All,

Sir JR2, your mind is as fertle as good ole Southern Cotton fields. Where and how you come up with these unique topics is beyond me. That you do is a bonus for all us HWH salts. Great work indeed.

And on the topic of a shortage of stories here from someone other than you, well guilty is the only possible plea. I have one started but am getting precious little time to complete it. With a short time to spend I have lately been dropping in to see everyone but have not had enough time to work on the story. Soon I promise to get it up here to provide you some relief. A rainy weekend day would help me greatly.

Sir Bader, A year of mod's to go? You will need to go back to flight school for a refresher by the time you get back into a cockpit armed with something other than a bin editor. Besides are the mod's ever "done"?

TALLY HO!

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 06-15-2002).]

Folks,

In celebration of SNAFU's completion of his Luftwaffe campaign and more importantly his return to the RAF I offer this simple story of survival:


Court-marshal

The Reichmarshall pushed his empty plate away and shifted his great bulk deeper into his plush armchair. A chubby hand adjusted the complaining elastic in his pink silk pajamas as he relieved himself with a long wet belch. There was much on his mind as he gazed at the landscape passing by the bulletproof window of his private rail car. One man was on his mind. Von SNAFU had let him down. He had in fact let the whole damn Reich down. Most importantly he had let the Fuhrer down. A good officer, he might even be forgiven the former, he would however have to pay dearly for the latter. The record spoke for itself:

Sorties = 47415
Spits downed = 479
Hurricanes downed = 728
Total RAF Losses = 1217
Total German Losses = 1330
Key industry = 100% destroyed
Support industry = 17% destroyed, 43% damaged
Group 11 Airfields = 58% destroyed, 29% damaged
Other Airfields = 21% destroyed, 15% damaged.

Yet the RAF was not beaten, in fact it was stronger than at the beginning of the Battle of Britain. How could this be, wondered the fat man? All Luftwaffe intelligence indicated the contrary. According to all reports, and not just those from Von SNAFU, the RAF had only 70 planes left and could no longer continue their defense. Faced with the reality of continuing German losses that were bleeding the Luftwaffe of experienced pilots beyond its ability to replace them even Milch had seen the light at last.

Without air superiority Operation Sealion would have to be postponed indefinitely, perhaps forever. The German Navy refused to go forward against both the highly respected Royal Navy and the RAF. Hermann had to agree with them, at least privately anyway. The Royal Navy would surely wreck havoc amongst the invasion force unless the Luuftwaffe had a free hand to deal with it. With a shiver he sipped his brandy and remembered going before the Fuhrer to tell him of Von SNAFU’s failure to eviscerate the RAF. It had not been a pretty sight. To the Reichmarshall’s credit, he reminded himself, he had pleaded for the man’s life until the Fuhrer seemed to be relenting. Von SNAFU after all was a national hero. He was not only a high profile general officer he was also an air ace whose personal record tallied 21 victories before he was stripped of his command by an executive order from none other than Adolph Hitler himself.

The fat man shook his head as he recalled the screams of rage from the Fuhrer when he had suggested simply transferring Von SNAFU to flying Gigants through the bloody snows of the Eastern Front. Hitler wanted blood alright. Now it was Hermann’s unhappy responsibility to see that Hitler’s orders were carried out. Hermann hated this kind of thing, it was bad for morale, especially his own. Yet it could have been worse. If he had not had the unfortunate SNAFU to blame for it all it might be himself smoking a last Havana cigar and standing shivering in his lace trimmed nightshirt and puffy bunny shoes before a an eager firing squad tomorrow morning. He had best have someone radio ahead so the beastly preparations would be made. If all went well (for everyone but SNAFU) he expected to be on his weary way back to Berlin by noon tomorrow with color photos for the Fuhrer’s scrapbook and several hundred frequent rider miles stamped on his rail ticket.

