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Book One World War Three 1946

Book One World War Three 1946
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Saturday, February 4, 2012

Coup in French Indochina by RangerElite

Far East Theater in WWIII 1946

10 September 1946

Ever since May, he had felt the call of his convictions leading him to this point. At only 24, Trinh Minh The could not ignore it, anymore than a zebra could change its stripes. Leaving his father and brother in the Cao Dai stronghold of Tay Ninh province, he left early in May, to hold a clandestine meeting with the ineffectual leaders of the VNQDD (Viet Nam Quoc Dan Dang, the Vietnamese chapter of the Chinese Kuomintang party) in Hanoi. He did not want to stopped by any of the patrolling French forces, who would arrest him, or by the lurking VietMinh, who would kill him for sure, so Trinh dressed as a coolie and only traveled at night.

When he arrived in Hanoi three days later, his first impression of VNQDD leadership was of a fat, lazy, corrupt organization, its members only looking to enrich themselves. After the meeting, Trinh resolved that he would suborn and use their organization as a way to eliminate the VietMinh, unify the Vietnamese people under non-communist governance and secure religious freedom for his people, throwing off the yoke of Roman Catholic tyranny.

He started immediately to build his power base, among his fellow Cao Dai religious followers, and members of the militia, of which he was an officer, and invited VNQDD leadership to Tay Ninh province, under the auspices of pledging allegiance to them. Instead, he imprisoned them in a village prison and proclaimed himself the new leader of the VNQDD. He enacted reforms throughout the party, eliminating anyone who engaged in graft or corruption (he was famously photographed shooting a VNQDD official dead in Saigon, for corruption), and promising a true, American-style, constitution, with all the same rights and liberties, especially religious freedoms, for everyone, without exception.

He took his militia, the LienMinh, and marched from Tay Ninh, to Saigon, then to Dai Moi, making speeches and recruiting new fighters, along the way, for his army. Then he began to march his army up the coastal road, up to Nha Trang, where he stopped them to train, reequip and reprovision. At this point, volunteers were pouring in from all over Vietnam, from Lao Cai in the north, to Ca Mau in the south, from Hue and Da Nang in the east, to Buon Ma Thuot in the west. His army had grown so much, that even French troops surrendered to him. He granted them amnesty, in order to have them train his troops in modern warfare. His forces were bolstered when the Garde Indigene and Vietnamese troopers of le Regiment Etranger de Parachutistes pledged their allegiance to his army.

But he had a problem: How was he to defeat the VietMinh and take the government, without firing a shot? It was apparent that they were not impressed by his leadership skills, and wished him dead. There had already been two failed assassination attempts on him, since taking control of the VNQDD. He had to eliminate Ho Chi Minh, and the entire VietMinh leadership, but how to do it? And just as suddenly as the thought appeared, the answer became equally apparent...

Friday, February 3, 2012

Reshuffling The Deck by RangerElite

Intelligence in WWIII 1946

9 September 1946

Meeting of the Special Services Group,
Central Intelligence Agency,
Meeting Room 34, D Ring,
The Pentagon,
Alexandria, Virginia

In Attendance:
Director of Central Intelligence, Lieutenant General William Donovan
Deputy Director of Operations, Allen Welsh Dulles
United States Navy Captain Roscoe H. Hillenkoeter,
Captain of BB-62 USS Missouri, and former Chief of Intelligence to CINCPAC
Officer William E. Colby,
former OSS Jedburgh commander, Southern France
United States Army Lieutenant Colonel Archimedes L.A. Patti,
former OSS station chief, Kunming, China, Far East analyst for the Army War Plans Division
United States Army Colonel Aaron Bank,
former OSS Jedburgh commander and architect of Operation Iron Cross
United States Army Lieutenant Colonel Russell W. Volkmann,
former commander of U.S. and Filipino guerrilla forces in Northern Luzon, The Philippines
Executive Secretary to the DCI, Miss Michelle Ryan, recording minutes of the meeting...

