The Sacred Grove of Britannia

[Allenby]

Guys, guys. Please don't speculate too much. Our good friend sir Humphrey is just on a three day vacation and will be back in action before you all have noticed he is gone.

Well that is rather excellent news. I am sure that I am not alone in looking forward to his return so that he can continue his work here.

 

[Sir Humphrey]

Well things have been sorted out.

16th November 1936

Whitehall London:

‘So, can we have the minutes from the Heads of Services Committee of Friday last? What have the Generals and Admirals recommended that the government direct their policy towards, given that they have heard that the treasury reports that the balance of trade will have improved this quarter. More paper divisions? More tin clad battleships? The last comment from Baldwin received a few light laughs from the fellow members of the Imperial Defence Committee. ’If the Committee would care to note, we are still behind establishment levels of fighters in the Metropolitan Royal Air Force, and this greater increase in defence spending should be directed towards the MRAF, as that is the first line of defence for the British isles. The Prime Minister said himself, that the frontier is no longer the cliffs of Dover, but the Rhine. With an increase in the fighter strength of the MRAF, we can then, by start of 1938, should there not be any other pressing defence issues concentrate on the medium and heavy bombers.’ Duff Cooper reported, as the Secretary of the State for War.

’Well, get, since we are already need to fulfil current requirements, the further expansion of the MRAF is generally said to be approved by the committee.’ Baldwin said rather bluntly. He was tiring and was looking forward to the recess. ’There is a second matter, a proposal that has come from the Admiralty. Sir Roger proposes the laying down of a new battle-cruiser hull that when completed would be sent to the Far East. Its proposed that this be a sister ship to the Hood, albeit with the modernisation that we are expecting to carry out on the Hood. As you know, Sir Roger is very much in favour of the battle-cruiser as the main arm of the Royal Navy, and expanding the number of overseas bases that are available. But, if the new hull is laid down in a staggered development, we can spread the proposed budget plans over a longer period of time, keeping within the confines of the budgetary limitations imposed by the treasury.’ Duff Cooper continued talking in the background. Stanley Baldwin leaned over to Neville. ’I thought you assured me that the Imperial General Staff had been sufficiently tamed, at least for the meantime?’ Baldwin muttered through pursed lips. ’I assure you Stanley, at the time, they seemed like sound choices. To make matters worse, Downing and Backhouse have managed to band together and silence Dill, and present a united front. But you needn’t worry Stanley, they will soon be back in their places.’ Chamberlain muttered in reply.

Prime Ministers Private Office London:

’Ah Malcolm, how is your father? I do hope he will be able to attend cabinet next week.’ Baldwin said as Malcolm Macdonald ventured into the office. ’He’s not very well, but I will give him your regards.’ Malcolm said as he sat down in front of the PM, the fine leather seat adjusting to his intruding body. ’With your approval Prime Minister, the establishment of a Royal Enquiry into Palestine will be set up; to examine the consequences of the proposals and the ramifications of the suggestions of the Foreign Secretary. I think Lord Peel would be a eminently suitable choice to head up this commission, which will produce a preliminary report of its findings in January next year.

At the moment, tensions are running high in Palestine, with a murder or shooting here and a whole host of other such crimes in a tit for tat battle between the Arabs and the Jews. In my opinion, we will eventually have to take sides in this ghastly mess and go either way in forming a state. We don’t want a mess like in Ireland.’ Malcolm finished up. The Prime Minister giving his approval for the commission, in a hope that the endless problems might cease.

Villa Claridad:

They were lounging around in the sun with the women - another almost faultless day in Spain. For the members of the British Free Brigade, the Spanish venture had been a holiday since they first arrived; only being tarnished by the boredom that occasionally ensued. Although it was the middle of November, the weather was still quite suitable, and in the slow autumn days the newspapers, the wireless and the women could be counted upon for a distraction. Clive and Ian sat with Isabel and Juanita under the midday sun in low deckchairs, the wireless set sending the soft waves of some far away orchestra into the air. Ian ran his fingers tentatively down the rest thigh of Jaunita, whose hat shielded her face. In the town, the old bank stood forlorn and uncared for. The bar had just opened it doors - the drunkenness likely to do more damage than the so called nationalists. High above an aeroplane circled lazily, riding on the pockets of air in the same pattern. ’Thornton, what in all hell do you think you are doing? I ordered you sand bag the positions, dig the trenches and set up the new machine guns we received. You know we were told there might be enemy activity in this region.’ Clive didn’t bother to salute or even stand up. He looked up to the Major, without the slightest hint of emotion. ’There are two sections digging down by the stream. One of the Maxim guns that the Spanish government has so graciously provided us with is on the roof of the bank. The other in on top of the bar, both sandbagged. Flinty is up on the roof of the villa with the telescopic rifle, a pair of binoculars and manning the klaxon.’ Clive paused for a moment.

