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Please forgive my insane brain for this, which came up with it after reading some of the recent Sealion threads. This is a one-off, so if anyone wants to go on with it, please feel free...
General Alfred Jodl looked across the conference table and suppressed a sigh of concern. The meeting to discuss Operation Sealion, the plan to invade the British Isles and bring the stubborn bastards to heel, had been going on for three hours now and was no nearer a satisfactory solution now that it had been at the start.
The Navy wanted to land between Dover and Eastbourne, because that was the only area it could reliably cover after its hideous losses in Norway. The Army on the other hand thought that that idea was suicide, as the British would be able to concentrate their defences to maximum advantage. Instead the Army wanted to land between Ramsgate and Brighton. Which the Navy thought was suicide.
He looked at the attendees. Halder, the head of OKH was talking to Raeder, the head of the Navy. Both were rather red-faced and visibly angry. Keitel, Jodl’s superior and the head of OKW, was watching with an expression that rather reminded Jodl of a donkey forced to watch a science lecture.
Himmler watching the bickering with his habitual closed-mouth look of inscrutable boredom. Hess was watching a fly buzz around the room with a look of fascination. Goering was still where he’d been since the start of the meeting, away with the morphine fairies. And the Fuhrer was gazing at the maps again.
Well, enough. “Mein Fuhrer,” he said, just in time as Halder looked as if he was about to break his chair over Raeder’s head. “I believe I have a solution.”
“You have Jodl?” Hitler leant forwards. “Enlighten us.”
“It is very simple. I had the idea from observing the Reichsmarschall and then remembering something. I think I know how to get the invasion force across and in good order.”
Eyebrows shot up all around the room as he explained.
The Wing Commander was in a bad mood. He’d been woken up and hurried over to the briefing room before he’d had his breakfast and also, even more importantly, before he’d been able to comb his ‘tache. He felt positively un-whizzbang.
“Yes, what is it?” he grumbled as he arrived at the photo reconnaissance chappies desk.
“I’m sorry sir, but you need to see this at once. The photo wallahs have come back from a run over the North Sea and… they’ve gone.”
“Gone where and have they been posted AWOL yet?”
“No sir, not the photo wallahs… look at this picture.”
He looked at it. Then he stated the bleeding obvious. “It’s the sea. Big blue thing. Wobbles about a lot. Has fish in it.”
“Yes, sir, but what’s missing?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, “Foam? Fishing boats? What am I supposed to be looking at? Where were these pictures taken?”
The other chap pointed at the map with his finger. “There sir.”
The Wing Commander felt his ‘tache quiver. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “The Frisian Islands! The blighters have moved them! Those Jerry swine! But what would they do with them?”
Another picture was placed in front of him and he felt his eyes bulge. “They’re towing them to Calais! It’s the Invasion!”