Keynes' Cruisers Volume 2
- Thread starter fester
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One of the Cambridge Five?
As much as British public institutions try to maintain some level of professionalism, there is an inclination to devolve into old-boy networks (to be fair, the British are hardly unique in this regard). One of my great-uncles briefly met Kim Philby several years ago, and I recall asking him if anyone did background checks back then. Most jobs that require security clearances these days pry into your personal life with a fine-tooth comb, but back then being a member of a prominent family probably assuaged any concerns the civil service may have had about being a raving Marxist during your university days.
This will likely have implications for the immediate post-war TTL; the USSR probably won't have the same level of access it had to German technology, industry and experts it had OTL and will be seeking to close the post-war technological gap with the West as quickly as it can, and they will likely leverage their intelligence networks to do this. The alliance between the USSR and the Western allies was a relationship of convenience more than anything else, but they were at least willing to overlook their differences for the sake of defeating the Axis and the sacrifices made by the Soviets engendered a considerable amount of goodwill in the West. That went up in smoke very quickly post-war as the networks of intelligence-gathering and influence began to be revealed. Stealing your secrets and secretly influencing your politics and culture is hardly the behaviour of an ally.
David Flin
Gone Fishin'
Of course, the flip side is also true. If one isn't part of the old-boy network, breaking into jobs that require extensive security clearances become an almost unbreakable barrier.
The instant coffee in my workplace crib room reminds me of the Russian cigarettes from The Eagle Has Landed, it keeps you awake in the cold.
Coffee aside: While in the military I was once, (and only once) told to make coffee for the shop. I had never made coffee before (I was later told by higher ups this should have been caught in my background check and remedial coffee making 'instilled' in me by rigorous OJT at my first base) so I did what I was told to do.
"Put coffee in the industrial sized coffee maker, add water, how hard can it be?"
So I took the filter basket, (sans filter because do you see that step anywhere in the above instructions?) I then added coffee until one can was empty and another one down by a third, scraped the coffee level with the top of the basket and inserted it into the already water filled machine and set it to working. Half hour later the head Chief Master Sargent walks in proceeds to try and tap off a cup of coffee. I say "try" because what came out was a slow moving sludge rather than anything that could be called "liquid" and after a 'sip' and grimice he yelled "Who made this?" I said I had and he looked me up and down and said, "You never made coffee son?"
"No sir, first time"
He then added some hot water to the sludge took another sip and went in to talk to my supervisor
At that point I had been in the military for only about four years and in a career lasting 21 total years I was NEVER asked to make coffee again, ever. I suspect I have a notation in my record someplace warning people NOT to let me make coffee.
Randy
Story 2801
Leopoldsdorf, Austria March 20, 1945
Every gun was ready to fire. Every tank which could be tuned up to at least servicable standards was ready to dash forward. Tens of thousands of riflemen from the entire Empire were in their fox holes and dug-outs waiting for whistles to blow in advance. A dozen squadrons of Tiffys and another half dozen Spitfire squadrons were overhead, lazily circling just a few miles behind the front lines.
The Australians had defeated most the remnants of an SS Panzer Corps over the past two weeks. What remnants they had not beaten, the South African tankers had smashed in a meeting engagement that neither side had wanted at that particular village but both sides stuck to the fight once the first tanks started to brew up. The single corps of Englishmen accompanied by the Yugoslavian partisan army were the follow on attack that took advantage of the collapse of the front which they had pushed forward sixty miles in six days had to stop two days ago to allow the quartermasters' lorries to catch up.
Now tens of thousands of men waited. They waited long enough that the veterans were able to make tea. They waited long enough that the sergeants conducted feet checks. They waited long enough for dice to come out of pockets.
They waited. And then they no longer had to wait.
Vienna would be an open city in six hours. Most of the city's garrison would be allowed to withdraw north with a twelve hour window in which they would not be bombed. The walking wounded and the old man and teen boy militia would remain in place to maintain order within the city. They would maintain personal arms for a day before being processed as prisoners. The city which could have become a abattoir would remain standing.
Every gun was ready to fire. Every tank which could be tuned up to at least servicable standards was ready to dash forward. Tens of thousands of riflemen from the entire Empire were in their fox holes and dug-outs waiting for whistles to blow in advance. A dozen squadrons of Tiffys and another half dozen Spitfire squadrons were overhead, lazily circling just a few miles behind the front lines.