Two hundred miles down the track a worried Von SNAFU was making preparations of his own. Having said goodbye to his comrades Von SNAFU disguised himself as a filthy peasant and began driving a rickety old goat cart on a long and painful trip across occupied France. As he shoved off, there was a smile on SNAFU’s lips. He couldn’t help thinking of all the shades of purple the Reichmarshall’s face would turn when he discovered he had arrived too late and SNAFU had escaped. The fat man would have to actually answer to the Fuhrer for that one and there was precious little he could do to prevent it.

Now as a cartwheel hit a particularly nasty bump in the dusty road to Normandy, SNAFU’s thoughts were jolted into the present. What if the British wouldn’t take him in? What if they weren’t interested in all the intel he had to offer. What if he couldn’t learn to drink beer at room temperature? With heavy heart he turned the cart onto the main road and never looked back.

For the first fifty miles SNAFU retched every minute or two from nerves and from the overpowering stench of filthy goat behinds. After a time he grew used to it and had you been unfortunate enough to be there you’d have had the devil of a time distinguishing between the smell of the goats and that of SNAFU himself. This saved his life many times as German sentries would not willingly go near him and generally just waved him on by as soon as the wind was in a favorable position.

Reaching the coast after many days and nights of hardship, Von SNAFU left his goat cart with a young Frenchman who looked to SNAFU as if he had a lot in common with the goats. By now everyone in France knew about SNAFU’s escape. The French underground captured him without a bonjour mes ami or so much of a token struggle. Making several comments regarding his less than flowery ‘sentir’, they forced him to take a bath at gunpoint before they would get near enough to interrogate him. These were not geniuses but years of survival against overwhelming odds prepared them to know a good thing when they tripped over it. So a thankful SNAFU was soon on his merry way to Blighyty after a brief interrogation that went something like this:

Zo you vant to svitch the sides non? Yes. Okey dokey so vee vill provide vous food and un petit beteau. Comprendre vous? Wee. Oh, yes, they said, merci for the bags of gold.

After a long but mercifully uneventful voyage across the treacherous Channel a very tired SNAFU (no longer von)handed the young French girl who had rowed him to England a small brown French coin for her trouble and bade her a fond farewell. SNAFU felt overjoyed. It was not recorded what the young girl felt. SNAFU reported hearing some unladylike cursing just before being hit in the ear by something small, brown and metallic. When he looked back both she and her petit beteau had disappeared into the evening mists.

It was dark now but SNAFU knew this part of the English coast well. He turned toward the nearest village and, as a preamble to practicing saying "Don't shoot.I surrender" in his best English, he took a long deep breath.





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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 06-17-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 06-18-2002).]

All,

Sir Jolly Roger Too, leave it to you to come up with such a tale. You are the best, not to mention the busiest. Here's what happened next.

As the former Field Marshall trudged accross the wet sand and up the bluffs beyond he knew that despite his perdiciment he remained a valuable asset to the Allied cause. He after all, knew something very big was coming and also knew the Allies would pay dearly without the information. Von SNAFU reached the road leading away from the coastal area and began walking North. As he came upon a fork in the road he heard a deafening roar above and looked up to see a large number of aircraft, German aircraft heading in a northernly direction. The bombers, HE111's he decided were headed toward London. His last offical communique from Fuehrer headquarters ordered all out raids to comence on London though he declined to forward the demand to his subordinates.

Von SNAFU knew he was done as a German officer and felt he could save lives, German and British if he could at the very least delay such orders until he could warn the English of the plans. Now it seemed he would not even be capable of accomplishing that goal as droves of aircraft passed overhead. Soon afterward Von SNAFU was confronted along the side of the winding dirt road by two farmers. One yelled for Von SNAFU to stop while the other reached for a pitchfork stuck deeply in a pile of hay in the back of the wagon. Von SNAFU understood enough Enlish to know he was being hailed but continued to walk as if he hadnt heard the fellows. Again the man steering the cart demanded that he stop. Von SNAFU continued on. This time the pitchfork yielding farmer trotted toward the German, still walking hands in pockets and face toward the dusty path. Suggesting he may be mistaken for an enemy flyer and insisting he stop the second farmer jumped in fron t of Von SNAFU, the pitchfork now aimed squarely at his chest. Von SNAFU stopped.

