against dark horse outsiders, which was just the way most of the party liked it. It was this system that the party fell back on in the spring of 1937 believing that, while selecting a new leader was of course important, it was not, in fact, desperately urgent; it was well known, if seldom discussed, that the government machine was more than capable of running itself for a couple of weeks (or more) without ministerial oversight.

    Before we look at the men who actually had a chance of winning it is instructive to look at the also rans and never started of the contest, given the turmoil that would engulf the party a bare handful of months later an understanding of the internal dynamics of the various factions will be useful for later chapters. We begin with Winston Churchill who's ambitions were snuffed out almost before the contest began, as a former Prime Minister he was elevated into the inner circle of senior party members who effectively ran the process and reached the final decision on the next leader. While this was undoubtedly a fine achievement, particularly for a man who scant years earlier had been, in his own words, in 'the wilderness', it must have been a bitter-sweet moment, for his elevation also killed off any wild hopes he may have had of returning to the leadership.

    If Churchill had too much ambition to realise his time had passed, the next gentlemen had perhaps too little to realise the opportunity; Oliver Stanley was perhaps the best shot at a compromise candidate had he the ambition to grasp it. In fairness the selection process was not in his favour, as we have seen it was designed to hinder not encourage dark horse candidates, but when the 'voter's remorse' set in over the Summer of 1937 Stanley's name, along with others, was on many Conservative MP's lips alongside the age old refrain of 'if only...'. Our final also-ran is a man who, at first glance, should have been a contender, the then Chancellor Leo Amery. As holder of one of the Great Offices of State he was a political heavyweight and his supporters, while not overly numerous, were loyal and vocal. However Amery had two great weaknesses; personality and policy. On policy the 'problem' was that his views had prevailed; rearmament and a strong military was such orthodoxy it was even Labour party policy, Imperial Preference was popular and well established and his vision of a British Empire of independent Dominions was coming to pass in the shape of the Dominion of Rhodesia and the Government of India Act. This problem was compounded by his personality, just as some people are bad losers he was a bad winner, lording it over his past adversaries and determined to consign them to the same wilderness his fellow hawks had been forced to endure. While there is a certain old testament justice to such actions they were hardly calculated to win friends and influence people, given the size of the dove (and ex-dove) factions in the party it should be no great surprise his name did not make the final unofficial short list of candidates.

    Having covered those who, for whatever reason, had no chance of winning let us turn our attention to the men who did make the party elder's list. In the next chapter we will consider the candidacy of Alfred Duff Cooper, Anthony Eden and Neville Chamberlain.

    ---
    Notes;

    As I warned British politics, but hopefully of interest to some. As those interested in the subject have probably noted Austen has died on cue leaving something of a mess behind him. As he was in perfect health till the end, and was popular with the party, no-one has been thinking too hard about a replacement so there is no 'favoured son' candidate.

    On the candidates Churchill is a busted flush (though I doubt he'll admit that to himself for a while yet), Halifax is in India and Amery had the tact of an enraged bull so could never get a wide enough range of support. Oliver Stanley was an interesting one but my reading is he lacked the ambition.

    Now while the next update covers the new PM and his first budget the question is; what next? When we return to Spain it will be for a series of updates, much will occur, so is there anything anyone wants in between the new PM and Spain? Choices I see are;

    1. International tech porn
    2. Straight to Spain
    3. Anything else

    I realise that point (3) is leaving myself open, but what is life without challenges?
     
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    Chapter CII: The Importance of Succession Planning - Part II
  • Chapter CII: The Importance of Succession Planning - Part II

    That the Conservative leadership campaign ended up as a three horse race is a testament to the quality of the candidates, but not necessarily a wholly positive testament. As we have seen the party's elder statesmen would have preferred a coronation, however there was no stand out choice and each of the candidates had their share of strengths and faults. This, along with the need to balance the views of the various Conservative party tribes, did not make the job of selecting a leader any easier.

    Though three names made it onto the party's informal short-list for much of the party the contest was something of a binary choice; two of the candidates (Anthony Eden and Alfred Duff Cooper) being very similar and presenting a very stark contrast to the third, Neville Chamberlain. Indeed had the leadership election been held under the more conventional ballot rules the popular view held that one or other of Eden or Cooper would have been knocked out in the opening rounds leaving the survivor to mop up the support of his former rival and romp home to a convincing victory over Chamberlain. However in the absence of such a system Chamberlain was able to survive and put his not inconsiderable case. At it's simplest he was the experience candidate in every sense of the word; he had first served as a government minister before his leadership rivals had even entered Parliament. If that had been the limit of his appeal, an old hand to steady the ship, he would have been in trouble for there were no shortage of elderly Conservative MPs who could boast even longer service and presumably therefore greater 'experience'. The meat of Chamberlain's campaign was his strength as a performer, both in the House and the media, and his grasp of the domestic agenda, both the economics and the social reforms coming from his personal fiefdom the Conservative Research Department. Against those strengths were two significant weaknesses; firstly Chamberlain was not a popular figure in the party, even those who respected and supported him did not actually like him, in a real election this would have been fatal, as it was it was merely damaging. The second weakness, however, was far more serious, as a senior figure in the Baldwin government, and a keen supporter of the abortive Hoare-Laval Pact, he was disliked by the hawk factions and mistrusted by a large portion of the rest of the party at large.

    The remaining two candidates, Eden and Cooper, shared more than a few similarities and were the subject of many jokes about being the 'Young Guard' (Eden was one of the youngest cabinet minister and Cooper had served in the Grenadier Guards, though as these were political jokes they didn't actually have to be amusing. In stark contrast to Chamberlain both had served in the trenches in the Great War, both being decorated for their service, both had racked up a creditable, if relatively short, number of years as a minister, both had solid anti-appeasement credentials and both were regarded as cutting a fine figure in society. For all their other individual talents and abilities the two men chiefly differed in their weaknesses, both personally and politically. Eden's great weakness, aside from his relative youth, was his quite terrible public speaking which afflicted him everywhere from the campaign trail to the Commons, it even affected him in Cabinet meetings. Marginally less serious was his lack of experience, not only because it worried many party members but because he had not had the time to build up the network of colleagues and bank of favours many considered vital for a leader. In contrast to Eden, Duff Cooper's problems were somewhat more base and stemmed from what many saw as the fundamental contradiction in his character; he was a loyal man of principle who regularly and vigorously cheated on his wife. It is hard to say which caused more offence to the moralistic wing of the party; the affairs themselves, the fact his wife wasn't bothered by them or the way his marriage stayed strong, loving and stable throughout. While his fast living offended the socially conservative sections of the party it was his principles that offended the hawks, a committed Francophile Cooper continued to support the Entente Cordial against all opposition and remained convinced in the value of the Anglo-French Alliance, even as opinion in Westminster and the nation turned against it.

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    Alfred Duff Cooper, Minister for War during the Abyssinian War and, at the time of the leadership contest, Home Secretary. Perhaps the best description give of Cooper was a 'homme d'affaires' as he embodied both it's actual meaning, a businessman, and it's literal translation, a man of affairs. While many of his contemporaries were distracted by the latter, there is no doubt that he had a prodigious appetite for extra-marital activities, it should not mask his abilities in the former, beneath the charming playboy exterior he was an intelligent and capable man who too many rivals simply dismissed as a dilettante. If nothing else his war time service should have been a warning not to under-estimate him, while still a second lieutenant he had forced the surrender of 18 German soldiers while armed only with a pistol, earning himself a Distinguished Service Order (DSO) for conspicuous gallantry. At the time the DSO was the second highest award for gallantry and intended for Majors and above, when given to junior officers such as Cooper it was a recognition that the recipient had just missed out on a Victoria Cross.

    Of the final three it appears Cooper was the first to be discarded, for all his qualities he had united too many of the Tory Tribes against him, it is no exaggeration to say it was his contradictions that did for his chances. Had he been as flexible over foreign policy as he was with his marriage vows, or applied the same commitment to monogamy as he did to Francophilia, he could have won, however such changes were just not in his nature. This left just Eden and Chamberlain, two very different potential leaders with very different backgrounds and priorities; the experienced Chamberlain was stronger on domestic politics but still tainted on defence and foreign policy, whereas the somewhat wet behind the ears Eden was already strong on foreign policy and solid enough on defence, but a lightweight on domestic policy. Despite attempts at arranging a caretaker Premiership, Chamberlain serving as Prime Minster until the next election when Eden would replace him, the choice was in the end decided by the strength of opposition to each candidate. While the opposition against Chamberlain was ferociously vigorous opponents of Eden were merely unsure if it was too soon and so caved in first, leaving the way clear for Anthony Eden to be selected as leader of the Conservative Party and so Prime Minister.

    In amongst Eden's first actions as leader two stand out as being significant, his cabinet reshuffle, or the lack of it, and his first venture into domestic policy as Prime Minister. For cabinet the bare minimum Eden needed to do was appoint a new Foreign Secretary, and that bare minimum was all he did, promoting the Attorney General, Sir Thomas Inskip, to the Foreign Office and drafting in Sir Donald Somervell to replace him. The lack of a full reshuffle has been taken as signifying either the unstable and fractious nature of the cabinet or that Eden didn't feel confident enough to try and stamp his authority on the party, the third option (that Eden wanted stability and continuity) doesn't fit the neat narrative of later events and so is rarely mentioned. In any event the most significant point for our immediate purpose is his choice of Inskip, a man Eden would later describe as 'Likeable, friendly but lacking in drive or energy', hardly an ideal choice for the demanding role of Foreign Secretary in the turbulent 1930s, unless of course you were looking for a pliable colleague who could be easily 'directed' by a Prime Minister with an interest in Foreign Affairs. Eden's other significant act was his attempt at resolving the still ongoing boilermakers strike, which was still the most urgent domestic matter despite the slow decline in support as the more desperate union men drifted back to work. The grand gesture was a government subsidised re-training scheme to help riveters move across to the new trade of welding without having to fight reluctant employers or lose out financially. Depending on your view point it was either a well intentioned, but catastrophically misjudged, display of Eden's social conscience or a cunning and devious scheme to split the union movement, either way the consequences were swift and far reaching.

    The scheme not only caused a split between the ambitious Transport and General Worker's Union (TGWU) and the traditional United Society of Boilermakers and Iron and Steel Shipbuilders (USBISS), it also caused internal splits within USBISS. For the USBISS leadership the offer confirmed their worst fears, the government intended to destroy the craft unions and forever remove their control of training and skills, a loss of power the senior ranks were determined to resist. In contrast amongst the lower ranks, particularly the apprentices, it was seen as a tempting offer, having very little invested in they system, and the prospect of years of work and learning ahead, the chance to leap ahead into a more modern field was a golden opportunity. The TGWU, showing the ruthless ambition it was infamous for in the union movement, leapt at the scheme and began an active 'poaching' campaign to hover up disaffected riveters and get them trained up. The overall effect, aside from yet more bad blood in the halls of the Trades Union Congress, was to severely weaken the strike numerically but harden the resolve of the remaining strikers, a not insignificant problem when they were by and large the most experienced and skilled men. Though the dispute would continue to rumble on well into the summer and beyond it was soon eclipsed by domestic concerns over the budget and the re-awakening of the war in Spain as both sides emerged from winter quarters and launched their new campaigns.

    --
    Notes:

    So Eden gets the nod despite being inexperienced at only 40 years old. As has been mentioned Nev is just too unpopular TTL to make it even as a caretaker. Conversely I really did like Duff Cooper for the job, however I just can't see a Francophile serial adulterer managing to unite the party, particularly with dislike of the French returning to historic levels. ;)

    On the strike no real effect just a justification of why thing are still being built despite a nationwide strike. Eden gets credit from some for having a social conscience so I figured I'd give that a run out as he tries (unsuccessfully) to sort the strike.

    Finally Spain won the vote thanks to the reliable voting of the Antipodeans so it's off to the world of Franco and H35s.
     
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    Chapter CIII: Caution vs Ambition
  • Chapter CIII: Caution vs Ambition

    The winter of 1936 had seen the two sides in the Spanish Civil War grappling with an unwelcome truth; foreign aid came with strings. The stream of foreign equipment had been accompanied by engineers, officers and officials from the supplying nations, men who were greeted with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Those bringing technical knowledge or tactical advice were the most warmly welcomed; practical information on how to fix or fight the new tanks, artillery and fighters was eagerly devoured at all levels. It was the senior advisers and 'observers' (as opposed to the genuine observers who did limit themselves to only watching) who were the least welcome, both high commands felt they were more than capable of determining grand strategy and disliked any attempts at outside direction of the war. That said it soon became apparent that the convenience of a foreign scape goat was realised by both sides; success was always ascribed to 'Spanish' ideas while failures had foreign parents, generally those of the foreign power supporting a rival faction.

    We begin in the Monarchist half of Spain where the two dominant foreign powers, the British and the Germans, were engaged in trying to convince a sceptical Monarchist high command, the Ejército del Rey (Army of the King), to accept their blueprint for victory. Of the two options the German scheme found most favour with the pre-war Spanish officer class as, contrary to the popular stereotypes, it was far more conservative and cautious than the British alternative. For the German contingent caution was not just a political choice to find favour with the Spanish, though undoubtedly that played a part, but a harsh choice based on a stark reality; their preferred options just weren't possible. The 'traditional' German way of war, as much as any nation has a single definable style, was based on manoeuvre and concentration of force, not especially new or radical ideas but ones the Wehrmacht had put considerable effort into, trying to work out how to implement them in the modern world without ending up in trench warfare. The problem was the complete unsuitability of the Monarchist Army for these ideas; lacking modern tanks, trucks and even horses the bulk of the Monarchist's forces were not especially mobile, while the paranoia of the officer corps about flank security made force concentration tricky, as the previous years campaign had shown any breakthrough soon dissipated it's strength on guarding the 'shoulders' and flanks of the advance. The Germans therefore advised a cautious campaign with limited objectives; a sweep along the southern coast to relieve pressure on the Cordoba pocket and capture the port city of Malaga. Naturally enough this campaign was to be led by the troops loyal to the pro-German Manuel Hedilla who, after the 'accidental' death of General Franco had used German support to cement leadership of the Falangist militias and seize political control of the elite Army of Africa.

    21EfwYJ.jpg

    Wilhelm Faupel, the German Ambassador to Spain and key link man between Berlin and their Spanish proxies. A former staff officer in the German Army Faupel had learnt Spanish during his time in South America as military advisor to the governments of Peru and Argentina both before and after the Great War and as such was considered a perfect fit for the German diplomatic efforts in Spain. Faupel was the man responsible for Manuel Hedilla coming to the attention of the German mission and for backing him in his bid for power, the 1937 campaign would be the first chance for Hedilla to repay that faith.

    As mentioned above the British plan was considered by the Spanish Army to be far more risky, bordering even on the reckless, a charge that was not without a grain of truth. With less of a 'manoeuvrist' tradition, unless one counted the Great War Middle Eastern campaigns of Allenby that Hobart's Royal Armoured Corps were striving to emulate, the limited mobility of the Monarchist Armies was less of a concern to the British contingent than their continental counterparts, quite simply they had an entirely different 'traditional' way of war; the leveraging of sea power. In contrast to the almost entirely Wehrmacht German contingent, the British had officers from all three services in Spain; the Royal Air Force were overseeing the introduction of new aircraft and covertly training pilots, the Army was coaxing the new Light Tank brigades into action and in the background the Royal Navy was shipping or escorting all of the above. This breadth of opinions, combined with the example of the Abyssinian War and the countless historical precedents, made some form of amphibious operation the obvious choice for the British to suggest. The final plan was for the Real Armada Española (RAE, Royal Spanish Navy) to gather the entire fleet, 'remove' the Republican Navy (preferably by sinking it, forcing it to hide in port if necessary) and then make an amphibious assault on Valencia, capturing the Republican government and ending the war at a stroke. Taking an optimistic view the plan had a great deal to commend it; the Spanish had experience of amphibious landings from the Rif War (and there was no shortage of British experts available to 'top up' that experience), the Balearic Islands were solidly Monarchist and were perfectly positioned to act as a base and intelligence reports from 'neutral' traders indicated the Republicans were not defending the coast or ports and were clearly not expecting an attack from the sea.

    Despite these advantages, and the still tantalising prospect of a quick end to the war, the British proposal was summarily dismissed, the Real Armada Española refusing to even countenance the plan. Interestingly the opposition was not based on the amphibious part of the operation, certainly the riskiest part of the plan, but the naval portion, quite simply the Monarchist admirals did not believe that they could defeat the Republicans in open battle. While the balance of light forces slightly favoured the Monarchists, the admirals felt that the heavy cruiser Canaris would be no match for the pride of the Spanish fleet, the battleship Cortes (the recently renamed Jamie I). Just to add to the case against the plan was the uncertainty over the status of the battleship España and the still fitting out heavy cruiser Baleares, both of which were in Republican hands. The naval plan therefore perished before the army got a chance to digest it, much to the disgust of the Royal Navy who still believed their plan to be not only possible but desirable.

    In contrast the German plan was seized upon by Hedilla and even extended to include a drive on the rich iron mines around Almeria, a decision more political than military; after losing the battle for mineral policy over the winter Hedilla was keen to capture a rich mining territory such as Almeria to use as a show case (or perhaps testing ground) for his corporatist ideas. While the new commander of the Army of Africa, the brutal but mercurial General Juan Yagüe, would have preferred a more aggressive plan, Hedilla convinced him to support the scheme and to lead the main drive along the coast while the Falangist militias held Cordoba and pushed out to join him. The northern commanders, especially the pro-British ones grouped around General Mola, refused to co-operate with the scheme, correctly anticipating they would be given the defensive duties while Yagüe took the glory. Having determined what they wouldn't do, Mola was left with the problem of what to do, his harsher critics have summed up his answer as 'not much', a more generous observer would characterise it as a cautious cleaning up operation. The Carlist militia, the Requetés, were detailed to break the Salamanca pocket and capture or destroy the Republican 4th Division, while the bulk of the Northern Army aimed to relieve the northern pressure on Madrid by relieving the fortress town of Siguenza and then possibly pushing on to Zaragoza.

    0xqjWss.png

    The Monarchist plans for the Spring of 1937. There were, of course, countless other smaller operations across Spain but it was these campaigns that were the focus of the high command and so received the bulk of the men, supplies and equipment. The much anticipated tanks were split between north and south, the Northern Army receiving the British Light Tanks while the Falangist militias were given the Panzer I company by their German suppliers. The elite Army of Africa actually turned down the tanks, worrying they would be a liability in the rough and mountainous terrain of Spain's southern coast.

    Perhaps the biggest single difference between 1936 and 1937 was the death of ambition, outside of the schemes of the Royal Navy nobody was thinking in terms of quick knock out blows. Instead the factions were resigned to a long war and so were shifting their emphasis onto solidifying gains and building a strong base for the next campaign. Given the flow of materials into the country had not yet become decisive, a few brigade of light tanks and some biplane squadrons were not a war winning force, it was a reasonable enough plan to wait and gather strength, however it depended upon one crucial assumption; that the Monarchists were getting stronger faster than the Republicans. Had the Ejército del Rey been aware of the Republican's true position in the spring of 1937 they would have been far less comfortable about that particular balance of power.

    ---
    Notes:
    So cheap nasty British light tanks heading for Zaragoza while cheap and nasty German light tanks head for Almeria, what could possibly go wrong? Apart from, well, everything.

    Wilhelm Faupel was the OTL contact with Franco and was quite keen on Hedilla so becomes the main German link man. Interesting chap, was indeed very busy in South America from 1900s through to the 1940s whenever he got sacked/retired from German service he'd race back down there. If this were a narrative AAR he'd be a great character, as it is a brief bio and photo is all you get, at the moment anyway.

    Hopefully progress should be faster after a few manic weeks at work, but alas I make no promises.
     
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    Chapter CIV: All the President's Men
  • Chapter CIV: All the President's Men

    To understand the strategy of the Republican half of Spain it is necessary to look at the two opposing evolutions occurring in the political factions. At the low level the smaller militias and regional groups were merging together, lacking the cash to buy arms directly (and lacking the international reputation needed for credit) the factions were forced to join one of the main power blocs to feed and equip their troops. Those who resisted soon found their numbers dwindling as soldiers compared the relative merits of fine words versus a working rifle and artillery support, a comparison that rarely favoured the smaller groups. Sadly for the Republican cause this (enforced) co-operation did not extend to the main power blocs; the 'legitimate' Government, the anarchists, the hard left and the Basque. The string of 'accidents' over the winter had if anything driven an even larger wedge between the leaders, men who were already struggling to keep control as the low level mergers disrupted the balance of power inside their own factions. Overall, however, it was a case of one step back but two steps forward; four competing factions was still too many, but was a vast improvement over forty.

    It is tempting to see the first fruits of this concentration of power in the Northern theatre, the plans of the hard left and the anarchists appeared to be co-ordinated; the Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE, Spanish Socialist Workers' Party) and the Partido Comunista de España (PCE, Communist Party of Spain) taking Burgos and sealing the 'Catalan Pocket' while the CNT-FAI (Confederación Nacional del Trabajo, National Confederation of Labour - Federación Anarquista Ibérica, Iberian Anarchist Federation) aimed to capture Barcelona and liberate Catalonia. Unfortunately the reality on the ground did not match the lines drawn on the map by the staff officers of the Ejército Magnífico de la República (Grand Army of the Republic). The most obvious clue was the lack of any Basque involvement; the Eusko Gudarostea (Basque Army) was ideally placed to assist in taking Burgos and then holding it against the expected Monarchist counter-attacks, however the Basque leadership had no significant plans at all for the campaigning season. Instead they planned to conduct some limited operations to liberate the remaining Basque 'homelands' (using an increasingly broad definition of homeland') but remain on the strategic defensive and keep the army concentrated to repel any Monarchist offensive. While the other factions were disappointed they were not surprised; after the previous year's campaign no-one had expected the Basque to act outside their borders unless forced.

    Less obvious but more serious was the fact that the two operations in the North were, in fact, entirely unconnected and any co-operation was purely coincidental. The POSE-PCE, chastened after the abortive drive at Madrid the previous year, had rejected the latest 'advice' from Moscow and instead selected Burgos as a target in and of itself, that it created a pocket in Catalonia was irrelevant. The decision to ignore Moscow had however been controversial, while it was impeccable on military grounds (the hard left lacked the men and material needed to take Madrid) politically it had opened up old ideological wounds, wounds the leadership of both groups had hoped to ignore until the war was won. Debates on whether Hispanic-Marxism–Leninism was a vital ideological tool to bring Communism to Spain or merely reactionary bourgeoisie heresy may well have been vital to the intellectual health and purity of the movement, but they were not especially helpful when trying to win a civil war.

