Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
This is my first post in this forum. Apologies in advance if this doesn't compare to the epics I've been reading and enjoying here.
Prince level, continents, standard game length, Rome.
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The war was, at long last, over.
The Roman Legions had done their duty. They had conquered Spain and had made her into a Roman province. Six cities had been captured, including the founding cities of Buddhism (Madrid) and Judaism (Barcelona). An entire continent now belonged to the Roman empire, its splendid isolation ensuring a firm foundation for further growth.
The cost had been heavy. Many good men had been lost, scientific research had been delayed, and the economy was nearly ruined. Now, however, workers could safely scurry hither and yon, building cottages that would turn more and more lucrative with the passage of time. Roman cities turned from building military units to building courthouses and other improvements.
Time passed. The Spanish citizens gradually accepted their fate and came to regard themselves as Roman. The empire became huge and prosperous, advancing far beyond the other civilizations with whom it now had contact and trade agreements. Egypt and the Aztec empire were closest, sharing one continent to Rome's south, while Russia, Mali, and Mongolia shared another, its closest shore to Rome's east. These other nations' close borders limited one another's growth. Tensions rose and threatened to rise to the full boil of war. They all looked upon Rome's large, advanced, and wealthy empire, on its isolated continent, with envy.
And one leader grew too envious for his own good.
Rome's veterans had settled into the empire's cities. They had not upgraded their now-antiquated equipment, even after the wonders of gunpowder and rifling had been discovered. There seemed little need; everyone knew the might of Rome. Who would dare attack? There was also, perhaps, a certain sentimentality rife in the empire that grew strongest when watching the local garrison, their armor and swords shining in the sun, marching through town on national holidays. Still, Caesar had wisely set aside funds for quick military upgrades, should they become necessary--a good thing, as they soon were.
The millenium-long peace of Rome was shattered by the sudden clarion call of war trumpets. Peter the Great himself delivered the terse declaration of war during an impromptu state visit.
"Time for you to die, Caesar," he sneered, then turned on his heel and stormed off.
No sooner had Peter left the Roman palace than three galleons, accompanied by frigates, appeared off the coast near Barcelona. Shocked and fearful citizens watched in alarm as the forces came ashore: several knights, a single unit of riflemen, and war elephants, which would have appeared exotic, even romantic, had the situation not been so dire.
Peter had, no doubt, taken the romantic retention of Praetorian city defenders as a sign of weakness. Capturing the city of Barcelona and its holy shrine must have appeared too tempting and easy a prize to pass up.
But he had badly miscalculated. The Roman leader acted swiftly; Peter may have seized the initiative, but he had already made his move when he put his forces on Roman soil. Now it was Rome's turn.
The stockpiles of gold in the treasury were quickly converted into war materiel. Overnight, Praetorians became Riflemen, Horse Archers and Knights became Cavalry. The nearby metropolis of Madrid had become Rome's military centre, and it devoted itself to building even more forces.
As Barcelona was quickly reinforced with suddenly-modern and powerful forces, the Russians set about plundering its countryside, pillaging a town, a wheatfield, and a mine. The Romans let the invaders waste their time looting and burning; the countryside's improvements could be rebuilt. The Russian troops, on the other hand, would soon be quite another story.
The Roman forces took to the field outside of Barcelona. Ancient catapults, last used in the Spanish campaign but proudly maintained these many years, were dusted off and saw their last action, causing minor, but exploitable, collateral damage before succumbing to enemy counter-attacks. Then the Roman Cavalry attacked their weakened opponents. Russian Knights, their armour gleaming in the sun, were no match for the fast-moving cavalry and their rifles, bullets whizzing and piercing out-dated armour at close range. The War Elephants trumpeted angrily and charged, but also fell to the Cavalry's superior modern weaponry. Even the lone Russian rifleman unit fell to the Cavalry onslaught, who grew more confident with every battle.
At last, all the attackers were defeated. Barcelona and the rest of the Roman Empire breathed a sigh of relief. But Caesar knew that thought the Battle of Barcelona had been won, the war was far from over. Russia could still extend its malevolent hand across the ocean to pillage Roman lands. Such malice would not be tolerated.
Madrid now changed from training land units to building ships: powerful frigates, filled to overflowing with ship-shattering cannon. Once a veritable armada had been assembled, it set sail eastwards across the ocean. Roman caravels, centuries before, had been the first to circumnavigate the globe. The nautical skills of Rome's ancient mariners had been handed down through the generations, making Roman ships faster than any others in the world. The fleet travelled swiftly, in a wide swath, expecting to discover and sink a second wave of Russian ships.
