JerseyJohn
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Posts posted by JerseyJohn
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-- Photos to be posted here --
"JJ"
[ November 03, 2002, 04:44 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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-- Photos to be posted here --
"JJ"
[ November 03, 2002, 04:43 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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RicKhan --
Likewise, really enjoyed your Roosevelt gardening and his thoughts. Hope to see more of it soon.
I'll also be slowing down now that the wife has put me and the computer on the sidewalk -- luckily we have a long heavy duty extension cord and an equally long telephone line. Also lucky it hasn't begun snowing yet.
So, thanks to this forum Zeres is getting married and I'm on the verge of divorce -- it's amazing how these things level off in the final tally?
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-- Message to Rick will be omitted and photos to be posted in it's place -- "JJ"
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[ November 03, 2002, 04:43 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Martinov --
Tried your basic scenario with German U-Boat set at L-2 and British sonar at L-1 with the following initial results:
The two starting Atlantic U-Boats, after sinking shipping for two turns in the Canada region, were found by 1 French BB initially, and 1 British BB and one British aircraft carrier the following turn, both subs were heavily damaged but survived, fleeing south each at "1" stregnth point of their original "7." Not sinking shipping, they were not found on later turns and managed to limp into the Bay of Biscay after it fell to German control.
To me that was a success and I recommend using those settings (Sub L-2 & Sonar L-1) instead of Subs L-4 & Sonar L-0.
The rest of the scenario plays well. Denmark and Norway were invaded between Poland and the Low Countries, all with good results.
The USSR has an unfortunate tendancy to prepare for war during the Spring of '41, which wouldn't be realistic -- they were utterly unprepared at the time (due largely to the purges) and, far from preparing for war, Stalin was pulling preparations back so as not to provoke a nazi invasion. Didn't notice the USSRs initial settings, if it's zero then it ought to be neutral with the proviso that it gets turned to Random sometime during the Spring of 42 -- I still don't buy the idea of a Soviet preventive war, but it's a game concept and all that.
In North Africa the Brits (as AI) attack Tobruck with an armored and army unit, hit it for a few turns, don't manage to capture it and turn around again; not unreasonable. Perhaps if the Itais hadn't ventured into Egypt in 40 and been cut to pieces (outflanked and forced to surrender en mass when their source of WATER! was cut off, and simply remained fortified in Cyrenica, as the Generals advised, the North African campaign would have proceeded this way.
It's a more than reasonable assumption and reflected in the scenario -- on the other hand, if the Brits (as human player) want to go nuts on the issue, committing air fleets and aircraft carriers, I'm sure Italian Tobruck would indeed fall, so to me you've achieved a good balance.
Among the other changes or levels settled upon were: Soviets, British & Germans each get 2 research chits; French and Italians 1 each; Americans 4.
Germans Jets L-1 (changed from L-0).
A Good Scenario, historical and fun as well.
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One of the top German fighter aces, Karl Ebbighausen.
[ November 06, 2002, 09:24 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Hitler and Franco presumably before their meeting on the French Border.
[ November 06, 2002, 09:21 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Canaris had been right, if the Spaniard had been enthusiastic before it certainly was not in evidence now.
The Fuhrer sat pensively twitching, he couldn't help it now. It seemed the meeting had been going on for hours and they were further than ever from reaching an understanding. What was worse, the Spaniard sat quietly at the table, looking irritable in his dress uniform, almost as though he had a toothache and some minor official nobody knew did all the talking.
"So, what you are saying is this: we allow you to send your guns here, bombard the stronghold, and it will be Spanish troops running up those slopes being slaughtered by the thousands!"
Colonel-General Jodl thumped the table, "No -- what we are saying is this, we will set our siege guns up behind your entrenchments and pound Gibraltar till it is little more than a sand dune. Your brave Spanish troops need not fear spilling their precious blood because no Englishmen will remain alive to fire at them."
The Spanish official sneered skeptically, "And these bases in the Canary Islands you desire -- what do we recieve in exchange? Do we get Algeria and Tunesia -- no. What do we get in return other than the right to cede territory to the Reich? So, instead of growing larger we will grow smaller -- or is there some other formula for measuring acreage in Germany?"