    The situation was not helped by the Soviet Catch-22; Madrid could not be taken without modern, heavy equipment which the POSE-PCE lacked, however Moscow would not supply significant amounts heavy equipment until Madrid had fallen. The original rational behind the demand for Madrid, the Bank of Spain's gold reserves, was somewhat moot at this point, they had long since been shipped to Britain, however the idea had become a point of principle of the Soviet mission to Spain, a failing the Soviet military advisers recognised but one their political masters in the commissariat refused to consider. Thus while the ideologues of the far left indulged in one of their favourite past times, splintering and factionalism, Burgos emerged as the best compromise amongst the military men. As the second city of the Monarchists it had a great propaganda (and material) value for the war effort but far weaker defences than the capital, moreover by taking the city and it's surrounding region Madrid would be surrounded on three sides, a gesture towards the pro-Moscow factions and indeed Moscow itself.

    The other half of the supposed pocket, the CNT-FAI offensive into Catalonia, was somewhat ironically deliberately aimed at not producing a pocket. The offensive planned to stage out of Tarragona, first taking Barcelona, de-facto capital of the region, then securing the French border before driving on towards Burgos. A more conventional military strategy would have been to launch from Zaragoza and drive towards the French border, creating a giant pocket in which to trap the Monarchist Army of Catalonia and cut it off from supply and reinforcement. But this was to misunderstand the anarchist's objectives in the war, they were not fighting to save the old Spanish Republic, but for a new Spain they intended forge through revolution. The initial efforts at revolution in Tarragona had not gone well, while they had captured it the city had soon been flooded with government troops, officials and French 'advisers' who came with the influx of French aid and the matching Republican exports.

    In contrast Catalonia was thought to be far more receptive to anarchist ideas and ripe for a revolution when liberated, though in truth almost every faction believed the ground they captured would be filled with grateful locals delighted to be 'liberated'. However in the case of Catalonia the CNT-FAI had spent the winter preparing the ground; the Catalan militias had been co-opted along with sympathetic politicians and plans had been made to begin the revolution the moment the Monarchists had been forced out. With these objectives in mind a plan aimed at rapidly capturing territory, as opposed to one aimed at actually defeating the enemy, is a far more rational choice. Whether it was a good plan for the war as whole very much depended on what you believed the overall war aims to be.

    xdGgZfA.png

    The main plans of the Republican Armies in the Spring of 1937. Aside from the offensives from three of the main factions the only other significant action was the Linares Breakout. The 4th Division under General Linares had pretty much been given up for lost by the Republican leadership, isolated in Salamanca it was expected they would be crushed early in the campaigning season, as indeed was the Monarchist plan. Linares himself had other ideas, a committed Republican he was determined to make it back with as many men as he could. Having fallen back from the south the previous year and with the bulk of Madrid's defences to his east he launched his force north in the early days of March.

    We turn finally to the rump Republican government under President Azaña which had spent the winter carefully training and upgrading it's two aces; the Assault Guards and the new Armoured division. The new tank unit, naturally enough called the 1st Armoured Division, was entirely equipped with French tanks, specifically the Hotchkiss H35, and was organised along the lines of a French Division Légère Mécanisée (Mechanised Light Division, 'light' in the sense of being mobile not lightly equipped). As with their British and German counter-parts the French equipment had come with many advisers and trainers, both genuine and euphemistic, who were just as willing to blur the line between tactical advice and directing grand strategy. As before the choice came down to North or South, Madrid was well defended and the French advisers were adamant the H35 was not a breakthrough tank and would be wasted assaulting dug in and prepared positions (in French doctrine that would be a job for heavy tanks such as the Char D1 or D2, not mediums like the H35). Tactically the North was the better choice; flatter ground, and with no shortage of CNT-FAI militias to force the breakthrough and guard the flanks, an offensive towards Burgos and the plains of the North would play to the strengths of the H35, assuming of course the anarchist co-operated. Unspoken by the French was the other advantage of cementing Republican control of the French border and removing the Monarchist port of Barcelona that had the French merchant marine worried. Leaving aside the issue of co-operation the scheme did not appeal to President Azaña as it would not solve his biggest concern; supply. This did not just refer to the lack of inter-operability between the French and Spanish railways (in one of life's ironies the wider 'Iberian gauge' used in much of Spain was reputedly chosen to obstruct any French invasion attempts, making cross border rail a non-starter) but also to the diversity of Republican suppliers.

    The winter had seen the Monarchist navy step up it's attempts at commerce warfare, attempting to seal the Straits of Gibraltar and running aggressive patrols out of the Balearic islands, legal arguments about the legitimacy of the Monarchist government's territorial claims generally being trumped by a battery of loaded 8" guns. For most neutral merchantmen it was a problem they did not want and weren't being paid to deal with. Sailing to Bordeaux and having their cargo transferred across France and then shipped into Tarragona by the French merchants was an easier and safer option. The sinking of the Soviet freighter Komsomol by the the Monarchist heavy cruiser Canarias only made matters worse; the Soviet Union temporarily suspended all shipments, leaving only the dwindling Republican merchant marine as an alternative to the French controlled Bordeaux route.

    umvp1GS.jpg

    The burning Komsomol sinking in the Balearic Sea in December 1936, having been shelled by the Canarias after her crew were evacuated. The Komsomol was either carrying manganese ore to Belgium or another company of T-26 tanks to Valencia, depending upon who's propaganda you believed, but was certainly within 6 miles of the Balearics and thus in Monarchist claimed territorial waters. While not a severe blow to the Republican government, Soviet supplies naturally enough ended up with the PSOE/PCE rather than the official government, the event had a further chilling effect on all neutral merchants. While the sinking certainly caused an international incident it also caused many a government that refused to recognise the Monarchists to unofficially advise their merchants to respect Monarchist territorial waters and stick to the supposed safety of international waters.

    Azaña knew the French were abusing their control of his supply lines, shipments of American trucks could spend weeks being delayed while deliveries from Renault would arrive on the dot (it was joked that the delivery time was the only thing that was reliable about the Renault VT lorry). Having an an alternative port that foreign merchant marines could safely use (and which the Republicans could then use to control the PSOE/PCE by holding back Soviet shipments) would transform the Republican supply situation and put the government faction into a far stronger position. Thus it was that the Cadiz Campaign was born, an audacious attempt to claim an Atlantic port for the Republic and so secure an alternate supply line. Cadiz was the only sensible objective, given the port had to be on the Atlantic side of the Straits of Gibraltar it was the nearest major port that met that requirement. Less sensible was the choice of route, rather than staging out of Malaga or even Ciudad Real the start point was the town of Jaén just west of Murcia. Instead of heading straight for the objective from the nearest point the Republicans hoped to crush the Cordoba pocket, defeat the Army of Africa and only then start the drive to Cadiz. Such optimism can be attributed to one thing; the H35. Despite the lack of French enthusiasm for it, it had after all been rejected by both the infantry and the cavalry, for the Republicans it was a revelation. Being at least a generation superior to the FT-17 the new crews and commanders had the boundless faith of the fresh convert in it's abilities, the campaigns of 1937 would see that faith tested by fire.

    ---
    An update at last! OK that one was a little longer than I intended (thank the lord I decided not to look at the factionalism in the far left in too much detail!).

    General Linares in OTL became head of the Spanish government in exile, so it seemed reasonable he'd be quite a determined and loyal chap, good thing the game pushed him into that pocket all things considered.

    The Komsomol was sunk by the Canarias in December in OTL, that picture is of the actual event, so I felt I had to work that in somehow.

    To the actual plans, I believe the Republicans would either suffer 'Elite guard' syndrome and keep the tanks in Valencia or go mad and believe they were invincible. For all it's faults the H35 is now the best tank in Spain by a considerable margin and the Republicans are very much aware of that. Moreover, given how stingy the other great powers have been, it's also the second most numerous tank, after the countless variations of Light Tank Britain has been dumping on the Monarchists.

    Up next the war itself and the aftermath. I may even have the time to write it and get it posted in less than a month this time! :eek:
     
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    Chapter CV: The Air in Spain Part I - Quantity Has A Quality All It's Own
  • Chapter CV: The Air in Spain Part I - Quantity Has A Quality All It's Own

    The war on land justly garnered the headlines from the spring campaigns of the Spanish Civil War, the repercussions spreading far beyond the borders of Spain to the chancelleries and foreign ministries of the world's Great Powers. However, before we turn our attention to the ground campaigns it would be wise to look at the battles fought in the skies about Spain. Tactics and designs that would eventually be used around the world were developed there and, despite some obsolete beginnings (for some factions at least) by the end of the war it would become the first true aerial conflict of the monoplane age.

    As with so much in Spain in 1937 there were two main campaigns in the air; one in the north and one in the south, leaving the central sector surprisingly quiet. Neither side wished to cross the line into strategic 'morale bombing' of the other's cities, but feared that their enemy might. Thus defensive fighter patrols were the order of the day across central Spain as both air forces sought to protect their capitals against threats, both real and feared. More importantly these patrols were equipped with the best fighters available, politicians naturally wanting the capitals (and themselves) to have the best protection, this left the other theatres to make do with what was left over. A sensible move from a political view point perhaps, but a questionable use of scarce resources, especially given the lack of actual strategic bombing raids.

    The parlous state of the pre-war Spanish air force meant the foreign sourced aircraft quickly came to dominate the skies, the pre-war forces being too few and too obsolete to make a difference either way. This trend made the air war a decidedly regional affair; two adjacent airfields could have wildly different aircraft available depending on which faction the base commander aligned with. Broadly speaking the north of the country was the domain of British and Soviet aircraft, while the south was home to the German and French machines. It should, however, be noted that the Republican government was far more eclectic in it's sourcing than the Monarchists, fielding a variety of aircraft sourced from Poland, Holland and the US amongst others. While these efforts certainly boosted the front line strength of the Republican Air Force, and helped force France into supplying better aircraft, it was a logistical and maintenance nightmare for the ground crews trying to keep dozens of types in service.

    In the north it was a classic quantity vs quality battle; the Monarchist had the numbers but the Republican pilots the better machines. While a lack of Republican hard currency had limited the volume of Soviet supply, Moscow did not have the same caution about sending it's latest designs to Spain; thus the Soviet equipped squadrons had by far the best planes of any unit in Spain, they just didn't have very many of them. The star was undoubtedly the Tupolev SB, a fast, modern monoplane bomber that could outpace the Monarchist's fighters by anything between 30 and 80mph, an advantage it would hold until the arrival of the Hawker Hurricane later in the year. On the fighter side the Soviet squadrons were equipped with the Polikarpov I-16, a potentially excellent aircraft but one that was dogged by endless problems and was, despite stiff competition, the worst maintenance horror inflicted on long suffering Republican ground crews. However when it did work (and didn't fall out of the sky due to structural failures) it's 280mph top speed made it a clear 50mph faster than most Monarchist fighters and by far the best fighter in the sky. This was fortunate as with barely 50 I-16s in the country, they had formed part of the 'carrot' Stalin had dangled at the PSOE/PCE to tempt them into capturing Madrid the previous year, the Soviet trained pilots would be outnumbered in every dogfight.

    SD8Vcn6.png

    A German technical advisor inspecting a crashed I-16. Note the sheared off-wing, almost certainly the result of the flawed structural design rather enemy action. This alarmingly common failure was exposed during combat operations in Spain and, while extra reinforcement partially resolved the problem (at the cost of extra weight and reduced performance), I-16 pilots were trained to avoid high-g manoeuvres, such as tight turns, that would stress the wings. This limitation compromised the aircraft's fighting ability and was soon exploited by Monarchist pilots who adopted tight twisting turns as their default dogfighting tactic. If this weren't enough, the I-16's filtering and cooling systems proved inadequate for the heat and dust of Spain and the twin ShKAS 7.62mm machine guns were prone to jamming and, worse, were operated not by a trigger but by pulling hard on a steel cable, making precision aiming all but impossible for regular pilots. Despite all these problems the formidable speed, power and climb advantages held by the I-16 still made it the supreme fighter of the spring campaigns, if a worryingly flawed one.

    Opposing these examples of cutting edge Soviet technology the Monarchists inventory was far less impressive. After the best efforts of 'economy minded' civil servants in Whitehall the RAF had emptied it's inventories of obsolete biplanes into Spain. While representations from Madrid (and the British aircraft industry) had seen the last generation of new build biplanes cleared for export to Spain the Hawker Hurricane, the Supermarine Spitfire and in particular the 'crown jewel' of their Merlin engine stayed on the restricted list. These restrictions, along with the tendency of the Monarchist leadership to keep the best of their purchases to protect the capital, left the Northern Army's Air Force with such triumphs of early 1930s technology as the Hawker Fury and Gloster Gauntlet, both ~220mph biplanes armed with two Vickers 0.303" machine guns. Technically speaking they were cutting edge, several RAF squadrons hadn't been slated to receive the MkII versions of both aircraft until late 1937. However in truth even by biplane standards they were obsolete; the Gloster Gladiator (an improved Gauntlet) could hit 250mph+ and with four machine guns had double the fire-power. The bombers were much the same story, the new monoplanes being kept back by the RAF to equip Strike and Bomber Commands while the Hawker Harts, Westland Wapitis and Vickers Virginias that were being displaced from service flowed into Spain. These aircraft were not particularly impressive, even by biplane standards, all being 1920s designs that had been replaced in the Metropolitan RAF and found their way to the colonial squadrons. While they had provided sterling service in the Abyssinian War, a fact that (misleadingly) calmed the Monarchist Air Force, there had been negligible Italian fighter cover for them to contend with, a fortunate state of affairs that did not exist in the skies above Spain.

    The opening exchange went much as you would expect, the Tupolev SBs evading any attempt at interception and the I-16s massacring Monarchist fighters and bombers with equal ease. As the Monarchists, and their RAF advisers, adjusted to the shock the tables began to turn; while the SB bombers would remain elusive the I-16s soon lost their early dominance. The first response was safety in numbers, pilots could quickly be trained on a biplane and they were available in comparatively vast quantities. Monarchist commanders thus had the luxury of being able to despatch a whole squadron of Furys or Gauntlets to go after a single 3-plane 'Vic' of I-16s, swamping any opponent who didn't use their superior speed to flee. The second was tactical, the RAF observers and 'technical trainers' (i.e. pilots, but renamed to dodge the League of Nations ban) assisting the Monarchist in devising formations and tactics to exploit the weaknesses of the I-16, particularly in the turn. Most RAF histories pinpoint the Spanish Civil War as the point where the four-finger formation, and the combination of four four-fingers into a whole squadron formation (know by pilots RAF as 'Going Mob-Handed'), was first developed, though naturally other air forces, particularly the Scandinavian ones, fiercely disagree and try to claim that honour for themselves. Certainly Spain saw the first use of the formation and tactics in combat and was devastatingly effective against the Republican units that were still using the standard 'Vic', a tactic the Soviets would insist was retained long after it's flaws had become apparent.

    EDmTVzx.png

    A Latvian Air Force Bristol Bulldog. Concerned over the general rise in tension in the region the Latvian government purchased several squadrons worth of Gloster Gladiators to upgrade it's ageing fleet of Bulldog fighters. The Bulldogs were then sold by the Latvian government directly to the nascent Basque Air Force, a surprising choice to put it mildly and one that did not go down well with the Republican government in Valencia. The Basque Bulldogs would cause havoc in the northern air war, regularly getting the jump on Monarchist squadrons who assumed a British design must be friendly, but equally falling victim to the PSOE/PCE I-15 patrols who made a similar assumption.

    In terms of the wider war the impact was that neither side could gain anything more than highly localised air superiority and even that would only hold until the opposition reacted. While the Tupolev SBs remained untouchable they were not available in sufficient numbers to be much more than an annoyance in the bombing role, however in the reconnaissance role however they were supreme and kept the Republican leadership well informed on the enemies location. Lacking anything even slightly comparable the Monarchist had to rely on numbers and brute force for their scouting, using whole squadrons instead of single quick aircraft to ensure the aircraft's survival. Even with superior numbers these tactics, along with similar demands from the fighter units for numbers to counter the superior I-15s, left the Monarchist with very little strength left for bombing the enemy; finding them was hard enough. Beyond the campaign both sides realised they needed aerial reinforcement and approached their overseas backers to buy, beg or borrow new aircraft; the PSOE/PCE asking for more 'carrots' from Stalin while the Monarchists bluntly informed Britain they would not be accepting any more ancient RAF cast-offs. Longer term it laid the foundations of modern fighter tactics, re-assured the Soviets their aerial technology was cutting edge and served as a timely boost to Churchill's bid to banish the biplane in favour of a fully 'modernised' RAF.

    --
    Notes;
    Terrifyingly quick update I know, but holidays will do that. Not at all what I intended, but I got distracted and discovered I'd written half an update before I noticed I'd drifted off course. Again. It also means the land campaign has to wait till after I've done the Franco-German clash in the south, but no-one was that desperate for tanks where they?

    All the aircraft flaws are OTL, as is the very bizarre Latvian Bulldog sale to the Basque. Not sure why, perhaps fellow feeling for a small country? The Finnish experience does suggest a biplane could out-turn an I-16 and, with the right tactics, give them a bloody nose. With aircraft to burn the Monarchists have the numbers to learn those expensive lessons and still be strong enough to fight back.

    With virtually bugger all Luftwaffe presence in the country they don't get a chance to develop the Schwarm and four finger tactics, instead the plucky Brits get there first and give it a more British name (apparently people were using mob-handed even back in the 1930s), though the Finns are still bitter they don't get the credit for inventing it.

    Would the Soviets be so pig-headed as to persist with Vics despite it being obviously rubbish? Yes, yes they would. Despite the experiences of Spain they still fought the Winter War and the Eastern Front with 'Vics' and steadfastly refused to learn.
     
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    Chapter CVI: The Air in Spain Part II - An Old Rivalry
  • Chapter CVI: The Air in Spain Part II - An Old Rivalry

    Where the Soviets and British were relatively detached from the fighting, their counterparts in the south of Spain took a far more visceral interest in the conflict. For the British, and especially the Soviets, their proxies and allies in Spain were chess pieces in a strategic game, important pieces perhaps but still ultimately pieces that could be played or sacrificed as the situation and strategy dictated. In contrast the fate of Spain dominated the attention of the French political class, concerned as they were about encirclement and the threat from a German dominated Spain. Their interest was made all the sharper as they began to consider the consequences of their open assistance to the Republicans should the Monarchists triumph. The German motives were simpler but no less urgent; after a string of diplomatic mistakes, missteps and misfortunes Hitler needed a success and had pinned what remained of his foreign policy reputation onto success in Spain. Equally important as the political requirement for victory, success in Spain, or at the very least parleying German support into Monarchist trade policy, was becoming an economic imperative. As the world re-armed German import agents began to struggle to source key strategic materials. Colonial suppliers across the world began sending their output back home to Britain and France instead of the hungry furnaces of the Rhineland and German agents used to the easy buyers market of the Depression failed to find new sources. Spanish ores, particularly those of mercury, tungsten and iron, would fill a vital gap, especially if an indebted Spain made them a 'gift', sparring the rapidly emptying German treasury further hard currency expense. With so much, both real and perceived, at stake for both sides it is hardly surprising the air war in the south was more intense with the 'volunteer' pilots and advisers much more to the fore.

    The German aerial contribution was given the grand name 'The Condor Legion' by Goebbel's propaganda men in Berlin, though it tells you almost all you need to know about the unit that it acquired the nickname Die Briefträger (The Postmen) from it's own pilots. The bulk of the initial aircraft were indeed ex-civilian mail planes, the sparse mail variants being quicker to convert to bombers than the seat filled passenger types. The iconic Condor Legion aircraft was the Junkers Ju 52, by far the most numerous aircraft supplied by Germany they were a common site in the skies above Spain, used as bomber and reconnaissance aircraft as well as serving in their original transport role. Alongside the Ju 52 was the Heinkel He 70, another ex-mail plane with secret military roots that arrived in considerable numbers as German re-armament accelerated. It had been considered by the Luftwaffe their first Schnellbomber (fast bomber), intended to use raw speed not guns to defend itself from enemy fighters. For the early 1930s it was indeed impressive, it's 225mph top speed making it far faster than any of the biplanes it could reasonably expect to face off against. However the march of technology had left the He 70 painfully vulnerable to the later evolutions of the biplanes, and easy meat for the new generation of 300mph+ monoplane fighters. As such it was being rapidly phased out of the Luftwaffe in favour of the Dornier Do 17, making it an ideal choice to send to Spain.

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    The Dornier Do 11, one of the less successful German contributions to the Monarchist's cause. Another of the many secret 'dual purpose' designs developed in the early 1930s the Do 11 was technically a freight aircraft, but in reality was intended to serve as a heavy bomber in the then secret Luftwaffe. Despite being slightly smaller than the Ju 52 the Do 11 could carry twice the bombload at similar speeds and bore the burden of great expectations from the level bombing fraternity in the Luftwaffe. Unfortunately the Do 11's relatively good performance with such large bomb loads had come at a price; reliability. Plagued with problems several of the early production models never even made it into service, crashing on or after take off from the factory. Keen to be rid of such a problem child the Luftwaffe tried to temp the Monarchists into accepting it, however desperate as Manuel Hedilla and the pro-German faction were for aircraft, they weren't that desperate and further shipments beyond the initial trial aircraft were firmly refused.

    While the bomber and reconnaissance squadrons of the Army of Africa revelled in the luxury of relatively modern monoplanes their fighter brethren were not so lucky. Fighter aircraft were harder to disguise than bombers and, although Goring and the Reichsluftfahrtministerium (RLM, Ministry of Aviation ) had done their best with many 'sports aircraft' and 'high speed couriers', overall fighter deployment lagged that of bombers. With sale of the new Messerschmit Bf 109 and Bf 110 vetoed until all German squadrons had been equipped there was very little Germany could offer bar obsolete biplanes. The sole exception was the attempt to sell the Heinkel He 112 (one of the losing rivals to the Bf 109), but even that faltered for one of the main reasons it had lost out to the Bf 109; it just wasn't ready for volume production. This left biplanes to fill the gap, primarily the Heinkel He 51 (which could just, on a good day and in a dive, touch 200mph) and a small number of marginally faster Arado Ar 68s for a select few 'elite' squadrons. Neither of these were particularly impressive aircraft, both would struggle against a Hawker Fury or Gloster Gauntlet and wouldn't stand a chance against anything more modern. However they were all that was available from Germany and, by the standards of the war in southern Spain, they were acceptable enough for early 1937, if admittedly towards the lower end of the scale.