“Gentlemen, please be seated.” General Donovan calls the meeting to order. “Is there any past business that anyone wants to address before we continue?” says General Donovan. All the men present shake their heads. “Very well then, let's get going. This meeting is to address several security breaches that we've encountered recently, especially in regard to counter-intelligence. I've already spoken with President Truman about this issue, among others. We will transferring counter-intelligence operations to the F.B.I. God knows that I hate to admit it, but that son-of-a-bitch, Hoover, put together a damned good espionage and counter-intelligence unit before, and during, the war.” Gasps from all the men assembled in the room, then Dulles speaks up “Aren't those cocky bastards going to get piggy and withhold information from us, Bill?” “No, Allen, they won't. I got a promise from the President that we would get full cooperation and access form the acting director of the F.B.I. No fuss, no muss.” Dulles looked visibly relieved to hear that. “Now, next order of business, selection of the new Deputy Director of Central Intelligence. I believe we all know why Captain Hillenkoeter is here, so allow me to introduce him into our happy little circle. Roscoe, say hello to the fellas...” Hillenkoeter stands up and shakes hands with everyone in the room, except for the secretary. “He is currently the Commanding Officer of the Mighty Mo, but after this meeting, he will disappear from the Navy's active list, as soon as he jumps down our rabbit hole” says Donovan, everyone now chuckling “Congratulations are in order, Roscoe. No mere mortal is selected to serve so close to me” again Donovan says. “Thank you, General. You will not be disappointed” Hillenkoeter says.

“I believe that you some important information for us, Allen, regarding what we will call the Burgess Incident?” Dulles stands up and begins to deliver his report. To sum the report up, Burgess is suspected to have communist ties, going all the way back to his days at Cambridge University, in the 1930's. All leads are being followed, but since there is no one they know they can trust in British MI6, this sensitive and explosive information was passed along to Prime Minister Clement Attlee himself, via diplomatic pouch. The cover story of his murder by Irish gangsters from Boston has been maintained, as a useful fiction. “Despite their vindication, I'm damned glad that I exiled those two rogues, Clark and Chavez, for that caper. Maybe working directly with the Germans will teach them some professionalism!” exclaimed General Donovan.

“Now, I'd like to introduce to this meeting four very fine gentlemen,” announces General Donovan “all masters of their trade, including one man in particular, whom I was saddened to lose to the Army: Colonel Aaron Bank, one of the finest Jeds that has ever served under my command, Officer William Colby, another of one my finest Jeds, Lieutenant Colonel Archimedes Patti, our former station chief in Kunming, China, and keeper of all knowledge of all things Asian, and last, but certainly not least, Lieutenant Colonel Russell Volkmann, the commander of American and Filipino guerrilla resistance in Northern Luzon, The Philippines, in the last war. Gentlemen, please present your reports. Colonel Bank and Lieutenant Colonel Volkmann, you may proceed first.”

“Thank you, General” Colonel Bank says before he continues, “Lieutenant Colonel Volkmann and I have been exploring a concept for creating within the Army, combat units trained in unconventional and guerrilla warfare, capable of being dropped behind enemy lines, to disrupt and harrass the enemy's rear area and supply lines. They can also be utilized to train indigenous insurgents in guerrilla techniques and tactics, these being applied as a proxy force, to minimize casualties among our own forces.” Bank continues, “We need some help in convincing the Army Chief of Staff, and OCSCC, that this is a fully feasible idea, capable of reaping rewards immediately, in the current war, and in future conflicts. If the gentlemen will please reference the copy of of our report, left at every seat...” And as the men, most especially General Donovan and Captain Hillenkoeter, perused the the materials before them, Bank and Volkmann looked at each other, then back at the men seated around the table, and felt encouraged for the first time in this meeting. “We have all the information we need here, Colonel Bank. As usual, your planning is meticulous, down to every dotted 'i' and crossed 't'. I will bring this up at the next cabinet meeting, with the President and the Secretary of War. Your “Special Forces” command will be stood up by the end of the year.” General Donovan now turns to Colby, “William, what news do yu have from your contacts in the French Maquis?” Colby, appearing apprehensive, clears his throat, before continuing “It doesn't look good for non-communist Maquis cells all over Western Europe. French communists are rooting out our network, with the help of the NKVD and GRU. We need to engage in some sort of deception, so they don't find our agents so quickly, perhaps something like a planned disinformation campaign, akin to what we did to the Nazis before the Overlord landings” As Donovan shoots a blank stare at Colby, he continues, “and the French government in exile is far less likely than before to extend any help to us, since forced them to give up their overseas colonies, except in the West Indies and South America. This time, we have to go it alone, since we still don't know how far up the leaks in the British government go. For all we know, Attlee maybe passing sensitive information to the Soviets himself...”

