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Seidita- oops! Yes, I'm putting a level of fortification along the Italian border as well. But the main effort goes into the Maginot Line- 5 levels of fortification will go up along the Belgian border, and the entire line will receive one level of AA.
M506- I am indeed playing France. Vive la Republique!
O4- Nah, 1.03b.
M506- I am indeed playing France. Vive la Republique!
O4- Nah, 1.03b.
Good luck, don't end up fighting a three front war (Spain Italy and Germany). Work on doctrines, to try to be at least on par with the Germans.
FD- way ahead of ya!
July 12, 1936
Franco's forces were already surrounding Madrid by the time the first French shipments arrived. French advisers fanned out from Barcelona, preparing to train the Republican forces in the use of the MAS service rifle. France had enough to equip the entire Republican army; the new MAS Trefoil submachine guns were pouring out of the arms factories at Saint-Etienne. Help flooded in from Britain and the Soviet Union as well, matched against the modern equipment supplied by the fascist powers.
In Paris, Laval was chairing another meeting of the Allied Coordination Council. These meetings had become a regular part of Laval's schedule, as he oversaw the coordinated military development effort. The main focus today was the exchange of rifle technology to South Africa in exchange for an attache who would train France's naval aviators. Laval sighed as he entered the room; this endless shuffle of technical papers was not exactly what he had wanted. Still, he couldn't complain; his personal investments had bloomed gloriously under a shower of government expenditures.
Baldwin and the Commonwealth ambassadors rose as he entered, as well as a dapper man he didn't recognize at first.
"Ah... Ambassador Kennedy. To what do we owe your presence here?" Joseph Kennedy nodded and spoke in his atrociously nasal French.
"Prime Minister Baldwin invited me to discuss the intervention in Spain." Laval nodded. "The United States are concerned that the French and Italian troops deployed could meet. I hardly need remind you of the consequences there." Laval grunted in a sort of chuckle.
"Don't patronize me, Ambassador. You and the President both want a war desperately. It might be the only thing which would keep your appointment safe. You're simply concerned over the timing. Another couple of weeks and you might have sold the Nationalists arms yourself." Kennedy managed to simultaneously look shocked and pretend he hadn't heard anything. Laval admired the man's slick duplicity.
"Well. I appear to have my answer." Kennedy rose, bowed, and left the room. Laval sighed and met Baldwin's questioning stare. He shrugged. Baldwin coughed.
"Well, Pierre. Do you think a few rifles will really turn back the Nationalists?" Laval grunted.
"Of course not. But our men need battlefield experience, and maybe we'll capture some German materiel. Besides, I need to gain time for a little surprise I'm planning." Baldwin raised his eyebrow. "Put your eyebrow down, Stanley. I said it was a surprise."
July 12, 1936
Franco's forces were already surrounding Madrid by the time the first French shipments arrived. French advisers fanned out from Barcelona, preparing to train the Republican forces in the use of the MAS service rifle. France had enough to equip the entire Republican army; the new MAS Trefoil submachine guns were pouring out of the arms factories at Saint-Etienne. Help flooded in from Britain and the Soviet Union as well, matched against the modern equipment supplied by the fascist powers.
In Paris, Laval was chairing another meeting of the Allied Coordination Council. These meetings had become a regular part of Laval's schedule, as he oversaw the coordinated military development effort. The main focus today was the exchange of rifle technology to South Africa in exchange for an attache who would train France's naval aviators. Laval sighed as he entered the room; this endless shuffle of technical papers was not exactly what he had wanted. Still, he couldn't complain; his personal investments had bloomed gloriously under a shower of government expenditures.
Baldwin and the Commonwealth ambassadors rose as he entered, as well as a dapper man he didn't recognize at first.
"Ah... Ambassador Kennedy. To what do we owe your presence here?" Joseph Kennedy nodded and spoke in his atrociously nasal French.
"Prime Minister Baldwin invited me to discuss the intervention in Spain." Laval nodded. "The United States are concerned that the French and Italian troops deployed could meet. I hardly need remind you of the consequences there." Laval grunted in a sort of chuckle.
"Don't patronize me, Ambassador. You and the President both want a war desperately. It might be the only thing which would keep your appointment safe. You're simply concerned over the timing. Another couple of weeks and you might have sold the Nationalists arms yourself." Kennedy managed to simultaneously look shocked and pretend he hadn't heard anything. Laval admired the man's slick duplicity.
"Well. I appear to have my answer." Kennedy rose, bowed, and left the room. Laval sighed and met Baldwin's questioning stare. He shrugged. Baldwin coughed.
"Well, Pierre. Do you think a few rifles will really turn back the Nationalists?" Laval grunted.
"Of course not. But our men need battlefield experience, and maybe we'll capture some German materiel. Besides, I need to gain time for a little surprise I'm planning." Baldwin raised his eyebrow. "Put your eyebrow down, Stanley. I said it was a surprise."
Good luck, don't let those wussy Italians beat you on the spanish battlefield. Org levels are gonna make or break France, you need to be able to hold. A few basic Tac. Bombers are very very helpful, if they are not shot outta the sky.
August 11, 1936
Sergeant Jean Gaspard crept down the trench, shifting the weight of his grease-blackened combat knife. The Spanish countryside was eerily familiar; Gaspard had fought Berber rebels in terrain like this when he first joined the service. His men were hand-picked, veterans like Gaspard of a dozen colonial campaigns; men prepared to fight anywhere in the world. Tonight, they were dressed in the uniforms of Spain's Republican Army, mere feet from sleeping Germans; the sentries had died some time before, quietly and quickly.
