The Great War - Redeux

[shady milkman]

A composite worldmap...certainly not a very good one, I made it in 20 minutes with ArcSoft Photostudio.

Teh Map

Now maybe you can see why the boys aren't gonna be very much help...

 

[Ranger99]

WOW! There's unclaimed land on that map!

it's not any good land but i'm surprised tha the AI hasn't takne, must not be anything good on it then.

 

[shady milkman]

There is; there's oil and incense on the desert island, but I've made it so desert and tundra can't be settled to make fights for oil more interesting. And several mountain-islands serve as platforms for my airstrips.

 

[Ranger99]

interesting, it seems like you've modded it big time in favor of more realistic modern warfare. Nice variations!

 

[shady milkman]

Yeah, I always do that. I also make resources permanently placed so you have to fight if you don't have them. I'm just not big on peace. In this particular game, I never had any native resources. I picked off larger opponents until I had what I wanted.

 

[Ranger99]

Ahh! That means that the screen that you gave us was from the editior right? 'cause there are no cities on it.

And one other question, did you get that whole continent to yourself, or did somebody else at one point sit on it? And what did everybody else's nations look like before you clobberred them?

 

[shady milkman]

Nope, I just did the "clear map" function thingy. The map is up to date.

I did not get the whole continent to myself. I started in the flood plains and dry area in the center of the continent. I was surrounded by civs on all sides and fought for the land.

 

[shady milkman]

Paris-Colliers International Airport
French Republic
October 22nd, 2053

​

Jean-Luc Belucheit dabbed at his brow with his silk tie and unbuckled his seatbelt as the stewardess came through the first-class cabin and told everyone they were taxiing into the terminal. Belucheit took a deep breath and closed his eyes meditatively, silently thanking God for his life. He hated flying; everything about it unnerved him. He knew that, statistically speaking, it was safer than the train or a car, but he still hated it. The idea that bothered him the most was that while planes crashed less than cars or trains, when they did crash they killed hundreds of people at a time.

Belucheit opened his eyes as the boarding ramp connected with a low thud, jostling the plane slightly. He looked up as the stewardess came back through.

“Monsieur Belucheit, we have arrived at the terminal. You may disembark now.”

Belucheit nodded thankfully and retrieved his briefcase from beneath his seat before standing and hurrying past the other first-class travelers, eager to be the first back on terra firma.

Security was easy; Belucheit was just one of the teeming thousands of French-Americans pouring into Colliers Airport. On order of Joan D'Arc, any French native that did not return to the motherland would be publicly executed when her armies conquered America. Needless to say, they came pouring back into the country in droves. He was well-treated; as a previously high-ranking member of the French government, he was revered practically as royalty. The name "Belucheit" conjured up images of a decorated war hero and Minister of Defense who had served his country proudly and been something of a crusader in the minds of his people. Even if he had not looked European, there was no way he would have been kept out of the country or even questioned at the security checkpoint like all the others.

Belucheit navigated through the terminal easily, finding the escalators down to the arrivals lane. Once there, he flagged a taxi and told the driver the address of his prepaid hotel. It felt good to be back at home.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

Cool. Thanks for the map. And the last chapter was great.
________
You described the americans as socialist. A left wing U.S. government is almost as hard to believe in as a communist one.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

Sorry if I offended anyone there.

 

[Ranger99]

Who'd you offend?

You see i;m politically incorrct in some moments and this is one of them...

But Keep up the good wwriting Shady milkman!

 

[Lord_Iggy]

I'm Canadian. Isn't it the stereotype that we're supposed to apologize whenever we offend the superpower to the south?

 

[Yellowbelly]

shady milkman
Welcome home - and please keepup this thread.

Lord Iggy
No, no, no! You apologise for being Canadian. The "superpower to the South" apologises to everyone else for everything else.

 

[shady milkman]

Sorry if I offended anyone there.

As a native Canadian and borderline radical leftist, I see no cause for apology.