    The Republican government was, on paper, in a far better position. As the legitimate government of Spain it had access to countless markets that refused to even acknowledge the 'rebel' Monarchists, let alone sell arms to them, and it had control of it's own exports, giving it a hard currency income that Hedilla's Army of Africa so dearly lacked. Despite this choice they still ended up with France as the de facto monopoly supplier for much of 1936, the carrot of better terms than almost anyone else would offer and the stick of the stranglehold on the supply lines gave France an irresistible advantage. Given how things would turn out it is interesting to note that the first aircraft to arrive from France were selected purely on the basis of compatibility with the existing Spanish Air Force, a fine idea in principle but one that was soon abandoned once losses began to mount. Thus it was that the aerodromes of Republican Spain were quickly filled with Nieuport-Delage NiD 62 fighters and Breguet XIX bombers, both 1920s designed biplanes being hurriedly phased out of French service. In a particularly nasty shock to the Spanish pilots the technically inferior French NiD 62s (which were a mixed wood-metal construction, as opposed to the otherwise identical all metal NiD 52) had noticeably superior performance, actually being able to reach their claimed top speed and easily out performing their own NiD 52ss. Sadly for all Republican pilots they were no easier to fly, despite being badly outclassed in combat accidents were by far the biggest pilot killer, even in front line fighter units. This was particularly alarming as the air war of 1936 did not go at all well for the Republicans, their very obsolete French biplanes suffering terrible casualties at the hands of the Monarchist's merely obsolete British biplanes. It was this lack of success, as much as President Azaña's policy of diversifying the Republican arms supply, that led the Republicans to scour the international markets and produce the legendarily varied Republican Air Force.

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    The French designed but Spanish manufactured Nieuport-Delage NiD 52, technically the Hispano-Nieuport-Delage NiD 52 after it's manufacturer immodestly added themselves to the aircraft's formal name. After being selected as Spain's front-line fighter in 1928 the Spanish engineering firm Hispano-Suiza acquired a licence and began producing the design in Spain, production finally ending in 1933 with over 120 aircraft completed. The main problem with the NiD 52 was that it never achieved the performance that Nieuport-Delage claimed it was capable of, however as Spain was the only purchaser and manufacturer of the NiD 52 there is no easy way of knowing if it was manufacturing mistakes by Hispano-Suiza or a fundamental flaw in the design. That said as the more advanced NiD 72 and less advanced NiD 62 both managed to out perform the Hispano built NiD 52s the balance of probability does point to the problems lying in the factories of Spain and not the design studios of France. In any event the best judgement on the NiD 52/62/72 series comes from the fate of her designer; by late 1937 Nieuport-Delage had changed hands twice and had been reduced to little more than a brand used by it's then owner, the seaplane and naval engineering firm Ateliers et Chantiers de la Loire.

    The French government was aware of the Republican plans and successfully diverted them, ensuring the first trade delegations visited France's New Entente ally Czechoslovakia. In fairness to France it was a not bad move for the Republicans to make; Czechoslovakia had a respectable modern aircraft industry that had advanced beyond licenced assembly into serial production of their own designs, indeed the Czechs laid claims to the oldest aviation design works in Eastern Europe, tracing a lineage back to the factories of the Austria-Hungary. There was but one problem; the Czech government was in no mood to sell those advanced designs and instead wished to follow the French and British path; dumping out dated designs on Spain and keeping the modern production lines going for their own re-armament programme. Thus instead of returning home from the Czech capital with such relatively advanced designs at the 250mph Avia B-534 biplane or the Aero A.304 monoplane bomber, the Republican delegation instead brought back such questionable delights as the the Letov Š-31. The Š-31 was trumpeted as being over a third faster than the NiD 52/62s then in front line service, this being more palatable than admitting it was only capable of 200mph fighter and only mounted two fixed machine guns. The Letov Š-31 is in fact a classic of the problems encountered by the Republicans, it's Czech built engine needed the unique and unusual BiBoLi fuel mixture (50% oil, 30% alcohol and 20% benzol, a mixed designed to minimise the use of precious Czechoslovakian oil reserves) and their machine guns were modified Vickers which used a 7.92mm round (0.312") unlike the standard Vickers 0.303" which the NiD fleet was armed with. It was the maintenance problems of the Republican air fleet in miniature, with the added danger of explosive results if the wrong fuel went to the wrong engine.

    However it was not all problems, while the Š-31s were joined by other less than stellar purchases (the equally Czech Aero A.101 biplane bomber that was worse than the A.100 it was meant to replace, the catastrophically slow Potez 25 that could just top 130mph when in a dive and the predictably disastrous efforts at using the Dutch Koolhoven F.K.51 trainers as light bombers) there were successes. The Baltic States continued their efforts to support the Spanish Republic as Lithuanian sold her squadron of Dewoitine D.372s at a knock down price. The 235mph high wing monoplanes were markedly superior to anything Germany had supplied at the time, sadly Lithuanian only had one squadron to sell and the rest of the run was still in front line service in France. The D.372 was not the best purchase however, the truly elite Republican squadrons were equipped with the real prizes; the Dutch Fokker D.XXI and the Polish PZL P.24. Though wildly different, the Fokker was a cheap and rugged low winged monoplane originally designed for service in the Dutch East Indies, while the P.24 was a highly evolved version of the gull winged monoplane layout that characterised Polish design, both were a quantum leap ahead of anything else in the south of the country. While the D.XXI edged it on raw speed (at 285mph it had a good 15mph on the P.24) and manoeuvrability, the twin 20mm Orelikon FF cannons of the P.24 were by far the more potent weapon. It was less good news for the bombers however, while the biplanes were just as poor even the newer monoplanes were a terrible disappointment. The Potez 540 was one of the most modern and capable bombers in the Republican inventory but still acquired the nickname "Ataúd Volante" (Flying Coffin), the names given to the slower and less well armed Breguet XIXs and PZL.23s can well be imagined.

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    The Grumman FF-1 in original US Navy markings. First developed as a carrier fighter and later serving as scout and advanced trainer, the FF-1 was the most visible American aircraft to end up in Republican service. The bulk of the FF-1s ended up being deployed to the high profile, but rarely in combat, squadrons protecting Valencia and became a favourite of the government's propaganda men. The attention lavished on the FF-1 had everything to do with the continuing campaign to woo America and almost nothing to do with it's fighting ability. While not a bad design it was nothing special either, just another one of the many 200mph, twin machine gunned biplanes in Republican service, but with the added problem of being imperial sized not metric and having the obligatory different size of machine gun ammunition (0.3" for the M1919 Brownings in this case). It does however neatly illustrate the main reason Republicans ended up with such a vast variety of aircraft types instead of just buying the best; money. After the collapse of a deal with the Canadian Car and Foundry Company to produce an export version of the FF-1, the G23 Goblin, Grumman had several squadrons worth of FF-1 parts but no buyers. The Republican agents in the US could therefore pick up the FF-1 on excellent terms; a low price and most of that on credit. The actual up front hard currency cost per delivered unit was less than a 10th of the cost of a new Fokker D.XXI, not to mention the propaganda value of a US aircraft. With many aircraft to buy, and little money available, the Republicans chose quantity over quality, prioritising biplanes from friendly powers and the desperate over expensive new build monoplanes.


    As in the north of Spain the air war in the south was an intensely local affair, while the German equipped Monarchists had a relatively homogeneous force the variations in the Republican air force, along with a lack of a solid Command and Control structure on either side, made every engagement a lottery. Across much of the south air superiority changed daily, if the high end Republican fighters were available they could sweep the skies clear, however if a lack of parts, fuel or the right calibre of ammunition kept them grounded, the replacement NiDs from the next aerodrome along would be easy prey. There was one great exception to this; the air battle above the Cadiz Campaign. Where the Army of Africa could only call upon the same aircraft as the rest of the southern Monarchist armies, if in greater numbers and with the better pilots, the Assault Guards and the new Monarchist Armoured Division would have the cream of the Republican Air Force above them. This gave the Republicans air superiority throughout the campaign, allowing almost unhindered reconnaissance to keep their commanders up to date and leaving their Monarchist opponents perpetually short of hard intelligence. With neither side having the right aircraft or the inclination for strategic bombing, and both believing their own rapid advances would make logistical strikes on enemy bridges and railways counter-productive, the only real activity on the bombing side were the attempts at tactical support. For all the efforts of the Republican bombers (the Monarchists soon abandoned their efforts to use 'Schnellbombers' that were 50mph slower than most fighters they were facing) they struggled to achieve more than just harassment, certainly inconveniencing the Army of Africa but not actually doing much in the way of damage. For all the efforts poured into aircraft by both sides, the campaigns of 1937 would be won on the ground by artillery, infantry and above all tanks.

    ---
    First off despite all the delays (for which I mumble vague apologies) I'm not entirely happy with this one. I fear it might be too much airframe porn and not enough of anything actually happening, which is a impressive achievement for something 3000 words long. Hopefully with that out of my system the next update may actually contain some plot.

    Notes;

    Germany is following the RAF route and dumping anything the RLM don't like the look of onto Spain, with Monarchist exports (and hard currency) in the hands of either the British faction or neutrals Germany is struggling to sell anything to Spain so 'loans' and credit sales are the order of the day. Of course if they started offering Bf 109s and Stukas they'd sell as many as they could ship, however post-TTL Rhineland and the slightly earlier Spitfire and Hurricane introduction there is even more of a panic in Germany about how badly equipped the Luftwaffe is.

    France is a great deal more agitated than OTL over Spain, not enough to actually directly intervene (they still don't want war and wish to avoid casualties) but almost no-one is suggesting sacrificing Spain. Once you start publicly intervening you worry what happens if the other side wins, hence I think France is much more worried than OTL. A fascist (but non-Axis) Spain is one thing, a Spain run by people who hate you for backing the other side during the Civil War is quite another. As to why France is only supplying dross, they have no other choice. The French aviation industry at the time was only capable of producing 50 aircraft a month, that's in total across all types and all factories! Re-armament is painfully slow and as such most modern biplanes are still needed for front line service. Now without the nationalisation of the aero industry France wont suffer years of disruption and confusion, but equally they wont make any progress towards solving the underlying problems. Tricky.

    The Czech BiBoLi is alarmingly actually true, in a desperate attempt to save oil they did use that strange mix. While petrol:benzene mixes weren't that uncommon it's the addition of alcohol that makes BiBoLi so unusual and it's the combination of all three that make it such a temperamental fuel.

    No Canadian Goblin TTL, I figure the deal would have been disrupted post the Abyssinian War and then killed off when the Canadian government went for Snow Hurricanes and Arctic Hampdens. However I'm sure the Canadian Car & Foundry Company will find a way to get involved when local production of the Wellington kicks off.

    And now, at last, tanks.
     
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    Chapter CVII: Spain ’37 Part I – The Anarchy of Command
  • Chapter CVII: Spain ’37 Part I – The Anarchy of Command

    The most well known parts of the Spanish spring campaigns of 1937 are those that revolve around the tanks. While it is certainly true the tanks deployed by both sides had an impact that was completely disproportionate to their numbers, the bulk of the battles were fought not with tanks but with artillery, rifles and bayonets. It is with one of these ‘traditional’ campaigns that we begin; the Barcelona Offensive.

    The Barcelona Offensive was a joint effort between the Catalan militias and the CNT-FAI (Confederación Nacional del Trabajo, National Confederation of Labour - Federación Anarquista Ibérica, Iberian Anarchist Federation). Lacking the international support the ‘legitimate’ government faction had or the strong industrial base of the Basque the two groups struggled for both supplies and equipment, surviving mainly on what they could ‘divert’ from French shipments into Tarragona and the remains of the pre-war equipment issued to the CNT-FAI militias. Most units were short of basics such as artillery and machine guns, let alone tanks and mechanised transport. The increasing government co-operation with France made French supplies harder to divert (initial French shipments had been delivered to the nearest Spaniard with a uniform, the subtleties of Republican politics being a mystery to most French merchants) and there were no more caches and arms dumps to ‘liberate’, thus Barcelona became a last, desperate, throw of the dice to secure a purely anarchist powerbase.

    The situation was not much better for the Monarchist Army of Catalonia, while there was no shortage of British and German equipment flooding into Spain there was no easy way of getting it from the Atlantic ports of La Coruna or Vigo to the north east of Spain. The east-west road routes were poor, the main railways in the region all ran through the Republican held town of Zaragoza and, outside of the more gung-ho Royal Navy attaches, no-one was prepared to contemplate running the gauntlet of the west coast to ship supplies direct to Barcelona. The biggest problem for the Monarchists though was not supply but numbers; the massed anarchist and Catalan militias outnumbered them over two to one. Allowing for the detachments needed for ‘internal security’ and watching the Basque border the Monarchist commander, Rey d'Harcourt, was badly out numbered.

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    Buenaventura Durruti, ‘Commander’ of the Durruti Column and one of the leading Anarchist commanders during the Barcelona Offensives. Durruti is perhaps best remembered for inventing the term ‘Fifth Column’, a phrase coined during a propaganda broadcast when he boasted the four anarchist columns attacking Barcelona would be aided by a fifth column of supporters within the city. Given how the phrase would be inaccurately applied by dictators and democrats alike in later years, it is fitting that it’s very first use was also incorrect; there was no popular rising in Barcelona. At the time this was attributed to ‘cunning black propaganda’ by the Monarchists in the city, though in truth even a poor propagandist could have whipped up fear in a city being attacked by, amongst other units, several thousand heavily armed thieves and murders (in this case the ‘Iron Column’ of freed prisoners).

    Given their importance to how the campaign unfolded, it is perhaps worth briefly discussing the peculiar anarchist command structure. An anarchist column consisted of a number of centuria (Centuries, 100 men units with their own democratic sub-divisions) who elected a delegate to the war committee for that column. The war committee would then select a leader, often (but not always) the figure who first organised the column. While there were undoubted benefits in terms of morale there were also obvious drawbacks, the two greatest being scale and leadership. With one delegate per 100 men the war committees soon reached unwieldy numbers, at its peak the Ascaso Column (named after the ‘martyred’ CNT leader Francisco Ascaso Abadía) numbered over 10,000 men and thus had over 100 delegates on its war committee. This problem was compounded by the second, leadership. An anarchist column leader had no real authority, there was no term of office or security; it was easier to remove a leader than it was to elect them in the first place. While the truly charismatic, such as Durruti, could carry the delegates of their column with them lesser speakers (but perhaps better tacticians) could only follow the will of the group or be removed. Whatever the ideological attractions of such a system the problems of organising large scale operations between several Columns should be obvious.

    Despite these disadvantages the initial engagements favoured the anarchists, the offensive was spearheaded by the multi-national Durruti Column and the fearsome ex-prisoners of the Iron Column who swept into Catalonia, taking the outlying towns and establishing a siege of Barcelona. At this point the problems began to arise, for all the assumed sympathy to the anarchist cause, a general uprising had failed to occur and the Monarchist garrison had drawn back into the city in relatively good order. Without the benefit of artillery to ‘soften up’ the defenders any assault would be a bloody affair, certainly compared to the easier picket and garrison roles also required. Thus it was that the most highly motivated (and highly skilled) units who volunteered while the second string formed the picket, a reasonable enough outcome given the circumstances but one with unfortunate consequences.

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    The Hotchkiss M1914 machine gun. Of a similar vintage to the venerable Vickers machine gun, the Hotchkiss was the main medium machine gun of the French army and, after the sale of a manufacturing licence in the 1920s, had served in the same role in the pre-civil war Spanish Army. An air cooled design its two most distinctive features were the five rings on the barrel and its extreme weight, the former a necessity of the air cooling and the later an object of much cursing from its crews. Along with smaller numbers of hastily imported ex-British Lewis Guns the Hotchkiss remained the main machine gun of the Monarchists until well into 1938, when all Monarchist units finally standardised on 0.303 inch guns and ammunition.

    The assault on Barcelona went about as well as could be expected, lacking artillery or even mortars the Hotchkiss M1914s and Lewis Guns of the Monarchists extracted a terrible toll on the attackers, but in the end superior numbers told. Rather than wait to be crushed the Monarchist commander Rey d'Harcourt attempted a breakout, striking north more in hope than expectation. To his surprise he found that the unit assigned to guard the north of Barcelona, the Tierra y Libertad (Liberty and Land Brigade) had decided the battle was as good as won and had begun the revolution. Whatever the benefits of bringing the anarchist revolution to the good people of Catalonia were, they did not include the ability to mount a cohesive defence and the Monarchist managed to break through, rallying in the city of Girona before establishing themselves in the Cadi Mountains near the border with Andorra.

    The conventional choice would have been a pursuit, indeed the original campaign plan called for the complete liberation of Catalonia. Here again though the anarchist command structure intervened, as did the consequences of Barcelona. The best units of the CNT-FAI were shattered; the losses in the house to house combat had been horrific and none of the columns who had led the assault were fit for the pursuit. As the remaining columns decided that ‘spreading the revolution’ was more important than charging up mountains, a decision the Catalan militias agreed with, the Monarchists were left to recover in peace. Their position however remained precarious, wedged between the Basque and the Catalan and with France to their back they were in desperate need of a relief column. Whether or not that column would reach them would depend on the outcome of the first armoured clash of the war.

    --
    Notes
    A slight diversion into the anarchist command structure, something I admit I found fascinating when I started poking into it. There were, of course, variations from column to column but the 10 man team, 100 man centuries and war committees did appear to be very common. Given the anarchists folded into the Republican Army in late 1936 in OTL no-one knows how they would work on the grand scale and when not in a panic. I resisted the urge to say ‘badly’ and tried to be fair, but I just can’t see it working that well. So the good units kept volunteering and the less keen units were allowed to take the easier route. But in fairness Anarchist Catalonia is now looking a real goer, it may even last longer than OTL if the CNT-FAI can avoid merging into the Republican Army this time.

    Columns are all OTL, including the alarming Iron Column of ex-prisoners. Not political prisoners (I don’t think the Spanish Republic had that many to be fair) just normal criminals, everything from petty thieves to murderers. Unsurprisingly they were not popular, but apparently very effective. Durruti died late ’36 in OTL but due to a completely different pattern of fighting survives this time around, his hat was too jaunty not to make it.

    Sorry for the lack of tanks, this update suffered from shrinking horizons. I started hoping to do the whole of Spain in one update, I ended up just doing the North East corner where there were no tanks. I hope for better luck next time!
     
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    Chapter CVIII: Spain ’37 Part II – Hammers, Eggshells and Stiletto Knives.
  • Chapter CVIII: Spain ’37 Part II – Hammers, Eggshells and Stiletto Knives.

    The most commented on point about the tank battles of the Spanish Civil War is how un-Spanish they were. The tanks themselves were almost invariably foreign supplied, the crews had a large contingent of overseas ‘volunteers’, the supporting mechanics and engineers were generally non-Spanish and the officer corps of both sides were overflowing with ‘advisers’ of all types. Interesting as this is, its importance should not be over-stated; the tank men of Spain were not mere puppets to be directed by foreign masters, Iberian tank warfare would develop to meet very Spain concerns.

    In the north of the country the tank battles would be between various Marks of British supplied Light Tanks and the Soviet manufactured T-26s. On the face of it, it was an unfair fight; five tonne machine gun armed tankettes up against ten tonne Soviet infantry tanks each with a 45mm main gun. Fortunately for the Monarchist tankers there is more to a tank that just those headline figures and more to an effective tank unit than the technical quality of the machines. On these measures the sides were more evenly matched, though it would still take a brave, or suicidal, Light Tank crew to attempt a one on one engagement.

    In one of the coincidences that characterise the international arms trade, both the T-26 and the Light Tanks it would wreak havoc upon were originally Vickers designs. The T-26 had started life as the ubiquitous Vickers 6-ton, a tank famous both for it’s considerable export success and it’s spectacularly inaccurate name (at no point in any of its many variants did it ever weight 6 tons or anything close). The 6-toner had originally been designed with two types; the Type A with two machine gun turrets and the Type B with a single, two man turret mounting a Vickers 3 Pounder, a 47mm gun originally designed for the Royal Navy in the 1900s. Somewhat ironically the Soviet purchasing delegation selected the Type A twin turreted variant, influenced by the multi-turreted mania then gripping the world’s armies, and then spent the next few years slowly ‘developing’ the design into one functionally identical to the Type B they had originally rejected. It was this single turreted version, the T-26 Mod 33, that would make up the bulk of the Soviet tank forced despatched to Spain, the twin turreted variants have fallen out of favour as their limitations became apparent.

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    The T-26 single and twin turret variants together on operations in the Leningrad Military District. The twin turreted variant on the left is the T-26 Mod 31, the first ‘Sovietised’ variant of the 6-Toner, the main visible changes being the replacement of the Vickers 0.303” machine guns with Soviet pattern 7.62mm DTs and the subsequent modifications to the turret. Beneath the skin it was less promising; Soviet metallurgists had struggled to replicate the quality of the Vickers cemented armour plate and the less said about the efforts to copy the Armstrong Siddeley engine and running gear the better. By the time of the T-26 Mod 33 however these problems had been solved and the twin turrets replaced with a single turret mounting the 45 mm 20K mod gun. It is tempting to dismiss the entire story something of a waste of effort; the T-26 Mod 33 had identical armour, mechanicals and layout to the Type B that had been rejected and with its 45mm gun similar firepower. However many of the engineers and designers who would go on to develop the T-34 cut their teeth on ‘improving’ the T-26, making the process a valuable learning experience if nothing else.

    At the start of the campaign the PSOE/PCE units could call upon just over 100 T-26s organised along Soviet infantry support lines as two battalions, each with three 15 tank strong companies, and the balance of tanks as spares and training vehicles. Those training tanks highlight the biggest problem faced by the PSOE/PCE tank force; crews. The pool of left leaning Spaniards fluent in technical Russian who could physically fit in a T-26 was quite small to begin with (though it was far larger than the pool of Soviet tank officers in Spain who were fluent in technical Spanish). Once the Soviet commissars attached to the tank battalions had weeded out the ‘politically unreliable’ and ‘doctrinally unsound’ there were precious few left. Language problems would plague the force as the Soviet trainers were unable to communicate with most of their students, a problem on the training ground but a disaster when the trainers ‘volunteered’ to lead the unit into combat.

    In contrast organisational issues were the least of the problems faced by the Monarchist tank force in the north. Thanks to the large scale of British investment in Spanish industry there were large numbers of bi-lingual engineers who could be conscripted from the railways, shipyards and mines of Spain and translate between the British tankers and their Spanish pupils. The Monarchist tankers were also fortunate in their commanding officer, getting the talented and confident General de Brigada Antonio Aranda. Aranda, fresh from his heroics at the Siege of Ovideo, was not a tank officer but an engineer turned infantry officer, though given the poor performance of the pre-war Spanish tank corps this was not necessarily a disadvantage. This does highlight the first main problem faced by the Monarchists; doctrine and tactics. The Soviets had an excellent doctrinal base, the recently adopted ‘Deep Operations’ ideas of Triandafillov and Tukhachevski and though there were struggles adapting them for the far smaller, and far less mechanised, conditions in Spain there was at least a base. In stark contrast the Royal Armoured Corps didn’t even have a basic doctrine, as we have seen in previous chapters the RAC of the time was still dependent on relatively ancient field regulations that still referred to horses. The experience can be crudely described as the blind leading the blind with predictably poor results, at least initially. While doctrine would improve as Aranda, his staff and their British advisers gained experience, there is nothing like actual combat to provide an excellent learning opportunities, the lessons would be very expensive for the tank crews themselves.

