Suryavarman, Regent of all Lands

Gooblah said:

I checked the Foreign Advisor. Every single nation except for Aztec, Inca, Korea, Japan, and Mali is either Annoyed or Furious with me.

Click to expand...

Well, it's make or break time. Do you suck up, or say bye-bye,world!!!

It had taken but five years to reach the outskirts of Constantinople.

As the Imperial City stood before them, the men of the Khmer Army slowly halted their march, and looked into the horizon. The sun was setting on this, the twenty-third day of March, in the year 1760. In the manner of Pericles long before him, Justinian I had ordered all the citizens of the outlying area into the famed Walls of Constantinople. The huge double-layered battlements stretched one hundred feet into the air, surrounding the peninsula on which the City rested in its entirety. The merchant navy and Imperial Fleets of the once-glorious Byzantine Navy now rested, decrepit, in the Bosphorus harbors of the main city. 5 large gates spanned the walls, one at the harbor, the other four at strategic points on the mainland. The spires of the Hagia Sophia could be seen at the very eastern edge of the City, casting long shadows on the homes around them. Bridges of stone and metal extended across the Golden Horn Straits, connecting the main City to the Imperial Palace. It was there Justinian I lay, waiting for his inevitable defeat.

The battle began on the dawn of the next day. As the first rays of sunlight struck the empty pastures and towns on the north face of the Walls, bombers carrying large payloads made their first run across the city. The pilots had standing orders to leave the Imperial Palace for last, to allow the Byzantine Monarch a glimpse of the devastation the Khmer could unleash. Churches, mosques, synagogues, markets, homes - everything was a target. Flying from altitudes that could not be sighted by the naked eye, the planes unleashed unyielding chaos across the City. The use of firebombs, a new weapon designed by Khmer strategists in the Pentagon of Hanoi, created large blazes fed by the wood that built the City. The wails of children and the screams of the dying and burnt could be only barely heard over the roar of flames, and the ever-present smoke prevented one from seeing anything more than 1 foot in front of him. Even as the day came to a close, and the shelling of Khmer artillery into the Wall drew to an end, the fire kept burning. It would keep burning until the City fell, until Justinian I hunted down and killed, and until the whole Byzantine Empire lay dead at the hands of the Khmer.

Sounds like Byzantium is going down!

Thanks-

I actually did some research for this one. The walls of Constantinople held until the Ottomans brought their super-cannon. Pretty damn strong.

wow with the whole children thing suryavarman is some kind sick, sedistic, SoB, A@$ Hole, dicktator

"My liege, we must evacuate the city at once! The area is no longer safe for you!"

A general, dressed in the ceremonial dress robes of the Byzantine Army, kneeled before Justinian I. Reports of destruction across the city poured in from all corners; The Imperial Hippodrome lay in ruins, the stables burned to the ground and the horses dead; The Forums of Theodosos, Arcadius, and the Bous had become makeshift morgues, the dead and dying strewn indiscriminately in rudimentary rows and columns. It was said only the two Fortresses of Constantine - The Golden Gate and the Gate of Gyrdimi - still stood. It was at the Golden Gate that the Byzantines would make their final stand.

As the sun assumed the heavy noon position, its rays shone down on the armored Byzantine troops. At least 500 Macemen had been mustered for this battle, the majority either veterans of previous battles or freshly conscripted men from surrounding villages. The prevailing thought behind the last stand, in the mind of the soldier, was that death by battle was much preferable to the starvation and disease rampant behind the fortress they now faced away from. Heavy cavalry regiments, bred from the finest horses in Byzantium, wore their glistening iron armor proudly, and hung at the wings of the medieval formation. The Pikemen were arranged in two lines, one behind each wing. Finally, Longbowmen wearing the Byzantine cross arrayed themselves in front of the Trebuchets mounted on the fortress and surrounding battlements. To the west, one could barely make out the Khmer soldiers and their unfamiliar weapons.

