History, Politics And Current Affairs

Preface: Another bits and pieces update.


Chapter 207


7th March 1942

Somewhere Aberdeen

Two low level Civil Servants were sitting in the room while they waited for the various lords and masters to return to the room.

“Five quid says the Frogs will demand half of Berlin again.” said one of them.

“You're on.”

For some minutes only the sounds of tea drinking (even though it was horrible war-time tea) and the smoking of the last pre-war cigars could be heard before one of the men spoke again.

“So what about your son, Sir Micheal?”

“He wants to follow his father it seems.”

At that point the ministers and Ambassadors came back inside.

The Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary led, followed by the Ambassadors of the Commonwealth Dominions, the Polish, Belgian and Dutch Heads of State. The French were nowhere to be seen, and that was part of the problem. No one said it out aloud, but the French still had great power pretensions which had in reality disappeared the moment the Germans had hoisted the Swastika on the Eiffel Tower, and it was now hurting their position. The other non-Commonwealth Allies had adapted to the political realities and knew that the British were the only remaining big player in Allied Europe, as damaged and weakened as they were at the moment. The New Empire was a massive Superstate and no one among them could hope to match the British in any form, so it was best to accept and carry on, because Allied victory meant liberation of the homeland, and having the British call the shots was a small price to pay.

The French being French were less than pleased about that. They had relented and placed a French Expeditionary Army under the command of the Allied High Command in Italy at the price of having a special liaison Officer at Field Marshal Alexander's Staff, and grudgingly accepted the 'Germany first' strategy, also working together on Naval patrols.

Due to this the French expected to be entitled to special privileges and had expected to be awarded with an occupation zone almost as large as that of the British that would include several key industries that would most certainly find their way to France eventually. The French had ideas about fully de-industrializing Germany, whilst the British and along with them most of the Allies wanted a Germany that would be able to carry it's own in the Future. The ten year plan that the British promoted had actually originated from a Belgian military study group that had started work at the behest of the Belgian King who had decided that rekindling old Anglo-Belgian ties was in the best interest of the Kingdom and had submitted the plan more out of courtesy and as food for thought for the British Government. Much to his surprise he had been asked to grant an audience to Field Marshal Gort whilst wearing his hat as the Commander in Chief of the Belgian Armed Forces and had been asked to convey to the Belgian Government in Exile that the His Majesties Government had studied the Belgian plan and had decided to adopt it as the official British position barring unforeseen circumstances. As such it was also presented to the rest of the Allies when the negotiations had begun. No matter what the final occupation zones would be it called for a thorough de-nazification even at the expense of the German apparatus of Government that would be rebuilt from the ground up anyway using carefully vetted persons, even though other ways might be faster. The British PM however was sometimes still haunted by the Versailles treaty that with the exception of the Emporer had left the German systems alone and that had borne the seed for the war the Allied Powers were fighting right now and was desperate to solve the German Question once and for all. The French had the same intentions, but their ideas were that stripping Germany of every conceivable piece of Industry and splitting it up into at least seven different statelets would do the job better. Admittedly there were some things speaking for that in the short term, but the Prime Minister was realist enough to know that total defeat of the Soviet Union was unlikely given the distances and the fate of past invasions, and therefore a strong western Europe was needed and that could not be done without a reasonably strong Germany that was a firm democratic power and member of the Allied camp.

Around that the negotiations revolved, and when the French had begun to realize that, unlike they had expected, the British were not willing to make concessions to please their allies on political grounds, and that was again something that acted as a painful reminder that the partnership with the British was no longer one of equals but rather that of a big brother with the rest of his siblings. When that had been rammed home to them by a blunt but informal remark passed on from a senior aide to the head of the French delegation who had simply asked how the weather in Paris was today, they had taken to re-starting the arguments about Berlin and southern Germany.

Churchill and Eden of course understood that the French were not doing this out of spite, but the foolheadedness of the French was something that would in later years be compared to a head-vs-wall situation. However in 1942 it was simply called in words too explicit to use here. The British were very much aware that they could not totally overrule the French and especially not in public where any apparent cracks in the united Allied front had to be prevented from being seen. The negotiations dragged on and on and it seemed to most of those involved on both sides that there was little chance of coming to an agreement anytime soon. Concessions had to be made to bring this charade to an end and soon the Foreign Secretary had the unenviable task of explaining to the poles why they would not be allowed to help with the occupation of Pomeria, as there the rights of the French occupation authorities would be extended to full control. The French were still smarting over not getting the rest of the Allied panel to accept their proposal for a French client state in the Saar Area.

When it came to rebuilding the German state and society the French in the end were forced to agree with the Belgian plan, so it was decided that no more and no less than ten years after them dropping out of the war the Germans would have their country back. Adaptations to the warplan were still made, chiefly that the planned dissolution of the British Expeditionary Force Headquarters was scrubbed and two Indian Divisions allocated to it to aid the French in driving into southern France which would always be a secondary theatre, whilst the biggest single British field formation in Europe in the person of the 8th Army would drive into southern Germany. Privately Churchill felt that two Divisions were a small price to pay if it took the French off his back and placed the French Expeditionary Army somewhere where it could do some good and fought with all possible motivation. Navally the Mediterranean Sea was made the main responsibility of the Marine Nationale since the Mediterranean Fleet was stripped down to HMS Barham, HMS Anson and HMS Renown along with some heavy Cruisers, while a reinforcement Squadron, consisting of HMS Prince of Wales, HMS Repulse and HMS Hood (labeled Force Z) was dispatched to the Indian Ocean to relieve the Carriers there from the tedious duty of conducting defensive patrols and relieved at least the Lusties and some of the new Implacables of the British Pacific Fleet for raids and patrols in the Dutch East Indies where a Japanese attack was expected any day and to keep open the Sea lines to Australia and New Zealand where the Royal Australian and Royal New Zealand Navies, together with the Royal Netherlands Navy would have trouble facing the might of the Imperial Japanese Navy alone, given that the heaviest ships were HMA Ships Australia and Canberra were as Heavy Cruisers the heaviest ships even though the ANZACs together with the Dutch had a sizeable Cruiser force overall.

Luckily Operation Jubilee didn't require any Naval involvement and went ahead. The French were uninvolved, the main burden would be carried by several Regiments of the Paras, the 7th British and 1st Polish Armoured Divisions and an assortment of Belgian, British and Polish Infantry, the latter only a part of the 1st Polish. Also involved was the independent Polish Airborne Brigade, even though only indirectly. For the purposes of this Operation the units that made the first attack would be organized in XXX Corps and train, train and train.


Meanwhile the Germans and the Soviets were conducting 'negotiations' of their own. With the British apparently contained and Italy going nowhere, especially now that the Soviet Forces had been strengthened to almost double what had initially been deemed sufficient to defend it was time in the mind of Josef Stalin to set eyes elsewhere. The Germans seemed to have the situation in the west well in hand and when he had another meeting with Hitler, this time in Moscow, he revealed that the Soviet Union would conduct a new operation come spring and the snow melting in the far east and announced that he was going to attack Japan and China. Technically he did not have to actually tell the German Führer beyond informing him since there would be no troop withdrawals, but since this would eventually allow the Red Army to attack India from the north some very frightened STAVKA Officers had dared to suggest that it might be advisable to ask the Germans of their opinion since this might, no would most certainly force the British to withdraw a large number of their forces from Europe as the NKVD, the GRU and STAVKA estimated that the British had very little in the way of a strategic reserve left that was not already in the field.

