A Gentleman's War : The Middle-East Command (HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter One : Sir Anthony C.H. Melchett Takes Command

“Yippety-Dip!”​

Captain Timothy Malek had to stay up after the party while most of the staff got to go to bed. Their new commanding officer was meant to be there very soon. The new Field Marshal had arrived at the Port of El Iskandariya early yesterday. Well, now two days ago. Seems he had grabbed a lorry from the local Navy boys, loaded it up with his luggage and fuel cans, had borrowed a driver, and had started on his journey to meet his Headquarter unit in Al Qahira.

The man was said to be somewhat skilled in the art of warfare as well as a master of logistics. He WAS a member of the ‘Old Guard’ as he had lived through the trench combat of the Great War and there were rumors he was somewhat prejudiced towards modern warfare.

The Captain started to clean up the staff room. He tried to anyway. The New Year’s Party to welcome in 1936 had been loud and some of the clerks couldn’t handle their booze. It didn’t help that the local ‘champagne’ was made from any fruits and sugars the HQ staff could find to distill.

The headaches that resulted from such booze were famous throughout North Africa.

As he was placing a half-eaten cucumber sandwich into another trash bag he heard a engine come down the street outside the HQ.

“Wow,” said the Captain aloud, “He made good time.”

He stepped outside into the cold night to see a worn out driver helping a officer out of the passenger side of the truck. The man, at first sight, was amazing. He looked like he had stepped out of a Great War recruitment poster.

Slicked back hair, a amazing moustache, and a huge chin.

“Good morning Captain,” Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett said, “please have my things taken to my quarters. I tried to nap on the way here but the roads in Africa are most disagreeable to sleeping.”

Before the Captain to reply the Field Marshall added, “I don’t wish to be woken up till 8 AM and will require a breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, fried onions, toast, and marmalade. Make sure the toast is cooled before serving of course. And a pot of tea. Good ENGLISH tea. Not any of the native beverages. Right? Good.”

The Field Marshall then marched into the building without waiting for the Captain’s response.

The driver looked at the Captain with pity. “Have fun mate,” he said.

At 8 AM the Captain went to wake the Field Marshall up. The man had been snoring in bed while dressed in a sleeping shirt and robe. His moustache had been carefully kept in check with a tiny net. On top of all that he had a teddy bear.

“Right,” the Field Marshall as he stood up. “Where’s my manservant? Wait, you haven’t even hired a boy to wait on me yet? Oh my word. Go make sure the breakfast is ready and I will be out shortly.”

It took almost an hour before the Field Marshall appeared in his office. He had shaved his face, combed back his hair, and even waxed his moustache.

He was in his full dress uniform with all the medals on display. The medals looked freshly polished along with his shoes.

His breakfast, at least something that reassembled what he had asked for, was waiting for him on the large desk in the Field Marshall’s office. The cooks had tried their best.

“Morning Captain,” said the man as he settled behind his desk. “Present yourself and use that map over there to explain to me what I’ve been put in charge of.”

“Yes Sir. Captain Timothy Malek.”

“Walsh?” the Field Marshall suddenly asked. “You look it.”

“No, sir, mother was Arabic,” the Captain replied. “Know a little about the language. The higher ups felt having me stationed here would be helpful.”

“They call this TOAST?” demanded the Field Marshall. “Was this bread sourdough? And it’s still warm.”

“Er…sorry sir. I can talk to the Quartermaster about trying to find some proper sliced bread. We try to do with what we have and find replacements for what we don’t have. Al Qahira isn’t that bad a place once you get to know who runs what.”

“Ask him about finding me another tin of moustache wax,” add the men as he stared at one of the sausages on his plate.

“Yes sir. Now as for your forces-”

“Wait,” said the Field Marshall with a frown. “I thought this was Cairo?”

“Yes sir. Same place, different names,” stated the Captain.

“Hmmmm,” said the Field Marshall who was too busy investigating his meal to listen. “Is this milk for my tea? Smells weird. Is this GOAT milk?”

“Maybe we should focus on the map so I can tell you about your command?” suggested the Captain who was fighting the impulse just to walk out of the office.

“If you wish,” pouted the Field Marshall as he started to wolf down his food.

The map was a simple color coded map of North Africa and some of the Mediterranean. There was the normal pins you would find on a military map. The military loved maps with pins on them.

“As you know sir you are here in Al Qahira,” started the Captain pointing out ‘Cairo’ on the map. “The HQ of the Middle-East Theatre. Under your authority is the Middle-East Command, the Malta Command, the Mediterranean Fleet, the 1st Submarine Squadron, and the Middle-East Air Command.”

“Here in Jerusalem is the Middle-East Command HQ and its 7th Infantry Division and its 8th Infantry Division,” he pointed out. “Lt. General Gowrie is in charge of the command and is known for his skills at defense.”

“Why,” said the Field Marshall as he chewed what may, or may not, have been scrambled eggs, “is he in Jerusalem when the Italians are over there?”

He pointed his fork towards the western side of North Africa. “The Italians are THERE. Isn’t the government more worried about them then the natives?”

“Well,” said the Captain, “the Jews and Muslims keep trying to kill each other.”

“Surely they can do that without us watching?” demanded the Field Marshall as he sipped some of his tea.

“We are trying to stop them,” said the Captain slowly.

“Oh…well they still need to move west to face the Italians,” remarked the Field Marshall. He started to peek at the mushrooms with suspicion on his face.

“The problem is the Middle-East Command has five infantry brigades BUT no support brigades,” pointed out the Captain. “So, maybe ask London for some cannon?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Field Marshall without really listening.

The Captain sighed, braced himself, and continued.

“Here in Tel Aviv Yafo,” said the Captain, “just north of Middle-East Command is the Middle-East Air Command.”

“No doubt a mighty force,” commented the Field Marshall as he enjoyed his grilled tomatoes which, at least, looked like grilled tomatoes.

“Lt. General Ludlow-Hewitt is a skilled pilot and is experienced at attacking moving ground targets,” continued the Captain. “He has a wing of tactical bombers. Bristol Blenheim Mark Ones.”

“Good plane are they?” asked the Field Marshall.

“Faster than most fighters and good at night bombing,” replied the Captain. “But we only have a wing and that’s not a lot.”

“HmmMhmmm,” was the reply as the man behind the desk tried out his bacon.

The Captain moved on to poke a finger at the Island of Malta. “The Malta Command is here. Really, just a garrison brigade under your direct authority. As you know officers are in short supply.”

“Good troops are they?” asked the Field Marshall trying some of his tea again.

“Not really,” commented the Captain with a shake of his head. “They would likely be better at acting as police in Jerusalem than trying to keep Malta.”

“Hmmmmmm,” said the Field Marshall thoughtfully. The Captain wondered if the man was thinking about his command or just thinking about his tea.

“Now this is the Province of El Iskandariya,” stated the Captain. “Also known as Alexandria. This is where your ships are stationed.”

“The 1st Submarine Squadron is under Commander Ingram, a man known for his skill are hunting down cargo ships, and has two Submarine Flotillas. Both contain Triton-Class, or T-Class, submarines.”

“It was designed for long patrols in the Pacific so it’s not that bad a design,” he added with a almost hopeful sounding voice.

He waited to see if the Field Marshall had anything to say but the man was too busy trying to make a sandwich out of his leftover toast, eggs, sausage, and mushrooms.

“And last is the Mediterranean Fleet,” he said tapping a finger on the port of Alexandria again.

“Admiral Horton is in charge. His Flagship is HMS Courageous. One of the two Courageous-Class Carriers in the Fleet. The other is the HMS Glorious. Both have two wings of Swordfish.”

The Field Marshall just chewed and chewed.

The Captain kept in a sigh and continued. “It also contains the HMS Queen Elizabeth, the HMS Barham, the HMS Valiant, the HMS Malaya, the HMS Warspite and the HMS Revenge. Which are all battleships from the Great War.”

The Field Marshall made a noise that sounded like “BBAAAHHH”. Was that approval or disgust?

The Captain just shrugged to himself and added, “Then there are the Kent-Class Heavy Cruisers, the HMS Devonshire, the HMS London, the HMS Shrophire, the HMS Sussex and the HMS Exeter. There are also the Caledon-Class Light Cruisers, the HMS Coventry, the HMS Curlew, the HMS Delhi, the HMS Despatch, and the HMS Durban. Though we do also have a Leander-Class Light Cruiser the HMS Arethusa.”

The Captain stopped to see if the Field Marshall was reacting to his little lecture. Or even listening. It was hard to tell. The man was looking towards the Captain and sipping the last of the tea with the remains of his breakfast before him. But was he here in the present or still in the trenches trapped in the past memories?

“Then there are the destroyers. One Flotilla of A-Class. And four Flotillas of V-Class.”

“Yes, yes, all very interesting,” replied the Field Marshall with a smile. “By the way have you hired a manservant for me yet? No? Oh well, get one of the clerks to take this away and bring me a pen and some paper.”

“Sir?”

“Well, you wanted me to ask for more cannon, yes? And maybe some transports to ship them here. And maybe more infantry divisions. And a proper garrison unit for Malta, right?”

“eh…yes sir!”

