The Last War: 361.

[Bernard Woolley]

With thanks to Matt. Also, please excuse any typos. My left arm is not fully operational!

*

D+24

*

0030 hours GMT, 16th May. Luna County Detention Center, New Mexico.
While local, State and Federal law enforcement and various District Attorneys and State and Federal prosecutors decided what charges to lay and who got first bite of the cherry, the members of the so-called Columbus Motorised Light Foot Militia were being held in Luna County’s Detention Center. For the first few days the leader of the ‘militia’ had refused to engage with anyone, even refusing a ‘government lawyer’. However, on the evening of the 15th May he had asked to speak to Sheriff Lamb. The Sheriff had listened to his long rambling tale before deciding to call the FBI.

*

“Good to see you again, Special Agent Macer.” Lamb said as he met the latter outside the detention centre.
“Likewise, Sheriff Lamb.” Macer replied. “This doesn’t really sound like Jay-Bee-Sec business, but the local office asked me to look into it since I was involved in the arrest.”
“Appreciate it.”

*

“Remember me, Mitford?” Macer asked as she took her seat opposite the prisoner.
“Yeah, you’re the Fed Bitch who…”

‘SLAP!’

Lamb had leaned forward and delivered a sharp blow to left-hand side of Mitford’s head.

“Watch your language and show some respect, Mitford!” He snapped.

Macer shot the Sheriff a look that said she did not need anyone fighting her battles for her.

“I remember who you are.” Mitford said, rubbing the side of his head.
“I hear you have a story for me.”

Mitford nodded his head.

“Maybe I can get some sort of deal?”
“If you tell me, I’ll let the right people know you co-operated when it comes to sentencing.”
“Okay, but I’m not snitching on any of my comrades in arms, or other Patriots…”
“Get on with it, Mitford.” Lamb said impatiently.

The prisoner took a deep breath.

“Well, we all know that this war is a put-up job. I don’t mean that it’s fake, or nothing, but that it’s staged. There’s only one real side and they want to use the war to bring in a One World Government. The war will be fought to a stalemate, then the UN will step-in to impose a peace treaty that sees us and them merged into one…”

Macer sighed in a ‘get on with it’ way.

“Yeah, anyway.” Mitford continued, getting the message. “My militia has known that this has been coming for a while now, so we reached out to like-minded people across the Pond. A few months ago, we had some guys over from Europe; from England, France, Holland, Norway, and a few other places. We put them through our training programme and sent them home again. I got in touch with some, well, shady contacts I’ve made over the years, to make sure that they got the sort of stuff they need.”
“Okay, so you trained and arranged to arm some like-minded people in Europe. Is there anything else? A plan, for example?”

Mitford nodded.

“Yeah, if we’re going to defeat the Commies, we need to get rid of the NWO puppets currently running our governments. For example, the Euros need to get rid of those parasites they call ‘Royals’. Everyone knows that the English Royals still basically run a lot of the world and are embedded with the New World Order.
“I’m kinda surprised that they haven’t started their campaigns because they were pretty serious people. The English guys and the Norwegians were especially serious dudes.”
“Do you have names and locations?”
“Yeah, I can write them down for you.”

*

On her way out from the detention centre Macer picked up her pistol and mobile phone. As soon as she turned it on the handset rang.

“Macer.”
“Kate, its Reggie. You might want to turn on the news wherever you are.”
“Just a sec, Reggie. I’m getting into my car.”

Macer turned on the car radio and tuned it to a news station.

“The BBC in London, England are reporting an assassination attempt on Prince…”
“Shit.” Macer muttered.

She turned down the radio and put the handset to her left ear.

“Don’t tell me, Reggie, the Brits have found out that the guy who did it visited the States at some point recently.”
“Got it in one. The Bureau has been asked to look into it.”
“Well, I think I’ve just gotten a lead for Counterterrorism. I’m going to head over to the Field Office. I’ll see you back at base later on.”

