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AAR: The Fall and Rise of the Free French!!!


Zeres

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A distrought Molotov Enters Stavka HQ

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Stalin and his general are huddled around a large table with a map of Mexico on it.

"You see, so after we take Vera Cruz the Capitalist pigs will whine like dog!"

"Oh yes! A great Idea Sir!" said Zhukov

Molotov interupts

"C-c-c-c-comrade Stalin, the F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-french have invaded Belgium!"

"Really?" asks Stalin.

"Y-y-y-yes Sir!" replies Molotov

"Damn! They beat me to it! I told you that Billote was dangerous!"

"What should we do sir?" Asked Zhukov

"Hmmmmmm, invade Finland! Yes, im sure they havent thought of that yet!"

"E-e-e-exc-c-clent ch-h-h-hoice sir." Said Molotov

"Shall i call upon the f-f-f-fool Mannerheim?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" shouts Zhukov. "He is much too dangerous. He may invade us!"

"Us s-s-s-sir?!?!" whimpers Molotov.

"Yes us"

Meanwhile across the Karelian Isthmus

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"Is the defense ready yet?" Asked Mannerheim

"Yes Sir, we are ready sir!" replied his aid.

"Good,good, good, Tell me, does that Bolshevik Bastard Stalin really think I am going to invade Vladivostok?"

(Laughing)" I think so sir."

"Ahh I love these Socialists...."

And Mannerheim went off to the sauna.

[ November 01, 2002, 05:26 PM: Message edited by: Carl Von Mannerheim ]

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Chapter Four

Summer 1940:

The fog was rolling in over the midlands. A light drizzle hung in the air and chilled their bones. It didn't feel like summer. They were at an undisclosed location near Manchester, walking down a country road. Thank god for the mid-lands. The industrial heart of England and out of reach of the terror bombing. Monty produced a small silver flask, took a stiff swig, and handed it to Belly.

A distant roar from above in the distance. They turn their heads upwards and watch the beauties go by...SpitFires. But even with research picking up, the promised upgrades had not been delivered.

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(Too bad we can't do anything but get shot down!)

Belly coughs, he's not used to the stiff Brandy of the British general staff. He imagines Goering gloating with his cronies, drinking his priceless wine collection in his Paris apartment. He sighs....and mumbles softly "At least I had time to shread all my papers"

" What was that Belly?"

"Nothing. Nothing important anyway"

"Industrial production is picking up nicely but it's a shame about the fighter airplanes. We have plenty of pilots but they get shot down before they can learn to fly!"

"Well have you put any thought into my Algerian plan?"

"I don't see any alternative really. I will commit all available resources to your African adventure. All three of our carrier groups are in the Med. We have Two battleship groups here up North and a Cruiser Group and they are more than a match for that farce of a German navy.

"Do you think Hitler will take the bait."

" I'm certain of it....I bet that pizza loving lap-dog is in Germany, as we speak, begging Hitler to save him from himself."

"Well at least the Italians will be good for one thing....Target practice for your pilots!"

The toxic twins stumble up the road to the gates of an old English manor. Officers from Monty's general staff were running down the driveway toward them.

" General we've been looking all over for you."All hell has broken loose." "For the love of god, my wife is in London".

" Pull yourself together Liutenant!!!". "That's an order" ( Monty had always wanted to say that and had finally gotten his chance )

Monty and Belly stepped wearily into their temporary HQ. It looked more like a wake. the Queen of England was on the radio:

"We are facing the greatest crisis in the history of our country". " Martial law has been declared". " All women and children are being evacuated from Southern England"." Rest assured we will find them a safe place,far away from this wretched display of barbarity."' There has been a horrible loss of life"." but we must stick together....We are all a family now"." God Bless you all..""In the end we will prevail... I promise you. WE WILL PREVAIL!"

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(Will London rise out of the ashes?)

London had been burned to the ground, not a building was left standing. 500,000 Londoner were dead. When will the Americans wake up? To call the German reaction to the raid "overboard" would be an understatement. The 10'th, 14'th and 8'th armies had occupied Italy along with two Panzer groups. An air unit had been dispatched to Albania. Bock and Runstedt had taken defacto control of Italy's armed forces. Italy was officially a "puppet state".

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Monty turned to Belly "Well, I suppose they did take the bait."

Belly didn't think he would ever truly appreciate the British infatuation with ironic humor. One of Belly's aids handed him a message from Admiral Rambeau.

"The Luftwaffe SUNK MY BATTLESHIP!!"

F.M.E.F evacuated Bari just in time. They were down to 1/4 strengh. The British fleet regrouped around Malta with the last of the Free french navy, Admiral Rambeau's cruiser group.

