Capto Iugulum
- Thread starter EQandcivfanatic
- Start date
theDright
King
- Joined
- Dec 10, 2011
- Messages
- 605
Francesca glared and folded her arms across her chest. "I will not let you join in this folly; I forbid it!"
"Mother, I am not a child anymore; I can do what I please...and what I must" said Alberto. "Father has arranged for me to have a captaincy when conscription starts. I will not be the only Werther that has never fought in a war for his country."
"Mi hijo, es demasiado peligroso! No podía soportar perderte...
I doubt we will be called up anytime soon, and you needn't worry about my safety. We'll be well-supplied and among our allies if it ever comes to that. Now, come on, Father will be waiting for us. We will be late for his ball if we are not careful.
We mustn't do that...pero creo que se subestima el peligro.
I'll judge the dangers for myself, thank you. Let's GO.
Alberto and Francesca walked down the stairs, out of the Werther's Buenos Aires townhouse, and to the waiting automobile.
Juan, hurry. We need to get to Presidential mansion pronto. Father will be furious if he's delayed in his acceptance speech.
Si, Señor Alberto. If I might say so, Señor Alfred is the right man for the job, make no mistake.
Thank you, Juan. We can't let our allies fight against these tyrants alone can we?
No, no we can't señor.
"Mother, I am not a child anymore; I can do what I please...and what I must" said Alberto. "Father has arranged for me to have a captaincy when conscription starts. I will not be the only Werther that has never fought in a war for his country."
"Mi hijo, es demasiado peligroso! No podía soportar perderte...
I doubt we will be called up anytime soon, and you needn't worry about my safety. We'll be well-supplied and among our allies if it ever comes to that. Now, come on, Father will be waiting for us. We will be late for his ball if we are not careful.
We mustn't do that...pero creo que se subestima el peligro.
I'll judge the dangers for myself, thank you. Let's GO.
Alberto and Francesca walked down the stairs, out of the Werther's Buenos Aires townhouse, and to the waiting automobile.
Juan, hurry. We need to get to Presidential mansion pronto. Father will be furious if he's delayed in his acceptance speech.
Si, Señor Alberto. If I might say so, Señor Alfred is the right man for the job, make no mistake.
Thank you, Juan. We can't let our allies fight against these tyrants alone can we?
No, no we can't señor.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
Sardies Cannot Swim[1]
Waves crashed against the bow of the IMS Pedro I, flag ship of the Neapolitan Expedition. The world was now at war, and even those unopposed to the Brazilians were fighting amongst themselves for the scraps. The Sardinian hawks made demands on Admiral Buzatto, but Admiral Buzatto didn’t listen to Italians.
“Signal the fleet,” he sounded; voice aged but powerful, “Full steam ahead. Be damned if the Eye-ties’ll keep my boys tied up with a war going on.”
“Sir,” the signaler replied, saluting. He ran off to raise the flags, and within a minute the other ships were roaring at full speed.
They would run the Sardinian blockade, damned the odds, and flee south around the boot of Italy and into the Adriatic. Hotshot Sardinian admirals made demands by threat of force. Admiral Buzatto would deny them with force. A wall of ships is only as good as the men that command, and the Sardinians are cowards to the core.
“Never met a Sardy that could stand his own against a Brazilian,” the Admiral’s voice boomed in the bridge. “I’ll shove these 12 inch guns right up their ass.”
“Aye, aye sir!” roared the men on the bridge.
They left behind the safety of the Neapolitan harbor into the rough spring seas. Storms had raged across the peninsula in the last few weeks, making the seas choppier than usual, but a Brazilian warship feared nothing, especially water. They plowed full speed into the rising waves, white topped and rolling, for a solid three hours. The IMS Pedro I and Destruição, battleships of the Imperial Navy, sat center column, surrounded by cruisers and destroyers as they sailed.
Finally, a flag raised by the lead destroyer alerted the fleet. A light cruiser and escorts, a handful of destroyers by the spotters count.
“What are they playing at?” asked the second in command, Colonel Matos. “Is it a trap or are they really this stupid? I mean, I never took a Sardy to be intelligent by any means, but a few screens against a battle fleet? Who are they kidding?”
“I don’t think they knew what we were doing,” the admiral replied.
“So they thought we were sailing west? Running for Occitania or the straits?”
“They’re not the brightest sailors,” said the admiral, laughing.
“Think they’ll try and turn us back?”
