Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
If he was still alive, I'd say it was Schultz as this is totally his style to have a criminal like this in his back pocket, although Schultz would have had him under far better control and leaving far fewer traces.
Oh Shit. Someone may be trying to pull a Shultz or a Papen. Either way, Kat will not be happy when she finds out her KSK boys & girls were burnt by someone who is supposedly on their side.
At least George's survival instincts are kicking in. They might not be enough though.
Well, that rules out the von Mischner & von Richtofen clan; they're powerful, but they don't have enough juice to pull rank with the LON. Not even Kat or Helene.
He can't quite get over the indoctrination and that inferiority complex of his, can he? Plus, dude has it bad for Sigi.
And the US Special Forces just got their first Black soldier...
The widespread & uncontrollable threat posed by weapons of mass destruction could easily inspire a movie. Especially biological weapons. Someone accidentally or deliberately releases a biological weapon that devastates the world, while the crew of a nuclear powered submarine listens in horror to radio reports of an apocalypse back home, On The Beach.
Cue Margot 3.0 (with Ben's mother, Nadine(?) being 2.0)
Possibly Gehlen or Augsburg (though Augsburg would be getting old and ill by this point, died in 1968) or Walther Rauff or Hans Wilhelm Eggen. All intelligence services do this, the only people with insight into the criminal underworld are in fact criminals. Who'd a thought?
So much social history tied up in WWII and the Cold War:
Will Catch-22 come from a Russian author?
Do we get Blockbuster movies?
Besides Manfred the Elder and Helene, does anyone else do as Eisenhower, Nixon and others did in OTL and turn their patriotism into a political career?
We have the Lost Generation in Russia but will we have the Counter-Culture with Germany's post-war generation?
With no Soviet Union boogeyman, what will aliens in SciFi represent?
What is going on in Africa? No proxy wars between the USA and the USSR.
Will this Balkan war become this TL's Vietnam War?
Will Catch-22 come from a Russian author?
Do we get Blockbuster movies?
Besides Manfred the Elder and Helene, does anyone else do as Eisenhower, Nixon and others did in OTL and turn their patriotism into a political career?
We have the Lost Generation in Russia but will we have the Counter-Culture with Germany's post-war generation?
With no Soviet Union boogeyman, what will aliens in SciFi represent?
What is going on in Africa? No proxy wars between the USA and the USSR.
Will this Balkan war become this TL's Vietnam War?
Part 109, Chapter 1778
Chapter One Thousand Seven Hundred Seventy-Eight
23rd January 1967
Cam Ranh, Vietnam
Taxidiotis IV gleamed in the tropical sun as the giant crawler moved it from the assembly building to the launch tower. It was surreal watching slowly move, towering above the trees that stood between them and the launch pad. The crew that she was to take to the Moon was on the edge of the beach a few kilometers away enjoying a brief respite from the hectic schedule ahead of the launch in a few days.
Even so, there was serious business to consider. Marcella von Holz and Yuri Kozlov had arrived in Cam Ranh Bay and they had been told by Kapitän von Richthofen that the two Video Journalists were to be given their full cooperation. Gagarin and Leonov were a bit perturbed over having Kozlov around. How did a boy with a name like that, who spoke Russian badly with a German accent come to be in their presence? It seemed that there was some history there regarding a substantial group of Russian expats who had never gone back to Russia after being Prisoners of War, whose return was unwelcome. Supposedly, Yuri Kozlov was the son of one of them. Hartmann and Pierre didn’t really care and had been standoffish regarding the matter.
Erich Hartmann had spent his career as a test pilot for Junkers and the Luftwaffe. Now, he was the mission Specialist whose task would be to pilot the Lunar Lander when they reached the moon. Being the third pilot on this mission had caused him to butt heads with Sigi and Gagarin. Pierre-Gilles de Gennes was the Mission’s Science Officer, reputed genius, and as Sigi would learn, on a completely different wavelength than the vast majority of humanity. Somehow, he had served in the French Navy which had given him a leg up on the competition for getting his slot on the Mission. The only time he had really talked to her had been to suggest that Leonov and Hartmann might be mentally retarded. Sigi had done her best to keep them busy doing other, separate, things after that. Still, they had needed to integrate as a crew and there had been a lot of friction.
