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Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

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Well. It would be easy for someone to insure that Goering gets a bad batch of Morphine that kills him, and I'm sure not to many would be sadened by his indulgence of morphine assisted suicide. His replacement might actually have a functioning brain cell and understand that working with the Army and Navy will make for a better, stronger Germany.
 
By the same token, Schreiber doesn't *want* Germany to win. Just keep the Soviets out.

So keeping Goering there is a good thing.
 
Sir_Braazmiir said:
Goering was a morphine addict? I never knew much about him past figuring he was just a political type who liked fucking over the Heer and the Kriegsmarine for the Luftwaffe's personal gain, so I don't know if he was actually addicted.
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Yes, he was. He became addicted after being shot during the Beer Hall Putsch in 1923; when he surrendered to the Allies in 1945 he brought with him two suitcases full of nothing but morphine syringes. As for other higher-ups doing drugs, I don't know of any. Goebbels was more of a lecher than a drug addict. Himmler was into astrology, not drugs.
 
ijnfleetadmiral said:
Yes, he was. He became addicted after being shot during the Beer Hall Putsch in 1923; when he surrendered to the Allies in 1945 he brought with him two suitcases full of nothing but morphine syringes. As for other higher-ups doing drugs, I don't know of any. Goebbels was more of a lecher than a drug addict. Himmler was into astrology, not drugs.
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Hitler himself was on some -heavy- meds towards the end there. I've seen some of the footage from his last birthday review, he looked like a tottering corpse. o,o
 
stormturmoil said:
Well, Hitler was Gassed in WW1; he might have had recurring symptoms that would act up, so he might have been on meds anyway and toward the end just kept jacking the dose up and up...
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He also had incipient Parkinson's, and on top of that, he was taking heavy doses of amphetamines to keep himself awake to run the war with his desired level of micro-management... and then, when he did get a chance to rest, was having to take heavy doses of barbiturates to "stop" and be able to get any sleep. (This is why, during the D-Day invasions, Rommel was unable to get authorization to move the reserve Panzer divisions up after realizing that Normandy wasn't a feint; Hitler had taken one of his horse-tranquilizer "sleeping pills" to get some sleep after being awake for several days straight and his staff was not only unwilling to wake him, they weren't even certain that they could wake him.)
 
There's footage of him tweaking on Meth at the Olympics, at least that's what is normally attributed to his behaviour in it.
 
still_guns said:
There's footage of him tweaking on Meth at the Olympics, at least that's what is normally attributed to his behaviour in it.
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All true, though you should also remember that at that time, amphetamines were not recognized as being so much of a hazard due to overuse as they were later on. Doctors recognized that they could be habit-forming, but most at the time didn't consider it as being as dangerous as the more recognized issues with morphine and the like.
 
Hell, in the early 1960s, amphetamines were still being proscribed for weight loss. My dad was a chunky but extremely active kid, until the family doctor put him on amphetamines then he was able to actually lose weight and got thin. But the doc also stopped proscribing the meds once my dad lost the weight.
 
MagisterAurelius said:
Hell, in the early 1960s, amphetamines were still being proscribed for weight loss. My dad was a chunky but extremely active kid, until the family doctor put him on amphetamines then he was able to actually lose weight and got thin. But the doc also stopped proscribing the meds once my dad lost the weight.
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If I remember correctly, amphetamines were often prescribed by the German Wehrmacht to its soldiers as a stimulant. The drug was popular among Luftwaffe pilots because it kept them awake and alert during combat missions. However, due to the drug's extreme negative impact on the health of the soldiers, the German Wehrmacht sharply decreased the use of the drug in the later years of the war.
 
Germany wasn't the only country having their troops use drugs.

The documentary World War Speed talks about how the various nations used drugs to find a combat advantage.

Captain Americas this did not make.
 
It wasn't just in WW2. Even to this day, the US military has two rarely-issued, little-known drugs that the medics will sometimes issue to troops in active combat zones, under very strict controls to prevent addiction or other serious health effects. One is a fast-acting amphetamine called, simply, "Go," to be used in emergency situations to fight fatigue beyond what adrenaline can (i.e., you're advancing and half-asleep from being awake for three days and get a call from your scouts "enemy just beyond that next ridge!"); the other is a fast-acting barbiturate called "Stop," which is used to counteract "Go" if the troops have an opportunity to sleep before a dose of "Go" wears off. While these are very rarely issued, with extremely strict instructions on when and how they are to be used, and under tight control to prevent abuse, they are still in the medical supplies... and the military does not like to publicize them because of the potential PR problems they could cause.