“If they do they’re fools, more so than either of us could have dreamed possible.”
The Sardinians were fools. Without so much as a warning shot the Light Cruiser and her escorts, three ancient destroyers, made their move on the Brazilian fleet. The Trovao-class destroyers spread out, while the light cruisers defend the battleships. The speed advantage of the Brazilian screens against the Sardinians was immediately realized as the battle started. Sardinian ships opened fire, sending small cannon shells at the Brazilian battleships from afar, hoping they’d sink a capital ship.
“Hard to starboard,” the admiral barked. “Fire everything at the cruiser, signal the Destruição and tell them the same.”
The battle was over in a matter of moments. The 12 inch cannons of the two battleships struck the light cruiser, hitting their powder supply and exploding the ship into two halves. The waters about the wreckage were littered with bodies. All hands lost. The Brazilian destroyers outclassed the Sardinians in every way, they circled and sank two of the destroyers in a matter of ten minutes while the third Sardinian destroyer managed to hit one of the Trovao-class destroyers below the water line with a well-placed cannon shot. The men bailed overboard with minimal losses as the final Sardinian ship went down.
“We’re not cruel,” said Admiral Buzatto. “Send the destroyers to pick up survivors, we’ll take them as POWs and give them to the Hungarian army. We’ll send telegraph to Britain by way of Brandenburg when we get there. We’ll let them know the Sardies are working with the Frogs.”
---
[1] Citation not needed
Waves crashed against the bow of the IMS Pedro I, flag ship of the Neapolitan Expedition. The world was now at war, and even those unopposed to the Brazilians were fighting amongst themselves for the scraps. The Sardinian hawks made demands on Admiral Buzatto, but Admiral Buzatto didn’t listen to Italians.
“Signal the fleet,” he sounded; voice aged but powerful, “Full steam ahead. Be damned if the Eye-ties’ll keep my boys tied up with a war going on.”
“Sir,” the signaler replied, saluting. He ran off to raise the flags, and within a minute the other ships were roaring at full speed.
They would run the Sardinian blockade, damned the odds, and flee south around the boot of Italy and into the Adriatic. Hotshot Sardinian admirals made demands by threat of force. Admiral Buzatto would deny them with force. A wall of ships is only as good as the men that command, and the Sardinians are cowards to the core.
“Never met a Sardy that could stand his own against a Brazilian,” the Admiral’s voice boomed in the bridge. “I’ll shove these 12 inch guns right up their ass.”
“Aye, aye sir!” roared the men on the bridge.
They left behind the safety of the Neapolitan harbor into the rough spring seas. Storms had raged across the peninsula in the last few weeks, making the seas choppier than usual, but a Brazilian warship feared nothing, especially water. They plowed full speed into the rising waves, white topped and rolling, for a solid three hours. The IMS Pedro I and Destruição, battleships of the Imperial Navy, sat center column, surrounded by cruisers and destroyers as they sailed.
Finally, a flag raised by the lead destroyer alerted the fleet. A light cruiser and escorts, a handful of destroyers by the spotters count.
“What are they playing at?” asked the second in command, Colonel Matos. “Is it a trap or are they really this stupid? I mean, I never took a Sardy to be intelligent by any means, but a few screens against a battle fleet? Who are they kidding?”
“I don’t think they knew what we were doing,” the admiral replied.
“So they thought we were sailing west? Running for Occitania or the straits?”
“They’re not the brightest sailors,” said the admiral, laughing.
“Think they’ll try and turn us back?”
“If they do they’re fools, more so than either of us could have dreamed possible.”
The Sardinians were fools. Without so much as a warning shot the Light Cruiser and her escorts, three ancient destroyers, made their move on the Brazilian fleet. The Trovao-class destroyers spread out, while the light cruisers defend the battleships. The speed advantage of the Brazilian screens against the Sardinians was immediately realized as the battle started. Sardinian ships opened fire, sending small cannon shells at the Brazilian battleships from afar, hoping they’d sink a capital ship.
“Hard to starboard,” the admiral barked. “Fire everything at the cruiser, signal the Destruição and tell them the same.”
The battle was over in a matter of moments. The 12 inch cannons of the two battleships struck the light cruiser, hitting their powder supply and exploding the ship into two halves. The waters about the wreckage were littered with bodies. All hands lost. The Brazilian destroyers outclassed the Sardinians in every way, they circled and sank two of the destroyers in a matter of ten minutes while the third Sardinian destroyer managed to hit one of the Trovao-class destroyers below the water line with a well-placed cannon shot. The men bailed overboard with minimal losses as the final Sardinian ship went down.