The Australians had defeated most the remnants of an SS Panzer Corps over the past two weeks. What remnants they had not beaten, the South African tankers had smashed in a meeting engagement that neither side had wanted at that particular village but both sides stuck to the fight once the first tanks started to brew up. The single corps of Englishmen accompanied by the Yugoslavian partisan army were the follow on attack that took advantage of the collapse of the front which they had pushed forward sixty miles in six days had to stop two days ago to allow the quartermasters' lorries to catch up.
Now tens of thousands of men waited. They waited long enough that the veterans were able to make tea. They waited long enough that the sergeants conducted feet checks. They waited long enough for dice to come out of pockets.
They waited. And then they no longer had to wait.
Vienna would be an open city in six hours. Most of the city's garrison would be allowed to withdraw north with a twelve hour window in which they would not be bombed. The walking wounded and the old man and teen boy militia would remain in place to maintain order within the city. They would maintain personal arms for a day before being processed as prisoners. The city which could have become a abattoir would remain standing.
Driftless
Donor
And the Harry Lime's of the world would beat the soldiers to the city and set up shop.
Well, that's not Zuikaku, but who could that have been? I think Hiryu was sunk in Makassar Strait, so who are we looking at here? An Unuryu class maybe?
Great update but shouldn’t it be 2801 instead of as 2704 just a little confusing.
If you were navy, you could say your career ran 'a ground'!Coffee aside: While in the military I was once, (and only once) told to make coffee for the shop. I had never made coffee before (I was later told by higher ups this should have been caught in my background check and remedial coffee making 'instilled' in me by rigorous OJT at my first base) so I did what I was told to do.
"Put coffee in the industrial sized coffee maker, add water, how hard can it be?"
So I took the filter basket, (sans filter because do you see that step anywhere in the above instructions?) I then added coffee until one can was empty and another one down by a third, scraped the coffee level with the top of the basket and inserted it into the already water filled machine and set it to working. Half hour later the head Chief Master Sargent walks in proceeds to try and tap off a cup of coffee. I say "try" because what came out was a slow moving sludge rather than anything that could be called "liquid" and after a 'sip' and grimice he yelled "Who made this?" I said I had and he looked me up and down and said, "You never made coffee son?"
"No sir, first time"
He then added some hot water to the sludge took another sip and went in to talk to my supervisor
At that point I had been in the military for only about four years and in a career lasting 21 total years I was NEVER asked to make coffee again, ever. I suspect I have a notation in my record someplace warning people NOT to let me make coffee.
Randy
My coffee making career at any rate
Thing was they cut it with some extra water but the higher ups drank it Randy
Story 2802
Singapore, March 20, 1945
The Canadian merchant ship Fort Stikine exited the Johor Channel. She was bound first for Rangoon and then Bombay loaded with ore, timber and several hundred tons of rubber. The captain waited until the ship was in open water before he relaxed enough to enjoy his tea. It would be another milk run with the strong possibility that he would come back to Singapore after receiving a new assignment in Bombay.
The Canadian merchant ship Fort Stikine exited the Johor Channel. She was bound first for Rangoon and then Bombay loaded with ore, timber and several hundred tons of rubber. The captain waited until the ship was in open water before he relaxed enough to enjoy his tea. It would be another milk run with the strong possibility that he would come back to Singapore after receiving a new assignment in Bombay.
Fortunately the cargo is somewhat less potentially catastrophic at this point.
Story 2803
Western Pacific, 1425 Local March 20, 1945
The Avenger circled just outside of the heavy anti-aircraft gun range of the enemy fleet. The pilot was not worried about fighters. Eight dozen Hellcats had smashed the Japanese combat air patrol half an hour ago. The overly aggressive and confident Grumman drivers were already claiming at least one hundred and forty kills. The pilot knew that once everyone got back to their carriers and gun camera footage could be cross referenced between aircraft, the actual tally might be forty or fifty kills. A trio of Helldivers and a quartet of Hellcats had been shot down by the Japanese interceptors.
His aircraft had not descended into fast, low attack runs. Intrepid's torpedo squadron had been the first to run the gauntlet. Fourteen aircraft had split into two elements of eight attacking the port quarter of a carrier and six attacking the bow. It shimmied and shook like an overly enthusiastic jitterbug dancer even as every open square foot of deck and sponson space mounted at least a machine gun if not an auto-cannon. Tracers collided with at least three of the bombers. One aircraft hit the sea a mile from the ship, and another limped away after dropping its torpedo with an engine on fire. The pilot was calling for assistance as he attempted to fly as far away from the enemy as he could before the damaged bomber could go no further before belly landing in the modest swells of a calm ocean. If he could make it fifty miles, the float planes from the cruisers of the flak trap screen could readily reach him, the radio operator and the wounded gunner.