Rommel was less convinced and worked his men hard laying literally millions of mines on the Axis side of the no mans land between the lines. When Officers complained that the men were tired out and could not be trained for anything while laying mines Rommel stated repeatedly that the selection was between being tired and dead, and so the minelaying continued and would influence the course of the battle in the near future, even though this was primarily a German concern.

The Soviets on the other hand concentrated a large part of their attention on the Far East. The warlord State in Western China was a Japanese Dependency just as much as the Republic of China itself was and had only been kept there in order to ease the administration of one of the largest countries in the world. Their Army was feeble and the commander of the Central Asian front was convinced that he could smash them before the National-Chinese and the Japanese could move in troops, and then only the feeble British troops in northern India would stand against them, the four Divisions of the North-West Frontier Force under Lt. General Montgomery.[1] Of course tanks, the biggest advantage the Soviets had over the Japanese and the British in Asia would not work there, but Mountain troops that had been scraped together from everywhere in the Soviet Union would do most of the Fighting and they would brush aside the weak and decadent British, never mind the Japanese.

Manchuria was another spot where the Red Army would attack with three pincers that would smash the Kwantung Army and allow the Soviets to sweep down towards Korea and eventually threaten the Home Islands themselves, all part of a master plan to turn the Soviet Union into the top power of Asia. At this point in the war Stalin was realist enough to know that the Soviets would never be able to actually take the Home Islands but bombing them into dust was an at least somewhat realistic objective. Due to the distances involved the German contribution would only be a single composite Luftflotte operating out of airfields around Vladivostok, using aircraft shipped and supplied via the Trans-Siberian Railway and modified to take Soviet bombs. Hitler had insisted on contributing and had overruled the Luftwaffe leadership that had sidelined the increasingly irrelevant Göring who was spending all his time at Karinhall doing things that respectable Officers did not talk about and had not been seen in Berlin and the RLM for almost four months, essentially leaving the Leadership of the Luftwaffe to his deputies. Göring was despised in the service since he had done nothing but looting the museums of Europe clean, even Hitler had become disillusioned enough with the man that he was no longer trying to get the former fighter ace to perform his duties.

Stalin had been impressed that even the one Luftflotte had been operational that fast, considering that the Red Air Force was finding it uncharacteristically difficult to become operational even though this was being worked on. It wouldn't be long now, not long at all.



[Notes: The next regular update will be better once I have the time to sit down and think about what I want to do instead of performing this sort of improvisation.]

[1] It's the most arse end position I could post him in.

Chapter 208

9th March 1942

Northern Italy, outskirts of Bologna


Bologna was the largest Italian City in allied hands north of Rome and a supply hub for the Allied forces besieging the central part of the Gustav line. The Italian civilians in the city had adapted to the immense number of soldiers from all the countries and of every imaginable colour, in fact there were so many of them that they almost drowned out the natives in spite of the irregular artillery fire from the Axis side of the line. Many of the Italians had fled in one direction or another. A great many abandoned houses and flats were now billets for the Officers that served either in the rear area services in the city itself or sometimes in the units that were stationed around it. The Officer now driving down the road towards the Italian Headquarters of the Polish Forces in exile would have been entitled to a modest flat himself for he wore the rank insignia of a British Colonel, but one look at the stripes on his chest and the tankers beret on his head in spite of the weather quickly convinced any onlooker that this Officer share accommodations with his men in the field. The Armoured Forces had it better than the Infantry in this respect, especially in this sort of rest area, because they were usually stationed where there was infrastructure and for him and his men this had resulted in a barracks that had one belonged to the Ariete Division and was now home to the British 7th Armoured and the 1st Polish Armoured Divisons. The Colonel in question was of course Colonel Niemczyk and he was not on a visit but rather a meeting with the rest of the Division's regimental commanders and that of the 1st Polish. It was a strange thing, because both Divisions were quartered together and holding the meeting there would have made more sense, but the General had insisted that it was to be held at the headquarters of the Polish Forces. The meeting was not to take place for another two hours, but the cook at the Polish Headquarters made curry that was to die for, and he wanted to eat to his heart's content. He would ask about what happened and...

The strand of thought was cut off as Artillery shells began to fall everywhere. Shelling was normal, the Germans had at least three railway guns up north but this, this was lighter Field Artillery! Jan instantly decided to forego the meeting and turned the Landy around even as the street around him erupted in shell impacts. He raced back out of the city towards the barracks were someone apparently had already raised the alarm, since the smell of diesel fumes and the roar of Meteor Engines was evident. Most of the two Divisions was dispersed around the area, but this here was where two Regiments of them and the staffs were located, so when Jan stepped inside the main building after blatantly ignoring the pickets that asked for his papers he could see the two Generals already studying maps.

“What's this circus all about, Sir?” Jan asked.

General Maczek answered.

“It seems that the enemy is attacking us with the intent of capturing this lovely town and driving us back towards Rome at the very least.”

Jan was startled but his face did not show it. He took a few seconds to collect himself and then asked another question.

“Any news on where, and enemy strength?”

“It's a bloody mess up there, all we know is that a large Armoured Force is involved. Before they broke the 1st Belgian Infantry reported a huge number of Panzer IVs and T-34 coming at them, and since we are Corps and sector reserve at the moment we have been tasked with stopping them.”

The Polish General held out a map towards Jan.

“Here is everything we know so far.” Even as the British Colonel turned and left without asking to be dismissed he heard some more. “More as it comes in over the wireless.”


Outside the 2nd Royal Hussars and the 24th Polish Lancers were preparing to move out in what looked and was organized Chaos. There had been no leave for several days so the men of the two Regiments were all present, for they were probably the most experienced and disciplined armoured Regiments in Italy (he refused to use 'elite') and he did not have to check to know that all of the men were there. He raced his landy trough the beehive of activity that was the camp towards the Regimental CP in an empty warehouse where the Italians had once stored spare parts for the contraptions they had called tanks and saw to his satisfaction that all of his Officers were already eagerly waiting for him. He went over to the table and dispensed with the pleasantries.

“Gentlemen,” he said and laid out the map on the old box that had one contained a tank engine. “As far as our new boss, General Campbell, could tell me the enemy is breaking through our lines almost dead north of here, it seems that they are intent on depriving us if this piece of real estate. We can't have that of course, and because of that us and the Lancers have been ordered to go forward immediately to about here,” he indicated the spot on the map, “and stop or at the very least delay the enemy as much as possible until the rest of the Corps can me moved in.”


Major General John Charles Campbell, newly minted Commander of the 7th Armoured Division


Jan paused and looked at his Officers in turn. “I hope you realize that we could come up against an untold number of enemy forces, there is simply no telling yet what they are throwing against us.” He paused again. “Any more questions?” Silence. “Good. Then let's get moving. Dismissed.” He stepped outside and his men followed.