0036 Hours GMT. Al-Taji Military Prison, Iraq.
The sandstorm had finally run out, and to Lieutenant Commander Lisa Eichhorn, it was about time. The sand had gotten into everything-her hair, clothes, blanket, mattress, and most important of all, her food. Sand-flavoured rice and soup was something she didn't care for, and yet, there was no choice but to eat it. No doubt things at Al-Rashid would've been just as bad, for if the sandstorm had gone into Baghdad as she thought, they would've felt its effects the same way. Getting up from the corner where she had been huddled, Commander Eichhorn decided it was time to try and get some sleep.

The sand had also kept her from sleeping, and though the light was off in the cell, she felt around until she found her mattress. Here goes, she thought, and she managed, after some effort, to flip the mattress over, where it was clean-hopefully. Then she went to the cell window and actually felt a breeze. Not much, and a few particles of sand still drifted in, but it was a lot better than how it had been. If we're here for a while-and “here” meant Iraq-Commander Eichhorn thought, this had not better be a regular occurrence. Once was enough, thank you very much. She then went to her left wall, and using her drinking cup, tapped.

“JL, you there?”
PFC Lynch replied, “OK.”
“How you doing?”
“Feel like I just walked out of a scene from Dune.” The young Army clerk replied.
“Not the only one.” Eichhorn tapped back. “Try and get some sleep.”

“I'll try,” Lynch tapped back. “GN.” That meant “Good night.”
“GN, GBU.”

That tap was the POWs' sign off signature, going back to the Hanoi Hilton, Zoo, and other North Vietnamese prisons. Not only did it mean “God Bless You,” but it also meant, “Hang in there. We’re all going through the same thing, and we'll go through it together.” It also meant, “I know you've been tortured; we all have. We're all pulling for you.”

“GBU, LE.”

Commander Eichhorn smiled. Then she went to the other wall and had a similar exchange with Marine Capt. Catherine MacKenzie, before getting on the mattress. Then she thought back to the previous two days...

*

That first day had started much like the others at Al-Rashid, with a guard coming to each prisoner's cell door and banging on it. That solid metal door was loud, and the noise awoke even the deepest sleeper. Commander Eichhorn got up as the Judas Hole opened, and she quickly threw on her T-shirt, for sleeping even in that was too much. After the guard finished his rounds, a familiar call came over a loudspeaker outside the wall-the morning call to prayer. Once that was done, another guard came by with “breakfast.” Namely, a piece of toasted bread and some weak tea.

After finishing that, it was time for her morning “walk.” She made it a habit of walking 3000 counts on her right foot. Not only was it a way of getting some exercise, but it was also a way to kill time. Then came some other calisthenics and getting that out of the way also killed time, though one wanted to finish that before things got too hot-and already it was well into the upper nineties in Baghdad.

Or was it? When they were moved, just peeping underneath their blindfolds had gotten a few of the POWs smacked around for their trouble. Commander Eichhorn tapped to MacKenzie, and the Marine had replied.

“Heard a chopper or two sometime last night. Only one place around Baghdad that's a primarily a chopper field.”

“Taji?” Eichhorn remembered pre-war plans for possible strikes on the Capital and recalled that Al-Taji Airfield was a major Iraqi Army Aviation facility. Along with being the home of the RGFC's Baghdad Division.
“You got it.”

That, along with two of the prisoners-via hand flashes and tapping, saying they had overheard guards say “Taji” sealed it. So, they were on a major Iraqi Army and RGFC facility, close enough to Baghdad to be in the MEZ, and yet, near enough for Saddam to have his bargaining chips close by. But what had happened at Al-Rashid to force the Iraqis to move them? Air strike or missile attack would be her guess.

After her noon meal, which was the same soup with greens and “mystery meat”, a plate of rice with some bread, her cell door opened, revealing two guards-and she immediately recognized them from Al-Rashid as two of the nasties. “Get dressed!” One of them shouted.

Seeing the two was a bad omen, but she got into her POW pyjamas and sandals, before being blindfolded. The guards took her out of the compound-and she heard the squeal of the gate as they did and walked her to a building near the compound. The door opened and after she was shoved in, the blindfold was removed. And that revealed a familiar face: the Commandant back at Al-Rashid, sitting behind a table with a low stool for his...subjects. “Sit.” After she sat down, the man-who she had started to privately call “The Snake”, began.