Gaspard held up his hand, gesturing in the moonlight. His men came to a halt and fanned out. There were six of them.
A owl's hoot sounded out, and fifteen seconds later they were surrounded by fourteen German corpses. One man missed his mark, and a German cried out before dying. The sound of shouting sounded from the other end of the camp. Gaspard and his men unslung their rifles and formed a firing line. As Germans began pouring out of the tents, a murderous fire rained down on them. Gaspard fired high, clipping the wire on the camp's radio set. With two of his men, Gaspard charged, lobbing two grenades into each tent. The smoke cleared, and silence descended. An owl hooted in the distance. Gaspard chuckled.
"Good thing he kept quiet earlier or we'd have gotten our timing off." His face fell into a scowl. "And that was damn sloppy knifework, Luc. Now let's check out the communications tent." The French commandos sidled into the tent, carbines ready. The radioman sat slackly against a pole, watching them. Thick, dark blood pumped from the hole in his chest. The radioman regarded them silently, then closed his eyes and nodded. Gaspard fired a single round into his brain and turned to the table.
"Standard issue stuff. Why did Intelligence send us out here for a radio kit and..." Gaspard trailed off. He peered at the unfamiliar machine sitting by the radio.
"That's not a cipher machine. What the devil is this?" Gaspard peered at the typewritten sheets lying beside it; they appeared to be artillery coordinates. Gaspard typed in a new set experimentally. The machine clattered and a sort of typewritter spat out a firing solution. Gaspard raised his eyebrow.
"Well! I suppose that's why." Gaspard motioned to two of his men, who lifted the machine carefully. "Now. Let's find one of those excellent German trucks and get back to camp."
Sergeant Jean Gaspard crept down the trench, shifting the weight of his grease-blackened combat knife. The Spanish countryside was eerily familiar; Gaspard had fought Berber rebels in terrain like this when he first joined the service. His men were hand-picked, veterans like Gaspard of a dozen colonial campaigns; men prepared to fight anywhere in the world. Tonight, they were dressed in the uniforms of Spain's Republican Army, mere feet from sleeping Germans; the sentries had died some time before, quietly and quickly.
Gaspard held up his hand, gesturing in the moonlight. His men came to a halt and fanned out. There were six of them.
A owl's hoot sounded out, and fifteen seconds later they were surrounded by fourteen German corpses. One man missed his mark, and a German cried out before dying. The sound of shouting sounded from the other end of the camp. Gaspard and his men unslung their rifles and formed a firing line. As Germans began pouring out of the tents, a murderous fire rained down on them. Gaspard fired high, clipping the wire on the camp's radio set. With two of his men, Gaspard charged, lobbing two grenades into each tent. The smoke cleared, and silence descended. An owl hooted in the distance. Gaspard chuckled.
"Good thing he kept quiet earlier or we'd have gotten our timing off." His face fell into a scowl. "And that was damn sloppy knifework, Luc. Now let's check out the communications tent." The French commandos sidled into the tent, carbines ready. The radioman sat slackly against a pole, watching them. Thick, dark blood pumped from the hole in his chest. The radioman regarded them silently, then closed his eyes and nodded. Gaspard fired a single round into his brain and turned to the table.
"Standard issue stuff. Why did Intelligence send us out here for a radio kit and..." Gaspard trailed off. He peered at the unfamiliar machine sitting by the radio.
"That's not a cipher machine. What the devil is this?" Gaspard peered at the typewritten sheets lying beside it; they appeared to be artillery coordinates. Gaspard typed in a new set experimentally. The machine clattered and a sort of typewritter spat out a firing solution. Gaspard raised his eyebrow.
"Well! I suppose that's why." Gaspard motioned to two of his men, who lifted the machine carefully. "Now. Let's find one of those excellent German trucks and get back to camp."
Landon's not in til November of 36: FDR needs a war in Europe. I might not have laid that out as plainly as I could. *doffs hat* My apologies.
Crickey, that's HIM?!?
Must say, I love your work Prufrock451. Especially your abilty to go from Medieval Aliens to serious Frenchies......
Duritz.
Thanks, everyone!
And once again, the only sugar frenzy in this AAR is when I drink a liter of Mountain Dew while I'm typing. No aliens, dangit! Not even a foo fighter! nothing!
And as long as we're pre-empting:
September 1, 1939
Brigadier Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins staggered in from the living room, interrupting his great-granddaughter's bridge party.
"My God, it's war! I must get my uniform!"
Sir John, being 120 years old, then collapsed promptly of a heart attack and died.
THERE! No funny! Drama!
And once again, the only sugar frenzy in this AAR is when I drink a liter of Mountain Dew while I'm typing. No aliens, dangit! Not even a foo fighter! nothing!
And as long as we're pre-empting:
September 1, 1939
Brigadier Sir John Miffling-Hodgkins staggered in from the living room, interrupting his great-granddaughter's bridge party.
"My God, it's war! I must get my uniform!"
Sir John, being 120 years old, then collapsed promptly of a heart attack and died.
THERE! No funny! Drama!
I found it funny, Prufrock
The only thing that's better than you doing a serious HOI AAR is the fact that you're doing the same country I'm playing as right now This looks like a gem already!
The only thing that's better than you doing a serious HOI AAR is the fact that you're doing the same country I'm playing as right now
This looks like a gem already!
Absolutely lovely so far. The writing is on par with published war adventure novels I've read --- not Le Carre or Clancy, but tight and well-paced. I'm certainly looking forward to more in the same vein! -
Wow, this is really great. Are you a professional writer?
If you aren't ... you really should be.
If you aren't ... you really should be.