So we end this chapter with the Field Marshall Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett trying to write a letter to the Ministry of Armaments that would make sense.

 

[Eurasia]

So I was thinking....I have run the military with the government totally controlled by the AI. And once ran the government with the military totally controlled by AI. And I have tried half-and-half.

But what happens if I just run ONE Front? What if the other Theaters are AI and are fighting their own Fronts? Demanding their own units and focused totally on what is happening there. What happens when I have only my Front to worry about? And the government is also run by AIs, with their own goals and problems?

So...

- The UK's government and MOST of their military have had their AIs turned on.
- I will, sometimes, have to make decisions for the government because it can't sometimes - see my Spanish AAR.
- I will also, sometimes, ask it to build some units for me and also remind it to make convoys.
- But besides that I will be having fun in the Middle-East and likely getting my butt kicked! BBBAAAAHHH!!!!

PS - My old game was downloaded from Amazon around 2015? It was modded, copied, and finally was replaced by a Steam version last night. May it Rest In Peace. With this new version I hope it won't break. I just have to make sure it does not update when I don't want it to.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Two : Asking For Reinforcements

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Three : Redeployment And Settling Down

Field Marshall Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett stepped out of his office around 9:30 AM with a letter he had written for the Ministry of Armaments.

“Captain!” he shouted. “Oh, there you are Malek. Here is the request. Send it right away. I bet we’re not the only ones asking for reinforcements from London.”

“Yes sir,” said Malek as he carefully took the letter to his desk to make sure the address was correct, that it was stamped with a highest priority stamp, and then he handed it over to one of the clerks.

“Make sure this goes out in the earliest mail poach,” he ordered.

As he walked back to the Field Marshall’s office he found himself passing the man who was on his way towards the building’s front doors.

“Sir?”

“Off to have lunch!” stated the Field Marshall. He had put on his heavy overcoat and had gotten a swagger stick from somewhere.

The Captain assumed when the Field Marshall said lunch he meant ‘liquid’ lunch.

“Sir,” said the Captain, trying to keep up with the fast moving man, “it will be noon soon. You’ll boil to death in that outfit. Maybe leave that coat behind?”

“What?” exclaimed the Field Marshall as he reached the doorway. “And go outside NOT in full uniform? That’s like a civilian going to work without a proper umbrella. Bad form, Captain. BBBAAAD form!”

“But sir,” replied the Captain. “We need to pass on orders to the units. For example do you wish to redeploy them?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Field Marshall as he continued to march towards the front doors, “Send the infantry to Alexandria. They can wait for their big guns there. And send the bombers there too. Those airbases are closer to the Italians then Jerusalem is!”

The Guards at the doorway saluted the man as he exited the building and went off into the streets of Al Qahira.

Captain went to use the wireless to give the Middle-East Command and the Middle-East Air Command their orders. The bombers would be in their new home before the end of the day. The infantry would take a little longer.

It was some time after 1 PM when the Field Marshall returned. His face was sweating, his nose was red, but he seemed pleased.

“Captain! Oh, there you are. I found a lovely place that had whiskery barrels as chairs. Horrible whiskey of course. But you know the old saying…quantity has a quality all its own.”

The Captain nodded and watched as the Field Marshall seemed to sway back and forth as he made his way towards his office.

“Took hours to find, of course,” added the man. “First I looked for a proper pub. An English pub. Then started looking for any pub. Even would have tried a Irish pub. Finally found the whiskey place by following some Yankees. Easy to follow, really, so loud. Do you notice how loud Americans are when they go aboard?”

The Captain followed the Field Marshall as he continued to babble.

“It is amazing how hot is it outside. I mean it’s winter and yet there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Who would have thought the desert could be so bloody hot? You could boil water out there.”

The Field Marshall finally made it to his office door without falling over. He tapped the Captain’s chest with the swagger stick and said, “Tea at 4, of course, Captain. Make it strong. Oh…and maybe bring me some water too.”

The Field Marshall then, carefully closed his door, and wasn’t seen till tea time.

As the Captain entered with the tea tray he noticed the Field Marshall had his head in his hands. So, of course, he made sure to slam the door shut. Very loudly.

“Wot?” said the Field Marshall as he sat up. “Oh, its you Captain. Ah, yes, good English tea. Is that goat milk again?”

“No sir,” replied the Captain as he placed the tray onto the desk. “Condensed milk. One of the cooks had a can of it and we thought you might prefer that.”

“We’ll see,” remarked the Field Marshall as he picked up the glass of water from the tray and drained it in one go. “Hummm…never thought I would say this but…water can be refreshing.”

“Yes sir,” said the Captain. “By the way sent off your instructions to the infantry and air units.”

“What?” said the Field Marshall looking confused. “Oh yes. Anyway, just a reminder, I will be having my dinner about 7 PM. Also, I need a manservant soon. Or the address of a proper barber. Can’t keep cutting my own chin hairs forever. Not good form!”

“Yes sir,” said Malek with a silent sigh. “Milk sir? And how many lumps? Anything else?” He handed the finished product to his superior.

“No, no,” remarked the Field Marshall as he looked over his cuppa. “Hmmm…those are real lumps of sugar, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

The Captain left the Field Marshall to his tea and picked it up the tea tray and empty tea pot about an hour later.

The Field Marshall came out of his office around 6 PM.

“Captain! Oh, there you are. I’m going to go get into my dinner jacket. I’ll have the meal served in my quarters. I look forward to seeing what the cooks have made up for me.”

As the Field Marshall walked away the Captain looked at one of the passing clerks and said, “Dinner jacket?”

The young man just shrugged and walked off.

At 7 PM Captain knocked on the Field Marshall’s bedroom door before opening it for the cook. The cook was carrying a covered tray with the dish the cooks had prepared for the Field Marshall while the Captain was carrying a bottle of wine and a glass.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Field Marshall who had been busy touching up the moustache wax in front of a mirror. “Place it on the desk there. Smells good!”

He took a seat, placed his napkin on his lap, and watched as the cook lifted the lid to show off the mess hall’s creation.

“Looks interesting,” said the Field Marshall as his expression went from hopeful to slightly concerned. “Would that be filets mignons?”

“Roast kid,” replied the cook with a cheerful smile. “With mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“KID?!?!” said the Field Marshall looking alarmed.

“Kid is another name for baby goat,” inserted the Captain before the man had the cooks shot. He dismissed the cook as he opened the bottle of wine and poured the Field Marshall a glass.

“Tastes earthy,” said the Field Marshall as he tried the wine. “French?”

“Kind of,” stated the Captain. “From vineyards in French North Africa.”

“I assume these potatoes are also from around here?” said the Field Marshall as he started to cut into his roast baby goat. Goat, even baby goat, was somewhat tough and he was having a rough time at it.

“Don’t know sir,” remarked the Captain. “The potatoes and gravy were both instant. They could be from anywhere and anytime. Have a good meal sir.”

The Captain came back about an hour later to find the Field Marshall in a somewhat grumpy mood.

One of the cooks took away the remains of the meal as the Captain helped the man prepare for bed.

The Field Marshall was not in the mood to sleep. Even with his teddy bear tugged in the bed with him the Field Marshall was not willing to go to retire for the evening.

First the Captain had to check under the bed for ‘dirty Huns’.

Then he had to bring the Field Marshall a glass of water.

Then he had to insure the man that his moustache net was on straight.

Only then did the Field Marshall Melchett settle down and go to sleep.

And so Field Marshall Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett’s first day in North Africa came to an end.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Four : The Daily Routine - 2.1.1936 To 14.1.1936

"I'm eating WHAT now?"​

The first part of the month was a chore for Captain Timothy Malek as he learned the ins and outs of dealing with the strange beast called Field Marshall Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett.

The man LOVED his daily routine. The Field Marshall would wake up around 7 AM and spend about an hour grooming. He would take a short bath, shave his face, wax his moustache, trim his nose and ear hairs, and pluck his eyebrows. He would even shape and buff his finger nails.

He enjoyed the traditional British breakfast around 8 AM. In other words a meal served cold, with plenty of meat and animal byproducts, and hot tea.

The Captain would bring him the daily newspaper but noticed that the Field Marshall only read the funnies, some of the articles on fashion, and anything that had to do with him.

By 9 AM the Field Marshall would also go over all the communiques from London but seemed bored by much of it. For example, when a announcement came that Turkey was aligning itself towards the Soviet Union, the Field Marshall couldn’t even pretend to care.

“Bloody Russians,” said the man on reading the report. “Abandoned us during the Great War. Selfish nutters. Killed their Royal Family, made a boring flag, and started killing themselves. Never trust a Slav Captain!”

And any news out of Ethiopia that dealt with their war with the Italians barely raised an eyebrow.

“You know, I have a theory about the Italians. I think the Italians want to be just like the English,” was all he said with a knowing nod of his head. “They joined us in the Great War you know. Switched sides. Poor things. Just wanted somebody to pay them some attention. That’s what this war is about. They just want to be noticed. The pasta eating twits.”

By noon the Field Marshall would give off a couple of orders then spend a few hours visiting some bars. It seemed he visited different ones every day trying to find one he liked. None of them ever matched his standards but he always seemed to get drunk by the time he returned to the HQ.

