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So the British took this guy, Hazleton, and flung him out of a plane into the darkness

to hunt down the radio signals that possibly could clue on where

Rommel's headquarters is. He was forced to trek for hours across the desert

until he got to the outskirts of this town, concealing himself in the sand, he began to watch a building that was surrounded by Africa Corps communication vehicles.

Then, like something out of a movie or a shitty video game, Rommel emerged from the buildings, got into a staff car, and drove away.

To Hazleton, and to everyone else, this all but confirmed the fact that this was Rommel's

command center.

So he ran back through the desert and eventually made his way back to

Cairo and delivered the news. Within days the British began planning the operation using a

detachment of the number 11 Scottish commando they have been practicing how to conduct beach

landings from submarines and shitty canvas rafts. Now the commandos were new, they're

only about a year old and were pretty much untested and their training was at this point just kind of winging it.

The submarine is just a really giant buck vast bottle just like slowly surfers.

I was going to say yeah their selection course was that like only the fastest

20 guys who can open a bottle of bucky with their teeth are allowed to join.

It's just fucking Annie McNabb and Francis Begbee coming out with the

out with the fucking top of the bottle.

Drunk-ass Scots for in the sky.

The planning would be done by Jeffrey Charles Tasker Keys, the son of Roger Keys of boxer rebellion fame.

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