But the second wave did not appear. Caesar smiled smugly, knowing exactly why Peter had been unable to launch a second attack.
The Malinese Empire, which occupied the southern half of the continent it shared with Russia, had become a close friend and trading partner of the Roman people. Even though Mali shared the faith of Hinduism with Russia, Mansa Musa, the Malinese leader, agreed to go to war with Russia on Rome's side. His borders with Russia chafed the astute, thoughtful Malinese king, and Rome's gold would further finance his beloved scientific research. Or so he thought; Caesar had plans to get every coin back, but that would come later.
Outside Novgorod, three Roman frigates--the Ajax, the Aeneas, and the Achilles--found a lone Russian frigate guarding a rich fishing bank. The Roman captains prepared to attack, but knew the Russian would be formidable on her home coastline. It seemed likely that at least one of the Roman ships would be sacrificed in the first attack. The captains prepared to grimly draw lots to determine who would carry out this unsavory suicide mission.
Suddenly, a Malinese frigate appeared on the horizon! The Roman captains watched with anxious delight as the valiant Malinese attacked the Russian ship. The battle ended quickly, and at the end, the brave Malinese ship rested deep beneath the waves on a Russian shoal. But she had done her duty, and had severely damaged the Russian vessel. The Aeneas sailed forth confidently and sent the Russian ship to join the Malinese one it had sunk. The fishing boats there and nearby were plundered, and the ravaging of the Barcelona countryside was avenged.
The Roman Frigates sailed south and prepared to lay seige to Novgorod so Malinese troops could attack over its weakened defenses. But suddenly, orders came through to set sail for home.
Roman scientists had made significant advances, and the frigates were to be upgraded to devastating, wide-ranging destroyers. Their sister-ships, three galleons, had already been refitted to become transports--less attractive than before, perhaps, their rippling sails replaced by diesel motors. But they were stronger, faster, and had more carrying capacity than before. The new destroyers would be their companions and protectors.
The ships sailed home to the port of Seville. The frigates were upgraded, but then devastating news came. Mali and Russia had signed a peace treaty! Musa had failed to capture Novgorod, and had decided to limp home and lick his wounds. Caesar shook his head, but had to acknowledge that when Musa watched the Roman fleet sail away, his resolve had dissipated, despite Roman promises to return. At least Caesar had managed to sell some of Rome's less-dangerous discoveries to the knowledge-hungry Malinese to recover the gold that brought him into the war.
Rome now faced Russia's wrath alone. The second wave would surely come. The destroyers dropped anchor off the Rome's Eastern coastline; Madrid built more of their brethren--the Hector, the Ulysses, the Agammemnon, and the Menelaus joined the rest of the Roman fleet.
But where would the Russians strike? Outside Barcelona, as they had before? Or at the closer target of Seville itself? Or south to Toledo? Or would they cannily avoid the closer Roman cities of the East Coast and sail against the core cities of Madrid, Antium, Cumae (now the capitol to take advantage of its central location), or even against the distant target of Rome itself, to cripple the centre of Roman technology and research? Caesar dispersed his growing fleet of destroyers to better intercept attacks from any direction. But with a smaller concentration of ships in each area, he ran the risk that some Russian forces might make it through to Roman soil again.
Caesar took a gamble. He reasoned that Peter, like lightning, would not attack in the same place twice. Instead, Peter would most likely go after a closer target, hoping to take one city to use as a beachhead for further invasion. The bulk of Rome's destroyers massed off the coast near Seville, close enough to sail north to Barcelona or south to Toledo if they were attacked. There, they waited.
The destroyers' captains did not have to wait long. Their anchors had barely scraped bottom when Russia's ships appeared, directly east of Seville's shores, just as Caesar had expected. Three Russian frigates were there, with a matching number of galleons. Two of the latter vessels were filled with Riflemen, but no anachronistic Knights or quaint War Elephants accompanied them this time. The Russians had a new terror to unleash: Cossacks. One Galley carried naught else but the horse-borne nightmares, which were more than a match for Cavalry or possibly even doughty, dug-in Riflemen.
There was no doubt in Caesar's mind: this Russian fleet could not be allowed to reach the Roman shore, or devastation and hardship would surely follow. The wooden ships would be no match for Rome's modern, steel-hulled vessels. But did Rome have enough ships within striking distance?
