#German Occupied France

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

“You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

[carbone14]

Chars Tigre Royal de la 3e compagnie du 503e Bataillon de chars lourds venant de la rue d'Aubervilliers et se dirigeant vers le Boulevard de la Villette – Paris – Août 1944.

Photo via https://www.worldwarphotos.info/

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

Jeunesse et montagne

"In 1942, a French army captain proudly related a recent mountaineering expedition he had led. Recalling Pétain’s desire to maintain the virility of French soldiers, the captain felt justified in dragging his men up to the summits. After an ascent of 3146 m he proudly surveyed his men; ‘Ah . . . the solid, muscular thighs of my soldiers! Beautiful bronzed arms emerging from shirt sleeves! Fine, sunburnt faces smiling through the sweat!’ For the captain, this arduous ascent had brought physical and moral benefits; the ‘mountain is one of the new ways to give the soldier a more virile soul, a better placed heart (un coeur mieux placé), and a more robust body.’ According to geographer Rachel Woodward, the natural environment is crucial for constructing and expressing masculine identities, and so forms a key part of military training. This seems to have been the case for the jubilant captain and the armistice army in general, which used mountain training to instil the importance of teamwork, risk and morality into its soldiers.

The French Air Force deployed mountains to achieve similar aims through its youth movement, Jeunesse et Montagne (Youth and Mountain). Created on 2 August 1940, Jeunesse et Montagne aimed to utilise the mountain environment to transform its 15,000 draftees (aged between 18 and 20 years) into a virile elite dedicated to the resurrection of France. In many ways Jeunesse et Montagne was similar to other Vichy-approved youth groups, as it sought to regiment and revitalise young men, and indoctrinate them with a strong sense of honour, duty, discipline and a respect for hierarchy. Yet there were key differences. In particular, Jeunesse et Montagne had a relatively small membership compared with other youth movements in Vichy France. It was also harder to enter Jeunesse et Montagne than Chantiers de la Jeunesse (draftees had to be physically fitter), and such exclusivity appears to have been part of the appeal for the organisation’s leadership. In the words of Maurice Bongard, head of the Pyrenean ‘Vignemale’ groupement, Jeunesse et Montagne would create an ‘elite of strong and daring men’ dedicated ‘joyfully and entirely to the cause of national resurrection’. Once again in Vichy France, mountains were associated with elitism.

Another key difference was Jeunesse et Montagne’s emphasis on altitude; mountains were training grounds for France’s new elite and a substitute for the skies. Its leadership informed recruits in August 1940 that Jeunesse et Montagne would be a ‘tough and simple means to keep intact, even improve, each day your souls and your bodies and preserve whole the flame of youth that has irresistibly attracted you towards the skies’. Training and activities reinforced the importance placed on altitude. These included Alpine sports and aeronautical activities during a period of training in high-altitude chalets in the Alps and Pyrenees.

This time spent in the mountains was to be educational and alpinism the ‘hard and beautiful school of man’. For Bongard, the mountain was a ‘tough school’ in which to ‘complete the physical, moral, and civic education of a selection of young French men’. Physically, the sheer effort of living at high altitude would serve to ‘develop muscles’, the ‘pure air’ was to ‘invigorate the blood’ and the toughness of life was designed to ‘strengthen the body and harden it against fatigue, cold, and pain’. Morally, the mountain would push the young men to ‘constantly surpass themselves’ and make them ‘love risk and effort’. And socially, mountain life mitigated against individualism and transcended class barriers, obliging Jeunesse et Montagne recruits to ‘live as a team, walk in line, and climb in roped teams’.

The transformative influence of mountains on male bodies was a central component of Jeunesse et Montagne’s philosophy. According to the organisation’s medical service, the mountain climate and high altitude improved respiration, circulation and metabolism, as well as increasing appetites and destroying almost all types of air-born germs. Skiing developed muscles, coordination and respiration, while alpinism had an even more beneficial effect on the body as it reportedly developed ‘equilibration, muscle tone, and heightened senses’. After 6–8 months, it was predicted that a Jeunesse et Montagne recruit would gain 4–6 kilos in weight, demonstrate heightened reflexes and decision-making capabilities, and enjoy a greater vital capacity. As an aesthetic benefit, brown skin pigmentation would ‘happily replace the “corpse-like” white skin of new arrivals’. That living in nature without comfort, taking cold showers and going bare-chested led to a ‘hardening of the body’ was taken as being almost self-evident.

In addition to becoming bronzed, stronger and more dynamic, alpinism would allow the young men to gain better self-knowledge of their own bodies. As Charles Roiron, Jeunesse et Montagne’s head of sporting activities, informed its unit leaders, every physical movement was crucial in the mountains and the alpinist needed to be acutely aware of his own weight and exert complete control over his muscles; ‘because it forces us to be aware of each one of our muscles, the mountain makes us rediscover ourselves (retrouver nous-mêmes). It is the best remedy for the malaise of modern man, which the experts rightly attribute to man’s ignorance of his body.’

The manual labour that Jeunesse et Montagne conducted was also designed to contribute to the physical and moral renewal of the young men. In line with the National Revolution’s propaganda, work was represented as a unifying activity that broke through artificial class divisions and which contributed to France’s national recovery. Jeunesse et Montagne’s work was diverse and included physically exacting timber felling on vertiginous mountain slopes. The assigned logging sites were frequently located ‘high up on abrupt slopes’ where the evacuation of wood was ‘often acrobatic’. Despite its dangers and difficulties, the mountain-based lumberjacks were reported to enjoy forestry work because they learnt new skills, shared their experience with their comrades, discovered the forest (a seductive and somewhat mysterious universe) and developed their physical strength.