Today was more relaxed as they sat in the shade in the covered picnic area with tables used by workers from the launch facility on the edge of the beach as Marcella interviewed them after swimming in the Pacific on an afternoon where everyone had otherwise been at loose ends. She was doing her best to make the informal interview fun, with mixed results. She eventually asked a question that had been one of those things no one had talked about but had been floating in the back of their minds for months.
“Have you given any thought about what you are going to say when you get there?” Marcella asked.
“They have not even decided who is going to be the first out the door yet” Gagarin said, which led to an uncomfortable moment of silence.
The plan was for the First Officer to stay with the Command Module while the other four went to the surface. Gagarin had no stake in being the first man on the Moon and was fine with that. Before the Russian Space Program had joined forces with the ESA, both Gagarin and Leonov made it into orbit, so their place in history was already assured. It had been the mission that Leonov had been on that had changed how both the Russian and European Space Agencies did things. He had landed in Siberia hundreds of kilometers off course and the locator beacon on the capsule had failed. Fortunately, it had been during the summer, but it had still taken few days for rescuers to find the capsule and there had been an encounter with a bear. Leonov had insisted that future missions be better equipped for survival if he was to be involved. His Co-Pilot had quit and had become a pastry chef according to Leonov. Sigi thought that he was pulling her leg with that last part.
As the Commander of the Mission, Sigi could just pull rank and tell them who it was going to be. Still, if she was seen as making arbitrary choices it might not play well when national pride came into play. There had to be a better way. Looking around, Sigi had an idea.
“You still have that deck of cards?” Sigi asked Hartmann who just stared at her, unsure how to react.
“Yes” Hartmann replied reaching into his rucksack, unsure about what Sigi was doing, pulling out a well-thumbed deck of cards and handing it to her. Sigi in turn handed it to Gagarin.
“You shuffle it and high card gets to be the first man or woman on the Moon” Sigi said. With Marcella recording the whole thing, no one would be able to say she was being unfair.
Gagarin was a bit clumsy shuffling, it seemed that playing cards wasn’t his thing. Eventually, he dealt a card to each of the four who were going on the Lander.
Pierre flipped his card to the Jack of Clubs, Hartmann got the three of Spades, and Leonov got the Nine of Clubs.
“Looks like a good day for France” Hartmann observed.
“No” Leonov said, “There is still one card.”
Sigi was a bit annoyed. She had been hoping that one of the others would get a King or an Ace. With a sigh, she flipped her card over to the Queen of Hearts.
The others laughed at that and Sigi’s reaction. Everyone would expect the first one to walk on the Moon to say something profound, she was drawing a complete blank.
“You must have thought about a statement?” Pierre asked, “We all have.”
Sigi hadn’t, she had been too busy just trying to get everything to come together.
“Let’s hear it” Gagarin said.
Then Leonov started chanting “SPEECH, SPEECH, SPEECH!” while pounding his fists on the picnic table. In seconds everyone else had joined in.
23rd January 1967
Cam Ranh, Vietnam
Taxidiotis IV gleamed in the tropical sun as the giant crawler moved it from the assembly building to the launch tower. It was surreal watching slowly move, towering above the trees that stood between them and the launch pad. The crew that she was to take to the Moon was on the edge of the beach a few kilometers away enjoying a brief respite from the hectic schedule ahead of the launch in a few days.
Even so, there was serious business to consider. Marcella von Holz and Yuri Kozlov had arrived in Cam Ranh Bay and they had been told by Kapitän von Richthofen that the two Video Journalists were to be given their full cooperation. Gagarin and Leonov were a bit perturbed over having Kozlov around. How did a boy with a name like that, who spoke Russian badly with a German accent come to be in their presence? It seemed that there was some history there regarding a substantial group of Russian expats who had never gone back to Russia after being Prisoners of War, whose return was unwelcome. Supposedly, Yuri Kozlov was the son of one of them. Hartmann and Pierre didn’t really care and had been standoffish regarding the matter.