The new ships had their turn first: the Hector, the Ulysses, and the Agammemnon took turns attacking, and each sunk a Russian frigate. The galleons' protection was gone. But the three Roman ships, though largely undamaged by their out-dated Russian counterparts, had exhausted their fuel and ammunition.
From its protective watch-point near Toledo, the Achilles sailed north. It reached the Russian fleet and sank a galleon filled with riflemen. The citizens of Seville heard the soldiers' screams from across the water and shuddered, but counted their blessings as well; if the Russians made it ashore, their voices would be the ones screaming.
Also from the south came the Ajax. With barely any fuel to spare, it reached the site of battle. One more Russian ship sank to the deep, taking scores of enemy riflemen with it. But the galleon filled with the dreaded Cossacks still remained.
The citizens of Seville despaired. How many of their number, they wondered, would die horrid, lingering deaths from the starvation and disease that would no doubt ensue from the dreaded Cossacks pillaging the surrounding countryside? Would the Russian horsemen even attack and take the city itself? Any fate, no matter how horrible, seemed possible. Mothers embraced their children and fought off tears, while their men-folk steeled themselves for the hardship to come.
Suddenly, a voice cried out from Seville's northernmost rampart.
"The Aeneas! The Aeneas!"
From the distant north, leaving its appointed post guarding the rich fishing banks near Barcelona, came the veteran destroyer, the Aeneas. Named after ancient Rome's greatest hero, the ship seemed now a veritable reincarnation of that hero, returning in his nation's hour of greatest need, in the form of a mighty ship of war.
Its gears grinding, its fuel tanks nearly empty, the Aeneas sliced through the waves, advancing on the lone remaining Russian ship. The destroyer's main gun rumbled like thunder and spat forth a shell. It landed short, exploding off the port side of the Russian ship, spraying the deck with brine. A second shot also missed, flying high over the galleon's sails. The Cossacks, watching with unfamiliar helplessness on the ship's wooden deck, glanced at one another and smiled: These Roman boys can't shoot straight.
But the Aeneas now had her range.
The destroyer's guns rumbled and unleashed their full fury. The shells struck home. The mighty timbers that composed the Russian ship's hull exploded in a vicious shower of splinters. The Cossacks' horses whinnied loudly and fearfully, some in agony. Blood of men and beasts splattered the galleon's decks.
Another booming shot from the Aeneas, and the galleon's sails burst into flame. The wooden ship's main mast snapped like a twig when a Roman shell struck it. Still another volley struck its target. The galleon shuddered, then groaned like some leviathan in its death throes. She leaned hard to port, then keeled over. Within a heartbeat, the ship succumbed to the waves, taking its feared cargo of Cossacks with it.
A great cry of elation and relief arose from the ramparts of Seville, carrying across the water to the victorious crew of the Aeneas. There would be no pillaging, no starvation, no seige. Life as they knew it would go on, and their beloved city would be unscathed by this war...for now.
All of Rome, yet again, breathed a sigh of relief and counted themselves lucky. Caesar could tell the people were slowing growing weary of war, but Peter bitterly refused to even meet with Rome's emmisaries, let alone consider peace talks. Rome's erstwhile ally, Musa, refused to re-open hostilities with his neighbour; the Malinese had returned his attention to scientific research, and now threatened to overtake Rome herself in that regard.
There was only one choice, only one option: Roman forces would have to set forth across the waves and attack Russia directly. Perhaps after one or more of Peter's cities were razed, he would see the light of reason and sue for peace. Only that or a miracle would end this cycle of violence.
But then, as if heaven-sent, a miracle occurred. The war trumpets sounded yet again. The Mongolian Empire, which had never been a friend to Rome, apparently decided it had even less of a friend in its neighbour Russia. Genghis Khan had declared war on Peter! The devout Taoist had apparently stomached his Hindu neighbour long enough; now that Rome had adopted Free Religion and welcomed those of all faiths, its old religious rivalries had fallen by the way-side, and former enemies regarded her in a better light.
Caesar eased back into his throne and smiled tiredly, but contentedly. Peter would come begging for peace shortly, no doubt offering a substantial sum from his treasury to ensure he did not once again have to fight enemies on two fronts. The formerly-disagreeable Genghis was becoming positively chummy, especially after Caesar gifted him rifling technology (Rome now sported Infantry in all its cities). Spies had been dispatched to Mali to slow down its economy and threatening rate of technical advance.
Meanwhile, Caesar had confided his ultimate dream to his shocked but intrigued advisors: the proud purple standard that was the Roman flag, flying high above the shining city of New Rome...on a distant planet orbiting the nearby star of Alpha Centauri.