Also, physicians still do prescribe amphetamines for certain things. For example, I have ADHD (among my many lovely health issues), and have, as a result, been on one form of amphetamine or another for over thirty years now; for safety reasons, I have to get blood work done annually to make sure my liver isn't getting too fucked up, and since they are controlled substances, I have to get a separate prescription for every time I get a new bottle, I can only get a 30 day supply at any one time, and I have to take a urine test every three months to prove I'm taking them instead of selling them--if I don't piss hot for amphetamines, both I and my doctor can be in serious trouble. But they're still amphetamines, being used medically.
 
As interesting as this talk is, let's cut the drugs derail short before it grows long enough to deserve mod intervention.

Schreiber's tightrope to see the Nazis lose without letting the Soviets into Germany is definitely a hard burden to bear. Especially since he doesn't actually have any direct influence over the war on the Eastern front. Between the story itself and all the discussion, I'm actually beginning to question if it's just Schreiber holding out hope for the impossible just so he finds the resolve to keep going. Because from Schreiber's own position, I don't really see what he could possibly do to pull that off. It seems to me that the only way it could possibly be pulled off is through Thompson's efforts, independent of Schreiber's, somehow enabling a very early D-Day. But even that makes little sense, as Thompson is assigned to the Pacific, not the Atlantic.

Putting this into words has actually made me realize one of the subtle unique features of this story: despite their relatively high-ranking positions, the Time-Traveling characters have surprisingly little agency in the story. More often than not, they both seem to be going through events and social interactions that happen to them, not ones that happen by their design. Which, well, might be realistic for people bound to a military hierarchy. It's certainly different from most time travel stories in a similar vein, but I really can't decide if it's a positive or a negative difference.
 
I am trying to keep things as realistic as possible, acknowledging the already absurd stuff. Schreiber has to work in the background, no matter who he has in support. Thompson was deathly terrified of getting tossed into an asylum if he actually told anyone the truth.

In both cases, things will eventually come to a head. It already has with Thompson, to some extent, since that cat is out of the bag.
 
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Chapter 57
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    • Chapter 57
    ​
    Not what I expected to be doing with my life, when I left home.

    Admiral Thompson squared his shoulders and resisted the urge to pace. He stood beside Utah, outside the office of another ghost from the past. It wasn't enough that he spent time with the likes of Bull Halsey or James Richardson. Nor was it enough that he was a personal advisor to Franklin Roosevelt now- and hadn't that been a fun conversation -and spent a lot of his time telling the President about future events. No. He had to also be the one sent across the Atlantic to brief Winston motherfucking Churchill on ship spirits. He was lucky that Roosevelt didn't want him telling Churchill about the time travel.

    'You are an asset we can ill-afford to share, I'm afraid. For now, I believe we will keep your secret just that. A secret between myself, Admirals Halsey and Richardson, and yourself.'

    "...well, can't deny that logic." Thompson muttered to himself, prompting Utah to turn curious eyes on him. He waved a hand, shrugging as well. "Don't worry, just talking to myself. Who do you think we're going to be meeting? There's supposed to be at least one of you here."

    Utah shrugged right back. "I haven't the faintest idea, Admiral. The British are...well. I have never really met any of them. Not well enough to say who may have come back."

    "About what I expected." Turning to look at the walls and paintings around him, Thompson crossed his arms in thought. If it isn't a batleship, I'll be amazed. It doesn't seem quite right to be someone other than a battleship, not in the Royal Navy. But who? Hood didn't sink. Bismarck sank Revenge, so maybe her...? Or Royal Oak?

    Times like this, Thompson almost regretted that he had served in the Pacific and Japan during the attacks by the Abyssals. He didn't really know the British ships all that well, outside of his odd visit to Hood here and there. And that was this timeline's Hood, not the one he would have met in the future. He didn't have the slightest idea of what to expect.

    "First time for everything, I guess."

    "What do you mean, sir?" Utah asked, curiously looking at the Admiral.

    Thompson just smiled, "First time for everything. I've never really had the chance to meet the British girls, other than Hood. So this is new for both of us. Not that I expected what I knew to help me much here, anyway. I wasn't expecting Little E to be so...so..."

