The Scandinavian Gambit 2.0-A TL

Ok, so here is a revamped version, with better research thanks to Rubicon and Von Adler especially, with better dates and more thought out. Hopefully this one works out better!

Oh, as an FYI, some of the upcoming text is based of altered original text, while some segments are brand new. I'd suggest skimming at least through the older things and definitely read the new updates, which should all be clustered at the end.

So, with out further ado, enjoy!

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[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]December 25th, 1939[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Silent night, holy night, all is well, all is right.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]” The record crackled as the gramophone spun, off in a corner in the dining room of Highfield Park, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain's private estate. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]If only that was the case[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought the beleaguered leader. The papers reported nothing of note happening, but that didn’t mean the government did not have issues to deal with. The French had been hounding him about some preposterous plans for Scandinavia and Baku. It seems their leaders did not grasp that pulling the Soviets into the war was the last thing they needed. However, it's not like the Soviets weren't asking for it. German-Soviet trade kept the Wehrmacht running its blitzkrieg across Europe. Also, the partition of Poland hadn't done them any favors. Add in the invasion of Finland and it is no surprise so many were calling for the Soviet's blood as well. However, that's not what this night was all about. It was about being able to spend some time with his family. [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]It is so nice to be home for a change. 10 Downing may be nice, but it just doesn’t have the charm of home.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Anne, his wife, smiled. “We are all glad to be back.”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The white door behind them opened. Out walked three servants, carrying plates filled with warm food. On one large plate was a roasted pheasant, browned to perfection. Neville's mouth watered at the sight of it. [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]I think what I miss most is the cooking at home” said Neville as he looked at the family's cook, “Thank you very much Cecilia.” [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The short, plump lady blushed and curtsied before heading back into the kitchen. [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Now, let's eat!” said the Prime Minister. He took a large carving knife and cut a piece for his wife and each of his children. Then, when satisfied, he cut himself a piece. Taking a bite, he smiled. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Yum! She certainly knows how to cook!” he said. He cut himself another piece, and ate it. A rather pink piece. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]***********[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Headline of the The Times, December 30th, 1939[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Chamberlain Resigns[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Churchill appointed Prime Minister [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain resigned today from office due to health reasons. After a recent bout with salmonella, the Prime Minister complained of incessant bowel pain. A closer examination by doctor's showed Mr. Chamberlain to have a malignant bowel tumor. The exact prognosis is unknown, but after considering all options, Mr. Chamberlain resigned as Prime Minister. In a statement issued by the Mr. Chamberlain today, he is quoted as saying “in normal circumstances I would try and lead the country even with my ailment. However, in this case, the country needs a leader unencumbered by such a condition. I therefore tender my resignation.” In response, First Lord of Admiralty Winston Churchill was appointed Prime Minister by the King. Most agree this is due to Mr. Churchill's ability to hold influence with all parties, and his experience in governing. The new Prime Minister is due to make his first speech to the nation on New Year's Day. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]**********[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]December 29th, 1939[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]This should have been over by now!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]An infuriated Joseph Stalin slammed onto the battle map splayed out onto the table in the main war room of his personal dacha at Kuntsevo. Vyacheslav Molotov, Soviet Foreign Minister, stood ram-rod straight in front of the raving leader of the Soviet Union. Also taking the verbal beating was Soviet Minister of Defense and, incidentally, commander of all Soviet forces involved in the invasion of Finland, Kliment Voroshilov. Stalin's face was red with anger as he ranted further. It was best to not try and stop him once he went into these moods. As a man, Stalin stood only 5' 5”, far from the imposing figure that the public was shown on the posters that could be seen plastered everywhere. “[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Like Napoleon”,[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought Molotov. He wanted to smirk badly, but letting that sort of facial expression through could be deadly. In Stalin's Russia, anything, even looking at the Father of Nations in a weird way, could get you in the back of a Black Raven heading for some unmarked ditch deep in the endless woods of Russia. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Stalin stared Voroshilov down. “We give you control of one of the most powerful armies on the planet, and you can't even crush Finland? Even if those defenses were as strong as the Maginot line, the might of the people would push it aside! Except instead, due to your incompetence, we have a disaster on our hands. You have shamed the glorious people's republic!” The Field Marshall stood, silent. Not like that would-[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The only reason we have had such failures is because of your killing of all my officers!” shouted Voroshilov at Stalin. “Out troops lack leaders, simply because of your paranoia! YOU are to blame for our failures!” Stain looked dumbfounded at Voroshilov. It was not often someone stood up to Stalin's madness, and even less often they got away with it. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The dictator stared down his commander. Not a word was said. Suddenly the door opened behind them. A timid servant dressed in a pristine white uniform stuck his head in. “Premier Stalin, dinner is prepared for you.” Then the servant opened the door fully to let the three men pass through. Stalin headed for the door. Without looking at Voroshilov, he started to speak. “I want you to use whatever means necessary to bring Finland to the negotiating tables. If they still do not choose to negotiate, then mark my words, you will pay for it.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]******[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Excerpt from the book [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]An Icy Hell: The Winter War[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] historian Dennis Finn. (1992) [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]...Following a meeting at Stalin's Kuntsevo Dacha on December 29th by most of the Soviet leadership, Field Marshall Voroshilov was given a ultimatum to end the war quickly on the Soviet's terms or be relieved. The task was next to impossible. Voroshilov's men lacked winter gear, making them extremely vulnerable to the harsh realities of a Finnish winter. Also, the ambushes of the Finnish ski troops on Soviet advances were hard to combat, both from the lack of skilled and experienced officers needed to wage such a low level war, and due also to the Soviet's having little knowledge of the terrain. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Out of desperation, Voroshilov turned to aerial warfare. He ordered air raids on Helsinki and on other Finnish cities. Aerial bombardment had been largely ineffective in the early days of the war, but Voroshilov was ready to try anything to bring the Finnish government to the table. Starting on New Years Eve, 1939, a massive wave of 120 Soviet bombers, mostly TB-3's and Tupolev SB's attacked Helsinki while smaller raids hit the towns of Oulu, Tampere, and Turku. The Finns put up a stubborn but fruitless fight against the raids. They lacked the necessary guns, ammo, and planes to put a real dent in the attacking bomber formations. For five straight days, from December 31st, 1939 to January 4th, 1940, Soviet bombers relentlessly pounded Helsinki and the other cities. All told, the raids killed roughly 500 people, with many more dying from exposure to the bitter cold after having their homes destroyed by “Molotov’s Breadbaskets”. The campaign was unsuccessful in its goal, and only further galvanized the general public in Western nations against the Soviet Union, as evidenced by this quote from newly appointed British Prime Minister Winston Churchill's famous “New Year's speech”, said just as news of the resumption of bombings broke:[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]To the British people: I can only offer you my tears, sweat, blood, and toil. To all who oppose tyranny and wickedness in this world: We offer you our support, both in material and in spirit, so as to make this word safe for democracy. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]In the end, the bombings were useless. Finnish resolve held, and on January 5th, 1940, Voroshilov was relieved of command, to be replaced by General Semyon Timoshenko. Voroshilov, an ally of the Stalin from the beginning, the signer of multiple death warrants for many a purged officer, would soon have the tables turned on him. When the Winter War ended up dragging the Soviet Union into the Great European War, Stalin's blame fell solely on Voroshilov for not ending the Winter War fast enough. On the night of March 23rd, 1940, a NKVD car pulled up to his home. He was torn away from his family, taken to an unmarked grave and shot, like many before him. His family was killed likewise three days later. Voroshilov was not afforded a fake trial like so many of his fellow officers he had betrayed during the purge. He simply received a bullet in the back of his head, courtesy of Stalin himself. The Premier had personally ordered his 'liquidation' two days earlier." [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Excerpt from the book [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Operation Javelin and Churchill's Gamble[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] by historian Calvin Bearfield. (2009)