The Khmer, on the other hand, were in jovial spirits. Constantinople lay mostly in ruins, a consequence of the heavy bombardment and firebombing campaigns the week prior to this battle. Success had been reported in bringing down the final gates in the massive wall. It was rumored the Emperor himself may lead the battle. General Yasovarman, commander of the Eastern Front and head of Khmer CENTCOM stepped onto a podium to make one last speech.

"Men of the Khmer! It has been five long years filled with turmoil and chaos since we departed the city of Jerusalem for unfamiliar lands. In those five years, you have proven yourself worthy of being known as the toughest, most powerful combat divisions the world has ever known! However, we face one last battle. We face an enemy that is less powerful, less advanced, and less motivated than we are. However, do not forget that all that we do is in the name of our Emperor, and that any man fighting for his home will defend it to the last breath! This is the last battle we must fight; if we are victorious, the gods above will shower us with glory; if we are defeated, we will come home cowards and bring nothing but shame to our Empire! We will fight the Byzantines, and we shall WIN!"

Cheers broke out amongst the troops being rallyed. The general may not have been a speechmaker, but it is said that his words provided the charisma needed for the final push in the long war. Suddenly, a hush overtook the crowd.

A Gunship bearing the Khmer Coat of Arms, Imperial Flag, and the Khmer Banner slowly landed on the heli-pad near the podium. The members of the Khmer Imperial Guard present at the ceremony quickly ran to the area. They formed a row of statue-esque soldiers, with swords in the air, pointing up and touching the tip of the opposite weapon. One soldier stepped up smartly.

"ATTENTION!" All assembled soldiers snapped as straight as possible, spines, skulls, and legs in one line.

"It is my honor and privilege to announce the arrival of the God-King of the Khmer, and Glorious Leader of the People, our Emperor, Commander-in-Chief, and head of our government, SURYAVARMAN II!" A 12-artillery salute followed by 21 shots of a rifle echoed into the distance. An immense wave of noise swallowed the encampment, along with cheering and wild applause. The aged emperor raised one hand. Instantly, the noise stopped.

"I am proud to see the honor that you have brought this nation. To commemorate this, the inevitable 250th Khmer victory, I have agreed to lead the troops into battle!"

The battle plans for the next day were laid clear in front of the Emperor by his top generals. Sitting in a gilded blue tent set a ways into the forests around Constantinople, the team of military advisers surrounded the Emperor, seated around a small card table.

"My Liege. Our spies report that the Byzantine Cataphracts are positioned within the confines of the Gate. They have no chance of doing significant damage, but, if not eliminated, they may be able to cause some harm to our soldiers." Yasovarman stood, his index finger tracing the outline of the Golden Gate. "I humbly suggest that the 3rd Armored Division be used for that assault. Less glorious, to be sure, but a necessary task nonetheless."

The Emperor remained silent, slowly surveying the map. "General, inform me of this. Why can we not use our Infantry to clear out the Cavalry, while our Armored Divisions work on the real soldiers? That way, our Artillery regiments will be free to bombard the fortress, crushing it and allowing our forces to swoop in." The arranged generals stared at the Emperor.

"My liege!" A younger man kneeled, his head placed firmly at the feet of the Emperor. "That is brilliant!"

"I agree. Now that we know the battle plans, we can attack at dawn. Just one last question, my Liege. Which division do you wish to control?" The aged emperor surveyed his top general closely. He lifted a regal hand, and waved it in a sideways fashion.

"I? I will take a team of specialists into the city itself while our soldiers begin to swarm the streets. I will find Justinian I. And as your troops take control, he will be slain."

The city burned that night. As it had for the past week. The bucket brigades of captured Byzantine soldiers - nay, prisoners - had little effect. Refugees from the carnage in the city were said to have been granted asylum in Russia and the Viking Kingdoms. Miraculously, the few buildings to survive surrounded the magnificent Hagia Sophia. The famous church-turned-mosque-turned-Orthodox church had remained soot-free through the days of bombardment. Some regarded this as the hand of God, reaching down to protect what was now considered one of the last bastions of Christianity - Orthodox or otherwise. The Khmer soldiers saw this as the work of clever pilots; the officers had been heard commenting on the revenue this would bring the Empire.