He would, normally, be back by 1 or 2 PM and spend the next few hours recovering from a hangover. By 4 PM he would have his hot tea, sometimes with water to help with his throbbing head, and maybe a sandwich or a pastry.

Of course he always complained about the food. “There isn’t enough butter in this sandwich!” “What IS this in the pastry?” “Is this instant tea?” “Was the hot water brought to the tea pot as it should have been?” “My Lord. This is the WRONG fork for eating cake! Wait…where did you get the PROPER sugar for this type of cake?”

By 6 PM he would get ready for dinner and have it by 7 PM. He always wore his red dining jacket and always seemed hopeful at first. The cooks tried their best to experiment on what the man might enjoy but with mixed results.

For example one day they served him roast squab with bacon and grapes. But when the Field Marshall realized what they had brought him the poor man curled up under the table and started to sob. It took hours to calm him down and get him ready for bed.

On the other hand he seemed to like figs and desserts with figs in them. Something about helping him stay regular.

Bedtime was around 8 or 9 PM depending on the man’s mood.

Of course he continued to demand that a Butler, manservant, or boy be hired to wait on him properly. “I can’t keep grooming myself,” he complained. “A proper gentleman never grooms himself. He gets others to groom him. Scandal!”

As for the rest of the world things seemed to move on as they normally did.

On the 6th three members of the government were replaced by Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin. Not only was the Chief of Army and the Minister of Security tossed out the door but so had The Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain FRS. He was replaced by Sir John Simon.

“Good chap,” replied the Field Marshall on hearing this news. “Shouldn’t be insulted by my letter. Might find the muffin story funny. Nobody likes Neville. The lovey dovey peace loving git.”

“Muffin story, sir?” replied the Captain.

The Field Marshall just tapped the side of his nose and said with a smile, “BERREEHH!”

The infantry, by the 11th, were approaching Alexandria. Their march had been no walk in the park. In fact they had seen few parks on their journey. While the regions around the cities could supply them with tins of bread, digestive biscuits, fresh fruit, and loose leaf tea there had been that bad spot in between Jerusalem and Alexandria. Where they had been lucky to find muddy water for their tea.

By the next day they made it to the port where they could finally take proper bubble baths and get a decent shave at a barber. Or at least the officers could. The enlisted men had to cut off any facial hair with gritty mass produced soap and dull straight razors. And sometimes the soldiers could have a quick shower between training and more training to clean off the dust and sweat.

At least by the evening of the 14th of January the Captain was starting to get an idea on how to handle the Field Marshall. Now it was time to start putting the Middle-East Theater into some kind of order. After putting the Field Marshall to bed Captain Timothy Malek went to his own desk, pulled out a map of the Mediterranean, and started to take some notes.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Five : Malta Is Important? - 15.1.1936 To 31.1.1936

The second part of the month was somewhat like the first part. Not much really happened in North Africa. Nor the rest of the world.

Field Marshall Melchett complained about the sand, the sun, the natives, the smells, and the boredom.

“There’s not even a decent Officer’s Club,” he said one evening while testing out another experiment of the cooks. Some kind of roast chicken with yams and mystery greens.

“Sir, there’s one just down the street,” pointed out Captain Melak as he watched the Field Marshall struggle to chew a slice of the chicken. The Captain decided not to tell the Field Marshall that the chicken had been a rooster bought from the owner. After it had been run over by a bus in the street. A week ago.

Well, you have to age such a tough bird before cooking it.

“Yes,” said the Field Marshall as he continued the struggle against the slice in his mouth. “But it is full of all the wrong types of officers. Captains and Lieutenants. Not PROPER officers such as other Field Marshalls and Generals. Ouch…is this a piece of gravel?”

There were only two events of major importance.

One was a chat the Captain had with the Field Marshall on the evening of the 21st of January.

“Sir,” the Captain said, “may I say it is wonderful to have such a experienced and brilliant officer in charge.”

“You may, you may,” responded the Field Marshall as he was preparing for bed.

“And one who knows the importance of Malta,” add the Captain has he handed the Field Marshall his newly washed and dried teddy bear.

“Oh course it is,” said the Field Marshall. “Er…Malta is important?”

“Of course it is,” remarked the Captain as he made sure the man was properly tucked in. “After all it would be the perfect place to station the submarines in case of war with Italy.”

“It is? Of course it is. Er…why is that?”

“Oh, sir, testing my knowledge of logistics? Seeing if I am paying attention?” said the Captain with a knowing nod of his head.

“Oh course,” said the Field Marshall with a nod in return. “Why don’t you tell me why placing the submarines in Malta is so important? I already know of course. But I want to see if YOU know.”

“Well,” said the Captain as if a student answering a teacher, “The Italians need to ship everything in. Food, ammo, fuel, and even hats. If we go to war with them subs stationed in Malta can attack their convoys and cut down those supplies. And as a Master of Logistics you understand how painful that would be for them. An army marches on it stomach as they say.”

“Yes, yes, perfectly correct,” said the Field Marshall who looked sleepy.

“So should I sent the subs to Malta?”

“Eh…oh yes, of course,” commented the Field Marshall with a yawn. “After you get me a glass of water.”

And so, around 10 PM that night, the 1st Submarine Squadron left Alexandria on their way to Malta. They arrived there at noon on the 22nd.

The other event happened a few hours after the subs reached Malta. There was news from mainland Europe. It seemed Germany had taken the Rhineland from the French. This caused some protests from England and France and many people wondered if it would trigger another conflict.

All the Field Marshall had to say about the news, after coming back from his lunch, was a confused, “Where?”

But by the end of the month everything had settled down. War between Germany and either France or the United Kingdoms seemed unlikely.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Six : Cyprus Is Important? - 1.2.1936 To 15.2.1936

The first part of February was just as slow as both parts of January. And the Field Marshall was still upset that winter was so hot.

Captain Malek pondered what the reaction would be if he pointed out it would likely get hotter? He decided to keep that little gem of knowledge to himself for now.

On the morning of the 15th, after Field Marshall had finished his breakfast and was getting ready for his lunch, the Captain stepped up to the man and said, “Sir, one last piece of information we have to go over.”

“What?” said Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett with a frown He glanced at his watch and sighed. “We’ve already gone over all the news from London, I’ve signed all the birthday cards, and finished the funnies. What’s left? I’m going to be late for lunch.”

“Well sir,” replied the Captain with a nod towards one of the wall maps, “we have to discuss the Island of Cyprus.”

“Cyprus?” remarked the Field Marshall. He walked over to the wall maps and looked at the spot of green on blue. “Another island? Is it ALSO important?”

“Of course sir,” said the Captain with the upmost respect, “you don’t think the Chief of the Army would give you an UNIMPORTANT assignment, do you?”

“Of course not!” The Field Marshall seemed to puff up like a dove trying to impression the females. “My grandson, Lord Melchett, who is in the House of Lords made sure I would get this position. Pulled a few strings to get me here. If you get my drift.” At which point the Field Marshall tried to wink and just blinked.

“You WANTED this position?”

“Well, not really,” admitted the Field Marshall. “But I heard they were going to hand it over to Sir Archibald Percival Wavell. He has always been jealous of me. He was always trying to make me look bad. Tried to gain more ground than me during the Great War. Tried to kill more of the Huns than me. Even was wounded. Most likely self inflicted. I mean, really, how would a General get wounded? I barely visited the front lines. HA! Can you imagine him in charge? I say again - HA!”

“Yes,” mumbled the Captain to himself drily. “Well, anyway, let’s talk about Cyprus.”

“There is Cyprus and HERE,” remarked the Captain as he tapped the map, “are the Italians. You can see how important Cyprus is, yes?”

“Of course,” lied the Field Marshall with a nod of his head. “But…why don’t you tell me. So we’re on the same page?”

“Naval bombers,” stated the Captain. “Station them on Cyprus and they could harass Italians warships posted at those islands during wartime.”

“Of course!” replied the Field Marshall. “And a garrison….?”

“Yes sir,” said the Captain. “Brilliant as always.”

“Yes, I am,” said the Field Marshall with a nod. “Right, I’ll write up a request, hand it over to you to be mailed, then off to lunch!”

"Yes sir,” said the Captain with a smile as the Field Marshall walked over to his desk to grab a pen and some paper.

About an hour later the Field Marshall, in his overcoat and carrying his swagger stick, marched out of his office, handed the Captain the letter, and went off to have his ‘lunch’

Of course the letter was sent off as once. The Captain was looking forward to the Middle-East Command having nice brand new naval bombers.

Sadly for him that was not to be.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Seven : Pen Pals - 16.2.1936 To 29.2.1936

The second part of February was a little more exciting for the cooks. As they tried more and more dishes or different types on the Field Marshall.

They tried dates stuffed with goat meat and different types of goat cheeses. They tried pita breads with many types of drips and tried all types of spices. They tried hummus and falafels, of course, but the Field Marshall seemed to find fault with everything.

“Why doesn’t he just eat at the Officer’s Mess!” complained one Cook as he brought back a dinner the Field Marshall had hardly touched. “He barely even tasted the pudding with dates soaked in brandy!”