It was England's Darkest hour.....or was it?

[ December 20, 2002, 12:51 AM: Message edited by: Zeres ]

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In the Garden, outside the Whitehouse, 1940

Up at dawn,

Crawling in his garden,

His weathered hands turning the soil with a hand spade,

Was Roosevelt, Forehead as deeply furrowed as the soil around him...

"When am I going to get a decent night's rest. So much is going on within the country and across the globe, that peace could not be found in sleep anymore, only here in the soil of the earth.

And it was getting harder everyday to find any types of peace."

Digging...

"WHAT was Churchill thinking!" Roosevelt thought, "Going along with France and invading the Low Countries. Even though there has never been any love lost between the French and Flemish. Why did Winston, condone that course of action. Have they forgotten the propaganda aimed at Germany during WWI for invading Belgium. History forgotten is History repeated. Damn them!"

Pulling a weed...

"If only Winston, my friend, had not committed troops to this folly. It was hard enough to push through policies backing France and England, against that madman Adolph Hitler.

But, now it's become an effort worthy of Prometheus."

Breaking a dirt clod...

"The country was divided enough before this fiasco. Now the Neo-Nazis have found a voice. Good thing J.E.Hoover is in charge of national security, He said he would take care of that minority, and i trust him. But, sometimes you have to wonder about that man's priorities."

Cuts away a dead twig...

"Winston, You have got me hopping mad with your scheming, and now you want the USA to finance your war. This Lend Lease bill may cost me the election, but I have to help my friend Winston. Right now I just hate that man. Nevertheless, we need each other, and he knows it. Using the Phrase "Arsenal of Democracy", to get his way. Sometimes I feel so used and abused. It does have a certain ring to it though."

A sound

Err, Umm, Sir?

Looking up...

"Mr. President, Time to ready yourself for the Joint Chiefs Briefing in the War Department."

Oh! Yes, of course, just thinking to myself...

Grabbing that last hand full of rich dark soil and feeling it slip through his fingers he scans the men through the shadow of his floppy garden hat.

A smile crosses Roosevelt's visage while crawling on the ground, even as embarrassment crosses the faces of his aids.

Upon reaching the Wheelchair... Roosevelt thinks...

"Normally Eleanor would be here to help me, but she is off raising funds and support for what will be the political fight of our collective lives. Besides there are worse things in life than crawling on the earth while President."

Pulling himself up and into his wheelchair? Arms like iron bands, legs like rubber bands...

Adjusting and allowing aids to push him in a regal manner towards the White House.

Roosevelt ponders his next moves like a chess master... wishing they would go faster.

"So little time is allotted for our lives to make sense. Churchill may have meant well, but how does one convince a people set against war that the Germans and Italians are the enemy and not England and France. Appeasement did not work in Europe before this conflict. Aggression this early is not helping to gain friends to the Allied cause.

Oh, and Japan, what is to be done about Japan."

Continued...

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(Yes I'd like to leave a message. Please tell Mr Roosevelt that Ambassador Cohen called again. Thank you! :D )

Ambassador Cohen was on mission impossible. There was simply no way to convince the American's that the attack on Belgium was nessicary. They were too far away from it all, the war was being watched on news reels by teenagers, eating popcorn before the feature film started. They were two steps removed from the horror.

But what would their reaction be to the German fire bombing of London that had cost 500,000 causualties? Cohen was furious. They just didn't understand that Fascist's were underminding the stability of France and Belgium even before the war started. We had asked politely to fortify the positions facing the Rhine. And Belotte had been clever enough to know, after seeing what had happened in Poland, that the Maginot Line was useless. We wanted to save the Belgians.......but they wouldn't let us. They had :mad: cowed to Fascist bullying. The Belgians had betrayed France, They had betrayed democracy.

Cohen had a shoestring budget and a shoestring staff. A tiny office, A type writer and a secretary. But the phone wasn't ringing and he had no appointments.

[ November 02, 2002, 02:51 AM: Message edited by: Zeres ]

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Stalin opens up the Moscow times. And is shocked to see:

FINNISH AIRMEN DISPLAY NEW WEAPON

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"Great Lenin's Ghost i knew it!" Exclaimed the tyrant "They know im allergic to cats! They are invading Vladivostok!"

With that he rushed to the phone

"Zhukov! Move the bulk of our army to Vladivostok!"

"Oh no Comrade? Is it the Burmese?" replied Zhukov in a worried voice.

"Even worse."

"The...Finns sir?"

"Im afraid so."

With that Zhukov hung up and rented a house onthe crimea for the winter.