As he began to walk over to where Battleaxe II was parked under a camouflage net the air was filled with more than meteor engines and diesel fumes, there was a roar coming from above. Jan looked upwards and was terrified when he saw that a immense swarm of German Ju-87s was diving down at them one after another. Forgetting all sense of dignity he began to ran past one of the Divisional Anti-Air troops AA Crusaders began to spit out 20mm shells towards the diving Stukas. When he reached Battleaxe the drone of their sirens was deafening and the first bombs began to fall. As he climbed the hull he realized that the tank was already moving towards the road that led out of the compound and by the time he closed the hatch, Battleaxe was already swirving onto the road and racing towards the exit. All around them chaos reigned surpreme thanks to the intervention of the Luftwaffe, but by the time the sixteen german planes had dropped their bombs the general direction was outwards to where the unit commanders could sort out their troops.

Still, the Stukas had achieved their goal, the mobilization of the two Regiments was seriously disrupted. While Jan and his counterpart sorted out their units with strength, orders and profanities the three German Divisions that led the counterstroke that was to gain the Germans Bologna and later perhaps even Rome drove southwards as hard as they could against scattered but extremely determined resistance by the Belgian Infantry that had recovered from the shock by then and fought back savagely. By mid-day, 12:11 to be exact, the Germans had covered the distance between the forward Axis positions and the outskirts of Bologna. By that time however something else had happened: The 2nd Royal Hussars and the 24th Polish Lancers were deployed in the outskirts of the town. Most of the three Infantry Divisions was tied down, but the four Panzer Regiments were amply supported by Infantry, whereas the two allied Tank Regiments went to battle virtually alone, only a company from the South Wessex Light Infantry had been found in time. Both Colonels had spaced their tanks in the outskirts of Bologna facing north. Jan was in overall command since he had seniority and a VC under his belt, and that carried a lot of weight even with non-Commonwealth units. Ambush was the name of the game. Let the Germans think they had won and close in and then smash their IV's to bits with superior firepower. Overhead at least five or six Squadrons of Allied Fighters were converging, so no more surprise Stuka attacks. Battleaxe II was placed behind what had been a car workshop that was situated behind a bend in the road, the barrel just so peeping out between the workshop and the next house allowing the tank to conceal itself quickly by putting in the reverse gear. Jan was standing in the hatch and looked at the Germans as they advanced. Behind him light and irregular artillery fire was turning more of the city into rubble but he ignored it. His eyes were firmly on the Germans, and now, only a few more moments...he grabbed the wireless microphone that connected him to the rest of his impromptu command. He painted a mental map. The two Tank Regiments were strung out along a line along the outskirts of the city and beyond. To get into Bologna the Germans would have to cross the river that lay between them and their destination, and he knew that the five or six spots where tanks could cross easily were all zeroed in by Artillery. However if this morning was any indication then he chose not to rely on it being available.

The Germans were a good bit in range now and he was just about to give the order to fire when somewhere along the line first one then several guns discharged early. “Oh goddamn..ALL UNITS, OPEN FIRE!”

He closed the hatch behind himself as he sat down and watched the battle through his optics. The Germans had been caught in the open just as they attempted to cross the river. The Panzers soon pulled back and Jan could see at least half a dozen of them burning merrily away. He called for Artillery on the retreating Infantry, but Badger Six (as Divisional Artillery was known this month) did not answer, and the RAF liaison Officer was nowhere to be found, so there was nothing he could do but watch as the Germans pulled back briefly. When they realized that no retaliatory death from above was incoming, the Infantry soon made another try at forcing a crossing.



Here the German superiority in Infantry came into play. They knew that they had to force a crossing and get into the city before the Allies could put reinforcements on the Battlefield, and the disregard for the danger and the casualties they took from the South Wessex Company and the tanks that fired the few HE shells that they had. The British Infantry was hastily dug in around two houses that covered the easiest for that had probably been in use for decades and the burning Panzer in front of their position told a tale, but less than fifty men were pitted against almost two Battalions of hardened veterans that had crossed the Rhine, the Meuse and countless smaller rivers and creeks over the years of war. They had taken less than half an hour to pull themselves and now they were conducting an improvised river crossing. Jan watched it with fascination and he had to admit that these Germans knew what they were doing, he had to admit that. They were crack troops, that much was sure. By the time they had begun engaging the South Wessex position again the Panzers reappeared and began to engage the Allied tanks hidden away, and by now they had a good idea as to where they were. The Allies began to take serious losses but fought back. Down near the ford the British Infantry still fought back, but the Company had been seriously understrength to begin with and now they were taking losses they could ill afford, only around fifty were still in a condition to fight. The Germans circled around the houses in an effort to catch their enemy from behind and Jan once again wished that he could make contact with the Artillery or the Air Force. He realized that he had become too dependent on the other services and he vowed not to let that happen again. Right now he just watched the catastrophe unfold, unable to do anything because the Tanks had a lot do do fighting off their German counterparts. Both sides began to take losses that would take a while to replace – not that it would be the last today.

Then, one and a half hour after the second crossing attempt the fighting at the two houses died down and in spite of the harassing fire from the few tanks that were not too busy with other things and a few lonely mortars that had found their way forward. Jan, still in command, realized that he was going to be overwhelmed and forced to withdraw sooner rather than later when the Germans began to bring more Infantry across and the first Panzers began to move towards the crossing.

“Time to get out of here.” He switched his throat microphone from the internal system to what normally was the Battalion curcuit and said:

“All Badger Units, fall back towards Halt Line Red Five, I repeat...”

He repeated the order five more times before giving his driver a simple order. The Gunner fired a last round that even killed a Panzer IV as it was about to cross one of the other fords and then Battleaxe II moved backwards, using the rubble of the buildings for cover.

“How are we doing, Gents?” Jan asked.

“We're down to nineteen HEAT. None of the other types have yet been used. If we can resupply tonight we should be fine for now, Colonel.”

“Good.”

The Allied forces withdrew deeper into the city and conducted a fighting retreat through the streets, turning even more of the city into rubble. Near the city centre and the main church the surviving tanks of the two Regiments made another stand. Here their smaller numbers did not matter as much because there were only so many directions the Germans could come from, and the hedgehog positition with which the Allies defended the Square proved to be unbreakable. The Germans could neither bring in Artillery because they would more often than not hit their own troops and the Stukas were grounded because by now every Fighter Squadron in Northern Italy had sent it's airworthy planes to the Battle area and sheer force of numbers had given the Allies Air Surpremacy simply because the local Luftwaffe Commanders had not believed that the Allies would surge their fighters forward like that and risk them to exposure. By the time they had realized their mistake (about the time when the ground forces pulled back from the edge of the city) the enemy already had so many fighters all over the Battle area that any more sorties would most certainly be smashed.



The dogged defence began to pay dividends because Major General Bauer, in charge of the attack, began to get nervous because he knew that if he did not manage to take Bologna quick, his most forward formations would be caught fighting in the city from which they would be hard to extract if or rather when the Allies attacked his dangerously exposed rear areas that were only defended by the three reserve Infantry Brigades that he had decided to leave behind. Pockets of Belgian Infantry that refused to surrender, stragglers and diehards made that spot as dangerous as it was already and now in front of him the British and Polish Tanks that held the town centre refused to budge.

Three more attacks were launched that afternoon but when the sun began to set, the Germans pulled back. The tankers that had fought for their lives throughout the day did not know why and were understandably puzzled when suddenly fighting died down everywhere, but soon they would find out that the Dutch 1st Infantry Division and accompanied by the also Dutch 2nd Tank Brigade launched an not ordered counterattack against the rear areas of the Germans with the intent of cutting off their advance units in Bologna. Eventually that attack failed, but it coerced Bauer into pulling back.