“Commander.” He smiled-and to her, that smile was something she had seen previously, and that usually meant things would get very unpleasant-and painful. That she knew from experience... “I would like to know how you find your new...accommodations.”
“Roomy enough,” Commander Eichhorn replied. “Enough for a cell mate.”
“That depends on your attitude,” said The Snake. “However, I can assure you that things will carry on as they were before, in terms of rations, exercise, writing home, and bathing.”

Was he referring to the improvement that had started after that raid on Kut?

“That's good to know,” she said. “Thank you.”

The Snake leered at her.

“I will remind you that you are still under my command, and any violations of prison regulations will be punished severely. You will show the proper respect to guards, officers, and other personnel. Is that understood?”
“It is,” said Eichhorn. “I have one question: Where are we?”
“You are still in Greater Baghdad.”
“I see… Is that all?”
“For now,” The Snake said. “You are dismissed.”

The guards came in and blindfolded her again, before walking her back to the compound. She was able to peep underneath her blindfold and saw another compound to the left of where she and the other women were. Is that where the guys are, she wondered. Need to work on finding out.

After returning to her cell and throwing her back in-not literally, but close, she got on the wall, and let both Mackenzie and Lynch know their old nemesis was in charge here.

“He's just like a snake,” she tapped.
“Want to call him that?” Lynch asked.
“Yeah. Pass it on.”

The rest of that first day passed uneventfully, though one good thing did happen: all of the cell blocks in the compound were now “plugged in” and communications with them established. Unfortunately, the adjacent compound didn't share a common facility with theirs, so knowing where the men were was still an unknown. Separate prison, maybe? That meant she was SRO not just of the compound, but maybe the whole prison. Though a com check found that all of the women from Al-Rashid had made the move to the new compound. Though two of them-Marine Capt. Sandra Jensen and AF Capt. Amanda Carter-thought they had seen the men being taken into the compound next door while peeping underneath their blindfolds. Until they could find a way to communicate, though, Commander Eichhorn was in charge as SRO, and that was that.

The second day had been like the first, only with no interrogations, and some outside exercise time, though taken individually. But at noon or thereabouts, came the sandstorm, and everyone-prisoners and guards-had to make the best of it. The only guards to come by were those bringing food, and even most of the petty harassment had stopped. No surprise there-they didn't want to be outside in that blizzard of sand if they could help it.

Now, though, that the sandstorm was over, and a cool breeze coming through the cell's barred window, it was time to get some sleep. After getting out of her T-shirt, she folded one of her two blankets to use as a pillow, and though the heat rash was still bothering her, she actually smiled. Made it through another day. Though as she nodded off, something was bothering her. A message passed from Capt. Sharon Park had made its way to her via Lynch, and Park had been told by an English-speaking guard that “More guests” were expected. That, and what that Russian General had told her a few days earlier, meant that she was right: that the war wouldn't be over anytime soon. That was a nagging thought as she drifted off to sleep.

0206 hours. Copedown Hill, Salisbury Plain, Wiltshire.
The Challenger 2 and Warrior rumbled down the middle of the village street, shaking the buildings. Watching from the side-lines, Major Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Shaw shivered, remembering where she had last seen these vehicles in action.
Shaw had been tasked with taking two-hundred members of 1 Glosters to the Copedown Hill FIBUA village on Salisbury Plain so that they could undergo urban warfare training. To make things more difficult, it was going to take at night and in the rain.

1 Glosters was incredibly short of equipment and personnel. Indeed, some of the soldiers Shaw had brought to the training area were armed with the L98A2 Cadet General Purpose rifle, rather than the service L85A2. That was not quite as it might have been, as the L98A2 was essentially a semi-automatic only variant of the L85. However, most of these rifles lacked the SUSAT sight. As part of the training package a single Challenger 2 and one Warrior had been provided, to at least give the soldiers a taste of working with armoured vehicles.