The Fuhrer seethed but could not look up, could not bear to see the expression on Keitel's face, the expression that said, 'please, have this Spanish underling removed and shot first and begin the discussions anew afterwards.'
A nervous twitch in his left leg, perhaps the long forgotten memory of a war wound, and the Fuhrer could no longer restrain his anger.
"You gain the further good will of The Reich. You gain entry into the Pact of Steel, The Mighty Axis! You will be rid of the national disgrace that is Gibraltar --"
He stared right at Franco and the man didn't flinch. "Need I remind the Generalissimo that, were it not for his good friends, the Duce and myself, he would not now enjoy his present position -- would not now be ruling in Madrid, would at best be rotting in that desert ****hole we found him in or, more likely, have been shot two years ago as a traitor!"
Still, the generalisimo hadn't budged. Instead, the underling continued.
"Yes, yes, we will have the the priveledge of joining the 'Mighty Axis' only to see landings on our homeland as Italy has --"
"And they were driven out again with the help of the wehrmacht, a force which, I dare say, can enter either as a friend or as an enemy."
"Well then, if we are being threatened --!"
The room fell to total silence. The underling was breathing heavily, no doubt aware he had crossed the line, had pushed things too far. And still Franco sat passively, not even making eye contact.
A short while later the underling continued, this time in a calm and diplomatic voice. "Even the failed landing in Southern Italy produced great ruin and hardship. As you know, we are not a wealthy nation; our people have only recently suffered the ravages of a ruthless and bloody Civil War. That we owe the great nations of Germany and Italy a tremendous debt of gratitude there can be no doubt. But we are afraid, in the nations's present poverty and social instability, even a mishap along the lines of Bari would be ruinous to our ultimate cause. None the less, we shall always be great admirers of the Fuhrer and friends to the German people of the Might Reich."
Hitler gave Franco a final glance and still he only sat staring blankly.
-- --
Ribbentrop rubbed his right hand slowly back and forth against his mouth, "Yes, this is all quite puzzling. Perhaps, mein Fuhrer, if we waited a while and met with him again in the --"
Hitler shook his head angrily. "No, Joachim, I would rather have all my teeth pulled without anesthetic than meet again with that man!"
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-- Photos to be posted here --
"JJ"
[ November 03, 2002, 04:39 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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The Fuhrer smiled broadly. Ah, this man Canaris was a wonder -- everything was in order for the meeting on the French border.
"And he understands?"
"Yes, mein Fuhrer, he understands and says both he and the people of Spain are eager to be rid of the British stronghold that has held them hostage these past two centuries."
"Excellent, Canaris, excellent!"
The admiral nodded, then frowned and turned away.
"What is it, Canaris, what is troubling you?"
"I am hesitant to say it, but perhaps I must."
"Yes, by all means you must, whatever it is. There can be no secrets from your fuhrer."
"Well, perhaps it is the Latin temperament. I have known the Generalisimo for quite a long time and, frankly, I have seen him been full of enthusiasm for a project one day and dead set against it the next."
Hitler's lips tightened into a straight line. His right hand clenched and unclenched involuntarily with mounting anxiety.
"Perhaps, Fuhrer, it is nothing, perhaps it is only an impression, the unfriendly manner of those priests that are ever present; or the British embassy people who spend so much time going in and out of his courtyard. Ah, it is nothing, mein Fuhrer, it is only the needless worrying of an old sea dog who has been too long on dry land."
The Fuhrer twitched unresponsively.
--- ---
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The Generalisimo was a man of stregnth without being overly large. He grasped the Admiral's hand with near affection and tilted his head in a smile. No need for a translator, this was one German who's Spanish was a pleasure.
"Canaris, I can not tell you how good it is to see you!"
"Thank you, Francisco, and I you. I trust everyone is well."
"Yes, with the Grace of Jesus."
Canaris smiled affably, of all the fascists the Spaniard was the only one who lapsed into altar boy phrases. The only one who said prayers before dining and the only who knew God would surely look over and protect him.
A moment later they were alone in flower garden, a modest stone table was set with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
"So, my old friend, am I correct in assuming your boss, the corporal, has not sent you to Madrid to sit in the sunlight and sip wine with me -- I understand he does not drink himself?"
"No -- in fact, it is 'no' on both questions."
