This will also allow Longer ranged P-38s, Beaufighters, and Mosquitos to conduct target of opportunity strikes.
Keynes' Cruisers Volume 2
- Thread starter fester
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This will also allow Longer ranged P-38s, Beaufighters, and Mosquitos to conduct target of opportunity strikes.
Story 2171
Olongapo, Luzon August 7, 1943
A gout of flame emerged from the thin nozzle the thickly built man carried. He swept it like a broom even as bullets cracked by him. The flames reached into the cracks and crevices of an abandoned house that had been converted into a mini-fortress. It was one of two dozen bunkers that the Japanese battalion defending the outskirts of the destroyed town that surrounded the former American naval base had built and occupied. Four had already fallen to a combination of tanks, engineers and six inch guns operating in direct fire mode. Another three were being assaulted right now.
Patrick held his rifle loosely. He had only fired twenty eight rounds since the offensive began. His primary job was no longer to shoot as the enemy unless he had absolutely had to; instead it was to keep his no longer green LT focuses on making good decisions, taking care of all the little things an officer should not need to think about and being a rock for the no longer green eighteen and nineteen year olds whose job it was to shoot at the enemy. Now he was with Second and Third Squad creeping forward. The First Squad was already in position. The rest of the company and a machine gun platoon were pouring an incredible amount of fire at the Japanese bunker. Two anti-tank guns were firing overhead. The bunker's protection was more than adequate to stop those shells from doing more than annoy and suppress defenders from sticking their heads up. Company mortars were laying down high explosive shells every three or four seconds while the battalion mortars had placed a thick smoke screen between this, the targeted bunker, and two supporting positions on his left. Those gunners were firing blindly, and the machine gun bullets were overwhelmingly going in high. They were only a danger to someone standing upright and doing jumping jacks.
Thirty four men were within fifty yards of the position, having been able to creep forward to a blind spot. The leading squad sergeant tapped two men on the shoulder and nodded. They had been briefed and walked through the plan half a dozen times so they needed little more instruction. The satchel charge was ready, the fuses were set. They began to run forward. Half a beat later, the rest of the platoon followed. A mine went off and Patrick could hear a shout of pain and then a keening cry. Japanese riflemen heard and then saw the attack and began to shift their fire. The LT was down, a rifle round to his chest. The distance closed between the charging men now firing from their hips and the Japanese trench line that offered some protection to the core of their position. Half a dozen men from Haverhill jumped into the trench, shotguns boomed, and rifles quickly went through clips. Another squad was in the trench swinging rifle butts and thrusting bayonets. Even as the breach was being opened, the satchel charge had been placed on the side wall of the house. Thirty seconds later, the bunker had started to cave in. A dozen grenades were going off in the ruins and right behind them were half a dozen boys from Worcester.
An hour later, the new platoon leader squeezed the hand of the officer he was replacing. The hand was weak and cooling and his eyes were fighting through the haze of morphine. Patrick only had a minute to spend with the young Old Man before the rest of the platoon needed him as another objective needed to be taken and the Captain was getting impatient for his best platoon to resupply and resume the advance.
A gout of flame emerged from the thin nozzle the thickly built man carried. He swept it like a broom even as bullets cracked by him. The flames reached into the cracks and crevices of an abandoned house that had been converted into a mini-fortress. It was one of two dozen bunkers that the Japanese battalion defending the outskirts of the destroyed town that surrounded the former American naval base had built and occupied. Four had already fallen to a combination of tanks, engineers and six inch guns operating in direct fire mode. Another three were being assaulted right now.
Patrick held his rifle loosely. He had only fired twenty eight rounds since the offensive began. His primary job was no longer to shoot as the enemy unless he had absolutely had to; instead it was to keep his no longer green LT focuses on making good decisions, taking care of all the little things an officer should not need to think about and being a rock for the no longer green eighteen and nineteen year olds whose job it was to shoot at the enemy. Now he was with Second and Third Squad creeping forward. The First Squad was already in position. The rest of the company and a machine gun platoon were pouring an incredible amount of fire at the Japanese bunker. Two anti-tank guns were firing overhead. The bunker's protection was more than adequate to stop those shells from doing more than annoy and suppress defenders from sticking their heads up. Company mortars were laying down high explosive shells every three or four seconds while the battalion mortars had placed a thick smoke screen between this, the targeted bunker, and two supporting positions on his left. Those gunners were firing blindly, and the machine gun bullets were overwhelmingly going in high. They were only a danger to someone standing upright and doing jumping jacks.