The battles of this day would later be significant in two respects. Not only was it the last combat action of the venerable Ju-87 Stuka Divebomber, but it also turned out to be the last serious Axis attempt at throwing the Allies back. From that moment onwards Rommel, later joined by Field Marshal Kesselring would be too busy to defend against various Allied attacks to do much advancing themselves. Aside from localized counterattacks the Axis forces would never gain make a serious attempt to regain the initiative.



[Notes: Can you tell that I had the time to do this properly?]

Very nice; now a VC, that's very generous.

Your avatar got that a while back during Lybia. Awarded by the King himself no less.

VCs generally are awarded by the Monarch. That now means that a Field Marshal has to salute me.

I wrote that charming little scene where your avatar is shipped back to the UK (I accidentally typed that it was in Lybia, in reality it was in France) and your Avatar was waking up in the hospital surrounded by wife and kids. The award process was expedited since a morale boost was needed and the King just stepped in and pinned it onto his chest.

Chapter 209

8th March 1942


Upper Worthington, North-East England, United Kingdom

It was a perfectly ordinary village like so many all over the British Isles. It stretched along a tiny and rather insignificant creek and had, according to the Vicar who was in charge of local history, developed around a waystation at a fork in a road that dated back from Roman times. It was not much more than the church, a few dozen houses, the local pub, a small constabulary with one constable and the house in which official bussiness was conducted, the basement of which also housed the local newspaper. Two roads going in different directions and a water mill, and all that in a village in which roughly three-hundred persons lived. The war hadn't touched them yet except with rationing, the blackout and some of the younger men going off to war. For the most part the Farmers in and around Upper Worthington were planting vegteables and grain, selling the Lion's Share to the Government which then in turn turned it into rations for the troops at the front. Sometimes troops also marched through, the 51st Highland Division on it's way south back in '40 was the most famous example in 'recent' days.

The calmness and lack of anything that reminded people of the hassle and the constant presence of the war farther south and farther north. Right now the adults and older adolescents shuffled out of the village church and prepared themselves for the walk home. The crowds mingled on the churchyard and as was usual used the time to gossip and simply spend time with their friends. Normally this was the time when the young ones were bored to tears and wished they were able to steal themselves off like their older siblings who in turn used this time to do the things their parents had warned them off. Normally that is. Right now those that weren't on some sort of war work (mostly helping out on the farms in the area) simply used the time they had left of the day for doing absolutely and perfectly nothing. Most of the boys, young and adolescent talked about how they would join the Army, Air Force and Navy once they were older but a few were not so hot on going off to fight. Charles Davies was one and he had already run off from where his mates assembled themselves. This time was not because he simply didn't want to be there but rather because he was going home. As usual in the Summer, his parents had sent him to his uncle's farm to get him out of the way of the war, and now he was going home. Now the air-raids had almost completely stopped even down south and his parents had cabled him. He was going home. At the moment he was going back to the farm where his few possessions were already packed since Friday. He was bookish, and around here that didn't make him too many friends amongst the others of his age, with sixteen most boys other things in mind. He on the other hand was utterly unable to speak when a girl was even in the room. His books on the other hand did not mock him for being skinny and ginger. As he walked past the congregation he could hear how the doctor discussed the proposals for a unified 'National Health Service' in England, Scotland Wales and by extension at some point also in the colon...Imperial Dominions, all after the war – by the time he slipped out into the street he had the doctor that this would result in Government appointed panels deciding who got live-saving surgery and who did not.[1] The whole thing was based on a leaked report that apparently had been supposed to be a White Paper later that year. Charles was probably the only one in his age group in 10 miles distance who even knew or cared about that, but the leg braces he had worn for almost six months just before the war had honed his senses towards these things. Dumb luck breaking both of his legs at once.

He shook his head and decided to run the last forty or fifty yards to the farmhouse. There his Uncle who had not gone to the church today and instead cared for a calving cow. Right now he had just stepped outside to say goodbye to his nephew whom he loved to bits, since it was the only child of his extended family that was not off to war. His own son served at Singapore, and nine more of the extended Davies clan were dotted all over the services. He was as patriotic as the next man, he had a picture of the King hanging in the kitchen over the door and the flagpole was, as usual for him on Sunday and other special occasions, flying the Union Flag, but he still wished that his son and all the others came back right now and in one piece. His Nephew was the youngest of the bunch at the moment and he feared that sooner or later he would be called up too. War was no stranger to him, he had served four years in the trenches and had seen it when the tanks had broken through at Cambrais, he had 'gone over the top' more often than he dared to remember, and if the stories that filtered back were true then this war was a whole other level of fierce. So he hugged his nephew, told him to write and sent him off.

Said nephew shouldered the bag that contained his things, checked for his gas mask and his papers to be there and simply sat in his seat as the horse cart, driven by his Uncle's only farmhand. Charles turned around and saw his Uncle waving even as the Vet approached from down the road.

Once at the station and in the train, Charles buried himself in a pre-war edition of “War of the Worlds” and forgot the world around himself. Time passed as the train raced south-west towards Manchester where he would have to switch trains and take a regional to Liverpool. He didn't notice much of the world around him up until the train came to a halt in Manchester's battered station (thanks to a meeting between a Spitfire and a stray Soviet TB-3 that just happened to fall on it) where he just so managed to disembark from his train.
“Two hours of layover. Great.” he grumbled to himself as he dragged his things behind him into one of the waiting rooms. On the side of the waiting room was the entrance to a British Restaurant, but without his ration book (which he would have to reapply for once back in Liverpool) he could not buy anything, never mind that the food was horrible.[2] When he was sitting in the waiting room he looked around for a bit. He had finished his book already and didn't feel like going through his suitcase to dig out either his Hornblowers or Christies,[3] so instead he observed the people walking to and fro in the station. Military was most prominent, maybe because several north-south connections ran through here and because there were many military bases on the West Coast. Liverpool itself for example was one of the major embarkation ports for troops going to Italy and port of entry for those coming back from the front. Much of that was Navy and Air Force, the majority of the Army was in the south, where the Government expected any invasion attempts to take place. If even half of what the papers wrote about the Navy's exploits here in Europe was true then this estimation would most likely be correct.

“Is everything in order?”

Charles looked up and saw a police constable standing there and looking at him.

“Oh yes, Constable. I am just waiting for my train.”

The Constable just nodded and walked away as he shook his head. That young man had looked so perfectly lost that he had almost been forced by his compassion to ask. People like that were all too common these days, even though the RAF did what it could.

Charles had already forgotten the encounter and was slowly falling asleep.

He only woke up when the last call for his train sounded through the station, and he had to scramble to reach the track in time. In his compartment he was just as bored again, but here the time was too short do start reading again, so instead he took up a newspaper he found in the compartment and decided to do the extensive collection of cross-word puzzles that it contained. He liked doing them and soon was engrossed in it.

'Submersible military watercraft'

“Submarine.”

'German Metaphor for dive-bombing aeroplane'

“Stuka.”

'Last known location of....'