...

[Contrary to the propaganda] ... the notebooks of some units suggest that the young men’s lives were dominated by forestry work, fatigue and thoughts of food (punctuated by skiing lessons) rather than a sense of testing themselves against the mountain or becoming new men. Lionel Therray, who went on to become one of France’s most celebrated mountaineers, remembers the tough Jeunesse et Montagne lifestyle which was tempered by the ‘atmosphere of good humour, gusto (entrain), camaraderie, [and] enthusiasm’. Such was the feeling of ‘collective exaltation and exhausting work’ that Therray experienced ‘some of the most intense and totally happy days imaginable’. While this life equipped Therray with endurance skills that proved useful in later life, others, he believed, suffered physically from the punishing regime. Consequently, an experience that was received initially in an enthusiastic manner descended into a ‘sort of hell’. Therray’s experience indicates that Vichy’s attempt to rebuild masculinity in the mountains was somewhat problematic. This reflects wider problems with the regime’s attempts to rebuild French manhood, and many historians contend that it was only during Liberation that French masculinity was restored, through such practices as shaving the heads of female collaborators.

More specifically, like many other Vichy-sponsored initiatives, the aims of Jeunesse et Montagne were ultimately diluted by wartime exigencies. Not least, German labour demands meant that many recruits left the mountains to work in factories on the plains below. As well as fulfilling labour requirements, this movement to the plains alleviated other German concerns. The German authorities had long been suspicious of French youth groups carrying out mountain-based activities. Hinting at possible military activity, one German memorandum asked, ‘by giving instruction in skiing will not other interests other than sporting ones be pursued?’ In the end, German authorities demanded the dissolution of Jeunesse et Montagne units in January 1944, which were transformed into industrial labour units. The notion of a healthy and uplifting life in the mountains that would create a new French elite dissolved into the everyday realities of industrial labour."

- Chris Pearson, Scarred Landscapes: War and Nature in Vichy France. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2008. p. 102-104, 106-107

[vyrulent]

Russell over here like can I PLEASEEEEE infiltrate armand's coven PLEASE!

and he's all stirred up because in the vampire lestat they haven't met a vampire that's over 300 years old and he's like

"I have arrived"

[theworldatwar]

A US soldier surveys the deck of one of the two French battle-cruisers in Toulon - 1944. Both the Strasbourg and the Dunkerque had been scuttled when German forces occupied southern France in Nov 1942

[vestaignis]

Замок Миранда (Château Miranda)— замок 19-го века построенный в нео-готическом стиле в городе Сель, провинция Намюр, Бельгия. Строительство замка началось в 1866 году по проекту английского архитектора Эдварда Милнера. Замок был задуман как летняя резиденция семьи Liedekerke De Beaufort. Однако архитектор скончался до окончания постройки и замок достраивался уже без него. Окончание строительства произошло в 1907 году.Потомки старинного рода проживали там до Второй Мировой войны. Во время войны замок был оккупирован немецкими войсками.После войны владельцы решили перебраться во Францию, а их роскошный замок превратился сначала в детский дом, а с 1958 года - в дом отдыха для детей железнодорожников. Видимо, тогда он и получил свое второе название Chateau de Noisy (Шумный замок).

С 1991 года Миранда был заброшен, расходы на его содержание оказались непомерно высоки. Местный муниципалитет предложил взять их на себя, но семья отказалась, надеясь найти покупателя.Параллельно с поисками покупателя владельцем была подана просьба о сносе здания, в июле 2015 оно было получено. Средства на восстановление заброшенного замка требовались колоссальные, было организовано товарищество по спасению Миранды, но речь шла о сумме в 15-25 миллионов евро.Два года спустя покупатель так и не был найден, а отдать свой замок в дар государству не каждый способен...

"Замок превратился в руины и представляет собой реальную опасность для всех тех, кто незаконно вторгается в мою частную собственность" - так владелец объяснил уничтожение Miranda Castle.

Château Miranda is a 19th-century castle built in the neo-Gothic style in the town of Sel, Namur, Belgium. Construction of the castle began in 1866 according to the design of the English architect Edward Milner. The castle was conceived as the summer residence of the Liedekerke De Beaufort family. However, the architect died before the construction was completed and the castle was completed without him. The construction was completed in 1907. Descendants of the old family lived there until the Second World War. During the war, the castle was occupied by German troops. After the war, the owners decided to move to France, and their luxurious castle turned first into an orphanage, and since 1958 into a holiday home for children of railway workers. Apparently, it was then that it received its second name, Chateau de Noisy (Noisy Castle).

Since 1991, Miranda has been abandoned, the costs of its maintenance being prohibitive. The local municipality offered to take them over, but the family refused, hoping to find a buyer. In parallel with the search for a buyer, the owner submitted a request to demolish the building, which was received in July 2015. Colossal funds were required to restore the abandoned castle; a partnership was organized to save Miranda, but the amount in question was 15-25 million euros. Two years later, a buyer was never found, and not everyone is able to donate their castle to the state…

“The castle has turned into ruins and poses a real danger to all those who illegally invade my private property,” this is how the owner explained the destruction of Miranda Castle.