    The main problem for the Monarchist tankers was however the tanks, as reconnaissance vehicles the later marks of Light Tank, especially the Mk VI, were fine vehicles. As anything else they were a death trap. The T-26s gained a reputation of being eggshells armed with hammers due to their thin 15mm armour and mighty 45mm main gun, with the earlier marks having barely 10mm of front armour and at best a 0.5” Vickers machine gun the Light Tanks were eggshells armed with stiletto knives; they could kill, but only under the right circumstances. The other major problem was the sheer variety of Light Tanks available, in the region of 150 of the Mk I through V had been produced and almost all were sent to Spain by armoured regiments keen to trade them in for the superior Mk VI. The models varied in armament, armour, engine and even crew size, a maintenance nightmare and a tactical headache for the commanders. With armoured piercing W.1z ammunition a 0.5” Vickers could knock out a T-26 at maybe 250 yards (230m), more if they were attacking the sides or front where cheaper mild steel was used instead of high grade cemented armour plate. For the earlier models tanks that used the 0.303” Vickers machine guns that distance fell to barely 150 yards, such a large variation in capability meant commanders could not treat their tanks as interchangeable in the same way the Republicans could. It hardly needs saying that the effective range for a T-26 against a Light Tank was limited by the accuracy of the gunner rather than the capacity of the 45mm gun; kills at 1000m or more were regularly recorded by the Soviet ‘volunteer’ crews.

    mP6wX4h.png

    The Light Tank Mk V. Not quite the best of breed, that honour went to the Mk VIs then entering service in the reconnaissance units of the Royal Armoured Corps, it was nevertheless a decent enough scout unit. Significantly larger than the previous models it boasted a three man crew (commander, driver, gunner), a two man turret with two machine guns (typically a 0.5” and 0.303” Vickers), better off-road suspension and a far larger fuel tank. Production was limited to barely three dozen as it was soon replaced with the Mk VI, leaving the entire run free to be sent to Spain. Ten Mk Vs had been provisionally purchased by Australia but, to the great relief of the nascent tank community in the Australian army, they were diverted to Spain. The question of what Australia should buy instead would become wrapped up in the larger debate on Australian defence policy, a debate in which the government and the Army’s senior officers had very different views.

    The PSOE/PCE offensive began well with the breakthrough at the town of Soria, the T-26s proving themselves practically immune to the Hotchkiss M1914 machine guns and rifle fire that still provided most of the defending Monarchists firepower. Safely across the River Duero the advance continued, the Left putting all their efforts into the campaign, committing not just the entire T-26 force but also the bulk of the Soviet supplied airpower, Tupolev SBs providing reconnaissance and Polikarpov I-16s hunting for any Monarchist aircraft foolish enough to contest the skies. General Aranda was having similar success on the Monarchist side, his ‘1st Armoured Division’ (in truth a reinforced brigade of tanks padded out with infantry) relieved the siege of the fortress town of Sigüenza, discovering in the process the Light Tanks 10-15mm of armour made them just as invulnerable to Republican firepower. The town secured Aranda pushed on into Soria province, aiming to cross the empty plains and capture the key Republican city of Zaragoza.

    Through news from the high commands and hard fought aerial reconnaissance both sides became aware of the other. The Monarchist Northern Army was the first to blink, the cautious General Mola reverting to type and ordering the 1st Armoured north to intercept the Republican tanks and protect Burgos. Despite the best efforts of the Monarchist air force the Tupolev SBs remained all but untouchable and soon reported the presence of the chasing Monarchist tankers to the PSOE/PCE high command. Faced with a choice between continuing the drive for Burgos or turning back to fight the Monarchists, a combination of logistical concerns and bad memories won out. After having over-extended themselves in the ’36 campaign the PSOE/PCE leadership had no intention of making the same mistake again; the T-26s turned south. The two sides would meet north of Almazán, a cross-roads town on the main north-south road in the east of the Soria region.

    TfShmPg.png

    For the opening weeks of the northern campaigns the two side armoured forces managed to avoid each other, focusing instead on their own operations. As news of the wider progress of the war reached the commanders a clash between the two forces became inevitable. Te general lack of anti-tank weaponry in Spain and the reliance on ancient machine guns lacking AP rounds meant the best anti-tank weapon available to either side was their own tanks. The two armoured forces would eventually meet outside the small cross-roads town of Almazán for the world’s first large scale tank versus tank battle.

    The initial clashes were surprisingly even; over confidence in the T-26 companies saw them charging their Monarchist rivals believing themselves invulnerable to ‘mere’ machine gun fire. These ‘good times’ for the Monarchist did not last, after several expensive lessons the Republicans learnt the fatal difference between a standard Spanish Hotchkiss machine gun and an armoured piercing firing Vickers and kept a respectful distance. Despite a significant off-road speed advantage (25mph vs. barely 10mph) it was the turn of the Monarchist to learn a harsh lesson; a Light Tank could not close the range faster than a T-26 could fire. After a week of clashes almost two dozen T-26s had been knocked out but over 50 Light Tanks littered the countryside, a ratio made even worse as many of the T-26s were repairable but the wreckage of a Light Tank after a 45mm shell tore through it was fit for little but scrap.

    Bowing to superior firepower General Aranda pulled back into Almazán, relying on the limited number of bridges across the Duero River to channel the advancing T-26s and the close city confines to narrow the range advantage. Taking the opportunity to knock out the only Monarchist tank force in the north of Spain the PSOE/PCE pursued. After encountering limited resistance, and importantly no tanks, the T-26s raced across the town’s bridges and into the jaws of their second surprise of the month; the Boys rifle. While officially still undergoing ‘field trials’ (not technically a lie) the cumbersomely titled Rifle, Anti-Tank, .55in, Boys had been shipped to Spain by Britain to provide the Monarchist armies with an infantry anti-tank capability. Capable of punching through the frontal armour of the T-26 at 100yards, and the side and rear armour at well over double that, the Boys was an unpleasant surprise for T-26 crews who were used to being practically invulnerable to infantry fire.

    Bloodily repulsed from the town the PSOE/PCE retired to lick their wounds and re-consider their strategy. While the T-26 could dominate the open country it was clear that urban combat would be a far dicier affair. If the 1st Armoured escaped it would remain a threat to the PSOE/PCE supply lines and rear areas, yet taking the town would need either a slow and tedious siege or a short and bloody assault. As the forces of the Republican left considered their next move the situation was no clearer for the Monarchists. For all the propaganda about the heroic ‘Defence of Almazán’ the harsh fact was the Monarchist 1st Armoured had been defeated in open combat, lost far more tanks than the enemy and was pinned in Almazán. With most of Soria Province being open plains the long term prospects favoured the Republicans, from confidence about sweeping across the region much of the Monarchist staff was occupied trying to work out a safe route of retreat back to Sigüenza.

    As the ferocity of the opening clashes faded attention in Spain turned to the south where the German backed Flangists were poised to smash into the French equipped Republican government. The tank warfare in the north had got the attention of the world's armoured warfare theorists, but it would be the clashes between the H35 and the Panzer I that would have the wider impacts.

    ---
    Even I'll admit this update was a bit late, mind you it is 2,500+ words so I hope it was worth the wait. A feast of tank facts all of which are true, not least the proposed purchase of the Mk V by Australia which actually happened in OTL. With the Singapore Strategy now looking far more likely than OTL (after all the RN Eastern Fleet is currently 3 BBs and 2 CVs plus a far larger air force contingent) I think Australian grand strategy could be an interesting butterfly.

    Back to Spain, the Republican T-26s dominate the countryside but with the heavier Vickers machine guns and Boys rifles the Monarchist can hold the cities. Overall the Monarchists needs some better tanks and the Republicans need more artillery and heavy weapons, whichever side gets properly equipped first will win. Until then it's slight advantage to the Republicans, they just can't do a lot with it.

    The story of the T-26 is of course true, a great deal of effort was expended on getting nowhere at all, unless of course you count all the training the designers and engineers got by reinventing the wheel. A funny old story and one I felt I had to tell.

    Any thoughts on the new map, I think the zoomed in look is good but graphics are not my strongest point so I'm very open to suggestions. But then I'm open to suggestions, comments and advice on everything else so nothing new there.

    Next update to the South where we shall see more tank on tank action and the beginning of yet another plot strand!
     
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    Chapter CIX: Spain ’37 Part III – Thirty Four Good Reasons for Victory.
  • Chapter CIX: Spain ’37 Part III – Thirty Four Good Reasons for Victory.

    The war in the south of Spain has been described in many ways. For some it was yet another round of the ongoing Franco-German rivalry, others focused on the Hispanic dimension as the mostly colonial army of Franco clashed with the bulk of the ‘legitimate’ government army. While these interpretations have their merits they all, ultimately, fall down for the same reason; they assume there was actual fighting going on. Given the vast technological gap the tank ‘battles’ were so one sided as to more resemble slaughter than combat and, despite valiant efforts to close this gap, the Republican’s would retain their advantage until well into the summer of 1937.

    The lambs to the slaughter would be the Panzer I ‘light tanks’ of the Falangist militias (technically they were Panzerkampfwagen I Ausführung A in the typically concise German style). Vying with the earlier marks of Light Tank and the indigenous Spanish efforts for the coveted accolade of ‘worst tank in Spain’, the Panzer I was not an impressive combat vehicle, but then that had never been the intention. The design process for the Panzer I had been convoluted, torturous and at times secretive, stretching back to the ideas of ambitious officers of the Weimar Republic era Reichswehr in the late 1920s. Never intended to serve as anything more than a training tank, circumstances it had been sent to Spain both to gain valuable combat experience and for the simple reason there wasn’t anything else. The Ausf. A models sent to Spain were particularly wretched, the engine was woefully under-powered and regularly over-heated, the gearboxes were terrible and the suspension inadequately damped. While all those problems were, eventually, rectified in the Ausf. B units, none of them were sent to Spain, leaving the Falangists to cope as best they could with the Ausf. As that the Wehrmacht was keen to be rid of. Armed with twin 7.92mm (0.31”) machine guns and ‘boasting’ up to 13mm of armour it was as badly protected as the Light Tanks in the north but lacked the better bite that came from the heavier 0.5” Vickers machine guns. Though in truth that wasn’t really a problem, as we shall see the entire force could have been armed with twin Vickers and it would have made precious little difference.

    ZICXdug.jpg

    A Soviet T-27 tank in German markings, pictured sometime in the late 1930s. The T-27 was the link between the Panzer I and its oldest ancestor, the Carden-Lloyd tankette. The Carden-Lloyds were originally sold to the Soviet Union along with the Vickers 6 tonners and, after some cosmetic changes and swapping the Vickers 0.303” for the Soviet standard 7.62mm DT machine gun, soon entered service as the T-27. A handful of these T-27s made their way to Germany as part of the secret German-Soviet military co-operation of the late 1920s and early 1930s. The design was heavily copied in the many ‘tractors’ German industry produced to get around the Versailles ban on tank development. One of the ‘tractors’ most heavily ‘inspired’ by the T-27/Carden-Loyd was the Landswerk Krupp A (LKA) developed, obviously enough, by Krupp in 1932. The LKA, after some minor re-engineering and the replacement of the fixed machine gun casement with a twin machine gun turret, eventually became the Panzer I.

    We turn now to the Hotchkiss H35, rightly considered the best tank in Spain at the time and pride of the Republican 1st Armoured Division. Yet on closer examination it is not immediately obvious why this should be the case because, to be blunt, the H35 was not without some serious faults. Beginning at the heart of the tank we find a less than impressive 3.5 litre Hotchkiss engine producing some 75 horsepower, in comparison the slightly heavier British A9 Cruiser Mk I (12 tons for the A9 against 11 tonnes for the H35) was propelled by a 9.6 litre 150hp AEC engine, and was still thought somewhat under-powered. In an almost inexplicable attempt to increase top speed, to the less than dizzying height of almost 17mph, a long ratio gearbox was fitted. This was an odd decision as the infantry’s design specification did not demand high speed (the eventual winner, the Renault R35, could barely make 12mph) and the engine was entirely unsuited to such a gearbox. The final irony was that the final production models were so hard to get into top gear (due to the mismatch of gearing and engine performance) that most drivers didn’t bother, giving an effective top speed comparable to that of the Renault. The problems continued throughout the mechanical elements of the design; the steering was both heavy and vague and the tank was a poor gun platform being unstable at almost any speed. These problems were related to the unreliable and unstable suspension, the less than successful horizontally sprung paired bogies then in vogue in French armoured design. When considering the mechanicals of the tank it is clear why the French infantry had rejected it and the cavalry fought so hard to avoid being lumbered with it.

    In fairness the mechanical problems above were not unique to France, engines were generally under-powered and suspension was the bane of tank designers the world over. As we have seen tank establishments the world over are prone to ‘manias’ about badly thought out features, for instance the worldwide obsession with multi-turreted tanks, despite their obvious problems. In that context French perseverance with a fundamentally defective suspension system is far more understandable, especially given the alternative chosen by German tank designers – delay indecision. Such were the problems caused by the constant swapping of suspension design for the anti-tank tank (the Panzer III) and the infantry support tank (the Panzer IV) that a stopgap was sought, the Panzer II. Amusingly the Panzer II itself suffered almost eighteen months of delay between initial prototype and volume production due to suspension problems, hence why only the Panzer I could be sent to Spain – there was nothing else in the Wehrmacht arsenal. However, while the mechanical problems can be understood, the problems with the ‘fighting’ parts of the design, which are the main purpose of a tank, are less excusable.

    We begin with the main gun, the 37mm SA18 semi-automatic, the main problem with which is shown in the name; 18 refers not to a barrel length but to the guns age – 1918. Almost twenty years old at the time of the Spanish Civil War, the SA18 was a short barrelled, low velocity gun originally designed for firing HE shells at machine gun nests and infantry. While a new AP shell had been developed, anti-armour performance was still not overly impressive; perhaps as much as 20mm of vertical armour at 500m, the 45mm 20K on the T-26 could expect to punch through twice the thickness at that range. That said, in the context of the light tanks and tankettes that made up the Monarchist armoured units, such figures were more than enough in most engagements. What was not good enough was the crew provision, despite being the heaviest and largest tank in Spain at the time (barring the handful of ancient FT-17s that had survived the previous year) the H35 had only a two man crew, almost every other tank had three, save the very dregs of the Light Tanks. One man was driver and engineer while the other was expected to serve as gunner, loader and commander, in such circumstances it is tempting to see the lack of radio was something of a relief to the over-worked crew, though it is doubtful the archaic semaphore system was that much easier to use. The remaining issues ranged from the serious, the lack of a hatch in the cupola, to the merely eccentric, the commander didn’t have a seat in the turret, instead a suspended saddle that turned with the turret. We now come to the one undeniable strength of the H35 in Spain and the single reason that it, and not the T-26, was rated the best tank in the country at the time; armour. The H35 had 34mm of armour on its hull and 40mm on the turret, over double its nearest rival and impenetrable by any machine gun or anti-tank rifle in Spain at even point blank range. The only widely available gun in Spain that had a chance of penetrating that much armour was the 45mm 20K, which was only in service with the Soviet backed Republican militias in the north, nothing the Monarchists could muster had a chance.

    Vd6xlEQ.jpg

    The Hotchkiss H35, note the three pairs of two wheel bogies and the horizontal spring linking the two halves of each pair. This form of suspension system, and various variants using rubber cylinders not helical springs, would appear on almost all French tanks of the 1930s but could never be made to live up to it’s theoretical capabilities. Interestingly the greatest strength of the H35 in Spain, its 34mm thick armour, was one of the reasons it had been rejected by the infantry; the infantry support tank specification had called for at least 40mm of armour.

    For all the focus on tanks it was the entirely un-armoured Army of Africa that made the first move of the southern campaigns, General Juan Yagüe capturing the coastal city of Malaga with relative ease. Yagüe’s troops would then push on, along the thin coastal strip between the Mediterranean and the mountains of the Sierra de Almijara, as they drove towards the rich mining region of Almeria. As the Monarchist had hoped the Republican commanders reacted, determined to stop the Army of Africa before it created another large salient in their lines. It was at this point that the problems began for the Monarchists; the plan had been for the Flangist militias to drive out of Cordoba and use their armour to take first Jaen, and then Granada. They would then form the anvil to the Army of Africa’s hammer and destroy or capture the Republican Army of the Coast. While the Republican commanders duly obliged by moving their troops out of garrison and towards Malaga, the Assault Guards were not so co-operative.

    The first action of the Republican 1st Armoured Division occurred outside the town of Andújar, the high water mark of the previous years Monarchist campaign. After the fierce fighting the previous year the Falangist garrison had rebuilt the bridges across the river Guadalquivir destroyed by the retreating Republicans and fortified the approaches to the town. Despite its distance from the main garrison in Cordoba where the new Panzer force was preparing, the town was well garrisoned and considered secure. This was not the case. It is commonly stated that mechanical reliability did more damage to the H35 force than the enemy, while technically true this misses the point – the defending Monarchists failed to destroy even a single Republican tank. Though the defenders fought fiercely their fire was ineffective and Andújar fell swiftly, the retreating Monarchists only surviving due to the lack of vigorous pursuit. This would become the hallmark of the campaign, a combination of cautious French doctrine (armoured units should never advance beyond friendly artillery range) and mechanical unreliability would limit the 1st Armoured to a slow, but inexorable, advance. After the next strong point, the town of Villa del Río, fell in similar circumstances the Monarchists were forced to react, the Army of Africa was left to it’s own devices and the Falangist armour deployed to the town of El Carpio to stop the Republican advance.

    The battle of El Carpio is notable for two things; the obliteration of the Falangist armoured squadron and the appearance of the Flandin Cocktail. Of the former there is little to be said, the Panzer Is advantages of speed and radio communication where irrelevant when they were incapable of damaging the H35 and were vulnerable at ranges of almost 1000m away. The battle on the plains outside El Carpio was as one sided as you would expect, out of the entire force a handful of shattered survivors escaped and the field was littered with dozens of burning Panzers along side the very occasional H35 having trouble with it’s tracks. The Flandin Cocktail is an interesting story, essentially just a petrol bomb it was a creature of Propaganda more than anything else. It began when the French foreign minister, Pierre Flandin, was widely quoted at a Franco-Spanish diplomatic dinner as ‘toasting the victories’ of the Republican government. With the Monarchist commanders reduced to ordering their troops to use petrol bombs, the only weapon that stood a chance of taking out a H35, one of the German ‘advisors’ spotted the Propaganda opportunity; the petrol bombs became Flandin Cocktails, so the Monarchist could ‘Return the toast’. An effective and memorable piece of propaganda perhaps, but it didn’t make the situation any less desperate. El Carpio still fell, though the petrol bombs took their toll on the H35 and the victory was not quite so quick or so painless for the Republicans. By the start of summer the road to Cordoba, the main Monarchist base in the region, was wide open and the Falangist militias still had no way to stop a H35 in open country.

    As we leave Spain there is one loose end to clear up, the Linares Breakout. The story of the Republican 4th Division, one of the few regular army units to stay loyal to the Republic, could have been one of the great stories of the war. Having escaped from Badjoz at the outbreak of the war and then over-wintered in Salamanca the scene was set for Linares to lead his men north, break the Monarchist lines and make it home to Republican territory. Alas warfare cannot be relied upon to produce such narratives and the 4th Division faced not ragged militias but the highly motivated and well equipped Carlist Requetés. Despite fighting hard the bulk of the Linares breakout didn’t even escape from Salamanca province, the remainder being killed or captured before reaching the halfway point. Yet there would be one long term consequence beyond a boost to Carlist morale (and a dip to the Republican’s morale). General Linares himself would escape along with much of his HQ and eventually turn up in the Basque pocket. Linares would eventually become the de facto Republican government representative in northern Spain, while the Basque ‘government’ would remain defiantly separate, Linares would become the catalyst for improved co-operation between the Republican militias in the Basque country and the rest of Spain.

    ---
    Notes:
    Another big update and ore than you ever wanted to know about various not-that-good tanks I’m sure. Thankfully for the non-tankers among you we’re moving off armour for the foreseeable future, so those of you who feel over-tanked can relax. As always all tank facts are true, including the well travelled British-Soviet-German Carden-Lloyds and the saddle in the H35, truly a triumph of French engineering.

    The Flandin cocktail is of course the OTL Molotov cocktail, but with a different name. Once I though of that idea I just couldn’t resist and thought it was a good way of showing just how the French are slowly becoming more and more drawn into the Spanish Civil War. OTL there were petrol bombs regularly used against T-26s, TTL it’s the H35 on the receiving end as things get desperate for the Monarchists.

    I had hopes for Linares, given how inept the AI is I thought he would make it out, certainly it looked for a while that he might, but then he inexplicably stopped, turned around, tried to attack Madrid and then got destroyed. The general then promptly appeared commanding a militia in the Basque pocket so I added that explanation just for the challenge really.
     
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    Chapter CX: Une Entente Commerciale?
  • Chapter CX: Une Entente Commerciale?

    For all the grand talk by politicians on both side of the channel the Entente Cordiale never brought about a substantial change in Anglo-French relations. While it is technically correct to say the original Entente never broke down, that only points out quite how limited it’s original form was. The Entente Cordiale was never actually a formal alliance or pact; instead it was an ‘entente’ (understanding) on a handful of colonial issues in the Orient, Africa and North America. As those issues were considered long settled one could truthfully say that the original agreement had not been broken and indeed remains unbroken to this day. What certainly did ‘break’ in the mid 1930s was the illusion held by much of the political class that there was a meaningful alliance between France and the British Empire.

    The political differences that broke up the diplomatic Entente have been discussed previously, our concern in this chapter are the Franco-British ‘Understandings’ that existed outside of diplomacy and grand strategy, and how they fared as diplomatic relations deteriorated. We will begin in the economic sphere where the most striking feature is how weak the trade links were, Empire exports to France totalled just under £23 million while imports from France came to less than £20 million. While these are certainly large sums, when one remembers that in a previous chapter we saw that imports of beef alone totalled well over £35 million a year they are not that impressive. There is of course the issue of invisible exports and imports, that portion of trade that does not involve tangible goods or physical objects, for Britain that has always meant insurance, banking, shipping and above all income from over-seas investments. These figures were both notoriously hard to calculate, save well in arrears when accounts were settled, and a vital matter for the Treasury, transforming staggering visible trade deficits into healthy overall surpluses; invisible annual trade surpluses of £300 million or more were not uncommon throughout the 1930s. Francophiles were often tempted to suggest that some of this tidal wave of invisible earnings came from France, when in fact it was instead the nations of South America, China and the United States that provided the bulk of these earnings. The example of the Southern Railway and the Chemin de Fer du Nord will serve to illustrate why France was just as tough for Britain’s invisible traders as their visible brethren.