Donovan bolts straight up in his chair, “Now wait a minute there, Colby! Do you have any PROOF that Attlee is a spy?!? If not, then I suggest that you keep a lid on that kind of talk. There's nothing better that the Reds would love than us at each others' throats. So, until you have proof, Colby, shut the hell up!” Nobody, except Bank, had seen General Donovan this furious before, and would die just as happy if they never saw it again.

After allowing everyone in the room to cool off, somewhat, and the General to regain his composure, the meeting continued, with General Donovan calling up Lieutenant Colonel Archimedes Patti, to give his report on the Far East, “Thank you, General, and gentlemen. This is the situation on the Asian continent, as the time this information was compiled: Contact was made with General Sun Li-jen of the National Revolutionary Army of China, by one of our operatives, Major James Van Der Haas, also a classmate of the General's at the Virginia Military Institute. From additional reconnaissance provided to us by paid assets in the area, it appears that the General is arraying his forces for a coup attempt. He has requested a staus of forces meeting with Generalissimo Chaing Kai-shek, and his Defense Minister and son, Chiang Ching-kuo, in Xi'an. We'll see how that turns out. On another front, in Indochina, nationalist forces are beginning to rally around a 24-year old Cao Daist militiaman, named Trinh Minh The. In a few short months, he has forcefully taken over the VNQDD, the Vietnamese version of the Chinese Kuomintang, and has formed an opposition army using his Cao Dai militia, Lien Minh, as the nucleus, and now receiving training and arms from surrendered French forces at Nha Trang, in exchange for amnesty and asylum. Intelligence reports seem to indicate that upon hearing about this, the Vietnamese Emperor, Bao Dai, made his way back to Saigon, and withdrew his support from Ho Chi Minh's Viet Minh, and gave it to Trinh's Vietnamese National Army...” General Donovan gives Patti a quizzical look, “I thought this guy Ho was our guy? Are you telling me that he's not our fair-haired boy anymore?” Patti looks him directly in the eye and says, “No, he isn't. He never was. He was always just angling for us to keep France off his back, while he consolidated power. We have developed some new information on him, from a friend of mine, who used to be a member of the French Surete in Indochina. He was assigned the cases of the most dangerous communist and independence agitators. It seems that Ho Chi Minh was formerly known as a man named Nguyen Sinh Cung, a.k.a. Nguyen Ai Quoc, and he had a long record of agitating for communist causes from the Soviet Union and China, before he created the Viet Minh in 1941. I no longer consider him a reliable ally. As distasteful as it sounds to me, personally, I recommend that we throw our support behind Trinh Minh The and his Vietnamese National Army.” All the men present nodded in agreement. General Donovan breaks the contemplative silence, “Well, if there isn't anymore business to conduct, let's get out of this oversized coffin, and get some drinks...”

As soon as the room is mostly cleared, General Donovan grabs Lieutenant Colonel Patti's arm, “Let's talk, Colonel” he says to Patti, who is not comprehending, “Yes, General” was the only response he had available. When someone who outranks you says “Let's talk”, one had better listen, especially in the Intelligence game. “I admire your work on War Plan Red, Colonel. That proposal that you wrote, along with that idiot-savant, Halderman? Have you been ghost-writing for him the whole time?” The General grins, “I bet you had no idea that I recognized your writng style, from the reports you'd send me from Kunming, from a couple years back, eh?” Patti looked overly embarrassed “Well, Sir, I, um...” The General grins even wider, “No need to be embarrassed, Arch, I admire Halderman's work, too. But he is an unknown quantity to me, whereas I am familiar with, and trust you. I need you to do for me, what you have been doing in the War Plans Division, since you came back from Kunming. But I need you to do it on-site, to get me real-time intelligence, from the contacts you've developed there. Do you get what I've been saying, Arch?” Patti replies “Yes, General. I know that since you've had this conversation with me, it's already fait accompli. So, when do you want me to start?”

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Dear Diary Sept. 2, 1946 Burt Post

An old friend of mine sent me a box of “Constant Comment Tea” today. From what he says a company in Connecticut started by a tea drinking housewife is the talk of the town. It is good tea with a hint of cloves and orange peels. Family owned so I can’t buy stock even if I had the money.

Baby Ede and mom are doing great.