Prince level, continents, standard game length, Rome.
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The war was, at long last, over.
The Roman Legions had done their duty. They had conquered Spain and had made her into a Roman province. Six cities had been captured, including the founding cities of Buddhism (Madrid) and Judaism (Barcelona). An entire continent now belonged to the Roman empire, its splendid isolation ensuring a firm foundation for further growth.
The cost had been heavy. Many good men had been lost, scientific research had been delayed, and the economy was nearly ruined. Now, however, workers could safely scurry hither and yon, building cottages that would turn more and more lucrative with the passage of time. Roman cities turned from building military units to building courthouses and other improvements.
Time passed. The Spanish citizens gradually accepted their fate and came to regard themselves as Roman. The empire became huge and prosperous, advancing far beyond the other civilizations with whom it now had contact and trade agreements. Egypt and the Aztec empire were closest, sharing one continent to Rome's south, while Russia, Mali, and Mongolia shared another, its closest shore to Rome's east. These other nations' close borders limited one another's growth. Tensions rose and threatened to rise to the full boil of war. They all looked upon Rome's large, advanced, and wealthy empire, on its isolated continent, with envy.
And one leader grew too envious for his own good.
Rome's veterans had settled into the empire's cities. They had not upgraded their now-antiquated equipment, even after the wonders of gunpowder and rifling had been discovered. There seemed little need; everyone knew the might of Rome. Who would dare attack? There was also, perhaps, a certain sentimentality rife in the empire that grew strongest when watching the local garrison, their armor and swords shining in the sun, marching through town on national holidays. Still, Caesar had wisely set aside funds for quick military upgrades, should they become necessary--a good thing, as they soon were.
The millenium-long peace of Rome was shattered by the sudden clarion call of war trumpets. Peter the Great himself delivered the terse declaration of war during an impromptu state visit.
"Time for you to die, Caesar," he sneered, then turned on his heel and stormed off.
No sooner had Peter left the Roman palace than three galleons, accompanied by frigates, appeared off the coast near Barcelona. Shocked and fearful citizens watched in alarm as the forces came ashore: several knights, a single unit of riflemen, and war elephants, which would have appeared exotic, even romantic, had the situation not been so dire.
Peter had, no doubt, taken the romantic retention of Praetorian city defenders as a sign of weakness. Capturing the city of Barcelona and its holy shrine must have appeared too tempting and easy a prize to pass up.
But he had badly miscalculated. The Roman leader acted swiftly; Peter may have seized the initiative, but he had already made his move when he put his forces on Roman soil. Now it was Rome's turn.
The stockpiles of gold in the treasury were quickly converted into war materiel. Overnight, Praetorians became Riflemen, Horse Archers and Knights became Cavalry. The nearby metropolis of Madrid had become Rome's military centre, and it devoted itself to building even more forces.
As Barcelona was quickly reinforced with suddenly-modern and powerful forces, the Russians set about plundering its countryside, pillaging a town, a wheatfield, and a mine. The Romans let the invaders waste their time looting and burning; the countryside's improvements could be rebuilt. The Russian troops, on the other hand, would soon be quite another story.
The Roman forces took to the field outside of Barcelona. Ancient catapults, last used in the Spanish campaign but proudly maintained these many years, were dusted off and saw their last action, causing minor, but exploitable, collateral damage before succumbing to enemy counter-attacks. Then the Roman Cavalry attacked their weakened opponents. Russian Knights, their armour gleaming in the sun, were no match for the fast-moving cavalry and their rifles, bullets whizzing and piercing out-dated armour at close range. The War Elephants trumpeted angrily and charged, but also fell to the Cavalry's superior modern weaponry. Even the lone Russian rifleman unit fell to the Cavalry onslaught, who grew more confident with every battle.
At last, all the attackers were defeated. Barcelona and the rest of the Roman Empire breathed a sigh of relief. But Caesar knew that thought the Battle of Barcelona had been won, the war was far from over. Russia could still extend its malevolent hand across the ocean to pillage Roman lands. Such malice would not be tolerated.
Madrid now changed from training land units to building ships: powerful frigates, filled to overflowing with ship-shattering cannon. Once a veritable armada had been assembled, it set sail eastwards across the ocean. Roman caravels, centuries before, had been the first to circumnavigate the globe. The nautical skills of Rome's ancient mariners had been handed down through the generations, making Roman ships faster than any others in the world. The fleet travelled swiftly, in a wide swath, expecting to discover and sink a second wave of Russian ships.