’Oi Flinty, anything happening up there?’ Clive yelled at the top of voice. ’All clear Thorny, apart from that aeroplane!’ His voice hit an almost jaunty note at the mention of the aeroplane. ’Most of the field works are done, all the sandbags have been filled, and everyone is enjoying themselves immensely.’ Clive said, trying to get Clipton to harass someone else. ’Very good Thorton.’ The major touted, and wandered off, almost as quickly as he had appeared.

​

An hour or so past, the morning papers and mail having been delivered, and the small group moving at a gentle canter down towards the pub, with the first drinks being ordered, the atmosphere still fresh from the morning air. From atop the villa on the hill, there cam an almost deafening roar. The klaxon was being wound up, presumably by Flinty. ’What? Who is playing funny buggers? Come on Ian. Lets get back up to the Villa. Come on.” They said as the downed the remnants of their drinks and set off, the girls in trailing behind them. As they ran back up the incline, the klaxon continued to wax in pitch. ’Looks like bloody pandemonium!’ He said as they stopped by their tent and picked up their rifles and tin helmets. ’Alright dear, stay here. I love you.’ Ian said as he gently kissed Juanita on her full lips. However Isabel begged to go with Clive. ’This is my home. I will defend it with you!’ She said over the roar of the Klaxon. Clive handed her his revolver and a number of spare rounds from his pocket. ’What in blazes is going on?’ Clive shouted to Major Clipton who was adjusting his tunic. ’Enemy spotted about a mile away, looks like a battalion in strength.’ He yelled as he checked his revolver, checking down the sights. ]’Get your section on top of the bank. Hurry.’ Clipton yelled.

The first mortar shells began to land, the tell tale whistle in the air could be heard above the scream of the Klaxon. The first shell exploded into the drying soil, sending plums of dust into the air. In the town, more shells exploded - their screams like the call of banshees. Clipton has managed to gather his section together and raced towards the bank. A grand old building of masonry with a roof ideal for defence, and covering the Northern side of the town, it would be the first obstacle of taking the town. More shells smashed into the ground and buildings, setting one of the houses on fire. It was growing in intensity now - the shells dropping everywhere, tearing up earth and man alike. The horrible screams of the wounded civilians cried out. With his men undercover from the bank, they made their way to the roof, the machine gun manned my a diminutive Scotsman. ’Fire as soon as you see them’ He told his men. Then the first shot was heard from the roof of the Villa. Flinty was firing from the roof, Clive and his men were unable to see the enemy for a dry dusty knoll 400 yards in front - from which the charging enemy would soon appear. The shelling was ferocious as the first men appeared over the knoll, kicking up the dusty soil. The maxim was quick to open up, the gunner tapping the trigger in short bursts as the nationalist squad fell back behind the knoll.

Ian looked down his sights, and saw a capped head hovering behind the knoll. He squeezed the trigger and the head jerked back, recoiling from the now limp body. Another nationalist squad moved up and began firing - all while the nationalists shelled the town. The villa was coming under attack from the shells, but more squads appeared to the right, and were engaged by the men in the trenches and by the maxim on top of the pub. Isabel crouched behind the masonry, Clive’s revolver grasped by her hands. The bank was taking rifle fire, and crouched behind the masonry on the roof, Ian stared towards the Villa, mortar shells dropping all around. He spotted Juanita amongst the tents, some flattened by the force of the shells; which continued to crash down. Another squad appeared on the knoll and began advancing, their compatriots giving them covering fire, the bullets scarring the masonry. Ian watched in horror, his eyes fixated on the figure lying on the ground after a shell exploded nearby. He cried out her name in vain, the look of abject horror lay upon his face. He cried out again and started to head back down the stairs into the bank. One man said, his face blacken by soot and dust hurled up by the shelling ’Let him go Thorny, let the poor bastard go.’