“He refuses to go to the Officer’s Mess,” pointed out the Captain. “He does not like the idea of the word ‘officer’ and the word ‘mess’ being in the same name. Thinks it bad for the men’s spirit.”

“Is that why he keeps looking for an officer’s CLUB?” remarked the Cook.

“Bingo.”

The Captain, himself, enjoyed the local Cairo cuisine. In fact the strong coffee the natives brewed helped keep him awake and slightly sane.

When the Field Marshall wasn’t complaining about the food he was complaining about his lack of friends and social life.

So he spent much of his free time, between lunch and tea time, writing to his family, his friends, editors in the London newspaper, and random celebrities he felt should know all about his exploits.

So when, on the 20th of February, he received a letter from a friend and not a letter from the lawyers of Clark Gable or Will Rogers even Captain Malek was somewhat surprised.

“Well, well, well,” said the Field Marshall as he looked at the return address on the envelope. “It’s from Darling!”

“Your wife, sir?”

“No, no, no,” said the Field Marshall as he picked up his letter opener and sliced the envelope from one end to the other. “The man was once Captain Darling. My right hand man during the Great War. Such a loyal man. When I ordered him to go over the top he almost refused to go.”

“That loyal?” said the Captain trying to hide his confusion.

“Yes,” said the Field Marshall as he unfolded the letter. “Good times. I remember the time I sent him to the hospital after shooting him in the left foot.”

The Captain decided not to ask as the man started to read the letter from his friend.

“Seems he is back in the rank and file,” remarked the Field Marshall after a minutes. “Here, read it yourself.”

“Well,” stated the Captain as he handed the letter back, “he seems to be doing well.”

“Oh yes,” said the Field Marshall with a beaming smile, “takes after me. Not that he is my son. But I always thought of him as a son. Not my favorite son. That’s why Is sent him to help in that ‘push’. Builds character don’t you know.”

Around the 27th, along with the Field Marshall’s monthly issues of ‘English Facial Hair’, ‘Swagger Sticks & Overcoats’, and ‘Scary Stories For Young Boys’, the mail delivery service also brought a letter from the Ministry of Armaments.

“Excellent!” stated the Field Marshall said to the Captain as he sliced it open. “Let’s see how Johnny responded to my request eh?”

He unfolded the letter and started to read it. The Captain noticed his face go from joy to confusion. He even looked a little pale and his eyes twitched a little.

“Something wrong sir?”

“Eh,” said the Field Marshall. “It looks like our first request for units went through but this request can’t be…well, can’t be filled.”

“Oh?” The Captain held out his hand. “Do you wish me to file it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” the Field Marshall replied. He held the letter to his chest and shook his head sharply. “There are some private matters in it. And secrets. And remember, security isn’t a dirty word.”

“Never said it was sir,” remarked the Captain as he tried to figure out what was going on by the man's face. Love affair gone wrong? Trouble at home? Or was somebody stupid enough to truly tell the Field Marshall REAL secrets?

So by the end of February the rumor mill among rank and file of the Middle-East Command started working over time. What had happened back home that would scare their Field Marshall?

A socialist revolution? A shortage of tea and cake? Had Butlers been declared illegal? There was even a betting pool among the officers on what, EXACTLY, was happening back home.

And Captain Timothy Malek was starting to realize that holding the Middle East might not be as easy as he hoped it would be.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Eight : Authority - 1.3.1936 To 31.3.1936

The month of March wasn’t that hot to be honest. Much of the time, even during high noon, it was 20 degrees Celsius, or 68 degrees Fahrenheit, which was pretty comfortable. That was still twice as much as the temperature would be in London, of course, and the Field Marshall did like to wear his overcoat which likely didn’t help much.

But when it was suggested that maybe he should stay inside or leave the coat behind or use sunblock he would ‘pooh pooh’ the suggestion and refuse.

On the morning of the 6th of March the Captain was debating on if he should hide the coat or not when, on entering the Field Marshall’s office, something happened.

The Field Marshall was reading a news article in the London Times, which was no doubt about that year’s fashion, when the Captain noticed a change come over the man’s face

Uh-oh. The Captain had come to understand that expression. An idea had formed inside the man’s mind.

Much of the time the Field Marshall’s ideas were silly, if not outright stupid, impossible, and many times illegal. His ideas were the stuff of horror and insanity. There were psychiatrists, and a few horror writers, who would give thousands of pounds to understand the Field Marshall’s thought process.

“Captain,” said the Field Marshall as he put the newspaper he was reading on his desk, “may I ask a question? Where does my authority end? As I am in charge of the Middle-East Command, or Theater as it were, where are the borders of my powers? Can I, for example, arrest certain government officials or declare marshal law or remove certain pieces of art from the local museums?”

“No, sir, nothing like…..where did that NEW painting come from?”

“What?”

“The new one hanging behind you on the wall?”

“It was among my belongings when I arrived,” responded the Field Marshall swiftly. “I brought it from home. It’s been in my family since one of my ancestors worked for Queen Elizabeth the First.”

“Really?” remarked the Captain. “They had a painting of a small Arab boy drawing water from a well in the middle of a desert town?”

“Er..yes..?”

“indeed,” said the Captain drily. “The answer is still no. You are a military officer of the Empire of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The Kingdom of Egypt is independent. We are only here to protect the region, the Suez Canal, and to help train their armed forces.”

“Oh, eh…yes,” said the Field Marshall, as he glanced at the painting behind him. “Yes…but I do have military authority to protect Egypt and other parts of the Middle East? How FAR does that authority go?”

“Well,” replied the Captain, “your sphere of authority is large. Officially. But in reality it is somewhat smaller. Let me show you the maps.”

“This is British Territory or nations we are…allied with,” explained the Captain as he pointed at one of the larger sized maps. “But much of it is useless.”

He replaced the map with another map. “This is a map on the infrastructure of Africa. As least those regions we know of. As you can see your authority only goes this far south. And only along the coasts.”

“What is that gray colored area?” asked the Field Marshall as he pointed at the inland provinces of Africa.

“Deserts, heavily armed nomads, and camel spiders are big as your head.”

The Field Marshall looked ill. “So nothing civilized out there, eh?”

“Nothing,” replied the Captain, “no phones, no lights, no motor cars. Nor a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it’s as primitive as can be.”

“Who takes over there? South of my authority?”

“East Africa Command Theatre,” answered the Captain. “Field Marshal McCulloch is in charge and he is not a happy camper. He last request for one garrison brigade and seventeen infantry brigades was turned down. And he has a bunch of Italian units next door as neighbors.”

“Naughty Italians,” said the Field Marshall with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll switch sides.”

The Captain opened his mouth, closed this mouth, and then left the office without speaking.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Nine : The Plan - 1.4.1936 To 30.4.1936

April was a change in weather for the Field Marshall. Storms had come to the coast and the temperature had dropped, slightly, with the rains. Many of the roads along the Mediterranean ocean were turned into mud.

As the city Al Qahira was modern, with paved streets, it was the country side where the storms had the most affect. Go outside the city limits and your car would be in mud up to the door frames.

And the overcoat the Field Marshall liked to wear soaked up the rain like a sea sponge. In fact, so did many of the Field Marshall’s favorite things.

“Damn this rain!” complained the Field Marshall. “Look at my moustache! My hair! My monthly issue of ‘Detective Stories For Young Boys’! Everything is wet! If I wanted water in my Bourdon I would add ice!”

The news, from both English newspapers and international newspapers, focused mainly on the Italians and their war with Ethiopia.

The Italians slowly worked they way towards the enemy Capital, almost like a snake slowly circling its prey, taking the outer provinces one by one.

“Like eating a cookie,” said the Field Marshall with a grin during one of their morning debriefings.

“What sir?” responded Captain Malek with a confused look.

“Like this,” replied Sir Anthony C.H. Melchett. He lifted his right hand up to his face, as if holding a invisible cookie, moving his fingers as if turning a it as he made a “Nom-nom-nom-nom” noise. He was demonstrating how to eat a cookie.

“You eat it slowly from the outside in,” the Field Marshall added with a wink.

The Captain just nodded.

On the 10th of April the Captain decided to broach the serious subject of what to do when the Italians tried to invaded.

“Sir,” said the Captain during the Field Marshall’s breakfast. “I have a plan for how to deal with the Italians when they try to take British North Africa.”

“Go on,” the man said while chewing on a sausage. “I’m listening.”

The Captain placed a map on the desk. He pointed out the reddish territory.

“First, I would like to point out the infrastructure between the border and Alexandria is horrible,” pointed out the Captain.

“Think of the Italians marching over this landscape. Sand and baked rock. Bugs and snakes and not a wine shop in sight. Getting sweat all over their fashionable uniforms, getting sand into their salads, and getting sunburned.”

“Poor chaps,” remarked the Field Marshall as he sliced into one of his grilled tomatoes.

“Now,” he added placing another map on top of the first one, “think about how much more upset they will be if we were sneaky and launched an invasion on the port of Tobruch. The port right on the border which is likely the nearest supply source. Now they are trapped between our forces, no food, no water, no sun block. No Moustache wax!”