“We’re not cruel,” said Admiral Buzatto. “Send the destroyers to pick up survivors, we’ll take them as POWs and give them to the Hungarian army. We’ll send telegraph to Britain by way of Brandenburg when we get there. We’ll let them know the Sardies are working with the Frogs.”
---
[1] Citation not needed
Haseri
Emperor
It was quite cool in the office, but Zygmunt Sokolsky was sweating profusely. A week and half's work was on the desk in front of him, done by his best people. It was being studied over by Mister Jeden. Sokolsky was doubtful that was his real name, and the man guessed he must be quite high up the... ladder of the civil service.
Mister Jeden was currently looking over what he thought was his best work. A Polish man, who looked strikingly similar to a younger King August, was holding up a shield emblazoned with the Polish Flag, defending against a crazed bear. Along side him were (admittedly slightly smaller) men with the Hungarian, Siberian and Georgian flags on their shields. They had their backs to Brandenburg, who was valiantly defending against hilariously racist caricatures of Confederate, Dutch and Danish soldiers. In the distance ("definately not small, just far away, I assure you") were the other Allies, fighting their battles. There was no line underneath, no slogan. Sokolsky hoped the image would be powerful enough.
There was a sigh of relief when Mister Jeden had finally nodded. "There are all very good, Mister Sokolsky. I especially like 'Niedźwiedź Żeruje Na Wątpliwości'. I am a little unsure of the industry one, however, the cogs are a little too close to proletarist symbology for my liking, considering this will be going up in factories..."
"Is it?" In all honesty, Sokolsky had no idea what proletarists were about, except that they were not to be trusted and that they wanted to kill the king. "Oh, well, then, I think it's time we... reclaimed the mighty cog as a symbol of the industry that will keep our mighty men on the front line from being overwhelmed. Why would we should we let traitors decide what symbols we can or can't use?" That little bit petered towards the end, but Mister Jeden cracked a smile.
"Indeed, Mister Sokolsky. Thank you for bringing me these samples. I shall see to it that they will be on every street corner by the end of the week. And I hope those fine minds at your little publishing house will keep making such wonderful pieces for us. The Polish Empire thanks you." They shook hands and the artist left. Just as Mister Jeden sat down, there was another knock at the door. "Enter."
It was another... government man. Mister Pięćdziesiąt Osiem, as far as anyone in the building was concerned. "Sir, I just wanted to get your signature on this order."
There was silence as the order was read. "I can't help but think Mister Dwa is out of his mind when he thinks we should be giving guns to proletarists, murders and other heinous criminals."
"No no, sir. They'll be special conscript brigades. Barely trained, apparently. And terribly equipped. Pure cannon fodder. Including some... 'Komisarze' he calls them, to keep them in line. Mostly our people 'transfering out'." There was a wince at the reference to budget cuts.
"At least we know they are trust-worthy then." Mister Jeden said glumly as he gave his signature. According the clock, Mister Jeden will officially stop existing for the night in half an hour. "That everything? Good. Good night, Mister Pięćdziesiąt Osiem."
"Good night, sir."
Mister Jeden was currently looking over what he thought was his best work. A Polish man, who looked strikingly similar to a younger King August, was holding up a shield emblazoned with the Polish Flag, defending against a crazed bear. Along side him were (admittedly slightly smaller) men with the Hungarian, Siberian and Georgian flags on their shields. They had their backs to Brandenburg, who was valiantly defending against hilariously racist caricatures of Confederate, Dutch and Danish soldiers. In the distance ("definately not small, just far away, I assure you") were the other Allies, fighting their battles. There was no line underneath, no slogan. Sokolsky hoped the image would be powerful enough.
There was a sigh of relief when Mister Jeden had finally nodded. "There are all very good, Mister Sokolsky. I especially like 'Niedźwiedź Żeruje Na Wątpliwości'. I am a little unsure of the industry one, however, the cogs are a little too close to proletarist symbology for my liking, considering this will be going up in factories..."
"Is it?" In all honesty, Sokolsky had no idea what proletarists were about, except that they were not to be trusted and that they wanted to kill the king. "Oh, well, then, I think it's time we... reclaimed the mighty cog as a symbol of the industry that will keep our mighty men on the front line from being overwhelmed. Why would we should we let traitors decide what symbols we can or can't use?" That little bit petered towards the end, but Mister Jeden cracked a smile.