*

“Good morning, boys and girls and welcome to Copedown Hill German village.” Shaw said to the assembled soldiers. “Yes, that village you saw on your way here is based on German ones that you will be going to be fighting in. Our job today and tomorrow will be to secure that village by clearing every building of enemy forces. We’re going to do it as many times as we can to make sure that we get it right.
“On our first run through the enemy will be purely theoretical and you will be using blank ammunition. The plan is that we will get the chance to start using live ammunition tomorrow and we’ll face a proper OPFOR latter today.
“I’ve got every faith in you, so let’s get this done!”

*

Corporal James Steele’s section had been delivered to the edge of the village by ‘Helibedford’ – a lorry standing in for a helicopter. In this case an actual, ancient, Bedford MK 4-Tonner. It’s highly trained driver…sorry… ‘pilot’ had, as had become the norm, had slammed on the brakes, throwing everybody in the rear into a pile on the floor. Once they had picked themselves up, the section debussed and met up with the rest of the platoon. The platoon commander conducted a rapid briefing, reminding everyone of their objectives and limits of exploitation.

Steele’s section had been given the task of clearing two houses, before establishing a defensive position to allow the platoon reserve to pass through and start clearing the next buildings. Leaving Delta Fire Team, under the command of Lance-Corporal Sam Wilson, to provide covering fire, Steele led Charlie Fire Team forward. Steele tried to ignore the presence of instructors, who were following his progress closely.

“Right, we need to assault the first house via the upstairs.” He told the Fire Team, as they took cover behind the house’s garden wall. “Who brought the folding ladder?”

The other soldiers looked at him blankly.

“It was in the back of the lorry.” He said.

Nobody answered.

“F*cks sake.” He muttered.
“What you going to do, Corporal?” One of instructors asked sharply. “Come on! Come on! Tick tock, tick tock!”

Steele thought for a moment. There was no time for recriminations, so he searched his memory for details of the building they were supposed to assault.

“Who’s the lightest person here?”

The female member of the fire team put her hand up.

“Good, we can give you a boost to one of the upstairs windows.
“Right let’s move.”

The section had been issued with ‘thunder-flashes’ to simulate grenades, which they used to simulate grenades, throwing them through the house windows. As Steele had planned, they boosted the female soldier up, so she was able to pull herself up through an upstairs window. Steele heard the sound of rapid gunfire and a ‘thunder-flash’ explosion before she reappeared in the window.

“Room’s secure, Corporal. How are you going to get up here?”
“Take off your load-bearing gear and lower it down. Whoever is next lightest go next.”

With a lot of straining and grunting the second soldier was hoisted up. He took over to pull up the next man and so on with the next man, until Steele himself was in the house. The remainder of clearing the house went quickly and smoothly, with Charlie Fire Team going defensive to allow Delta to hit the house next door. Although, to Steele’s chagrin, Lance-Corporal Wilson had made sure his fire team had brought their folding ladder. Once Delta had cleared the next house, Steele led Charlie across and joined them in setting up a defensive position.

Both fireteams put down suppressive fire on a house up the street, that had been designated as being occupied by the enemy, as the platoon reserve moved up and assaulted it.

*

The rest of the company ‘fought’ its way through the village until it was able to set up defensive positions on the opposite side. The Challenger, Warrior and a few Land Rover ‘tanks’ then passed through, representing an armoured battle group they had cleared the way for.

“Nice work, folks.” Major Shaw told the soldiers once they had assembled again. “You’ve got twenty minutes to replenish and get something to eat before we go again. We did okay that time, let’s do even better next time.”

0731 hours. New Scotland Yard, Westminster, London.
Assistant Commissioner Peter Woodman had been up all night, heading operations associated with the attempted assassination attempt. As the head of Specialist Operations directorate of the Metropolitan Police, which included both the Anti-Terrorist Branch and Special Branch, as well as Protection Command. He had now been summoned to the Commissioner’s Office.