    Laughter greeted his words. Utah held a hand to her mouth, mirth in her grey eyes. "Yes, I imagine that was the case. Enterprise is...a special girl. I can see that even more, now that you've told me what she could become. I never would have imagined her as the one to lead us to victory. I would have expected that to be my daughters."

    "I'm sure they'll still have a role to play. You should meet Iowa, one of these days. I'm sure she'd love to talk to you."

    Though, when he thought about it, Thompson wondered what he should expect out of Iowa. So much of what she was came after the war...what was she like during it? He'd be lying if he said that, despite everything else, he wasn't enjoying meeting these girls in their prime. He vastly preferred the Enterprise of today, to the Grey Ghost of tomorrow. Even if he was fairly certain that Halsey probably almost shot one of his crew on a daily basis. For all that the man said he wasn't a good father, he had a protective streak bigger than the Pacific.

    'Damnit, I'm her Admiral, not her father! I command her, I don't raise her!'

    'B-but, I...'

    Shaking his head bemusedly, Thompson straightened his back out and returned to staring at the door to Churchill's office. As amusing as the image of Enterprise pouting at Halsey until he patted her on the head was, he did have a job to do here. Enough of the past and the future, he needed to focus on the present. After all, he could hear someone moving behind that door.

    "Get ready, Utah. I may not have met any British ships, but I know enough about Churchill to know this will be fun." Thompson saw the door begin to swing open, and mentally chuckled at one thing. At least he wasn't Admiral King.

    "Admiral Thompson, Utah. We have much to talk about."

    Those words came from the mouth of Winston Churchill himself. The bulldog of Britain stood in front of Thompson, his square-jawed face showing a jovial sort of cheer that seemed distinctly out of place for how serious the man acted in public. Behind his stocky frame, three other figures stood, just out of sight. Thompson caught glimpses of an average looking man who was slightly familiar. A slim and lean blonde woman, who had narrowed her blue eyes at him. Or, more accurately, at Utah. The final person in the room was a woman so stocky and built like a tank, that she made Churchill look like a petite ballerina in comparison.

    Guess I was right about the British ship being a battleship. Who is the other one, though? And why is she dressed like a maid?

    He figured that the blonde wasn't the British ship. The dark-red haired woman, on the other hand, probably was. She certainly looked the part, from her repurposed naval jacket right down to her burly frame.

    "Mr. Prime Minister," Thompson inclined his head, slightly, reaching a hand out to shake Churchill's. The British man had a strong grip when he returned the gesture. "Did you already have guests? I didn't know we'd have to talk with someone else."

    Churchill chuckled, retracting his hand only long enough to gesture at the man and two women behind him. "My guests are partly why I insisted on having this meeting be today. I have the feeling you will answer questions that we both have."

    "...right. Who are they, then?" Thompson stepped past Churchill, staring at the others in the room. Utah followed him as if she were a shadow, her own grey eyes meeting the blue of the blond woman.

    For his part, the Admiral was more focused on the other man in the room. Despite the civilian suit he wore, he carried himself like a career soldier. His back was ramrod straight, his dark gaze staring directly at Thompson. Evaluating him. Looking for answers in what he saw, just as much as the American was doing. He was...well. He was certainly someone to take notice of, even if he weren't in Winston Churchill's office.

    "Admiral Günther Lütjens." The other man finally spoke, as his eyes continued to examine Thompson. He didn't hold his hand out. "You are very young for an Admiral. Are the Americans desperate, or is there something special about you?"

    ....Lütjens? I thought he was...Bismarck's Admiral. If I'm remembering correctly. How did he end up here? Bismarck hasn't been sunk. She's been doing better than she should have, actually. And who does that make the woman with him?

    Even past the shock he knew must have been on his face, Thompson hadn't failed to notice how the blonde stuck close to the now-named German. She had to have been related, somehow.

    "I can see you're curious about my friend," Lütjens smiled, thinly. He still didn't hold a hand out, though he did turn his eyes away to look at the woman by his side. The woman who continued to stare down Utah. "Sascha, relax. She is no threat to you, or I, not here." It was only when the blonde reluctantly crossed her arms over her chest, that Lütjens turned back to Thompson. His smile softened, ever so slightly. "This is Sascha, though you may know her better as Gneisenau. She has been at my side ever since our battle with Hood. I am alive because of her."

    "Gneisenau." Thompson sounded out the word, wincing at the wince from the Germans at his pronunciation. Ignoring that for the moment, he reflected that this war got stranger every day. A German Admiral and battleship, in the office of Winston Churchill.