“...Following Prime Minister Chamberlain's resignation, due to the discovery of his terminal bowel cancer which he chose to keep secret, the “old bulldog” Winston Churchill took the helm of the United Kingdom. As a statesmen, he was known for his appeal to the masses and his ability to inspire those behind him. However, much like his counterpart in Nazi Germany, Churchill had a propensity to defend ideas he supported with the stubbornness of an mule, both good and bad. As the First Lord of Admiralty during the early months of the war, he knew of the French staff's support for an intervention into Scandinavia, and of striking a blow against the Soviet Union in the form of a air raid on Baku. Not surprisingly, Churchill supported the plan.

After his appointment to the spot of Prime Minister, Churchill asked for a meeting of the Allied Supreme War Council on an earlier date, due to his desire for action. On January 12th, 1940, the council met in Paris to decide upon new priorities. Representing the United Kingdom were Prime Minister Winston Churchill, Chief of the Imperial General Staff General Edmund Ironside, Foreign Minister Lord Halifax, and the Permanent Undersecretary of State for Foreign Affairs Alexander Cadogan. Representing France were Prime Minister of France Édouard Daladier, General Maurice Gamelin, Commander and Chief of the French Navy Admiral François Darlan, Minister of Munitions Raoul Dautry, and Jean Monnet, the Chairman of the Franco-British Economic Co-ordination Committee. Discussion turned quickly to Scandinavia. The French staff had been the original supporters of the plan, however under Prime Minister Chamberlain's tenure, their British counterparts had politely rejected this course of action. At the January 12th meeting, the British delegation led by Churchill and Ironside jumped into the discussion with gusto.
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[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Early drafts of the plan advocated for landings in Petsamo in northern Finland. However, a landing at Petsamo would make any move towards the Swedish iron mines a very blatant act of aggression. Instead, the plan, as developed by General Ironside, would be a landing at Narvik in Northern Norway. From there, a combined Allied force could use the [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Malmbanan [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]as a direct path to the Swedish iron mines at Kiruna and Malmberget. They could be quickly occupied, and then an expeditionary force could move to aid the beleaguered Fins. Thus, in one fell swoop, Finland could be reinforced and the Germans would lose a valuable source of ore. This plan was also less then ideal due to the awful winter conditions of Scandinavia for transport. It would make any attempt require no hostility from both Sweden and Norway as well. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Many (mostly British) officials such as Lord Halifax and Permanent Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs Cadogan were strongly aligned against the intervention, with Cadogan simply stating “It is a silly scheme devised by men who do not realize the real-world consequences started with the simple movement of a flag across a map.” However, with the rest of the staff, the plot was garnering support. The general public clamored for action as the “Bore War” or “Phoney War”, as the press had dubbed the lengthy inaction, continued on. At the same time, the Soviet invasion of Finland had raised the public's ire while the recent “New Year's Bombings” had only incensed the West's populace even more. Meanwhile, the Soviets had shown themselves to be a rather incompetent enemy so far, with the plucky Finnish ski troopers beating off the technologically superior Red Army, with its large mechanized formations, quite easily. It logically followed to the Allied leadership that if Finland could hold off the Soviets by themselves, with Allied support the war could turn into an easy rout. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Strategically, the plan seemed sound as well. With the move, Germany would lose a large percentage (by Allied estimates) of its ore supply. The occupation could be followed by an air raid on Baku, the Soviet's, and by extension the German's, main source of crude oil, codenamed “Operation Pike”. With both of these attacks, it seemed the Nazi war machine could be brought to a standstill. To those who objected to bringing the Soviet Union into the war, two main responses were given. Firstly, following the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and other such treaties and trade agreements between the powers, the Western Allies began to view Germany and the Soviet Union as two peas in a totalitarian pod. The news of the February 4th trade agreement, which more quadrupled the trade between the two nations along with allowing German access to the Northern Sea Route only confirmed these suspicions to the Allied powers. Secondly, the Western Allies doubted the Soviets military strength. While the Soviets would enter the war, they lacked the power projection, at least in the Allies' mind, to cause harm to the West. Also, as mentioned earlier, the Allies thought lowly of the Red Army following its failure to crush Finland quickly. Finally, it was not believed that the Soviets and Nazis would be willing or able to launch a joint offensive into Europe until the Scandinavian campaign was resolved, which Allied officials believed could last long enough for France and the UK to have mobilized to the point where the war would be an even fight. These thoughts proved troublesome for any of R4's detractors to disprove. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Finally, it should be noted how the plan would achieve a much vaunted goal of the French Military Staff. Many of its members were veterans of the Great War, and remembered the harm inflicted on its land and people when front line was 75 miles from Paris. To them, it was about time that the grim specter of war visited a new land. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]With all of this in mind, the decision was made on January 12th to go forward with Plan R4, or upon further planning, Operation Javelin, along with Operation Pike. While much work was needed, many contingencies need to be accounted for (how the Nordic nations would react was a large question mark), and many large changes were to come, the die had been cast. The war was about to take a drastic turn, one that would have far reaching consequences for the Allies." [/FONT]
******