I am, er was... the ranking officer, Luftwaffe Headquarters, Paris, Von SNAFU declared. Aye mate, and I'm the bloody king himself answered the farmer grinning at the other man still sitting in the wagon. The men suspected they had captured yet another downed German flyer, this one it seemed had higher expectations than the others, trying to pass himself off as a high ranking officer. You must take me to the local authorities at once SNAFU ordered. Oh, you'll be seeing em soon enough old man came the reply and with that they placed Von SNAFU in the back of the wagon and resumed their original course and speed.

After an hour or so they reached the village. There they took Von SNAUF to the other side of town and into the field headquarters of the 2nd observation group responsible for shore patrols and local coastal air defenses. Before leaving Von SNAFU they both turned to him and with a smirk, snapped off a clean salute and bid their good byes to "Herr Field Marshall". THough they didnt know it, they were all too correct but that no longer mattered.

Soon into the initial interogation Von SNAFU revealed his cards. I have critical information that will affect the lives of literally millions and may cause the allies to be defeated if you do not heed the warnings. What could this still unidentified man have that would be as important as all that the seargent major inquired. Von SNAFU answered.

On 22 June of the coming year Hitler will launch a war of annilation against the Soviet Union. The SM was shocked by what he heard. Could this be accurate or simply the rambling of a beaten and desperate man. It is so Von SNAFU replied. More than 3 million Wermacht soldiers and 2000 tank will take part in the attack. Hitler has decided that while he now intends to destory London, an invasion of your country is not possible because of the continued effectiveness of your air and naval forces. He has therefore elected to turn his attention to the east.

While it took several weeks after the event for his identity and information to be verified it was ultimately accepted as accurate. A delegation from England met a month later with representatives of Stalin's regime but after days of consultations, briefings, evidence sharing and pleading, Stalin dismissed the reports as rubbish handed down by the west to scare him into a war with Hitler. He would have none of it. Indirectly Von SNAFU had failed once again though in this case from no fault of his own.

He lived out the remainder of the war in an officers POW camp in Northern England. He assited allied intelligence as much as possible and only when asked. He was repatriated to West Germany in 1946 and lived to the age of 98, finally passing (but no longer smelling like a goat) into history on 22 June, on the 40th anniversary of operation Barbarossa, the German invasion of Soviet Russia.


[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 06-18-2002).]

JRT, SNAFU,

Wonderful stories which take me back to those hectic early war years. Perhaps I can make this a trilogy with my brief but factual offering.

We at Bad Scmelling always thought that von SNAFU defected to the RAF, but plainly, this was not the case from what I have gathered from the revelations detailed above.

After this 'defection', we at BS along with everybody else who had an association with von SNAFU, received many threatening visits from men in long black leather coats and wide brimmed sloping fedoras. Yeah...and even the Gestapo showed up now and again.

We quickly fell out of favour and got posted out to Russia as part of a goodwill programme to exchange paint mixing techniques with the Ruskies somewhere near Moscow.

I soon got cheesed of with this and decided to stow away on a diplomatic aircraft bound for Britain. While waiting in the aircraft, hidden under the gangway flooring, I observed a most unusual sight. A large, blond, pugnacious woman climbed furtively aboard and hid herself in the box-like lavatory. She had a bustline like two medicine balls in a pillow case and an arse like a dutch oven.
But what's the use...you probably don't believe me anyway...

Folks,

Gentlemen:

Why is George Lucas bothering with "Star Wars" when we have the " Von SNAFU Trilogy"? This is a first for "HWH" as far as I know. Three individual pilots collaborating together to form one tale in three installments. Bravo SNAFU and Old Dux. I really enjoyed that.

I was most surprised to discover that Von SNAFU did not go on to fly for the RAF. My mistake. Are you quite sure? Perhaps under an assumed name and only over British soil? SNAFU was a great US college basketball fan. Didn't he voyage to the states after the war to start a new life in New York state, or was that Maryland? How could I have gotten all this so mixed up? Time to fire that lazy bunch of buggers the research staff and do it all myself from now on.

