Forward in the Name of God - a Scotland AAR

Take The Afternoon Off Chaps​

First Minister James Blair relaxed back into the luxurious, leathery bulk of his massive Lothian armchair and absentmindedly focused on the little trails of smoke slowly rising from the smouldering end of the massive cigar he held in his right hand. After a few moments he placed it back on the obscenly ornate ashtray that sat on the huge oak table before him.

Without so much as a glance to the members of his Cabinet who were gathered in the room he turned his attention to large crystal glass he was holding in his other hand. Lazily he swirled it around, watching in numb fascination as the large measure of whisky within it sloshed up and down the sides. Eventually he grew tired of this too, and with a great sigh placed the glass on the table and turned to face his ministers.

They too were engadged in similarly pointless tasks. One was arranging his pens and pencils in interesting geometric patterns, another was shuffling the papers from his briefcase and endevouring to get all the edges to line up whilst a third was doodling furiously in the margin of his notepad. Most unashamed of all was the Minister of Defence, who was face down on the table, fast asleep. Every time he exhaled his massive moustache would wobble and look all the world like an obese caterpillar with the shakes.

Blair stretched and yawned, his enormous waistcoat threatening to burst under the strain. Rubbing his eyes he blinked twice before stifling another yawn.

"Come on chaps - let's at least make an effort to do SOME work. That's what the voters pay us for, no?"

With all the urgency of continental drift the mass of men assembled around the table shuffled into some semblance of attention. The Minister for North America tactfully prodded the Minister of Defence in the solar plexus who shot bolt upright yelling "Gas the rebels!" to a chorus of chuckles. Shame faced he settled back down into his seat as the First Minister pulled himself upright in his seat. Like most Scottish politicians he had more body fat than an infant whale and it was clear that the effort of such a movement was exhausting in the extreme. Nodding at his peers he wiped his brow with an extravagantly coloured silk handkerchief.

"So," he wheezed, "what's the first item on the agenda?"

He looked hopefully at his ministers who stared back blankly.

"Anyone?"

The silence was almost palpable. The room simply reeked of laziness and boredom. Blair sighed.

"Ok, you." he pointed at the First Lord of the Treasury, "The exchequer - how's it looking? What do we have to watch out for? Are any cut backs necessary?"

Lord Strathclyde, First Lord of the Treasury, shook his head.

"Nothing."

The First Minister shrugged.

"What do you mean 'nothing'?"

Lord Strathclyde flicked a pencil back and forth between his podgy fingers.

"I mean just that. Nothing. We've got no problems. Nothing to watch out for. No cutbacks to make. We're loaded. Stinking rich."

He indicated the room around him and all it's ornaments and trappings.

"Just look around us. Our people are well fed and looked after. We import practically nothing. We only tax the rich, and even then what we take is a pittance. Nearly eighty percent of what we earn we pour back into the state. Even then, we've got a huge surplus left over. In short, we're stupidly, disgustingly, obscenly, wonderfully wealthy. To the power of a hundred."

Blair nodded and shuffled some papers.

"Ok, so that looks pretty rosey. Anyone else? Defence Minister - what about our forces? How are things on the military front? Are our mighty forces bringing swift justice to the enemy?"

The huge, moustachioed buffon in the oversized blue uniform that was festooned in medals and braid grunted and scratched his head and shrugged non-commitally.

"I suppose", he rumbled, "you could say that. We've had the odd rebellion here and there, but they're put down in no time at all."

He shrugged again.

"Still - the five hundred plus divisons of the army put on some bloody smashing parades, and our navy is a sight to behold. Can't remember the last time we used the blessed thing mind you."

The Foreign Minister raised his hand to interject.

"Actually, I think that was in 1887 when we had that spot of bother with the Chinese."

Blair raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"So you're saying our navy has sat in port for almost thirty five years and hasn't fired a shot since?"

The Defence Minister shook has head.

"On no. They've not sat in port - we make sure that they rotate ports every few months. We've got enough ports to ensure that the chaps don't get bored!"

The First Minister waved his hands.

"Hang on - what you're saying that the people we employ in our Navy are basically being paid to go on vacation to exotic locales?"

There was a moment of silence befoe the First Lord of the Treasury sighed.

"It doesn't really matter does it? It's not as if we're pushed for cash."