 

[unmerged(28944)]

He has returned with a bloody fine update!

To bad about Juanita... I believe we are going to see a very distressed and very vengeful young man about to come to the fore in Spain.

 

[Darks63]

Mighty fine update humps.

 

[unmerged(10426)]

btw, Hump, what event mods do you use?

 

[Sir Humphrey]

Thanks everyone.
There my own events.

Iberian Interlude

Some hours later, the shelling had finally ceased, as the first of the attackers retreated beyond the range of the British guns. As the columns of dust and smoke wafted into the dying light of the sky, Clive and Isabel and their section left the roof the bank, retiring to the pub, which had remained relatively unscathed. From atop the pub, the British had defended the town – from a number of fierce enemy thrusts towards the town and all had failed, but it would not be known how long it was until the next attack. The men's faces were blackened by soot and dust, a number of houses had caught fire and burnt to the ground – their embers still glowing in the dying sun. Major Clipton had remained atop of the Villa, commanding a view of the entire field of battle, and indeed did not retire even when the shelling had been at its fiercest.

Amongst the death, the destruction and the dying, for a moment Clive was a world away. His first action, his first ever battle; he seemed almost in a trance, staring off into space, little response to the outside world. A million thoughts rushed through his head, his hearting beating at a million miles an minute. Isabel snapped her fingers in his face and he began to drink, the beer trickling down his parched throat . He had never realised how thirsty he had become during the day, the adrenaline keeping him going. He was sweating profusely, small beads sat across his brow, the underarms of his shirt stank of battle and exertion. And then – just as the last drop entered his mouth, the image of Ian running back for Juanita near the Villa came to vividly come to life. Clive picked himself up, licking his lips to rescue the last remaining drops of beer, and once again with Isabel trailing behind, walked back up towards the Villa, and hopefully towards Ian.

What greeted them was a scene of destruction, the hill on which the villa sat was pocked marked with shell holes, the former camp of the Free British Brigade had been effectively destroyed. The gutted remains of canvas tents and other equipment left behind at the start of the battle lay torn in the craters. A number of bodies lay scattered around, thrown into the air, and landing in contorted shapes on the ground. Clive scanned the site for Ian, Isabel tugged on his shirt, drawing his attention to a crouched figure near where their old tent had been. Clive and Isabel said nothing to each, for there was nothing to say, their gaze said enough. Both had seen death before, but never on the scale on display.

They walked over, Clive's arm firmly around Isabel's neck, her head nestled against his chest. In front of them sat in the dust sat Ian, gently running his hand through her hair. He looked down and kissed her on the check, muttering. To Clive and Isabel Juanita was clearly dead, her head lay limp in his lap, her blood spattered around her as if by some sadistic artist. As they looked down, Ian turned his head up towards them, staring straight into their eyes, and they into his. They said nothing, their was silence between them. In the distance, the occasional rifle crack could be heard, the sun now all but gone from the sky. Ian's eyes were watery, filled with dust and dirt, and as he stroked her thick black hair, he drew his eyes back down and muttered 'It was not meant to be like this my dear Juanita. When this was all over; we were going to go back to England. There was so much I we could have done...' He trailed off, muttering into the ear of Jaunita. 'They say Clive that you should never shed a tear. Well fuck them. They never cradled their Jaunita in their arms, they never had their life ripped apart. That bastard wouldn't know what loss and emotion was if it the him in his damned face.' Ian began to weep, the tears rolling down his face.

Clive and Isabel sat around him, there arms outstretched out around Ian's hunched shoulders. Over their time in Spain, Ian and Clive had become almost like brothers, and he turned and wept on the shoulder of Clive. They fell asleep their arms around each other, but Ian had departed along with Juanita. In the towns cemetery, they found Ian digging, the body of Juanita was enclaved in a part of an old canvas sheet. Although Clive was worn out from the battle, and with Isabel asleep on his shoulder, he laid her carefully on the ground; careful not to wake her and began digging with Ian. By morning, Juanita was in the earth, the local priest informed and officiating a small gathering around her. The men of the section fired a number of volleys into the air – the last act of the macabre sequence.