Franco shook his head, what to make of a man who doesn't indulge even a little wine drinking?
"The Fuhrer says he is disgusted that Britain has been allowed to control a part of mighty Spain for so long a time."
The Generalisimo stiffened a bit, "Yes, the very symbol of an impregnable fortress -- a mountain of solid rock that has been fortified and refortified and --"
"Yes, it is impregnable, perhaps even as impregnable as the Maginot Line."
Franco frowned, "And where is my Belgium for outflanking this monstrosity?"
Canaris nodded sympathetically, "Perhaps a few battleships would help diminish it."
"What -- the Italians? And who should protect them from those British aircraft carriers?"
"No, what the Fuhrer had in mind was land battleships, or at least their guns. He is prepared to offer the use of the wehrmacht's heaviest siege guns. They are quite huge and impressive. As an authority on these things I can assure you of this."
The Generalissimo smirked, "The actual assualt would have to be done by Spanish troops."
"Of course."
"Yes, of course."
The admiral poured another drink for each of them. "And it goes without saying the hardy Spanish people, even after all the suffering they have endured these past years of Civil War, will have to bear up to the fact that more suffering will follow, that war is not a picnic, and there will, beyond doubt be suffering a plenty when Britain and perhaps some future ally reorganize and begin settling old scores."
Franco put his glass back on the table.
"Please, speak plainly, my friend."
"Your pardon, Francisco, but my intent was not to be cryptic and I'm quite certain my message was not lost -- excellent wine, by the way."
"And if I don't join Germany -- do you think I have any illusions, even for a moment that the Pyrannies are any more protection to Spain than the Maginot was for France?"
Another sip, Canaris weighed his words carefully.
"Armies relocate, my friend. What had been north of you just a few months ago may be sitting somewhere very far off even as we speak."
Franco's face became relaxed. "You truly are a friend to both myself and the people of Spain."
A toast, glasses clinking.
"Also, the corporal wishes to meet with you, he wishes for me to help make the arrangements. Is that agreeable with you?"
"Yes, yes, by all means. And afterward I shall return home and pray for his lost soul."
"And mine as well, my old friend, mine as well."
Another toast.
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[ November 07, 2002, 12:11 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Hitler stood by the wall-sized window and gazed at the countryside, the idyllic mountains and valleys and wondered if this brilliant land based admiral could truly be trusted. Perhaps he was too much the genius, too devious. A man of many languages, he'd simply learn them and think nothing of it; perhaps a man who only spoke good honest German would be preferable.
He left the house slowly, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr -- the armed forces intelligence service -- sat patiently on the low stone fence of the great patio. When he saw the Fuhrer he rose to his feet and saluted. Not the full arm out salute of a Heydrich, no, it was the casual salute and head nod that did not quite fit with the National Socialist manner.
"Admiral, your trip was a pleasant one I trust?"
"Yes, Fuhrer. As always the scenery was wonderful and the trip a pleasure."
Adolf nodded, changing to his serious face.
"I have called you here, alone, because I need to draw on your special relationship with the Spaniard Franco."
"The Iberian countryside is very lovely this time of year."
The fuhrer nodded again, damn him and his condescending remarks.
"Yes. The Generalisimo must honor his pledge and enter the Axis. He must remember that, were it not for the Duce and myself he would probably have been put against a wall and shot two years ago. Yes, that Spaniard, he must be --"
Canaris nodded, "I understand, mein Fuhrer."
Adolf allowed himself a relaxed expression, "But by all means, do not beat him over the head with it, put it diplomatically. Tell him this is the perfect time for Spain to regain Gibraltar and we are eager to help him attain that goal."
"Yes mein Fuhrer, I'm sure he will see things our way. It is only common sense."
Adolf smiled. "Yes, it is, isn't it!"
[ November 07, 2002, 12:13 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Hitler socializing with two of his other friends; Tzar Boris of Bulgaria and Hungary's land locked Admiral Horthy.
[ November 06, 2002, 09:19 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."
[ November 06, 2002, 09:14 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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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."
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.
"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.
"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.
[ November 09, 2002, 08:37 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Yes, a really great film and everyone played their roles perfectly.