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]January 20th, 1940[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Too many, white was a pure color. One of innocence; of good. However, to Soviet forces around the Kollaa River, it was a color that only brought terror. For hiding somewhere in the endless white blanket that lay over the cold ground was the White Death.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Simo[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Häyhä looked down the iron sights of his Mosin-Nagant rifle. Having a telescopic scope would only give an enemy counter sniper a way to find him. With his white camouflage and limited equipment, Simo was almost impossible to find. Which was not good for the Soviet patrol he had sighted.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The five men crept slowly through the thick underbrush. The Red Army had run into much trouble trying to move through the rough terrain of Ladoga Karelia. All the major roads had Finnish blocking forces on them, and tanks where useless in the dense words. Any attempt by foot meanwhile...[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Simo squinted further. The iron site quickly lined up with the soldier taking up the rear. He took a deep breath.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]CRACK.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The rifle shot echoed through the white forest. The red soldier dropped like a rock. A perfect head shot. Simo worked the bolt smoothly as the patrol quickly looked around for any signs of the sniper. Agitated Russian drifted towards Simo's ears, but he didn’t care to listen. He raised his rifle again.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]CRACK. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Another man down. Now three extremely agitated Reds stood. They quickly began to run back form whence they came, making a large ruckus. A few birds, disturbed by the noise, flew out from their perch. As a boy, Simo's game had been simple birds. Now he was after a bigger prize. One soldier tripped over a log. He disappeared from sit only to quickly try and scramble back up. Stupid. His only chance would have been to try and wait out Simo. Not likely. He had patience, and anyway it would be only a matter of time before some artillery came down on this position. Not like it mattered now. The White Death held his breath again.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]CRACK[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]. The man fell to the ground once again, for good. The two remaining men were getting away faster then Simo had thought. He only had time to take out one. He quickly aimed and fired again.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]CRACK.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The fourth man fell as the fifth fled fast, back to his unit or where ever he had come from. Now the sniper would have to hurray. Once he made it back, an artillery strike was a matter of when, not if. Ever since New Year's, when the Soviet's had begun to realized how many of their men were being picked of Simo's crack shot, they had begun increasing reckless and desperate attempts to kill him. No matter. Simo silently began to crawl away to a distance he thought would be safe enough by his judgement.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The White Death crawled fifty yards back towards friendly lines. He suddenly felt like he had lost a clip when a rifle report filled the air. Into the snow just a foot ahead of him appeared a hole in the snow. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Apparently I have a friend [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]thought Simo. He quickly jumped up and threw himself behind a large old tree trunk as another bullet wizzed by. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Amateur. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Trying to find the other sniper would be hard. He would just need to locate the sniper.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]He quickly pulled out a small mirror he kept for situations like these. Simo grabbed the mirror by its long handle and slowly pushed it out from behind the cover. He just needed to find the small glint of the glass scope.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Suddenly, from behind a large Pine tree came the breath flicker of light. Exactly what he needed. Simo slid agonizingly slow out from his hiding spot. He put some snow in his mouth so that his breath wouldn’t give away his location. In what felt like an hour he was finally repositioned. With great care Simo lined up his shot. He took a breath.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]CRACK. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The bullet flew true, and hit the opposing sniper in the neck. He fell over, garaging blood. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the White Death stood for all to see and walked back towards friendly lines. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]20 minutes later, he was among his own. An officer came up to him, a great big smile upon his face. “Ahhh! You return! How was the day's hunt?”[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Just the usual” replied the sniper. He walked to his tent, leaned his rifle on a post and crawled inside. [/FONT]

******

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]February 2nd, 1940

Colour Sergeant Lewis Morgan, Royal Marines, stopped to catch his breath. He watched as his breath turned to a icy fog. A cold, bitting wind blew it his face laden with large snowflakes. The sergeant quickly composed himself and looked as the 30 enlisted men behind him struggled up the side of Wideford Hill. One could Just barely make out the dark shapes of the Royal Navy anchored at Scapa Flow through the white and grey haze of the storm. Somewhere among those shapes was the HMS Warspite, the ship from where these marines came from.

“Come on you bums! This isn't some fun run! Now get yer arses up here on the double!” The line of men, all dressed in identical dark blue sweatpants and red sweaters for winter PT, where just as out of breath as Sergeant Morgan. Serving on board one of the capital ships of Her Majesty's battlefleet does not give one many opportunities to exercise. Many of the men seemed ready to barf up their lunch in fact, mostly the war recruits who had arrived around November. Life aboard a capital ship made it hard for the marines to get their conditioning in, and if you wanted to kill Huns you needed to be in shape.

“Ok you bloody prats, let's get this show on the road. Hope you all had enough rest, cause it is a long way back as well.” With that Morgan took of down the hill from whence they came. The marines, reluctantly, began to follow.

About 45 minutes later, the tired marines arrived back at small dock where the launch had discharged them. “Ok ladies, take a breather. Consider today's exercises finished. I expect better next time.” The marines let out a tired cheer and began to talk amongst themselves as they idled on the dock. Morgan stood, looking out over the icy water.
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Where's that launch[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] he thought to himself. While he didn't exactly enjoy the idle life on a ship, he did at least want to get back to the warmth of the [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Warspite.
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
After a short wait, the launch arrived at the jetty. The marines quickly boarded and took a seat. As the ship pulled away at a leisurely pace towards the capital ships, the Petty Officer on board the launch walked back to Sergeant Morgan. “Order's from the top; you and your marines are to gather your belongings and then report back to us. It seems you blokes are needed elsewhere.”

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Well that is a surprise. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]“Roger sir,” said Morgan back to the Petty officer, who then worked his way back to his seat towards the bow. Morgan stood up and faced his men. He cleared his throat, which they could even hear over the noise of the engine behind them. Morgan's ability to clear is throat was rather well known throughout the ship. If you wanted to get someone's attention, he could assist.

“It seems we are needed elsewhere marines, so when we get back to the ship, you all need to back your sacks and get back to this launch on the double.” The marines groaned at the news. “Yes, yes, I know, upsetting, but at least this means we might meet some Nazi's soon enough.” The men have a cheer as the launch pulled up to the mighty
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Warspite.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] She might be an old grey lady but she could still dish out the punishment. The men quickly scampered up the gangway laid out for them and ran to their bunks. Morgan followed.

A half-hour later, the marines queued up to board the launch, carrying their knapsacks on their shoulders. The snow had mostly subsided, with only a few snowflakes tumbling down towards the earth. However, the metal stairs laid out from the ship's deck to the launch was slick from the snow. The marines had to take care not to slip and fall into the icy water of Scapa Flow. It wouldn't kill them, but it would make them the laughing stock of the platoon for a week or so, a fate almost as bad as death.
The marines quickly loaded into the launch, and after a few minutes were back at the jetty. They found two Bedford trucks waiting for them, which they boarded. Moving slowly, the trucks brought the marines to a makeshift camp set up just north of Kirkwall. The men quickly dismounted and walked into the camp. A short, red faced Royal Marine Captain directed the men some tents that had been propped up for them to drop of their knapsacks, before they went to a larger tent. After another 5 minutes of the re ordering and arranging, the
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Warspite[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]'s marines got into a line of marines all from other ships. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Hurray up and wait[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought Morgan. Finally, just as the snow picked up again, the cold, tired marines reached the inside of the tent. Many quartermasters stood near crates filled with white clothing. Morgan walked up to one. “Size?” sad the quartermaster in a very dull tone.