Источник:/poshyk.info/zabroshennye-zamki-mira/,/fishki.net/50746-zabroshennyj-zamok-chateau-miranda-52-foto.html,//dzen.ru/ a/ YWAhiQydDxQdRome,/steport.com/article/23/zabroshennyi-zamok-chateau-miranda,/pikabu.ru/story /zabroshennyiy_zamok _chateau _ miranda_gorod_sel_provintsiya_namyur_belgiya_5540122,/vk.com/album-43797049_205839158.

[matan4il]

Have you noticed how almost everything that the anti-Israel crowd accuses people who simply recognize Israel's right to exist of, is (in additional to usually being false) stuff they're guilty of themselves?

"You support ethnic cleansing!"

What do you think it means, when you chant the English translation of "From water to water, Palestine will be Arab"?

"You support an ethno-state!"

Do you call for the destruction of every single nation state, such as Germany, Japan, France, and so on? No? Then so do you. Have you called for the establishment of a Palestinian state? Then, so do you. Between Hamas ruling Gaza and being genocidal when it comes to Jews, and Mahmoud Abbas (president of the Palestinian Authority) stating no Israelis will be allowed in the State of Palestine (and by "Israelis" we all know he doesn't mean the Arab citizens of Israel, he's talking about Jews) that's going to be an ethno-state, too. Oh, you meant a "pure" ethno-state. Those don't exist in today's reality, and Israel, with 27% of its citizens being non-Jews, is no exception.

"Oct 7 didn't happen in a vacuum, you're ignoring the context of the past 75 years!"

You are ignoring big chunks of anti-Jewish violence during these 75 years, you're ignoring the expulsion of almost 900,000 Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, you're ignoring the anti-Jewish violence and persecution that preceded the establishment of the Land of Israel, and you're ignoring all 3,500 years (at least) of Jewish existence in and connection to our ancestral homeland, Israel.

"You support collective punishment!"

The same way you do, when you chant, "When people are occupied, resistance is justified"? Because that's what it means, that for the sin of Israel supposedly being a colonial state (a false claim, since Jews are native to Israel), you're justifying raping 13 year old girls, shooting them in the head, murdering Holocaust survivors, burning babies alive... what's that if not supporting collective punishment? (that's before we get into the fact that Israel not surrendering in a war started by Hamas is NOT collective punishment, or else we would have to define the allies not surrendering to the Nazis in WWII as collective punishment of the Germans)

"You suppor apartheid!"

All Israeli citizens have the same civil rights. Apartheid in South Africa was a system where citizens of the country had their rights limited based on skin color/ancestry. The issue in South Africa wasn't that racism existed (IDK a single country where racism doesn't), it's that it was codified into law, and used against the rights of that country's own citizens. Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs have the same rights. Non-Israeli Palestinians not having the same rights as Israelis, including as Israeli Arabs, is the same as French Canadians not having the same rights in the US as French Americans. It is NOT proof the US is applying a system of apartheid unto French people. And if it were, then I have news for you, every country applies different rights to citizens vs not citizens, so every country would be an apartheid state by this criterion. Which would make the word meaningless, and it would diminish the suffering of non-whites under South Africa's apartheid (as some young black South Africans who have actually been to Israel now point out). Meanwhile, I'll point back up to where Mahmoud Abbas said no Israelis (i.e Jews) will be allowed in Palestine, and that under the Palestinian Authority, a Palestinian can be jailed or executed for selling land to Jews, which means the PA demolishes the right to property (of Jews to own it, and of the PA's Palestinian citizens to sell it as they see fit) based solely on the ancestry of the buyer... And you support the PA, right?

"You deny the Nakba!"

I had never encountered any Israeli denying that roughly 850,000 Arabs fled Israel due to the War of Independence. Pointing out that the Arabs are the ones who started that war isn't the same as denying it happened. Meanwhile, the people who make this accusation, largely deny the expulsion of the Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, deny the suffering, discrimination, expulsions and massacres Jews had endured for centuries under Arab and Muslim regimes, and deny the atrocities of Oct 7.

"You support colonialism!"

Say the people who deny the native rights of the Jews, who act as if these rights are limited by time (as if such a limitation benefits anyone other than actual colonizers), who ignore the fact that Palestinians wouldn't exist here without Arab colonialism, or who wish to confer a native status unto them by virtue of... being settler colonialists for a "long time" (to be clear, the way the UN's definition of a Palestinian refugee works, it only requires a person to have been an Arab* settler colonialist in Israel during the 2 years prior to the founding of the Israeli state, to be recognized as a Palestinian. To become a US citizen, in addition to other requirements, you have to live in the US for at least 5 years, 3 if married to an American citizen. That means in June of 1946, it was easier to become a Palestinian "native" in the eyes of the UN, than an American citizen). Don't get me wrong, Palestinians have a right to live in the place where they were born. I can both recognize that they're here due to Arab colonialism, AND be okay with them living here. Just like I can recognize that no Americans today deserve to be displaced, even though the majority of them are there thanks to colonialism. And I don't have to pretend like Americans of European descent have suddenly become native (something that if I did, would probably hurt actual Native Americans), in order to recognize their right to live where they were born. It's just ironic that if we took the logic of the anti-Israel crowd when it comes to native Jews, and applied it to all native peoples, this would harm the natives, erase their rights, recognize their colonizers as natives, and generally help colonialism.

There's probably more, but I think this is demonstrative enough.

