DrakaFic: The Yanks Are Coming!
Posted: 2005-01-06 12:25am
Drakafic: The Yanks Are Coming
Chapter One: War Is Declared
Mess Hall, BB-65 Minnesota, Somewhere in the South Atlantic, 1713 Hours, 23 September 1941
“Damnit, you saw what those fucking snakes did to the Pope, butchered
him like a dog, and we're just standing here, instead of going and kicking
their puto asses,” muttered Boatswain's Mate Victor Talamantez,
formerly of Mexico City.
“Shut up, Victor, we all know that if we want serious discussion, we
won't ask Deck,” replied Fire Controlman Nathan Callaghan.
“Fuck you, you worthless damn mick. Shouldn't you have a bottle somwhere
here to crawl into? ” replied Talamantez. That goddamn bastard had been
riding him every day at mess ever since they'd left Norfolk a month prior.
Before Callaghan could get back with another insult, this time directed at
Talmantez's mother, a low electronic squeal sounded through the mess deck,
causing everyone to stop what they were doing, and look up towards the
speakers mounted on the overhead.
“Attention all hands, this is the Captain speaking.” crackled the voice over
the 1MC.
“As you well know, the Domination of Draka invaded Rome almost two weeks
ago, and enslaved several American citizens. Our repeated efforts to gain their
release have been so far unsuccessful, drawing a formal threat from the Domination
for our efforts to save our citizens.”
“Gentlemen. As of seventeen hundred hours today, the United States and the
Domination are formally at war. I have received instructions from CINCLANT
to immediately begin unrestricted warfare on the High Seas against ships flying
the flag of the Domination, civilian and military.”
“Accordingly, all 1.1” and .50 caliber mounts will be manned at all times.
Any violations or slacking off in your duties will be noted by your superiors
and corrective actions taken. We are at war now, what slid by in peacetime
does not apply now.”
“Additionally, modified watchbills for wartime cruising will be prepared by your
superiors and posted shortly. Thank you all, men, and may God smile on this grand
undertaking.”
There was a deep silence in the mess for several seconds as the men realized what
had just happened, before the entire compartment broke into boisterous cheers.
“We're going to war now!” shouted someone in the back of the galley; to even more
cheers from the men. “Lets show those Europeans how you deal with Snakes!”
shouted another man; to cheers, everyone knew how the US had bailed out the
European powers at the very end of the Great War, when they were at the very
ends of their ropes.
7th Bombardment Squadron HQ, 1800 Hours, Westover, Massachusetts
“So, Second Lieutenant Garrett, Where do you think the best place to base our
bombers in this new war is?”
"Sir, which place?"
"I'm not sure I follow you, Second Lieutenant."
"Well, Sir, we have several options open to us. We most likely can get
basing agreements from Germany, France and Poland, but we would not be
able to hit anything of strategic significance from those locations, and
we would find ourselves carrying out tactical bombardment missions in
support of ground forces, not strategic bombardment."
"I can read a map, too, Second Lieutenant. Do you have anything
useful to say?"
"If Spain gives us basing rights, we'll be able to hit North Africa with
everything in our inventory, from mediums to all types of heavies."
"It looks like you may have something between your ears,
Second Lieutenant."
"The other realistic option is basing from the Soviet Caucasus, between
Volgograd and Astrakhan. This would allow us to hit most of Anatolia
and range fairly deep into Persia. While there isn't much industry
in Persia, what little there is is vital, since it gives the Draka the
oil they need to run their economy."
“Excellent reasoning, First Lieutenant Garrett, which is why you're
now part of the advance team the Seventh is sending to Spain to work out
the arrangements for basing from Spanish soil. You're going to need all
the luck you can get; everyone's realized the same thing as you; that Spain
is the only place we can hit the Draka from with our bombers.
“Yes, sir.”
As he left the room, the newly-promoted 1st LT Garrett let out a sigh of
relief. He had survived his first meeting with Major "Iron Ass" LeMay.
As Garrett closed the door behind him, LeMay opened a small drawer in his desk,
and pulled out a small black notebook. Opening it up, he carefully wrote in the
name of that bright young first lieutenant. He had the right mindset and eye for
strategic bombardment, something that America was going to need to win this war.
