Yep there will be hell to pay for what Churcill has done to the UK (and Europe).
Feel the Bearn - A Timeline of France's Only Carrier in WWII and Beyond
- Thread starter Seafort
- Start date
And there's a spillover effect that will impact one region that we haven't gotten to yet. But we will.
I have just read all your timeline from the beginning, and I find it amazing !
Somehow everything is just so crazy, you always go with the most extreme path, yet still plausible (given the circumstances)
I have seen the brandy poisoning coming from miles away, but still a great plot. What's in it that makes Churchill so aggressive and paranoid ? How much bottles a week ?
How long before anyone makes the connection between his behaviour and his addiction ?
I'm thinking there's a huge step between a one-time diplomatic gift of one crate of brandy to a monthly supply. No one is noticing how weird is it from Staline to be generous enough to feed Churchill's addiction ? (Starting with Churchill himself)
Are the occupation zones the same as OTL ? Because I find it rather weird for de Gaulle to annex the whole occupation zone. OTL he was only interested in the Saar. Expulsion of the civilians from a zone that large seems also extreme.
Do we have any news about "the package" incoming ?
How far do you plan to take this timeline?
Somehow everything is just so crazy, you always go with the most extreme path, yet still plausible (given the circumstances)
I have seen the brandy poisoning coming from miles away, but still a great plot. What's in it that makes Churchill so aggressive and paranoid ? How much bottles a week ?
How long before anyone makes the connection between his behaviour and his addiction ?
I'm thinking there's a huge step between a one-time diplomatic gift of one crate of brandy to a monthly supply. No one is noticing how weird is it from Staline to be generous enough to feed Churchill's addiction ? (Starting with Churchill himself)
Are the occupation zones the same as OTL ? Because I find it rather weird for de Gaulle to annex the whole occupation zone. OTL he was only interested in the Saar. Expulsion of the civilians from a zone that large seems also extreme.
Do we have any news about "the package" incoming ?
How far do you plan to take this timeline?
Thank you! Appreciate the feedback - I'm glad that you're enjoying it.
In the OTL, the gift of Ararat brandy was made by Stalin to Churchill at the Yalta Conference. He received a case of it every month. According to Churchill's daughter, Winston drank it every evening.
The planned occupation zones started the same as in OTL; however as you have said De Gaulle has annexed France's zone.
There's a number of dangling threads. Some, including "the package" have been explicitly mentioned. There's another notable one is buried deep in the details of one of the attacks.
I can't give a spoiler on the end date of the timeline, but it will not conclude with the end of World War II.
Chapter 9 - A Plan for Morgenthau
June 16, 1945 2:15AM EST
It was quiet for a minute as Ian Fleming beheld the binder. Germany Is Our Problem, it said. The reporter held it in his hands for a moment, then placed it on the table before him.
"I will peruse this at length today and speak with Mr. Berry when he arrives," he said. "I would expect that at the very least, a condensed version should be published in tomorrow's edition of the Times."
"I would ask that your publisher make it available in its entirety," replied Morgenthau. "The British people need to know what we are up against, and that there is are logical countermeasures to it."
Both men stood up and shook hands. "I shall let you know Mr. Berry's decision shortly. In the meantime, let me walk you downstairs."
June 16, 1945 2:16AM EST
After leaving the conference room Morgenthau and Fleming took the stairs. After taking a few steps the Sunday Times reporter paused and bent over.
"Are you okay," asked Morgenthau.
Fleming shook his head. "It's nothing," he replied. "The doctor says that I have a mild heart arrhythmia. Sorry, it's more disconcerting than anything else. Please do not linger for my sake."
Morgenthau nodded and continued ahead.
A moment later a clothe was pressed firmly against the Treasury Secretary's face, and within seconds all went to black.
June 16, 1945 2:19AM EST
Ian Fleming faced the middle aged man before him. He handed him a paper sack, which the well-dressed man took and examined.
"You have what we agreed upon," said Fleming thinly.
"Indeed," replied his counterpart.
"Then your part remains the simplest. Take this vehicle and deposit it in the outskirts of London. Then destroy it."
The man nodded. "And that?", he asked, pointing to the body that lay slumped over in the passenger seat of the 1940 Ford Deluxe staff car.
"The same," said Fleming evenly.
His counterpart motioned to a second man who stood by the staff car. He was dressed in a US Army uniform. "Come on, Tummins."