* Technically, the UN didn't specify ancestry. As an idea, you could be Arab, Jewish, a Polish Catholic priest living in a convent in the Land of Israel from Jun '46 to May '48, and you'd be recognized as a Palestinian by the UN, but in reality this definition ended up favoring all non-Jewish colonizers of the land. In 1952, Israel said, "It's okay, we'll take care of the Jewish refugees displaced by the War of Independence. No need for the UN to do so. This is what we set up a Jewish state for." This is in addition to Israel taking care of the Jewish refugees from Arab and Muslim countries, and Jewish Holocaust survivors. And for Israel's show of responsibility, the now-Israeli Jewish refugees have been punished. They don't get recognized as existing, as having been displaced by, and having suffered due to the war the Arabs started in the Land of Israel against its Jewish communities. "Palestinian" refers to non-Jews only from the second The British Mandate in Palestine's Jews became Israeli Jews, but that doesn't stop the anti-Israel crowd from falsely claiming there are Palestinian Jews today... even though since May of 1948, there aren't, and before that, those Palestinian Jews were British subjects, not the citizens of an Arab independent state called Palestine (something that has never historically existed). Thanks to the exclusion in practice of Jews from the definition of Palestinian refugee, the UN agency for taking care of Palestinian refugees, UNRWA became a tool of spreading anti-Jewish hate.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[alleannaharris]

Today's Black History Month illustration is of Josephine Baker. She was a world famous entertainer, WWII spy, and activist.

Freda Josephine McDonald was born in St. Louis, Missouri in 1906. Her parents were both vaudeville performers, but Baker would have to take on odd jobs to help support her family.

At the age of 15, she ran off and joined a dance troupe from Philadelphia. She also got married, took her husband’s last name, dropped her first name and started going by the name Josephine Baker. After acting and dancing in musicals, she moved to New York City and was soon performing at the Plantation Club where she became a crowd favorite.

In 1925, Baker went to Paris to dance at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in La Revue Nègre. When the Revue closed, she was given her own show and her career skyrocketed.

She was the first Black woman to star in a motion picture and one of the first Black entertainers to achieve acclaim on screen and stage.

Baker became a citizen of France in 1937. When the Germans occupied France during WWII, she worked with the Red Cross and the French Resistance by transporting confidential information by writing with invisible ink on her sheet music. She was awarded the Croix de Guerre and the Legion of Honor with the rosette of the Résistance.

Baker traveled many times to the US to participate in the civil rights movement. She was the only woman who spoke at the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1968.

Her time at home forced her to confront segregation and discrimination that she didn’t experience overseas. She often refused to perform for segregated audiences and club owners were forced to integrate for her shows.

She continued to perform until her death in 1975, during the celebration of the 50th anniversary of her Paris debut.

I’ll be back on Monday with the last illustration and story!

[ww2yaoi]

funny/interesting anecdotes from parachute infantry:

web's head was shaved for the normandy jump

web slamming the entire package of air sickness pills in an attempt to completely numb himself from what was going on on d-day

the whole spiel about how colonel sink didn't want any of the paratroopers to be caught dead wearing these woollen hats without their helmets on because it was undignified for whatever reason and the generals would ream him about it. and web being like we're jumping into german-occupied france why are you talking about what hats we can't wear

web getting transferred from hq company because he was bored and wanted to see more action but then of course complaining every time he was in combat

the entire saga of web's hatred for lieutenant peacock. in holland, peacock made web sweep out his quarters while the enlisted men slept outside in holes. web then proceeds to dream about beating peacock with a broom/fantasize about shooting him

also: web saying the only thing him and peacock ever had in common was diarrhea

in hagenau, johnny martin almost got web and a few others killed when he called in an artillery strike way too close to the house they were holed up in and they nearly got blown up

just so much alcohol consumption. luz driving like a maniac and web raiding the berghof's cellar in berchtesgaden. web being disappointed that all hitler had was wine and champagne and no hard liquour

web being really drunk when grant was shot and barely making it out to the road to guard it in case the offending replacement showed up

the whole saga with speirs' mercedes. speirs confiscated this german car in austria but then colonel strayer wanted the car so speirs proceeded to shoot out the windshield then drive the thing off a cliff (he bailed just in time)

web being super drunk in front of speirs and embarrassing himself. then being a complete mess during ceremonial retreat and getting yelled at

stealing like 50 bottles of german gin from some factory

showing up at regimental headquarters to see about his points muddy and soaked from the rain and getting scolded by colonel sink (who he was dreaming about meeting one-on-one the entire war) for wearing fatigues in the building

there's probably more i've forgotten but boy what a book

[whencyclopedia]

D-Day was 80 years ago today!

D-Day was the first day of Operation Overlord, the Allied attack on German-occupied Western Europe, which began on the beaches of Normandy, France, on 6 June 1944. Primarily US, British, and Canadian troops, with naval and air support, attacked five beaches, landing some 135,000 men in a day widely considered to have changed history.

Where to Attack?

Operation Overlord, which sought to attack occupied Europe starting with an amphibious landing in northwest France, Belgium, or the Netherlands, had been in the planning since January 1943 when Allied leaders agreed to the build-up of British and US troops in Britain. The Allies were unsure where exactly to land, but the requirements were simple: as short a sea crossing as possible and within range of Allied fighter cover. A third requirement was to have a major port nearby, which could be captured and used to land further troops and equipment. The best fit seemed to be Normandy with its flat beaches and port of Cherbourg.

The Atlantic Wall

The leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), called his western line of defences the Atlantic Wall. It had gaps but presented an impressive string of fortifications along the coast from Spain to the Netherlands. Construction of gun batteries, bunker networks, and observation posts began as early as 1942.

