By Michael Every of Rabobank
London, 1940. Churchill’s War Room, deep beneath Whitehall. A group of officers and a hunched old man with a cigar are huddled around a map on table.
MONTGOMERY: “The outlook is grim, Prime Minister. We are short of ammunition.”
DOWDING: “And planes, Prime Minister.”
MOUNTBATTEN: “And ships, Prime Minister. And ships.”
CHURCHILL: “So, gentlemen, what is to be done?”
Grim silence falls on the darkened smoke-filled room. A bespectacled Treasury clerk enters.
CLERK: “We have an ideal solution, Prime Minister.”
CHURCHILL: “Speak, man, speak!”
CLERK: “We have a very attractive offer to supply us with cheap ammunition, planes, and ships.”
MONTGOMERY: “Who from exactly? Not the Yanks?”
CLERK (checking clipboard): “No, Sir. From Die-keine-Deutsche-munitionsfirma-ehrlich
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