    The Chemin de Fer du Nord (The Northern Railway, generally called the CF Nord) was, as the name suggests, the railway company covering the north of France. As in Britain the railway companies of France had amalgamated into several large groupings, though the groupings had occurred over a far longer period and, contrary to the typical national pattern, the French groupings had occurred with far less government intervention. They key difference between the two nations railways was financial, where the Big Four in Britain were all making a healthy profit, even the debt laden London & North Eastern Railway, in France the situation was not so bright. As a whole the French railway companies were running at a very considerable loss, a combined loss of almost 5 billion Francs (some £60 million) in 1936 alone. However this headline figure hid a wide variation; the unwieldy named Chemins de fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée (Paris to Lyon and the Mediterranean Railway, unsurprisingly this was typically shortened to the PLM) had an excellent year as Spanish bound trade in and out of the Mediterranean ports skyrocketed, while at the other extreme lay the unfortunate CF Nord which racked up yet another staggering loss. The simple problem for the CF Nord, and the Rothschild family that owned it, was that while their routes were strategically valuable (not least the rail links from Paris to the Channel ports and western Belgium), they weren’t actually very busy. The exception was the cross-channel routes, the jewel in the crown of the CF Nord, indeed to believe its critics the only jewel the company possessed. It is at this point that the Southern Railway enters the scene.

    RalsgDN.jpg

    A 231 C Nord at the head of a 'Flèche d’Or'/'Golden Arrow' service just outside Calais. The Golden Arrow was the first cross channel luxury train to actually be co-ordinated properly, a feat previously confined to trans-continental trains such as the Orient Express or the Rheingold. The service ran from London Victoria to Paris Gare du Nord via a purpose built luxury ferry between Dover and Calais, though of course the CF Nord maintained it was actually a Paris-London service that happened to carry people on the way back. The Golden Arrow had been one of the benchmark luxury services of the 1920s, being an all Pullman car service on the British side and all CIW (Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits, the makers of carriages for the Orient Express) service when in France. However between the depression and the rise of air travel the service had fallen on relatively hard times, being forced to include merely first class, and even second class, carriages on the trains to make up the numbers. It is interesting to note that the new class of locomotive the Southern Railway developed for the service were christened the Lord Nelsons and all named after famous British admirals, the majority of which had made their name sinking the French. There was no counter by the CF Nord however, the 231 C Nords on the French side of the route were given neither individual names nor even a class name, to the owners and operators of French railways their engines were mere machines, nothing more.

    CF Nord’s British partner for the cross channel routes was, naturally enough, Southern Railway. The advent of the train ferry, which allowed a sleeping carriage to be loaded onto a ferry and transported across the channel without waking the occupants, had made the night train from London to Paris a lucrative route for both parties. Financial problems in the 1920s had seen the CF Nord sell its ferry and shipping operations to raise money and had left it dependent on the Southern to provide the ferries. This precedent was taken one step further in early 1937 when CF Nord proposed selling its part of the cross channel route to the Southern. In exchange for a large up front payment the CF Nord would give the Southern a concession to run the entire route, keeping all receipts and without paying for track access. The board of the Southern never got a chance to reply; the French government got to hear of the plan and immediately vetoed it. At the end of the resulting round of argument, claim and counter-claim the Southern’s management were left bemused and the CF Nord’s mostly unemployed; CF Nord was forcibly ‘merged’ with Chemins de fer de l'État (State Railways, CF l'État the largest railway group in France and, as the name suggests, it was owned by the state). It has been suggested this was the aim of the Rothchild family all along, as part of the merger they received compensation, shares in the public corporation that owned CF de l'État and seats on the board. Certainly they got a far better deal than the other struggling rail companies that were 'rescued' by merger with CF de l'État both before and after. In any event the CF Nord Affair was just the latest in a series of incidents that convinced the majority of British bankers and financiers to look elsewhere for their invisible trade opportunities.

    The French chamber of commerce naturally declared this an irrational and foolish decision; France was open for business and investment, just not in areas she considered strategic. The counter argument was that the shifting French definition of ‘strategic industries’ was itself a major headache for those trying to do business in France. Many an importer had privately decided that ‘strategic’ meant ‘something a non Frenchman is doing well at’ and given up. Such discussion generally boiled down to insults, each side accusing the other of being at fault and for being too parochial. The British believed French industry would do all it could to involve dealing with foreign firms, even to the extent of paying a higher cost for lower quality, while the French diagnosed the problem as ‘Parochial Albion’ and blamed British companies for not even looking for opportunities in France. The protectionist tendencies of French industries are a matter for another book, but the parochialism, or otherwise, of Britain's captains of industry is very much our concern. As with so much in Anglo-French relations however, the answer does rather depend on how you define the terms; British companies were indeed parochial, for a given value of parochial.

    ---
    Notes:
    You lucky people, not even the top of the page and you get an update. I do hope Davout is around to discipline his fellow Antipodean tanker for a breach of top of page etiquette. Now to the update, first off I must confess I'm not completely happy with this one, mainly as I'm not at all sure what the 'point' of all that text. But I’ve written it now so it seems a shame to delete it, hopefully it will be at least interesting. A part two on Franco-British relations to follow explaining the differing values of parochial.

    Trade numbers are all historic, which I found somewhat surprising I must say. After some checking Britain did run a huge visible trade deficit even before the Depression but was always bailed out by invisible trade which ran an even bigger surplus. Trade with France genuinely was that small and more interestingly only imports had been hit by the depression; France was buying the same amount of British goods but selling far less to Britain. But then the French were only buying British because there was literally no French option, so it’s not surprising their imports didn’t change.

    French rail deficits are not OTL; actually they were worse at around 6 billion Francs for 1936. I’m giving the south coast railways a big boost due to all that Spanish trade, but the northern railways will still struggle. Of course they could make money, they did after nationalisation, but that required vastly raising ticket prices which rail companies weren't allowed to do by French law. For some reason the Popular Front thought it evil if private companies raised ticket prices but a vital necessity when the state owned company did it a few weeks after nationalisation. Funny that. CF Nord was owned by the Rothschilds and they did play many financial games to keep control even as losses spiralled. OTL the Popular Front nationalised the whole lot and gave the existing owners shares in the new public company (a funny definition of nationalisation, but then this is France). TTL of course the government has dodged the issue and is only forced into it when they see the evil Brits about to get involved in a French railway.

    The Southern Railway was generally the most profitable railway in Britain as it had less freight and more passengers (so common carrier and lorry competition didn't hurt so much). They were very keen on their south coast ferry runs and went to a string of ports across France, Belgium and the Netherlands with varying levels of luxury and always on their own ships. Even OTL they had the cash to buy out CF Nord so it's not unreasonable, certainly there were a lot of talks between the Rothschilds and Southern prior to nationalisation but that was apparently just about cross-channel ferries and the like. Without the get out of jail free of the Popular Front buying them out I figure the Rothschilds might take drastic measures, they weren't above being bold when thy were desperate.
     
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    Chapter CXI: A Difference of Horizons
  • Chapter CXI: A Difference of Horizons

    In the ongoing Anglo-French arguments about protectionism and parochialism 1937 provided the French with what they believed to be the winning argument. In a year full of ‘world’ fairs and international expositions the highlight was arguably the Paris Exposition Internationale des Arts et Techniques dans la Vie Moderne (International Exposition dedicated to Art and Technology in Modern Life). The exposition was essentially five months of festivals and exhibitions strung together, the result being generally agreed to be very heavy on the arts but alarmingly light on technology. Of all the arts present it was perhaps the ‘black art’ of propaganda that was most prominent, the Soviets and the Germans leading the way with their colossal pavilions that dominated the main exposition site. The British effort was frankly poor, not only in comparison but on a fundamental level, overshadowed not only by the other great powers pavilions but even by other pavilions from within the British Empire, the Canadian pavilion in particular attracted many an admiring comment due almost entirely to the efforts of the French-Canadian community who had pulled out all the stops to impress on their return ‘home’. This lack of effort was seen as proof positive in France that parochial Britons did not look beyond her own borders, and thus were entirely to blame for poor state of Franco-British trade. The British view was, naturally, somewhat different.

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    A view towards the Eiffel Tower, with the German pavilion on the left and the Soviet effort on the right. By virtue of their vast size (and the fact they were among the few structures to be finished on time) these pavilions dominated the event, turning much of the exposition into an ideological contest. The Soviet building was topped out by a sculpture, “Worker and Kolkhoz Woman”, a couple marching forward with hammer and sickle aloft. Due to the layout of the exposition this meant they appeared to be marching from East to West, a quirk fully exploited by the German pavilion. The German pavilion was designed by Albert Speer on his usual colossal scale and was widely interpreted as a representation of Germany as a bulwark against the advancing Soviets, a trick Speer pulled off by illicitly obtaining a drawing of the Soviet pavilion months in advance and adjusting his design accordingly. Speer would leave Paris with a string of awards, not only for the German pavilion but, somewhat unfortunately for the French judges’ future reputations, a Gold Medal for his work on the Nazi party rally grounds at Nuremberg.

    In their defence the British embassy in Paris, and their masters in the Foreign Office, resorted to a less than subtle ‘No, you are the parochial ones’ argument. While it was not a very imaginative approach to take, that does not necessarily mean it was incorrect. As mentioned earlier 1937 was a busy year for international expositions and world’s fairs; Nazi Germany was busily demonstrating quite how large it’s inferiority complex was, organising not one but two exhibitions directly in opposition to the Paris Exposition, while in the United States Dallas and Cleveland were doing their bit to prove that events more than a year long were a bad idea, both cities dragging out their respective 1936 Expositions into loss making second years. For our purposes it is the ill-named Nagoya Pan-Pacific Peace Exposition that deserves attention, and not just for the irony of its name.

    The Nagoya Pan-Pacific Peace Exposition was certainly an exposition in Nagoya and the presenting nations were gathered from across the Pacific, however where it fell down was the ‘peaceful’ part. While the attendees managed to avoid actual war breaking out during the exposition, though not without some effort, within 12 months of the event ending those same attendees would variously be embroiled in two wars, have been involved in half a dozen border ‘incidents’ and would have seen their militaries ‘regrettably’ or ‘accidentally’ sink an alarming number of foreign warships. There was more to the event than merely being ironic in hindsight however, even at the time the absence of peace and goodwill was noted, as was the cause; the decidedly undiplomatic actions of the host nation. While blatant propaganda was par for the course at an international exposition, Japan’s choice to push both her expansionist Toa shin Shitsujo (New Order in East Asia) foreign policy and her aggressively mercantilist “Yen Bloc” trade policy managed to offend pretty much every foreign observer.

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    The battleship Mutsu at anchor in Nagoya harbour during the exposition. A Nagato class battleship she and her sister had been designed by the fatally flawed genius Yuzuru Hiraga and were the first Japanese battleships to be manufactured entirely in Japan. This, along with the large public subscriptions that had funded her construction, made her one of the prides of both the Imperial Japanese Navy and the Japanese public. After an extensive two year rebuild she had acquired the iconic ‘Pagoda’ mast, replaced her coal fired boilers with modern oil burning units and had incorporated the many lessons learned from the disastrous Tomozuru and Fourth Fleet Incidents earlier in the 1930s. In yet another breach of ‘good form’ the Mutsu and her fellow IJN ships were the only naval force present, the Japanese government barring any other nation from showing the flag during the exposition, yet another source of tension during the event.

    In stark contrast to the dismal efforts of Paris the British pavilion in Nagoya had the full weight of both the Indian Office and Colonial Office behind it, with impressive results. This was not however a mere Westminster rivalry, both departments had motivations beyond ‘putting on a better show’ than their rivals in the Foreign Office, though that undoubtedly played a part. As Whitehall turned its attention to the Far East the efforts in Nagoya were intended to serve a variety of purposes; impressing the unstable but militaristic government of Siam, bolstering the efforts at corralling the Dutch into a defensive agreement in the Pacific to help replace the lost French Far Eastern forces and as a strong sign to Australia and New Zealand of London’s genuine interest in the region. To this end manufacturers, financiers and industrialists from across the Empire were encouraged to attend, with a special effort made to entice the nascent ‘Empire wide’ conglomerates such as Vickers, Imperial Chemical Industries, Ferguson-Brown-Massey and the trading powerhouse of Jardine, Matheson & Co. Even the cultural side was carefully judged, the artists involved asked to ‘consider’ the recent successes in the Abyssinian War as a source of inspiration, the resulting creations being dramatic, inspirational but above all unsubtle reminders of the fate of those who challenged the British Lion, or so it was hoped. In short it was everything the effort in Paris should have been but wasn’t.

    The French government having decided not to make a strong effort in Nagoya avoided the embarrassment suffered by the British in Paris by the expedient of not even bothering to make a token effort. Quite simply there was no French pavilion at Nagoya or even an official ‘French’ delegation; instead the Governor-General of French Indochina sent a small delegation of officials and representatives of the many puppet ‘emperors’ that made up the colony. As with the British this was not an economic or logistical decision, for instance the Dutch government managed to put on a respectable show in both Nagoya and Paris, but a diplomatic choice. Heavily involved in the Spanish Civil War and still vigilant after the Rhineland affair the previous year Paris had decided to focus all efforts on Europe and l'Hexagone at the expense of the Far East. In contrast with Imperial concerns rising in Whitehall and a general disillusionment with Europe and European allies in the country Britain was increasingly looking to the Far East and disregarding the ‘continentalists’ pressing for re-engagement with Europe.

    Despite their different directions both policies shared one key flaw; just because you ignore an issue does not mean the issue will ignore you. The ‘strike south’ faction of the Japanese military would not find Indochina any the less attractive if France ignored it, quite the contrary in fact. Equally while the British government, or elements of it, may have wished to disengage from Europe, that did not mean the powers, great and otherwise, of Europe would let go so easily.

    ---
    Notes:

    An update! Sneaked onto the bottom of a page almost as if I didn’t want anyone to notice… I’ll be honest it wasn’t the dramatic return I hoped for, handily it isn’t the dramatic return so don't get your hopes up. I'm just tidying up an update I’d half written and needed to finish to clear the decks and complete part 2 of Franco-British relations.

    The Paris Expo and the Nagoya Exhibition were both OTL events. The German and Soviet exhibits were both OTL as was the unfortunate architecture prize to Speer… The British effort in Paris was terrible, I saw one description of it as a cardboard box filled with cricket bats and a few nice books, and the Canadian effort was far better. Harder to find details on Nagoya, I do know Britain did attend with at least a half decent pavilion but France didn’t bother to go, instead sending a colonial delegation. TTL I’ve beefed up the British contribution to reflect Britain looking East more than OTL but kept France as distracted.

    In true Butterfly Effect fashion I found out a string of interesting events I wanted to shoe horn in but couldn’t without doubling the size of the update. Instead I’ve gone for tantalising teases, hopefully, which I will try and expand on next time I have to write about the Japanese navy and Japanese economy.

    Up next I'm disregarding everything I said before (sorry about that) and finally doing some plot for something other than Spain, which will be nice.
     
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    Chapter CXII: Call, Raise or Fold
  • Chapter CXII: Call, Raise or Fold

    The Hotchkiss H35 was not a war winning wonder weapon, but in the summer of 1937 it gave a very good impersonation of one. After a series of bloody defeats the Monarchist Armies in southern Spain had abandoned any attempt to fight the H35s in open country and instead focused on ambushes and city fighting. In this endeavour they received the dubious assistance of the German government who supplied several batteries of obsolete 3.7 cm Pak L/45s, an early 1920s design complete with wooden wheels for horse transport. The L/45 was technically capable of penetrating the armour on a H35, but only from point blank range and even then only the thinner armour on the hull, putting in on a par with the near suicidal ‘Flandin Cocktail’ (or petrol bombs as everyone bar the propagandist called them). That said it did bring the Monarchists a brief respite and even a few tactical victories, H35 crews used to being invulnerable obligingly charging dug in guns and blundering into ambushes. Sadly for the Monarchists this did not last, the surviving members of the recently renamed 1st Armoured “El Carpio” Division (and their French ‘advisers’) did not waste the experience from those expensive lessons. As the division adopted its tactics, and the remaining crews struck a better balance between aggression and caution, the Republicans were soon able to re-establish their dominance.

    Despairing of the L/45 the Falangists turned on the German ambassador, Wilhelm Faupel, and demanded something better. In this they were to be disappointed, the Wehrmacht staff had noticed the French tanks shrugging of the best the L/45 could throw at it and duly began gently panicking. The ‘anti-tank’ Panzer III was still stuck in development hell and the new PaK 36 anti-tank gun was only just entering general service, basically there was very little in the German arsenal that could actually stop a H35 and the German military leadership wanted all of it on the French border, leaving nothing to send to Spain. This left Hedilla and the Falangists with little choice but to turn to the British, much to the disgust of the German ambassador and the disquiet of Berlin. The one hope for German influence in southern Spain was British indifference, a not entirely hopeless cause.

    Initially the appearance of the H35 had not aroused much concern in the British mission to Spain, certainly the Royal Armoured Corps contingent were interested in this new tank but only from a technical standpoint. As it was clearly being sent to the South, and as its abilities were then a mystery, it was put down as a curiosity but nothing more. The first big Republican victories in the south prompted a re-assessment and the supply, after some haggling, of the then brand new Boys anti-tank rifle to the Falangist armies. The complete failure of the Boys to make even a dent in a H35 and the resumption of the surging advance of the “El Carpio” division after it adapted to the L/45 finally roused the British; setbacks in the South were acceptable (even desirable, from a long term political view point) but total defeat was not.

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    The Lorraine 28, a 4x6 ‘cross country’ truck that France supplied to Spain in considerable quantity to help bulk out the infantry ranks of the 1st Armoured Division “El Carpio”. Having been replaced in French service with the far superior Laffly S20TL 6x6 trucks the French cavalry jumped at the chance to sell them to Spain and spend the funds on something more useful. As was the case with so much of the equipment sent to Spain the poor quality of the opposition transformed an unloved and obsolete vehicle into a popular and lusted after asset. Through a combination of evolving tactics and problems at the Hotchkiss factory limiting the supply of new H35s the “El Carpio” division was drifting away from it’s original French pattern, gaining additional ‘Motor Dragoons’ to support the amour and shedding tanks squadrons to consolidate the remaining H35s into full strength units. The Lorraine 28 was a vital part of this change, allowing the ‘Motor Dragoon’ units to keep up with advancing tanks even on rough terrain. The tactical value of these changes would be discussed in tank establishments in France and across Europe.

    The decisive point was the Fall of Cordoba; though lacking the defensive lines found around Madrid or Bilbao, Cordoba had been well fortified and offered the defenders all the advantages of urban combat, this made the handsome and swift Republican victory all the more unnerving. British policy had been to limit supplies to Spain of obsolete equipment for financial (both the revenue and the savings on disposal/storage costs) and security (protecting ‘advanced’ technologies) reasons. After the Fall of Cordoba this policy changed, it became clear that the French decision to supply the H35 had raised the stakes and Britain had to either escalate in turn or risk forfeiting her influence in Spain. To the disquiet of the ‘dove’ faction in the government the cabinet decided to match the French raise; the Monarchists would get their modern anti-tank gun. Though they did not realise it at the time, the British government was starting down the slippery slope that would see modern monoplanes, tank prototypes and other experimental weapons flowing into Spain before the end of the year.

    The obvious choice was the Ordnance QF 2-pounder, an infinitely more capable weapon than the L/45 that fired a larger shell, faster and more accurately. Though this came at some cost, the 2-pdr was slightly larger and far heavier than its continental equivalents, the result was a weapon that could kill a H35 at 1000 yards and penetrate even the tougher turret at well over 800 yards. Equally importantly, thanks to a rapid production ramp up at the start of the Abyssinian War the production lines were in place and there were plenty of guns available. The only issue stopping it's shipment had been one of political will, once that had been overcome the gun was soon on its way to Spain. Given the crisis that would engulf the issue it is worth noting that while the escalation was not universally popular, neither was it particularly controversial. Opposition to escalation was generally confined to the usual suspects; the pacifist who didn’t want Britain to even have arms, let along supply them to the others; the neutral faction who didn’t want Britain to have anything to do with Spain and finally those who did want British involvement in Spain, but supporting the Republicans not the Monarchists. While all three groups issued many a doom laden warning, none of them managed to predict the particular crisis that would engulf the 2-pdr’s entry into the Spanish Civil War.

    ---
    Two week between updates? That's not to shabby at all. Though the fact that this entire update was supposed to be expressed in the single line "Worried by the success of the H35 Britain agreed to supply modern anti-tank guns to Spain" does explain the slow progress of this AAR. Still the exciting consequences of sending modern guns to Spain will show up next time (*fingers crossed*)

    All tech is OTL, including that very funky French 4x6 truck, some of the French APCs of the time were very clever indeed. If only they'd been reliable, produced in decent numbers and used properly... On which note fans of French tanks may be pleased to note those funds and ideas flowing back to France, if they learn those lessons all Paris will have to do is start awarding contracts on technical and industrial ability, not political clout, and they may get a few decent armoured divisions!
     
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    Chapter CXIII: Semper Ipsum, Numquam Obrutus
  • Chapter CXIII: Semper Ipsum, Numquam Obrutus

    Of all the pitfalls and disasters that were predicted for the British government’s supply of modern weapons to Spain one of the few potential problems not discussed was the simple logistics of getting the equipment there. After a lively start by the Republic’s naval forces, particularly the daring light vessels based out of the Basque country port of Bilbao, the introduction of a convoy system had made the supply lines seemingly secure. The ‘interception’ of convoy SM 1 therefore came as something of a shock, though not as much of as shock as the first broadside from the Republican battleship Cortes. As with so many events in hindsight this was not a surprise, the issue of British convoys had been simmering in diplomatic circles for months. In truth it was an incident looking for a trigger, a role convoy SM 1 performed admirably.

    The main problem with convoy SM 1, aside from it’s cargo of QF 2 pounder anti-tank guns, was its destination; the recently captured port of Malaga, as advertised in the convoy code (SM1 - Southampton to Malaga, journey 1). Typically convoys from Britain terminated in the Atlantic ports of Northern Spain, La Coruna or Vigo being the usual destinations. For a British convoy to go to a Southern Spanish port was unusual enough, for one to go to a Mediterranean port was unheard of. The official reason behind the change of policy was simple, given the speed of the Republican advance the guns had to get to the front as quickly as possible and Malaga was the nearest major port to the Republican advance. This explained the choice of a southern port, but not the extra risk of entering the Med, the reasons for that was a question of politics and practicality. The dilemma that the British government faced was simple; none of the Monarchist factions in Southern Spain were particularly appealing, yet one of them had to get the arms. In the end it was decided to go with the unsavoury, but talented and (notionally) professional General Yagüe and the Army of Africa, instead of the national syndicalist and worryingly anti-British (or at least anti-British interests) Manuel Hedilla and the Falangist militias. It was this decision that pointed to using Malaga, where the Army of Africa held sway, instead of an Atlantic port such as Cadiz where Hedilla’s supporters were in control. Thus it was for long term 'strategic' reasons that the convoy had to pass the Pillars of Hercules and enter the Eastern Mediterranean, which is where the problems for the convoy began.