We found out that a good family friend of ours died last week. He was a Yacht Captain and apparently slipped while transferring from shore to the yacht. His body was found floating the next morning. He taught me how to sail. We’re going to miss him. William Austin’s ship has sailed for the last time. Good bye old friend.

Interesting article about the Commander of the Catholic Veterans association returning from a meeting with the Pope in exile. The Pope was concerned about the Communist influence in the US. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Italy is a hot bed of communists.

Work was good today. Many congratulations on the patent pending. The company will receive all the monetary rewards but it’s nice to be recognized.

My brother Richard got recalled into the Army and Phil is on pins and needles. This one is going to be a bad one with the atom bomb and all. I hope we don’t have to use it.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Diary of Burt Post

Sept. 3rd, 1946
Dear Diary

Sounds strange for a 30 year old man to be starting a diary. I was born in 1916 and now I am 30 years old. My 3rd child, a girl, was born today maybe that's why I've decided to start this diary. Ede Mae Post came into this world this morning like a house on fire. She will be a singer.

Maybe I'd better say a little bit about myself before I continue. Male living in Neenah, Wisconsin working for Kimberly Clark as a Chemical Engineer. I was not drafted or allowed to join in WWII due to the fact that my job was considered "vital to the war effort". I guess coming up with new and better ways to make paper to wipe your ass is more important than killing someone. Come to think of it I guess they're right.

Grew up in Springfield Massachusetts moved to Florida for a while then to Green Bay, Wisconsin. My dad was a real entrepreneur. Always on to something new. From a cart full of watermelons to 10,000 Christmas trees that he and his 6 brothers cut down in Canada and shipped to New York, it was always something. We never starved during the depression but it was tight.

Yes I am related to THE Post family. He was my father's cousin. We visited his estate when I was a lad and while the other kids were playing with the horses and such I found my way into the library and was reading when Old man Post came in. That's what got me a full scholarship to Lawrence College in Appleton, Wisconsin and where I met Maxine.

Maxine was a slender beauty of towering character and will who stole my heart. Her childhood was fairly well off. Her father was a dentist who was paid one way or the other. With a newly killed chicken or money it didn't matter.

Three kids later brings us to this day.

Why am I starting this diary? I have a feeling that with the new war going on in Europe that things might get out of hand and I want to chronicle what I see from the heartland of America.

Today I filed what I hope will be the first of many patents. This one is a better way to wring water out of those wood fibers that make up a sheet of paper. Not too thrilling but it will increase the supply of toilet paper dramatically.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Charlie Briggs, Chapter 4 by Roiserer

** 4 **

I'd joined the Empire Air Training Scheme. I remember the flying. I didn't get sick at all, unlike on the chip. Especially if I was the pilot. I loved every minute of the flying; it was everything else I couldn't stand.

Our instructors varied, but I spent most time with a Flt Lt Murray, who was Canadian. He was an affable sort, and unruffled. I daresay that I and the other pupils must have given him a few scares, but he never showed it. It was always a kindly, "what did you just do wrong?" I eventually realised that this was also part of the training.

"I want you all to pass - we need as many pilots as possible," he said, "and if you flunk out as a pilot, we can train you as a gunner or bomb aimer."

I don't think I'd ever heard of flunking out before, and resolved not to do it. He was the sort of man that you didn't want to disappoint, as he was always offering words of encouragement.

Down on the ground it was a different matter. There was always some sergeant yelling at us. Apart from the flying, there was maintenance, cleaning, parading and classes.

Maintenance? Well, that consisted of fetching, carrying, pushing and loading things. I almost never went near an engine. Gradually we were weeded out into two groups: the air crew and the ground crew.

Cleaning? This was the forces, and there was always something to be cleaned. Kit, boots and bunk was just the starter. We scrubbed the mess and class floors, and the toilets. I don't know how my Mum had managed. Then there was the food preparation, or in our case, spud bashing.

Parading? We did some of that, although not as much as I was expecting. I think that this was more to please the bigwigs. I learned how to salute, and to identify ranks.

Classes were sometimes interesting, sometimes boring. The first one included a mockup of the cockpit, and we all got in and learned our rudder control from our aerilons.

Then there were a few questions. "Why are there three runways here?" There was always some clever clogs with a ready answer. "So we can always land into the wind." I didn't want to be too clever by half, but I did want to learn. They tested us, and some didn't pass. There were diagrams, silhouettes, all manner of things to learn.

