Crezth
i knew you were a real man of the left
And now, the long awaited (ha! ha!) Part IX of the Ryan Amedeus saga.
And so Oxford made the acquaintance of war and horror.
Ryan and the most trusted members of the Parrrtee (as pronounced so eloquently by Simon) stood atop a tower at one end of the city, an end closest to the city walls which stood proud and erect, facing the slowly approaching forces of the military. It was truly an impressive sight: the titan steam machines towering above the much less impressive ragged bunch of peasants forced into service. The expressions on Ryan's comrades' faces quickly went sour, and the extent of Simon's social engineering became apparent when one of them mumbled aloud "Gawd damn bourgeousie, oppressin' agin."
Ryan set aside his telescope, and quickly everyone else followed suit. When he again put it to his eye, his followers repeated the motion. Ryan didn't notice this, and neither did Simon.
Though that might be because Simon was addressing the men below.
"And now, all we have built, that which we have built together, as a whole, will come crashing down at the whim of the greatest oppressor I in my lifetime have ever seen!" roared Simon to a belligerent crowd, which roared back in hate and disgust for Parliament (controlled by bourgeousie), the Prime Minister (a bourgeousie), and the military (right hand of the bourgeousie).
"We stand at a terrific crossroads, for never before in the hist'ry of man have the workers come so close to realizin' the dreams of a truly free and equal paradise!" His Scotan brogue broke through his words with every pronunciation, and lent extra weight to his speech as he rolled his 'r's and stressed every syllable.
"And now, we have a chance to secure our destiny as a perrrmanent realization of the paradise - but for the goddamned bourgeousie, who stand just over that ridge, prepared to kill you to preserve the value of their bloody pound currency!"
It is conceivable I could go through all of his speech, but it is more or less the same all the way through. All which is necessary knowledge on your part is to realize that the crowd roared with approval at his angry words, and by the end they were very much a... revolutionary pack of Commies.
Ryan and his company set up a base of operations at the height of the tower, and began poring over maps of the area surrounding Oxford. Many of the individuals here had never before seen a map, let alone commanded an army into battle, yet now was the time for leadership, and there was no time to be stingy with the generals. Ryan had Simon assemble those men most inclined to be military strategists, and they were invited to the conference to join Ryan and the rest of the higher-ups (though they never called themselves such).
As the group sat thinking, pushing crupe sticks across the map, half of them not an idea in the head, it became obvious to Ryan that they didn't stand a chance. Notwithstanding the inferior military capability of Oxford, the only leverage they could possibly have would be some sort of military prodigy. The people of Oxford were by no means outnumbered, but they were certainly outgunned: the only thing these individuals had in the way of heavyweaponry were the great Ryanbot Mk III Steam-operated Sentry Turrets, the latest in the Ryanbot series, and were simply called "Turrets" by most individuals - at Ryan's behest
To develop the Turrets, Ryan drew inspiration from a source he had never much reliance in before but pressure required him to consider. Returning information from the black ice experiments turned up some interesting side-effects in the study of gunpowder, and soon an entire research division (not saying much) was devoted to the development of gunpowder as Ryan decided to change the focus of the Ryanbot to use rifles. The Ryanbot Mk II was still being produced, but simply because with some refinement the Ryanbot Mk II-and-a-half could pierce five centimeters of steel. The punch in the Mk II greatly overshadowed the measly "pock" produced by the Mk III, and so the Mk III designs were scrapped and replaced with ideas of heavy artillery. Drawing from Steamhulk designs salvaged from captured trains, the Mk III sported a hefty cannon and a much larger chassis than the Mk II, and could fire an (expensive) explosive shell up to 100 yards. Naturally the biggest problem with the Mk III was logistics, and so, for close-range defense the Mk II and its 25 yard range was happily employed. At least the Mk II did not require a crew of three men to operate it, and it ran solely on lack of red.