“By Jove!” exclaimed the Field Marshall. “Their morale would be crushed. They’d surrender to us in droves! A wonderful plan.”

“I just need two things from you sir,” continued the Captain. “I need you to approval a work order to build some Land Forts in Alexandria. In case the Italians get to the city. We should build at least two tiers of Land Forts. And I need you to name the operation.”

Field Marshall quickly signed off on the work order and handed it to the Captain. “Get our engineers to get on it right away! I am sure they can hire enough unskilled workers among the natives to work on the Forts. And we will call it Operation Boomarang!”

“Boomarang?”

“Yes,” replied the Field Marshall. “Because the Italians are tossing men at us, and like the Boomarang, they will not be returning.”

The Captain opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and just nodded.

By the 11th of April the Italian forces finally took Addis Ababa and the poor African nation fell.

“The Italians won?” remarked the Field Marshall with a shocked look. “So, what did they win? What does Ethiopia have?”

“Not much,” said the Captain. “Desert, half naked natives, and that’s about it. Just a smaller nation to boss around.”

“That’s nice,” remarked the Field Marshall with a smile. “Good for them!”

The Captain decided to keep silent.

During this month the government announced a few breakthroughs but as the Field Marshall cared nothing for science or technology the Captain kept the information to himself.

Also the Captain knew many of the units asked for were about to finish their training and be ready. Soon the Field Marshall would have to go over the lists of officers to see who would be in charge of the upcoming infantry divisions. The Captain wondered WHO the Field Marshall would select?

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Ten : Artillery Brigades - 1.5.1936 To 9.5.136

When May rolled around the Field Marshall became very excited. His units were scheduled to finish their training and become ready for duty. He had asked that his units assemble in the port in Plymouth. Lt. General Liddell, the Commander of the South-Western Area HQ, promised to help organize the units before they were shipped.

As the Field Marshall waited for news of his first artillery brigade the Captain grabbed any news dealing with improvements in military technology. He knew the Field Marshall cared nothing for them but HE was slightly interested in them.

For example there were announced on improvements in industrial production and artillery barrels. Of course, these improvements were too late to help the artillery brigades that were about to complete their training.

On the 8th of May the 1st Artillery Brigade was deployed to Plymouth. Their crews had been drilled with, and been issued, 25 pounder gun-howitzers. Pretty powerful guns to be honest.

The 2nd Artillery Brigade was deployed to Plymouth on the 9th. Now both brigades just had to wait for transportation.

Also on the 9th the newly formed 6th Infantry Division was also deployed to the port. The three infantry brigades were armed with Bren guns, 3 inch Mortars, 4.5 inch Howitzers, and 2 pounder anti-tank guns. Their one artillery brigades was given the 25 pounder gun-howitzers. Like the other artillery brigades.

“Sir,” said the Captain as he delivered the news to the Field Marshall. “The 6th Infantry Division is ready. Do you wish for me to send a message to Lt. General Liddell on which commander you want for the unit?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett with a big grin as he looked up from the funnies he was reading. “I’ve already told the Lt. General who I want in charge of the divisions. Even sent a letter for the officer who will be given command of the 6th Infantry. An old friend of mine. Almost had him shot once.”

The Captain just decided to nod his head and back out of the office.

Major General Edmund Blackadder was known as somewhat as a trickster and a expert when it came to offensive tactics.

Now he was waiting in the outer office of Lieutenant General Liddell for what could be his first command since the Great War.

After the terrors of war and the more peaceful boredom of being in prisoner of the Kaiser he had returned to England to become a peacetime officer.

He had tried to keep in touch with others from the war.

For example there was Kate Parkhurst. Kate Parkhurst had tried to pretend to be a man during the Great War with mixed results. While General Melchett had not realized she was a ‘she’ when she was the man’s driver MOST people saw through her disguise.

So she switched her name from ‘Bob’ to ‘Bobbie’ and wore female driver’s uniform. Funny enough the General didn’t seem to notice this gender switch.

After the war Blackadder and Kate had gotten together and, after about a year, got married. George and Darling had both been invited as was Kate’s many brothers. George had been Blackadder's best man.

By then ‘The Honorable’ George Colthurst St. Barleigh had also married into one of the other wealthy families. So George brought his wife Madeline. It was a interesting story on how the two had met.

Seems George had joined a club called the ‘Drones’, met a new friend named Bernie Wooster, visited one of the family’s many estates, and with the help of a Butler named Jeeves he was able to marry one of Bernie’s friends. Who happened to be the lovely Madeline Bassett. These events all happened within a week.

Kevin Darling had brought his wife Doris to the wedding. She turned out to be pretty and very smart which impressed Blackadder no end. The two men, in fact, were very civil with each other. Their time in captivity had forced them to learn to get along.

And now, after years of peaceful life in the countryside as a officer on the reserve list, he was about to be dumped back into the hell of what could be another great war.

As he pondered this the door to the inner office opened and Lt. General Liddell stood there with a folder in his hands. “Come in Blackadder. I have your commission for you.”

After both men sat down at the Lt. General’s small desk Liddell slid the folder over to Blackadder. “Your new command. The 6th Infantry Division of the Middle East Command. You will be reporting to the city of Alexandria as soon as transport is available. Congratulations!”

“Thank you sir,” said Blackadder as he picked up the folder and flipped it open. “May I ask who is my commanding officer?”

“Lt. General Gowrie is your superior officer,” replied Liddell with a nod. “Oh…in there is a letter from the Field Marshall of the Middle East Command Theater. Seems he was a friend of yours.”

“Really?” Blackadder searched through the paperwork in the folder, pulled out a envelope, read the his name on it, and said, “Huh.”

“Problem Blackadder?”

“Wot?” replied Blackadder looking a tad dazed. “Eh, no, I think I better go check on the division. Make sure everything is packed and secure when the transport is ready. If I may?”

“Of course, of course. Maybe we can have a drink at the Officer’s Mess before you go?” The two men shook hands and Blackadder left the inner office.

Blackadder sat down on one of the chairs in the outer office and stared at his name written on the envelope. “No…no…no…” He knew the handwriting.

He ripped open the envelope with one of his fingernails and started to read the letter.

“Bollocks.”

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Eleven : Reinforcements Arrive - 10.5.136 To 31.5.1936

The first part of May seemed pretty slow. The British government made few public announcements and Europe seemed quiet. But under the surface men were being trained, officers were being called up for active duty, and equipment was being assembled.

On the 14th Queen Mary Flotilla, the first Flotilla of transport requested by Field Marshall Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, was finally assembled and made available. Commander Dunbar-Naismith was in charge of the transports.

The Commander was a member of the ‘Old Guard’ and a man known for his tactical knowledge. It was doubtful he looked forward to ‘babysitting’ live cargo for the next few years. But this was the command given to him and he had to do the best he could with what he was given.

That morning the 1st and the 2nd Artillery Brigades was loaded onto the ships and the Commander was ordered to take his passengers to the port of Alexandria.

While on its way to delivering the artillery units the Queen Mary Flotilla passed the Italian controlled port of Tobruch. They reported that the port had little to no activity for its size. There Italian Navy had ships there but nowhere near enough numbers to be a threat to the Mediterranean Fleet.

On the 20th the artillery units were finally delivered to the port of Alexandria. The 8th Infantry was given the 2nd Artillery and the 7th Infantry was given the 1st Artillery.

Once the Queen Mary Flotilla had taken on fresh water, food, and fuel, it was ordered to return to Plymouth.

On the 22nd the 100th Infantry Divisions, the garrison unit, was finally assembled and deployed to Plymouth.

The man the Field Marshall had selected for the unit was Major General Johnson. Johnson was known for being part of the ‘Old Guard’ and skilled at defensive tactics. Of course, after being given his command, he went to the Officer’s Mess to meet up with Major General Blackadder.

The Officer’s Mess in Plymouth was well stocked and very British. The wall was covered with photos from the past wars as well as dozens of Naval items as decor. The two men chatted about their experience in the Great War and their peace time life afterwards.

They also enjoyed a few cocktails knowing that they would unlikely find such skilled bartenders in foreign lands.

“What are your men equipped with?” asked Blackadder as he sipped his French 75.

Johnson sighed. “War surplus. 1914 rifles, Vickers, and our anti-tank weapon is a sticky grenade.”

“I doubt you have to worry about tanks,” pointed out Blackadder as he gestured to the waiter for another fresh pair of cocktails. “You’re going to Malta. Hard to invade a island with armoured divisions. Also you have a artillery brigade with the 25 pounder guns backing up your two infantry brigades. Any tanks would be damaged before they got off the beaches.”

“True,” remarked Johnson with a hopeful smile at that fact. Or was it the promise of a fresh round of cocktails?

As the two men enjoyed their fresh cocktails Lt. General Liddell entered the Officer’s Mess and approached their table.

“At ease gentlemen,” stated the man before they could react. “Just here to tell you, Blackadder, that the Dominion Monarch Flotilla is going to be ready for your division tomorrow. So I figured this would a good time to join you for that drink we agreed on.” He turned to the waiter and added, “A Hanky Panky please.”

So the three men enjoyed their drinks and informal conversation will past midnight.