As he stepped out of the lift, Woodman had the same feeling as he remembered having when he had been summoned to the headmaster’s office when he was at school. At least the Commissioner could only verbally flay him.

*

“Sit down, Peter.” The Commissioner said once Woodman had entered his office. “I’ve invited Commander Dalgleish to sit in.”

Woodman nodded to the other officer. Commander Adam Dalgleish was regarded as having the finest detective mind in the Met, even if it was somewhat unconventional. Officially, he was on the staff on the Commissioner’s Office as a senior advisor. Semi-unofficially he headed something called the Sensitive Investigations Squad, which investigated crimes that needed particularly sensitive handling. Of course, the squad did not exist anywhere on paper, as it would suggest that the Met’s existing Murder Investigation Teams and various other investigatory squads were not up to dealing with such cases.

“As I’m sure you can guess, I have been deluged by requests for information from the Palace, the Home Office, and the Acting Mayor. The Palace in particular is not pleased; yes, I know the level of protection the Duke was assigned was at his own request. However, nobody is pleased that we apparently missed the fact that the shooter was a threat. Again, yes, part of that falls on Five, but Special Branch should have picked up that he had been associating with the wrong sort of people.” The Commissioner continued.
“We failed, Sir. No excuses.” Woodman replied.

He reached into his briefcase and took out a white envelope, before handing it to the Commissioner. The latter studied the letter, before putting it in a desk drawer unopened.

“No, Peter. I’m not accepting your resignation at the moment. You need to help clear up the mess, and besides, you’re a damn good officer. You’ll be in this chair one day.
“Now, what have you got.”
“We have identified the perpetrator as one Stephen Philip Watkins, who was resident in Epping. We’ve asked Essex Police to help look into his background. He was a member of a political protest group called People’s Action for True Democracy. It has a history of peaceful if noisy protest. Neither the Branch, nor Five were particularly worried about them.”
“What’s their ideology?” Commander Dalgleish asked.

Woodman looked across at the Commander.

“They are a rather broach church, Commander.” He replied. “The group includes people from across the political spectrum, but recently, a splinter group has established links with the American Militia movement. They want, in their words, to bring the Revolution Home, by which they mean a republic based on the Militia movement’s interpretation of the US Constitution. What we missed was that members of this splinter group had visited America recently and may have undertaken training with firearms. We’ve sent a request to the FBI to see what they can dig up. But now we know who and what we are looking for, I expect we’ll be able to arrest the rest of the splinter group within a few days. I have also ordered an enquiry into what went wrong with the protection operation.”

The Commissioner grunted and shifted in his chair.

“Peter, I’m afraid we can’t have the Branch and Protection Command investigating its own failures. It’s also not a job for Professional Standards, so, instead, I’m putting Commander Dalgleish and his squad in charge of investigating what went wrong. You are also busy enough with your existing duties, so the Commander will also take over the investigation into the splinter group. If he needs any personnel or assistance from Specialist Operations, you will give them to him. He will be reporting directly to my office. Something I expect you to remind your officers.”

Woodman looked across at Dalgleish before looking back at the Commissioner and nodding.

“You can count on me to give Commander Dalgleish all possible co-operation, Sir.”

*

“Going to be a sensitive one, Adam.” The Commissioner remarked once Woodman had left.
“Aren’t they all, Sir.” Dalgleish responded.

He looked across at the Commissioner.

“I’m going to have to step on a lot of toes, Sir.”

The Commissioner nodded.

“Step away, Commander. Step away.
“How many people will you need for your team?”

Dalgleish had already considered that question.

“I’ll start with Kate Miskin and Francis Benton-Smith, Though I’ll want to poach Piers Tarrant back from the Branch, if I may.”
“You can poach whoever you need, Adam.”
“I’ll take my leave and get started if I may, Sir.” Dalgleish said, getting to his feet.
“Good luck, Adam. Lot of eyes on this one.”