"This Mannerheim is crafty....." muttered Stalin.

Meanwhile, across the Karelian isthmus:

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"Gentlemen, our spys have found 'Comrade' Stalin's weakness, we suspect we have delayed the attack on our country. Let us defend our land to the Last man!"

to be continued

[ November 01, 2002, 09:37 PM: Message edited by: Carl Von Mannerheim ]

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A second leutenant opened the night's third bottle of fine wine, he no longer kept track of the vintage, while the Reichsmarshal pressed a switch and started two sets of electric trains running along a complicated course. He'd brought an oversized team of carpenters in from Germany to build it hurriedly in the basement, just off the wine cellar of Belotte's former apatrment.

"Herr Reichsmarshal --"

Goering turned and took a glass from the steward who then went to his guests, Luftflotte Generals Kesselring and Sperle and Air Marshal Milch.

"Gentlemen, to our continued success."

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All nodded, glasses held high, and began drinking. It was a night of great celebration and triumph for the Luftwaffe.

"This inept Frenchman Belotte, at least he had good taste in wine, herr Reichsmarshal."

Goering nodded, his attention focused on the toy trains racing round the track, the he touched the switch again and they came to an abrupt stop.

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"Gentlemen, what is an individual Englishman? -- (no ventures) -- A simplistic fool. Now what have you with two Englishmen?"

"Twice as many simplistic fools?"

"Sperle --" he shook his head in mock disappointment and the others laughed.

"No, Sperle, with two Englishmen you have a club. Now, what do you have when three Englishmen get together? -- (no guesses) Goering shrugs, "An Empire -- go figure!"

Another round, more laughter. "Yes, gentlemen, a toast to our provider of fine wines, general of the French rabble -- I mean, army, Belotte."

They drink heartily and start upstairs for dinner with Goering deliberately in the rear.

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"Seems that French gentleman left more for me than his wine."

"Decadent art?"

"No Kesselring, no, no smiling Albert, I'm afraid we'll not be viewing any naked nymphs tonight, my friend."

"Don't keep us in suspense Hermann."

"Always the impatient one, Milch. Well, the Frenchman left here in an awful hurry and behind him were left heaps and heaps of shredded paper beside the furnace. Right down here, if you can imagine it."

Anxious laughter echoed down the stairs. Goering allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

"Yes, quite amusing, no one lingered to see that any of it was burned. I've had my boys piecing the strips back together and photographing the reconstructed pages. After dinner I'll read some of his thoughts to you. They're really quite amusing. You'll see. Quite amusing."

* * * *

Away from his wine, model rail roads and other pressing activities, Goering travels to Finland to ride on a big train and listen to some Sibelius with our friend, Carl.

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[ November 09, 2002, 08:37 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]

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Benito Mussolini doodled nervously on he pad at his big desk in the big office while Count Ciano, his son-in-law, placed the next 78 r.p.m. in the Vivaldi "Four Seasons" album on the turn table and a moment later the leisurely "Summer" movement filled the room.

"Pappa, beautiful recording, isn't it?"

Il Duce nodded and pressed the pencil firmly till the point broke and he threw it against the wall.

"Something is bothering you, Pappa."

"No, I'm feeling jubulant! Of course something is bothering me. The people laugh at the sight of my posters, those miserable Huns have made me the laughing stock, sending their uncouth legions without my invitation and --"

"And you must admit, they drove the British out of Bari and liberated the south."

Duce bit his lip poutingly.

"Pappa, look what they've done to London, one must admit, if nothing else, they certainly are good at what they do, which, unfortunately, is mostly killing and maiming."

"Yes, yes, and measuring skulls -- look (pointing to the sides of his head) I'm still bruised from where that Austrian mad man pressed his ridiculous ice pick. Science, science my ass! I started out a Neo-Nordic type nine, whatever the hell that is, and wound up a Near Arryan Type six, and I repeat, whatever the hell that is. Lord knows what 'scientific' classification I'd have had if I'd stayed another day or two."

Ciano laughed and, a moment later his father-in-law broke into an expansive grin, shaking his head, "An ice pick -- Please, Lord, spare me that man's science when he starts measuring a man's sausage and meatballs!"

Ciano bent forward, it was refreshing after his conventional upbringing to be around a man of the people, a man unafraid of healthy vulgarity.

"And now they are to send this newly promoted Field Marshal, this Kesselring, this pilot to 'assist' me in the Mediteranean."

"It is not so bad, at least he speaks Italian."

Duce lifted his chin, "Even as I speak German."

Ciano shook his head, "No, Italians will be able to understand Kesselring's Italian."

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[ November 06, 2002, 09:14 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]

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