The generals' meeting quickly devolved into a competition of inadequacy as it became abundantly clear that none of them had the slightest idea of what they were doing. Ryan, in frustration, expelled the worst of it, leaving only four general potentates - the ones who had shown the most common sense of the lot.
"I believe," began one of the generals who, for an entirely curious reason, was Rossovoyan (the history of his life is generally not a topic he engages readily in conversation), "That ve should vocus on securing ze vall, and use de Turrets to shell ze enemy pozicion."
Ivan Petrovsky's voice was low, slow, and heavily accented, and the less... tolerant of the higher-ups wrinkled their noses. Ryan, however, was always fascinated by other cultures - for better or for worse - and Petrovsky was no exception. Had Simon been on the scene, his keen eye would have determined the dissenters among Ryan's entourage, and had them removed from command posthaste. This was a trend increasingly becoming noticed among the Inner Party members and many individuals came to fear Simon for his decisive actions in ensuring that the Party and, indeed, all of Oxford remained true to the ideals of equality for all: and that meant, to Simon, treating Rossovoyans the same as Rabbiyans or Eirians or Anglicans.
Petrovsky, upon being asked to proceed by one of the Inner Party, continued with a surprisingly eloquent plan of defense. Petrovsky's plan was safe, to be sure, and would probably minimalize casualties, but it meant a lengthy siege and there were no provisions for protecting the mines to the north with anything more than the defenses already staged there. Petrovsky was just about to go into detail on how to protect the mines, when suddenly another general interjected.
"Unacceptable," said Thomas Jackson, in every sense of the word a WASP, "We need an audacious plan to strike at the heart of the enemy's forces. What would a Rossovoyan like yourself know abou-"
Ryan interrupted.
"Petrovsky, continue."
Jacksan stared hotly at Ryan, who stared back. A tension rose in the room and Ryan's entourage all stared at Jackson. Petrovsky was too cowed to continue and Ryan, who shrugged, turned to Jackson.
"As you were saying?"
And the tension fell, just like that. How curious! Thought a third, perceptive general. How curious that the whim of Ryan should hold so much meaning for these once commoners!
And so each general proposed their plans for the defense of the city. Petrovsky and his defense doctrine, Jackson and his aggressive strategy, the perceptive Rutledge and his desires for compromise between the two, and the erratic Greene and his idea of a multitude of small, quick assaults designed to break apart enemy forces. Apart from Greene's, all ideas were taken into consideration and the entourage as a whole rejected Greene's ideas wholly.
Ryan, however, wished to speak to Greene privately.
"Greene - it is Greene? - I was fascinated by your proposal."
"I, uh," Nathan Greene nearly forgot himself, "Thank you, Mr. - er, Comrade Amedeus."
Ryan paid his response no nevermind and continued as if Greene had said nothing. "I'm considering using you in my new air force... your strategies would be well-served for the new lightweight Amedean."
Greene was speechless. "Comrade, is such an honor not better bestowed upon one of the other generals? I am not as esteemed as they."
"And it is for that reason why you must lead the Amedeans into battle. I know you can't fly, but you have a profound understanding of guerilla tactics, which the new Amedean is best suited for."
"But sir," said Greene, forgetting proper Party formality, "Why didn't you mention this during the meeting?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise," he remarked noncommitally, "You will have the best pilot I've ever seen at the helm of the air force. You need say the word and your strategies can be laid out flat."
"But..."
"Rendezvous at the air field. You know where it is... and good luck."
With that Ryan joined his entourage to address his people, and Greene was shocked, confused, and green.
The horizon's blackened quality soon became the result of the black smoke rising from the ochre machines of war which stomped towards Oxford with the sole intent of annihilating the inhabitants. The Steamhulks were brilliant engines of destruction, and a symbol of how far ahead the technology of killing had surged. Accompanied by a multitude of other steam-based weapon, these tread-travelling travesties promised victory for their side, and it must have been a strange thing to walk alongside the iron beasties with nothing but a musket - if that - and the clothes on your back. Also, a bit of hardtack... standard issue.