In the early morning sun, the rebels attacked again, ducking and sweeping – trying to penetrate the British defences with no success. As the casualties mounted on both sides, the British held their ground, Clive drawing upon the last of his endurance defending from the roof of the bank. Beside him stood Isabel, defending her town with a fierce tenacity that seemed almost inhuman. Ian stood silent, occasionally firing his rifle and staring out across the body strewn field. Clive knew that Ian was going to crack sooner rather than later, but he could not say a thing. Another nationalist attack had been repelled, and they were relieved by a fresh section, ordered to rest, they entered the banks ground floor, protected from the nationalist attack by the vault wall, the men quickly fell asleep from the days of fighting and nights of patrols. However it was not long until the nationalists started attacked once again.

''Sir, theres a bloody great big tank coming up the road!' Shouted someone from the roof. At first the dull hum of a engine was heard over the rifle and machine gun fire, and slowly a dull grayish green turret appeared over the knoll, swinging around as if observing the defenses before moving on. To the tank recognition expert, it was a T26 Russian light tank, presumably captured by the nationalists. As it ground over the knoll and onto the paved road that led across the bridge into town, its main gun belched flame and a 45mm shell hurtled into the side of the bank, forcing the British gunnery position on the roof to retire away from the edge. As rifle and machine gun fire bounced harmlessly off the armour, the great beast lurched forward again spraying the trenches with the machine gun. As the earth was torn up again, the tank fired again into the trench on the left of the bank, sending earth and an unlucky private into the air. The British lacked any anti-tank weapons, save the few Mills Bombs that they had brought with them; could be used as ad-hoc weapons. Ian was nowhere to be found, with his section ran out of the bank onto the Claridad road, and threw his section down in the long grass. As bullets ferociously whizzed through the air, Clive's section crawled through the grass, to try and reach the shelter of the small house behind the trenches. One of the men stuck his head above the grass, scouting and looking until he was struck by machine gun fire, his head jerking back, his body sprawling in the grass. A shell exploded nearby, the firing was ferocious, and two more died when a shell from the main gun exploded – it was becoming a massacre. With only two men left, they reached the cover of the small building.

The metal beast made its way over the bridge, the turret swing around firing parallel with the trench line, killing whoever remained under its useless protection. Ian appeared from the small house, his eyes lifeless, almost possessed. His rifle was missing, replaced by a revolver in one hand, and a grenade clutched in the other. The metal beast belched fire and flame again, followed by the noise of the explosion, its machine guns firing rapidly as the turret swung around. Ian hung his head around the corner of the building – this drawing the attention of the tank, its machine guns firing, sending masonry and timber splinters into the street.

Ian ran around the other side of the buildings cover, and in an under arm throw pulled the pin from the grenade and hurled it under the tank as it stopped, its turret scanning the street for movement. The four second fuse burnt through and the mills bomb exploded near the rear sprocket of the tank, sending the caterpillar tracks sprawling off. It tried to move, but the great metal beast had been immobilised. A head appeared from the turret through a hatch, and aiming with his revolver, shot the man that had sprung from the metal beast. His blood spattered over the metal skin, running down the side. Men emerged from the dying beast, their hands in the air, but Ian began firing at them, one was killed, slumped over half out of his hatch, the bloody draining into the interior. He shot the other, but did not kill him, his revolver now empty, his face that of a wild man. He continually pulled the trigger, the empty chamber spinning round and round until one of the men tackled him to the ground. He cried like a child, the emotion embodied in his tears, his cries exacerbated by his broken heart.

 

[Darks63]

Action filled update.

 

[cthulhu]

Two excellent updates, Humphrey.

 

[unmerged(28944)]

I'll have to echo what has already been said, excellent!!

 

[Allenby]

btw, Hump, what event mods do you use?

They are home grown.

Perhaps they shall even be released?

 

[Mettermrck]

Wow, I am seriously impressed by those last two updates. From the casual politicking of the cabinet room, discussions over naval vessels and fighter squadrons, to the excellent action in Spain. I have to that scene with Clive grieving over Juanita was first-rate. You really get a sense on how gritty the war is, how ill-equipped they seem.

I did spot the occasional mispelling, which I can point out to you later. Nothing earth-shattering. I sure hope you continue along these lines, very good character work.

 

[unmerged(32722)]

nice!

"From atop the pub, the British had defended the town..."

How apropo :rofl: !

 

[Allenby]

Sir Hump, get your pen in order.

 

[Sir Humphrey]

Thanks Dark.
Cth, it was a pleasure writing them.
Draco, thanks.
Allenby, yep they are indeed home grown, and will be a lot more of them as the story developes.
Mett, thanks alot and advice headed. :nods:
Pershing, Best place to defend really.
Allenby, just had to send some emails off to the Conservative Party archives at the University of Oxford for some information.