It went on like that for almost an hour and as the train stopped at every regional station (of which there were many), but soon enough he felt his hairs prickling like they always did when he was about to enter the city of his birth. Anticipation was building and by the time the train came to a stop on platform 9, he was already standing near the doors and stepped out as soon as he could. Outside the travellers were finding their own friends and family, but there were only two persons that remotely interested him: his parents, and there he could see them, waiting and waving.


Meanwhile on the other side of the city someone else was conducting a business rather less pleasing.

Detective Inspector Hunt was sitting in his office and doing what he had been doing whenever not burying himself in work. The picture of his son with the black ribbon was sitting on the cheap desk and was almost mocking him with the cheery face Andrew had made when it was taken. It had been three years after the death of his wife when his son had volunteered for the Army, and it was six months now since a German sniper had taken his life in Italy. Hunt felt desperately alone, and all that gave him some semblance of mattering in this world was his work. He was already too old to be called up for the Army even if his hadn't been a reserved occupation to begin with, and that gave him solace. He rose from his chair and automatically reached for the pack of cigarettes that normally lay there, but he cursed himself when he remembered that he had smoked the last one three days ago and had somehow not yet found the time to waddle from shop to shop to get his ration of tobacco that no one seemed to have, all thanks to...

A timid knock on the door took him from his reverie and his Sergeant poked his face in. With a mixture trepidation and compassion in his voice he said:

“They found a body, just like the one from last week.”

Hunt looked up and said:

“They sure?”

“Pretty much, Boss. The constable described the signs, and they fit. I spoke to him myself on the phone, trying to keep him from puking on the body.”

Hunt grunted and he rose from his chair without another word. He grabbed his coat on the way out the door and didn't bother for DS Jackson to follow. He almost ran down the stairs past those that worked here on Sundays down to the garage where he had parked the most precious possession in a police man's inventory: his car. It was just a very old and slightly broken pre-war Morris and he only used it when he had to, but according to the words Jackson was spewing out as fast as he could the crime scene was on the other side of the city, and going there on foot or by train was simply unacceptable. And anyway, the petrol ration for the month hadn't been touched yet.

The men got in and the car made it's way through the streets of Liverpool.

“Give it to me again, bit by bit.” Hunt said as he stopped at an intersection to let a small procession of children pass.

Jackson went through the details. “Amongst other things hanged as with the last time....”


Once they reached the given location Hunt had to manoeuvre the car through a relatively large collection of bystanders, but the horn took care of that. The coroner was already impatiently waiting for him while a visibly shaken and unwell PC who was holding the door closed. Introductions and pleasantries were exchanged before the PC then opened the door. The smell that came at Hunt and Jackson was very, very revolting and the PC almost immediately stepped back. Hunt had seen many a gruesome things in his day, but here even he felt the gorge and bile rising in his throat.

“Jesus bloody Christ, I'll never get used to this...” Jackson said.

A very gruesome and taxing hour later they were standing in front of the house where the police had cleared away the bystanders and tried to catch their breath while keeping their food down.

“Who does something like this not once but twice, boss?”

“We will find out, dear chap, we will find out. Eventually.”


[Notes: A little bit different from the usual, but I think the change of pace is quite nice. And yes, I am going somewhere with this.]


[1] No political implications here, it's just that this part of the discussion in America is the one that makes it over to our side of the pond most often.

[2] The British situation supply wise is so much better than OTL. The RN had slightly more escorts to begin with, the French Navy is fighting on and the German U-Boat force is not being expanded since the Kriegsmarine fell from grace and even struggles to maintain numbers as they are. As a result from that rationing is slightly less strict, and rations are slightly larger.

[3] Of the first I have read all, of the second only the most famous ones, with the exception of 'Murder on the Orient Express' which I am still going through.

Small nit, English villages would not have a mayor. They would also probably only have a single constable who would live in a police house.

It shall be corrected.

No probs, a small village might have a parish council, but the post of mayor, rather than say Lord Mayor, or Lord Provost, is quite unusual in the UK before the last decade or so.

Chapter 210


'Operation Catapult was an improvisation of the highest order, thrown together within days at the behest of a Government that was desperate for good news from the Far East. Nevertheless, it worked, it did what it was supposed to do and I am bloody well proud about my part in it.'

Captain 'Sam' Beattie, 1944


22nd March 1942


The South-East Asia Area Air Fleet of the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service was the largest such formation by a fair margin. The Carriers and the smaller Northern Area Air Fleet covered the Northern Pacific, but here a larger formation was needed. Countless of small islands and countless places to hide a ship, never mind prowling British Carriers, made sure that a great part of that Air Fleet would be patrolling the area. It was expected that later on almost half of the Air Fleet would assist in the defence of the newly Japanese East Indies against the expected British and probably also American counterstrokes. Torpedo planes and bombers were just waiting to pounce on any British ships that dared to challenge Japanese mastery over the area, and right now there was a buzz of activity on a multitude of airfields in Southern Indochina and Siam as reports had come in that the British were moving a heavily escorted convoy through the Straits of Malacca to their fortress at Singapore that had yet to fall. The 25th Army was exhausted and would need to be resupplied before they could attack the fortress in earnest, and the British knew that as well as anybody it seemed, because now they were rushing in everything in the way of supplies and men in an effort to strengthen Singapore that was obviously doomed to fail. The Squadrons of the Air Fleet were loading up their bomber and torpedo planes that had worked oh so well against the Phillipines and in the first battle against the Americans. Intelligence was sketchy, only the report of two Submarines of 'large, lightly escorted convoy' and neither of these Submarines had reported in since. The Surface Fleet had no major units in the area at the moment, they were busy escorting the big attack against the Dutch, so the honour of attacking this convoy had fallen to the aircraft. The first wave was of course preceded by several H6K Flying boats that were tasked to find the convoy. These had taken off hours ago when it had still been almost dark since they would have to take the long way around to avoid British and Dutch Fighters that operated around Singapore and they had reported the convoy where it was expected to be. Now the G3Ms and G4Ms of the Fleet began to take off in Squadron order and were vectored towards the suspected position of the enemy convoy

Opposing them was a convoy of twelve Freighters loaded with everything from Artillery ammunition to foodstuffs, and indeed the close escort was as thin as the Japanese had reported, only Force Z[1] and HMS Belfast who had been dispatched earlier that week with two Destroyers to guide the Convoy in, but also, and probably most importantly, three Aircraft Carriers, HMS Illustrious, HMS Implacable and HMS Indefatigable who formed the Distant Escort Force. The carriers had been detached from Force A which, under the command of Admiral Cunninghams 2IC would make their way towards Australia on the southern route. Force Z and Force A were tasked with helping the ANCAZ and Dutch Navies in the defence of the Easts Indies, something that was hard to do when one was based from Ceylon. Some in India screamed blood and murder that the fleet was 'deserting' them, but Admiral Cunningham stated that if the Japanese Navy ever had free reign in the Indian Ocean one way or another air-raids on coastal cities would be India's smallest problem anyway, and the best way to forestall that was to make the DEI an impregnable barrier anchored at Singapore and Darwin respectively. The AZACS on their own were too weak for that, and the nine Carriers that Force A had taken with it to the Far East would be instrumental for that task because of said weakness.