The well-dressed man took his place in the backseat of the American staff car, while the one known as Tummins sat down behind the driver's wheel. The driver started the car up. As they drove towards the exit of the parking garage Fleming turned and walked towards his own vehicle. It was a somewhat dirty Mercedes from the previous decade. Fifteen, he thought. Fourteen. Thirteen.
He continued to count as he approached his car. With a turn of his key the trunk opened. Henry Morgenthau lay unconscious within, bound and gagged.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary," he said, although no one could hear him in the quiet garage. Already the sounds of the staff car were fading as it exited the building. Fleming closed the trunk.
Two. One.
There was a loud flash, followed by a nearly simultaneous roar. The shockwave hit the garage, shattering half of the windows of the vehicles within. Fleming was pushed into the side of his Mercedes, then staggered upright. He noted with somewhat amazed detachment that his own car was undamaged. If anything, Gubbins is punctual, he concluded.
June 16, 1945 4:24PM (EST)
Commander Adams sat in shock as Fleming finished. "You let those men die," he said with indignation.
"No, I sent those men to their deaths," the OSE agent answered flatly. "And I had no reservations about it. That attack was going to take place, no matter what. What we do now with the time that has been granted to us, that Mr. Adams is what may change the course of history."
It was quiet for a minute as Ian Fleming beheld the binder. Germany Is Our Problem, it said. The reporter held it in his hands for a moment, then placed it on the table before him.
"I will peruse this at length today and speak with Mr. Berry when he arrives," he said. "I would expect that at the very least, a condensed version should be published in tomorrow's edition of the Times."
"I would ask that your publisher make it available in its entirety," replied Morgenthau. "The British people need to know what we are up against, and that there is are logical countermeasures to it."
Both men stood up and shook hands. "I shall let you know Mr. Berry's decision shortly. In the meantime, let me walk you downstairs."
June 16, 1945 2:16AM EST
After leaving the conference room Morgenthau and Fleming took the stairs. After taking a few steps the Sunday Times reporter paused and bent over.
"Are you okay," asked Morgenthau.
Fleming shook his head. "It's nothing," he replied. "The doctor says that I have a mild heart arrhythmia. Sorry, it's more disconcerting than anything else. Please do not linger for my sake."
Morgenthau nodded and continued ahead.
A moment later a clothe was pressed firmly against the Treasury Secretary's face, and within seconds all went to black.
June 16, 1945 2:19AM EST
Ian Fleming faced the middle aged man before him. He handed him a paper sack, which the well-dressed man took and examined.
"You have what we agreed upon," said Fleming thinly.
"Indeed," replied his counterpart.
"Then your part remains the simplest. Take this vehicle and deposit it in the outskirts of London. Then destroy it."
The man nodded. "And that?", he asked, pointing to the body that lay slumped over in the passenger seat of the 1940 Ford Deluxe staff car.
"The same," said Fleming evenly.
His counterpart motioned to a second man who stood by the staff car. He was dressed in a US Army uniform. "Come on, Tummins."
The well-dressed man took his place in the backseat of the American staff car, while the one known as Tummins sat down behind the driver's wheel. The driver started the car up. As they drove towards the exit of the parking garage Fleming turned and walked towards his own vehicle. It was a somewhat dirty Mercedes from the previous decade. Fifteen, he thought. Fourteen. Thirteen.
He continued to count as he approached his car. With a turn of his key the trunk opened. Henry Morgenthau lay unconscious within, bound and gagged.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary," he said, although no one could hear him in the quiet garage. Already the sounds of the staff car were fading as it exited the building. Fleming closed the trunk.
Two. One.
There was a loud flash, followed by a nearly simultaneous roar. The shockwave hit the garage, shattering half of the windows of the vehicles within. Fleming was pushed into the side of his Mercedes, then staggered upright. He noted with somewhat amazed detachment that his own car was undamaged. If anything, Gubbins is punctual, he concluded.
June 16, 1945 4:24PM (EST)
Commander Adams sat in shock as Fleming finished. "You let those men die," he said with indignation.
"No, I sent those men to their deaths," the OSE agent answered flatly. "And I had no reservations about it. That attack was going to take place, no matter what. What we do now with the time that has been granted to us, that Mr. Adams is what may change the course of history."
Chapter 9 - A Plan for Morgenthau
June 16, 1945 4:31PM (EST)
Moscow
Naotake Sato was tired. No, it would be more accurate to say that I am ready to collapse, he thought. The Ambassador of the Empire of Japan to the Soviet Union had just arrived only hours earlier in Moscow. It had been a grueling trip, and he had seen first hand the scars left upon the country by his defeated former allies. And yet there was to be no chance at rest, as he had been summoned to the Kremlin almost immediately.