 

[Sir Humphrey]

5th December 1936

*parental guidance warning, some language may not be suitable for minors.

Chequers (Prime Minister's Country Residence):

Across the desk of the Prime Minister, lay a number of the national newspapers. With the Prime Minister was the Chancellor, soon to be Prime Minister Chamberlain, along with Eden and Simon. 'What has MI5 said? Surely the Home Office must have known before The Times did?' Baldwin pondered across the desk. 'Well Prime Minister, given that MI5 has been keeping a close tab on the meetings and the top leadership of the British Union of Fascists, there has been a split and leadership row brewing for some time. Back in August, if I remember quickly there were rumours that Mosley and Joyce were at each other's throats but it seemes to have been kept in the family. This split has seriously damaged the BUF as an effective force on the far right, but it may even destroy it for good. Which in the grand scheme of things is good for us.' Sir John Simon stated bluntly. Chamberlain kept quiet, slowly shifting his gaze between the Prime Minister and Sir John.

'What about Sir Oswald? What is his next move?' Baldwin pondered over coffee. 'Well its all so foggy at the moment Stanley. When Joyce assumed the leadership of the BUF, Mosley along with the so called moderate wing of the BUF has left, and we don't know yet what his next move will be, though there is a sizeable element that left with him. He may try and form a new group, but its to early to tell yet. As for the direction of the BUF, well it would appear that its going to become even more extreme, though with the failure of the Public Order Act to get through, it may be difficult to close them down. However they will alienate what little support they had in the first place, as for the BUF – Mosley relationship, he took what and who he could after Joyce assumed power of the group. It will be a benefit to the nation as a whole now that the BUF is weakened.'

Villa Claridad:

The battles were over with for the meantime, the bodies of the British dead being buried in a makeshift site on the edge of the small town, their tin helmets resting on their upturned rifles, in one final solemn gesture. In the time since the engagement around the Villa, the British had repelled a force twice their size and with superior firepower, but at a terrible cost. Major Clipton stood on the balcony of the scarred villa, looking across the town and the surrounding area. As he stared down, for the first time he thought that without the death and destruction it may have been a romantic spot in the past, now shattered by war. Clive was due any second, his wrist watch still dirtied from the battle. Clive approached through the entry and out into the sun light once again. 'Ah sit down Clive, there have been developments from above. Those ungrateful bastards at the War Office have saw fit, given the performance of us all during the scrape with the enemy, to send out more officers with greater experience.' Major Clipton said, his voice dry and raw. 'What are they going to do Sir?' Clive replied naively. 'They are sending out new officers, a colonel and a few captains. Also, because our rate of attrition was far to high for the War Office or which ever bunch of idiots send us our orders I am joining you Clive, being reduced in the ranks. These new officers will arrive sometime today. God knows what they'll be like, but the memorandum said that they were experienced and had seen combat before. So thats it, no need to beat around the bush.' Clipton sighed as he looked at across the plains. Suddenly the bar seemed ever more comfortable and Clive and Major (soon to be Captain) Clipton meandered down the short way into town across the broken earth and into the cool shade of the Three Lions.

Beside them sat Ian, clutching a nearly empty glass between his hands, his emotions shattered, his life in turmoil. 'They didn't even bother to send us uniforms, except these bloody tin hats and our ranks to be sowed on our bloody sleeves. What did they bloody want us to do? Single handedly win this fucking mess for those bloody politicians back in Blighty? The bloody naïve fools.' Clipton moaned into the bottom of his glass, becoming ever more drunk as the morning passed on. Clive nodded in solemn agreement. Ian just sat there, occasionally muttering from the depths of the his soul. The bar slowly filled as the morning progressed. Morale was at a low ebb after the fighting, the weeks of peaceful enjoyment shattered. 'And I'll tell you another thing my dear Clive, which ever old twit they replace me, they better bring some uniforms with them!' Clipton said he laughed out across the bar. 'I'll be known in the history of books as Clipton of Claridad!' He laughed again, the hollow facade of the laughter drowned by another swig of alcohol. 'Books of History Sir.' Ian muttered. 'Yes, well them as well then. The more the merrier. Thats always been my damned policy.' He said as more alcohol passed his lips.