“15 and a half,” said Morgan. The quartermaster shoved a shirt towards him. He grabbed it. It was the normal combat shirt worn by the marines except in a wintery color, meant for camouflage in snow. He continued down the line, with each equally dry quartermaster giving him a new set of clothes. As the platoon settled down outside the tent, they began to chat amongst themselves. Getting winter gear certainly meant something was going on, but what exactly was hard to tell.
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]I guess that is best left to men up top. I'm sure they know what they are doing. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Then Morgan laughed to himself. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Who am I kidding? [/FONT]

******
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]February 20[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif], 1940[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] It was a cold and gusty afternoon in New York City, as the streets teemed with people hustling and bustling through their daily lives. However, Theodore Seuss Geisel found that he rather enjoyed this time of day for pleasure. With a steady income from his “Flit” advertisements and some extra cash from his children's books, his days were rather open. So, as women wrapped tight in their fur coats rushed to get groceries, or men in long trench coats holding fedoras or baker boy caps tight to there head with a free hand rushed to and fro, Seuss decided he wanted to catch the Saturday matinee with his lovely wife Helen. Seuss looked over at his wife, her face pressed into her warm coat against the bitting wind. After passing multiple crying newsboys on the street corner of 7[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] and 34[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] and a establishment known as “Joe's Diner”, the cinema's broad entrance opened up onto the street. Seuss walked up to the ticket counter and slapped two dimes down for the ticket man. He handed Seuss his tickets, and the two walked inside.[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] As the door swung open, Seuss was greeted by the smell of the warm popcorn the theaters always tried to peddle. He normally didn't by it. Helen on the other hand...[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “I'll be right back dear!” she said as she reached into her small purse and pulled out a nickle. She walked over and bought herself one of the small red and white striped bags filled with the salty treat and then meet back with her husband. The two then walked into the theater and took a seat in the back by the door. Just then the whirling of the projector started as the lights turned down. Seuss could make out the wispy stream from the projector as the film started. Seuss placed his hat on his lap and Helen moved a little closer to him. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The matinee opened in the familiar way. The music swelled as the screen was filled with the image of a tiny toy airplane circling the spinning globe. Then the globe disappeared, and was replaced by large words. Soon the announcer began to speak, reading of what was on the screen; “Universal Newsreels presents, the news of the week!”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The footage quickly changed to that of the frozen fighting in Finland. “In Finland, the Winter War rages on as Red troops finally began to penetrate the defenses of the Finnish Marshal Mannerheim!” The footage changed to a shot of Mannerheim pointing on a large table map as the music swelled for the second time. Then the shot changed to that of Soviet tanks, rubling through the snow, as did the sound effects to match. “Using tanks and planes, the Reds have been slowly grinding their way through. However, the brave warriors from the north continue to fight on!”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Then footage switched to that of an exploding ship, while the announcer began to describe why. “Meanwhile, the battle for the Atlantic rages on, as Nazi U-boats continue to prey on the shipping of the United Kingdom and her commonwealths! British Prime Minister Winston Churchill however, remains defiant of the U-boat threat!” The film cuts to Churchill speaking in front of parliament. His baritone filled the theater. Even Seuss received chills from his voice. “No matter how many ships the U-boats send to the bottom, we will build more! We will build better ships, build more supplies, and hold on, for they can sink our ships, but they can not sink our resolve!” [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Finally the footage shifted to something no war related, as scenes of snow covered fields were shown. “Finally, here in the USA, the east coast was blanketed in a layer of snow this week, delaying trains and in general causing problems.” The footage then cut to some young kids playing in a snow bank. “Except for these young lads here. Now have fun won't you?” The kids now appeared in a line, waving at the camera, before the footage cut to the boys having a snowball fight. “Oh kids!” said the announcer as the music swelled to its finally. Over the final note, the screen was again dominated by the turning globe with the small plane as the the announcer's voice boomed “And this was Universal Newsreels news of the week!”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] After the news, a quick cartoon from Metro-Goldwyn Mayer played of a cat and a mouse's fight over their house. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Now maybe the cat should have a hat[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought Seuss wistfully. He and Helen got a good laugh out of the cat trying to balance all of the plates the mouse had knocked over. After the cartoon and a few more commercials, the main film played; Pinocchio, from the Disney company. It was another animated story of a wooden puppet who wants to be real boy, and how is he led astray by his evil habits before sacrificing himself for his father. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]My books make more sense then this, and could have better messages![/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought Seuss with a grin. Afterwards the lights came up and the couple stood up. Seuss stretched his arms up. “One thing I never get used to is sitting still for so long!” said Seuss. Helen giggled at him. Then the two walked out of the theater and through the cinema lobby. “Certainly was a lovely time,” said Helen, “lets you forget the the troubles in the world for a while.”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] As the Geisel's left the theater, the cold blast of air welcomed them back to reality. The newsboys, still yelling, announcing the latest headlines from the war in Europe and China. The two walked back towards there cozy apartment as the snow picked up. Seuss reached down and took his wife's hand. They looked towards each other and smiled. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]******
[/FONT]​
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]March 6th, 1940[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Few roads ran through the Kollaa region of Finland, due to it's remoteness and the rough terrain. Filled with rivers, trees, and lakes, it did not seem like an area that would need such infrastructure. This issue was certainly causing the Red army some trouble. They had been held in place by the 12th Division for the entire span of the Winter War. Even now, in March, as the mighty Mannerheim line was being breached by the Soviets, Kollaa still had not fallen. As Lieutenant Juutilainen had said, Kollaa will hold unless the orders are to run.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Simo Häyhä relaxed , his rifle leaned against a nearby tree, his Suomi SMG on his back, as did the other 22 men hiding in the snow and underbrush next to the small road, just at the end of a curve in the path. Just because there were few roads didn’t mean the Russians wouldn't try and use them. The men were what was left of the 1st company of the 2nd Battalion of the 12th Division. Holding Kollaa had come at a cost, a dear cost to the men on the 12th, but they had made the Russians pay even more for every inch of land they conquered. The men had managed to requisition a Maxim gun and some ammo for it, along with some extra anti-tank rifle rounds and a few satchel charges. They were well prepared for any sort of attack. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Crouched in the snow next to Simo were three other men, Gustav, Eero, and Valto. As a sniper, Simo generally worked alone. However, as he was about to go out on a patrol he meet up with these three who were busy collecting ammo, and they had asked if he would like to join them for a ambush or two. Simo found himself hard pressed to say no. The three seemed to be good friends, as they could chat the day away. Now they were, like most men their age, talking about girls. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “Ehh, that is nothing! In Leppyalampi there is a girl, I swear, her tits are as big as your head!” said Eero.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “Let me guess, you slept with her as well?” said Valto as he laughed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Gustav then chimed in. “Bullshit he slept with her! You couldn't even sleep with a whore! She'd take one look at ya and tell you you owe her triple!” The three burst into laughter. Oh to be 20 again thought Simo. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Suddenly, a distant rumbling was heard. Simo perked up. He would recognize the sound of a Soviet tank anywhere. He quickly motioned for the three to get down. They grabbed their rifles and worked their way into the snow. The rest of the company followed. The sound continued to grow louder as the tank crawled closer. It was a much deeper, heavier soundthen usual, not the normal sound of one of their Vickers rip-offs or the thin skinned BT's. This can't be good.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Suddenly, from around the turn came a monstrous tank, an officer in a black uniform standing arrogantly out of the pulpit, flanked by at least 30 men. The tank had to be about 7 meters long and had huge treads. A turret rested nicely on top, with a gun that almost seemed too small for the tank. Looks like the Reds weren't messing around. Simo looked across the way at the commander, a young, field-promoted Lieutenant. He gave a thumbs up. They were going to engage, and he had the first shot. This wasn't a hard choice. Simo sighted his rifle on the tank officer riding around like he owned the land. Now to just weight for the right moment...[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] CRACK! Simo fired, the familiar kick hitting his shoulder. The tank commander suddenly slumped down as the rifle shot echoed. The rest of the company then opened fire, the individual rifle shots and the constant tear of the maxim filling the air. Most of the Soviets quickly dropped dead as the hail of fire tore into them, but some managed to survive, firing back wildly into the woods. They wouldn't last however within the first 15 seconds most of the infantry was finished. A large tank was still left however.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] As soon as the Maxim had opened up, the turret began turning towards its position. The brave crew continued firing until the turret had stopped right on them. Then the sounds of yelling filled as the men ran from the gun. KA-THOOM! The sharp sound of the gun firing mixed with the dull thump of the shell exploded, sending shrapnel, dirt, and body parts raining over the other side of the road. However, Simo had little time to watch, as a machine gun located on the back of the tank's turret made itself known. The gun fired into the underbrush, tearing into two unlucky men. The anti-tank rifle, on Simo's side of the road, fired, its loud report filling Simo's ears. However, the 20mm round bounced off the tanks heavy armor, even at such extreme range. The turret turned a few degrees and the backwards facing MG opened up. Another man down.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Suddenly, Eero jumped from his hiding spot, a satchel charge in hand. He pushed through the brush and dived onto the road, almost face planting into the frozen mud. He then slapped the charge onto the tanks treads and activated the charge. As Eero tried to leap back into cover, the machine gun caught him in the back. He feel into the bushes, dead. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “NO!” screamed Gustav and Valto. Valto went to get up, but Simo placed a hand on his chest to stop him. The charge blew, ruining the tanks tracks. It was now immobilized. They would be going nowhere. The Finns waited for the top to pop open and a white flag to appear. Instead, the turret began to whirl, as it spun, slowly. Towards Simo. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” he yelled as Simo, Valto, Gustav, and two other men jumped to their feet and ran out of the way. One man slipped as he tried to stand, falling back down. He managed to croak out “Help!” before the tank fired. There was nothing left of him afterwards. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “Fine,” said Simo, “I guess we have to do this the hard way. He placed his sniper rifle against a tree and took his Suomi SMG from his back. “You three, follow me!” [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The four men burst from the woods onto the road and ran towards the rear of the tank. The turret tried to turn fast enough, but there was not enough time. The four reached the back of the tank. Simo quickly began to try and climb onto the back, but the metal was very slick. “Help me up!” he yelled at the others. They pushed him on top of the tank. By now the turret had turned back to normal, the machine gun facing him. “Shit!” he screamed as he jumped right off the tank he had struggled to get onto as the machine gun let worth a burst that went harmlessly into the dirt behind the tank. “Go to the other side!” Simo yelled at the three other men. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The three moved to the side with the blown of tracks. The turret began to turn again so that the MG would face the three. Simo but his gun on his back. As soon as the main gun was above Simo though, he jumped up and grabbed onto it. From there he climbed onto the top of the tank. The crew must have heard the sound of his boots on the body, for the hatch swung open, and a Soviet in the black overalls of a tank crewmen raised his pistol up. Simo cut him down with a burst. Then he yelled for Gustav to throw him another Satchel charge. He did, and Simo grabbed it, activate it, threw it into the tank, shut the hatch and slide of the side of the tank. Muffled screams could be heard before a dull thump ended them. Simo walked over to the other men. “And THAT gentleman is how you take out a tank!” [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]******[/FONT]​