And there he sat, waiting. At least they had provided him with some tea, which had given him just the barest hint of a surge of energy. But not only was he tired. His nerves were on edge. Only two months earlier the USSR had denounced the Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact in keeping with Article Three of the agreement. At first, there was fear that the Soviets would enter the war immediately. This would have been a catastrophe for Japan, but one that was ultimately staved off when the USSR announced that the treaty would remain in force until the following April.
Or was it staved off? Sato could only wonder as the Minister of Foreign Affairs Vyacheslav Molotov entered the room. The Japanese Ambassador rose and bowed slightly. Molotov did not return any sign of respect and simply gestured for him to sit down. Sato did, followed by the Soviet minister.
"Good evening, Mr. Ambassador," he said. "I trust that your journey to Moscow was both comfortable and illuminating?"
"Indeed," replied Sato. "You have made great strides in the restoration of your country."
"It is not my country. It is the people's country. One that your allies, the Hitlerites fought tooth and claw to dismember and subjugate."
Molotov stared at him a moment, then opened a desk drawer and removed a single sheet of paper.
It is a declaration of war, Sato thought. A chill rippled through his body. It happens now, at a time of maximum peril for the Empire!
"Here," said Molotov, handing him the paper. The Japanese ambassador took it and began to read. His eyes widened.
Molotov observed him for a moment, then continued. "The people of the Soviet Union are willing to extend our Neutrality Agreement for another five years. But as you see, there are conditions that will need to be met. Conditions that your government would certainly consider fair, in light of what has happened. And conditions that will undoubtedly be agreed upon."
Moscow
Naotake Sato was tired. No, it would be more accurate to say that I am ready to collapse, he thought. The Ambassador of the Empire of Japan to the Soviet Union had just arrived only hours earlier in Moscow. It had been a grueling trip, and he had seen first hand the scars left upon the country by his defeated former allies. And yet there was to be no chance at rest, as he had been summoned to the Kremlin almost immediately.
And there he sat, waiting. At least they had provided him with some tea, which had given him just the barest hint of a surge of energy. But not only was he tired. His nerves were on edge. Only two months earlier the USSR had denounced the Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact in keeping with Article Three of the agreement. At first, there was fear that the Soviets would enter the war immediately. This would have been a catastrophe for Japan, but one that was ultimately staved off when the USSR announced that the treaty would remain in force until the following April.
Or was it staved off? Sato could only wonder as the Minister of Foreign Affairs Vyacheslav Molotov entered the room. The Japanese Ambassador rose and bowed slightly. Molotov did not return any sign of respect and simply gestured for him to sit down. Sato did, followed by the Soviet minister.
"Good evening, Mr. Ambassador," he said. "I trust that your journey to Moscow was both comfortable and illuminating?"
"Indeed," replied Sato. "You have made great strides in the restoration of your country."
"It is not my country. It is the people's country. One that your allies, the Hitlerites fought tooth and claw to dismember and subjugate."
Molotov stared at him a moment, then opened a desk drawer and removed a single sheet of paper.
It is a declaration of war, Sato thought. A chill rippled through his body. It happens now, at a time of maximum peril for the Empire!
"Here," said Molotov, handing him the paper. The Japanese ambassador took it and began to read. His eyes widened.
Molotov observed him for a moment, then continued. "The people of the Soviet Union are willing to extend our Neutrality Agreement for another five years. But as you see, there are conditions that will need to be met. Conditions that your government would certainly consider fair, in light of what has happened. And conditions that will undoubtedly be agreed upon."
Huh...the plot thickens
but I just have to say that this TL has become one of the most favourite TLs that I've ever came across in this site and it all started with something that I thought would be a insignificant Aircraft Carrier that could, but then end up scrapped after the war, but no instead it did something that 95% of us didn't see coming and manage to blow my mind with the last POD that put many missing puzzle pieces together to make it plausible but this story still has missing pieces or events that have yet to be revealed and how the world of 1945 will react to them once the public know them or never know... What I'm saying is that there is still so much information and events to digest through this TL with a good example being Churchills vision or dream of London burning, could it really be more effects of the Brandy? Or more <insert Stalin laughing as the Soviet anthem burns London to the ground> or just to mess with are heads or a sign of things to come...
But yeah this story is amazing for the rollercoaster ride it has brought us through and it is still going, almost acting like we only reach half way through the ride.
Thank you! Glad that you are enjoying it, and yes, we are not even halfway done yet.