The noise of the bar suddenly dropped, not that any of the bar noticed. 'Clipton I assume?' The voice was brisk and sharp. 'Who the fuck are you?' he dredged through his parsed lips. 'You impudent blighter. How dare you use such language to a superior officer!' Clipton turned around on the stool slowly, and stared at the officer. Clipton gazed into his eyes, trying to pierce his very soul, but failed – his head couldn't focus from the alcohol. 'I am Colonel Cromwell, the new Command Officer. I believe you owe me a salute Clipton.' His eyes burnt back into Clipton's head. He raised his glass into the air. 'To Cromwell and his merry men.' He drank from it the remaining gin. 'Consider yourself saluted.' He promptly fell of his stool, crashing onto the floor, laughing loudly. 'Coulter, take this man's name.' The colonel said briskly. Cromwell and his cohorts about-faced and left the room, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Clive helped Clipton up from the floor, dusting him off. 'Smug bastard. Lets see how he runs this place.' Clipton ordered another drink, and so with the emergence of Cromwell and his cohorts, would become a new chapter in the history of the Free British Brigade.

By the last afternoon as the sun was dying; after much alcohol has passed their lips, the small group; two men ruined by loss and a third not knowing quite what was happening around him sat inside the smoke filled lounge, muttering, laughing, sighing, and crying. They eventually fell asleep in the bar, laying asleep on the floor, clutching bottles of various whiskies and gins. The next morning, Clive, Ian and Captain Clipton were awoken by the usual movement of regulars into the Three Lions. Nursing ungodly headaches and soar eyes, they struggled to one of the tables. ]'You there, get me some breakfast and a drink. And something for these brave lads as well.' Captain Clipton clicked his fingers, sending groans from Ian and Clive.

For a second time in two days, the Three Lions once again felt the presence of Colonel Cromwell. 'Glad to see your up and about.' He said sarcastically. 'What time to you parade the men and when are they scheduled for P.E?' Cromwell said sharply. Clipton looked up at him, like a puppy. 'Parade? Oh no Sir, we never paraded the men, no need for that. They are a brave bunch of lads they are. Sons of the earth, salt of the sea and what not.' He placed his arm around Ian. 'Isn't that right, best chaps in the world you are, never seen any lads or chaps for that matter that could be better.' Clipton rambled on, Cromwell just staring at him. 'How can you expect to control the men if they are getting flabby?' Colonel Cromwell beamed down. 'I'll have you know Sir, that I am as fit as a fiddlers fiddle on fiddling day. Ask around. You'll hear that Clipton of Claridad is the fittest man in town!' He laughed loudly. Cromwell's anger was growing. 'Thornton, I wish to speak with you privately.'Cromwell said as he lowered his voice. 'Who is Thorton, all I see here is a Clive and an Ian. Salt of the earth lads they are, but no Thornton. Oh wait just a minute, your trying to turn us into a military formation aren't you? God it takes all sorts these days.' Clipton muttered away until his food arrived.

Clive followed Cromwell outside into the bright natural light. 'Now Thornton, lets be brutally honest with each other. I am not stupid. This has been a ramshackle operation, but that will soon change. However I cannot do it myself. We must build this formation up again, we must build up moral, we must sponsor stability and cohesion. I will build everything that has been neglected by the former commanding officer. I will be the new rock that will form the basis of this new fighting force.' Cromwell said, like a teacher disciplining an unruly boy. 'And don't you bloody think you can do anything different. If you don't like my methods you can resign. Simple as that. That will be all. Dismissed.' It left Clive fuming, unable to speak. He walked back in and sat down between Ian and Clipton. 'How was it then?' Ian said, the coffee working its way through his veins. 'If we don't like his methods we can resign. Though I thought he was going to have been caned and write lines on a blackboard. He won't last long. Either the Spanish environment will kill him or one of our lads will.'

 

[Darks63]

Fresh meat for the Spanish front bloody great.

 

[cthulhu]

This Colonel Cromwell seems to be an odious fellow...

 

[unmerged(28944)]

Seems like the War Office is trying to get in and run the show after it has already started. Very bad form, what?

 

[Allenby]

The Clipton family are quite prolific in your AARs, aren't they Sir Hump?

 

[Vann the Red]

Just finished reading the AAR, Sir H. Solid AH and the writing's a good bit as well.

--Vann