At the moment however Admiral Cunningham was more busy with cursing the Idiot at CinC Far East who had insisted on the convoy taking the northern route, using the prerogative of the Theatre Commander to overrule Cunningham as the commander of the Convoy. Resulting from this was a testy Admiral and a very cautious bridge grew that watched as Cunningham was walking up and down the bridge, as usual wearing his peace-time No.1s instead of regulation tropical kit. The Carriers of the Distant Cover Force were lagging back almost twenty miles with Force Z inbetween them and the Convoy, and only by sheer coincidence had neither of the snooping Japanese spotted the British Capital Ships, nor had they spotted the slow – flying Japanese Flying boats. Until now. Just as Cunningham was about to begin the 122nd round of the Bridge since returning from Breakfast when the wireless room reported that the Standing Air Patrol over the convoy (six Seafires from Illustrious) had intercepted and destroyed a snooping Japanese aircraft.

“That's torn it.”

The Admiral paused for a few seconds and then began to give orders.

“Action Stations. Tell the convoy and escorts to make best possible speed towards Singapore, and prepare to turn the Carriers into the wind.”
Bustling activity followed, but soon the RDF operators and lookouts on every ship had their eyes, electronic or not, looking for the expected enemy planes. Within minutes the three Carriers had turned into the wind and began to launch their fighters as fast as they could because once in the straits there was barely enough room to do so without running into land on either side. Soon three Squadrons of Spitfires were circling over the convoy, one more over the Carriers with the rest in varying states of readiness and reserve, all waiting for the inevitable.

The Convoy itself was keeping formation with a defence that was as deep and as layered as the circumstances would allow. Force Z and most of the rest of the escorts interposed themselves between Japanese occupied Malaya and the merchant men so that if the Japanese wanted to attack the Convoy, whilst RDF would make it very difficult at best for them to come from the other side, and in the south the Spitfires from Singapore would make that doubly hard.


The first attack was less than ten minutes away at that point, just as the convoy was passing Smith Island[2].

Coincidentally it was Belfast who reported the first contact. The attack force consisted of three waves of eighteen G4M each, and all that made for a rather large blip on the screens of the cruiser. The Air Controller in command of the air defence of the convoy immediately vectored the Spitfires in. The Japanese were utterly unaware that the convoy had such a strong fighter cover. As far as they were concerned the Carriers were still patrolling the Indian coastline and Smith Island was just a rock in the ocean. The latter was most certainly true at that point in the war, but the former would force the Japanese to pay a steep price. The G4Ms were armed with torpedoes and came in low, slow and on a straight line. The first sign of fighter opposition was when several of the thinly skinned and lightly armoured planes burst into flames when 20mm and .303 projectiles hit the fuel tanks that were not self sealing.

As expected, the first wave was utterly ripped to shreds, only two of the aircraft got even within sight of the British ships. However there were two more waves coming in, and by the time the majority of the Seafires (both those already in the air and those that had been scrambled) were turning to intercept, the Japanese were almost in a position to begin their final torpedo runs. When it became clear that this time some would slip through the net, the commander of the Close Escort Force, Captain Leach aboard HMS Prince of Wales, ordered the convoy to prepare to scatter and allowed the warships to move independently in order to avoid incoming torpedoes. The heaviest warships trained all weapons that would bear onto the direction from which the Japanese would appear, even HMS Belfast added her main and secondary guns to that. The Japanese aviators continued on their course in spite of the heavy resistance that opposed them and began to bring more and more of them down. Soon the Japanese had reached the fire envelope of the warships and the British fighters veered off as the ships began to open fire at the nine Japanese bombers that remained of the second wave. The Battleship, two Battlecruiser and the single Light Cruiser could put up an impressive wall of ackack, but the Japanese continued their approach. When they did let loose with everything, two more Japanese were instantly downed, the rest continued in. Of those four managed to release their load. The ships began to manoeuvre wildly in an effort to comb the torpedoes as dictated in the manual, but the Japanese Type 91s that were dropped that day had a maximum speed of 42 knots and had been dropped relatively close, so avoiding all of them was not to be. The only hit of that attack wave was on Prince of Wales. In a freak of war the hit was so close to the port outer drive shaft that later some would say that mere inches closer would have resulted in the shaft would have twisted and might have led to serious flooding. As it was the engineer put the shaft to half the maximum number of revolutions for safety. This impaired the speed of the ship but other than that she was fully combat capable. The other enemy fish continued on without hitting anything. For the cost of more than twenty bombers the Japanese could show exactly one torpedo hit and a slowed Battleship, but that was not the most important thing by a long shot. Admiral Cunningham was painfully aware that almost all of his fighters were either low down and struggling to get back up to height or forced to return to their Carriers due to battledamage or simply for refuelling,[3] and the Standing Air Patrol[4] over the Convoy was dangerously thin and low, effectively negating the fighter umbrella until the planes could climb to their patrol altitude again.


Prince of Wales and Repulse under attack

He felt an immense pang of dread when he heard that the RDF plots showed yet another wave of blips coming towards them, this time high and above. With all the fighters down or still climbing the high-level bombers had a clear run. Many of the pilots flying them were veterans from the fighting in China and almost all of them had fought in the Phillipines days before, so they continued in even though contact with the first two waves had been lost. Unlike the torpedo bombers they also had the time to split up into two groups, one would circle around to the north and attack the convoy from the other side whilst the other would simply go in and attack them from the bearing they were currently on. That was a standard tactic when attacking ships at sea, so not much communication between the groups was needed and as they split apart they traded only a few messages via blinker light.

Unknown to the first group their course would take them right to where the Carriers were trying to operate Aircraft and not be left behind by the convoy at the same time. Only a single section of Seafires was up and even though they attacked as soon as it was clear that the bombers were going to stumble onto the Carriers they could not divert the Japanese or even break up their formation. When the Japanese spotted the Carriers the formation initally continued on, but even as Cunningham had his ships do evasive manoeuvres half of them peeled off and and turned, some dropped bombs as they were and a very small group just continued on. What caused this breakdown of discipline was probably that like all Naval Aviators they were trained to go after the most dangerous enemy ship first, and what was more dangerous to a group of unescorted bombers than an Aircraft Carrier that wasn't even supposed to be there? The fact that they were unescorted would later turn out to be a career breaker for quite a few Officers, but a the moment it simply turned into a disorganized and uncoordinated dropping of bombs that fell all over the British formation. The carriers diverted in three different directions like a fork, making any aiming difficult.

While most damage came from near misses and splinters, one bomb hit Indefatigable's deck aft of the forward elevator. The bomb pierced the deck and impacted on the main armoured deck – without exploding. It simply shattered in hundreds of little pieces that flew around the hanger as shrapnel, cutting into men and machines alike. Several hit one of the pumps that brought the aviation fuel up from the bunkers and set it on fire. Luckily the valves on that pump had been closed and the fire was easily contained, and in spite of the cloud of smoke that billowed upwards the Carrier would be able to operate Aircraft again by the time the fleet reached Darwin, but at the moment one Carrier was out of action. The other group however had by now broken through the much weakened fighter screen and the surviving nine Japanese bombers found themselves right over the convoy and began their attacks even as the warships fired at them with every gun that could bear. A very confusing and turbulent fifteen minutes later two of the freighters were on fire whilst a third one was damaged but still under way.