    The Republican Armarda sprung their ambush off the coast of Marbella, the halfway point between Malaga and Gibraltar, when the convoy was clearly, if somewhat irrelevantly, in international waters. The fleet was the most powerful the loyalists could assemble in the Mediterranean; the battleship Cortes (formerly the Jaime I), the light cruisers Libertad and Almirante Cervera and four Churruca-class destroyers. The fleet’s commander, Admiral Luis Gonzalez Ubieta, had been given orders to ensure the convoy did not reach ‘rebel’ territory and to do so in such a way that London would be discouraged from sending further convoys. The background to this ambitious plan was a simple political judgement; London’s commitment to Spain appeared lukewarm while Paris was firmly backing the Republicans. It was therefore reasoned that British could be convinced to honourably back down rather than risk war for a cause they clearly had doubts about. To this end convoy SM 1 was to be made an example of, an overwhelming force deployed to force the convoy to divert to a Republican port to set a precedent and weaken the resolve of the wavering British establishment. There were but two problems with this plan; 1. The Republican navy’s ‘overwhelming’ force entirely failed to intimidate or impress the Royal Navy and 2. The convoy’s commander was not the fractious and uncertain British cabinet, or even the conciliatory and still somewhat Francophile Foreign Office, but a Royal Navy Commodore with a mission to fulfil. Given the stakes involved these were unfortunate oversights to make.

    cxjcFB6.png

    HMS Cornwall, a County-class cruiser and flagship of the convoy’s commander Commodore Augustus Agar. After an excellent performance in the Abyssinian War as a convoy raider, Agar had been appointed Commodore, despatched to Plymouth Command and assigned to the squadrons providing protection of the Spanish convoys. The logic behind the move appears to have been the old axiom ‘Poachers make the best gamekeepers’, a saying that seems remarkably resistant to all the evidence mounted against it. More relevantly it is claimed that Agar’s somewhat precarious position, Commodore being an appointment in the Royal Navy and not a substantive rank, was behind his behaviour during the incident; he wanted a big, public success to secure promotion to flag rank. Looking at his record during the Great War, the British intervention in the Baltic after the Soviet revolution and the Abyssinian War clearly disproves this; Agar merely behaved to type. Whether this made him a good choice for a convoy commander in a politically and diplomatically sensitive area is an entirely different issue.

    The first problem for Admiral Ubieta was the convoy’s covering force, specifically the fact that it had one. In acknowledgement of the convoy’s importance the Admiralty had beefed up the standard escort, the pair of sloops in the close escort were joined by a covering force of three cruisers, the County-class HMS Cornwall and HMS York and the Leander-class HMS Orion. Despite this the Republicans still held a considerable numerical advantage and pressed their demands. Contrary to popular fleet legend they did not order the Royal Navy escorts to heave to, Uibeta merely ordered the merchantmen to stop and be inspected. That said quite what he expected the escorts to do if their charges had complied with the order isn’t obvious, steam around in circles perhaps. In any event Agar duly refused this request and, after an exchange of views on the territorial sovereignty during a Civil War and the rights of neutral merchantmen during such a conflict, the first of the threatened warning shots was fired, the Cortes firing a round across the bows of HMS Cornwall. True to form Agar responded as he had promised, with a counter warning shot in reply which dropped just in front of the Cortes. Whether Admiral Ubieta genuinely believed the close shot was actually a hit, or if he was just looking for a reason to escalate the stand off before the still steaming merchants made it to Malaga, is not clear; too many ‘official’ post-battle records were subject to the tender mercies of government officials and propaganda men for any truth to emerge. What was clear was the response from the Cortes, all eight of her 12”/50 main guns lighting up in a massive broadside, this blast being followed in short order by the rest of the Republican squadron and the first return fire from the Cornwall, the ‘Battle of the Alboran Sea’ had begun.

    If one considers weight of broadside the Royal Navy stood no chance, thanks to the mathematics of artillery the 12”/50 shells of the Cortes were not 50% heavier than those of the 8”/50s on the Counties, they were well over 300% heavier (850lb vs a mere 256lb). Yet as we have seen the Admiralty was confident that a County-class could fight and beat an Espana-class, this confidence that came from the knowledge there is more to naval warfare than weight of shot. Like almost the entire Spanish Navy the Cortes had been designed and built by the British owned Sociedad Española de Construcción Naval (SECN, Spanish Society for Naval Construction) and had been designed by British engineers and architects ‘inspired’ by Royal Navy designs. In some cases this worked spectacularly, the two Cervera-class cruisers in Ubieta’s squadron were in many ways better ships than the British Emerald-class they were based on, but sometimes it led to the Spanish unwittingly copying British errors. Sadly for the Republican’s the Cortes contained one of the worst of these mistakes; the 12”/50 Mark XI gun, one of the Royal Navy’s least successful efforts at gun design. In an effort to increase destructive power the Admiralty had specified a modest (~10%) increase in charge size, and so muzzle velocity, in the Mark XI compared to it's predecessors. This seemingly small change had a catastrophic effect on the burning of the propellant, and so gun accuracy; at worst a single broadside could end up with shot scattered over several acres as the variations in burning speed took their toll. Worse still the Spanish had been supplied with a similar vintage of shell, the same pattern of shells that would perform so poorly at the Battle of Jutland and whose lamentable capabilities had not been helped by decades of inadequate storage. It is therefore easy to see why the Royal Navy attaché in Spain confidently predicted that the Espanas would struggle to hit anything and do little damage in the event they did manage a hit, a prediction that came tragically true for Admiral Ubieta.

    As the lighter forces on both sides jockeyed for position the Cortes and HMS Cornwall engaged in a long range duel, the Republicans trying to keep their prized battleship safe by keeping their distance. This was a quite unfortunate, if understandable, mistake; the weakest point on the Cortes was its thin deck armour, another legacy from its pre-Great War British ancestors. Counter-intuitively the Cortes would have been safer had she closed the range, at shorter range Cornwall’s shells would longer be plunging onto thin decks but instead hitting the far thicker main belt. As it was the accuracy of Cornwall's guns, and their far higher rate of fire (5 round a minute against barely 1 from Cortes), soon began to tell on the larger ship. Despite getting the better of the rest of the engagement, superior Republican numbers swamping the other two Royal Navy cruisers, Ubieta ordered a retreat and signalled a request for a cease fire. Though arguably ‘winning’ at that point, the damage to the Cortes seemingly outweighed by that inflicted on York and Orion, Ubieta had realised the Republican bluff had failed. Clearly the Royal Navy at least was prepared to risk war to protect the convoy and it was apparent the only way he could get the merchants into a Republican port was by sinking their escort, an escalating step he was neither authorised nor inclined to take.

    Had the battle ended their, an apparent tactical victory to the Spanish but a strategic victory for the British, the fallout would have been severe enough. However matters were to get exponentially worse mere minutes after the shooting ended, the Cortes suffering a delayed internal explosion due to battle damage. This set off a below decks fire that swiftly reached the main magazine, spelling the ships doom in a hellish explosion that broke the ship's back and left the resultant two parts rapidly sinking. From the Admiralty perspective the explosion transformed the clash from an indecisive engagement into a news worthy victory, a mere cruiser besting an enemy battleship. Somewhat more importantly it also transformed a serious diplomatic incident into a full blown catastrophe complete with attendant political crisis.

    ---
    Notes: Took a while but then it is one of my longer efforts. I did wonder about the techie paragraph in the middle on guns, but eventually decided to keep it. After all what would this AAR be without somewhat unnecessary technical diversions?

    The 12”/50 guns were that bad and the Espanas did have fairly bad internal sub-division, being so small and cramped didn’t help, so fire (or flood water) could spread very quickly. See the OTL fate of Jaime I destroyed by accidental explosion and fire, the sinking of the original Espana on rocks and the sinking of Alfonso XIII/Espana after hitting a single small mine. Quite a jinxed class when you come to think about it really.

    Would the Republicans actually escalate? Well OTL they did regularly turn away blockade runners and shot at quite a few of them, with the secure support of the French (and with Britain wavering) it didn’t seem that unreasonable they’d take the next step and try to stop a convoy, particularly one so important. Not that they'd actually go to war, but a high stakes bluff seemed plausible.

    Next update is, obviously enough, the very serious consequences of this little jaunt. And the dodgy translation of the equally dodgy Latin chapter name? Always outnumbered, never outgunned.
     
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    Chapter CXIV: The Consequences of Control.
  • Chapter CXIV: The Consequences of Control.

    While there is a case to be made that Anthony Eden was a victim of unforeseen circumstances, or at least unforeseeable consequences, in one aspect he was very much the architect of his own problems. The choice of the malleable Sir Thomas Inskip as Foreign Secretary was entirely his own and would come back to bite him during the Cortes Affair. News of the incident and the dramatic fate of the Cortes quickly made its way from Commodore Agar to the Admiralty, arriving in London around the same time as the first despatch from Admiral Ubieta’s successor reached Valencia. In both cities there was something of a scramble to react before the situation deteriorated, however in neither city would there be a great deal of unity of purpose.

    In Valencia two parallel, but opposing, processes were quickly initiated by the Republican government. The Foreign Ministry was given the task of keeping Britain out of the war, to this end the British ambassador was summoned for emergency talks and the head of the French ‘advisory’ delegation was briefed and aid from Paris sought in calming the situation. At the same time the Ministry for Public Instruction, notionally responsible for education, continued its Soviet inspired drift into propaganda. Their task began with the twin assumptions that the event could not be hidden and that the truth was too damaging (and embarrassing) to admit to, thus a more palatable version was necessary for both domestic and international consumption. The resulting ‘official’ version, in which the dastardly British had fired, without warning, on an innocent Spanish patrol that had been righteously defending the Republic’s territorial waters, went down well domestically but was less well received overseas. If nothing else there was the minor issue of why an outnumbered British convoy would attack a superior fleet, something the ministry never managed to produce a convincing explanation for.

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    Eric Arthur Blair, more commonly known as George Orwell, with his fellow anarchist militiamen serving on the Northern Front. After he completed writing ‘Reflections from Birkenhead Docks’ (originally planned as an ‘investigation of the economically depressed North’, the vast sums spent in the region due to the Abyssinian War had prompted him to reach some contradictory conclusions) Orwell had become interested in the Spanish Civil War. Disappointed by the failure of the Independent Labour Party contingents to ever actually leave, Orwell eventually travelled to Spain himself and joined one of the multi-national anarchist columns. After fighting on the Northern Front during the battles around Barcelona, Orwell was eventually forced to leave Spain, the Republican government and their Soviet propaganda men stirring up a decidedly vicious anti-British mood in the aftermath of the Cortes Incident. His experiences, and the transformation of his dislike of Soviet communism into implacable hatred, would be documented in the book The Road to Catalonia.

    The reaction in London was equally unfocused, the initial reaction very much setting the tone for what followed. After the Sea Lords informed their political masters, the Admiralty became embroiled in an argument on procedure and privilege with the Foreign Office, essentially revolving around who announced the news to Parliament. The compromise agreement saw the ‘official’ announcement to the House of Commons made by the Foreign Secretary Thomas Inskip, while in compensation the Admiralty was left free to brief the press in the lobby. This was an unfortunate decision as the contrast between the vague and cautious statement in the House by Inskip and the more bellicose briefing by the Admiralty only served to highlight the divisions with the government. At the heart of the problem was the government’s policy on Spain, namely that it didn’t actually have one. What they had instead was a desired outcome (a Monarchist victory) and a key objective (not getting involved in the war) but no real idea of how they were to be achieved, relying instead on reacting to issues as they arose. This was a particular problem for Inskip who had no ‘official position’ on what to do next or how to react and so, lacking the inclination (or ability) to make such a decision, he felt forced to hedge and make a carefully worded statement that left all options open. This open position was then very effectively undermined by the Admiralty briefing, the assembled press being left in little doubt that with the challenge from the Republican Navy successfully seen off the convoys would continue as before.

    What this febrile atmosphere needed was a show of unity and calm and decisive leadership. What it got was opportunism and division, collective responsibility vanishing as the cabinet, and many leading backbench MPs, took Inskip's statement as in invitation to promote their own views on what the British reaction should be. The dividing line was the same as it has always been; on one side the hawks, who pushed for great involvement in Spain, on the other the doves who wanted out of the whole affair. That said it is interesting to note that neither side actually made much reference to the conflict in Spain itself, their arguments almost exclusively being about how the Spanish ‘policy’ (such as it was) impacted on British interests elsewhere. The leaders of the dove side were the two ‘Presidents’; Rab Butler, the President of the Board of Education and the absent Lord Halifax’s man in London, and Earl Stanhope, the President of the Board of Trade. As the stakes rose after the Cortes Affair the Francophile wing of the party, led by the charismatic Duff Cooper, came off the fence in favour of the doves, concerned at the damage the war was doing to their hopes of reviving the Entente Cordial. This group’s position was that while the Royal Navy had done a sterling job protecting the rights and freedoms of British merchants, perhaps Britain would do better exercise those rights elsewhere and 'choose' to stop sending further convoys. To oppose this moderate message the leading Hawks, the Chancellor Leo Amery and the Secretary of State for Air Winston Churchill, also sought to widen their base in the party. They emphasised the jobs and trade that British involvement earned and played heavily on national pride, raising the spectre of the loss of prestige and the damage done to the nation's reputation if Britain were to back down. With this twin track approach they roped in half a dozen cabinet ministers, including the high flying Secretary of State for War, Oliver Stanley and the mercurial Lord Beaverbrook. For this group the only option was to stay the course, thanks to the Royal Navy's efforts the convoys would now be safe so they should continue to run as before.

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    The SS New York, one of the growing number of US flagged cargo ships making the journey from America to the Atlantic ports of France laden with exports for Spain. The Cortes Incident caused consternation in the US financial markets, during the initial confusion the value of Republican debts crashed on fears of Britain entering the war and the victorious Monarchist carrying out their promise to renege on Republican war debts. While the 'Spanish Credits' market recovered somewhat once those fears receded the consternation remained, spreading from financial markets to the political arena. To add to the still ongoing attacks from Senator Nye and the Munitions Commission President Landon had to contend with accusations that his policy of 'moral neutrality' was neither moral nor especially neutral, accusations that were harder to defend as the Soviet influence on the Republican government became more apparent.

    While the divisions were clear how to resolve them was not, with compromise impractical on the key issue (either the convoys ran or they didn’t) a decision would have to be made one way or the other. Quite aside from the problem of the decision itself, Eden finding merit in both sides of the argument, there was the significant issue of how to enforce it. The previous years had shown Conservative MPs quite how easy it was to force an election to replace their leader, which made forcing the issue risky, while Eden’s poor public (and private) speaking skills all but ruled out charismatic and inspirational leadership carrying the day. In the face of these obstacles the issue was left to drift as Eden and Inskip ‘worked’ to make sure the incident did not escalate, taking up the offer of French mediation to skilfully drag out the talks with the Republican government. How long the talks would have lingered before the Republicans, or indeed the French, forced the issue is unclear, because in the end it was the Admiralty that brought the matter to a head. The First Lord of the Admiralty, Viscount Monsell, offhandedly mentioned in a cabinet meeting that, in the absence of any order to the contrary, the Admiralty had formed up and despatched the next convoy to Spain on schedule and it was currently halfway across the Bay of Biscay. No longer able to avoid the issue Eden would have to decide and face the consequences.

    --
    Notes:
    A brief mention of Orwell and his two famous books of the time, complete with rename and rewrite to reflect the changing times. That said I imagine he still remains a democratic socialist, honest realist and firm anti-communist, however he might have different priorities around the edges.

    The Communists did get control of propaganda for the Republicans in OTL and thanks to Soviet influences it was that unsubtle. Mind you in OTL foreign support was less important (or at least less available) so plausible propaganda was also less important, alas that’s more of a problem TTL.

    Eden faces his first very serious crisis and stumbles somewhat. He was never that keen on intervention in Spain in OTL and he certainly had no problem with ‘reasonable’ compromises for peace so could go dove. Equally he’s a smart enough politician to know that cutting of the Spanish orders will not go down well with the sacked workers and that pulling out would mean a massive loss of face (plus an invitation to riot for the die-hard wing of the party). So he is probably somewhat conflicted on this one. As Tory MPs have been through four leaders in under two years so probably wouldn't be that bothered about notching up another scalp, the stakes are high for Eden on this one.

    Up next Eden’s decision and the consequences thereof.
     
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    Chapter CXV: Between Hawk and Dove.
  • Chapter CXV: Between Hawk and Dove.

    The most obvious solution to the Prime Minister’s Spanish dilemma was a compromise between the doves and the hawks, specifically reverting to the previous policy of not running convoys past Gibraltar. Internationally the Foreign Office could announce convoys would continue to run ‘as before’ and, by implying no change, ensure there would be no loss of pride or prestige, domestically it would balance the concerns of hawks and doves and in Spain itself the impact would be minimal, the crisis in the South was over and the internal supply lines from the Atlantic ports would be more than sufficient. There was in fact only one problem; politics.

    In his short time in office Eden had established something of a reputation for compromise. While there is nothing intrinsically wrong with compromise in politics, properly presented it can be seen as a sign of wise and inclusive leadership, beyond a certain point it becomes a vulnerability and sign of weakness. The location of that point was, and still is, a matter of perception and judgement, but there was general agreement in the spring of 1937 that Eden's premiership was at or beyond it. While Eden's domestic policies had not helped his case, his attempted compromise with the striking boilermakers and his watering down of the ambitious reforms proposed for the coal industry to name but two, it was the budget that confirmed the problem. Delayed first due to the leadership elections following the death of Chamberlain and then by the leisurely Whitsun recess of Parliament, the budget had acquired an air of anticipation quite out of proportion to its contents. Quite simply changes, significant and even dramatic changes, were expected and yet none would be forthcoming.

    The issue at the heart of the budget was the economy and the strength of the recovery, was it a delicate flower that still needed protecting or a strong bull that could be harnessed for the national good? Adding spice to this debate was the related question of what exactly had prompted the recovery; was it spending on the war, trade policy, the Keynes Plan, a bit of everything or something else entirely? The many answers to those two questions produced some unusual, if unconvincing, permutations; Keynesians arguing for tax rises (over fears of ‘war profit’ induced inflation) and fiscal conservatives demanding an unbalanced budget (as re-armament expenditure 'didn't count' due to being a temporary, one-off expense). A particular subject of debate was the social security fund, after rocketing upwards as employment had risen, demands on the fund had fallen back again as the economy improved. Indeed in the months after Abyssinian War spending by the fund had fallen faster than even the most optimistic estimates, the recovery accelerating even as defence spending dropped. This happy turn of events had released the most lusted for type of money in politics; ‘free’ money, money that could be spent without raising taxes, running up debt or cutting elsewhere. Naturally there was no shortage of advice on how this windfall was best spent, almost all of it contradictory. At the centre of these arguments sat the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Leo Amery, a man reflecting not on the fund or spending priorities, but on the wisdom of the old saying ‘be careful what you wish for’.

    SAbFOLe.jpg

    One of the Empire Marketing Board’s campaign posters, this one featuring a stern Imperial Lion demanding consumers alter their bacon purchasing habits, though the connection between lions and bacon is a mystery perhaps known only to the artist. Though the Board had been disbanded after the tariff reforms of the early 1930s, the promotion of intra-Empire trade continued. The terms Imperial Preference and Empire Free Trade are used somewhat interchangeably, much as they were at the time, however in a few key respects they were very different ideas. Empire Free Trade proposed zero tariffs between members, Imperial Preference merely there be a distinct advantage for Empire trade over global alternatives to be produced by lowering some tariffs but raising others. For the Treasury this distinction was far from academic.

    Amery was not a typical chancellor inasmuch as he had once fancied himself an economic theorist in addition to being a politician. Prior to the Great War he modestly described his publication on the evils of Free Trade as “a theoretical blast of economic heresy”, purporting to base his arguments on logic and economic theory as much as politics. As one would expect from the lamentable history of politicians who fancy themselves economic innovators the ‘heresy’ itself was both intellectually shaky and not especially original. In essence Amery put forward the conventional protectionist argument, but with the twist of ‘balance’, the idea that volume of trade was unimportant so long as earnings from exports balanced matched the cost of imports. The tariff reforms implemented had been more Empire Free Trade than Imperial Preference, in general intra-Empire tariffs were reciprocally cut and external ones left alone. While not exactly in line with Amery’s ‘heresy’ they were aimed at improving imperial unity and helping to balance the trade figures, two areas he was very much concerned with, and so he had not attempted to change them after entering No.11.

    Amery's acquiesce to the reforms was also motivated by common sense, by almost every measures they were a vast success; Free-traders pointed to the increase in total volume of trade as the largest benefit, while those of an imperial bent highlighted the large swing from global imports to those from the Empire. Even protectionists could find a positive, the increase in ‘strategic’ machinery and industrial produced and exported in Britain, the fall in imports of the same and the general improvement in the visible trade balance. There was however a price to all this, the collapse in government revenue. In broad terms the revenue from Customs & Excise had typically accounted for some 40% of the total tax take, part of a long and successful effort by the Treasury to hide the true cost of taxation from the British public. The depression and associated slide of imports had dented that revenue, as had the implementation of tariff reform, but as the economy recovered the Treasury had expected revenues to return to more usual levels. The problem facing Amery was that this had not happened, tariff reform had worked too well; imports were increasingly low or zero rated products from the Empire or from nations like Argentina where trade deals had been arranged. Even allowing for the recovery in excise duties (excise being an inland tax, customs being taxes on imports) there was still a large hole in the government’s revenues.

    Strictly speaking this was not a serious problem, between rises in other revenues, the fall in social security spending and the winding down of war time defence spending the budget still broadly balanced, even allowing for the extra costs of Eden’s domestic policies. Little work was required to balance the budget, and that little work was duly done through tinkering with various duties, assessments and funds. For a man very keen on the concept of economic balance this approach had much to commend itself, not least the fact it favoured one of his other great concerns, defence spending. While certainly down from war time levels, the Estimates for all three forces were still far above pre-war levels and it was Amery’s hope that by making them part of a balanced budget he could establish a new, higher, baseline for defence spending. A fine example of long-term strategic thinking perhaps, but as an example of short term politics it is not one to be recommended. As discussed above, the change of Prime Minster, his new approach to the domestic agenda and above all the delays to budget day had built up expectations of large, even radical, changes. It is therefore hardly surprising that a fairly flat ‘steady as she goes’ budget, notable mainly for the admission that the savings from the social security fund would mostly be spent on plugging the gap in the expected customs revenue, did not go down well with either the House or the popular press. It was, in short, viewed as yet another compromise by a Premier unwilling to come off the fence and chose a 'decisive' course of action. 'Decisive' action being defined as moves such as raising taxes to pay down the debts of depression, slashing spending to fund lowering taxes back to 1920s levels or any of the number of radical ideas that had circulated in the vacuum of the extended pre-budget purdah.