    Speaking of which, Churchill stepped back into view. He stood beside the woman who looked like she was related to him, waving a hand in her direction. "And this is Royal Oak, my own self-appointed bodyguard. So long as no one starts shooting, she'll leave everything to us. Doesn't talk much, if I'm being frank."

    The stocky woman just shrugged her shoulders. "I'm a fighter. Not a talker."

    "Exactly my point, my dear." Churchill chuckled, turning around to stare at Thompson and Utah. "Now. We've all been introduced to each other, so it is time to ask some questions. Oak here hasn't the foggiest on how she returned as she did. I was lead to believe that you two know more about how this all works, since our German friends don't." His eyes drifted to Lütjens, a little bit of the good cheer leaving. "Or won't tell me."

    Lütjens shook his head, "As I have said, neither myself nor Sascha have any more idea than you do."

    While the Prime Minister waved a dismissive hand at the German officer, Thompson sighed softly. He glanced at Utah, seeing her sending him the same look. They were, now as ever, on the same page. Without the ability to explain the time-traveling part, they had to improvise. Improvise off guesses. It was, after all, not as if Thompson knew exactly how Utah had come back. He had some guesses, to be sure, but that's all they were. He could easily enough tell them how to summon ship girls. Roosevelt had told him to do much the same, in their meetings, though Thompson had made it clear they shouldn't until and unless Abyssals showed up.

    'You seem quite terrified of these...demons. Were they truly worse than the Nazis? The Japanese?'

    'Maybe not in how many they killed, but certainly in how hard they are to fight. I don't want to risk even more people dying because we can't use the oceans...sir.'

    Pushing the memories down, the young Admiral looked at Lütjens first. There was a question to answer. "I'm only thirty-eight, so I know I'm young for my position. Before all of...before all of this, I was only an Admiral because I'd pioneered a lot of what our carriers use. I don't think you'd understand that. Germany doesn't have a carrier, right?"

    Lütjens laughed, in a self-deprecating manner. "We would, if Goering were less of a fat bastard. The Luftwaffe refuses to part with any useful aircraft. I find myself wondering if we would even get any use out of a carrier if we had one." He placed a hand on Gne...Sascha's shoulder. Squeezed softly, in a way that reminded Thompson of Halsey and Enterprise. "I've had to reflect on a lot of my beliefs, in the last few hours."

    That gave Thompson an answer that was actually helpful. He didn't comment on that, though. "I see. Well, I'm afraid to say that even we only have guesses right now." That was directed at Churchill, who raised an eyebrow. "I've been able to talk with the spirits of the ships longer than anyone, and I have spent a lot of time talking with Utah about how she came back. Our best guess is just that. A guess."

    "Humor me," the Prime Minister placed his hands on his desk, having moved back towards it. "What is your guess about how this occurred? And if we should worry about the Huns or Japs figuring it out."

    Ignoring the way Churchill spoke, Thompson turned to his own companion. "Utah, can you bring out the papers we brought?"

    "Certainly."

    With a smile on her face, Utah walked up to Churchill's desk. She fished in her uniform and came out with a stack of papers, placing them gingerly down upon the wooden frame. She, with a slightly scarred hand, opened up the first folder and took out a spreadsheet that wouldn't have looked out of place in an office of the 21st century. At least in design. It did get a raised eyebrow from Churchill at how different items were connected by lines.

    Utah hardly seemed to notice his reaction. She just looked down at the paper, before turning her expression on everyone else in the room. Other than Thompson, anyway, as he was the one who put the thing together.

    "As the Admiral said, this is all guesswork. I'm the only...point of data?" Utah looked at Thompson, a hint of confusion in her eyes. The Admiral just smiled and nodded, waving a hand for her to continue. "Right. I'm the only point of data we have. I came back, when the others who were sunk at Pearl didn't."

    To her credit, Utah kept a tremor out of her voice when she spoke about that day. Even though Thompson could see the lingering pain and, yes, self-loathing in her eyes. He probably imagined things, when he saw Sascha narrow her eyes.

    "Right now, our best guess is that I came back because of Admiral Thompson and my Captain being able to talk to me. Something about how they were so kind and took the time to communicate with me, to..." Face flushing, the battleship cut herself off from finishing her statement. She coughed lightly and continued. "We believe that it has something to do with care. How much we care about someone and want to protect them, or how much we care about a place and want to protect it."