 

[shady milkman]

Outside Port Regis NB, Philippine Islands
United States of America
October 25th, 2053

​

Captain Mark Tolliver allowed himself a fierce grin as he peered out through the eyepiece of the commander’s cupola, the thermal filter piercing the darkness and throwing the nighttime landscape into stark clarity. He watched the depleted-uranium shell trace up in a shallow parabola before streaking back down and rupturing the turret of a French tank, blasting the vehicle open and sending shrapnel and fragments of the crew flying in all directions. Tolliver swivelled the gunsight of the commander's cupola, scanning the area for any additional targets, but his kill count had been accurate. That would be the last of them.

It had been a vicious and drawn-out fight. Tolliver had decided to take his time, using the superior speed and armament of the M1 to slowly whittle away the poorly-equipped French armor division. The French tank crews had evidently been trained well, surpisingly so in Tolliver's mind, and they might have posed a challenge had they not been using vehicles that were almost old enough to be called ancient. Tolliver had ordered several ingenious blitzkrieg-style strikes and a few deftly-executed flanking maneuvers that left the cumbersome French T-19s in a confused, burning heap. Ultimately, it was a thorough rout, not even fit to be called a battle.

Tolliver slid out of the cradle straps and dropped down into the crew hatch, passing a quick nod to the driver before falling into his commander's seat. The driver turned and gunned the engine, and the tank fishtailed wildly before accelerating away in a spray of rocky mud, a course set for USMC Ranier.

​

 

[Lord_Iggy]

Ahh yes, between us fellow radical leftists, no insult exists. I just live in a tourist town though, and plenty of retired Americans don't like me pointing out that they're country seems to be drifting further and further to the right of the political spectrum. Then they don't buy stuff at our stores, swearing not to come back to the land of insulting people. Our little economy dries up, deprived of the seasonal influx of rich tourists. The city collapses into barbarism, as people fight desperately for the last supplies, for no one can afford food anymore and the truckers are afraid to come. The telecommunications building is invaded by the starving mob, who think it's a supermarket. I lose the internet connection, and the pillaging mob advances to my neighbourhood...

So I'd better quit when I'm ahead.

Anyway, great chapter. The first battle has been fought. Now, we need to here about the second. And third! And- *Angry mob enters house. Iggy flees to hide in a closet, which is, unfortunately, opened for it looks a pantry. Angry mob carries off Iggy, planning his escape.*

 

[shady milkman]

@ Lord Iggy - thanks! It shall not be the last...the citizens of the United States shall pray for your successful escape from that angry mob.

 

[shady milkman]

MoD Compound, Paris
French Republic
November 3rd, 2053

​

Jean-Luc Belucheit stepped from the Ritz Hotel private taxi and handed a US twenty to the driver. The man eyed him suspiciously for a moment before thanking him profusely. US currency was highly valued in France, a rather strange fact considering the hate for everything American that was so deeply ingrained in the minds of most French citizens.

As the taxi pulled back onto the boulevard, doing a wild U-turn that nearly t-boned a courier truck and earned a torrent of profanity from the driver, Belucheit stood for a moment on the sidewalk, looking up through the thick iron bars of the Ministry gates. It was a huge slab of concrete and reinforced steel, built in the classic French pseudo-modern architectural style. It was rather an attractive building in its own way, and one in which thousands of the most delicate French military secrets passed every day. Belucheit took a swig from a tiny bottle of Smirnoff he had acquired from the Ritz’s minibar, calming his buzzing nerves, and produced a cell phone from his jacket pocket. He dialed a twelve-digit international number and waited for a moment. Finally, someone picked up, but even then it took several seconds for the encryption to stabilize.

“….you hear me now?”

“I hear you. Is this Axis?”

“It is. Is this Whitehall?”

Belucheit chuckled. Obviously this was a test; Whitehall had died years before in Allegheny and was now something of a legend in the trade. If he was to say that he was, in fact, Whitehall, swarms of undercover US government agents would doubtless descend on him in a matter of minutes.
“This is Juno. I’m at the big house, the meeting is scheduled. Proceed?”