    Thus it was that Eden was forced into ‘decisive’ action over Spain, even though compromise and keeping to a previously successful policy might have been the best option, politically he had few options. He could continue to destroy his reputation and power base by taking the compromise option, appease the dove faction by withdrawing convoys or side with the hawks and hold a firm line on convoys to southern Spain. Personally Eden may have preferred compromise, perhaps even the dove option given his previous speeches on non-intervention, but in the end he sided with the hawks; the convoys would continue to run. Indeed the Admiralty and Board of Trade were instructed to arrange new convoys to Gibraltar and the southern ports of Spain purely to prove the point and 'show leadership'. The judgement was political, the potential for lose cannons among the ascendant hawks was judged higher than the chance of problems from the declining and more restrained doves. While perhaps true Eden would soon discover that ‘less dangerous’ is not the same thing as ‘not dangerous’.

    ----
    Notes:

    2000 words of politico-economic rambling, you don't get this kind of update in anyone elses AAR I'll wager. Though that may be a good thing. Anyway, a leader forced by public pressure into making a not properly thought through decision for political reasons? Sounds about right to me.

    On the money, yes it does get that messy in the wonderful world of macroeconomics. Keynes did argue that in the good times the country should run a surplus to fund the deficit spending in recessions (though strangely modern day Keynsian economists were quiet on that fact during the 2000s). Equally in OTL the “Defence loans act” was used to shift quite a lot of re-armament spending out of the main budget and into 'defence loans', on the basis that once you'd re-armed you wouldn't need to do it again, though to be fair at least the defence loans were at least admitted to, weren't lied about and weren't hidden off the government books. I can imagine a great many economists confidently saying 'it was this!', safe in the knowledge they can never be proved wrong.

    Customs and Excise was indeed that important to the British treasury so reduced tariffs in the Empire would have been a problem, even more if they actually caused trade patterns to alter. Equally social security fund spending did shoot up massively, it was something like £230 million a year in mid-1930s from less than £50 in the mid-1920s, so as the economy recovers that should drop back down. Despite that the 1937 figures would be a bit of a shock to the system, especially as the Treasury has generally been a bit optimistic on how much revenue any given recovery/tax rise will actually bring in. I think for Amery a budget where defence spending is up, the balance of trade looks better and trade with the Empire is strong is pretty much all he’d ask for. As long as that’s happening I can’t see him being a radical, which is a shame for Eden but there you go.

    Up next a brief one on things continuing to go wrong for Eden, then I think Japanese hijinks and Dutch techporn. Not sure though, any requests?
     
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    Chapter CXVI: In the Land of the Black Dragon
  • Chapter CXVI: In the Land of the Black Dragon

    There are two things to bear in mind when considering the Soviet-Japanese border conflict; firstly it was never a purely Soviet-Japanese conflict and secondly it was never really about the actual border. On that basis you could argue the name is somewhat inaccurate, however as we will see the conflict’s complexity did not lend itself to a simpler name. For all the issues with its name its effects would eventually reverberate around the world and, on a much less important point, would provide historians with an excellent example of a self-fulfilling defence scare.

    We begin in the not especially auspicious Mongolian People’s Republic, at the time home of the only nation outside of Russia to manage a successful Communist revolution (as opposed to an attempted revolution that merely got all the conspirators killed, which was the best result everyone else had managed). This remarkable achievement was perhaps less due to the determination of the Mongolian proletariat and more to do with a fairly large Corps of Red Army troops. In theory this shared history and the common bond of successful revolution should have made the Soviet Union a valuable ally of Mongolia, in practice the Soviet leadership mainly saw the country as a convenient buffer state and source of troops and resources, that is when they thought of the country at all. The early attempts at Soviet inspired ‘reform’ did not go well in Mongolia, the enforced collectivisation of the late 1920s managed to kill a third of the livestock in the country and anger the population to such an extent the country’s Buddhist lamas were able to launch a popular uprising that took almost two years to suppress. With this background it should be not a surprise that the Soviets other great plan for the country, it's place as a defensive buffer, was treated very warily by Mongolia. After the 1931 Japanese invasion of Manchuria it became more important than ever to Moscow that Mongolia 'co-operate' on the issue of defence, in practice this meant raising a large army (to be placed under Soviet control), allowing Soviet troops to be stationed in the country and generally doing what it was told. To support this effort the Soviets decided to prove that Japan, and their new puppet Manchuria, were indeed a significant threat to Mongolia and, hopefully, getting the policy implemented without another vast uprising. This was not because Stalin was bothered about the policy being unpopular of course, it was that as Mongolia wasn't a populous country to start with there wee concerns that too many revolts and purges wouldn't leave enough Mongolians left to serve in the hoped for army. Thus the 'proof' of the border threat was to be obtained by Soviet agents provoking the border incidents and then blaming it all on Japan, this had the added advantage that the number of incidents could be increased as and when required.

    CVv0eei.png

    Mongolian Prime Minister Peljidiin Genden. Genden had rapidly risen through the ranks of the Mongolian People’s Party and when, in the aftermath of the popular uprising, most of the upper reaches of the Mongolian government were purged, he was one of the few survivors. With the favour of Stalin he became Prime Minister, but then promptly devoted his efforts to ignoring Stalin, and indeed Soviet policy in general, instead he tried to forge an independent Mongolia, free of all outside influences. As one would expect this was not popular in Moscow and things did not end well for Genden.

    By 1936 the Soviets had their ‘Treaty of Friendship and Co-operation’ and Prime Minister Genden had been replaced by a far more pliable leader. Ironically he was not replaced due to his intransigence on signing the treaties but for something far more blatant; publicly insulting Stalin during a diplomatic reception, snatching Stalin's pipe out of his mouth and then smashing it on the ground in front of him. Naturally he was arrested shortly after his return to Mongolia, imprisoned and within the year was dead along with his entire faction, a victim of the Mongolia's third bloody purge in less than four years. With the treaties, and troops, in place the Soviets pulled back their provocatives and waited for the border to calm down. However while the border raids had been staged for Mongolia’s benefit the Japanese army had not been content to merely passively observe; even after the Soviets had stopped initiating incidents the number of border clashes continued to rise. It soon became apparent that Moscow was in fact involved in the very thing they had cynically ‘warned’ Mongolia about – a border war.

    Now we come to the truly complicated part of the matter, the involvement (or otherwise) of the Japanese. At the most literal level much of the previous clashes hadn’t been with Japan but with Manchukuo, indeed the provoking troops had generally been Mongolia so the Mongolia-Manchukuo border war was probably a more accurate name for the early stages of the conflict. However, despite its far grander title, the Great Empire of Manchuria was on a much tighter leash than Mongolia and precious little happened in the country without Japanese knowledge and approval. Here again though there must be a qualification, while Manchukuo was a good puppet the puppet masters were far less loyal; just because the local commanders of the Kwantung Army (the Japanese army in Manchuria) knew what was happening was no guarantee that Tokyo did. The question therefore is not why the Japanese government continued, and indeed escalated, the border conflict but why the Kwantung Army did so.

    Broadly speaking there were three reasons the conflict escalated; honour, ambition and belief. Honour was the most widely quoted but probably the least important, however there were undoubtedly many junior officers who believed that as the Soviets had attacked a Japanese ‘ally’ and killed IJA ‘advisers’ in the process that their honour demanded they strike back. IJA politics explains the second reason; for the ambitious officer the route to promotion lay through reporting a string of armed clashes (provided of course they ended in Japan’s favour) not the successful maintenance of a quiet and secure border. The final reason was the most interesting, many officers, starting from the Kwantung Army’s commander-in-chief General Kenkichi Ueda downwards, believed a border clash with the Soviet Union was a desirable objective in and off itself. As firm believers in the doctrine of hokushin-ron (Strike North) they were certain that the Soviet Union was the greatest threat facing Japan and thus the clashes were a valuable way to test the strength of the Soviets before the conflict they believed was inevitable.

    qkoOnYa.png

    The Type 96 Light Machine Gun, the Soviet-Japanese border clash would see its first use in combat. For all it’s other interesting features there is one thing that jumps out at most people looking at the Type 96 for the first time; the bayonet fitting. The bayonet was a standard fitting, it was trained with and it did end up being used in combat, though that was as much due to the guns quite woeful reliability as the gunners burning desire to bayonet charge with almost 10kg of gun. Surprisingly for a gun that had ‘borrowed’ so many elements from elsewhere (the fact it looks like a hybrid of a French Hotchkiss and a Czech ZB vz.26 is absolutely no coincidence) the gun’s Achilles heel was entirely home grown – a terrible tendency to jam, a fault that had plagued the Type 96’s predecessor, the Type 11. The Type 96 was intended to fix this defect, however as the actual problem was not actually a designer problem (poor tolerance control in manufacture) the ‘solution’ was to add an oil feeding mechanism to keep the rounds well oiled and so less prone to jamming. It was soon apparent why no-one had previously thought of this innovative design solution – it didn’t work. In fact by making the rounds sticky with oil it made matters far worse, dirt and debris stuck to the rounds and got jammed into the mechanisms of the gun. All this made the Type 96 even less reliable than its predecessor, hence the number of gunners forced into using the bayonet attachment in anger.

    With the background established it is now clear why, in early June 1937, Japan and the Soviet Union fought a very large battle over an obscure and unimportant plot of land in the wilds of North Manchuria. The site in question was the area around the Kanchazu Island, a large sand bank that lay on the Amur River in the very north eastern tip of Manchuria. The island and its surrounding neighbours were not important in themselves, however being astride the river they offered the chance to control the flow of river traffic on the Amur. Of course the traffic on that part of the Amur was light and of no real importance to anyone, nevertheless the Island was plausibly important and that was sufficient to provoke a conflict over. Officially the Japanese casus belli for the incident was Soviet misinterpretation of the border, the Amur River marked the Soviet-Manchurian border in the region and Kanchazu lay right in the middle of the river. Specifically the border was not in accordance with those laid down in the Convention of Peking, the relevant portions of which had been signed in 1860 between two powers that no longer technically existed (Imperial Russia and Qing Dynasty China), a fact that in no way seemed to bother the Japanese officers making the argument that Kanchazu was obviously rightful Manchurian territory.

    The clash began when troops of the Imperial Japanese Army’s 11th Division occupied and began to fortify Kanchazu Island. As planned this was noticed by the Soviets who despatched a squadron of gunboats from the Amur Flotilla to investigate. This squadron was duly intercepted by a pair of river gunships from the Manchukuoan River Defence Fleet, thus initiating one of the relatively rare naval battles to occur entirely within a river. While the Soviets had numbers their Type 1124 BKA ‘Armoured Cutters’ barely displaced 40 tonnes and mounted only a pair of turrets taken from the T-28 tank. In contrast the river gunships of the Manchukuoan Black Dragon Group (the Amur river being known as the Black Dragon river in Chinese) were 290 tonne ships armed with three 120mm cannons each. The resulting battle was as one-sided as those numbers would suggest, two Soviet gun boats being sunk and the third escaping only because the Manchukuoan’s declined to pursue.

    While the Soviets brought up troops in response, they did not actually attack the new outpost; Moscow had no desire for an active front in the Far East and had far better control over her army in the region, the magnificently named Special Red Banner Far Eastern Army, than Tokyo had over the Kwantung Army. This was graphically demonstrated when the commander of the IJA 11th Division, the quite fanatically anti-communist General Hayao Tada, ordered his men across the Amur to seize the north bank of the river. Quite aside from being a rampant escalation, and one entirely unjustified by even the most creative of treaty interpretations, this was an unfortunate choice for the general from a purely military perspective. The flood plain of the Amur was flat, wide and in mid-summer very dry. Perfect conditions for armoured warfare, a fact not lost on the Soviet commander who counter-attacked with the T-26s of the 2nd Mechanised Brigade. To counter this escalation the IJA deployed their own tanks, the grandly titled 1st Tank Corps sallied forth to meet the Soviets. If this sounds like a numerically mismatched battle that’s because it was, though not in the way the unit names implied; the Japanese Corps could barely muster 100 Type 89 I-Go ‘medium’ tanks and a dozen Type 94 tankettes while the Soviet Brigade had almost 250 T-26s. This was bad enough for the IJA tankers, worse was the qualitative disadvantage they faced. While both tanks were notionally infantry tanks, and so slow and armoured against machine gun fire but nothing more, where the Type 89 had a low velocity (if large calibre) 57mm gun, the T-26s mounted the far more potent 45mm 20K mod. The result of which was a T-26 was able to kill a Type 89 at almost double the distance a Type 89 could hope to threaten a T-26, combined with the superior armoured doctrine of the Soviets and the clash went much as one would expect.

    The few Japanese survivors of the clash of tanks retreated back to the river and the cover of their artillery and the river gunships. By this stage, some 10 days after the initial occupation of the islands, Tokyo had finally found out about what was going on, though this was mainly due to the loud and vigorous protests of the Soviet ambassador rather than the Kwantung Army actually admitting to their actions. The Japanese foreign ministry frantically worked to arrange a cease-fire while the Army investigated quite what had been going on in Manchuria. The diplomats succeeded in short order, the Soviets had no real desire to take the matter further as they felt, somewhat over-confidently, that this defeat would deter future clashes, in contrast it took quite some time, and many personal ‘interviews’, for the Army to learn the truth, or at least a close approximation to it. Shamed that almost a quarter of Japan’s medium tank force had been lost in one battle much of the hokushin-ron faction were forced into silence, it being apparent that the Soviets were not the inferior push-over they had been portrayed as. Their rivals in the Strike South faction were quick to take advantage, loudly and publicly making their case, little caring that while such words were for domestic consumption Tokyo was not the only capital to hear them.

    ---
    Notes:
    Apologies for missing the promised weekend date, I got somewhat distracted with the details on this one. From the top the Mongolian facts are all OTL, collectivisation did go that badly and (surprisingly) the incident with Genden and Stalin's pipe is apparently true.

    The Type 96 machine gun did have a bayonet as standard and, because it kept jamming, IJA troops did actually bayonet charge with it. Just not very quickly.

    Onto the clash, there was an actual incident at Kanchazu island in June/July 1937, however this didn't escalate as Tokyo found out earlier and the IJA was somewhat more restrained. TTL as there has been no 2-26 coup there has been no grand re-shuffling of units in North Manchuria so the 11th IJA division and General Tada are still in place on the border. This is a big change as Tada was spectacularly anti-communist, to the point he tried to negotiate a peace deal with the Chinese on the basis of them working together to defeat Mao and the Soviet Union. Unsurprisingly no-one else in the Japanese Army agreed, very surprisingly he didn't get killed for saying this and survived the war. After losing a quarter of Japan's tanks he may not survive this time around.

    Up next - The other Pacific powers notice that Japan is talking an awful lot about the New Order in East Asia, something which doesn't seem to leave much room for any power that isn't Japan.
     
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    Chapter CXVII: An Ethical Fleet.
  • Chapter CXVII: An Ethical Fleet.

    While the latest news from Japan was keenly followed by all nations with an interest in the Pacific, the most interesting reactions to the Kanchazu Island incident was to be found in the Netherlands. This is perhaps not surprising as Amsterdam’s attitude to the Dutch East Indies (DEI) was somewhat unusual, particularly in terms of its priorities, and certainly very different from its fellow colonial powers view of their colonies. It was however also a matter of timing, the news from the East arriving at a very febrile time in Dutch politics.

    The details of the Dutch ‘ethical’ colonial policy and its success (or lack of it) need not detain us, what is of interest is the contrast between Amsterdam’s view that it was responsible for the “material welfare” of its colonial subjects and the ongoing neglect of the colonies defences. In any other colony this could be put down to the usual gap between the ideals of colonial policy and the usually harsher reality, high minded ideals in the capital tended to produce underfunded and patchily implemented schemes on the ground. However in the case of the DEI it was the 4th largest oil exporter in the world at that time and home to almost half a million Dutch settlers, to say nothing of the rubber, tin and sundry other valuable exports, and so was of considerable economic importance to the Netherlands. The neglect of defence was also not due to ignorance, the threat to the DEI from potential Japanese aggression had been identified as far back as 1912 and the recent rumblings from Tokyo had not gone unnoticed. Finally it was not a matter of misplaced faith in the army or air force, it was recognised that no matter how well the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army, and it’s associated air wing, fought, losing control of the seas around the DEI meant losing the supply lines to the Netherlands and so dooming any defence.

    So despite recognising the importance of the islands, the potential threats that existed and the need for a strong naval force to make any defence credible, at the time of the Kanchazu Island incident the DEI was defended by a mere three light cruisers; the two ancient Javas and the newer, if far smaller, De Ruyter. It was in fact mere luck that all three were available, given the tropical conditions and the age of the vessels the Royal Netherlands Navy (RNN) only expected to have two of them available at any one time with the third in dock. In total the RNN hoped to muster a pair of light cruisers supported by a single flotilla of destroyers and a dozen or so ‘K’-class patrol submarines, a force not even large enough to effectively cover the two million square miles of the DEI territory, let alone defend against any likely opponent.

    The lack of ships was not a new problem, as mentioned above the idea of reinforcing the DEI to protect against potential Japanese aggression had first been discussed before the Great War. While this scheme had progressed as far as a series of designs for an 8 x 350mm (13.8 inch) gunned, 22knot ~25,000 tonne class of battleships, the project was cancelled due to the outbreak of war in Europe. An attempt to revive the programme in the 1920s was watered down to merely a few extra cruisers, however even this weak scheme failed to pass parliament and was rejected. In the intervening years the bare minimum had been spent on the RNN, when the ancient De Zeven Provinciën was retired to the training role she was replaced in the DEI by a very light cruiser, the De Ruyter. For all the faults of the De Zeven Provinciën (she was slow, old and, after a very bloody mutiny, had an unsavoury reputation in the fleet) she was relatively well armoured and mounted heavy 280mm (11.1 inch) guns, without her the heaviest gun in the DEI was the 150mm guns on the light cruisers. As always the harsh mathematics of gunnery made that difference even worse in terms of shell weight, the 280mm guns had fired 300kg shells, the 150mm guns merely 45kg. This would be bad enough were the RNN facing ‘normal’ 8 inch heavy cruisers, as it was they were facing the IJN’s cruisers which were only notionally treaty-compliant, making them far more dangerous opponents.

    mPVLgKq.png

    The Royal Netherlands Navy latest vessel, the ‘light cruiser’ HNLMS Tromp, under construction on the slipway of the Netherlands Shipbuilding Company in Amsterdam. The Tromp was not launched until May of 1937 and she would not be commissioned until the summer of 1938, when she was slated for deployment to the DEI. While any reinforcement was welcome the Tromp represented the peak (or perhaps nadir) of an unfortunate trend in Dutch shipbuilding; the shrinking light cruiser. Where the pre-Great War Javas were 8,000 tonne ships mounting 10 x 150mm (6 inch) guns, the newer De Ruyter had a mere 7 x 150mm guns on her 6,500 tonnes. The Tromps took this trend still further, managing to cram 6 x 150mm guns onto a mere 3,500 tonnes. A case can be made that the official designation of the Tromps as ‘Flotilla Leaders’ was not a political trick by the RNN to get the ships past parliament, but an accurate statement of their capability. That said at least the Tromps mounted torpedoes and a secondary armament, both things the De Ruyter lacked despite it’s larger tonnage.

    With such a history one would not expect further sabre rattling from Japan to prompt a reaction in Amsterdam. Yet in the aftermath of Kanchazu Island, with Japanese admirals loudly making calls from Japan to ‘look south’, the Dutch government began seriously looking at major naval expansion. The difference was politics and economics, the situation in the Netherlands in 1937 was far different from that found in previous Japanese scares such as the declaration of Manchuria. The two factors were intertwined but can be boiled down to the fact that the Netherlands had experienced a very bad Great Depression, as discussed in Chapter LIV earlier. Low trade tariffs in a world of high tariffs, keeping to the gold standard and a mania for balanced budgets had done terrible damage to the country and it was apparent at least one, if not more, of those sacred cows was going to have to be killed. The Colijn government had pinned it’s hopes on the ‘Gold Bloc’ conference in late 1936, arranged by France it had gathered those countries still on the gold standard (essentially just the USA, France and her neighbours and allies) to discuss trade and economic links. While it had mainly consisted of the various finance and foreign ministers agreeing that the gold standard was an excellent idea and that those weak nation that had left it would soon regret it, there was an agreement to drop some tariffs for inter-Bloc trade. While helpful to the Dutch economy this was not enough and as the May 1937 election approached the government parties were expected to suffer badly while extremist made gains.

    In the event the election was somewhat more complex. On the far right the Nationaal-Socialistische Beweging in Nederland (National Socialist Movement in the Netherlands, NSB) singularly failed to take advantage. Having proudly associated itself with Italian fascism and German Nazism, the NSB’s fortunes had declined after the Abyssinian War and the Rhineland Crisis left those two countries far less attractive examples to emulate. A massive row over whether to publically break the link with Nazism or keep the association completed the NSB’s woes and saw their vote collapse leaving them with no seats in parliament, a fate which prompted yet further recriminations and infighting. On the far left the communist and ‘revolutionary socialists’ were indulging in their favourite hobby of arguing over obscure points of ideology, splitting and expelling people, so were far too busy to actually put much effort in the election and duly failed to make any gains. When consider the main parties, those governing in Colijn’s coalition and the main opposition socialist worker’s party, their fate was determined by the ‘pillarised’ Dutch system. Put simply large sections of society would never vote outside ‘their’ religious or social pillar almost regardless of how well that pillar’s party had performed. This served to put limits on how widely a party could appeal, but also limited how badly a party could suffer, so the two blocks swapped a couple of seats but the balance of power was broadly unchanged. It was therefore the conservative nationalist Verbond voor Nationaal Herstel (Alliance for National Reconstruction, VNH) who made the most impressive gains, the VNH benefiting from the implosion of the NSB who had been threatening to completely over-shadow them. It’s also worth nothing that the Liberale Staatspartij "de Vrijheidsbond" (Liberal State Party, LSP) managed to break out of their death-spiral and actually increase their vote and seat count for the first time since they had formed in the 1920s.

    Therefore we see that, despite Colijn returning as Prime Minister, the government that had to react to the Kanchazu Island incident in June was very different from the one that had decided to replace a coastal defence ship with a crippled ‘flotilla leader’. Forced to rely on the VNH to bolster the government majority the hawks in the cabinet, such as the recently re-instated Defence Minister Deckers, were in a much stronger position that before the election. Moreover Colijn was aware that keeping the gold standard and a balanced budget wasn’t working and one of them would have to be sacrificed, after the recent Gold Bloc conference the Dutch establishment was even more convinced of the wisdom of the gold standard so that left only the budget to take the strain. Therefore it should not be a surprise that a proposal to exempt re-armament spending from the balanced budget as it was ‘exceptional’ found more favour than it’s actual merits deserved. While a great many groups, not least the resurgent LSP, were quick to attack what was, in reality, a face saving gesture to cover a massive u-turn, the Colijn government pushed on, banking on the success of the policy covering up any problems.