This was only the first attack that would be made on said convoy, but it was the most savage one. While two warships had been damaged and several freighters sunk or damaged, some of the best Squadrons of the South-East Asia Area Air Fleet had been ravaged and would need some serious rebuilding, while in return the British had lost only nine Seafires. Indefatigable was out of action though, but the other Carriers had enough reserve capacity to operate her Aircraft until she was eventually repaired with the friendly help of the Royal Australian Navy. The Convoy itself however, while it had beaten off the worst air attacks of the unprepared Japanese, would still take losses from both the smaller, piecemeal air attacks from the Japanese Naval Air Service and the Army Air Force but when the Convoy finally did enter the HMNB Singapore South only three more freighters were destroyed, fewer than most had expected.


In the aftermath three things happened, for one the men of Singapore had a massive boost in morale and a even more civilians could be evacuated to Australia using the empty freighters and warships, secondly the South-East Asia Area Air Fleet was out of action for almost a week which delayed the initial Japanese attack on the DEI by at least several days, allowing the Dutch, Australian and British Navies to pull themselves together and face the Japanese thrust at least somewhat prepared when it did come. Thirdly the commander of the Air Fleet was 'invited to use the garden'[5] even though it was not his fault that the Secret Services had failed to provide him with the intelligence that the British were risking three of their Carriers on the northern route, most likely because it had come from a source that was run by the Army and so the people in charge had decided that the Navy did not need to know.

The British reaction outside of Singapore was predictable and would eventually lead to the story of the convoy being turned into a warfilm later that same year. The Americans on the other hand soon saw themselves forced to react too. Their expedition towards the Phillipines had been scrubbed at that point and the APN Pacific Fleet was doing circles around Hawaii while Washington tried to decide what to do. In the end it was down to either a Carrier Raid by the massed force such as it was on the Japanese Naval Base at Truk or simply sitting around doing nothing and defending against any Japanese moves (that would eventually come, unknown to anyone but the Japanese High Command) until the People's Republic Class was available in greater numbers. Admiral First Rank Grear was pressed by both public opinion and his political leaders in Washington to do something, but refused to be pressed until at the very least he could bring overwhelming force to bear, and that meant to wait until the Pacifica and the Rocky Mountain (both working up along the West Coast and waiting for the remainder of their air groups) would join the fleet in mid march. Until then the task of fighting back would fall to the Air and Submarine Forces. The main effort there would be to mine the waters around the Midway Islands using flying boats from Hawaii that would also occasionally drop bombs. This avoided the impression that America was sitting around twiddling it's thumbs while the British Imperialists fought hard against the Japanese Fascists and also prevented the Japanese from turning the Islands into a base from which they could conduct attacks of their own, not only against Hawaii and the Fleet but also against Alaska which was lukewarm member of the UAPR to begin with and where a show of strength on the side of the enemies of the Revolution had to be prevented at all costs.

The first phase of the Far Eastern War was about to end with a bang one way or another as the different sides and factions prepared themselves, and in Tokyo, London and Washington alike anticipation rose.




[Notes: Oh yeah. Running the gauntlet. For the Japanese taking Sumatra or preventing such resupply convoys will be difficult at best since most of Sumatra and the Straits are within easy fighter range from Singapore, even though the Island is a bit light on actual bombers. For the moment the British can move ships in the Straits relatively free and without hindrance. Also remember, the Implacables are more an Essex-Class looking like an Implacable than the OTL Implacables. ]


[1] HM Ships Prince of Wales, Repulse, Hood and five Destroyers

[2] Remember that.

[3] These are relatively early-model Seafires. They still have that range problem.

[4] That goes into the dictionary.

[5] From what I've heard, Gardens were a preferable location for committing Seppuku because of their natural tranquility.

Nice work, I think that you handled fighting a convoy through to Singapore very well.
Btw have you read ABC's book? I've got it out from the library at the moment and it is incredibly detailed.

Thank you, thank you.

Unfortunately non-German WW2 memoirs are either not to be had at all here or for a whole lot of money.

Pity because it is worth a read. No chance of ordering it via the local library?

Unlikely, but if you were so kind and would give me the name, I could have a try.

'A Sailor's Odyssey' by Admiral of the Fleet Lord Cunningham.
A good library should be able to get it through inter-library loan; I'd have thought that there should be at least one copy of it in Germany.

Thank you, I'll have a look.

Chapter 211


23rd March 1942

A pub in Liverpool, just after closing time


DI Hunt was happy that his good friend still allowed him and the blokes from the station to use the pub after hours for 'private gatherings' and right now Hunt and Jackson were sitting there over a glass of very rare pre-war Whiskey that the owner kept hidden away for special guests and occasions, and when they had arrived there an hour earlier the look on their faces had told him that they needed a stiff one, even though it was only eleven in the morning.

“Almost a month, and NOTHING!” Hunt yelled and slammed his fist on the table with enough force to send everything on it rattling.

“Nothing but that spent .303, Boss.”

Hunt snorted and downed the rest of his drink.

“Death by Squaddie sounds a bit strange in the report though, and a bit too easy to boot.”

But it was all they had. The second murder scene had been searched for anything that even looked like a clue, but the only thing that they had found was a spent .303 casing that was definitely Army issue, and nothing else at all. Since the bodies lacked fingers identification by fingerprint was impossible and what else was there? A week spent going through Army records had brought up nothing that they could use. Small Arms ammo disappeared all the time. Troops lost them at the range and failed to report it, cases split open and not all of the rounds were collected, the point being that the casing could have come from anywhere.

“But boss, I still think that we are onto something there. And save a miraculous break it's the only thing we have.”

“True enough. And that is why we will go over everything again.”

Jackson suppressed a groan. “But Boss, we've been through all that a thousand times already.”

“Again true, but never at the same time. If this was really the same sick bastard who did both of them, there have to be things overlapping in other ways than in what condition the bodies were found, and that might give us what we need.”

Hunt rose to his feet and looked at Jackson.

“Now quit whining old boy and follow me.”

Soon enough they were sitting on the small Office again and had both sets of the files in front of them, going through them bit by bit for the umpteenth time that month. Both Victims had been found in relatively good neighbourhoods where mostly middle-class residents lived, and both had been in their lodgings for not too long. Both had had false papers that had gone nowhere when followed up on, in both cases Hunt himself had done the checks and called around, but had only heard that these people did not exist, hence the troubles with identification. It was a wonder that they had been able to even match them to these fake papers to the mutilated faces.

At this point Hunt had an idea. He quickly had Jackson continue what he was doing, grabbed his coat and waltzed out the door without seeing the DCI coming in.

“Where is he going?”

“He didn't tell me, Chief.”

The DCI looked at Jackson with a face that betrayed emotion.

“They found one more they think might be the work of your murderer, and this one is in a really bad state.”

“Just how bad, Chief?”

“Really, really bad.”



Hunt meanwhile was walking through the shadier parts of Liverpool with no definitive destination in mind. He always kept tabs on his contacts, but with the war and the constant influx of men going through the city in all directions some always gave him the slip. The person he was looking for now could be in any number of places, all he knew was that he hadn't been called up, because he was not only missing a foot but with fifty-six too old anyway.