Chapter 9 - A Plan for Morgenthau
June 16, 1945 7:01 PM EST
Harry Truman sagged into the chair and sighed. With weary eyes he stared at the paper before him. As the days and long nights had dragged on this month he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on print. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, which would not come even on the occasions when he retired to bed. Earlier, while heading the Committee on Military Affairs he had been struck by the physical deterioration of Franklin Roosevelt, who in the course of three years had gone from a vibrant politician to a shell of himself. I have seen myself in the mirror, he thought. Now I know what caused it. And will I age even more rapidly than my predecessor?
The letter of resignation from Secretary of War Henry Stimson sat before him, having been delivered less than twenty minutes earlier. Truman had tried arguing with him but to no avail. Attempts by the President to appeal to his patriotism had not only fallen flatly, but Stimson had then accused him of being no better than the enemies that they had just vanquished. "You are murdering a nation," the Secretary of War had said angrily, "This directive will be the end of Germany!" Truman had countered that he was seeking to save its people, or at least to build a firm foundation for the next generation of Germans. But Stimson would not be dissuaded, and had told him, "You have not only lost your balance, sir, but you are engaging in acts unbefitting your office. I will have no part in this."
Truman had then dismissed him, and now he found himself without a Secretary of War. Certainly there was John Jay McCloy, but given the shared opposition to the original Morgenthau Plan that both Stimson and the Assistant Secretary of War possessed it was unlikely that he could be elevated to the role. There would have to be someone else, one whose vision more closely aligned with his own.
June 16, 1945 8:45 PM EST
Although exhausted, Ambassador Naotake Sato could not sleep. Even though it was well past midnight, the conversation with the Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs still rung fresh within his mind. As did the choppy weather, as the Lisunov Li-2 transport headed east through bands of storms. It would take many hours and several stops before he was back across the border, and more time still until he had returned to Japan. Yet if what Molotov had told him was true, time was of the essence. It would be Sato's job to convince Prime Minister Suzuki and the rest of the Imperial Aid Association of the benefits of the Soviet Union's offer. But that offer, contained in a draft agreement on the briefcase in his lap had an expiration date. One that was uncomfortably soon.
That Suzuki and the others would accept the terms was far from certain. However there was the sweetener that Molotov had offered. One that when spoken was both astounding and terrifying.
Harry Truman sagged into the chair and sighed. With weary eyes he stared at the paper before him. As the days and long nights had dragged on this month he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on print. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, which would not come even on the occasions when he retired to bed. Earlier, while heading the Committee on Military Affairs he had been struck by the physical deterioration of Franklin Roosevelt, who in the course of three years had gone from a vibrant politician to a shell of himself. I have seen myself in the mirror, he thought. Now I know what caused it. And will I age even more rapidly than my predecessor?
The letter of resignation from Secretary of War Henry Stimson sat before him, having been delivered less than twenty minutes earlier. Truman had tried arguing with him but to no avail. Attempts by the President to appeal to his patriotism had not only fallen flatly, but Stimson had then accused him of being no better than the enemies that they had just vanquished. "You are murdering a nation," the Secretary of War had said angrily, "This directive will be the end of Germany!" Truman had countered that he was seeking to save its people, or at least to build a firm foundation for the next generation of Germans. But Stimson would not be dissuaded, and had told him, "You have not only lost your balance, sir, but you are engaging in acts unbefitting your office. I will have no part in this."
Truman had then dismissed him, and now he found himself without a Secretary of War. Certainly there was John Jay McCloy, but given the shared opposition to the original Morgenthau Plan that both Stimson and the Assistant Secretary of War possessed it was unlikely that he could be elevated to the role. There would have to be someone else, one whose vision more closely aligned with his own.
June 16, 1945 8:45 PM EST
Although exhausted, Ambassador Naotake Sato could not sleep. Even though it was well past midnight, the conversation with the Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs still rung fresh within his mind. As did the choppy weather, as the Lisunov Li-2 transport headed east through bands of storms. It would take many hours and several stops before he was back across the border, and more time still until he had returned to Japan. Yet if what Molotov had told him was true, time was of the essence. It would be Sato's job to convince Prime Minister Suzuki and the rest of the Imperial Aid Association of the benefits of the Soviet Union's offer. But that offer, contained in a draft agreement on the briefcase in his lap had an expiration date. One that was uncomfortably soon.
That Suzuki and the others would accept the terms was far from certain. However there was the sweetener that Molotov had offered. One that when spoken was both astounding and terrifying.
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This randomly popped into my head but I wonder how Anton Ludwig Friedrich August von Mackensen or August Mackensen is doing, hopefully his chickens are okay.