There was another HBO drama on Churchill at the outbreak of war, no doubt you've also seen it, liked that very much as well, especially where he's bickering with his man's man about consuming too much of the "house brandy."
Another very good one, HBO, is "Conspiracy" with Kenneth Baunaugh portraying Reinhard Heydrich and Stanley Tucci as Adolf Eichmann conducting the Wansee meeting.
There was an idiosynchratic thing on Hitler presumably in Hell dictating his final memoirs to an SS man. Except, of course, he doesn't know that's where he is. Can't remember the name, but I enjoyed it even though it's about the screwiest thing imaginable.
Anyway, looking forward with equal eagerness to either the struggle of the Brits here, or your Winnie/Stalin entries for the French. Glad Rick is taking the Americans, that ought to be a hoot.
[ November 03, 2002, 03:13 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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-- Photos to be posted here --
"JJ"
[ November 03, 2002, 04:35 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Same here -- highly enjoyable.
There was a documentary series aired in the U.S. a few years before Churchill's death called, I believe, "The Valliant Years." The narration was either written by Churchill or some using his style and was narrated by Richard Burton in an excellent imitation of Churchill, who was very, very old at the time. I'm not sure if it's commercially available anywhere but if you come across it, assuming you haven't, I think you'd find it very enjoyable. The footage was also great. Should you happen to have info on it please let me know as I'd like to see it again, this time a bit older.
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Three Luftwaffe pilots awarded The Knights Cross, center the fabled fighter ace and combat commander, Adolph Galland.
[ November 06, 2002, 09:03 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Goebels wrenched his hands to indicate consternation and bent closer to the microphone:
"That the unfortunate British people should have to endure such suffering due entirely to the gangster Churchill and his fellow scoundrel, Franklin Rosenfeld, is a terrible thing and we do not rejoice in it.
"Why, I have in my hand even now reports on the terrible English suffering; Plymouth, Kaput! Hampshire, Nein! Portsmouthen, Ist Sheister now! And for Dover -- it ist all over!"
He sighed and brushed back a tear, such horror, Nordic fighting Nordic, and for what?
"And what of the loss in brave but misguided British airmen? Just Yesterday it was nine hundred spitfires and four thousand hurricanes that were confirmed, and nobody knows how many attemtemted to seek refuge from Churchill's tyrany in Ireland. But to what result, it was learned by our agents that immediately afterwards the villain Rosenfeld replaced those losses, smuggling in another fifty thousand spitfires and hurricanes built in America in violation of their neutrality claims."
The audience became visably agitated.
"Yes, yes, Rosenfeld is perfectly willing to fight to the last drop of British blood."
The audience, all in uniforms of one sort or another, grew pensive. A matron of the League of Nordic Virgins jumped to her feet, screaming hysterically, "Down with Rosenfeld and America, down with Churchill and --" restrained by fellow virgins and her children, she was led, sobbing from the hall.
Goebles nodded, satisfied, "Yes, our sister is right. Hear our pleas poor misled American dumpkofmenchkin, oust that scoundrel Rosenfeld and his boring wife while you still can."
The audience broke into applause.
"And as for you, my betrayed British friends, why do we continue to fight when we could all be on the same side, inflicting our way of life on other, non aryan sub-human-menchkenmunchkin!"
-- -- --
Hitler and Mussolini listened quietly to the broadcast. When it was over Eva and the staff entered with snacks and switched the channel to a live broadcast of Wagner's lost masterpiece, only recently discovered and revised by maestro Furtwangler, "Liebchkin und Meidchkin in Der Vaterland Nazi Paradise."
Mussonini, despondant till now, perked up. Psuedo Wagner always enlivened him and afterwards he'd always pop a half-dozen aspirin.
"Fuhrer, the Italian people must do somthing to reclaim their tarnished honor."
Adolph nodded. The broadcast began behind them, a quiet melody, not unlike "Way Down Upon The Swanee River," was subtly introduced by the trombone and trumpet sections augmented by brass cannon and tubas.
"Fuhrer, this time tomorrow you will march in our Victory parade on the streets of Zurich!"
The fuhrer nearly dropped his tea and sprang forward, "No Duce, please -- no!"
"And why not, I will not march alone and --"
"I mean, not Zurich. What's wrong with, say, Athens -- why does it have to be Zurich?"