Erich Hartmann had spent his career as a test pilot for Junkers and the Luftwaffe. Now, he was the mission Specialist whose task would be to pilot the Lunar Lander when they reached the moon. Being the third pilot on this mission had caused him to butt heads with Sigi and Gagarin. Pierre-Gilles de Gennes was the Mission’s Science Officer, reputed genius, and as Sigi would learn, on a completely different wavelength than the vast majority of humanity. Somehow, he had served in the French Navy which had given him a leg up on the competition for getting his slot on the Mission. The only time he had really talked to her had been to suggest that Leonov and Hartmann might be mentally retarded. Sigi had done her best to keep them busy doing other, separate, things after that. Still, they had needed to integrate as a crew and there had been a lot of friction.
Today was more relaxed as they sat in the shade in the covered picnic area with tables used by workers from the launch facility on the edge of the beach as Marcella interviewed them after swimming in the Pacific on an afternoon where everyone had otherwise been at loose ends. She was doing her best to make the informal interview fun, with mixed results. She eventually asked a question that had been one of those things no one had talked about but had been floating in the back of their minds for months.
“Have you given any thought about what you are going to say when you get there?” Marcella asked.
“They have not even decided who is going to be the first out the door yet” Gagarin said, which led to an uncomfortable moment of silence.
The plan was for the First Officer to stay with the Command Module while the other four went to the surface. Gagarin had no stake in being the first man on the Moon and was fine with that. Before the Russian Space Program had joined forces with the ESA, both Gagarin and Leonov made it into orbit, so their place in history was already assured. It had been the mission that Leonov had been on that had changed how both the Russian and European Space Agencies did things. He had landed in Siberia hundreds of kilometers off course and the locator beacon on the capsule had failed. Fortunately, it had been during the summer, but it had still taken few days for rescuers to find the capsule and there had been an encounter with a bear. Leonov had insisted that future missions be better equipped for survival if he was to be involved. His Co-Pilot had quit and had become a pastry chef according to Leonov. Sigi thought that he was pulling her leg with that last part.
As the Commander of the Mission, Sigi could just pull rank and tell them who it was going to be. Still, if she was seen as making arbitrary choices it might not play well when national pride came into play. There had to be a better way. Looking around, Sigi had an idea.
“You still have that deck of cards?” Sigi asked Hartmann who just stared at her, unsure how to react.
“Yes” Hartmann replied reaching into his rucksack, unsure about what Sigi was doing, pulling out a well-thumbed deck of cards and handing it to her. Sigi in turn handed it to Gagarin.
“You shuffle it and high card gets to be the first man or woman on the Moon” Sigi said. With Marcella recording the whole thing, no one would be able to say she was being unfair.
Gagarin was a bit clumsy shuffling, it seemed that playing cards wasn’t his thing. Eventually, he dealt a card to each of the four who were going on the Lander.
Pierre flipped his card to the Jack of Clubs, Hartmann got the three of Spades, and Leonov got the Nine of Clubs.
“Looks like a good day for France” Hartmann observed.
“No” Leonov said, “There is still one card.”
Sigi was a bit annoyed. She had been hoping that one of the others would get a King or an Ace. With a sigh, she flipped her card over to the Queen of Hearts.
The others laughed at that and Sigi’s reaction. Everyone would expect the first one to walk on the Moon to say something profound, she was drawing a complete blank.
“You must have thought about a statement?” Pierre asked, “We all have.”
Sigi hadn’t, she had been too busy just trying to get everything to come together.
“Let’s hear it” Gagarin said.
Then Leonov started chanting “SPEECH, SPEECH, SPEECH!” while pounding his fists on the picnic table. In seconds everyone else had joined in.
Last edited:
Which is exactly why any transmission would be on a time delay like a radio program, to "edit" unexpected or undesired comments. Do we really know what Neil Armstrong said first?
This interaction, combined with the movie Gia watched recently, says that there is a lot of guilt in Russia regarding how they treated those who were displaced & orphaned during the war. It also suggests that a whole lot of bad shit has been covered up by the authorities or, more likely, blamed on the Communists.
Makes sense and the Luftwaffe back in the day issued a Drilling to its aircrew as part of their survival equipment.