    As one, everyone in the room turned to look at Sascha and Oak, when Utah finished speaking. Lütjens, especially so, as he looked over at the woman by his side. "Sascha? Does that sound at all accurate?"

    With a dusting of light pink on her cheeks, the blonde shrugged her shoulders. "I...perhaps? It is all a bit of a blur after I threw you overboard, Admiral."

    "She threw you overboard?" Thompson blinked slowly, staring at the two Germans.

    Sascha just blushed even brighter. "I wasn't going to let my Admiral die! Would Utah have let you die like that? Because you were too honorable and wanted to go down with the ship?"

    "I wouldn't want Admiral Thompson to do that," Utah raised a finger, a small smile on her lips. "But he is not my Admiral, nor was I his flagship. You would have to ask Saratoga that question. Though I imagine you would get quite a different answer from her."

    It was Thompson's turn to have everyone stare at him, as he tugged up the collar of his uniform and coughed into his hand. He tried to ignore the appraising look from Churchill the most, knowing the man was sharp. He didn't want to answer that particular question, when he wasn't even sure what the answer was himself. He especially didn't want to put words into Sara's mouth, when she wasn't able to speak for herself. So. In lieu of avoiding that problem, he pointed at the table instead.

    Better to keep my mind off that question.

    "I'd like to question Sascha and Oak a bit more, so I have more data to work with. Right now I only have Utah and what I can guess from talking with Sara and the others. If I can talk with a few other warships, especially ones like Utah, I might have a better idea of what's making them come back like this. Do we know if the Germans have any more ships like this? If anyone can talk with them?"

    At that question, Churchill sighed deeply and pulled out a cigar. As the thick smell of smoke began to fill the room, the old man took a long drag on the cigar. He was deep in thought, before he blew out a soft breath. Smoke drifted around his face, as the Prime Minister looked at Thompson. For the first time, his face was entirely serious and missing even the slightest hint of levity. He was not joking around anymore.

    "This is something that will not leave this room, understand? I am showing a great deal of trust in you, by telling you this. I suspect it will reach Franklin soon enough." Churchill took another drag on the cigar, chomping it between his teeth while he continued. "This is far beyond top secret. If word of this reached the press, or god forbid the Russians, we'll never hear the end of it. It may end the war."

    Thompson and Utah shared a look, before the former stepped to the plate. "I understand. What are you talking about, Mr. Churchill? Is it that important, really?"

    Because what he's saying sounds a lot like how my secret would work, if it got out. Assuming people didn't just throw me in the loony bin.

    That went unsaid, of course, as the burly British man pulled his cigar free and pointed over at Lütjens and Sascha. Thompson followed the finger, raising an eyebrow. What was he getting at? He felt like he was missing something important. Something very important.

    "Our German friends didn't know about it," Churchill finally spoke again, turning his cigar towards his desk, where a paper was buried beneath Utah's stack. "You've heard about what happened to Revenge, I assume? How that bastard in Bismarck knocked her around?"

    The American nodded, "A bit hard not to hear about that, even in the Pacific. General Marshall raised hell over those tanks that were captured. Why? Did something happen to Revenge? Is she like this too?"

    What Thompson didn't say, was that he was curious about that himself. Whoever was in command of Bismarck- because it clearly wasn't Lütjens -knew how to use his ship. And knew to get the hell out of dodge, instead of staying around to get attacked by the Royal Navy's carriers. The man was smart and cagey, at least.

    "No, she isn't." Churchill snorted, looking over at Oak.

    Who just uncrossed her thick arms, and held them out in a gesture of confusion. "Don't look at me, I don't bloody know. I still don't know how I'm here for fuck's sake."

    "Yes, thank you, dear." Even the Prime Minister flinched at her choice of vernacular.

    Hell, the only one who didn't flinch was Thompson. He was born in a time where women spoke that way all the damn time. And, for that matter, he'd heard much worse from some of the girls he worked with back in the day. Kongou had a mouth on her when she got riled up.

    "If Revenge isn't back, what are you getting at?" Thompson, in fact, just brushed it off and returned to the matter at hand. He needed a straight answer to his question. It, of course, wasn't lost on him that he was famous for being cagey about direct answers himself.

    It was a strange sensation, being on the other side of that. He didn't like it.

    "The answer to that is simple. Admiral Schreiber, the man in command of Bismarck, is just like you."