But the serious question will be if he outlives Germany from seeing it's birth from the Kingdom of Prussia as the North German Federation, then the German Empire to the Wiemar Republic and now the death of the Third Reich.
Mackensen has 6 months otl to live but he can always squeeze a extra few months or years although I have reasons to believe Mackensen will be unhappy to live longer in this dreadful world.
Makensen is 95 years old but by his death he was a month away from 96...
But the serious question will be if he outlives Germany from seeing it's birth from the Kingdom of Prussia as the North German Federation, then the German Empire to the Wiemar Republic and now the death of the Third Reich.
Mackensen has 6 months otl to live but he can always squeeze a extra few months or years although I have reasons to believe Mackensen will be unhappy to live longer in this dreadful world.
Makensen is 95 years old but by his death he was a month away from 96...
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Chapter 10 - Uprising
June 17, 1945 1:10 AM EST
Rays of sunlight crept into the basement of the partially destroyed apartment building, aided by the cracks slats in the rooms ceiling. It was the first light that Henry Morgenthau had seen in hours. And long sleepless hours it had been. After having been fed, the reporter...or was he really a spy...had departed. His wrists chafed - Fleming had left him firmly tied to the chair. And other, the one that was called Commander Adams lay slouched against the wreckage of a sofa asleep.
In the distance Morgenthau heard people milling about, but never were their sounds immediate. And with his mouth firmly gagged, he had no hope of alerting anyone to his presence. Although given what Fleming had said, he wondered if he should. For the reporter had told him a most remarkable tale, and promised to provide evidence to back up his assertions. And that when he returned, the Secretary of the Treasury would be provided with the complete picture. But when, Morgenthau wondered. And what if he does not return?
June 17, 1945 1:15 AM EST
"We are scouring the city," said Sir Philip Game in a uneasy voice. The Metropolitan Police Commissioner attempted to portray a confident air. "Our men are leaving no stone unturned and we are--"
"Spare me your cliches, Sir Game," growled Winston Churchill. He remained seated on his bed. A breakfast tray lay half touched before him - a meal of toast smeared with generous servings of jam and butter, supplemented by bacon and eggs. He got off of his bed and stood before the men gathered in his room. Philip Game noted the much of the rest of the Prime Minister's meal lay scattered about carelessly on his black silk dressing gown. Churchill began to slowly pace in the small bedroom that was attached to his office in the London bunker.
"Six hours ago you reported to me that Willie Gallacher had not only resuscitated from what I was told to be a near certain death, but that he had escaped," said Churchill in a timorous voice. "That he had removed his restraints, that he had murdered two of the officers assigned to guard his room. And now you say he was aided!"
"It is almost certain that he was, Prime Minister," replied Hugh Turnbull. The Commissioner of the London Police held out a manila folder which Churchill snatched away and opened. A picture of a man with a round, impassive face and a stocky neck glared back at him.
"Lieutenant Arthur Redgrave", said Churchill, reading aloud.
"Yes sir. He is missing, with no signs of struggle."
"And you think he was involved?"
"My men raided his apartment earlier this morning. We found it vacant. He has never lived there."
Churchill studied the face for a moment. Gradually at first, then with growing waves he began to feel the pounding inside of his head. Not a migraine, but something else, something far worse. He suddenly became nauseous and thrust the folder down upon the bed.
"Find this man," he gasped. "Find him now. And more importantly, bring me Gallacher!"
"We shall redouble our efforts, Prime Minister," began Sir Game. "I will ensure that --"
"Not you," interrupted Churchill. He leaned against the bed for a moment, then steadied himself. "Your time is over. I am appointing Mr. Turnbull in your stead as the Metropolitan Police Commissioner. I need men of competence that I can trust."
He glanced at the soldiers at the door to his room. "Take Sir Game into custody."
As the Commissioner was seized he cried out. "But sir," he protested, "I have done nothing!"
"That is at the very least your first crime," replied Churchill in a deep voice. "That you have failed the British people. Now we will see if your failure was that of an incompetent, or an accomplice."
As Game was dragged away protesting the Prime Minister faced Turnbull. "Spare no expense. Bring these traitors to justice."
Turnbull inwardly sighed. What the Prime Minister had not been told was that after doing a preliminary examination, they had found that despite the commendations he had received, that according to their records prior to five years ago, Arthur Redgrave had never existed.