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Excerpt from the book [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]A Game of Shadows: Spying in the Great European War[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] (1999).[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] “...In 1939, as war had approached, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the German Abwehr, was pressured by Hitler to fill the UK with spies so that the Nazi's would have up to date information on British moves. However, these spies, sent hurriedly, were very easy to find. By February of 1940, at least a quarter of the Abwehr spies in the UK had been captured or were close to a fate, and by the end of the way, save for two or three agents, the Abwehr has ceased to exist as an effective spying force in England. The captured agents were given a choice; they could continue to be free and send false information to the Germans, or could be jailed and tried as spies. Most choice the first choice. The spies would play a key role in one of the biggest, and most controversial, false flag operations of the war. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Following Prime Minister Churchill's taking of office, plans had be constructed for a intervention in Scandinavia, along with a bombing attack on the Soviet oil facilities in Baku, as the Soviet Union began to be seen as more and more as an pseudo-Axis power. The original casus belli for the operation was supposed to be to support the Finns in the Winter War. However, following the launching of a new offensive in Finland on January 29th by the Soviets, and the flat out refusal by the Swedes for transit rights. By the Swedes refusing transits rights, any force would need to face the formidable Swedish army on its home territory in the Scandinavian winter; not a sunny prospect for the army units involved. This would mean the delaying of any reinforcements by weeks, if not months, to Finland, who had little time left, thus rendering moot the stated goal of the operation. Finally, the German reaction would certainly be one of supporting the Nordic nations against the Allied invasion, making the invasion even harder. Thus, the original plan was scrapped. Operation Pike continued unabated, but it seemed that the doves in the Foreign Ministry might have won out against Churchill and the French Chiefs of Staff. It was then however, that an ingenious, though sinister, plan was hatched by numerous Naval Intelligence personnel, including one Mr. Fleming.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The main problem the Allies were having was creating a justification, besides bald-faced aggression, for the invasion. The plan hatched by the men in the Naval Intelligence Directory was to use the many compromised Abwehr agents to spread false information to the Germans regarding negotiations between Sweden and the UK, to induce an invasion by the Germans to allow for the Allies to appear as the “defenders of the neutrality”. It was believed then the Swedish military, plus Allied reinforcements, could hold even a numerically superior force for months. Germany would be denied ore (and even if the Germans broke through, the mines could be sabotaged) and forced to commit its heavy fleet units and troops to the invasion or risk a large Allied force on its northern flank. Even better was that the majority of the fighting could be done by local forces, with limited Allied forces.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Of course, the operation would have to be pulled off before all of this could occur. The operation began in late-February, as the MI-5 held agents began reporting back to Germany reports of Allies negotiations with Sweden. The Germans knew of these negotiations, but believed they would go nowhere. However, according to multiple agents operating in England, the negotiations were progressing quite well. By the beginning of March, the German high command had begun planning for an invasion of Sweden and other Scandinavian countries in response to the seemingly imminent intervention. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The operation achieved fill success however through the March 8th telegram. Sent from the British embassy in Stockholm back to London, the message said that the British had come to an agreement with the Swedes, that they would launch a blockade on Germany of iron ore starting March 24th and that they would allow for British troops to enter the country if necessary. The telegram was sent via naval codes, due to a captured German spies having revealed that the naval code had been cracked. The reason, written into the message, was that the diplomatic cipher machine had broken. Of course, the reality was that the British just wanted the Germans to recieve the message.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] The plan ended up working perfectly. OKW began moving troops, planes, and ships into position to launch Operation Weserubung. A British agent operating in northern Germany noticed the troop movements, and dutifully reported back to England. One of the most devious Allied plans of the war had just been pulled off.” [/FONT]

*******
Comments? Questions? Concerns?

I'll say this right now; The deception plan wouldn't be unprecedented, and the Brits always seemed too good at deceiving the Abwehr.....