"Furher, it must be Zurich because --"
The color left Adolph's face. "My favorite bankers live in Zurich, understand?"
Il Duce frowned, he was confused. "They can continue living there, that would not be a --"
"No, no, you don't understand -- we wish for Switzerland to remain just as it is, no Italian victory parades, no battles, just coo-coo clocks and chocolates and banks with secret numbers."
Duce frowned. Adolph hated having to rein him in, but sometimes the man was really impossible -- conquer Swizerland, what was wrong with retaking southern Italy instead!
"Benito -- I'm sorry I --"
But Benito turned away, he was really hurt.
An uneasy silence followed, then the Fuhrer had an idea -- yes, Der Fuhrer knew how to cheer up that big bambino, he had something right behind his chair that neihter of them ever tired of.
"Benito -- "
"Whaddyouwant."
"Don't be mad, Benito."
"Not mad." But he pressed his hand tight against his clenched jaw, like he always did when he was ticked off.
"I got something for you, Benito."
Duce turned slowly, his face opening in happy grin when Adolph reached behind his easy chair and produced the new deluxe head pincers Borman had gotten him.
"Duce, can I please measure your head once more, I think perhaps the guage was off this morning."
"Okay, only not so tight this time."
Benito removed his cap and bent forward. It seemed he became more Nordic with each reading.
"Such a beautiful skull. Perhaps later, after the war, you can have your march through Zurich."
Duce sniffled, "Okay --"
"Now hold still, measurements must be exact."
"Okay, only not so hard with the points, right?"
"That's it, nice and still. Such a lovely beautiful skull -- don't move, Science is a tricky thing and we must be exact."
[ November 09, 2002, 07:58 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Adolf Hitler and Gross Admiral Erich Raeder undoubtedly in a Baltic Sea Port.
[ November 06, 2002, 09:00 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Getting back to Berlin was a relief; one can stand only so much of French decadence.
On the first day home Hitler and enterouge viewed a new film from the United States, "The Grapes of Wrath," which the fuhrer enjoyed immensely.
"You want to know what those mutts are about -- there is your answer, it is all in that film. A bunch of half-starved landless nomads, a paradise turned into a desert through the mismanagement of a bunch of fatherless mutts and --"
Hess broke in with a blank, confused expression on his face. "Perhaps if one of us went to see them, talked some sense to them."
The fuhrer straightened, "Talked to who, the Americans? Why would we want to talk with them, they don't even know their own skull measurements!"
The discussion was disrupted with the noisy entrance of Goering, his face rouged and powdered, carrying his jewelled baton and wearing his newest creation, a lavender uniform with rhinestones to be worn only in the presence of party buddies.
"Fuhrer, (a quick, contemptous glance at the others), Toadies -- good day. I have great news that will make us all rejoice."
Goebels looked up attentively, "We are all ears, herr Reichsmarshal."
"And well you should be. Fuhrer, in hotly contested action yesterday my luftwaffe utterly destroyed the British ports of Dover, Bristol, Hampshire, Portsmouth and Plymouth, or whatever they now call those ruins. In doing so my men shot down 700 spitfires and 3000 hurricanes, losing just one Stuka, and that to mechanical problems. A great victory for the Reich!"
Hitler smiled approvingly, "Seven hundred spitfires and 3000 hurricanes --!"
The Reichsmarshal drew back, a bit defensively, "Six hundred and fifty spitfires we are certain of and over two thousand hurricanes! With the loss of only a few odd stukas and Dorniers and Heinkels and Junkers, mostly to foul weather and mechanical breakdown."
Hess stood at attention, "The British are our cousins, it is horrible to have destroyed so many of their cities in a single stroke."
Goering wiped his brow, "Inflicted much confirmed damage upon Dover and shot down five hundred spitfires and over a thousand hurricanes at the cost of only a few hundred old bombers and aging stukas and some --"
Ribbentrop grabbed his attache case, "Surely they will be pleading for peace after this great victory. I will look into it at once."
The Reichsfuhrer seated himself and began mumbling, "Loosed tons of bombs on Dover and shot down at least forty spitfires and fifty hurricanes at a cost of a mere. . .."