Many of the German divisions were not crack troops but inexperienced soldiers, who were spending more time building defences than in vital military training. There was a woeful lack of materials for Hitler's dream of the Atlantic Wall, really something of a Swiss cheese, with some strong areas, but many holes. The German army was not provided with sufficient mines, explosives, concrete, or labourers to better protect the coastline. At least one-third of gun positions still had no casement protection. Many installations were not bomb-proof. Another serious weakness was naval and air support. The navy had a mere 4 destroyers available and 39 E-boats while the Luftwaffe's (German Air Force's) contribution was equally paltry with only 319 planes operating in the skies when the invasion took place (rising to 1,000) in the second week.

Neptune to Normandy

Preparation for Overlord occurred right through April and May of 1940 when the Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force (USAAF) relentlessly bombed communications and transportation systems in France as well as coastal defences, airfields, industrial targets, and military installations. In total, over 200,000 missions were conducted to weaken as much as possible the Nazi defences ready for the infantry troops about to be involved in the largest troop movement in history. The French Resistance also played their part in preparing the way by blowing up train lines and communication systems that would ensure the defenders could not effectively respond to the invasion.

The Allied fleet of 7,000 vessels of all kinds departed from English south-coast ports such as Falmouth, Plymouth, Poole, Portsmouth, Newhaven, and Harwich. In an operation code-named Neptune, the ships gathered off Portsmouth in a zone called 'Piccadilly Circus' after the busy London road junction, and then made their way to Normandy and the assault areas. At the same time, gliders and planes flew to the Cherbourg peninsula in the west and Ouistreham on the eastern edge of the planned landing. Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st US Airborne Division attacked in the west to try and cut off Cherbourg. At the eastern extremity of the operation, paratroopers of the 6th British Airborne Division aimed to secure Pegasus Bridge over the Caen Canal. Other tasks of the paratrooper and glider units were to destroy bridges to impede the enemy, hold others necessary for the invasion to progress, destroy gun emplacements, secure the beach exits, and protect the invasion's flanks.

The Beaches

The amphibious attack was set for dawn on 5 June, daylight being a requirement for the necessary air and naval support. Bad weather led to a postponement of 24 hours. Shortly after midnight, the first waves of 23,000 British and American paratroopers landed in France. US paratroopers who dropped near Ste-Mère-Église ensured this was the first French town to be liberated. From 3.00 a.m., air and naval bombardment of the Normandy coast began, letting up just 15 minutes before the first infantry troops landed on the beaches at 6.30 a.m.

The beaches selected for the landings were divided into zones, each given a code name. US troops attacked two, the British army another two, and the Canadian force the fifth. These beaches and the troops assigned to them were (west to east):

Utah Beach - 4th US Infantry Division, 7th US Corps (1st US Army commanded by Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley)

Omaha Beach - 1st US Infantry Division, 5th US Corps (1st US Army)

Gold Beach - 50th British Infantry Division, 30th British Corps (2nd British Army commanded by Lieutenant-General Miles C. Dempsey)

Juno Beach - 3rd Canadian Infantry Division (2nd British Army)

Sword Beach - 3rd British Infantry Division, 1st British Corps (2nd British Army)

In addition, the 2nd US Rangers were to attack the well-defended Pointe du Hoc between Utah and Omaha (although it turned out the guns had never been installed there), while Royal Marine Commando units attacked targets on Gold, Juno, and Sword.

The RAF and USAAF continued to protect the invasion fleet and ensure any enemy ground-based counterattack faced air attack. As the Allies could put in the air 12,000 aircraft at this stage, the Luftwaffe's aerial fightback was pitifully inadequate. On D-Day alone, the Allied air forces flew 15,000 sorties compared to the Luftwaffe's 100. Not one single Allied aircraft was lost to enemy fire on D-Day.

Packing Normandy

By the end of D-Day, 135,000 men had been landed and relatively few casualties were sustained – some 5,000 men. There were some serious cock-ups, notably the hopeless dispersal of the paratroopers (only 4% of the US 101st Air Division were dropped at the intended target zone), but, if anything, this caused even more confusion amongst the German commanders on the ground as it seemed the Allies were attacking everywhere. The defenders, overcoming the initial handicap that many area commanders were at a strategy conference in Rennes, did eventually organise themselves into a counterattack, deploying their reserves and pulling in troops from other parts of France. This is when French resistance and aerial bombing became crucial, seriously hampering the German army's effort to reinforce the coastal areas of Normandy. The German field commanders wanted to withdraw, regroup and attack in force, but, on 11 June, Hitler ordered there be no retreat.

All of the original invasion beaches were linked as the Allies pushed inland. To aid thousands more troops following up the initial attack, two artificial floating harbours were built. Code-named Mulberries, these were located off Omaha and Gold beaches and were built from 200 prefabricated units. A storm hit on 20 June, destroying the Mulberry Harbour off Omaha, but the one at Gold was still serviceable, allowing some 11,000 tons of material to be landed every 24 hours. The other problem for the Allies was how to supply thousands of vehicles with the fuel they needed. The short-term solution, code-named Tombola, was to have tanker ships pump fuel to storage tanks on shore, using buoyed pipelines. The longer-term solution was code-named Pluto (Pipeline Under the Ocean), a pipeline under the Channel to Cherbourg through which fuel could be pumped. Cherbourg was taken on 27 June and was used to ship in more troops and supplies, although the defenders had sunk ships to block the harbour and these took some six weeks to fully clear.

Operation Neptune officially ended on 30 June. Around 850,000 men, 148,800 vehicles, and 570,000 tons of stores and equipment had been landed since D-Day. The next phase of Overlord was to push the occupiers out of Normandy. The defenders were not only having logistical problems but also command issues as Hitler replaced Rundstedt with Field Marshal Günther von Kluge (1882-1944) and formally warned Rommel not to be defeatist.