"Indeed, Mister Sokolsky. Thank you for bringing me these samples. I shall see to it that they will be on every street corner by the end of the week. And I hope those fine minds at your little publishing house will keep making such wonderful pieces for us. The Polish Empire thanks you." They shook hands and the artist left. Just as Mister Jeden sat down, there was another knock at the door. "Enter."
It was another... government man. Mister Pięćdziesiąt Osiem, as far as anyone in the building was concerned. "Sir, I just wanted to get your signature on this order."
There was silence as the order was read. "I can't help but think Mister Dwa is out of his mind when he thinks we should be giving guns to proletarists, murders and other heinous criminals."
"No no, sir. They'll be special conscript brigades. Barely trained, apparently. And terribly equipped. Pure cannon fodder. Including some... 'Komisarze' he calls them, to keep them in line. Mostly our people 'transfering out'." There was a wince at the reference to budget cuts.
"At least we know they are trust-worthy then." Mister Jeden said glumly as he gave his signature. According the clock, Mister Jeden will officially stop existing for the night in half an hour. "That everything? Good. Good night, Mister Pięćdziesiąt Osiem."
"Good night, sir."
Good stories you two. Now, for those interested in a unique offer, I'm almost done with the Great War for the update. Now the update's ETA is looking 6-7 hours from now. For those who want a taste of the booming cannons of what could turn into the greatest naval battle of our time, contact me on AIM, and I'll do a play by play of what's actually happening with the great fleets in the North Atlantic.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
SWEET! Too bad Occitania doesn't have any Atlantic ports or ships.
Yet.
Yet.
I wish to hear about the naval battle, but need to....
-make dinner
-do apartment chores and cleaning
-pack bags for trip tonight/tomorrow/Saturday
Rats
But 6-7 hours ETA is FANTASTIC
OOC: Clearly not dedicated enough.
The waves broke against the British cliffs So this is it, hmm?
The entire fleet of Brandenburg was here, along with a considerable British attachment. Admiral Hans von Hansenburg took note of his ships supplies before the battle. Numerous rocks were gathered, and Gunnery Chief Hans Zreidberg had a fresh slingshot, ready to face the Continentals.
A massive Conteinental fleet had arrived; Von Hansenburg was worried. Would the British be enough support so that the day could be won? "Skipper, fetch me my white pants"
The wireless came to life with the British Admiral's voice "YOU SHALL NOT PASS"
---------------------------------------------------
The HMS Kaiserreich was in ruins; Von Hansenburg was desperately clutching to a piece of wood as a Dutch ship came closer. He desperately tried waving his pants, but there was too much blood-it could no longer be recognized for a tool of surrender.
"This is the end? Let this day go down in infamy as the greatest disaster of the German navy. But I promise. We shall rebuild"
The entire fleet of Brandenburg was here, along with a considerable British attachment. Admiral Hans von Hansenburg took note of his ships supplies before the battle. Numerous rocks were gathered, and Gunnery Chief Hans Zreidberg had a fresh slingshot, ready to face the Continentals.
A massive Conteinental fleet had arrived; Von Hansenburg was worried. Would the British be enough support so that the day could be won? "Skipper, fetch me my white pants"
The wireless came to life with the British Admiral's voice "YOU SHALL NOT PASS"
---------------------------------------------------
The HMS Kaiserreich was in ruins; Von Hansenburg was desperately clutching to a piece of wood as a Dutch ship came closer. He desperately tried waving his pants, but there was too much blood-it could no longer be recognized for a tool of surrender.
"This is the end? Let this day go down in infamy as the greatest disaster of the German navy. But I promise. We shall rebuild"
Gem Hound
Deity
*eats popcorn waiting to see if anyone chopped my head off yet simply because I'm here*
Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2009
- Messages
- 6,976
Brandenburg has a navy?
Gem Hound
Deity
I guess they threw one together.
Whelp, just started up again on the update after eating a delightful dinner. The Great War part of the update is over, working my way through the rest. There's approximately 25-some articles left to write. I'd really like this one to be at the top of a page, but won't shed tears if it isn't. If any of you have quality stories, this would be a good time to include it.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
A fishing boat, with an admiral, cook and 3 sailors which was then ran over by a Dutch ship
A fleeing British ship*
?
Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
*bump post to ensure EQ is first post on page 60*
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