When on the morning of the 23rd Blackadder arrived at the transports a tad behind the arrival of his 6th Infantry. When he went up the ramp to his assigned transport ship Commander Evans was there to greet.

“Rough time last night, eh?” said the Commander with a big grin after the salutes and whistle blowing was done. “Well, I don’t blame you. At least I can offer you one of the better cabins on the ship and some of the best food during the trip.”

“Thank you Commander,” as he tried to stay out of the sunlight.

The Dominion Monarch Flotilla, once the division was all aboard, started off on its journey to El Iskandariya.

Blackadder found his cabin more than acceptable. On the other hand anyplace Blackadder could sleep that didn’t have rats, fleas, and bombs falling on him was acceptable.

And having his meals at the ‘Captain’s’ table with the Commander and his officers was also a treat. It was nice to have a clean napkin on his lap, to use proper silverware, and eat well prepared meals while in uniform.

On the afternoon of the 24th the Dominion Monarch, going south past the coast of Portugal, passed the Queen Mary Flotilla heading back north to pick up the garrison division.

On the 25th, shortly after lunch, the Commander announced that the Flotilla was passing through the Gibralter Strait.

Back in Plymouth, on the morning of the 26th, the Queen May Flotilla had arrived and had started loading up the 100th Infantry Division and their artillery weapons. They did such a good job that by the evening of the same day the Flotilla was prepared to start its trip to Malta.

On the morning of the 29th the Dominion Monarch Flotilla reached the port of El Iskandariya and started to unload the 6th Infantry Division.

As Blackadder watched from the docks, with his staff, he heard a voice behind him ask, “Major General Edmund Blackadder?”

Blackadder turned and instantly saluted. “Sir, reporting for duty, sir.”

Lieutenant General Gowrie returned with a half-hearted salute, “At ease Blackadder.” He gestured to a car behind him. It was a green colored vehicle that was at least ten years old and had seen better days. It screamed military. “I brought my car to take you to the HQ. I am sure your staff will get your men in order.”

“Thank you sir,” replied Blackadder crisply. He wasn’t sure if this Gowrie was related to Lord Gowrie but he didn’t to take the chance and insult such a powerful family.

“Welcome to the port of Alexandria. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,” remarked the Lt. General as he guided Blackadder towards his car. The driver was already ready with the doors open for them.

As they entered the car Blackadder’s impression of the automobile improved slightly. The seats had been replaced recently and the sides had been reinforced with steel. There was even a few pistols attached to the back of the front seat. It seemed Gowrie took his security very seriously!

“I hear you are a old friend of the Field Marshall?” said the Lt. General as he tapped on the front seat and the driver started the engine.

“We knew each other in the 'War' sir,” replied Blackadder.

“Well, I hate to tell you this but you are going to be far too busy in Alexandria to visit you old friend in Cairo,” stated Gowrie with a shake of his head as the driver tried to move the car through the crowded docks.

“Oh how unfortunate,” responded Blackadder with a sad face.

Once the 6th Infantry Division was unloaded the Dominion Monarch was ordered back to Plymouth.

Around the same time the Queen Mary Flotilla was slipping through the Strait of Gibraltar on their way to Malta.

On the 31st the Queen Mary made it to Malta and the 100th Infantry Division started to disembark. As Maj. General Johnson took command of the island he renamed his unit the Malta Garrison.

As this was happening back in Cairo Captain Malek had approached the Field Marshall while he was still dealing with his ‘lunch’ hang over.

“Wot?” remarked the Field Marshall as he looked at his watch. “Is it tea time yet?”

“No sir, I just have a request.”

“Out with it,” said the Field Marshall as he rubbed his pounding forehead.

“Well, sir,” continued the Captain, “I was thinking that, instead of sending the Malta Command to Jerusalem, we could send it to Alexandria to help in the city’s defenses when the Italians come.”

“Yes, yes,” responded the Field Marshall. “Now get out till tea time. I…er..have reports to go over.”

The Captain saluted the Field Marshall, closed the office door silently, and sent off the Malta Command’s new orders.

So on the evening of the 31st of May the Queen Mary Flotilla was told to take the old Malta Command to El Iskandariya.

During the month the government did make a few announcements about economics and science but the Captain kept this reports to himself as he knew the Field Marshall cared nothing for such news. New technology and modern ideas seemed to threaten the man.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Author’s Notes:

The 1930s was called the ‘Golden Age of the Cocktail’ and @El Pip will be happy to hear that neither of those drinks had Bourbon whiskey in them.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Twelve : Theaters Of The Empire - 1.6.1936 To 10.6.1936

British Virgin Islands - 1936​

By the 1st of June the Dominion Monarch Flotilla was passing by the port of Valencia.

While that Flotilla was heading homeward the Queen Mary Flotilla was passing by the port of Benghazi on its way to the port of Alexandria with the old Malta Command in its holds.

Near midnight the ships finally entered the port of Alexandria and the long job of unloading the troops and their equipment had started.

The old Malta Command, once finally unloaded, was renamed the Alexandria Garrison and was attached to the Middle East Command HQ.

Back on Malta the NEW Malta Garrison had finally settled down, finished all the paperwork, and officially attached itself directly to the Middle-East Commander Theater HQ.

The Queen Mary Flotilla was ordered back to Plymouth.

The Dominion Monarch arrived there by the 3rd and the Queen Mary arrived there by the 8th. They were ordered to merge and the new Fleet was misnamed the 1st Middle East Flotilla. Commander Evans was put in charge much to the relief of Commander Dunar-Naismith. He was hopeful his next command would be proper military one.

“Hey Boo Boo!”​

On the late morning of the 9th, before the Field Marshall could get into his overcoat and grab his swagger stick, the Captain brought something to his attention.

“Sir,” said Captain Timothy Malek, “I wonder if you would look over this…what is that on your face?!?”

“Plaster,” replied the Field Marshall. “I cut myself a few times while shaving. If you would get me a Butler like I asked for one I would not, currently, have plaster of Paris all over my face. Shame!”

“Yes sir,” responded the Captain with a frown. “Well, like I was saying I noticed something while looking over the requests from the other Theaters. And I wondered if you would also see the pattern.”

He handed over the papers to the Field Marshall who looked them over with his best ‘serious’ face.

“Hmmm…I noticed St. John HQ is in the British Virgin Islands instead of Canada,” he remarked after about a minute.

“What?” The Captain glanced at the paperwork and realized the Field Marshall was correct. “I didn’t notice that. But I meant the other pattern.”

“Of course, of course,” said the Field Marshall. “I noticed all the patterns. As they say I’m smarter than the advantage Field Marshall. But…eh…why don’t you tell me which pattern you noticed?”

“The Theaters ordered their reinforcements in such a way that their Transport Flotillas are some of the last units being assembled.”

The Field Marshall just stared at the Captain as if waiting for the punch-line of a overly long joke.

“It MEANS,” continued the Captain, “that most Theaters will not be able to ship in their reinforcements, that they asked for, till later this year or early 1937.”

“I see….” lied the Field Marshall.

“It means if the war starts this year a lot of those Theaters are going to be overwhelmed due to a lack of any ground troops,” added the Captain.

“How sad for them,” replied the Field Marshall still with a somewhat blank expression.

“If the Theaters are defeated in the next war,” said the Captain slowly, “the British Empire falls, the middle class blames the upper class, the lower class has a revolution, and all the upper class are put against the wall.”

Still a blank expression.

“It means they are all shot.”

Still no reaction.

“Sir,” said the Captain as he pronounced each word as carefully as he could. “You are a member of the upper class.”

“Oh my GOD!” exclaimed the Field Marshall. “Those fools! Why can’t the other Theater Field Marshalls be as brilliant as me! They’ve doomed us all!”

He suddenly stood up. “This calls for action. I’m going out for lunch now. Might be out longer than normal. Going to get stinking drunk.”

As the Field Marshall left with his overcoat and swagger stick the Captain collected the paperwork. There was ANOTHER pattern he had noticed that the Field Marshall had missed.

Most of the ground troops requested by the other Theaters had been garrison divisions. It looked like most of the Field Marshalls of the British Empire felt they could get away with a purely defensive strategy in the next war.

“Defense will not win the war,” mumbled the Captain to himself. Maybe the Field Marshall was right. Maybe it was time for a drink? Or two?

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Thirteen : The Baron of Hautvillers - 11.6.1936

Major General Edmund Blackadder was sipping strong Arabic coffee while reading some reports his ‘batman’, or orderly, Private Davies had brought him that morning. The coffee was slightly spicy, as was how it was served in this part of Africa, and when compared to the mud coffee he had in the trenches it was a liquid form of Heaven.

Private Davies was a genius. He was friends with the locals and knew where to get good coffee, real sugar, and even fresh cream. He was also friends with most of the cooks, knew people in the Quartermaster department, and seemed to know which rumors were false and which were fact.

He kept Blackadder’s office well aired, his uniform brushed, his boots polished, and his bedroom clean.

The man was worth his weight in chocolate rations.

So when Davies walked into Blackadder’s office with a envelop in his hands the Major General was not ready for the shock he was about to receive.

“Sir,” said the young man, “we received this letter for you in the last diplomat pouch. From the Baron of Hautvillers, sir.”