 
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[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Update. Comments always appreciated.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]******
[/FONT]​
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]March 17th, 1940

The drone of the engines. That had been Captain Henri Soustelle's existence for the past two days. Sure, their had been breaks, there had to be, but it didn’t make the flight any more monotonous. Originally the 34th Bomb Group had been based in Northern France. But it's long range, if obsolete, Amiot 143M were perfect for whatever the men up stairs had in mind. So from their base outside Paris they flew to Marseille, then to Malta, then to Alexandria, and now, finally, the flight was about to reach their destination; lovely Al Hasakah, Syria. Why, he did not not have any clue. The rear gunner, Michael, hadn't even bothered to stay by his gun for most of the trip. He was currently asleep behind him. Henri knew this because he could hear his loud snoring.

The town by now was in view, as was the large river, the Khabur, cutting right by the northern edge of town. Just past the river to the north was a brand new air strip, buzzing with activity. A line of 143's from the first squadron were parked near the river bank, next to some large buildings, most likely the headquarters. Nearby one could see two large hangers, some warehouses, and barracks. There seemed to be two air strips, one temporary strip of nothing more the packed down dirt to the west and a more permanent strip currently still being paved by many laborers. Henri's best friend, and the navigator and radio operator of the plane, Pierre Durand, sat in a small chair next to the radio behind Henri. It began to crackle, and Pierre perked up. He pushed his headphones closer to concentrate on the message. “Affirmative,” said Pierre into the microphone. Then he turned it off and turned to Henri.

“We are cleared for landing. Make sure you land on the dirt strip though. Apparently some imbecile tried to land on the strip being paved now. Gave quite a few people a heart attack! Afterwards we all need to meet at the headquarters building as well. Seems something important is planned.” The two men chuckled and Henri turned the Amiot into formation for landing. They unfortunately were slated last to land. They would be circling for a while.

About 45 minutes later the 143 glided down from the sky and landed on the makeshift air strip. The five man crew quickly exited. “Glad that ordeal is over. I think it's time to get out, maybe go into town for some food” said Henri.

“I agree” said Pierre with a smile. Michael nodded as well. However, the squadron commander, Major Prideux, seemed to have different plans. The crew quickly beat it to the headquarters building. Inside were most of the crews from the group. A important looking individual stood on the stage, next to a projector screen. It was rather noisy as the Henri and his crew took their seats. Then Major Prideux simply yelled loudly “Be quiet!” Silence quickly overcame the room as the important looking officer walked forward.

“I'm sure you all are wondering why you men are here in the middle of nowhere. Well, we will tell you.” A projector turned on. A slide appeared with a map of the Middle East stretching from the Eastern Mediterranean Coast to the Caspian Sea west to east and the Caucuses and the Persian Gulf north to south. “You are to be part of a combined allied raid on the Soviet oil industries in Baku.” Some gasps where heard and a rumble grew in the crowd. A new slide appeared, this one of the same map with arrows and dots. There were 5 dots, two in Northern Syria, and three in Northern Iraq, all indicating air bases with bombers for the attack. Arrows came of the bases all heading towards a large red star: Baku. “Both us and the Brits are to be part of the attack. You will be going in with complete surprise. You are to fly over Turkish land until all bomber groups will rally around the border with the Soviet Union. Arrangements have already been made, and the Turks have agreed to look the other way. Once there, you are to proceed to your designated target zones, which will be assigned by squadron. We have papers for each different squadron showing routes. Study then and know them before hand, so that we don't have any screw ups.”

The talk then continued on as the high-ranking officer continued his lecture. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the men were dismissed. Henri and Pierre both stood up to leave, but a mass of people struggled to get through the door. They held back to wait for the logjam to end. As they left, in front of them was the man who had been using the projector. He was carrying a large box filled with the slides. Henri and Pierre talked amongst themselves until Henri slipped and fell to the ground.

“Offf! What was that?” He said. He began to pull himself up when his hand caught a slippery sheet of something. His hand slid, but before he fell back down Pierre helped him up. Henri looked down. A transparent was lying on the ground, the cause of his fall. It must have fallen from the box that the hurried man was carrying. Henri grabbed it and put it in his pocket. “I guess I should hold onto it until we can get it back to its place.” said Henri.
“Most definitely” replied Pierre, “but first I think we have some free time.” The two smiled.

Walking into Al-Hasakah was a completely new experience for two men from France. They made it to the main square were a market was set up. The stereotype of the haggling Arab seemed especially true. The sound of the argument between the irate buyer who believes he is being cheated and the indignant seller who refuses to concede on his price was a constant in the square. However, the men could not locate a tavern. They noticed another group of air men moving with a purpose towards the west of the town. They ran up to the group.

“Hey, do you know of a good place to eat and be merry?” said Pierre, happily.

One of the airmen, evidently a Lieutenant, replied “These Moslems don't seem to know how to have fun. They can't drink, so you won't find anything run by them. However, there is a bar some colonial officer founded just for men in our predicament.” That suited the men well, and they all walked off.

The bar was a rather jaunty establishment. Even if the native's religion forbade alcohol, it didn’t seem to stop some of them from coming in. Inside were also many other airmen who seemed to have caught word of the joint, and a few Europeans who seemed to be in town. Henri and Pierre sat down next to one gentleman in a brown jacket and some dust-dirtied pants. Both airmen ordered beers when Henri turned to the gentlemen next to him. “Speak French?” he asked.

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Oui[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]” he replied, “Jacques, and you are?”

“Henri,
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]monami[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]. Your accent is strange, where are you from?”

“Mulhouse, in Alsace. Don't worry, to hell with the Germans. We are just as much a part of France as Paris!”

Henri's drink arrived, as did Pierre's. “To hell with the Germans, that sounds like a great toast!” said Pierre. The three raised their glasses. “To hell with Hitler!” said Jacques, and the three drank.

“So, what brings you to this place?” asked Pierre.

“Ever since they found oil in Arabia, they have been sending people to try and locate oil anywhere that is covered in sand and Arabs. So alas, here I am. Haven't found anything worth shit except this wonderful establishment. What about you men? I've noticed there seems to be so many of you men around here now. Ahh, never mind, you couldn’t answer my question. But whatever it is, give the bastards hell!” The three talked on for a few hours before it started getting dark. Henri and Pierre, both heavily intoxicated, got up to leave. Jacques went with them.