Me busy? Honestly, I have to admit that writing this stuff comes very easy for me and most stories can be knocked out in just a matter of minutes. What's that you said SNAFU? I heard that remark. You said all my stuff reads just like that too. Like it was dashed off in a matter of seconds. Now that was unkind SNAFU...very true but unkind.

And you, Old Dux, stitching it all up so very neatly in the end by brazenly warping us back to our old friend Olga and the doomed Snud. That was IMHO a wonderfully twisted touch.

What delightful shadows we cast about the world electronically from just one tiny keyboard. Shadows that roll across great lands peopled with an exciting cast of millions. Multiply that by three and we know no bounds, we can do anything. Well almost anything. Now if we could just find a way to profit financially from all this fun and frolic.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 06-18-2002).]

All,

Well, Old Dux decided to jump into the fray has he? Well what more could we have hoped for. Well done Old Dux, well done.

In baseball this would be considered a triple play. Three independent segments making up a complete story. I agree Sir JR2, it is an unrehearsed first. I read your story at the office, got to laughing and at lunch sat down and wrote my follow up on the fly. Then to see Old Dux jump in and bring the house down was a wonderful bonus.

Evidently, Sir JR2 was using the same intel fellows to track Von SNAFU's wherabouts that I trusted during my recent defeat at the hands of the RAF. From thier information all the factories were flat, the airfields were gone and the RAF had only an old Sopwith Camel and a blimp left with which to resist.

And Von SNAFU... He is a retired iron worker with a British accent living quietly in upstate New York.

Perfect!

TALLY HO!

Folks,

(Just plain) SNAFU:

I have just dropped in over several flattened factories to land my tired old Sopwith next to the half-inflated RAF blimp. Reading your last message I gather that some of my intel was probably almost nearly somewhere close to correct regarding the likely present whereabouts of Von SNAFU.

Old Dux:

I have heard your pleas and procrastinated long enough. Spinning in your rusty mailbox you will find some genuine NC sunshine (not to be confused with NC "moonshine" which is something altogether different, believe me). I hope it warms you nicely and to the bone.



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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

All,

Just wanted to see if anyone has heard from our friend Sir Jolly Roger Too. I dont recall him saying he had leave comming.

I hope he hasn't gone missing over the channel. Knowing him he is probably placing a fist full of peanut butter in my headset as I speak.

Everyone please check your stations and report any sightings.

SNAFU,

Not had a single sighting of him for a while now. Also no NC sunshine in my mailbox.

His beermug hangs forlornly over the bar here at the Plough and there is a general air of despair and hopelessness among all present...
Especially from the landlord who has just realized that JRT hasn't cleared his 'slate' lately

Folks,

Being missed does touch one so. Surely by now you've grown accustomed to me straggling in, with something important bandaged and sans my Spitfire, wandering about dazed late at night after another good drenching in the cold Channel.

I was quite productive for a long weekend getting a couple of stories typed and the appropriate illustrated announcements out. No typing of late just lurking about here late at night when the opportunity presents itself, trying to keep up. There hasn't been much activity at "HWH".

We have a very sick Ferret we're trying desperately to save, it's taken a lot of time and energy. We are guardedly hopeful but at this point the crisis is not yet over.

Old Dux.

Despair and hoplesness you say? I swear some day you'll do yourself an injury ramming that tongue of yours so firmly into your cheek that way.

Ye say there's nary a ray o' golden NC sunshine in yer mailbox? Well look once more Laddy, I have sent it again. Should my customarily perfect aim be a wee bit off again don't worry,There will be no trouble at all finding some more sunshine here abouts. It looks like five more days this week with temps around 90 degrees(F). What's that, about 32 degrees (C)? If this attempt fails I'll box some fresh sunshine up and send it out air mail.

Condolences,by the way, on the World cup loss. The US team did so much better than expected it didn't seem so much like we lost as it just seemed like Germany won. Does that make sense? Best showing for us since 1930's.





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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"