0801 hours GMT. Granitis, northern Greece.
Led by a platoon of Panhard VBL reconnaissance vehicles, a Hellenic Army armoured column rumbled through the village of Granitis. A platoon of M60TTS followed behind the VBLs, with an infantry platoon mounted on Leonidas-2s next. The platoon of M48A5 MOLF commanded by Lieutenant Spiridakos came next. More infantry in M113 followed his platoon. The ad hoc battle group had been very hurriedly put together. With platoons and companies borrowed from a number of different units along the front line.

The road the armoured vehicles may have been driving down may have been marked on maps as a major highway, but the Greek National Road 57 was in this part of the country narrow and hemmed in by higher ground on both sides. It made Lieutenant Spiridakos nervous, and he hoped that proper precautions were being taken to protect their flanks.

Turning a bend, the reconnaissance platoon in VBLs came across the remains of the first attempt by a Greek reserve unit to re-open the road. A platoon of M60s, along with a company of infantry had been ambushed and badly shot up. Three of the tanks, plus a number of APCs, all now burned out, partially blocked the road.

The commander of the battle group was not happy about moving forward through the block. So, he summoned a pair of M88A1s to clear a way through. Barely had one of the M88s begun to move one of the wrecked tanks when there was a streak of light, and something exploded against the M60 being dragged. The M88 jettisoned its tow wire, fired its smoke grenades, and made as rapid a retreat as it could before the Soviet infantry fired a second missile at it.

It was at this point, that things went from bad to worse. A pair of Mi-24P ‘Hind-F’ appeared over the mountains. The battle group was almost naked against air attack – the only mobile AA protection coming from a pair of ancient M42 ‘Dusters’, which the ‘Hinds’ rapidly took out with their first missiles.

Spiridakos and every other vehicle commander opened fire with their machine-guns, but the ‘Hinds’ stayed safely out of range, while they lazily fired on the trapped Greek vehicles. A few of the Greek tanks took shots at the helicopters with their main guns, but the Soviet pilots kept their aircraft moving, though a few rounds came close. However, the ‘Hinds’ chose to remain just a few moments too long, as urgent calls for air cover had brought a pair of Hellenic Air Force F-16C. The ‘Vipers’ were able to pluck the Mi-24P out of the sky before they knew that they were under attack.

While the majority of the battle group had been saved, the attack had the effect of delaying its advance significantly. It was going to take some time to sort out the mess of wounded soldiers and wrecked vehicles.

***

[Bernard Woolley]

Accompanying Pictures

[Jotun]

Just a quick drive-by: Another way to get people into upper floors is to have them hold onto the end of a long pole and push them up the wall, with them "walking" up the wall.

[Eaglenine2]

Well the Militia thing seem bigger than first seen.
Not enough rifles for 1 Glosters? What the role the rebuilt 1 Glosters is going to be?
Stay well Jan.

[jemhouston]

Bernard interesting chapter.

Are you doing your therapy?

[Matt Wiser]

Good chapter! BZ as usual, my friend, and glad to be of service. And so to business:

Not a surprise that cranks of that sort talk to each other. This is pre-Facebook, so Usenet discussion groups (remember those?), chat rooms, etc. are going to be filled not just with discussion of how the war is going, but the more...conspiratorial and paranoid are also going to be very chatty. Name the conspiracy and it will be there. Just as OTL you have 9/11 conspiracy theories, there will be WW III ones as well.

The POWs are settling in at their new prison.. Though with heat rash, peeling skin, dysentery, and some of the obnoxious guards from Al-Rashid still a bother, where they are exactly is probably the last thing they should worry about-though communicating that in outgoing POW mail is on some folks' minds.

Ivan's pushing hard in Greece-and Renko is no doubt pleased about that. But he is probably thinking about "relieving" CINC-WEST if he doesn't produce similar results before too long. "As in relieving him of all earthly concerns..."

Law enforcement on both sides of the Atlantic is going to be busy with this investigation, and no doubt VIP protection is going to be increased as much as possible.

Good job again, take care and get well, and when you can, get with 362!

[Cihatari]

Well the Militia thing seem bigger than first seen.
Not enough rifles for 1 Glosters? What the role the rebuilt 1 Glosters is going to be?
Stay well Jan.