“It certainly was a pleasure meeting you two!” said Jacques. He held out his hand to Henri. As Henri went to grab it, he fell right over.
“Offff, again with the falling...” he said as Jacques helped him up and dusted him off.

“Now be careful!” said “Jacques” as the two walked away. He turned around, and began to whistle as he meandering off in the opposite direction. He then carefully pulled out the transparent and looked at it. A smile crept over his face.

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Ausgezeichnet[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]!”[/FONT]

******

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Excerpt from the book [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Operation Javelin and Churchill's Gamble[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] by historian Calvin Bearfield. (2009)

“...as March began, the Allies were poised to react to any German move into Scandinavia. British submarines were patrolling the North Sea for any invasion force that would move farther north then Oslo, while roughly 80,000 troops were prepared, ready to be sent of at a moments notice. German spies had noticed these concentrations, but they believed the troops to simply be the Allied forces for the intervention.
[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]All 80,000 would have to be issued equipment for the harsh conditions of winter warfare in Scandinavia. New white camouflage uniforms, heavy jackets and boots, and covers for bayonets and guns against the snow were all needed. A much repeated story is that of Prime Minister Churchill being presented with such covers during the lead up to the operation. The covers happen to be very similar to condoms. The Prime Minister waved off each example shown to him before settling on the largest one. He then told the makers to label each packaging “British; Size Medium”. In his own words, this would be so they “knew who the real master race was.” The fact that these preparations were completed in time is a great compliment to the Allied quartermasters who equipped the troops. [/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Meanwhile, the Germans proved to be much more lackadaisical in their preparations. The Nazi's severely underestimated the Swedish military and climate in preparations for the Weserubung. The plan called for paradrops and glider landings on Malmo and Goteborg of the 7[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Fleiger Division to secure the towns ahead of time. At Malmo, once the paratroopers had secured the town, reinforcements would be brought in through Denmark, mostly infantry. Denmark was to be blitzed by two motorized divisions, which called for a quick and easy conquest, especially aimed at securing the airfields, as Luftwaffe support was seen as critical for Weserubung. Brandenburgers were to be sent in ahead to secure the Little Belt bridge connecting Jutland to Funen. The cruiser Koingsburg and numerous smaller ships were ready in case of resistance to the German occupation on Zealand. [/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The port at Goteborg meanwhile, which would also be subject to a naval assault spearheaded by the [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Scharnhorst[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] and [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Gneisenau [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]along with extra men to secure the facilities. Then it would be used to bring in heavy equipment such as tanks and heavy artillery. These plans, while looking good on paper, would encounter some difficulties in practice.

Meanwhile, in the Middle East, preparations for Operation Pike were moving forward at a surprisingly swift rate. New bomber wings, both French and British, were being brought in along with stockpiles of munitions. New airfields were hastily built in Northern Iraq and Syria with local laborers being conscripted from the natives. Five bomber groups, two French, mostly flying the old but sturdy Amiot 143 bomber, and three British, using Wellingtons and Bombay bombers, had been re-based to bases around Mosul in Iraq and Al-Hasakah in Syria. They were to be armed with a combination of incendiary and high explosive munitions, meant to both destroy and existing buildings and ignite the oil drenched soil of Baku due to faulty Soviet drilling techniques. However, the bombers would have no fighter cover, as the plan depended on surprise. This would come back to haunt the planners later.
[/FONT]


[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Following the scrapping of the R4 in it's original form, and the ending of the Winter War, many, especially Lord Halifax, advocated the scrapping of Operation Pike. With the ending of the Winter War, no need was seen by Pike's detractors for it's continued existence. This would also mean that Operation Javelin would have a clear flank from Soviet aggression. However, the need to eliminate the Baku oil was seen as a priority to Churchill and many members of the French cabinet and staff. Also, it was believed that even if the Soviets elected to restart the Winter War, they could be easily held by the Finns, backed by Swedish troops and British supplies. Thus, Operation Pike's preparations continued unabated. It is believed that this was the last straw for Lord Halifax. On March 11[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif], he asked for a change in position, as he could not in good conscious move forward with the Allied plans. His request was excepted, and he was reassigned as the British ambassador to the United States. Anthony Eden took his place as Foreign Minister. [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
Back in the Middle East, a week before the launch date for Operation Pike, a huge blow was dealt to it. The preparations in Syria did not go unnoticed by Axis intelligence. A German agent was dispatched after Italian intelligence services noticed the uptake in activities. The agent managed to get a hold of a copy of order's related to Operation Pike. What exactly slipped out is still not known to historians, but it was enough to sink Operation Pike before it began. The plans were passed them to the ambassador in Istanbul, a haven for spying. The information was quickly relayed to Berlin, and onto Moscow. The bombers would not gain the crucial advantage of an unprepared enemy. A disaster was in the making.
[/FONT]
******
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]March 19th, 1940

Cold would barely describe how Private Konrad Wolf and the 11 other paratroopers felt in the Ju-52 as it cruised above the Baltic sea. Flying in a plane at 150 miles per hour, at a height of a thousand feet in the middle of winter, at 6 in the morning is pretty damn cold, even inside the plane. Not like its thin metal fuselage can do much. They had left the airfield just about 30 minutes ago, and they were getting close to the target of Malmo in Sweden. Apparently
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Der Fuhrer[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] had set his sights on Sweden for his next conquest, so off the Wehrmacht went. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]If only he could have chosen to invade in July [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]thought the fallschirmjager. It may be late March, but it had been a tough winter, and it was pretty goddamn cold. Konrad was certainly nervous. He had yet to complete a combat jump before. However, little resistance was expected, so it couldn't end up too bad, could it?

The plane began to dip lower as the Ju-52 dropped to a jump height. The jump master walked up from the cockpit into the seating compartment. “Okay, we are coming up on the target zone. Remember, your company's rally point is the Mellan-Grevie Church. From there you will proceed to the main road and advance into Malmo with the rest of your company from the Southeast, as the other companies move in along the other main roads. Now lets move!”

Konrad and the 11 other fallschirmjagers stood up as the jump master opened the door. The roar of the air rushing past the aircraft filled the cabin. Konrad was third in line to jump, behind his buddies Helmut and Joachim. Helmut jumped first as the jump master tapped him on the shoulder. Then 5 seconds later went Joachim. Finally, it was Konrad's turn. He felt the tap on the shoulder. Then the training took over. He lunged out the door as the plane quickly parted from him, face down, as in training. For 10 seconds he was in free fall, before he reached up and pulled the lanyard. The parachute deployed, and Konrad jerked upwards in his harness as he received the jolt from the lost momentum. Now all Konrad had to do was float gently to the ground.

Konrad looked around, across the landscape. A few lights could be seen to the north of Malmo, of earlier risers, while the first wisps of sunlight appeared to the east. To his left he saw the white of his friends parachutes, floating gracefully downward. Below and to his right Konrad could make out the dark shapes of a dormant village, and the tall outline of the church's steeple that was the rally point. Right below, Konrad saw only farmland.
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]At least there are no trees![/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] thought Konrad Those make any landing hellish. One of his friends had got caught in a tree during a practice jump. After cutting himself loose from the parachute, he broke his leg on landing. That was the end of his career as a fallschirmjager.