Even as the lamed Avenger tried to run for life, thirteen torpedoes were in the water. Four had no chance of hitting anything, they were dropped with too much or much too little lead. The carrier heeled over. Her captain decided that the broadside drop was more dangerous so he turned away from them. Four torpedoes from the anvil churned through the sea. The carrier turned slightly right to dodge the first two, straightened up and headed hard left even as the screws went to full reverse, flinging men and loose items against the bulkheads. The emergency stop allowed another torpedo to run into the wake. A single torpedo slammed into the starboard front quarter, opening up the hull to the sea.
If that was the only damage, the carrier would still be able to fight.
Two squadrons of Helldivers from Essex and Hornet began their dives on the first ship that was damaged. Thousand pound armor piercing bombs began to explode on and around the ship. Even as one carrier was targeted, torpedo bombers, fighters with rockets under their wings and dive bombers started to pick their targets. Most of the fighter bombers targeted the cruisers as the equivalent of five inch shells would not damage the battleships or carriers enough, but they could meaningfully reduce the amount of flak. The Avengers, Helldivers and Dauntlesses were attacking anything big and moving. Some carrier air groups came in as a single fist able to land a haymaker. A carrier that was trying to dodge a torpedo squadron stopped suddenly in the water as first a thousand pound bomb exploded in the main engineering spaces and then a second bomb blew out the magazine. Another carrier was listing seventeen degrees after barely surviving an attack from San Jacinto and Randolf. A battleship was lamed after a eating five torpedoes on the port side. Three more capital ships had taken substantial damage, but they were still pressing forward at eighteen knots or better.
All of this was seen by the pilot and the gunner who had never touched his machine gun in the belly turret. Instead he had a notepad and binoculars for the entire hour the bomber orbited the fleet. As the pilot turned away, the radio operator sent a report to the fleet flagship, New Jersey. Another strike would be needed if the Japanese were looking for a gun battle.
The Avenger circled just outside of the heavy anti-aircraft gun range of the enemy fleet. The pilot was not worried about fighters. Eight dozen Hellcats had smashed the Japanese combat air patrol half an hour ago. The overly aggressive and confident Grumman drivers were already claiming at least one hundred and forty kills. The pilot knew that once everyone got back to their carriers and gun camera footage could be cross referenced between aircraft, the actual tally might be forty or fifty kills. A trio of Helldivers and a quartet of Hellcats had been shot down by the Japanese interceptors.
His aircraft had not descended into fast, low attack runs. Intrepid's torpedo squadron had been the first to run the gauntlet. Fourteen aircraft had split into two elements of eight attacking the port quarter of a carrier and six attacking the bow. It shimmied and shook like an overly enthusiastic jitterbug dancer even as every open square foot of deck and sponson space mounted at least a machine gun if not an auto-cannon. Tracers collided with at least three of the bombers. One aircraft hit the sea a mile from the ship, and another limped away after dropping its torpedo with an engine on fire. The pilot was calling for assistance as he attempted to fly as far away from the enemy as he could before the damaged bomber could go no further before belly landing in the modest swells of a calm ocean. If he could make it fifty miles, the float planes from the cruisers of the flak trap screen could readily reach him, the radio operator and the wounded gunner.
Even as the lamed Avenger tried to run for life, thirteen torpedoes were in the water. Four had no chance of hitting anything, they were dropped with too much or much too little lead. The carrier heeled over. Her captain decided that the broadside drop was more dangerous so he turned away from them. Four torpedoes from the anvil churned through the sea. The carrier turned slightly right to dodge the first two, straightened up and headed hard left even as the screws went to full reverse, flinging men and loose items against the bulkheads. The emergency stop allowed another torpedo to run into the wake. A single torpedo slammed into the starboard front quarter, opening up the hull to the sea.
If that was the only damage, the carrier would still be able to fight.