    When Churchill spoke those words, Thompson and Utah flinched and stared at each other. Their eyes spoke what their mouths, hanging open, wouldn't dare voice. Like him? Did Churchill know? Had Roosevelt told him, despite telling Thompson to not mention it? It...it didn't make sense. Roosevelt was a man of his word, politician or not. He had sworn that he wouldn't tell anyone Thompson's secret without permission. That he wouldn't rat him out.

    Surely that wasn't a lie. The President wouldn't have sold Thompson out like that. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have.

    There must be something different here, something that Thompson was still missing. That made a lot more sense. If Churchill didn't know the truth, what else could he possibly mean? How was this Schreiber like Thompson? He...he...

    "He can talk with the ships like me...?" Thompson knew his voice was shaking, and he cursed that mentally. But he could hardly stop it, not when he felt a cold chill running down his spine. "Is that what you mean, Mr. Churchill?"

    Churchill nodded, "That's exactly what I mean. Our friend Lütjens had no idea he could do that. We wouldn't have known, if this Schreiber hadn't seen fit to send a message via-Bismarck to Revenge. A message asking for us to help him overthrow that murdering bastard in Berlin, so long as we agreed to keep the Russians out of Germany."

    Thompson felt a jolt of relief that this other Admiral didn't seem to be from the future, and a surge of confusion at what he had heard. "Pardon?"

    "Exactly what I said. The Hun wants us to agree to recognize his little Resistance, in exchange for keeping Stalin's hordes out of Germany." Churchill shrugged again, shaking his head in clear annoyance. "I'm still not sure what to think of that, considering we are allies with the Reds. I don't like them much, but I hate Hitler even more. Asking my government to support a resistance to the Nazis in exchange for stabbing Stalin in the back..."

    Lütjens coughed, "As he stabbed you and Poland in the back? Stalin is hardly blameless in this current mess of a War."

    "Of this I am very well aware, Lütjens." Churchill didn't even bother looking over at the man, instead keeping his attention focused on Thompson. "I want the opinion of your government on that matter, and your opinion on how this Schreiber can shape the war. I've heard rumors out of Italy as it is, we have spies convinced they have a destroyer running around."

    Germany and Italy both? What about Japan, then?

    It was safe to say that Thompson believed Japan wouldn't be far behind her allies. Not when they had been the first to clue in on ship girls in the future. This war was going to get a lot more complicated, even ignoring the idea of a German Admiral being able to talk with the girls. As impossible as that sounded.

    "Schreiber..." Thompson mouthed the name, trying to think if he had heard it before.

    Was this a man who had existed in the past and never reached flag rank? Was it a man who had popped into existence because of the changes he had made? Or...was this a man from his time? Never before had Thompson hated himself more, for the fact he had never been high enough ranked to know the other Admirals in the future. He had only known a couple, like Takeda, that he had actually worked with. He couldn't begin to say who the German Admiral had been.

    Was it Schreiber? He both welcomed and dreaded the idea.

    No no no. I'm paranoid enough as is. I can't obsess over this...I'll just have to ask Churchill to get me in touch, somehow. Then I can ask questions. For now, I have to assume he's from this time, not my own. Because if I'm not the only one who came back...who's to say there isn't someone in Japan, right now? Or Russia? Or Italy?

    Sucking in a breath, the American Admiral calmed his rapidly beating heart. "Admiral Lütjens?"

    "Ja?"

    "Can you tell me everything you know about Schreiber? If I'm going to make any guesses about how he can talk to the spirits, I need to know about him." Thompson had ulterior motives, of course, but the fact remained...he needed to know more.

    Lütjens may or may not have clued in on what the Admiral was asking, but he just nodded. "I can't tell you much, I'm afraid. I only knew him as Blücher's Captain. I'll tell you everything I can, however, as I'm interested in the answer as well."

    "Good, good. We'll call this meeting over for now." Churchill clapped his hands, waving at the door. "I have work to do, and papers to look over." Here, he pointed at the stack that Utah had left on his desk. "We will talk more about this, rest assured. I have as many questions as I do answers, now."

    Thompson felt much the same way, for the first time in a long time...


    ...speaking of long times, this took much longer than I wanted. But anyone who reads my other threads knows what work put me through. Hell, anyone who read this thread knows that. At least I'm out of there now, though I need to find a new job.

    Either way, this chapter is a bit longer than my current average. Kind of got away from me a bit, tbh. Hopefully it worked out. Even if it is a lot of talking more than anything else >.>

    I will do the meeting with Roosevelt as a flashback omake thing, maybe this week if I have time and muse fuel.
     