The White House - 2000 Hours
“Mister President, the Army Air Force can offer you two medium bomb
groups of B-18B Bolos, a heavy bomb group equipped with B-15Bs, and
finally, we have a heavy bomb group, the Fourteenth, forming up with
B-24s, we expect them to be at full strength by December.”
"How many are of actual use, Hap?" asked Franklin Roosevelt,
President of the United States. As Secretary of the Navy, he'd learned
well the difference between paper strength and actual strength.
Arnold looked around uncomfortably. "Sir, the B-18Bs are worthless; we're
replacing them as fast as we can build B-25s and B-26s. We're planning to
use the Bolos as trainers or as anti-submarine aircraft."
"Of our bomber fleet, the B-24s are our best; they can fly the highest and
fastest with a normal bombload to avoid interception by enemy fighters. Earlier
this year, we set up a production pool between Consolidated and Douglass to
mass produce them. We've just bought Ford into the pool, we expect them to
be online and producing by this time next year."
"Right now, the only bomb group I would order into action against the Drakia
is the Tenth, they have the B-15B, which is at least survivable against modern
air defenses, and they're at full strength, unlike the Fourteenth, which only
has one of her squadrons."
“I assume you've seen the letter from the Soviet Ambassador regarding allied
forces on Soviet territory?” asked FDR as he motioned for one of his aides
to hand Arnold a copy of the letter.
“No need to give me that, I've already seen it.”
“Your opinion, General?”
“I'm divided on it, Mister President. It allows us to hit their Arabian conquests,
especially the oil fields of Persia and the factories of Turkey, but it comes with
a price; the Russian winter. We don't yet have the expertise or numbers to try
operating our heavy bombers from that climate; operating from our northern states is
hard enough, Russia will be even worse. Spain is a better choice, in my opinion."
“It's also a cry of desperation,” added Joseph Davies, a former Ambassador to
the Soviet Union, who had been brought in to consult on the letter. “Quite frankly,
their war situation has to be especially dire in order for Krasnov to issue a decree
of such magnitude.”
A pervasive silence settled over the room as the implications of that statement
sunk in, before Roosevelt broke the silence.
“Ah yes, Hap, I meant to ask you, what do we have in the works to extend our
reach over the Dominate?"
“Two years ago, you may recall, we issued the VLR specification for a bomber
capable of carrying 2000 pounds to 2,500 miles, a distance easily double that
of our present Liberators. Last year, we chose Boeing as the winner of the contract,
and placed an order for 250 of them after the first flight of the XB-29 prototype
back in July of this year. Production is scheduled to begin in late 1942.”
“That's good, Hap, but even those won't be able to hit the Draka deep in their
homeland, 2,500 miles isn't enough.”
“Yes, which is why we instituted a ELR program the day after the Domination
invaded the Soviets. 12,000 mile range with 10,000 pounds of bombs. Enough
to hit Archona itself from Florida and have enough fuel to land in Brazil."
“Boeing and Consolidated-Vultee, with a surprise entry by Northrop, were
the competitors for that bid, and last December, Consolidated-Vultee won the
contract; they're contracted to build two XB-36s, the first one to be ready
mid-1943, and the second six months later. Full scale production is intended
to begin in 1945.”
“Excellent, Hap. Before we convene for the night, I have a request here from the
Irish ambassador, it seems that the Irish are asking for war materiel in the form
of fighters, and no one seems to want to sell anything to them. What can we do
about this?”
"Mister President," replied Arnold in a voice cold as ice water, “I have enough problems
with keeping my squadrons supplied with aircraft without having to deal with foreigners
screaming for more and more aircraft which we can't supply without cutting into our own
requirements.”
“What about obsolete aircraft, Hap? I have to give them something to keep those damnable
Bostonians happy.”
“Well...we can give them those P-47Bs we were going to scrap, they're not worth much,
not since the new C models began rolling off the production lines, along with all those
P-40s, the ones with no pilot armor, self-sealing tanks or bullet proof glass.”
“Sounds reasonable. We can always give them newer models once our factories are
up and running. Speaking of which, gentlemen, it's getting late, can we convene until
a later time?”