Just in the knick of time, Simon tracked down Kate and urged her to take part.
"Lis'en," he assured her, "I know 'ow the folks of this city have some old and t'rrible prejudices, but that aside, there's a cause far grea'er than this upon us. We've already provided you with ample bombs... incend'ary, high-explosive... return to air base for refuelling and reloading. This lot here knows a wee bit about flying these buggers, but if you could give them a crash course in the basics, it'd help tremendously. They know some of the stuff, but we can't afford to split 'airs right now, and we can't tell you 'ow much we appreciate it, truly."
A dense silence fell over the air as the citizens gripped their newly issued swords and crossbows and muskets. Special Ryan-brand muskets were what the best of them got, and their most powerful weapon was their zealousy. The calm settled over the crowd, as from the walls watched the people of Oxford, and the turrets loaded their rounds and set their sights.
"Adjust pivot 45 degrees... maneuver angle 30 minutes..."
The deafening BOOM of a Ryanbot Mk III meant the start of the battle of Oxford.
Yes, I know, Williams orchestrated the battle up to the breach of the wall of Oxford, but I wanted to set up exactly how well Oxford was defended. Not very, evidently, with the Mk IIIs, IIs, and the Amedeans the only things the Oxford people can utilize to their advantage.
I intended to include a bit about Blacktyde's army approaching over the hill to save the day, but aside from being cliche I figured I didn't want to play the battle out like that in such a broad, sweeping way, so I'll leave it open to Iggy's interpretation (assuming Blacktyde does indeed show up) to be fair.
Also, I realize there may be some dissatisfaction over the method in which Ryan gained power and the direction the new Oxford is taking. So I've organized this short, optional expose into WHY exactly Oxford is turning into an Orwellian nightmare and WHY exactly communist ideals are taking root in the heads of the Oxfordians.
Peace.
And so Oxford made the acquaintance of war and horror.
Ryan and the most trusted members of the Parrrtee (as pronounced so eloquently by Simon) stood atop a tower at one end of the city, an end closest to the city walls which stood proud and erect, facing the slowly approaching forces of the military. It was truly an impressive sight: the titan steam machines towering above the much less impressive ragged bunch of peasants forced into service. The expressions on Ryan's comrades' faces quickly went sour, and the extent of Simon's social engineering became apparent when one of them mumbled aloud "Gawd damn bourgeousie, oppressin' agin."
Ryan set aside his telescope, and quickly everyone else followed suit. When he again put it to his eye, his followers repeated the motion. Ryan didn't notice this, and neither did Simon.
Though that might be because Simon was addressing the men below.
"And now, all we have built, that which we have built together, as a whole, will come crashing down at the whim of the greatest oppressor I in my lifetime have ever seen!" roared Simon to a belligerent crowd, which roared back in hate and disgust for Parliament (controlled by bourgeousie), the Prime Minister (a bourgeousie), and the military (right hand of the bourgeousie).
"We stand at a terrific crossroads, for never before in the hist'ry of man have the workers come so close to realizin' the dreams of a truly free and equal paradise!" His Scotan brogue broke through his words with every pronunciation, and lent extra weight to his speech as he rolled his 'r's and stressed every syllable.
"And now, we have a chance to secure our destiny as a perrrmanent realization of the paradise - but for the goddamned bourgeousie, who stand just over that ridge, prepared to kill you to preserve the value of their bloody pound currency!"
It is conceivable I could go through all of his speech, but it is more or less the same all the way through. All which is necessary knowledge on your part is to realize that the crowd roared with approval at his angry words, and by the end they were very much a... revolutionary pack of Commies.