As for the fate of the Byzantine Monarch? Rumors abounded that he had fled in the middle of the night with his children, wife, and most valuable possessions in a carriage, somehow evading the Khmer guards. In truth, a cousin now controlled the Summer Palace in Athens, the last Byzantine stronghold. Justinian the First was now being held in the brig of the HMS Suryavarman II, a destroyer the size of 2 wooden Frigates and the flagship of the formidable Khmer Navy.

Soldiers were already on the move; this time, in Transports to cut down on the transit to Athens. Most of the top brass had already moved west to New Spain, and the monarch himself had returned to his residence in Angkor Thom.

---------------------------------------------

"Peter." The name was spoken loud enough for the king to hear, soft enough to imply familiarity, harsh enough to provoke attention and respect.

"Elizabeth." The man rose from his throne as he spoke, both arms outstretched. He grasped the soft, pale hands in his rough palms, hardened from years of shipbuilding and tending to the Navies.

"My spies indicate that our mutual counterpart is being held in a brig."
"A sad state of affairs for a man whose military was as strong as the Arabs themselves." By now, both were sitting at a dining table, in a private room. Red tresses hung about the delicate shoulders of the female as she slowly sipped red wine from a glass. The man had a cautious air about him, evaluating everything about her.

"If this is true, Elizabeth, then it is time we drop pretenses and talk openly. We are one of the few nations in this earth that have not succumbed to Khmer might. To survive...we must join forces."

The State of the World

"And this, your Majesty, is the latest in a series of maps we have created to document the on going domination of the world by our Empire." A handsome young man stood in front of the most powerful man on earth, looking not the least afraid. Behind him and to the side stood two palace guards, holding a large paper with many colors and words on it: a map of the known earth.

"I see. I am surprised you have included the Byzantines on the map. They will be crushed within a weak. And to see them controlling Constantinople...one would be led to believe you empathize with Justinian I." The words were carefully controlled, with no hint of malevolence. However, they bespoke and underlying threat. The young man, no fool, seized on the opportunity.

"That is quite true my liege. However, while the presses were still running we received news of the toppling of Constantinople. Of course, our next edition will contain only blue...a testament to your grand leadership, of course."

"Good." The man on the throne gave a brush of his hand. "Then begone with you. I have other....more pressing matters to attend to." A deep bow, a rolling of parchment, and the young man was off. The king now straightened in his seat. "Now. Bring in the prisoner!"

Escorted by the Royal Guard was none other than Justinian himself.

A gash from lip to ear wept blood across his left cheek. His robes, once garnished with gold thread and the royal purples of Canaan now were dusty and bloodstained, soaked with sweat. Yet within his eyes remained a spark of defiance.

"You..." Each word was accompanied by a harsh gasp, each breath ragged and pained. "You...will...burn...in hell." The guards around him quickly unsheathed their swords; archaic, to be sure, but had a greater emphasis than the usage of new assault rifles.

Suryavarman II simply looked at him, a smile playing on his lips. He rose from his throne and sneered.

"My, how the mighty have fallen. It ill becomes you to appear like this before the new Emperor of Byzantium."

"I will never capitulate, and my people will never surrender!" Now the sneer turned into an angry grimace. The God-King stared his opponent in the eyes.

"Then, Justinian, they will all die." He turned around and made a gesture with his hand. The guards roughly pulled Justinian out the door, but not before he made one last comment.

"Suryavarman. You will never win. Your forces will be killed by Russians and English, Vikings and Aztecs, Incans and Arabians!"

"Don't you know? I have no care for my troops...I only care for my glory."

Slowly, Europe would fall.