Finally, the ground began to approach. Konrad braced for impact.
[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Crunch![/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Konrad landed on his hands and knees, as the parachutist school had taught. He also noticed a layer of fresh snow, maybe only about an inch, on the ground over about another inch of older snow. His lands were freezing as he pulled himself up. Konrad quickly dropped his parachute and looked around at his surroundings. In front of him a ways off was a farmhouse and a barn. Other then that, he was in a large empty field. The church bell tower of the companies rally point could be seen over the top of the barn.

“Konrad? You over there?” Konrad heard the sound of Joachim's voice from across the field. He looked towards the voice and saw the shape of two men, presumably Joachim and Helmut, making there way towards him. The crunch of their boots breaking the snow could be heard they moved towards him.

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Ja, [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]I am here,” he said as his eyes began to adjust to the dark. Joachim and Helmut both took some time make it to Konrad. The three men had become friends during the long, hard training to be a fallschirmjager, bonding through the hardship. To be in the same unit just made things seem a little more comfortable. As the parachutists ten commandants said, “cultivate true comradeship, for with your comrades you will triumph or die.”
Joachim already had his pistol drawn. The fallschirmjagers dropped without their weapons save for a pistol and knife. A container would be dropped after the men filled with their weapons. Inconvenient, but in a situation with no opposition it wasn’t as much of a big deal. Of course, Konrad hated to think of the results of dropping without his Kar-98 into a heavily defend position.

“Let's move, no need to be idle. We need to find our weapon drop,” said Helmut matter-of-factly as he too puled out his Luger pistol, “there is little time to waste!” Just as the men were about to leave, they heard a ruckus from the farmhouse. A old farmer emerged from the door, a lantern in one land and a shotgun in another, yelling in Swedish.

“Let's move!” said Konrad as he too drew his pistol. The three comrades ran off from the field. The farmer noticed the movement, dropped his lantern and fired his shotgun in their general direction. The buckshot whizzed wildly past the three, doing no damage. The farmer yelled some more, and then went back inside, seemingly satisfied that he had driven off whoever was outside.

The three moved east and ran into the rest of the stick from their plane. The weapons canister happen to land just a few meters from the road,covered in snow. Luckily someone had thought to paint them yellow with some extra paint. They were very easy to find. The whole stick armed themselves quickly. Konrad grabbed his Kar-98, as did Helmut, while Joachim took his MP-40. Then the squad moved toward the tall bell tower of the church, moving on the road. Trying to walk through the huge piles of old snow pushed to the side of the road would be too slow. By now, the sun was beginning to rise further, the first full rays of light illuminating the slumbering land, glistening off its pristine white blanket. It was a land now at war.

Konrad and his group were among the last to reach the rally point. The large brick church was the center of a very small hamlet based on a small dirt road. The rest of Konrad's company milled around it. The farmers of the village were awake, and had obviously noticed the strangers, but there was little they could do. The well armed and trained German could make short work of any rabble armed with hunting rifles. The company, once gathered, began moving towards there objective of Malmo. The town was supposed to be secured by noon, and by Captain Moore's watch it was almost 8. The men were ahead of schedule. “Who knew an invasion would be this easy?” said Joachim, laughing, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, as the fallschirmjager advanced down the small dirt road. A small village, Vastra Ingelstad according to the map, was coming up. From there the men would join the main road to Malmo.

“It's almost like an exercise!” replied Konrad. Then the sound of a rifle report reached his ears as a paratrooper in front of the three dropped dead. The three hit the cold snow as more rifle reports filled the air, and other men fell down, dead. Konrad looked forward, and could see muzzle flashes coming from the village ahead. It seems they had gotten word of the invasion and the locals had grabbed their rifles. Looks like it wasn't an exercise after all. A small white house about 40 meters away, shrouded in trees, seemed to be a major haven for the militia. A muzzle flash came from an attic window. Konrad took aim and fired. Firing stopped from that window.

A loud voice, that of Captain Moore, came from the men's left. The three looked to see him standing up, defiant, holding his Kar-98. “Come on men! We can't advance on our bellies!” With that, the fallschirmjagers jumped up and charged the building. A few more dropped from fire, but the irregulars were not expecting this. Joachim, Helmut, Konrad, and a few other men quickly ran to the door of the building. Helmut and Konrad kicked it in and ducked down, while Joachim sprayed the inside with his MP-40. Two dead militiamen, riddled with bullets, were on the floor.

As soon as they breached the house, the men inside quickly surrendered. They dropped their weapons and filed outside, hands on the backs of there heads. Many of the men were simply dressed in overalls, a few still in sleeping clothes. They had been whipped together at the last moment to resist. Captain Moore looked them over with disgust. “Wittgen, Mueller, Werner, Lehmann, guard the prisoners. The rest of you are coming with me to storm the town.” The fallschirmjagers entered Vastra Ingelstad to little more resistance, except for some men on the town green. They were dealt with quickly. Another dozen surrendered to the fallschirmjagers. They were marched back to the prisoners from the first house. Then Captain Moore ordered them lined up. He turned to his own men and began to speak.

“As said in our code, we will fight chivalrously against an armed foe! But irregulars shall receive no quarter, from neither the fallschirmjagers or the Third Reich! For this crime against the Geneva convention, I sentence these men to death. They are scoundrels and deserve nothing less.”
“But-but, sir, couldn’t this be seen as a waste of ammunitions?” said the shocked Konrad, who was quite shocked by the turn of events.

“Private Wolf, are you questioning a superior officer?” said Moore, as he walked slowly up to Konrad. “You should be lucky I don't have you arrested immediately! However, I will make this clear. These men have shown themselves willing to fight the reich. Therefore, by us killing them now, we stop them from harming us again, and show others what will happen to those who dare to challenge us.” the Captain the walked behind the firing line.

“Set!” The men, some with relish, some reluctantly brought their guns up. The prisoners looked startled and began to try and run. Most tripped in the snow.

“Aim!” More prisoners broke, though many saw the hopelessness of the cause, and simply stood still, accepting the inevitable.

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Feuern!” [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Konrad closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger. Around him he heard the sounds of firing. It seems many of the men armed with automatic weapons were spraying bullets all over. When the firing ended, Konrad opened his eyes. In front of him lay the dead bodies of 27 dead men, lying in the red snow.

“Ok men, let's move out!” said Moore as the company trudged onwards, towards Malmo, leaving a message to Sweden behind them.
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Whoa, I wasn't aware this had restarted. Looks good so far, don't give up on this. You should replace "weight" with "wait" though.
 

Hyperion

Banned
So I take it Denmark and Norway will still be attacked, just with the Germans readjusting to hit Sweden as well.

The Kreigsmarine was butchered in the Norway campaign in OTL. Given fighting in Sweden, I see the Germans getting ripped to pieces because of this.
 
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