    After all this the decision of what to build was surprisingly straightforward, the RNN had been working on plans and schemes to defend the DEI for over two decades and had a very good idea of what was required. In an admiral display of honesty the RNN began with the assumption that the Netherlands could not single handily defend the DEI. The country simply could not afford to match the IJN’s main fleet or even maintain a force that could credibly threaten it, thus any defence plan had to assume that the Netherlands were not fighting alone. This did lead to the possibility of a ‘parasitic’ defence, relying entirely on the RN and/or USN to defend the DEI which had been the country’s unspoken policy for years. Aside from it being somewhat distasteful, this scheme relied on the entire IJN being tied up for the entire war, in the event even a single IJN heavy cruiser squadron threatened the DEI the plan fell apart. Thus evolved the deterrent plan, basing a strong enough force in the DEI that it would be a risky proposition for anything less than the IJN main fleet, which it was hoped would always be tied up facing the main force of the USN or RN. This left the RNN looking at a force strong enough to take on and easily beat the IJN’s heavy cruisers, fast enough to cover a large area and evade superior forces but without the crippling expense of a full blown fast battleship. There was a name for such a ship; a battlecruiser. While the Netherlands had built large ships and warships it had never constructed large warships before and so the need for foreign technical assistance was soon recognised. As the government and RNN would soon discover, the choice of foreign partner would be a far more difficult decision that merely deciding what to build.

    ---
    Notes:

    Hmmm, 2,000 words of Dutch politico-economic-naval goodness. Just be thankful I didn't go of on yet another tangent about the Dutch 'Ethical Policy' in the East Indies; absolutely fascinating, particularly in comparison to the French 'Civilising Mission' and the British 'Indirect Rule', but off almost no relevance at all to anything in the actual story.

    There was an election in May 1937, in OTL Holland had dropped the gold standard by then and had started to (slowly) recover, so the governing coalition swapped a few seats but stayed in power, the fascist NSB picked up four seats and the Liberal parties got squeezed. TTL as the US is still on gold and France hasn't been forced off the Dutch are sticking with it, as far as I can tell all the parties were really, really hyper keen on the idea. So the economy is grim but, as Germany has not had a good time of it, the FSB is no position to do anything and the hard left are fighting themselves (which is both OTL and seemingly compulsory for all such parties in democratic countries). The centre left opposition pick up a few seats, more than OTL, but not enough to form a government, so Colijn gets in again but has to rely on the VNH who are really keen on defence spending and keeping the DEI (OTL the FSB stole their support, TTL they are the best non-German right wing and/or strong defence option). As more than a few of the OTL Colijn government agreed, I can see this being an acceptable argument, particularly if the alternative is killing the gold standard.

    All ships OTL (sadly for the RNN) as was the thinking behind the battlecruiser, may or may not have been a good plan but of course was only started far too late in OTL. This time round the entire process has been dragged forward 18months and will go at a higher priority than OTL, so as has been revealed previously the Dutch are getting some battlecruisers in the water. The Dutch have more options than OTL and different priorities, so will not be going straight to Germany to ask for some Scharnhorst plans. Who they ask, and what plans they get, will be the next update.
     
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    Chapter CXVIII: Unwanted Suitors.
  • Chapter CXVIII: Unwanted Suitors.

    The Dutch battlecruisers were the biggest warship construction programme by a non-Washington Treaty signatory since the pre-Great War South American dreadnought race. Unsurprisingly it therefore attracted a great amount of international interest with all the Great Powers, and some not so Great, vying to be the ‘foreign technical advisor’ that the Royal Netherlands Navy (RNN) had identified the need for. Of course merely having a navy, or indeed being a signatory to the defunct naval treaties, did not automatically make a nation qualified to advisor on the complexities of warship construction and the field was soon culled down to a far more compact short list for the government to ponder over.

    First to fall was the American bid, had The Hague been looking for a warship to be constructed elsewhere then there is no doubt US firms would have been amongst the favourites. However the extended US building ‘holiday’, and withering of the associated skills, combined with the lack of any similar design in the USN inventory (the original design for the Lexingtons was almost twice the tonnage of what the RNN was looking for) was sufficient to see the American offer politely rejected. Next to be declined, if anything more politely, was the somewhat surprising Japanese offer of assistance, for obvious reasons. It is tempting to dismiss this as the same cheeky audacity that had seen Tokyo attempt to buy a single Spitfire, with a vague commitment to purchase more later after it had been ‘evaluated’. It should be noted however that the offer proposed Japan be paid in oil, rubber and various other physical goods, suggesting a more complex motivation which will be discussed in later chapters. While on the subject of espionage the Soviet efforts are worth some brief discussion. The RNN’s low expectations were duly met as they realised the Soviet team was more interested in what information could flow back to Moscow than in offering details of their still under-development Kronshtadt class. In fairness the Soviet delegation was not just looking for information, they were also interested to see if Dutch engineering firms could assist in areas of precision engineering that Soviet industry struggled with, such as propeller shafts, boilers and turbine manufacture. While the Dutch trade ministry was keen to discuss those opportunities, and much progress would be made, it was clear that the Soviet definition of foreign technical assistance was not the same as the RNN’s and the Soviets did not make the final shortlist.

    Turning now to an offer the Dutch actually considered in detail we ome to the Italians. At first glance this is an odd decision, the Regia Marina had even less tradition of battlecruisers than the USN and worse the Abyssinian War had not left Italian designs with a good reputation. That the Italian proposal survived for consideration was for one very good reason; it was the most open and generous, including a large amount of detail that other powers intended to reserve until after they had been selected, all keen to avoid a repeat of the pre-Great War Rivadavia affair (The Argentinian government's procurement of the two Rivadavia-class dreadnoughts had seen trade, and military, secrets from five countries freely swapped around by the Argentines. Keen to get the best ships for the lowest price they had been overly bothered who they offended or what confidentially clauses, or indeed laws, they broke). This open attitude was not due to an uncharacteristic outbreak of generosity by Il Duce, but due to very real fears for the future of the Regia Marina in the Italian high command. With no overseas empire to defend, and even Il Duce conceding it might be ‘some time’ before Italy was ready to challenge for control of the Mediterranean again, the naval budget was being severely squeezed. While this had started with shipbuilding it was only a matter of time before questions were asked about why the fleet had more Admirals than capital ships, an area of debate the naval high command was keen to avoid. Success in the Netherlands was therefore viewed as absolutely vital by the Supermarina, winning the contract would provide jobs for the navy’s surfeit of senior officers and, once the contracts began flowing back to Italy, hopefully free up some funding to accelerate the rebuilding of the fleet. In the service of this the Italian delegation was authorised to be far more open than would ordinarily be the case, the hope being that this would overcome the disadvantages of the Regia Marina’s recent history.

    SF7pteQ.jpg

    The Italian battleship Littorio launching from Ansaldo shipyard in the spring of 1937. Despite her construction being officially ‘accelerated’ during the Abyssinian War progress she had still failed to meet her original launch date, the bottlenecks of Italian industry could not be removed by a bombastic speech and shouted orders. That she had launched at all was only due to the Supermarina diverting materials, in particular the always in short supply armour plating, from her sister ship the Vittorio Veneto. With the budget tight the Supermarina was facing the difficult choice of picking between starting the fit out of the Littorio and leaving the Vittorio Veneto on the slip, or getting the Vittorio Veneto launched but then having two hulls and no funds to fit out either of them.

    That the Italian effort lasted as long as it did was due to a certain amount of disagreement within the RNN. The argument was made that if a ‘fleet in being’ actually has to engage in combat something has gone wrong, in the case of the DEI the primary mission of the battle cruisers was to deter a Japanese invasion not actually fight one off. Following this logic it was arguable that such ships should maximise their ‘visible’ strengths (guns and speed being the more obvious ones) to increase their deterrent value while ‘invisible’ ones (such as the armour thickness and operational range) can safely be economised on. Such a strategy would have favoured the Italian proposal, with considerable experience of producing fast well armed but under-armoured and short legged ships it would have played to all their strengths. Moreover such a plan would benefit from their undoubted talents at misdirection with regards to displacement and tonnage, not the under-stating so typical of the naval treaty era but over-stating so that to foreign observers the ships would have a tonnage consistent with a respectable level of armour. In the end however the plan was rejected and the Italian offer declined. While the very large cost savings of a lightly armoured ship were attractive to the economically minded (armour was typically the single most expensive item on a well armoured warship, 20% of the total cost going on armour plate was not unusual) the RNN were very wary of what would happen if such ‘Paper Tiger’ were ever exposed or forced to fight. This was the very argument used to reject the Italian offer, the fate of their fast but lightly armoured cruisers serving as a very graphic warning of the likely outcome of an Italian style battle cruiser being forced into combat.

    With the field clear of the also-rans the RNN was free to concentrate on just three options; Britain, France and Germany. As we shall see it was not the straightforward three horse race that simple listing implies.

    --
    Notes:
    I've moved house, sorted many things and now it's back! Just in time for... Valentines Day? I probably should have done a tank one on the alt-Valentine tank, but I couldn't just leave the Dutch navy hanging could I?

    Mostly historic, the Japanese were that cheeky about trying to buy a single Spitfire (and single copies of lots of other foreign planes), the Soviets were always looking for foreign advice on warships and did attempt to buy lots of naval propulsion equipment from the Dutch, I think the outbreak of war stopped most of the deliveries though. The Rivadavia affair was OTL, Argentina did play that very well, if at the cost of annoying everybody involved, even the winning US shipyard was annoyed that their design secrets had ended up being given away to their rivals.

    The Littorios are sitting on the slips, Italy is spending all it's money on re-building the Army and Air Force and is focused on keeping Austria within the Italian sphere, that makes the navy very low priority. OTL the only Italian involvement was letting the Dutch have a look around the fitting out Littorio and answering vague questions on torpedo protection, so they weren't adverse to technical assistance, they just lacked the necessary motivation.

    The 'italian style' battlecruiser is a bit of an invention, the actual specification was always quite fluid so I'm sure the idea came up, I'm equally sure it would have been rejected but I thought it was worth a few words as it's an interesting idea. If your building a fleet just to be a fleet in being how important is it that the ships are actually any good, as long as they look impressive (and no-one ever finds out they're paper tigers)?
     
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    Chapter CXIX: A Two and a Half Horse Race.
  • Chapter CXIX: A Two and a Half Horse Race.

    When dealing with any form of international trade it is important to consider both sides and not to focus on just the buyer. Why certain items were, or were not, put on offer can be as interesting and important as why the winning item was selected. The Netherlands battlecruiser contest is an excellent example, without knowing why certain options were not available to the Dutch it is not possible to properly understand the final decision. On the buying side the Royal Netherlands Navy (RNN) obviously wanted the best and most modern technologies and design concepts, however these were the very things that the selling parties least wanted to reveal. While each of the powers involved had their own priorities and concerns there was one over-riding concern they all shared; security. At this point it is all but compulsory to bring up the subject of IvS (Ingenieurskantoor voor Scheepsbouw, engineer office for shipbuilding) and it's impact on the perceptions of Dutch security. Notionally a Dutch company, it was in fact owned by the major German shipyards and secretly funded by the Reichsmarine, the aim being to maintain and develop German U-boat technology despite the strict limitations of Versailles. While IvS was successful in its prime aim of preserving the German submarine skill base as a subterfuge it was a disaster. The extent of the failure was such that even the underfunded, and unappreciated by Washington, US Office of Naval Intelligence was well aware of the true purpose of IvS and the identity of its not-so-secret backers.

    Obviously assisting the Germans to break Versailles was hardly going to endear the Dutch government to the Allied powers, the defence from The Hague that the entire scheme was legal and broke no treaty was both true and irrelevant. That said the impact of IvS on the process must not be overstated, certainly it encouraged those in London and Paris who wished to limit the level of technology transfer, but it is doubtful if truly cutting edge technology would have been offered even had IvS never existed. Certainly it is worth noting that all the great powers had agreed in advance that there was to be no repeat of the Rivadavia affair, the decision coming as a disappointment, if not a surprise, to The Hague. More interestingly the German government, which obviously would have nothing at all to fear from IvS was just as keen as the other powers to keep certain technologies secret. An instructive parallel can be seen in the supply of arms to the Spanish Civil War, despite the higher stakes of that conflict the great powers still preferred to keep their latest and greatest, and indeed their not so greatest, for themselves. It should there come as no surprise that in many cases there was something of a gap between what the RNN wanted and what was on offer.

    TUfWU8F.png

    The Turkish submarine Gur, built in Rotterdam by IvS her complex past mirrored that of IvS. Originally ordered in 1929 by Spain, the plan had been for IvS to construct the components in Holland (and Germany in keeping with IvS’ true purpose) for final assembly in a Spanish yard. The fall of Primo de Rivera and the establishment of the Spanish Republic saw that deal collapse, though as Germany had gained valuable experienced that would be used on the Type I-A U-boat the Reichsmarine still thought their funding, which had under-written the entire effort, well spent. Eventually the Turkish government, which had previously purchased two very heavily for subsidised IvS submarines, agreed to purchase the incomplete vessel, again at a firesale price.

    With the background established we begin with the French, on paper the strongest competitor. The Dunkerque design was very much the pre-competition favourite, while not perfect for the proposed mission of all the vessels afloat or on the slips the class was closest to what the RNN wanted; fast, well armed and with a tolerable range. The RNN believed that with a few reasonable modifications (such as replacing the French Indret boilers with higher pressure Yarrow type) a Dutch Dunkerque would be ideal. On top of this, as fellow members of the Gold Bloc Franco-Dutch relations were good and with French industry struggling to cope with the demands of re-armament and supplying Republican Spain there were clear opportunities beyond the battlecruisers, powerful motivation on the political side for a deal. There was only one problem; the Marine Nationale flatly refused to even contemplate transferring the design or indeed anything similar. As we saw earlier in Chapter 84 the Dunkerque’s were full of the very latest French technology, none of which the MN wished to hand away or risk ending up in unfriendly hands. However as the political motivations were still present the French government felt compelled to offer something, eventually presenting an old, and unusual, design study that the MN had emphatically rejected. As one would expect this design was not well received, though the Dutch government did at least appreciate the effort, and the RNN was forced to look elsewhere.

    ZGfVQRZ.png

    The Naval Treaties of the 1920s and 1930s had made arbitrary tonnage targets one of the key factors in warship design, resulting in many oddities such as this pre-Dunkerque design study. At a notional 17,500 tons France could have built four of these ‘cruiser killers’ with her treaty tonnage allowance, however the Naval Staff soon decided they would much rather use their tonnage for fewer but more capable vessels. On paper they were a good fit for the RNN’s requirements; two quad 305mm (12”) guns, a 34 knot top speed and armoured against 203mm (8”) gun fire, all on a low tonnage. However the compromises necessary for such an achievement, particularly the offset, centrally mounted main guns, were considered too high a price by the RNN, who followed their French counter-parts in rejecting the design.

    Disappointed by France the RNN turned to Germany, correctly expecting that the IvS connection and strong trade links would yield a better offer. As they had hoped the Germans were prepared to offer a Scharnhorst type design, or at least most of the design as they wished to keep certain elements, not least the under-water protection, a closely guarded secret. It soon became apparent that significant changes would be required, the RNN keen to dramatically thin out the Scharnhorst’s colossal belt and use the tonnage to increase the deck armour and increase the speed. Somewhat at odds with that, and an interesting parallel to the Dunkerque, they were also keen to replace the very high pressure boilers with their trusty licence built Yarrows, a change similar to the one thatt the German designers themselves eventually made for the Von Der Tann and her sister Moltke. The RNN also wished to replace the numerous secondary surface and anti-aircraft guns, all with their own fire control systems, with proper dual purpose weaponry, saving a significant amount of tonnage and boosting the design’s defensive abilities. However all those changes would take time, and even after they were complete the design would still be missing various critical elements, not least an underwater protection scheme.

    Finally we come to the British design, not something the RNN expected to expend a great deal of time on. While diplomacy required they appear to take the offer seriously none of the naval staff expected the review to be anything other than a formality. While, mostly, united in their appreciation of the exploits of the battlecruisers of Force H during the Abyssinian War, that did not automatically translate into wanting a similar design. The new Swiftsures were far too large (and expensive) while the Renown class, despite being closer in size, could be discounted as their 15” guns were judged excessive. This is because while there may well be no such thing as overkill, there most certainly was, and is, wasted tonnage; a Royal Navy 15”/45 gun weighed almost 100 tons whereas a French 330m/50 (12”) was barely 70 tons, the increase in turret weights was worse. With the RNN’s entire strategy hinging on not having to fight Japanese capital ships 15” weaponry was a luxury they didn’t need and were not prepared to compromise the design to achieve. As the last British battlecruisers to use 12” guns had been the pre-Great War, and frankly less than successful, Invincible-class, the RNN did not have high hopes from the British offer.

    In the event they were surprised to find that, instead of 35,000 tonne, 15” gunned monster, the British offered the design for a balanced, 26,000 tonne vessels sporting nine 12” guns in three triple turrets. After recovering from the shock there was an immediate suspicion on the Dutch side that they were being offered a paper design, a series of rough design studies that may, or may not, be capable of being made into a warship. There was some truth in this belief; the basis of the design was one of the many late 1920s design studies of Sir George Thurston, then naval director at Vickers. With the limitations of the naval treaties in mind the Admiralty was keen to know how small a battleship could go and still mount a respectable armament and Vickers had obliged. As part of this a new 12” gun, the 12”/50 Mk.XIV, and associated turrets had been designed, though as we have seen it soon ended up in experimental work when the rest of the world proved less keen on such dramatic limitations on naval shipbuilding. However this did leave Britain with a modern 12” gun and triple turret to offer to the RNN, along with a reasonably practical design for a small battleship to mount them on. After the armour had been trimmed back to battlecruiser level, and the saved tonnage used to increase speed, and the secondary weapons modernised the resulting ship was a solid match for the RNN’s requirements.

    Q2pmT8m.png

    An early outline design drawing of the British proposal for the new Dutch battlecruiser. While lacking in detail all the key design details can be seen; the three triple turrets, the twin funnels needed for the high 33knot+ speed and the distinctive blocky forward superstructure of 1920s/30s British capital ship design. The British offer was theoretically a private venture from Vickers-Armstrong dealing directly with The Hague and with no involvement from London. In reality that was just a gesture to Dutch sensitivities about appearances and neutrality; the baseline drawings may well have been drawn up originally by Vickers, but key parts of the final offer came direct from the Admiralty and the Royal Corps of Naval Constructors. Quite aside from the always helpful boost to trade, Whitehall saw great potential in further dealings with the Netherlands and hoped the battlecruiser contract would be merely the first step.

    Had that been all it would still have been advantage Germany, as for all it’s faults the Scharnhorst derived design was at least based on a ship that was actually being built, to say nothing of the long standing trade links. There was, however, one more card for Britain to play; underwater protection. In stark contrast to the German offer Britain made clear she was prepared to include full details of a modern underwater protection scheme. Given the security concerns of the Great Powers the RNN were deeply suspicious of this seemingly generous offer. While they privately, and not so privately, regarded the security fears as ridiculous, they were well aware they existed. It was therefore not a complete surprise when it became apparent that the protection scheme offered, while modern, was not in fact British. What the RNN was being offered was a reverse-engineered Italian scheme, developed from what the Royal Navy had learnt from studying the Italian prizes and wrecks it had acquired after the Abyssinian War. Despite their initial scepticism about the offer, it had the distinct feel of being fobbed off with a second rate alternative, the RNN eventually warmed to the idea. The favourable report on the scheme from the RNN technical section certainly helped, as did the quite furious reaction of the Italian delegation when they discovered quite what was being offered, this reaction helping to convince the RNN that the scheme must have some real value if the Italians were keen to keep it a secret.

    Contrary to the hopes of some in The Hague the final decision was something of a formality, for all of the faults of the British offer (not least the thorny Imperial/Metric dimensioning issues) it was the only complete warship on offer. Unmentioned was the strategic considerations that also pointed towards Britain; the entire Dutch strategy in the Dutch East Indies rested upon the main force of the IJN being distracted by the RN and/or the USN. Such a plan had much more chance of working if the DEI forces were co-ordinated with their American and British counterparts (not least by sharing intelligence on the IJN) instead of working alone. Any formal alliance was politically out of the question of course, but there RNN naval staff could see the advantages in moving into the grey area between alliance and neutrality, just as London had hoped. With the technical and political boxes ticked the RNN recommended, and The Hague agreed, that the British offer be accepted.

    ---
    Notes:
    Apologies for the delay, this one took a great deal longer than expected, but better late than never I suppose. Starting at the top IvS and it’s well travelled submarines existed and fooled literally no-one, however it was never actually challenged by anyone as it didn’t technically breach any treaties and the Allies didn’t want to antagonise the Netherlands by making an issue of it.

    The Dutch preference for the Dunkerque design is OTL, it was a very good fit and even TTL is probably still the best option. However the French refusal was very firm it OTL and I can’t see anything changing that, they were very keen for Germany not to get their hands on the design. However as the Gold Block still exists (in OTL everyone had given up and devalued by now) the French government wants to make an effort hence the offer of an old design study. That design is OTL as is the thinking behind its creation and rejection. In fairness the central mounting does give some large advantages in terms of weight distribution, minimising the area you need to armour and allowing a thinner (and so faster) hull form. Put simply it does give you more guns per ton than the alternatives, but the price in terms of reduced arcs of fire and flexibility is also considerable.

    The German offer is pretty much as OTL, a mini-Scharnhorst design with no details on the torpedo protection. That said in OTL they also refused to reveal details of the armour scheme till several months in, so they are being more open, just not open enough.

    The British design is new, but the basis is not. Sir George Thurston did churn out dozens of designs for ‘light battleships’, as did the Admiralty, as people played games with the treaty limits. The 12” guns and the triple turrets were drawn up as part of this as the British government (or rather the Treasury) was very hopeful that they could get all new battleships limited to 12” guns. The line drawing is a combination of a few OTL sketches that were produced as part of this.

    Finally the Dutch were very keen on the Italian style of torpedo defence for the OTL design (OK they may not have had much choice, but they still were very impressed by it) and Britain now has just such a design to offer. The scheme isn’t the (in)famous Pugliese system as used on the Italian battleships, its basically the scheme from the Zara class upscaled, but as Pugliese also designed the Zara class it’s going to be pretty similar.


    As to what's next.. Not sure really, I'm going to have to root around my old ideas files to find out what I was originally planning to do. Any preferences or requests? Because if not it may well be the Peruvian-Ecuadorian border conflict. ;)
     
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