It looks like the barrel is being scraped with regards to equipment. I guess no massive lend-lease to come to the rescue either as the USA has its own issues. Does not bode well for a long war.

But on the other side, Comrade Colonel Korruptovich, the Soviet quartermaster wins the war for Nato with his fearless siphoning off wholesale plundering of essential supplies for personal gain!

Glad you're home, hope you recover quickly and completely.

[Bernard Woolley]

Thanks for the comments, folks. Will reply in more detail tomorrow.

[James1978]

Well that was a pleasant surprise! Glad you're home!

Good chapter!

Why was 1 Glosters reformed versus standing up 2 Glosters?
And is the same thing being done with the other infantry battalions that were in Berlin?

Keep up the good work and get plenty of rest!

[Bernard Woolley]

Just a quick drive-by: Another way to get people into upper floors is to have them hold onto the end of a long pole and push them up the wall, with them "walking" up the wall.

Yup, if you have a long pole handy and haven't also left it in the 'Helibedford'.

Well the Militia thing seem bigger than first seen.

Seemed a good idea to link the two.

Not enough rifles for 1 Glosters? What the role the rebuilt 1 Glosters is going to be?

While the SA80 is still in production in the TLWverse, existing units get prioity for them. New, or reformed units have to make do. They'll be used for whatever they're needed for.

Stay well Jan.

Thanks. Will try!

Bernard interesting chapter.

Thanks.

Are you doing your therapy?

Occupational Health didn't think I needed any. I've got a normal range of movement. Just some weakness down one side.

Not a surprise that cranks of that sort talk to each other.

I remember that even back in the '90s there seemed to be a lot of links between conspiracy minded people on both sides of the Atlantic. US conspiracy theories did especially seem to be popular in the UK.

Law enforcement on both sides of the Atlantic is going to be busy with this investigation, and no doubt VIP protection is going to be increased as much as possible.

Very, very true on both accounts.

Good job again, take care and get well, and when you can, get with 362!

Thanks very much and will do as soon as I can.

It looks like the barrel is being scraped with regards to equipment. I guess no massive lend-lease to come to the rescue either as the USA has its own issues. Does not bode well for a long war.

Barrel scraping would be issuing the L98A1.Which was a manually operated single-shot weapon. The A2 version is essentially a semi-auto version of the L85A2 with iron sights. As a training weapon it would be a reasonable choice. Especially if you want to avoid your newbie soldiers blasting off on full-auto. ROF Nottingham is still producing weapons in the SA80 family in the TLWverse. That meant that a lot of the A2 variants were built as such, rather than being rebuilt A1. Current plans are that the SA80 will remain in production until its replacement is chosen.

But on the other side, Comrade Colonel Korruptovich, the Soviet quartermaster wins the war for Nato with his fearless siphoning off wholesale plundering of essential supplies for personal gain!

Or sells it to Ukrainian partisans! Corruption was rife in the Soviet Army. Pretty sure that a lot of war emergency reserve stockpiles were actually empty!

Glad you're home, hope you recover quickly and completely.

Thanks, appreciate that!

Well that was a pleasant surprise! Glad you're home!

Thanks. Not as glad as I am. I can enjoy sitting in my garden, for one thing.

Good chapter!

Thank you.

Why was 1 Glosters reformed versus standing up 2 Glosters?
And is the same thing being done with the other infantry battalions that were in Berlin?

Same reason that 9th (Highland) Infantry Division was re-designted the 51st (Highland) Infantry Division in August 1940, after most of the latter was lost in France. Yes, the same is being done for the other units that were in Berlin. On TtW the army did not send the IRs assigned to the units in Berlin, instead holding them in the UK as a cadre to rebuild those units. While the IRs would have brought up the units to War Establishment, it was felt to be a case of "throwing good money after bad".

Keep up the good work and get plenty of rest!

Thanks and will do on both accounts!

[jemhouston]

Bernie,

If you can get private opinion, or least some exercises you can do.