Chapter One: War Is Declared
Mess Hall, BB-65 Minnesota, Somewhere in the South Atlantic, 1713 Hours, 23 September 1941
“Damnit, you saw what those fucking snakes did to the Pope, butchered
him like a dog, and we're just standing here, instead of going and kicking
their puto asses,” muttered Boatswain's Mate Victor Talamantez,
formerly of Mexico City.
“Shut up, Victor, we all know that if we want serious discussion, we
won't ask Deck,” replied Fire Controlman Nathan Callaghan.
“Fuck you, you worthless damn mick. Shouldn't you have a bottle somwhere
here to crawl into? ” replied Talamantez. That goddamn bastard had been
riding him every day at mess ever since they'd left Norfolk a month prior.
Before Callaghan could get back with another insult, this time directed at
Talmantez's mother, a low electronic squeal sounded through the mess deck,
causing everyone to stop what they were doing, and look up towards the
speakers mounted on the overhead.
“Attention all hands, this is the Captain speaking.” crackled the voice over
the 1MC.
“As you well know, the Domination of Draka invaded Rome almost two weeks
ago, and enslaved several American citizens. Our repeated efforts to gain their
release have been so far unsuccessful, drawing a formal threat from the Domination
for our efforts to save our citizens.”
“Gentlemen. As of seventeen hundred hours today, the United States and the
Domination are formally at war. I have received instructions from CINCLANT
to immediately begin unrestricted warfare on the High Seas against ships flying
the flag of the Domination, civilian and military.”
“Accordingly, all 1.1” and .50 caliber mounts will be manned at all times.
Any violations or slacking off in your duties will be noted by your superiors
and corrective actions taken. We are at war now, what slid by in peacetime
does not apply now.”
“Additionally, modified watchbills for wartime cruising will be prepared by your
superiors and posted shortly. Thank you all, men, and may God smile on this grand
undertaking.”
There was a deep silence in the mess for several seconds as the men realized what
had just happened, before the entire compartment broke into boisterous cheers.
“We're going to war now!” shouted someone in the back of the galley; to even more
cheers from the men. “Lets show those Europeans how you deal with Snakes!”
shouted another man; to cheers, everyone knew how the US had bailed out the
European powers at the very end of the Great War, when they were at the very
ends of their ropes.
7th Bombardment Squadron HQ, 1800 Hours, Westover, Massachusetts
“So, Second Lieutenant Garrett, Where do you think the best place to base our
bombers in this new war is?”
"Sir, which place?"
"I'm not sure I follow you, Second Lieutenant."
"Well, Sir, we have several options open to us. We most likely can get
basing agreements from Germany, France and Poland, but we would not be
able to hit anything of strategic significance from those locations, and
we would find ourselves carrying out tactical bombardment missions in
support of ground forces, not strategic bombardment."
"I can read a map, too, Second Lieutenant. Do you have anything
useful to say?"
"If Spain gives us basing rights, we'll be able to hit North Africa with
everything in our inventory, from mediums to all types of heavies."
"It looks like you may have something between your ears,
Second Lieutenant."
"The other realistic option is basing from the Soviet Caucasus, between
Volgograd and Astrakhan. This would allow us to hit most of Anatolia
and range fairly deep into Persia. While there isn't much industry
in Persia, what little there is is vital, since it gives the Draka the
oil they need to run their economy."
“Excellent reasoning, First Lieutenant Garrett, which is why you're
now part of the advance team the Seventh is sending to Spain to work out
the arrangements for basing from Spanish soil. You're going to need all
the luck you can get; everyone's realized the same thing as you; that Spain
is the only place we can hit the Draka from with our bombers.
“Yes, sir.”
As he left the room, the newly-promoted 1st LT Garrett let out a sigh of
relief. He had survived his first meeting with Major "Iron Ass" LeMay.
As Garrett closed the door behind him, LeMay opened a small drawer in his desk,
and pulled out a small black notebook. Opening it up, he carefully wrote in the
name of that bright young first lieutenant. He had the right mindset and eye for
strategic bombardment, something that America was going to need to win this war.