“Really? I don't know any Barons. From France?”

“Yes sir,” said Davies as he handed the letter to Blackadder. “Sir, would you like me take away the coffee set, sir?”

“Yes, thank you Davies,” replied Blackadder as he picked up his letter opener and sliced open the envelope.

He waited till his ‘batman’ had cleared the desk and left the office before pulling out the letter, unfolding it, and soon found himself staring at it in shock.

“By all that is Holy,” murmured Blackadder before continuing to read.

“He’s alive,” mumbled Blackadder as he put the letter down to process this information. Years of survivor’s guilt mixed with anger flashed across his face.

On one hand he has been Baldrick’s commanding officer. And he had failed to protect the private. He felt Baldrick’s death had been partially his fault. Mostly Sir Anthony C.H. Melchett’s fault. But he had to share SOME it it.

On the other hand, now that he knew Baldrick was alive, Blackadder wanted to snap the idiot’s neck for not getting in touch with him earlier.

“Calm down,” he whispered to himself, “and finish the letter.”

He placed the letter on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

“If, or when, the war starts I almost feel sorry for the French,” he said to himself.

“Almost.”

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Fourteen : Sir Alwyn Douglas Crow - 12.6.1936 To 30.6.1936

Rocket Man​

The rest of the month of June was slow. At least from Field Marshall Anthony C.H. Melchett’s point of view. He was still upset that he couldn’t find a proper English pub. He was running out of places to have ‘lunch’ in.

At least the weather in Cairo had cleared up a tad. Back in the UK the weather was….well, normal for the UK.

But Captain Malek did hear a interesting piece of information on the 12th of June. Seems there had been successful rocket tests of some kind in England. He knew that a Sir Alwyn Douglas Crow had been working on replacing the regular anti-aircraft guns with missiles or rockets under the Projectile Development Establishment.

The idea was they could take down high flying aircraft who might be out of the range of normal anti-aircraft weapons.

And with the success of the latest tests a larger scale project was in the works. In fact there were rumors that a Rocket Test Site was now under construction in the Caribbean.

Would that explain why the St. John HQ was in the Virgin Islands instead of Canada?

There was also news of more advances made in Light Tank development. Maybe asking for Armoured Divisions might not be a bad idea?

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Author’s Notes:

OOC: The AI does not seem to know how to build Rocket Sites so I ordered one to be built for it in Jamaica. I wanted someplace that would not get overrun by enemy units later in the game. Also a fan of 'Dr. No'.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Fifteen : Surprise Production - 1.7.1936 To 31.7.1936

Halfway through July, shortly after noon on the 11th, Captain Timothy Malek noticed something in the dailies coming from the UK.

Seems the Ministry of Armaments was counting down when three new units would be available to the Middle-East Command Theatre. Three units the Captain was sure the Field Marshall had NOT asked for.

When the Field Marshall wandered in the Captain tried to get his attention.

“Sir,” he said softly as he followed his superior officer down the hallway. “I have some good news.”

“Shhhhh,” said the Field Marshall. “Had a few gin and tonic too many. Or was it the spicy crisps? Was that crisps? Captain, do the Arabs eat crisps?”

The Captain helped the Field Marshall into his office and over to this desk. “Crisps? Not a lot of potatoes around these parts, sir.”

“Oh dear,” whispered the Field Marshall as the Captain helped him out of his coat and hat. “My head is spinning and my tummy burns. Now…what were you talking about? Good news?”

“Yes sir,” said Captain as he placed a piece of paper before the Field Marshall. “Seems the previous Field Marshall may have already had a order for reinforcements before you took command.”

“Really? Oh, surprise reinforcements! Owwww…my head.”

“Yes sir,” continued the Captain. “Seems we will be getting a fighter wing, a tactical wing, and a armoured brigade of light tanks.”

“A armoured division?” said the Field Marshall his voice sounding almost happy.

“No, brigade,” replied the Captain.

“A armoured brigade?” said the Field Marshall, staring off into space, as he seemed to sweat even more and his forehead turned a brighter shade of red. “Why would anybody ask for a brigade of light tanks?”

“I don’t know sir,” answered the Captain. “I don’t even know their model. But we should start getting the units around January of next year.”

“I guess we can assign the tanks to one of the infantry divisions,” murmured the Field Marshall. “Ohhhh…why is the wall rippling?”

The Captain, realizing he needed to get in his say before the Field Marshall tossed him out of the office, quickly said, “No, sir, the walls seem solid. I think we MAY find a use for the tanks as a small mobile force. We could even use them in Operation Boomarang. See, sir, I added them to the map.”

The Captain placed the updated map onto the desk. He kept his hand on it just in case he needed to remove it quickly. To, for example, dodge vomit from a superior officer.

“Oh…hmmm…a small swift force…don’t know. Sounds like something the Americans would do,” muttered the Field Marshall. “Not very English. Not English at all.”

“But think of it as…cavalry, “ said the Captain. “They can be used to scout out provinces, cut supply lines, and so forth. All they need is a good name for the unit.”

“Desert Badgers,” said the Field Marshall as he closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

“Badgers?” replied the Captain. “Why Badgers?”

“Can you think of anything more British than a Badger?” demanded the Field Marshall. “Loyal and strong, swift and irate, nothing as English as a badger! Now…got out!”

The Field Marshall started to make noises that suggested he had a huge furball he needed to cough up.

The Captain left, making sure to take his map, and alerting the staff that they may need a mop and bucket in the Field Marshall’s office before tea time.

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Author’s Notes:

OOC: It seems at the start of the game all Theaters have requests next to the ‘Build’. Even the Middle East Command. So I must of accidentally hit the button when randomly hitting the other buttons. So I have a Fighter Wing, a Tactical Wing, and a crappy Light Armoured Brigade. Oh goody.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Sixteen : Malta Defenses And More Transports - 1.8.1936 To 31.8.1936

On the 1st of August, while the Field Marshall was eating his somewhat traditional British breakfast (the cooks had run out of chicken eggs and were now making his scrambled eggs from the powdered stuff) the Captain decided to talk to him about the defenses of Malta. Or lack of them.

“Sir,” he started with a small smile, “as you know we have a garrison in Malta manning the anti-aircraft guns and a few coastal forts we have there. But I would feel a lot better if we had more coastal forts and defenses on the beaches of the islands.”

“How many more?” asked the Field Marshall as he eyed one of his sausages. He was starting to think the beef sausages had been replaced with some other type of sausage. Like camel sausages.

“All of them sir,” replied the Captain. “I think our engineers should build gun positions, trenches, shelters, and barbwire fences all over the place till they run out of material.”

So the Field Marshall signed off the orders needed.

“Excellent,” said the Field Marshall as he sipped his orange juice. “Recruit all the men, women, and children needed to do the work. Work them night and day. Use whips if you have to! BRAAAAAAAAHHH!”

“Sir,” remarked the Captain as he picked up the orders, “I am sure we can’t do that. There are child labor laws.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Field Marshall. “Malta is a British colony! They don’t have rights like WE do. Silly Captain.”

The Captain opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and backed out of the office.

He made sure to send the orders out as soon as possible. He wanted the construction on the Coastal and Land Forts finished before any conflict with the Italians started. He feared Malta might be even more important to a UK victory than even he knew.

The third Transport Flotilla was ready by the 8th of August and the fourth Transport Flotilla was ready by the 14th of August. So Henry the VIII and The Bishops Flotillas both joined the 1st Middle East Flotilla. By the end of the month the 1st Middle Flotilla had four Transport Flotillas waiting in Plymouth for the infantry division that SHOULD be ready by September.

It was also noticed that on the 16th a Italian militia unit was on the border. It seemed to be stationed in the Italian occupied Province of Bardia.

When the Field Marshall was told this he just laughed. “Militia? The Italian forces in Africa are militia? Blah! How do they plan to rule a world wide empire armed with flintlocks!”

“Flintlocks?” asked the Captain.

“Flintlocks,” repeated the Field Marshall. “Isn’t that what militia are armed with? Like the Americans during the Great American Tantrum.”

“Sir,” said the Captain, “that was the American Minutemen. During the 18th Century. The Italian militia are NOT going to have flintlocks. In the 20th Century. And they likely have a lot of the militia unit available. They are cheap and easy to equip. Not a BAD choice to have guarding their colonies.”

“Blah!” responded the Field Marshall. “Bunch of Italians wearing shorts and pith helmets. They’ll fold the second our men show up and take away their bottles of wine!”

The Captain just pretended to nod in agreement. He worried that numbers might be a factor in the battle for Africa and if the Italians had enough militia units they COULD overwhelm the Middle-East Command Theater. No matter how well equipped the British forces were the Captain felt there may not be enough of them.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Seventeen : Things To Come - 1.9.1936 To 7.9.1936

On the first of September it was noticed the Italian militia on the border between Italian North Africa and British North Africa was withdrawing towards the Port of Tobruch.

It was unknown why they were moving deeper into their territory. Maybe they didn’t wish to be noticed? Or were needed elsewhere?

The Field Marshall didn’t care. He was too upset when the cooks ran out of fresh tomatoes and had also tried to replace his regular mushrooms with dried mushrooms.