Ryan and his company set up a base of operations at the height of the tower, and began poring over maps of the area surrounding Oxford. Many of the individuals here had never before seen a map, let alone commanded an army into battle, yet now was the time for leadership, and there was no time to be stingy with the generals. Ryan had Simon assemble those men most inclined to be military strategists, and they were invited to the conference to join Ryan and the rest of the higher-ups (though they never called themselves such).
As the group sat thinking, pushing crupe sticks across the map, half of them not an idea in the head, it became obvious to Ryan that they didn't stand a chance. Notwithstanding the inferior military capability of Oxford, the only leverage they could possibly have would be some sort of military prodigy. The people of Oxford were by no means outnumbered, but they were certainly outgunned: the only thing these individuals had in the way of heavyweaponry were the great Ryanbot Mk III Steam-operated Sentry Turrets, the latest in the Ryanbot series, and were simply called "Turrets" by most individuals - at Ryan's behest
To develop the Turrets, Ryan drew inspiration from a source he had never much reliance in before but pressure required him to consider. Returning information from the black ice experiments turned up some interesting side-effects in the study of gunpowder, and soon an entire research division (not saying much) was devoted to the development of gunpowder as Ryan decided to change the focus of the Ryanbot to use rifles. The Ryanbot Mk II was still being produced, but simply because with some refinement the Ryanbot Mk II-and-a-half could pierce five centimeters of steel. The punch in the Mk II greatly overshadowed the measly "pock" produced by the Mk III, and so the Mk III designs were scrapped and replaced with ideas of heavy artillery. Drawing from Steamhulk designs salvaged from captured trains, the Mk III sported a hefty cannon and a much larger chassis than the Mk II, and could fire an (expensive) explosive shell up to 100 yards. Naturally the biggest problem with the Mk III was logistics, and so, for close-range defense the Mk II and its 25 yard range was happily employed. At least the Mk II did not require a crew of three men to operate it, and it ran solely on lack of red.
The generals' meeting quickly devolved into a competition of inadequacy as it became abundantly clear that none of them had the slightest idea of what they were doing. Ryan, in frustration, expelled the worst of it, leaving only four general potentates - the ones who had shown the most common sense of the lot.
"I believe," began one of the generals who, for an entirely curious reason, was Rossovoyan (the history of his life is generally not a topic he engages readily in conversation), "That ve should vocus on securing ze vall, and use de Turrets to shell ze enemy pozicion."
Ivan Petrovsky's voice was low, slow, and heavily accented, and the less... tolerant of the higher-ups wrinkled their noses. Ryan, however, was always fascinated by other cultures - for better or for worse - and Petrovsky was no exception. Had Simon been on the scene, his keen eye would have determined the dissenters among Ryan's entourage, and had them removed from command posthaste. This was a trend increasingly becoming noticed among the Inner Party members and many individuals came to fear Simon for his decisive actions in ensuring that the Party and, indeed, all of Oxford remained true to the ideals of equality for all: and that meant, to Simon, treating Rossovoyans the same as Rabbiyans or Eirians or Anglicans.
Petrovsky, upon being asked to proceed by one of the Inner Party, continued with a surprisingly eloquent plan of defense. Petrovsky's plan was safe, to be sure, and would probably minimalize casualties, but it meant a lengthy siege and there were no provisions for protecting the mines to the north with anything more than the defenses already staged there. Petrovsky was just about to go into detail on how to protect the mines, when suddenly another general interjected.
"Unacceptable," said Thomas Jackson, in every sense of the word a WASP, "We need an audacious plan to strike at the heart of the enemy's forces. What would a Rossovoyan like yourself know abou-"
Ryan interrupted.
"Petrovsky, continue."
Jacksan stared hotly at Ryan, who stared back. A tension rose in the room and Ryan's entourage all stared at Jackson. Petrovsky was too cowed to continue and Ryan, who shrugged, turned to Jackson.
"As you were saying?"
And the tension fell, just like that. How curious! Thought a third, perceptive general. How curious that the whim of Ryan should hold so much meaning for these once commoners!