Aftermath: The Normandy Campaign

By early July, the Allies, having not got further south than around 20 miles (32 km) from the coast, were behind schedule. Poor weather was limiting the role of aircraft in the advance. The German forces were using the countryside well to slow the Allied advance – countless small fields enclosed with trees and hedgerows which limited visibility and made tanks vulnerable to ambush. Caen was staunchly defended and required Allied bombers to obliterate the city on 7 July. The German troops withdrew but still held one-half of the city. The Allies lost around 500 tanks trying to take Caen, vital to any push further south. The advance to Avranches was equally tortuous, and 40,000 men were lost in two weeks of heavy fighting. By the end of July, the Allies had taken Caen, Avranches, and the vital bridge at Pontaubault. From 1 August, Patton and the US Third Army were punching south at the western side of the offensive, and the Brittany ports of St. Malo, Brest, and Lorient were taken.

German forces counterattacked to try and retake Avranches, but Allied air power was decisive. Through August 1940, the Allies swept southwards to the Loire River from St. Nazaire to Orléans. On 15 August, a major landing took place on the southwest coast of France (French Riviera landings) and Marseille was captured on 28 August. In northern France, the Allies captured enough territory, ports, and airfields for a massive increase in material support. On 25 August, Paris was liberated. By mid-September, the Allied troops in the north and south of France had linked up and the campaign front expanded eastwards pushing on to the borders of Germany. There would be setbacks like Operation Market Garden of September and a brief fightback at the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, but the direction of the war and ultimate Allied victory was now a question of not if but when.

[theygender]

TLT fans: did you guys know about the real Wake? I hadn't heard about her until we covered World War II in my world civ class this semester

Nancy Grace Augusta Wake (1912-2011) was a covert operative who was at the top of the Nazi's most wanted list in WW2, nicknamed "The White Mouse" for her ability to repeatedly evade capture. She was born in New Zealand with Māori heritage, grew up in Australia, and joined the Resistance after traveling to Europe and witnessing the harsh treatment of Jews in Vienna by the Nazis

Wake worked in the Pat O'Leary Line escape network until her Resistance organization was compromised by the Germans in 1942. After that she fled on foot across the Pyrenees—with several close calls that she escaped by flirting with German soldiers—and made her way to England to join the Special Operations Executive. She was part of a three person team codenamed "Freelance" which parachuted into occupied France. During this operation she got stuck in a tree after her parachute became tangled in its branches. The local Resistance leader who found her reportedly said “I hope that all the trees in France bear such beautiful fruit this year" to which she replied "Cut out that French bullshit and get me out of this tree"

While working in the Freelance operation Wake once biked 500 km (310 mi) without stopping in the span of 72 hours across Nazi territory to retrieve a new radio and codes after her team's were destroyed in a Gestapo raid. Without this feat, Freelance would not have been able to communicate with London and there would have been no more supply drops to support their Resistance organization. During the war she was also part of a raid which destroyed the Gestapo headquarters in Montluçon, in which she reportedly killed a Nazi sentry with her bare hands to prevent him from raising an alarm

Wake's fellow operatives described her as "a real Australian bombshell. Tremendous vitality, flashing eyes. Everything she did, she did well. She was an excellent shot, excelled at fieldcraft and put the men to shame by her cheerful spirit and strength of character." "She is the most feminine woman I know until the fighting starts. Then she is like five men." "We both came to the conclusion that she was 10 times the man I would ever be"

By the time of her death in 2011, Wake had been awarded the George Medal by Britain; the Medal of Freedom by the United States; the Médaille de la Résistance, the Croix de Guerre (x3), and the Légion d’Honneur by France; and the Badge in Gold by New Zealand. Due to a complicated relationship with Australia, she originally refused to accept any awards from the Australian government, saying that they could "stick their medals where the monkey stuck his nuts." In 2004, however, she accepted the honor of Companion of the Order of Australia as well

[sanktpolypenbourg]

Sidenote though, with "Pre-Unification Terra", I enjoy the location names getting twisted into silly nonsense as yes, over literally millenia, if anything of our languages survives, the etymology of names is bound to be lost and they are bound to get distorted in a History spanning game of telephone.

What I find FUNNY is that of all places, germany remains a nation state.

Things like the US are obvious; it's big enough to remain as a cultural realm for millenia, even if the specific nation states that occupy it change.

Britain I get, because then you can have that fun thing that a former island nation occupies a swath of desert.

France, yeah, that's silly, but it makes sense, if only for the satire. Their continued existence, in ANY century, is a punchline all by itself.

But "jermani" just doesn't make any sense whatsoever even by the internal logic. Especially since no other countries like that were added - we don't get a random Thy-land or Wenezuel or anything. It's like, sure, you can come along too, I guess. I like to think it doesn't have anything to do with a sort of fascism wank, to ensure some players get to paint up their miniature dolls as literal space nazis. The most vanilla explanation I guess would be that Warhammer has a big german fanbase and they didn't want to alienate them. Also pausible but slightly disappointing would be that they just couldn't culturally justify their "knights in space armor" setting without the germanic element. Related to that, the idea that this is the minimum level of detail for a depiction of Europe even tens of thousands of years in the future. Logically there is no reason it should have more political geography than the Kamchatka Peninsula (or in that era I suppose the Kamchatka Ridge), but for war-gaming purposes I guess it's hard to get away from at least a minimalistic WWI/WWII configuration for a mostly western audience.