Two squadrons of Helldivers from Essex and Hornet began their dives on the first ship that was damaged. Thousand pound armor piercing bombs began to explode on and around the ship. Even as one carrier was targeted, torpedo bombers, fighters with rockets under their wings and dive bombers started to pick their targets. Most of the fighter bombers targeted the cruisers as the equivalent of five inch shells would not damage the battleships or carriers enough, but they could meaningfully reduce the amount of flak. The Avengers, Helldivers and Dauntlesses were attacking anything big and moving. Some carrier air groups came in as a single fist able to land a haymaker. A carrier that was trying to dodge a torpedo squadron stopped suddenly in the water as first a thousand pound bomb exploded in the main engineering spaces and then a second bomb blew out the magazine. Another carrier was listing seventeen degrees after barely surviving an attack from San Jacinto and Randolf. A battleship was lamed after a eating five torpedoes on the port side. Three more capital ships had taken substantial damage, but they were still pressing forward at eighteen knots or better.
All of this was seen by the pilot and the gunner who had never touched his machine gun in the belly turret. Instead he had a notepad and binoculars for the entire hour the bomber orbited the fleet. As the pilot turned away, the radio operator sent a report to the fleet flagship, New Jersey. Another strike would be needed if the Japanese were looking for a gun battle.
Story 2804
Strasbourg, France March 20, 1945
Anna Marie leaned forward as she pushed open the door from the railroad commission building to begin her walk to the boarding house across the city. It was Sunday and typically the building was almost empty on Sundays, but the trains that were supplying the Allied armies' pushes need to keep on running so her section had been called in for overtime. The shift itself was unmemorable. A little gossip from Lsye, and, to use her correspondent's delightful phrase, a complete FUBAR on a switching station that was resolvable with phone calls and rescheduling of work gangs.
She pulled her coat tight against her body. The wind was still biting and cold even as the early spring flowers were starting to push through the ground. The loose strands of her hair were buffetted by a breeze. Her hair had regained her luster once she had enough protein and fat to eat. Her weight had increased by three kilograms since her parents died. A steady job and connections with quartermasters willing to help a pretty woman spend her income had paid off. As she walked down the street, her eyes found a crowd of rough looking men and angry women. Similar crowds had roamed the city since its liberation, paying off grudges accumulated over both the past five years and five generations.
Her feet moved quickly as she turned down a side street and then an alley. It was unlikely that anyone knew her or her past, but trouble was best to be avoided if possible. Perhaps the gendarmes or the American MPs would break up the crowd. It had happened before. She kept walking.
Five more minutes and she would be home as she rapidly strode. Five more minutes and she would be safe enough to have a glass of wine while frying spam. Five more minutes.
"Her, her over there.... she was a horizontal" A woman's voice rang out. Anna Marie's mind quickly placed the voice. It was a classmate from lycee. That cow had hated her.
She tried to slip down an alley but the crowd blocked her. She saw anger in eyes and scissors in hands.
Anna Marie leaned forward as she pushed open the door from the railroad commission building to begin her walk to the boarding house across the city. It was Sunday and typically the building was almost empty on Sundays, but the trains that were supplying the Allied armies' pushes need to keep on running so her section had been called in for overtime. The shift itself was unmemorable. A little gossip from Lsye, and, to use her correspondent's delightful phrase, a complete FUBAR on a switching station that was resolvable with phone calls and rescheduling of work gangs.
She pulled her coat tight against her body. The wind was still biting and cold even as the early spring flowers were starting to push through the ground. The loose strands of her hair were buffetted by a breeze. Her hair had regained her luster once she had enough protein and fat to eat. Her weight had increased by three kilograms since her parents died. A steady job and connections with quartermasters willing to help a pretty woman spend her income had paid off. As she walked down the street, her eyes found a crowd of rough looking men and angry women. Similar crowds had roamed the city since its liberation, paying off grudges accumulated over both the past five years and five generations.
Her feet moved quickly as she turned down a side street and then an alley. It was unlikely that anyone knew her or her past, but trouble was best to be avoided if possible. Perhaps the gendarmes or the American MPs would break up the crowd. It had happened before. She kept walking.
Five more minutes and she would be home as she rapidly strode. Five more minutes and she would be safe enough to have a glass of wine while frying spam. Five more minutes.
"Her, her over there.... she was a horizontal" A woman's voice rang out. Anna Marie's mind quickly placed the voice. It was a classmate from lycee. That cow had hated her.
She tried to slip down an alley but the crowd blocked her. She saw anger in eyes and scissors in hands.
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