Every year, it seemed, the drums of war marched on. The bright blue banner of the Khmer Army was now replaced with a flag painted on the side of sheet metal, yet the image remained pressed within the minds of those who had been conquered. The lords and knights who had been so mighty only decades before were now as poor and hungry as everyone else. The very fabric of their culture, their being...had been lost. Yet strangely, the lives of the Berliners, the Parisians, the New Spaniards, the Romans...all seemed to be getting just a bit better.

The first noticeable change was the lack of troops patrolling the streets. While the barracks were still occupied, and the occasional mechanical roar of a Tank could be heard, the normal click-clack of Khmer boots on cobblestone had gone away. Silently, the guards around the courthouses and markets and grocers had melted away into the crowd. Ah, yes, the crowd! For now, finally, were the city-dwellers allowed in full throng into the streets. Finally, the merchants were free to sell goods which originated in Christian lands. Finally, were children who had lived their lives in the gray years of Khmer occupation allowed a glimpse of what life had been like! Rumors began circulating - first at the wharves and gates, then to the markets, then to the sewing circles. It was said that the Khmer were being sent to the outer frontiers, to the Russian border. While the newspapers and radios were still tightly controlled by the Khmer soldiers who had brought them to Europe, and the news broadcasts were still run by the state-controlled media, there seemed very little that the garrisons could do about the flurry of "news" reports that had flooded the former capitals. Even relatively minor cities like Salzburg had experienced this.

The second change was the removal of guards from the royal palaces where the great kings of Europe - once rulers of the world - had resided. The monarchs were now allowed to throng with the people, instead of being in permanent house arrest. This did wonders for collective European morale...but the monarchs still rarely ventured outside, for the threat of anti-monarchy violence still reigned.

The third and final change was the release of many prisoners. Those presumed missing or dead for years were now being sent back into the world, allowed to experience that which they had missed and find their loved ones. Families, once torn apart, were now being placed carefully back together.

Yet some questioned these changes. They wondered if the Khmer was doing this just to brutally take it all back and wrench hope once more from Europe. Sure, the soldiers were gone...but they would be back soon. Sure, the markets were open...but as soon as the Empire stopped making a profit, it would all end. Sure, the prisoners were released...but make one false move and they would be back in jail. As the conversation of men slowly spread past the cities and into the farms, down the rivers and into the hills, past the woods and into the hamlets...there was one word in the air: Revolution!

Oh yeah! From Police State and Merchantism to something else.

Great Story!

"The truth is, my Empire is too vast for one man to rule alone. One man cannot be judge and jury, king and commander, spokesperson for the people and religious leader."

Suryavarman II spoke to the entire Empire, his speech televised around the world. His words were majestic in nature, magnified to over 10 times their true decibel by a microphone. The people stirred...was this the dawn of a new era? A story that would be handed down from generation to generation? The ethnic Khmer, Chinese, and Indians now were all loyal subjects of the Empire. However, unrest continued in the Western Provinces - Ghazni, France, Rome, Byzantium, Baghdad. After a short pause, after surveying the audience before him, the king opened his mouth to speak again.

"Thus, I have begun to introduce reforms in our governmental system. The people will elect their representatives to the government to a Parliament. This Parliament will enact laws to serve the people. The representatives will be organized into parties to include all political views. However, all laws enacted by this government must be approved by the Council of Twelve, led by the three Consuls." Murmurs grew. This was a radical departure from that which many had known for their entire lives.

"I will be the First Consul. The High Commander of the Armed Forces will be the Second Consul. The Third Consul will represent an independent judiciary. The other 9 members of the Council will be elected by the Parliament." Another elegant pause. Silence took the audience, as tense viewers waited to hear more. In the Western Provinces, silent prayers were evoked as people wondered if their cries for help had been heard.

"Finally, there will be a Constitution to rule the land. Any law must obey this Constitution, which will guarantee rights to all citizens and outline the basis for our government. By allowing this expansion of government, I know I can serve the people of the Khmer better, as their humble ruler, First Consul Suryavarman II!" A pause, a growing noise, then finally a standing ovation. Shouts of jubilation and praise mingled with the patriotic tunes of the Hanoi Symphony Orchestra seated behind the First Consul.