Rays of sunlight crept into the basement of the partially destroyed apartment building, aided by the cracks slats in the rooms ceiling. It was the first light that Henry Morgenthau had seen in hours. And long sleepless hours it had been. After having been fed, the reporter...or was he really a spy...had departed. His wrists chafed - Fleming had left him firmly tied to the chair. And other, the one that was called Commander Adams lay slouched against the wreckage of a sofa asleep.
In the distance Morgenthau heard people milling about, but never were their sounds immediate. And with his mouth firmly gagged, he had no hope of alerting anyone to his presence. Although given what Fleming had said, he wondered if he should. For the reporter had told him a most remarkable tale, and promised to provide evidence to back up his assertions. And that when he returned, the Secretary of the Treasury would be provided with the complete picture. But when, Morgenthau wondered. And what if he does not return?
June 17, 1945 1:15 AM EST
"We are scouring the city," said Sir Philip Game in a uneasy voice. The Metropolitan Police Commissioner attempted to portray a confident air. "Our men are leaving no stone unturned and we are--"
"Spare me your cliches, Sir Game," growled Winston Churchill. He remained seated on his bed. A breakfast tray lay half touched before him - a meal of toast smeared with generous servings of jam and butter, supplemented by bacon and eggs. He got off of his bed and stood before the men gathered in his room. Philip Game noted the much of the rest of the Prime Minister's meal lay scattered about carelessly on his black silk dressing gown. Churchill began to slowly pace in the small bedroom that was attached to his office in the London bunker.
"Six hours ago you reported to me that Willie Gallacher had not only resuscitated from what I was told to be a near certain death, but that he had escaped," said Churchill in a timorous voice. "That he had removed his restraints, that he had murdered two of the officers assigned to guard his room. And now you say he was aided!"
"It is almost certain that he was, Prime Minister," replied Hugh Turnbull. The Commissioner of the London Police held out a manila folder which Churchill snatched away and opened. A picture of a man with a round, impassive face and a stocky neck glared back at him.
"Lieutenant Arthur Redgrave", said Churchill, reading aloud.
"Yes sir. He is missing, with no signs of struggle."
"And you think he was involved?"
"My men raided his apartment earlier this morning. We found it vacant. He has never lived there."
Churchill studied the face for a moment. Gradually at first, then with growing waves he began to feel the pounding inside of his head. Not a migraine, but something else, something far worse. He suddenly became nauseous and thrust the folder down upon the bed.
"Find this man," he gasped. "Find him now. And more importantly, bring me Gallacher!"
"We shall redouble our efforts, Prime Minister," began Sir Game. "I will ensure that --"
"Not you," interrupted Churchill. He leaned against the bed for a moment, then steadied himself. "Your time is over. I am appointing Mr. Turnbull in your stead as the Metropolitan Police Commissioner. I need men of competence that I can trust."
He glanced at the soldiers at the door to his room. "Take Sir Game into custody."
As the Commissioner was seized he cried out. "But sir," he protested, "I have done nothing!"
"That is at the very least your first crime," replied Churchill in a deep voice. "That you have failed the British people. Now we will see if your failure was that of an incompetent, or an accomplice."
As Game was dragged away protesting the Prime Minister faced Turnbull. "Spare no expense. Bring these traitors to justice."
Turnbull inwardly sighed. What the Prime Minister had not been told was that after doing a preliminary examination, they had found that despite the commendations he had received, that according to their records prior to five years ago, Arthur Redgrave had never existed.
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Chapter 10 - Uprising
June 17, 1945 2:03 AM EST
Frankfurt, American Zone of Occupation
George Patton paused, letting the weight of the words that he had just spoken sink in.
It had only been scant hours since the General had touched down in Frankfurt but he had allowed for little time for such niceties as sleep. The turbulent flight had allowed for little rest and much reflection, and he had girded himself for the task that was ahead. The American and British officers gathered before him sat on folding wooden chairs that had been hastily set up beneath a large, olive green tent. Outside, less than a hundred meters away stood the still smoldering ruins of the IG Farber building. The fires in the SHAEF headquarters were out, but the task of clearing away wreckage and restoring it to functionality would take weeks. If not longer.
"This plan is unlike anything that any of you have ever executed before," he said. "But it will be executed, with vigor and with all the violence necessary to complete our task. From this point forward, drive any questions about this work from your mind. Let the message that the Werwolf have left for us outside this very tent sink in. They have struck first, and have struck deeply. But we shall strike last, and as we do we shall ensure that our adversary will never strike again."
Patton folded his hands behind his back.
"This operation will begin at 0500 hours on the 19th," he said. "Dismissed."