In the air I felt like a king. We learned on a Harvard, with the instructor sitting behind the pupil. I nearly fell over the first time I got in. The sergeant was there to yell if you stepped on the wrong part of the wing. Flt Lt Murray let me have the controls, and I felt wonderful.
He showed me a stall, then a circle. I racked up hours. The runway was concrete blocks and sounded like a train going over points when you landed or took off.

I learned those as well, eventually. Of course, like any young fellow I got to the point where I thought I knew it all, and then the instructor would tell me to do something different, and I would nearly come to earth. Then I had to wait sheepishly for the "What did you do wrong there?"

The mess was where we spent what free time we had. It was a jut a hut really, but us trainees had our own one. The instructors and officers had their own club, of course, and so did the NCOs. Anyway, I can remember sweeping the place. There was the wireless there, which could pick up American stations, and an old gramophone.

We got to hear all the latest sounds, from Frank Sinatra to Tommy Dorsey. I was amazed to think that I was actually listening to original American music, from America.

Sometimes they tuned the wireless to the world service. Here the news was more grim. One of the lads, Harry I think his name was, had relatives in Coventry. After that he changed a bit, and never cracked a joke after that. When I saw him get in the trainer, he had a look of grim determination. He wasn't first in the group, but he passed every test they set him.

So if I get asked where was I during the Battle of Britain, the answer was that I was in Canada getting trained. I was worried about Mum and Dad when I heard that they were bombing London, and especially about my sister. I knew that Joyce was working close to the centre, and hoped she would be all right.

Of course I wrote - there wasn't much else to do. I wrote to my parents and Joyce, then I wrote to Joe, but I sent it to Mum and Dad, as I didn't know where he was. And I wrote to Eve, every other day, even though the letters only went off once a week. We weren't supposed to say exactly where we were, other than Canada, but I had a lot of other things to say. It's strange to say, but I grew much more fond of her once we were apart. You don't appreciate what you've got until you don't have it. Every time Fats Waller came on the wireless with "When somebody thinks you're wonderful" I was thinking of her.

I got to fire a gun, but it was only a revolver. We were allowed to practice on the range. I started out like James Cagney in the gangster films, but the instructor soon showed me the error of my ways.

We had endless inspections: bunks, kit and guns. We were taught how to take a revolver apart and put it back together, how to clean it, and where to keep the ammo. Sometimes during the inspections they would take your gun apart and get you to put it back together in front of them. Woe betide you if you if your weapon was dirty or ammo unaccounted for at an inspection. That meant a fizzer.

One fizzer was not a big problem. It meant you got some nasty duty like scrubbing down the bog. Two fizzers was more serious, and might affect your advancement.

We didn't get out the entire time. The base was huge, but I'd have liked a chance to meet some of the locals. To me, Canada still means a large air base surrounded by forest. One chap was desperate to meet a local girl and went AWOL. They brought him back, kept him in solitary for a night, and then sent him packing. They made sure we all knew what had happened.

There were some casualties. One poor fellow dropped part of an engine and broke his foot. Another got spots in his eyes after flying at altitude, and was pulled out. He sat mournfully in the corner of the mess, for he was going to have to wait for the rest of us for his trip back.

We also had parachute training. Which consisted of learning to pack a parachute, getting out of the plane (which we did on the ground) and learning to land, which meant jumping off some wooden board about eight feet in the air and doing a shoulder roll. Actually jumping out of an aircraft? You must be joking.

There was no better feeling than the flying. Once Flt Lt Murray got me to pull back the canopy. My, but the air was cold! I couldn’t take more than a minute, even with the goggles – my face felt frozen. I didn’t want to do it again, but a couple of days later we tried it, and somehow I managed to get us almost to landing.

As August came to an end, a cold wind started to blow from the north. It got chilly when we flew at altitude. Then we started needing a coat to go outside in the evenings. The local Canadians didn’t seem to notice.

In the middle of September we held a ceremony. Those who had advanced sufficiently, which included me, officially became Officer Cadets. I got a little crown and wings attached to my collar. I was pleased as punch, and couldn’t wait to tell my parents.

"Congratulations," said the CO. Everyone was smiling. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life.

The Hunter and the Hunted completed novel
A Slice of Life short story (horror)