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Johan Weidner 

Johan “Jean” Weidner was a Dutch businessman who created an extensive underground rescue network and saved the lives of 800 Jews and 112 downed Allied aviators.

Born in Brussels in 1912 to Dutch parents, Jean grew up in Switzerland in a devout Seventh-Day Adventist home. His father, a minister who taught Greek and Latin at a church seminary, wanted Jean to become a clergyman but instead he decided to go into business. He moved to Paris in 1935 and started an import-export textile firm.

When the Germans occupied Paris in 1940 Jean dropped everything and fled to Lyon in unoccupied France. He had to abandon his company, so he started a new one in Lyon.

In 1941, as the situation for Jews and other enemies of the Nazi war machine grew more dire, Jean took action. He created an underground network secretly run out of his textile factory. To facilitate escape to Switzerland, Jean opened a second branch of his business in Annecy, near the Swiss border. The route was dotted with safe houses and locals sympathetic to the Resistance who sheltered the refugees and helped them cross the border.

Known as Dutch-Paris, the network Jean created became one of the most effective resistance groups during war. Also called “the Swiss Way,” the network’s mission was to rescue people targeted by the Nazis by hiding them until they could help them escape to a neutral country.

Jean was leader of 330 men, women and teenagers working clandestinely in occupied countries of Western Europe as well as in Switzerland.

Dutch-Paris was constantly in need of funds to support their extensive activities, and Jean made a deal with the Dutch ambassador to Switzerland. The Dutch government-in-exile in London would fund the rescue operations if Jean 1) expanded the escape route to reach all the way to Spain and 2) used the route to convey intelligence on microfilm between Dutch resistance groups. Jean agreed to the terms and the expanded network began operating in November 1943.

In January of 1944 they began rescuing downed Allied aviators, an especially dangerous operation because it attracted the attention of German military intelligence officers. In only a month they saved over 112 pilots before tragedy struck. In February 1944, a young Dutch woman working as a courier was arrested by the French police and turned over to the Gestapo. They tortured her physically and psychologically, and threatened her family. She cracked under pressure and gave up names of her colleagues colleagues in the Dutch-Paris network.

Germans started arresting members of Dutch-Paris, including Jean’s sister Gabrielle. Over the next few months, many of the rescuers were sent to concentration camps, where at least forty of them were murdered. Gabrielle survived until liberation by the Russians, but she was so malnourished that she died days later.

Jean was able to escape capture long enough to rebuild networks and continue his rescue operations. In Toulouse he was arrested by the French police, but he escaped before they were able to transfer him to the Germans.

France was liberated in November 1944 and Jean was invited to London by Queen Wilhemina to inform her about the Dutch-Paris route, and the situation for Dutch civilians in areas occupied by the Germans. He was made a Captian in the Dutch Armed Forces but after the war he was let go by the Dutch government for not being a professional policeman. Jean returned to his textile business, and in 1955 emigrated to the United States where he and his wife operated a chain of health food stores for several decades.

He received multiple awards for his wartime heroism including the US Medal of Freedom, the Croix de Guerre and the Legion d’honneur. He was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem, and a grove of trees was planted in his name. In 1993, at the opening of the United States Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, he was one of seven people chosen to light candles honoring rescuers.

Jean Weidner died in 1994 in Southern California. Abraham Foxman, then National Director of the ADL said, “John Weidner lived his entire life giving back… Until his death, he lived a life of selflessness and service, working tirelessly to make the world a better place.”

For creating an underground escape route for victims of the Nazis, and saving hundreds of lives, we honor Jean Weidner as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Scènes de la vie en territoire français sous la botte allemande," Le Soleil. May 7, 1943. Page 1. ---- Des bombardiers quadrimoteurs américains, en allant attaquer des objectifs militaires à Paris récemment, survolèrent Longchamps pendant un après-midi de courses de chevaux, et voici la scène de panique qui s'ensuivit. Seul un agent de la paix ose rester debout. Tous les autres se sont collés sur le béton. Les yeux hagards de l'homme étendu au premier plan, à droite, révèlent que la terreur de tous ces gens est authentique. La propagande allemande a voulu faire croire au monde ensuite que les aviateurs américains n'avaient bombardé que des hópitaux et des écoles. (Photo International News)

Cette photo, reçue à Londres d'un pays neutre, fait voir des gendarmes français, eus-mêmes surveillés par un officier de police allemand dirigeant l'évacuation du quartier du Vieux-Port à Marseille. Les gens emportent avec eux toutes les possessions qu'ils peuvent, Beaucoup de Marseillais se retrancherent dans leurs maisons et résistèrent à coups de fusil aux autorités. Les nazis ont fait évacuer cette partie de Marseille pour raser certains immeubles et fortifier les autres. (International News)

[live-love-be-unique]

I Am No Bird; And No Net Ensnares Me

Summary: Ghost finds himself starting an informal book club with the newest addition to the taskforce.

#22. Ghost and Reader are in a book club for @glitterypirateduck Ghost Challenge.

Parings: Ghost x f reader

Warnings: angst, death and an unconfessed love

You’d been reading your book, when you looked up noticing him staring “you can borrow it if you want? Price says we’ll be sitting tight for a while”

You weren’t kidding, three days later and the exfil still hadn’t shown up. Ghost devoured your book in the meantime, it was actually pretty good, a story about two sisters that had been separated during German-occupied, war-torn France. A little too heartbreaking for his liking but still a good read. One quote amongst the many you had underlined in gray lead pencil had stuck with him: “if I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are."