Thirty four men were within fifty yards of the position, having been able to creep forward to a blind spot. The leading squad sergeant tapped two men on the shoulder and nodded. They had been briefed and walked through the plan half a dozen times so they needed little more instruction. The satchel charge was ready, the fuses were set. They began to run forward. Half a beat later, the rest of the platoon followed. A mine went off and Patrick could hear a shout of pain and then a keening cry. Japanese riflemen heard and then saw the attack and began to shift their fire. The LT was down, a rifle round to his chest. The distance closed between the charging men now firing from their hips and the Japanese trench line that offered some protection to the core of their position. Half a dozen men from Haverhill jumped into the trench, shotguns boomed, and rifles quickly went through clips. Another squad was in the trench swinging rifle butts and thrusting bayonets. Even as the breach was being opened, the satchel charge had been placed on the side wall of the house. Thirty seconds later, the bunker had started to cave in. A dozen grenades were going off in the ruins and right behind them were half a dozen boys from Worcester.
An hour later, the new platoon leader squeezed the hand of the officer he was replacing. The hand was weak and cooling and his eyes were fighting through the haze of morphine. Patrick only had a minute to spend with the young Old Man before the rest of the platoon needed him as another objective needed to be taken and the Captain was getting impatient for his best platoon to resupply and resume the advance.
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Story 2172
Syracuse, Sicily August 7, 1943
The tall man fingered his collar. The single star on each tab weighed heavily on him. He brushed the imaginary lint off of his collar and then stepped out of his small room on the second floor of a ramshackle hotel that the 1st Infantry Division had taken over as their headquarters. The main lobby had breakfast and coffee while the ballroom had been transformed into the division staff officer bullpen. He began making his rounds, first to operations, then to intelligence and then to supply. Half of the section leaders were older then he was. It was the crucible of combat that had placed him as the division's second in command. He had landed in North Africa as a battalion commander and landed in Sicily in charge of the lead regiment of the division. Now he was being groomed for even larger roles. Bloody wars and sick seasons had been good for Slim Williamson.
The tall man fingered his collar. The single star on each tab weighed heavily on him. He brushed the imaginary lint off of his collar and then stepped out of his small room on the second floor of a ramshackle hotel that the 1st Infantry Division had taken over as their headquarters. The main lobby had breakfast and coffee while the ballroom had been transformed into the division staff officer bullpen. He began making his rounds, first to operations, then to intelligence and then to supply. Half of the section leaders were older then he was. It was the crucible of combat that had placed him as the division's second in command. He had landed in North Africa as a battalion commander and landed in Sicily in charge of the lead regiment of the division. Now he was being groomed for even larger roles. Bloody wars and sick seasons had been good for Slim Williamson.
TR Jr. transferred to 4th Infantry Division as 2IC a wee bit earlier than OTL
Patrick has the job --- Platoon Sergeant to temporary platoon commander an hour after the LT dies is not uncommon --- the administrative steps will be addressed when everyone involved is not getting shot at. Rank and permanent role are not relevant right now.
SsgtC
Banned
To quote the British: "Here's to bloody wars and sickly seasons." The two surest paths to promotion
How would they have seen their target? No NVGs in those days. Maybe the German troops where a little sloppy with the blackout.
SsgtC
Banned
It's a slightly insulting term for someone from Massachusetts. Mass is used as a shorthand for the state name. So M+asshole= Masshole
RamscoopRaider
Donor
Portmanteau of Massachusetts and Asshole, quite common slang in New England/New York
Edit: Ninja'd
I don't think the term "Masshole" was invented until the 1980s or 1990s. If it even existed before, it probably would have been used exclusively by people in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.
A cursory Googling shows that it dates back to about 1990 in a book about the 1988 Presidential Election, so it seems to be a newer term.
Also, first time logging on in years, but wanted to echo the others by saying what a great timeline this is. One of the few TLs I've seen that have a Greek front (only other I recall is the Footprint of Mussolini) and a meaningful one at that. Great job!
Also, first time logging on in years, but wanted to echo the others by saying what a great timeline this is. One of the few TLs I've seen that have a Greek front (only other I recall is the Footprint of Mussolini) and a meaningful one at that. Great job!