M30 Luftwaffe Drilling - Wikipedia
And I would just love it if Leonov's former co-pilot showed up with a bon voyage gift of his finest pastries.
I can already see the headlines: "Queen of Hearts Rules The Moon!", "First Woman in Space Now First On Moon", "Queen of Hearts now Queen of Space", and "In Space, Everyone Is Equal". Meanwhile over in America, "Its A European Moon!!!", "Europe Wins Race To Moon - The American People Demand Answers!!!", "America Last?", and "The First Man On The Moon Is ... A Woman".
As for the first words said on the Moon; "Hey! I can see my house from here!" has some tradition going for it.
Last edited:
Part 109, Chapter 1779
Chapter One Thousand Seven Hundred Seventy-Nine
25th January 1967
Prague, Bohemia
“It is all about logistics, Sir” Generaloberst Morávek answered when Michael had asked why Brno had developed the 6.5mm Vz.60 light machine gun as they were looking at the weapon in question. Brno had risked a lawsuit in the process as FN had cried foul because they had a similar design even though the Vz.60 was based on the Vz.26, a design that had been around for decades and had been the culmination of a protracted development process. It seemed superfluous in light of the various incarnations of the MG42/48 that were in service. “Most machine guns used by the various Armies of the Empire use eight-millimeter rifle cartridges and often require a two-man crew. The Vz.60 attempts to solve both those problems” Morávek concluded.
Just a few days earlier, Václav Morávek had announced that he was retiring at the end of the year and Michael was being urged to ennoble him for decades of service to Bohemia. For a man of Morávek’s stature that would mean elevation to the courtly rank of Markgraf and the Grand Cross of the Military Order of Saint Wenceslaus. Michael knew that Bohemia would miss having him as the Commander in Chief of the Kingdom’s Military.
“Logistics, and only needing one cartridge to simplify things” Michael said, “He who gets there first with the most wins, to paraphrase an American General.”
“I think that many Americans would take exception to you mentioning that particular individual” Morávek told him.
Michael just shrugged. “I leave diplomacy to my father and older brother” He said, “The one time I was in the United States, I got an earful of their opinions.”
“In fairness, you did dress like the stereotypical villain when you met with their President” Morávek said with a smile. He had been an Artillery Officer for his entire career and that was reflected in his jokes about the appearance of the black dress uniforms worn by the Panzer Corps, which Michael considered himself a part of. After Michael had gone to the 1960 Winter Olympics at Squaw Valley in California, he had accepted an invitation to meet President Herriman in the White House when he had been on his way home. It being a formal event and Michael had dressed for the occasion. That had not gone over well.
Pacoima, Los Angeles, California
When Sean Destrehan, formerly of a Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrol Detachment based out of Camp Angell in Yachats, Oregon, arrived in Fort Drum it had upset the balance. It was always tough bringing a new man into an established Team, the fact that Sean was Black didn’t help matters any. After a particularly harrowing readiness evaluation and weeks trying to get things back on par, Ritchie had gone on leave for a couple weeks. The alternative involved him shooting Huck, Mullens, or Kravitz the next time one of them pissed him off.
After the cold of the New York winter, the warmth of Southern California was welcome. Ritchie didn’t care that it was raining until he got sent on today’s errand. He made his way back from the supermarket where he had gotten a few things that his mother said she needed. Something about how between him being home and the presence of his nieces and nephews there wasn’t a whole lot left to eat in the house. She had insisted that he take a couple cloth bags done up in a floral print pattern. It was probably just as well because a paper bags would had turned to pulp and ripped apart before he had gotten half a block.
Wanting to get out of the rain, Ritchie was focused on getting home when the car pulled in front of him blocking his path. The car was a nondescript late-model sedan, something about it screamed what it really was. While it wasn’t painted black and white, it might as well have been. The two men who got out were exactly the sort who Ritchie preferred to avoid. Two white men in a neighborhood that was mostly Black or Mexican wearing cheap suits, so as to look like professionals, businessmen. The truth was that the business they were in was one that he didn’t want to be involved in. Plainclothes Detectives from the LAPD, little more than thugs with badges and guns.