“With extreme caution. Your mission cannot be compromised.”

“Understood.”

Belucheit slapped the phone shut and tucked it carefully in his jacket pocket, then straightened his tie and pressed the buzzer on the intercom next to the gate. A tinny voice came through the speaker immediately.

“Oui?”

“Oui, c’est monsieur Belucheit. Arrivè para monsieur Senoui.”

The voice fell silent, and Belucheit felt a churning in his stomach as the familiar fear of capture returned. Even though he was used to it, having been in similarly dangerous situations more times than he could count, he could never ignore the feeling. Finally, after nearly a full minute of silence, the voice returned, but this time in English, and with an audible tone of reverence.

“Good afternoon, Mister Belucheit. Minister Senoui is awaiting your arrival in his office.”

 

[shady milkman]

Just time for the next installment of Jean-Luc's little meeting before I leave for the night...

Office of Raul Senoui, Ministry of Defense, Paris
French Republic
November 3rd, 2053​

Jean-Luc Belucheit sat in a plush velour bucket chair, the light tinkle of classical music and ice on glass playing a soothing melody in his ears. It was strange, he thought, that he was calmest now, when he was in great danger of being discovered. He was almost literally in the lion’s den, and yet he was sitting here, enjoying small talk and a smooth Parisian brandy. As he listed to Raul Senoui talk about the upcoming French Senatorial elections, Belucheit chuckled inwardly and wondered how he could have been so nervous on the plane.

“…anyway, Jean-Luc, the point is that things are getting very interesting in this job lately. I would feel sorry that you had vacated it all those years ago had I not obtained the position myself.”

Belucheit sat forward slightly.
“Interesting? How so? That is, besides the war and all. I imagine that’ll make it very, ah…’interesting’ around here.”

“Ahh, Jean-Luc…I should not say. But you are an old friend, and a trusted agent of France. So why not?”

Belucheit almost exploded with laughter at this; “an agent of France.” Quite the opposite, old friend.

“You see, Jean-Luc…I am being integrated into the command instead of merely overseeing the Ministry, as past Ministers such as yourself have done. In fact, a certain Rene Collet, General of the Army, is supplying me with some rather interesting military information sometime in the near future as a symbol of the integration. I will overlook it and perhaps make some revisions on the allocation of our military.”

Belucheit could barely contain his excitement. He set his glass down on the low coffee table, sat back, and lit a cigar.
“Really? I never did anything like that when I had this job. Military plans, you say?”

Senoui’s eyes flashed briefly, and Belucheit felt the familiar churning in his stomach again. But Senoui merely stared for a moment, then got up to pour himself another brandy.
“Oui, Jean-Luc, and the transition was originally meant to be very subdued. I was only going to be involved with future planning, as opposed to being allowed the chance to oversee current affairs, the plans for the war and all. However, I am more closely involved simply because I am Joan D’Arc’s second cousin.” Senoui cast his eyes up thoughtfully, then raised his glass and smiled. “Twice removed.”

“How quickly the world changes, eh, Raul?” Belucheit rose from his chair and offered a hand to his old friend. “I’m sorry, but I must leave. I have many people to visit before I leave the city.”

Senoui took Belucheit’s hand and shook vigorously.
“You’re leaving Paris already? Where to?”

“I was thinking Marseilles.”

“Ah! Wonderful city. Anyway, it was good to see you again, Jean-Luc. And an excellent brandy you brought me, my friend. I had heard the mini-bars at the Ritz were well-equipped, but now I am thinking I might have to stay there and get my hands on some of their liquor.” Senoui sighed and checked his watch. “Good lord! I have business as well. I believe you can find your way to the door. And come back any time, I would enjoy another visit.”

After promising that he would, he turned and left Senoui alone. As he walked down the corridor to the main lobby, Belucheit smiled to himself at the irony of Senoui’s words. Soon, old friend. Soon.

 

[Ranger99]

interesting America -VS- France... guess who's gonna win? (Complete and totla Sarcasm)