Gross Admiral Raeder leaned forward, "Excuse me, herr Reichsmarshal, the accustics in this room are poor and I am not quite clear as to the actual figures. Would it be possible to hear them again? The Kriegsmarine should like to know these things as we are eager to launch Sealowe."
Another American film began playing, a western.
The fuhrer sighed, perhaps he was giving too much credit to John Wayne, but he detected a resemblence, perhaps they were cousins. If only he had the man's skull measurements.
* * * *
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***
[ November 13, 2002, 02:52 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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With the war in full swing Der Fuhrer finds himself travelling endlessly. A candid shot by Eva Braun catches him in melancholy thought. He asks her to destroy the photo and negative, she says she will, but lies and keeps it.
Between military capmaigns he visits the Reich's major cities and tells of his desire for peace and the warmongering Churchill's refusal to negotiate.
[ November 09, 2002, 06:58 AM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]
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Flash --
Against England advanced Rockets can just about reach London from the northernmost hex triangles of Flanders. When I used them there they were surrounded by luftflottes L-3 and the RAF was already shredded. Three rockets wiped out the London garrison enabling the invading troops to march through the city while the longer ranged aircraft helped attend to the Royal Navie's counter attack.
The rockets appear are at thier best against Malta and Gibraltar and along the Black Sea coastline, where they can help reduce Odessa, then crawl east with new targets always nearby.
They were a great help there, sinking the Soviet naval unit after wiping out the Odessa garrison, then doing the same to Sevastapol from the northern shore -- a particularly bit help as the place is fortified and a harbor and would have required three armies and an HQ to otherwise reduce. Then they helped gain the Doenitz and Rostov, crawling all the way, finally being operated to the Urals front after Moscow fell.
Personallay, despite their slow movement, I love rockets, but they're next to useless till at least L-3.
AAR: The Fall and Rise of the Free French!!!
in Strategic Command 1
Posted
Marshal Philipe Petain, the eighty-five year old hero of Verdun, stood at the podium wondering what to say.
That sneaky little fellow with the mustache, Pierre Laval, had introduced him a few moments ago, something about one of them being president and the other vice-president, but he was not quite certain whether he was one or the other.
All so confusing, he noticed that other sneaky little fellow, General Neysey sitting off with the officers. Oh yes, he was the new commander of the Armies of France, or something. Yes, now he remembered.
He remembered how, before retiring, he used to sit at high command conferences and argue endlessly with Neysey about the horse being obsolete and how the tank and motor transport were the future of the French Army. Then, one day not long before his formal retirement, he suddenly found himself aggreeing with that little fellow. Horses were, after all, friendly creatures a man could pat on the snout and talk to. They were useful, too, hauling things, and in their wake they left fertilizer. Besides, everyone knew France had the finest stables on earth for raising cavalry mounts. He remembered voicing all these things, and then they had him sign some papers and he was happily retired.
God -- all that had been years ago!
But they were waiting for him to speak now. He gulped some water, then stood upright and began:
"Soldiers of France. Once again the boche is at our doorstep -- their barbaric marching songs echoing across our borders but fear not for I, Marshal of France Philipe Petain shall again lead you in battle and --"
And two men were leading him from the podium amidst polite applause.
"Was it a good speach?"
"Yes sir, a very fine, rousing speach."
And the other added, "If you will pardon me, Mr Presicent, sir, perhaps a bit late and in the wrong war, but a fine speach all the same."
Petain sat smiling. Wonderful, he hadn't lost his touch. Yes, and soon he'd have another birthday. Let's see, this year he'd be . . ..?
At the podium now was General Neysey, recently recalled from his post in Equatorial Africa to assume command of all Vichy French forces.
"My fellow Frenchmen. As the great Marshal Petain has even now reminded us, we are once again at peace, but it is an eneasy one with the traitor Belotte still at large and conspiring with his friends, the adventurer Churchill and his caddy, Bernard Montgomery. We must be prepared for anything. I have, therefore, called for the training of five thousand extra cuirsaires and an additional five thousand lancers. May God continue to favor us and may he enable us to hunt down the vile Belotte, butcher of Brussels, and bring him to swift justice, for it is only then that we can restore the honor of our beloved France."
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[ November 02, 2002, 09:22 PM: Message edited by: JerseyJohn ]