Impromptu street parties occurred throughout the Empire, the citizens of the Western Provinces skirting any regard for law and order as the tide of celebration swept them up.

So, anarchy as a result of intense happiness?

Anyway, amazing story.

The last of the great European Kingdoms would slowly crumble. The sound of armored vehicles, the whine of heavy machinery, and the great roar of artillery echoed across the English landscape. The Khmer Interior Ministry had drawn up new plans for great, bold new cities in England; the only major city to survive would be the northern city of Coventry; beyond that, all would be razed and the populations shifted. The first step was to take control of the acres chosen. That would be the task of one Major Ramachandran.

Years of toiling as one of the few non-corrupt Corporals in the Indian military had paid off for Vishnu Ramachandran. As the Khmer rolled through during the first century of Suryavarman II's reign, and the country was re-laid, the king had personally chosen officers from the conquered land to lead new recruits. It was a gracious gesture designed to show solidarity with the populace...and it had worked. The Indian population had warmed to their new rulers quickly, and harmony was re-established. It had helped that the conquerors and conquered shared a common religion. Slowly, through successful leadership and awarding of military honors in Operations Khyber (the Ghazni take-over) and Tripuranchati (the blitzkrieg to Jerusalem), he had been awarded the position of General. Now, at the age of 52, it was time for one final act of gratitude to the Empire which had given him so much.

The battle lines had been drawn, the men divided. The Major had command of one battalion of the Empire’s crack troops; 300 men who were willing to die for their nation. Hopefully, with their superior technology, it wouldn’t have to come to that. Three helicopter gunships flew patrols, monitoring the situation at hand. The center of the land the battalion was to defend was a small town and larger grazing areas. A tributary to the Thames flowed through, providing limited cover to the Marines that lurked there. The radio on the major’s vest crackled to life.

“Sir! We’ve completed preliminary reconnaissance!”
“Report.”

“We’re surrounded sir. First Company looks to be the bulk of these troops; our best estimate is roughly 1000 men, sir.” There was a pause. “That’s only First Company. The total enemy strength looks to be around 2500 men, 50 artillery – if you can call it that…cannons, by the looks of it – and a few horseback riders doing patrols.” The major gnashed his teeth. The odds were more than eight-to-one in the enemy’s favor. Hopefully some tactics could wipe them out.

“Where’s their command located?”

“They’ve set up rudimentary dirt defense around point Epsilon, sir. We believe their command to be situated atop the hill.”

“Good work. Have the rest of the patrol get back here.”

“Yes sir!” The crackled ended. The major rubbed his chin, thoughtfully gazing at the area around him. He had divided his men into 4 Companies, each with 75 men. Not much, but probably enough. Their mechanized strength was probably enough to take cover, and there were reports of a draft in the neighboring cities…if he was lucky, most of the soldiers would be green recruits, ready to flee at the sight of their advanced weaponry. The artillery was mostly with First Company, along with Ramachandran’s top lieutenants. He pulled out a chart, studied it, then hit a button on his radio.

“Lieutenant Shang, do you read, over?”

“Sir, we read you loud and clear. Over.”

“Okay, this is the plan. They have their command at point Epsilon. Prepare the men for some nice old STING. Ramachandran over and out.”

The Lieutenant considered the plan and looked over the area. It broke all technical rules of war, but they had to get the job done…
“Zhou, Qin, Li! Get into the Gunships, pronto!” The three pilots dropped everything, grabbed helmets and jumped into their seats. “Okay, I want three gunners in each Gunship. The major wanted hell….and that’s exactly what we’re gonna raise.”