But the second wave did not appear. Caesar smiled smugly, knowing exactly why Peter had been unable to launch a second attack.
The Malinese Empire, which occupied the southern half of the continent it shared with Russia, had become a close friend and trading partner of the Roman people. Even though Mali shared the faith of Hinduism with Russia, Mansa Musa, the Malinese leader, agreed to go to war with Russia on Rome's side. His borders with Russia chafed the astute, thoughtful Malinese king, and Rome's gold would further finance his beloved scientific research. Or so he thought; Caesar had plans to get every coin back, but that would come later.
Outside Novgorod, three Roman frigates--the Ajax, the Aeneas, and the Achilles--found a lone Russian frigate guarding a rich fishing bank. The Roman captains prepared to attack, but knew the Russian would be formidable on her home coastline. It seemed likely that at least one of the Roman ships would be sacrificed in the first attack. The captains prepared to grimly draw lots to determine who would carry out this unsavory suicide mission.
Suddenly, a Malinese frigate appeared on the horizon! The Roman captains watched with anxious delight as the valiant Malinese attacked the Russian ship. The battle ended quickly, and at the end, the brave Malinese ship rested deep beneath the waves on a Russian shoal. But she had done her duty, and had severely damaged the Russian vessel. The Aeneas sailed forth confidently and sent the Russian ship to join the Malinese one it had sunk. The fishing boats there and nearby were plundered, and the ravaging of the Barcelona countryside was avenged.
The Roman Frigates sailed south and prepared to lay seige to Novgorod so Malinese troops could attack over its weakened defenses. But suddenly, orders came through to set sail for home.
Roman scientists had made significant advances, and the frigates were to be upgraded to devastating, wide-ranging destroyers. Their sister-ships, three galleons, had already been refitted to become transports--less attractive than before, perhaps, their rippling sails replaced by diesel motors. But they were stronger, faster, and had more carrying capacity than before. The new destroyers would be their companions and protectors.
The ships sailed home to the port of Seville. The frigates were upgraded, but then devastating news came. Mali and Russia had signed a peace treaty! Musa had failed to capture Novgorod, and had decided to limp home and lick his wounds. Caesar shook his head, but had to acknowledge that when Musa watched the Roman fleet sail away, his resolve had dissipated, despite Roman promises to return. At least Caesar had managed to sell some of Rome's less-dangerous discoveries to the knowledge-hungry Malinese to recover the gold that brought him into the war.
Rome now faced Russia's wrath alone. The second wave would surely come. The destroyers dropped anchor off the Rome's Eastern coastline; Madrid built more of their brethren--the Hector, the Ulysses, the Agammemnon, and the Menelaus joined the rest of the Roman fleet.
But where would the Russians strike? Outside Barcelona, as they had before? Or at the closer target of Seville itself? Or south to Toledo? Or would they cannily avoid the closer Roman cities of the East Coast and sail against the core cities of Madrid, Antium, Cumae (now the capitol to take advantage of its central location), or even against the distant target of Rome itself, to cripple the centre of Roman technology and research? Caesar dispersed his growing fleet of destroyers to better intercept attacks from any direction. But with a smaller concentration of ships in each area, he ran the risk that some Russian forces might make it through to Roman soil again.
Caesar took a gamble. He reasoned that Peter, like lightning, would not attack in the same place twice. Instead, Peter would most likely go after a closer target, hoping to take one city to use as a beachhead for further invasion. The bulk of Rome's destroyers massed off the coast near Seville, close enough to sail north to Barcelona or south to Toledo if they were attacked. There, they waited.
The destroyers' captains did not have to wait long. Their anchors had barely scraped bottom when Russia's ships appeared, directly east of Seville's shores, just as Caesar had expected. Three Russian frigates were there, with a matching number of galleons. Two of the latter vessels were filled with Riflemen, but no anachronistic Knights or quaint War Elephants accompanied them this time. The Russians had a new terror to unleash: Cossacks. One Galley carried naught else but the horse-borne nightmares, which were more than a match for Cavalry or possibly even doughty, dug-in Riflemen.
There was no doubt in Caesar's mind: this Russian fleet could not be allowed to reach the Roman shore, or devastation and hardship would surely follow. The wooden ships would be no match for Rome's modern, steel-hulled vessels. But did Rome have enough ships within striking distance?
The new ships had their turn first: the Hector, the Ulysses, and the Agammemnon took turns attacking, and each sunk a Russian frigate. The galleons' protection was gone. But the three Roman ships, though largely undamaged by their out-dated Russian counterparts, had exhausted their fuel and ammunition.