“How much I endure for King and Country,” he whined as he finished his breakfast. “First I am taunted at by the Italians. And now I can’t get fresh vegetables.”

“Well, sir,” replied the Captain, “I may have something to cheer you up. In the latest shipments was a couple of reels. Mostly news reels but there was one whole movie.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Things To Come,” stated Captains Malek with a smile. “Based on the works of H.G. Wells. We can watch it before dinner.”

Turned out a movie about the ‘Old World’ destroying itself and being replaced with a ‘Utopia’ wasn’t something the Field Marshall enjoyed.

To be honest even the Captain found its message of socialism overcoming imperialism a tad obvious. But then what did one expect from Wells? The man saw himself as a socialist intellectual and even his fictional works were about burning the old world down to be replaced by a better one.

At least he wasn’t as bad as that author Eric Blair. His works were so extreme that even some of his fellow English Socialists were upset with him!

On the 7th of September the Captain was bringing the Field Marshall his afternoon tea and glass of water and asked, “Sir, the 23rd ‘Northumbrian’ Division will be ready tomorrow. Do you have a idea on who you wish to command it?”

“Oh,” replied the Field Marshall as he held the cold glass of water against his throbbing forehead, “I have already sent Liddell the officer I had in mind. In fact a friend of the family. So don’t you worry about that. Oh, and three lumps today please.”

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Eighteen : George Goes Forth - 8.9.1936

The Honorable George Colthurst St. Barleigh, MC, was waiting in the outer office of Lt. General Liddell. He had been there only a few minutes, hat in his hands, waiting to be given his commission and become ‘active’ again.

A few days ago, on hearing the news that he would be a Major General in the Middle East Command, there was a lot of crying. But his wife put an end to it. She wiped away his tears, demanding he pull himself together, and made sure his uniform was ready.

He sighed and glanced around the room. Once he had been a young man, eager to fight and die for King, God, and Glory, and yet the ‘Great War’ had changed him.

He had come to know fear. And as a prisoner of the Huns he had come to know guilt at the RELIEF he had felt at not dying.

The door to the inner office opened and there stood Lt. General Lidell of the South-Western Area. “Major General St. Barleigh. I’m ready for you. Please come in.”

As they sat down at Lidell’s desk the man slid a folder across to George. “There is your commission. You are now the proud commander of the newly formed 23rd ‘Northumbrian’ Division. You are its first commander and, in your hands, will it grow and make history. Congratulations!”

“Thank you sir,” replied the blushing George. He opened the folder and glanced at the contents. “When will the transports be ready?”

“They already are,” responded Lidell with a smile. “In fact your men and equipment are being put aboard as we speak. I figure we’ll pass the bar on the way to the docks so we can have a drink before you go. Oh…and the Field Marshall sent a letter for you. Its in the paperwork.”

“I’ll read it later,” said George as he looked forward to having one last proper drink before leaving Britain.

At the Officer’s Mess they both had a cocktail called The Last Word before continuing to the docks where George met with his division.

He also met Commander Evans, who was in charge of the 1st Middle East Flotilla. The man was cheerful and greeted him with a smile after the official welcome. He even gave George a little tour of the ship before showing him to his private quarters.

His cabin was small but neat and all his. After unpacking he sat down at the small desk, turned on the desk lamp, and opened the envelope from the Field Marshall.

As he put down the letter in awe he felt the ship vibrate as the engines started up. It was 7 AM, the sun was up, and the Flotilla was starting its journey to El Iskandariya.

 

[Eurasia]

A Gentleman’s War : The Middle-East Command
(HoI3 TFH - UK AAR)
Chapter Nineteen : People Person - 9.9.1936 To 30.9.1936

By the time the 1st Middle East Flotilla was passing Gibraltar it was clear to most of the men in the 23rd Division that The Honorable George Colthurst St. Barleigh, their commanding officer, was desperately trying to show them what kind of a ‘People Person’ he was. And they wished he would stop.

He tried to get them to join him in sing-a-longs or checkers or Go Fish. He even tried to organize a talent show.

By the time the transports were passing the Italian Port of Tripoli he was a tad depressed about the whole thing.

“I am really trying,” he complained to Commander Evans as they were on deck on the morning of the 13th.

“Yes, I heard,” as the Commander stared through a pair of binoculars at the shore. “Maybe your trying too hard?”

“I don’t know,” said George with a confused look. “How can you try too hard to get to know you men. I say…what are you looking at?”

“Lights mostly,” admitted the Commander. “But I am pretty sure what I am looking at is a series of military camps of Italian militia. I’ve been asked to record any enemy sightings on the coast.”

“Oh, spy stuff, eh?” said George suddenly looking somewhat cheerful.

“Something like that,” replied Evans with a smile. “Look. My advice is just do your best to keep your men fed, alive, and in high spirits.”

“Oh, I guess,” remarked the George with a sigh.

On the morning of the 13th of September the transports were off the coast of Benghazi when they spotted more signs of Italian militia.

Later that day the transport, passing the Port of Tobruch, noticed there was some kind of military encampments. But what type of unit it was was unclear. It was assumed to be the militia. But there was no direct evidence.

The 1st Middle East Flotilla arrived at the docks of Alexandria, or El Iskandariya, on the morning of the 14th.

Major General St. Barleigh was overseeing the unloading of his men, and their equipment, when he heard a familiar voice behind him say, “Welcome to Egypt George.”

He turned around to find Blackadder standing behind him. “Oh..Sir…I mean…Major General Blackadder. Been a long time. Permission to cheer in a overly loud and very annoying manner?”

“I am no longer your superior officer George,” pointed out Blackadder. “But the answer is still no.”

“Oh, always the joker,” remarked George with a smile. “I’m so happy to be with the gang. Well, most of the gang. How is the Field Marshall?”

“I assume the same as always as I have not had the…pleasure…of meeting him yet.”

“Oh, right, that reminds me,” said George as he snapped the fingers of his right hand. “The Minister of Armaments sent the Field Marshall a few crates. I was told to make sure they reached him.”

Blackadder frowned. “Really? Did Sir John send that brandy he asked for? From what I understand his cooks have been using fuel mixed with sugar and calling it brandy.”

“Brandy? No, not quite…” George unfolded a piece of paper. “Let me see. No, no brandy. Bacon, tinned. Eggs, powdered. Sausages, fish. Pork, extra salty. Hmmm…mostly rations. Which expired, if these dates are correct, around the time of the Napoleonic Wars.”

Blackadder smiled for a second. “Oh my. Seems our Field Marshall made a lot of friends back home.”

“Sir John Simon doesn’t sound like a friend,” remarked George.

“Don’t worry about it,” continued Blackadder. “I’ve been sent by the Lt. General Gowrie to bring you to the Command HQ to meet the others. And I hear, after dinner, we have a film we get to watch.”

“Which one?” asked George as he followed his friend towards a old looking green car.

“Things To Come,” replied Blackadder as they both entered the Lt. General’s car.

“Sounds delightful,” said George with a smile.

Dinner was excellent as Lt. General Gowrie had the best cooks AND a good relationship with the Quartermaster. He was also known to pay both the native farmers and the local fishermen well for fresh produce and fish.

The movie was disliked by everybody but Blackadder. Seems he found the idea of pilots taking over the world due to their intelligence and superior ethics to be the funniest thing he had ever heard.

The only other person not to be upset was George who didn't perceive the underlining message of socialism overthrowing the old capitalist elite.

Luckily there were after dinner refreshments available and they helped heal all the wounded egos of most of the upper class officers.

George met Maj. General Neame of the 7th Infantry Division, who was known for his knowledge of logistics, and Maj. General Pakenham-Walsh of the 8th Infantry Division. Seems the man had been a engineer before joining up.

“A lot of brain power here, eh Blackadder?” observed George as he nursed an old fashion gin and tonic. "The biggest and brightest eggheads. The best army in the world and the best minds to run it. Eh?"

“Most of them, yes,” responded Blackadder. “The reason, of course, is simple. The Suez Canal. The link between Europe and the riches of Asia. It brings the Empire wealth. And allows us to send men, equipment, and supplies to the men guarding the colonies.”

“So THAT's why we’re here,” nodded George.

“I suspect, George, the real reason we’re here is to keep our Field Marshall, Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, from stealing it.”

“Really,” said George with a chuckle, “you have such an imagination! How do you steal a canal?”

“George,” said Blackadder looking the young man in the eyes. “Do you remember where he stayed during the Great War?”

“Oh yes,” replied George seeming to look upwards as if accessing some old memories, “a very nice Manoir. Full of artwork and paintings and lovely furniture.”

“And where were the people who once owned it?”

“Oh, I assumed the Huns got them,” commented George.

“No,” said Blackadder. “The lines never reached the house. Otherwise it would have been a ruin. Remember the full wine cellar?”

“That was some good wine…why would they leave it…oh…” George looked confused for a second. Then looked depressed when enlightenment hit him. “He helped himself to the Manoir, didn’t he? He used his military authority to take it as a HQ, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Blackadder as he picked up a glass of gin and tonic from the bar. “Welcome to the British Empire.”