And so each general proposed their plans for the defense of the city. Petrovsky and his defense doctrine, Jackson and his aggressive strategy, the perceptive Rutledge and his desires for compromise between the two, and the erratic Greene and his idea of a multitude of small, quick assaults designed to break apart enemy forces. Apart from Greene's, all ideas were taken into consideration and the entourage as a whole rejected Greene's ideas wholly.
Ryan, however, wished to speak to Greene privately.
"Greene - it is Greene? - I was fascinated by your proposal."
"I, uh," Nathan Greene nearly forgot himself, "Thank you, Mr. - er, Comrade Amedeus."
Ryan paid his response no nevermind and continued as if Greene had said nothing. "I'm considering using you in my new air force... your strategies would be well-served for the new lightweight Amedean."
Greene was speechless. "Comrade, is such an honor not better bestowed upon one of the other generals? I am not as esteemed as they."
"And it is for that reason why you must lead the Amedeans into battle. I know you can't fly, but you have a profound understanding of guerilla tactics, which the new Amedean is best suited for."
"But sir," said Greene, forgetting proper Party formality, "Why didn't you mention this during the meeting?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise," he remarked noncommitally, "You will have the best pilot I've ever seen at the helm of the air force. You need say the word and your strategies can be laid out flat."
"But..."
"Rendezvous at the air field. You know where it is... and good luck."
With that Ryan joined his entourage to address his people, and Greene was shocked, confused, and green.
The horizon's blackened quality soon became the result of the black smoke rising from the ochre machines of war which stomped towards Oxford with the sole intent of annihilating the inhabitants. The Steamhulks were brilliant engines of destruction, and a symbol of how far ahead the technology of killing had surged. Accompanied by a multitude of other steam-based weapon, these tread-travelling travesties promised victory for their side, and it must have been a strange thing to walk alongside the iron beasties with nothing but a musket - if that - and the clothes on your back. Also, a bit of hardtack... standard issue.
Just in the knick of time, Simon tracked down Kate and urged her to take part.
"Lis'en," he assured her, "I know 'ow the folks of this city have some old and t'rrible prejudices, but that aside, there's a cause far grea'er than this upon us. We've already provided you with ample bombs... incend'ary, high-explosive... return to air base for refuelling and reloading. This lot here knows a wee bit about flying these buggers, but if you could give them a crash course in the basics, it'd help tremendously. They know some of the stuff, but we can't afford to split 'airs right now, and we can't tell you 'ow much we appreciate it, truly."
A dense silence fell over the air as the citizens gripped their newly issued swords and crossbows and muskets. Special Ryan-brand muskets were what the best of them got, and their most powerful weapon was their zealousy. The calm settled over the crowd, as from the walls watched the people of Oxford, and the turrets loaded their rounds and set their sights.
"Adjust pivot 45 degrees... maneuver angle 30 minutes..."
The deafening BOOM of a Ryanbot Mk III meant the start of the battle of Oxford.
Yes, I know, Williams orchestrated the battle up to the breach of the wall of Oxford, but I wanted to set up exactly how well Oxford was defended. Not very, evidently, with the Mk IIIs, IIs, and the Amedeans the only things the Oxford people can utilize to their advantage.
I intended to include a bit about Blacktyde's army approaching over the hill to save the day, but aside from being cliche I figured I didn't want to play the battle out like that in such a broad, sweeping way, so I'll leave it open to Iggy's interpretation (assuming Blacktyde does indeed show up) to be fair.
Also, I realize there may be some dissatisfaction over the method in which Ryan gained power and the direction the new Oxford is taking. So I've organized this short, optional expose into WHY exactly Oxford is turning into an Orwellian nightmare and WHY exactly communist ideals are taking root in the heads of the Oxfordians.
Spoiler :
Peace.
. If someone had read the last story, then they could assume what the (crude) invention was.