Days later you’d been sitting on the break room sofa, talking with another female soldier and as he passed he dropped a novel onto your lap. Not a fiction story like you preferred, this one was a memoir of a retired Navy SEAL who was also a Guinness world record holder and an ultramarathon runner. He’d met the man once, respected the hell out of him, for an American. “Thought you’d enjoy this” he offered to your questioning glance as he passed.

It quickly become a habit between the two of you, packing a novel in amongst your supplies for missions to swap during to periods of waiting. Almost like a little unofficial book club. Sometimes, you’d find yourselves together in the break room decompressing after a long mission discussing the books you’d read over cups of tea. He’d learnt you preferred fantasy, dark romance and mystery while he enjoyed thriller, true crime and the odd biography.

He also learnt that you weren’t above the odd prank either, during one particular downtime, he was reading the book you’d brought along and, as he was invested in a pretty graphic sex scene involving a gun, Soap had spotted the book’s title, it also didn’t help that he had been imagining it was you underneath him in that same position. Once Gaz had caught onto what was happening he knew he’d been hearing about it for weeks. He caught sight of you giggling away behind his copy of the historical non-fiction he’d lent you about America's first considered serial killer.

He retaliated by bringing what he imagined you’d think was the most boring book in his collection, all 411 pages of a nautical historical fiction about a young naval lieutenant newly promoted to master and commander. He was right, you’d read the entire thing, under sufferance of course.

He found himself watching you as you read, the way you chewed on your lip as you concentrated, the way you smiled when you read something you enjoyed and frowned when you didn’t. He even learned to love the little notes and quips you left in the margins of his books when at first it annoyed him. He’d watch you, hoping to catch you glancing over at him, above the pages of your book, sending a soft smile his way.

The last mission had been a mistake, anything that could have gone wrong did, and you had born the brunt of it. You’d been raced to the medbay unconscious and barely breathing, they’d had to intubate you immediately and had moved you to a hospital off base for treatment. He hadn’t left your side since.

He spent his time devouring any medical textbooks he could find on your condition, so much so that Gaz was convinced, if allowed, he could perform your surgery.

Price had visited a few days later, citing mission reports as the reason for his delay, bringing with him a box of your belongings, “some comforts from home” he’d muttered. At the bottom of the box, buried underneath a well-worn sweatshirt and a teddy bear that was signed by friends and family from back home, his hands brushed against a small paperback.

The cover was tattered and pages dogeared and a little note on the inside cover from someone he could only guess at being your grandmother telling you how this was her favorite story as a young girl and how she hopes you love it as much as she did. It was clear that you loved it as much as she had hoped as his eyes trailed over sections you had underlined and the little notations you’d made in the margins, it was like a window into your soul as he found the first page a started to read aloud to you in that quite hospital room.

“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.” His voice thick with exhaustion and emotion as he read. He read to you throughout the night and into the next day.

Your heart monitor flatlined just as the story ended and Jane and Mr Rochester were reunited. Even though the doctors and nurses said you probably hadn’t heard anything, he liked to think you’d held on long enough to hear him finally finish your favourite book.

Days later Ghost found himself standing at the front of the large crowd of mourners, surrounded by colleagues and friends alike as they lowered your coffin into the ground. He couldn’t move as the others dispersed, your younger brother clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. Price had stayed with him, Gaz and Soap stood close behind, giving them a moment.

“Did you tell her?” Price had asked him.

“Tell her what?” He muttered, watching as they filled in your grave.

“That you loved her” Price murmured, chewing on the end of his cigar.

“No” he shook his head. “Didn’t get the chance”

“She knew, lad, she knew” Price sighed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

She does now, he thought as he absentmindedly scratched at his chest. The sandiderm covering the fresh tattoo itched like crazy underneath his suit. The simple line-work done immediately after your passing, your favourite quote, directly over his heart: "I am no bird; and no net ensnares me”

List of books mentioned:

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins

Haunting Adeline by H. D Carlton

Devil In The White City by Erik Larson

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

[mapsontheweb]

Plan for European borders after won WW1 by Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Sazonov.

On September 14, 1914, Sazonov delivered a note to the ambassadors of France and Great Britain, containing a proposal regarding the conditions of peace and post-war order. It had 11 points:

Russia will get East Prussia and Eastern Galicia, and the future Poland (without specifying the political system and degree of independence from Russia) will get Greater Poland, Silesia and Western Galicia.

France gets Alsace and Lorraine back, with the possibility of taking/occupying potentially also the Palatinate and the Rhineland.

Annexation of large German territories to Belgium (without specifying the exact future border, to be determined later).

Schleswig and Holstein return to Denmark.

Restoration of the independent Kingdom of Hanover in Germany.

Austria-Hungary becomes a unitary state occupying the territories of Hungary, Austria proper and the Czech Republic.

Austria-Hungary loses Bosnia, Herzegovina, Dalmatia and northern Albania to Serbia.

In exchange for neutrality, Bulgaria will receive part of Serbian Macedonia, and Greece will receive southern Albania.

Valona (Vlore, a port in Albania) is given to Italy in exchange for neutrality.

The German colonies will be divided between Great Britain, France and Japan.

Payment of contributions by the Central Powers to the Allies.

On September 26, Sazonov issued a twelfth demand in a separate diplomatic note:

12. Russia must receive a guarantee of free navigation (including warships) through the Bosporus and the Dardanelles.

via u/Kamil1707