June 17, 1945 2:03 AM EST
London
Major-General Colin Gubbins put down the papers in his hands and stared at the men who stood at attention in his office. "The order is given," he said. "Instruct your men that the operation is to commence immediately."
June 17, 1945 1:16 PM EST
Munich, American Zone of Occupation
Karl Scharnagl's head was throbbing. The day had been long enough. His city, of which he had been installed as mayor by the United States military was a moonscape. There was little housing and even less business to operate. It's historic cultural landmarks lay in ruins. There was so much to do and with so little resources he struggled to see a finish line to where Munich could be restored to anything resembling a semblance of its pre-war state.
He looked up as Karl Meitinger entered the room. Scharnagl had little time this evening for the architect and his plans of rebuilding Munich. Everything seemed so far away. Unachievable. Especially in light of the further restrictions imposed following the attack in Frankfurt two days ago by the Werwolf guerrillas.
"Karl," he said wearily. "You'll have to excuse me. Tonight, I --"
"You need to see this," interrupted Meitinger, "They are all over the city." He thrust a paper into Scharnagl's hands.
The Mayor of Munich slowly read the single page document. And as he did so two things happened simultaneously - his eyes widened in disbelief and his stomach dropped in fear.
"Two" he whispered out loud. " All Germans under the age of 5 years shall be evacuated from the nation of Germany..."
Frankfurt, American Zone of Occupation
George Patton paused, letting the weight of the words that he had just spoken sink in.
It had only been scant hours since the General had touched down in Frankfurt but he had allowed for little time for such niceties as sleep. The turbulent flight had allowed for little rest and much reflection, and he had girded himself for the task that was ahead. The American and British officers gathered before him sat on folding wooden chairs that had been hastily set up beneath a large, olive green tent. Outside, less than a hundred meters away stood the still smoldering ruins of the IG Farber building. The fires in the SHAEF headquarters were out, but the task of clearing away wreckage and restoring it to functionality would take weeks. If not longer.
"This plan is unlike anything that any of you have ever executed before," he said. "But it will be executed, with vigor and with all the violence necessary to complete our task. From this point forward, drive any questions about this work from your mind. Let the message that the Werwolf have left for us outside this very tent sink in. They have struck first, and have struck deeply. But we shall strike last, and as we do we shall ensure that our adversary will never strike again."
Patton folded his hands behind his back.
"This operation will begin at 0500 hours on the 19th," he said. "Dismissed."
June 17, 1945 2:03 AM EST
London
Major-General Colin Gubbins put down the papers in his hands and stared at the men who stood at attention in his office. "The order is given," he said. "Instruct your men that the operation is to commence immediately."
June 17, 1945 1:16 PM EST
Munich, American Zone of Occupation
Karl Scharnagl's head was throbbing. The day had been long enough. His city, of which he had been installed as mayor by the United States military was a moonscape. There was little housing and even less business to operate. It's historic cultural landmarks lay in ruins. There was so much to do and with so little resources he struggled to see a finish line to where Munich could be restored to anything resembling a semblance of its pre-war state.
He looked up as Karl Meitinger entered the room. Scharnagl had little time this evening for the architect and his plans of rebuilding Munich. Everything seemed so far away. Unachievable. Especially in light of the further restrictions imposed following the attack in Frankfurt two days ago by the Werwolf guerrillas.
"Karl," he said wearily. "You'll have to excuse me. Tonight, I --"
"You need to see this," interrupted Meitinger, "They are all over the city." He thrust a paper into Scharnagl's hands.
The Mayor of Munich slowly read the single page document. And as he did so two things happened simultaneously - his eyes widened in disbelief and his stomach dropped in fear.
"Two" he whispered out loud. " All Germans under the age of 5 years shall be evacuated from the nation of Germany..."
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Chapter 10 - Uprising
June 17, 1945 2:00 PM EST
"World News Today, brought to you by the Admiral Corporation, the world's largest manufacturer of radio phonographs with automatic record changers. This program is presented on behalf of Admiral dealers, all over America by shortwave broadcast direct from important overseas locations and leading news centers in our own country. CBS reporters are waiting to bring you first hand news from the world's political and battle fronts. Now, here's Robert Trout.
This afternoon we bring you this special report of massive uprisings taking place within several cities inside of the American Zone of Occupation within Germany. At Munich, Nuremberg, Frankfort, and elsewhere, reports have arrived of spontaneous pro-Nazi rebellions erupting as thousands of German residents have taken to the streets. A spokesman from SHAEF has confirmed that rioting has taken place within multiple locations and were likely the result of the work of Werwolves, but also that Allied soldiers were hard at work in restoring order to the affected locations."