At 0630 hours, the Gunships dusted off, their mechanical whine slowly growing quieter and quieter as they gained altitude and moved further and further away. It would be about 15 minutes before they reached point Epsilon, and in that time the troops would have to move. Shang had taken the risk of splitting up his company into roughly 3 platoons: each had about 20 men, the six remaining at Control including Shang and the top artillery operators. The range of these behemoths had expanded over the years, and with sufficient training by skilled operators, were like giant sniper rifles. The radio on Shang’s vest jumped.

“Red One, this is Green One. We have assumed our positions. It looks like the troops are still sleeping, sir.”

“Okay, good. You know the drill….make sure their command crew is dead before anything.”

“Yes sir!” The pilot turned around in her seat. “Okay boys, you got those tubes ready?” Her query was met with a sharp salute. The pilot turned on her radio again. “Green Two, Green Three, get ready for STING.”

“Yes ma’am.” The simultaneous accession was music to her ears.

At exactly 0645 hours, point Epsilon (known as Command Hill to the English) was rocked by heavy rocket fire. The white tents of the command were obliterated, and in the ensuing chaos it was estimated another dozen men were dead. If they were lucky, less experienced commanders (or none at all) would take the field. This was accompanied by a salvo of tank fire, blowing down the wooden picket lines and walls set up. The Tanks rumbled over the earthen defenses. Finally, rifle fire began responding, and a cannon or two was set off. This left dents in the armor of a few Tanks, but nothing noteworthy as First Company moved on. The infantry of the company quickly assumed positions as explosives were laid onto point Epsilon by the Gunships above. A final few shots, then the drop of the Gunships to a better altitude for weapons fire. The racketeers onboard dropped into the camp just as the gates were blown down and the troops rushed in. By now, at least half of the enemy troops were gone, and the rest were still blearily getting up and grabbing arms...easy pickings for trained soldiers. By 0850 hours, point Epsilon was routed, prisoners taken, and ammunition scrounged. The old ammo may not have worked so well with newer models, but it worked, and that was what counted.

Ramachandran sighed as he leaned back in a chair. First Company had won, and with it, the morale and command of the English had died. There were more matters to attend to, however. Whole regiments were said to be moving from the north to come here, but Admiral Sui was to take care of that. For now, there was nothing to do but mop up the rest of the mess.

"Hood." The word seemed to hang in the icy air as the pale lips closed around it.

"Your Majesty." The man bent, one knee on the stone below, the other leg perpendicular to it. His forehead was pressed low, nearly touching the cold cobblestone. The women atop the carved throne glared, then opened her mouth again.

"You have failed me, General." The words were calm, but her eyes bespoke a great anger. "It took only two weeks for those damned heathens to take all of England! We have only Dublin, and they are closing in!"

"My liege," He spoke quickly, attempting to explain himself out of the situation. "We did not expect the ferocity of the attack. Their winged machines brought great flames over the soldiers, and we were forced to retreat-"

"I know that, fool! I was there when Parliament got bombed!" Now the fury came. A phantom slowly took over the face as the red tresses shook with barely suppressed anger. The eyes were slits, the nostrils flared, the delicate eyebrows slanted in a dangerous V shape.

"We expected the Russians to come. Even the Vikings had promised aid. Yet..nothing." Hood looked up, searching for even a glimmer of remorse within the eyes that penetrated his soul.

He found none.

"Guards! Take this idiot away!" Two burly men slowly dragged Hood in the direction of the dungeon.

"No! No! Your Majesty! Please!" A heavy clank as the wooden doors opened and shut, then silence.

I'm considering just ending this story...my BTS went out of whack and doesn't work, Firaxis support sucks, so...whatever. I'm not sure how to finish this. Currently, there are the following Civilizations on the map:
Khmer, Russia, Vikings, French (vassal of Khmer), Holy Rome (vassal of Khmer), Spain (vassal of Khmer), Korea (vassal of Khmer), Japan, America (vassal of Khmer), Arabia, Mali, Aztec, Inca. A Conquest Victory would be nice, but would be hell to write about...ah well. Thoughts?

And lurkers, I don't care if you hate the story, at least comment!

This is a great story! Don't stop!