“Bloody hell Jameson, where are you?” Hunt said to himself as he was leaving a shady back-street pub that said Jameson normally frequented. Hunt was well known in certain circles of the city and the people in question knew that he was a fair man, so he didn't think that they had lied to him when they had said that Jameson hadn't been in in at least a week. No, they also didn't know where he was. Hunt had thrown some money on the table, let the patrons of the pub stand where they were and had stepped outside again. He walked about half a mile down the street and then sat down on the stairs of a 'closed for the duration' shop that apparently used to sell furniture and other things imported from southern Germany. The destroyed shopwindow was evidence that someone didn't like even that, but Hunt had no mind for that. He thought long and hard over where Jameson could be. The old crook rarely disappeared like that, and even then he could be tracked down by those that knew him well, to which Hunt counted himself.

Then suddenly Hunt had a brainwave and rose to his feet. He knew now where Jameson was, or rather where he most likely was. He began to run for the nearest tube station and spent the next half hour under the city. When he ascended again he immediately made his way to towards the harbour area of the city where many of those who wanted not to be seen or noticed crawled under and hid amongst the sailors and throngs of people that were always there and went through. Usually when on the streets in this area he could easily mingle with the crowds, but Liverpool was easily the most important embarkation port in the entire United Kingdom for all of the fronts, and both the troops coming from as far as India for special training[1] and those going out went mostly through this city. That made for an utter mess, and it was of course quite possible that the murderer was now deployed somewhere on sitting in a freighter on his way to India. He refused to consider that and walked purposefully towards his destination.


His destination was a rickety old house that was amongst the oldest in the oldest part of Liverpool, in fact it seemed to him that the house was old enough to have seen the beginnings of the Slave trade that had sadly put this city on the map. The street was deserted, but in the middle of the day that was perfectly normal, and when he knocked on the door of the house he wasn't surprised that no one answered. The single-storey house belonged to Jameson's family, at least officially. His mother had died years ago, and his father had dropped off the edge of the earth years ago, and it was unclear wether he was still alive, and Jameson simply had access because no one had so far bothered with the pile of bricks that he called the house. He rarely came here, preferring to use the place as a spot to lay low and Hunt was sure that if he was still in Liverpool, he was here. Just as he began to contemplate yelling or simply kicking down the door he heard a sound inside. Good. So someone was there. Hunt opened his mouth to demand entrance when he heard another noise and this one commanded his attention. It was the screaming of someone in danger, muffled though it most likely was. Hunt drew the Webley Mk.IV he always carried when he went into this part of town and decided that this warrented entrance without warrant. After the door had been persuaded to give way with a hearty kick he slowly made his way to the back of the house where the sounds were still coming from. He had been here before a few times and knew that back there only a small room remained. Upon reaching the door he tested it silently. It was unlocked. He eased it open and what he saw then would have frozen the blood of lesser men. On the right of the room a red-haired man was standing with a knife in his hand over the apparently still living body of Jameson who was the one doing the moaning. Redhead turned to see who had surprised him and launched himself at Hunt who lacked the time to take aim and just pressed the trigger. The heavy gun went off with a deafening roar and the .380 round slammed into the left shoulder of the assailant. The man staggered back and decided that living was better than dying. He simply threw a “Bodalach!” at Hunt and threw himself out of the window before Hunt could fire a second time. Hunt was torn between going after the man and looking after Jameson, but one look at the poor wretch on the floor decide the matter. He sighed, put the weapon back into the right pocket of his long coat and went down on his knees to cut Jameson loose. At first he removed the gag that had prevented the older man to do more than moaning and used it to bandage the deepest would he could see, a cut on the left leg. Jameson spat out some of the fabric and then instantly began to rant.

“Bloody hell, what on earth are you doing here? Gene Hunt if you ever break into my house like this I will call your bloody mates down on you.”

Hunt was about to give a snappy retort when Jameson spoke again.

“But since you saved my life I will forgo that and instead ask what brought you here in the first place.”

Hunt finished cutting the ropes that had been used to bind Jameson and said: “Most likely the same things that brought that chap here. Fake papers.” Jameson was about to protest but Hunt cut him off.

“Don't bother denying mate. You know as well as I do that you are the only one in this whole city who can make papers that passed inspection even by the bloody office that normally makes them. Now I want to know from you where you made them, who you made them for and thirdly, why on earth you thought that this was a good idea. I could charge you with treason under the Emergency Powers (Defence) Act and I am not even Special Branch, so you better talk.”

“The Irishma-”

Jameson was cut off from talking when a shot roared and the bullet pierced his head.

Hunt turned around and pulled out the gun in the same movement but once again the other man was faster and gone just as Hunt pulled the trigger. The bullet harmlessly slammed into the door frame and Hunt cursed himself for not locking it behind himself. He ran after the man this time though, and since the front door was damaged, he had the time to lay a shot, but again he missed. He swore with the vocabulary of the gutters he had grown up in and turned around. He knew that all this banging about would soon bring his colleagues to the scene, so instead of bothering to call them, he began to search the four rooms of the house.

Thirty minutes later he was not only joined by Jackson and knew about the third murder but also had found something that the Paddie had definitely been there to remove, a set of papers that showed him to be Liam Malone, another on for Brian Shanahan out of Belfast, along with a sheet of paper which was a filled out form of one of the many shipping companies that operated here and this was at last something tangible.

It took them hours upon hours to sift through the evidence. Hunt hated theorizing when not under the influence of caffeine, which was the reason while he was rarely seen without a cup of Tea when at the office. However the day past the two of them had convinced both Hunt and Jackson that something with more kick was needed again, so instead they were sitting at the table in Hunt's Office, knocking back his emergency reserve whilst theorizing on why this all happened. Jackson, having spent some years with the Royal Ulster Constabulary himself when he had been new was convinced that it was plain old Irish terrorism and that the people killed were informants or some other form members that had pissed off their bosses. Hunt meanwhile was convinced that there was something more behind it all. There where enough Irish along the British West Coast to recruit the entire Irish bleeding Republican Army three times over, and that didn't mean that every paddy was one of them. No, his gut instinct told him that something more was going on here and he would do his damndest to find out.

Meanwhile the man Hunt had shot at was sitting in the Offices of a warehouse, cursing the English policeman and his superiors who had given him orders to teach a list of people 'a lesson that would not be forgotten', which in the parlance of his chosen trade meant that he was to kill them in a way that would make people take notice, the right people at least. Just as he had expected the murders had instead drawn the attention of entirely the wrong sort of people. He should have know that using the underworld of the city to carry out his mission would draw the attention of the police, but the lack of cover he had been sent here with made that a non-decision. He should also have known that the sniveling weasel that had made him the papers would run instead of doing what he was paid for, but he was professional enough to know that faulting a man for trying to stay alive was just like blaming the English for being English, no matter the state of war that his masters found themselves in with them. There were eleven more names on his list and now that the police was not only looking for him but also had a good idea what he looked like teaching the lesson to those on the list would be difficult, but he would try. Now who was the next one on the list? Ah yes, Davies.







[Notes: I will develop this plot a bit further for this and at least the next update, because soon there will be lots of combat everywhere, and I don't know when I can come back to this. Also no offence meant to people from actual Liverpool, alas my description is probably utterly inaccurate.]

[1]Mainly the Paras, Mountaineers and Marines and sometimes also Armour.

Gene Hunt saying 'old boy' without any irrony.
Evidently this is before his promotion to DCI though. Nice use of the character too.

If you need another WW2 era detective may I suggest DCS Foyle? The polar opposite to Hunt of course.

As it happens I initially wanted to use Foyle, but as it happened I was re-watching Life on Mars recently so I re-decided.