The White House - 2000 Hours
“Mister President, the Army Air Force can offer you two medium bomb
groups of B-18B Bolos, a heavy bomb group equipped with B-15Bs, and
finally, we have a heavy bomb group, the Fourteenth, forming up with
B-24s, we expect them to be at full strength by December.”
"How many are of actual use, Hap?" asked Franklin Roosevelt,
President of the United States. As Secretary of the Navy, he'd learned
well the difference between paper strength and actual strength.
Arnold looked around uncomfortably. "Sir, the B-18Bs are worthless; we're
replacing them as fast as we can build B-25s and B-26s. We're planning to
use the Bolos as trainers or as anti-submarine aircraft."
"Of our bomber fleet, the B-24s are our best; they can fly the highest and
fastest with a normal bombload to avoid interception by enemy fighters. Earlier
this year, we set up a production pool between Consolidated and Douglass to
mass produce them. We've just bought Ford into the pool, we expect them to
be online and producing by this time next year."
"Right now, the only bomb group I would order into action against the Drakia
is the Tenth, they have the B-15B, which is at least survivable against modern
air defenses, and they're at full strength, unlike the Fourteenth, which only
has one of her squadrons."
“I assume you've seen the letter from the Soviet Ambassador regarding allied
forces on Soviet territory?” asked FDR as he motioned for one of his aides
to hand Arnold a copy of the letter.
“No need to give me that, I've already seen it.”
“Your opinion, General?”
“I'm divided on it, Mister President. It allows us to hit their Arabian conquests,
especially the oil fields of Persia and the factories of Turkey, but it comes with
a price; the Russian winter. We don't yet have the expertise or numbers to try
operating our heavy bombers from that climate; operating from our northern states is
hard enough, Russia will be even worse. Spain is a better choice, in my opinion."
“It's also a cry of desperation,” added Joseph Davies, a former Ambassador to
the Soviet Union, who had been brought in to consult on the letter. “Quite frankly,
their war situation has to be especially dire in order for Krasnov to issue a decree
of such magnitude.”
A pervasive silence settled over the room as the implications of that statement
sunk in, before Roosevelt broke the silence.
“Ah yes, Hap, I meant to ask you, what do we have in the works to extend our
reach over the Dominate?"
“Two years ago, you may recall, we issued the VLR specification for a bomber
capable of carrying 2000 pounds to 2,500 miles, a distance easily double that
of our present Liberators. Last year, we chose Boeing as the winner of the contract,
and placed an order for 250 of them after the first flight of the XB-29 prototype
back in July of this year. Production is scheduled to begin in late 1942.”
“That's good, Hap, but even those won't be able to hit the Draka deep in their
homeland, 2,500 miles isn't enough.”
“Yes, which is why we instituted a ELR program the day after the Domination
invaded the Soviets. 12,000 mile range with 10,000 pounds of bombs. Enough
to hit Archona itself from Florida and have enough fuel to land in Brazil."
“Boeing and Consolidated-Vultee, with a surprise entry by Northrop, were
the competitors for that bid, and last December, Consolidated-Vultee won the
contract; they're contracted to build two XB-36s, the first one to be ready
mid-1943, and the second six months later. Full scale production is intended
to begin in 1945.”
“Excellent, Hap. Before we convene for the night, I have a request here from the
Irish ambassador, it seems that the Irish are asking for war materiel in the form
of fighters, and no one seems to want to sell anything to them. What can we do
about this?”
"Mister President," replied Arnold in a voice cold as ice water, “I have enough problems
with keeping my squadrons supplied with aircraft without having to deal with foreigners
screaming for more and more aircraft which we can't supply without cutting into our own
requirements.”
“What about obsolete aircraft, Hap? I have to give them something to keep those damnable
Bostonians happy.”
“Well...we can give them those P-47Bs we were going to scrap, they're not worth much,
not since the new C models began rolling off the production lines, along with all those
P-40s, the ones with no pilot armor, self-sealing tanks or bullet proof glass.”
“Sounds reasonable. We can always give them newer models once our factories are
up and running. Speaking of which, gentlemen, it's getting late, can we convene until
a later time?”
). These guys are the biggest set of retards I've ever seen. The Government actually restricts the use of mechnization in farms?