“Can I help you with something Detectives?” Ritchie asked with as much false cheer as he could muster.
“Maybe, maybe not” The first of the Detectives said, “You got identification?” His partner stood silently behind him.
Ritchie suspected that this was a power play, he would have to set the bags down to reach his wallet. As he did that, he had them staring at him the entire time. The first Detective looked at his Army ID card with a quizzical look on his face before handing it off to his partner.
“I bet you thought we had forgotten about you Richard” The first Detective said, meaning that they had known who Ritchie was when he had pulled up. “You still owe us a conversation about what happened before you skipped town.”
Ritchie had joined the Army almost a decade earlier to avoid what was being called a conversation. There was absolutely nothing these men could legally detain him for if it were from back then, which meant one thing. They were going to try to manufacture an excuse. He wasn’t intending to give them one.
“What the Hell is this supposed to mean?” The second Detective asked rudely, “United States Special Forces Command… Airborne?”
Ritchie said nothing, he doubted he could say much that these two would understand.
“Is that for real Richard?” The first Detective asked. Ritchie could tell that they were becoming dimly aware that they had gotten themselves into a situation.
“Yes” Ritchie replied, “And it is Staff Sergeant Valenzuela.”
“I didn’t ask for any lip from you” The first Detective said sharply.
Ritchie just stood there.
“What are you doing back in town?” The second Detective asked.
In that moment, all the trouble he had been having with the rest of his Team came bubbling to the surface. He didn’t say it aloud, but the words, your mom, came to mind. He smiled at that thought.
“Spic punk” The first Detective muttered. Ritchie could tell that he wanted to punch him, but like all bullies he was scared of what might happen if he picked a fight with the wrong person.
With that, the second Detective threw the ID card at Ritchie before they got back into their car. They tried to peel out, but on the wet pavement all they did was slew around.
Ritchie was reminded of why he had spent so long away from here.
25th January 1967
Prague, Bohemia
“It is all about logistics, Sir” Generaloberst Morávek answered when Michael had asked why Brno had developed the 6.5mm Vz.60 light machine gun as they were looking at the weapon in question. Brno had risked a lawsuit in the process as FN had cried foul because they had a similar design even though the Vz.60 was based on the Vz.26, a design that had been around for decades and had been the culmination of a protracted development process. It seemed superfluous in light of the various incarnations of the MG42/48 that were in service. “Most machine guns used by the various Armies of the Empire use eight-millimeter rifle cartridges and often require a two-man crew. The Vz.60 attempts to solve both those problems” Morávek concluded.
Just a few days earlier, Václav Morávek had announced that he was retiring at the end of the year and Michael was being urged to ennoble him for decades of service to Bohemia. For a man of Morávek’s stature that would mean elevation to the courtly rank of Markgraf and the Grand Cross of the Military Order of Saint Wenceslaus. Michael knew that Bohemia would miss having him as the Commander in Chief of the Kingdom’s Military.
“Logistics, and only needing one cartridge to simplify things” Michael said, “He who gets there first with the most wins, to paraphrase an American General.”
“I think that many Americans would take exception to you mentioning that particular individual” Morávek told him.
Michael just shrugged. “I leave diplomacy to my father and older brother” He said, “The one time I was in the United States, I got an earful of their opinions.”
“In fairness, you did dress like the stereotypical villain when you met with their President” Morávek said with a smile. He had been an Artillery Officer for his entire career and that was reflected in his jokes about the appearance of the black dress uniforms worn by the Panzer Corps, which Michael considered himself a part of. After Michael had gone to the 1960 Winter Olympics at Squaw Valley in California, he had accepted an invitation to meet President Herriman in the White House when he had been on his way home. It being a formal event and Michael had dressed for the occasion. That had not gone over well.
Pacoima, Los Angeles, California
When Sean Destrehan, formerly of a Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrol Detachment based out of Camp Angell in Yachats, Oregon, arrived in Fort Drum it had upset the balance. It was always tough bringing a new man into an established Team, the fact that Sean was Black didn’t help matters any. After a particularly harrowing readiness evaluation and weeks trying to get things back on par, Ritchie had gone on leave for a couple weeks. The alternative involved him shooting Huck, Mullens, or Kravitz the next time one of them pissed him off.