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    • You know, despite all of these revelations, the dialoge with the characters, the fact Royal Oak is around, and all that. I find myself with one question.

    Did Schrieber grab a bunch of Shermans? Or are they only Grants?
     
    Schreiber nabbed a convoys worth of M3 Lee/Grant tanks. That the Germans looked over, re-chambered the main 75mm gun to use German shells and shipped most of them off to Guderian to use. Which he did, by giving them to the Italians and fooling the British at El Agheila that they were British reinforcements.
     
    Seriously? How did the brits confuse the Lees as friendly? I have so many questions now.

    If you could please link the incident, so that I won't have to badger you about this particular operation.
     
    Sgtsoldier123 said:
    Seriously? How did the brits confuse the Lees as friendly? I have so many questions now.

    If you could please link the incident, so that I won't have to badger you about this particular operation.
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    Easy. The British see a bunch of tanks rolling in, see they're the same model as was being delivered to them, and don't start shooting until it's too late. The fog of war strikes again.

    It also sucks because the lend lease tanks were a huge asset to the British in turning the North Africa campaign around. The M3 and especially the M4 were far superior to anything the british had at the time.
     
    Gorbian said:
    Easy. The British see a bunch of tanks rolling in, see they're the same model as was being delivered to them, and don't start shooting until it's too late. The fog of war strikes again.

    It also sucks because the lend lease tanks were a huge asset to the British in turning the North Africa campaign around. The M3 and especially the M4 were far superior to anything the british had at the time.
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    Considering the British Intelligence efforts in Africa, I am skeptical that they would miss a massed amount of Lees being sent to Africa, with all the required material need to operate them too. I just don't think the British would be surprised by such a attack. The nature of Africa means that a force of Tanks requires a long line of fuel, parts, and ammo to maintain their effectiveness. Now, the Italians may not have been able to use the Lee to it's full effect, either because they were poorly train, the tanks had little fuel, or their Lee's were unreliable/ didn't get it's monthly tune up/ hasn't had it's parts properly fixed.

    Now, I can accept that the British didn't notice. Everyone was surprised during the war. Germany, France, Italy, etc etc. I just would like to read up on this... incident, and learn how the British were caught off guard by a force they should have known about.

    Edit: You know, looking at Magister's message... forgive me if i'm wrong, but is this less Italian tanks fooling the British into thinking they are friendly, or is it Italy sneaking in tanks for their guys?
     
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    Here's the post where they get surprised. Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

    This was all part of how Auchinleck's advisors screwed up. The British were setting up a massive Operation Crusader with about 450 tanks massed at Tobruk. Guderian knew that the British were going to be hungry for results thanks to Churchill's impatience. So he fortified El Agheila and Benghazi and sent a force of fast scout tanks to do a drive by shooting of Tobruk in the hopes that he could get the British to chase him into his ambush at El Agheila or Benghazi. Auchinleck took the bait and sent over half the 8th Army with 300 tanks across the desert to El Agheila. He sent a smaller force along the coast road to take Benghazi, but O'Connor with the smaller force got suspicious that the farther he pushed the more Italian troops and Luftwaffe/Regia Aeronautica forces got stronger. Without air support of his own he pulled back to Tobruk.

    Now the M3 tanks that Schreiber captured, about 40-60 were sent to Guderian. Because they had radios and were painted in the British desert colors, Guderian gave them to the Italians with English speaking radio operators. If the British showed up and battle was joined, the plan was for the Italians to broadcast over the British frequencies that they were reinforcements. Hoping to get as close to the British before the jig was up and then open fire once they had closed to point blank and cause mass confusion to the British.

    The main British force never got called off the chase of the German scouting force, and chased them all the way to El Agheila. Auchinleck's intelligence officers and staff gave him bad advice and he didn't order Ritchie to withdraw. Ritchie ended up doubling down and assumed that the force sent along the coast road had successfully taken Benghazi when they showed up on his rearward flank and it sounded like he got reinforcements. That ended up surrounding him and resulted in the surrender of about 45000 men and three British generals. And the loss of over 270 tanks for the British Army.

    This is the success that got Guderian promoted to Field Marshal and the Commander-in-Chief Sud position. Which gives him supreme authority over military matters in Italy and the Med theatre, because he successfully argued that because he got shit done, he needed to have Hitler's imprimatur to tell Mussolini who was really in charge.
     
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