- CBS World News Today radio broadcast
June 17, 1945 2:02 PM EST
Frankfurt, American Zone of Occupation
Colonel Charles Codman fired again into the sky, but the throng the was surging at the gates of SHAEF headquarters ignored the sound. A crowd of well over a thousand angry civilians was pushing at the gates, yelling angrily in German. Soldiers had scrambled to fire points along the perimeter and had ordered the mob to return to their homes to no avail. Bricks, rocks, and other debris were raining down upon them, which he supposed could be considered a blessing. It could be much worse, given the caches of ammunition and the threat of the Werwolves that was ever present. Codman dodged the debris, looking frantically for the General.
And then he found him. Patton was on one knee, bleeding profusely from a cut to his forehead. The wound from the brick was superficial and likely required but a few stiches, but it had rendered the face of "Old Blood and Guts" a crimson mask. Patton brushed aside the attending doctor and got to his feet.
"Codman!", he barked angrily, "Get me a megaphone, now!"
Less than a minute later Codman gave the General what he required. Largely oblivious to the shouts, to the rage, and to the hurtling projectiles all around he walked steadily towards the rows of barbed wire that surrounded the IB Farber campus.
"You have sixty seconds to disperse or these men will open fire," he said into the megaphone. "Some of you speak English. Tell your compatriots. If you are not out of my sight in that time, may the Lord have mercy upon you for I will not!"
If the German crowd pushing at the gate to the SHAEF headquarters understood Patton's message, they chose to ignore it. Surging forward, they began to push through the barbed wire, toppling fencing and scaling obstacles.
And then it happened.
From where in the crowd it came, no one knew. But moments later a grenade exploded less than ten feet from Patton and flattened him to the ground. The crowd cheered and pushed forward.
Codman saw his General unmoving, and at the top of his lungs yelled, "OPEN FIRE!"
"World News Today, brought to you by the Admiral Corporation, the world's largest manufacturer of radio phonographs with automatic record changers. This program is presented on behalf of Admiral dealers, all over America by shortwave broadcast direct from important overseas locations and leading news centers in our own country. CBS reporters are waiting to bring you first hand news from the world's political and battle fronts. Now, here's Robert Trout.
This afternoon we bring you this special report of massive uprisings taking place within several cities inside of the American Zone of Occupation within Germany. At Munich, Nuremberg, Frankfort, and elsewhere, reports have arrived of spontaneous pro-Nazi rebellions erupting as thousands of German residents have taken to the streets. A spokesman from SHAEF has confirmed that rioting has taken place within multiple locations and were likely the result of the work of Werwolves, but also that Allied soldiers were hard at work in restoring order to the affected locations."
- CBS World News Today radio broadcast
June 17, 1945 2:02 PM EST
Frankfurt, American Zone of Occupation
Colonel Charles Codman fired again into the sky, but the throng the was surging at the gates of SHAEF headquarters ignored the sound. A crowd of well over a thousand angry civilians was pushing at the gates, yelling angrily in German. Soldiers had scrambled to fire points along the perimeter and had ordered the mob to return to their homes to no avail. Bricks, rocks, and other debris were raining down upon them, which he supposed could be considered a blessing. It could be much worse, given the caches of ammunition and the threat of the Werwolves that was ever present. Codman dodged the debris, looking frantically for the General.
And then he found him. Patton was on one knee, bleeding profusely from a cut to his forehead. The wound from the brick was superficial and likely required but a few stiches, but it had rendered the face of "Old Blood and Guts" a crimson mask. Patton brushed aside the attending doctor and got to his feet.
"Codman!", he barked angrily, "Get me a megaphone, now!"
Less than a minute later Codman gave the General what he required. Largely oblivious to the shouts, to the rage, and to the hurtling projectiles all around he walked steadily towards the rows of barbed wire that surrounded the IB Farber campus.
"You have sixty seconds to disperse or these men will open fire," he said into the megaphone. "Some of you speak English. Tell your compatriots. If you are not out of my sight in that time, may the Lord have mercy upon you for I will not!"
If the German crowd pushing at the gate to the SHAEF headquarters understood Patton's message, they chose to ignore it. Surging forward, they began to push through the barbed wire, toppling fencing and scaling obstacles.
And then it happened.
From where in the crowd it came, no one knew. But moments later a grenade exploded less than ten feet from Patton and flattened him to the ground. The crowd cheered and pushed forward.
Codman saw his General unmoving, and at the top of his lungs yelled, "OPEN FIRE!"
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