After the cold of the New York winter, the warmth of Southern California was welcome. Ritchie didn’t care that it was raining until he got sent on today’s errand. He made his way back from the supermarket where he had gotten a few things that his mother said she needed. Something about how between him being home and the presence of his nieces and nephews there wasn’t a whole lot left to eat in the house. She had insisted that he take a couple cloth bags done up in a floral print pattern. It was probably just as well because a paper bags would had turned to pulp and ripped apart before he had gotten half a block.
Wanting to get out of the rain, Ritchie was focused on getting home when the car pulled in front of him blocking his path. The car was a nondescript late-model sedan, something about it screamed what it really was. While it wasn’t painted black and white, it might as well have been. The two men who got out were exactly the sort who Ritchie preferred to avoid. Two white men in a neighborhood that was mostly Black or Mexican wearing cheap suits, so as to look like professionals, businessmen. The truth was that the business they were in was one that he didn’t want to be involved in. Plainclothes Detectives from the LAPD, little more than thugs with badges and guns.
“Can I help you with something Detectives?” Ritchie asked with as much false cheer as he could muster.
“Maybe, maybe not” The first of the Detectives said, “You got identification?” His partner stood silently behind him.
Ritchie suspected that this was a power play, he would have to set the bags down to reach his wallet. As he did that, he had them staring at him the entire time. The first Detective looked at his Army ID card with a quizzical look on his face before handing it off to his partner.
“I bet you thought we had forgotten about you Richard” The first Detective said, meaning that they had known who Ritchie was when he had pulled up. “You still owe us a conversation about what happened before you skipped town.”
Ritchie had joined the Army almost a decade earlier to avoid what was being called a conversation. There was absolutely nothing these men could legally detain him for if it were from back then, which meant one thing. They were going to try to manufacture an excuse. He wasn’t intending to give them one.
“What the Hell is this supposed to mean?” The second Detective asked rudely, “United States Special Forces Command… Airborne?”
Ritchie said nothing, he doubted he could say much that these two would understand.
“Is that for real Richard?” The first Detective asked. Ritchie could tell that they were becoming dimly aware that they had gotten themselves into a situation.
“Yes” Ritchie replied, “And it is Staff Sergeant Valenzuela.”
“I didn’t ask for any lip from you” The first Detective said sharply.
Ritchie just stood there.
“What are you doing back in town?” The second Detective asked.
In that moment, all the trouble he had been having with the rest of his Team came bubbling to the surface. He didn’t say it aloud, but the words, your mom, came to mind. He smiled at that thought.
“Spic punk” The first Detective muttered. Ritchie could tell that he wanted to punch him, but like all bullies he was scared of what might happen if he picked a fight with the wrong person.
With that, the second Detective threw the ID card at Ritchie before they got back into their car. They tried to peel out, but on the wet pavement all they did was slew around.
Ritchie was reminded of why he had spent so long away from here.
Last edited:
So much to unpack.
While Michael has no direct involvement in who becomes the next Chief of Staff for the Bohemia Military his recommendations may be asked for and that would be Kurt Knipsel as he is probably the last great hero left from ITTL WW II from Bohemia and he has plenty of staff experience to go along with his combat record.
The Los Angeles Police are still Los Angeles Policing but I would not be surprised if they knock on his mother's door and try to recruit Richie in to the police.
I can get over how much it seems that the European Space Program is adhocing things, by now they should have had plenty of ground rehearsals to see the order of exiting the moon lander and the Public Affairs office is going to sit Sigi down and work out her first words, IOTL Neil Armstrong had months to work out his first words and his brother claimed that is what happened instead of the story that Neil Armstrong later told that it was a spur of the moment thing.
Every television network is going to be out there for the launch and it would be somewhat ironic to see Walter Cronkite in Vietnam ITTL.
George Bush has probably heard the "Yank the Chains" speech from not just the Germans but also from the French, British, Americans, and the Russians governments so that it kind of lost its meaning.