Story 2173
Rangoon, Burma August 8, 1943
The coolies were busy as always. Four more freighters from America had arrived the night before. One ship would be supporting the engineer brigades and transport squadrons that had been long established in Central Burma near the northern rail head that was the terminus of the ever widening and improving Burma Road. Another freighter had Lend Lease cargo for the British forces in Burma. A veteran Indian infantry division was being shipped to the Meditarrean theater while a new division of locally raised troops stiffened by a battalion of Welsh Guards and another battalion of Punjabi light infantry would take over the internal security and labor duties. This new division needed equipment that could not be locally supplied. Its artillery would be British while almost all of its transport would be American and Canadian. The final two freighters were feeding the ever hungry maw of the Chinese Nationalist Armies.
The previous convoy's efforts were being consumed sixty five miles to the north of the port. A single shell exploded in the field. White smoke drifted upwards and soon a long thin line was drifting to the right and towards the battery. A trainee noted the wind and saw that the shell was two hundred short and three hundred right of the target. A correction was called in via a field telephone to the twelve gun battery of pack howitzers. The Chinese artillery brigade would have six twelve gun batteries to economize on the number of observers and calculations that needed to be made. Three minutes after the first ranging shot, another shell landed. It was long two hundred and left one hundred. Another correction was sent back. The third ranging shot was off by fifty yards short and right. The observer called for the full barrage. Three minutes later, all twenty four guns in the artillery battalion started to fire. Each gun fired six shells on the first line of targets. Firing ceased for half a minute and then the fastest crews began to fire at the second set of targets one hundred yards behind their initial aim points.
Twelve miles to the north, the artillery barrage could be felt by the green tank crews that were inspecting their freshly delivered Herrington light tanks. These models were modifications of the light tanks that the Dutch had used on Java. The export only tanks had a new 150 horsepower V-12 gasoline engine. Half mounted a 20 millimeter cannon while the other half had a 37 millimeter anti-tank gun as the main armament. Anywhere other than China, these tanks would be death traps that would only consume lives and logistics, but in China, these very light tanks would be a significant improvement on the current Chinese armored forces. Stuarts and Grants were promised but the production queue was full for another six months.
The coolies were busy as always. Four more freighters from America had arrived the night before. One ship would be supporting the engineer brigades and transport squadrons that had been long established in Central Burma near the northern rail head that was the terminus of the ever widening and improving Burma Road. Another freighter had Lend Lease cargo for the British forces in Burma. A veteran Indian infantry division was being shipped to the Meditarrean theater while a new division of locally raised troops stiffened by a battalion of Welsh Guards and another battalion of Punjabi light infantry would take over the internal security and labor duties. This new division needed equipment that could not be locally supplied. Its artillery would be British while almost all of its transport would be American and Canadian. The final two freighters were feeding the ever hungry maw of the Chinese Nationalist Armies.
The previous convoy's efforts were being consumed sixty five miles to the north of the port. A single shell exploded in the field. White smoke drifted upwards and soon a long thin line was drifting to the right and towards the battery. A trainee noted the wind and saw that the shell was two hundred short and three hundred right of the target. A correction was called in via a field telephone to the twelve gun battery of pack howitzers. The Chinese artillery brigade would have six twelve gun batteries to economize on the number of observers and calculations that needed to be made. Three minutes after the first ranging shot, another shell landed. It was long two hundred and left one hundred. Another correction was sent back. The third ranging shot was off by fifty yards short and right. The observer called for the full barrage. Three minutes later, all twenty four guns in the artillery battalion started to fire. Each gun fired six shells on the first line of targets. Firing ceased for half a minute and then the fastest crews began to fire at the second set of targets one hundred yards behind their initial aim points.
Twelve miles to the north, the artillery barrage could be felt by the green tank crews that were inspecting their freshly delivered Herrington light tanks. These models were modifications of the light tanks that the Dutch had used on Java. The export only tanks had a new 150 horsepower V-12 gasoline engine. Half mounted a 20 millimeter cannon while the other half had a 37 millimeter anti-tank gun as the main armament. Anywhere other than China, these tanks would be death traps that would only consume lives and logistics, but in China, these very light tanks would be a significant improvement on the current Chinese armored forces. Stuarts and Grants were promised but the production queue was full for another six months.
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SsgtC
Banned
Could their armor even stop rifle caliber AP rounds? Their armor maxed out at a half an inch thick.
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