[Bernard Woolley]

Thanks, Jem. I'm doing well with the advice I've been given so far.

[Jotun]

Waitwaitwaitwait...Mitford mentioned Norway. The accidentally human-shaped agglomeration of cells who in 2011 killed the kids on Utoya and detonated a car bomb in Oslo as a distraction (no, I am not going to mention the name he was given...his parents should have ditched the baby and raised the afterbirth instead) comes to mind. Can you kill him in a raid by Delta (not the airline, not Chuck Norris' unit, I mean the Norwegian special police unit) after being tipped off by the US government? Pretty please? He was not conscripted in @, so he should be lurking about in Oslo, stewing in his madness. He began to radicalize as early as 18 or 20 years old and could well have been over in the States in the TLW universe.

If not, I'll gladly volunteer.

Thank you for the chapter and thumbs up for getting back into the writing saddle so quickly. Writing was a kind of medicine and painkiller for Stephen King after his close encounter with a van in 1999ish. I wish you a continued Gute Besserung, my friend!

[jemhouston]

Waitwaitwaitwait...Mitford mentioned Norway. The accidentally human-shaped agglomeration of cells who in 2011 killed the kids on Utoya and detonated a car bomb in Oslo as a distraction (no, I am not going to mention the name he was given...his parents should have ditched the baby and raised the afterbirth instead) comes to mind. Can you kill him in a raid by Delta (not the airline, not Chuck Norris' unit, I mean the Norwegian special police unit) after being tipped off by the US government? Pretty please? He was not conscripted in @, so he should be lurking about in Oslo, stewing in his madness. He began to radicalize as early as 18 or 20 years old and could well have been over in the States in the TLW universe.

If not, I'll gladly volunteer.

Thank you for the chapter and thumbs up for getting back into the writing saddle so quickly. Writing was a kind of medicine and painkiller for Stephen King after his close encounter with a van in 1999ish. I wish you a continued Gute Besserung, my friend!

How having getting hit by a bus or better yet, a Soviet Bomb?

[Bernard Woolley]

I’m not going to mention that waste of DNA. However, you can safely assume that something nasty has happened to them.

[Johnnie Lyle]

I’m not going to mention that waste of DNA. However, you can safely assume that something nasty has happened to them.

Wouldn’t the increased vigilance of a Cold War still freezing result in fewer cracks to slip through?

[Bernard Woolley]

They’d probably fall through different cracks.

[Jotun]

I’m not going to mention that waste of DNA. However, you can safely assume that something nasty has happened to them.

No problem. I just had that thought yesterday while re-reading the chapter.

[Belushi TD]

Waitwaitwaitwait...Mitford mentioned Norway. The accidentally human-shaped agglomeration of cells who in 2011 killed the kids on Utoya and detonated a car bomb in Oslo as a distraction (no, I am not going to mention the name he was given...his parents should have ditched the baby and raised the afterbirth instead) comes to mind. Can you kill him in a raid by Delta (not the airline, not Chuck Norris' unit, I mean the Norwegian special police unit) after being tipped off by the US government? Pretty please? He was not conscripted in @, so he should be lurking about in Oslo, stewing in his madness. He began to radicalize as early as 18 or 20 years old and could well have been over in the States in the TLW universe.

If not, I'll gladly volunteer.

Thank you for the chapter and thumbs up for getting back into the writing saddle so quickly. Writing was a kind of medicine and painkiller for Stephen King after his close encounter with a van in 1999ish. I wish you a continued Gute Besserung, my friend!

Jotun, I very much like how you phrased that. I'm going to steal it and use it in appropriate situations going forward.

Belushi TD

[Johnnie Lyle]

They’d probably fall through different cracks.

Maybe? At least here in the US, the 1989s and 1990s terror focus (highlighted by Ruby Ridge and Waco) was on domestic threats of his ilk, shifting to more of a focus on Islamic threats post 1993.

Without the end of history and GWOT of @1990s and 2000s, would the eye be taken off more traditional terror elements, or would the continued Soviet terror support keep eyes myopically focused on the Red Brigades?