The Russian "Volunteers" is an escalation that can not to unchecked.
While Michael has no direct involvement in who becomes the next Chief of Staff for the Bohemia Military his recommendations may be asked for and that would be Kurt Knipsel as he is probably the last great hero left from ITTL WW II from Bohemia and he has plenty of staff experience to go along with his combat record.
The Los Angeles Police are still Los Angeles Policing but I would not be surprised if they knock on his mother's door and try to recruit Richie in to the police.
I can get over how much it seems that the European Space Program is adhocing things, by now they should have had plenty of ground rehearsals to see the order of exiting the moon lander and the Public Affairs office is going to sit Sigi down and work out her first words, IOTL Neil Armstrong had months to work out his first words and his brother claimed that is what happened instead of the story that Neil Armstrong later told that it was a spur of the moment thing.
Every television network is going to be out there for the launch and it would be somewhat ironic to see Walter Cronkite in Vietnam ITTL.
George Bush has probably heard the "Yank the Chains" speech from not just the Germans but also from the French, British, Americans, and the Russians governments so that it kind of lost its meaning.
The Russian "Volunteers" is an escalation that can not to unchecked.
It sounds as if the Vz. 60 is a 6.5mm version of the OTL Vz. 52, although hopefully its better looking. From a logistics view, and considering typical battle ranges, this does make sense and the heavier 8mm & 12.5+mm crew served machine guns can still be used at company level or higher & in vehicles. Since the Brits went with a 6.5mm version of the EM-2 ITTL, does this mean they have followed a similar thought process & adopted the TADEN as well?
Nathan Bedford Forrest. Total arsehole but sadly a viable subject for study by army officers because the son-of-a-bitch was a very good cavalry commander.
Kurt would be a good choice for the role of Chief of Staff, assuming that he has the necessary seniority for the position or that they decide that they want him in the role for quite some time. He may be too busy with the unfolding shit storm in Poland though. Bohemia is right next door, after all.
As for Ritchie & his... acquaintances... in the LAPD, at least two detectives are now vaguely aware that messing with him might be... ill advised. At least until they figure out just what United States Special Forces Command actually means. While the Army in general might not care too much about one Ritchie Valenzuela, he IS one of theirs & the police are supposed to go through the proper channels, although "accidents & mistakes" have been known to happen. However, Ritchie is Special Forces, not regular Army, and they tend to pay a lot more attention when one of theirs has... problems. So the LAPD is about to discover that what had been a potentially easy target is now anything but, especially since the original beef they had with Ritchie was that they knew where he lived & he was related to the person they really wanted to "converse" with. Their current one, of course, being that he got away from them and that now he might be off limits.
Nathan Bedford Forrest. Total arsehole but sadly a viable subject for study by army officers because the son-of-a-bitch was a very good cavalry commander.
Kurt would be a good choice for the role of Chief of Staff, assuming that he has the necessary seniority for the position or that they decide that they want him in the role for quite some time. He may be too busy with the unfolding shit storm in Poland though. Bohemia is right next door, after all.
As for Ritchie & his... acquaintances... in the LAPD, at least two detectives are now vaguely aware that messing with him might be... ill advised. At least until they figure out just what United States Special Forces Command actually means. While the Army in general might not care too much about one Ritchie Valenzuela, he IS one of theirs & the police are supposed to go through the proper channels, although "accidents & mistakes" have been known to happen. However, Ritchie is Special Forces, not regular Army, and they tend to pay a lot more attention when one of theirs has... problems. So the LAPD is about to discover that what had been a potentially easy target is now anything but, especially since the original beef they had with Ritchie was that they knew where he lived & he was related to the person they really wanted to "converse" with. Their current one, of course, being that he got away from them and that now he might be off limits.
Or it could be that a couple of detectives get out of their cars when arriving home yet somehow fail to make it inside. When they are un-hooded at an undisclosed location, they then find themselves "having a conversation" with certain dangerous looking, but masked, "gentlemen" regarding the current whereabouts & well-being of one Richard Valenzuela. Apparently, he "failed to make an appointment" & his friends have "expressed some concerns" which said "gentlemen" are attempting to assuage.