From its protective watch-point near Toledo, the Achilles sailed north. It reached the Russian fleet and sank a galleon filled with riflemen. The citizens of Seville heard the soldiers' screams from across the water and shuddered, but counted their blessings as well; if the Russians made it ashore, their voices would be the ones screaming.
Also from the south came the Ajax. With barely any fuel to spare, it reached the site of battle. One more Russian ship sank to the deep, taking scores of enemy riflemen with it. But the galleon filled with the dreaded Cossacks still remained.
The citizens of Seville despaired. How many of their number, they wondered, would die horrid, lingering deaths from the starvation and disease that would no doubt ensue from the dreaded Cossacks pillaging the surrounding countryside? Would the Russian horsemen even attack and take the city itself? Any fate, no matter how horrible, seemed possible. Mothers embraced their children and fought off tears, while their men-folk steeled themselves for the hardship to come.
Suddenly, a voice cried out from Seville's northernmost rampart.
"The Aeneas! The Aeneas!"
From the distant north, leaving its appointed post guarding the rich fishing banks near Barcelona, came the veteran destroyer, the Aeneas. Named after ancient Rome's greatest hero, the ship seemed now a veritable reincarnation of that hero, returning in his nation's hour of greatest need, in the form of a mighty ship of war.
Its gears grinding, its fuel tanks nearly empty, the Aeneas sliced through the waves, advancing on the lone remaining Russian ship. The destroyer's main gun rumbled like thunder and spat forth a shell. It landed short, exploding off the port side of the Russian ship, spraying the deck with brine. A second shot also missed, flying high over the galleon's sails. The Cossacks, watching with unfamiliar helplessness on the ship's wooden deck, glanced at one another and smiled: These Roman boys can't shoot straight.
But the Aeneas now had her range.
The destroyer's guns rumbled and unleashed their full fury. The shells struck home. The mighty timbers that composed the Russian ship's hull exploded in a vicious shower of splinters. The Cossacks' horses whinnied loudly and fearfully, some in agony. Blood of men and beasts splattered the galleon's decks.
Another booming shot from the Aeneas, and the galleon's sails burst into flame. The wooden ship's main mast snapped like a twig when a Roman shell struck it. Still another volley struck its target. The galleon shuddered, then groaned like some leviathan in its death throes. She leaned hard to port, then keeled over. Within a heartbeat, the ship succumbed to the waves, taking its feared cargo of Cossacks with it.
A great cry of elation and relief arose from the ramparts of Seville, carrying across the water to the victorious crew of the Aeneas. There would be no pillaging, no starvation, no seige. Life as they knew it would go on, and their beloved city would be unscathed by this war...for now.
All of Rome, yet again, breathed a sigh of relief and counted themselves lucky. Caesar could tell the people were slowing growing weary of war, but Peter bitterly refused to even meet with Rome's emmisaries, let alone consider peace talks. Rome's erstwhile ally, Musa, refused to re-open hostilities with his neighbour; the Malinese had returned his attention to scientific research, and now threatened to overtake Rome herself in that regard.
There was only one choice, only one option: Roman forces would have to set forth across the waves and attack Russia directly. Perhaps after one or more of Peter's cities were razed, he would see the light of reason and sue for peace. Only that or a miracle would end this cycle of violence.
But then, as if heaven-sent, a miracle occurred. The war trumpets sounded yet again. The Mongolian Empire, which had never been a friend to Rome, apparently decided it had even less of a friend in its neighbour Russia. Genghis Khan had declared war on Peter! The devout Taoist had apparently stomached his Hindu neighbour long enough; now that Rome had adopted Free Religion and welcomed those of all faiths, its old religious rivalries had fallen by the way-side, and former enemies regarded her in a better light.
Caesar eased back into his throne and smiled tiredly, but contentedly. Peter would come begging for peace shortly, no doubt offering a substantial sum from his treasury to ensure he did not once again have to fight enemies on two fronts. The formerly-disagreeable Genghis was becoming positively chummy, especially after Caesar gifted him rifling technology (Rome now sported Infantry in all its cities). Spies had been dispatched to Mali to slow down its economy and threatening rate of technical advance.
Meanwhile, Caesar had confided his ultimate dream to his shocked but intrigued advisors: the proud purple standard that was the Roman flag, flying high above the shining city of New Rome...on a distant planet orbiting the nearby star of Alpha Centauri.