The Defence Minister grinned.

"If it helps I could provoke a war with someone? That should keep our chaps
busy for a few months."

Blair shook his head.

"No, no - let's not have any needless slaughter. Our predecessors", he indicated a small gallery of oil paintings depicting monarchs of the past behind him, "did enough of that."

He rubbed his brows.

"So, what you're telling me is that we're without enemies, we're swimming in wealthy, our people are fat, contented cattle and we've got nothing to worry about."

There was a rumble of afirmation from men around him.

"Blimey", he exhaled. "Best take the afternoon off then gents. Anyone fancy a drink?"

It was hard work being a Scottish politician in the early 20th century. Or rather, it was hard FINDING work. Everything just seemed to be going so well...

The Secret Masters of the World​

Andrew Dundas knocked on the door of the disused tenament building. Indemic throughout Scotland's cities and previously used to house the scores of workers that fed the massive, ravenous beast that was the Empire's industry, the severe-looking granite buildings now stood empty and abandoned ever since the government had decided to stop taxing its citzens. Instead of tearing them down the ruling Unionist party decided that it might nicer to keep them standing as a monument to progress. Even at this late hour Andrew could see rag-tag groups of foreign tourists hanging around, gawping at the rows of empty terraces in what was previously the roughest part of town. Behind him the door creaked open a fraction and a hooded figure peeped round.

"Tonight the four ride out."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"Evening, Brian. Just let me in will you?"

The hooded figure sagged visibly. Brian was one of the most junior members of the Secret Masters of the World (Glasgow Branch) and as such he usually ended up on door duty.

"But I have to do the secret password routine."

"No you don't - you only have to ask people you don't know."

Brian thought for a moment.

"How do I really know its you?"

Andrew crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"That question is stupid I don't even begin to know how to answer it!"

"Well, you're not wearing your robes for starters!"

"Riiiight. Because a figure walking down the street at night in dark, hooded robes won't look at all suspicious, would it? Like everyone else I get changed inside the building."

Briain seemed to consider this.

"Well I suppose..."

"Just open the door, Brian, hmm?"

With a petulent sigh the younger man opened the door and let Andrew in.

---

In the basement the monthly meeting of the SMotW meeting was in full flow. The Secret Masters as a concept came into existance in 1922 when it became increasingly apparent that the Scottish government had very little to do. Their public were contented, the coffers were filled to the point of bursting, everyone was queuing up to be their friend and their military was so vast, mighty and modernised that they could crush any potential agressor before they could utter the words "bad idea". Occasionally there were rebellions, but the people rebelling were doing so purely out of boredom (although their boredom usually evaporated as soon as the troops turned up). In short, government was no longer exciting. The ministers turned up, congratulated themselves on what a good job they had done and took the rest of the day off.

It was therefore decided to move the government underground. Instead of having agreed policies, a constitution and agendas the individual ministers (or "Secret Masters" as they had dubbed themselves) would come up with random pet projects which they would initiate and then present at the monthly meetings for their peers to debate. The trappings of robes, secret passwords and ritual was purely thrown in because, at the end of the day, everyone found it made the whole proceedings more exciting.

As Andrew entered he patted the masked and robed figure by the door on the back.

"Hey Pete, how's it going?"

The figure raised a hand in greeting.

"Not bad man. You?"

"Yeah - pretty good. What you been up to this month?"

"Not much - I commisioned a fleet of dreadnaughts - figured it would keep the navy boys happy and give them something show off to the Turks when they're cruising round the med."

"Sweet."

"Yeah - I thought so."

"Catch you later."

Andrew wandered off to the main table where the Pontifex (the new name for the First Minister) and some more robed figures sat. Andrew waved at them and the Pontifex indicated an empty seat.

"You are late, brother Capricorn. What tidings do you bring at this late hour."

Andrew grinned smugly beneath his mask.

"Oh just a little something I came up with when I was bored. I've commissioned railways to be built right across Africa."


There was a chorus of appreciative whistles from around the table. The Pontifex nodded sagely.

"Wise and just brother, wise and just..."

"Er...yeah. I thought so. Anyway, what about everyone else?"

A smaller figure near the end raised a hand and the Pontifex gestured to him magnanemously.

"Speak, brother Tristar."

"Cheers boss. Yeah, I created a bunch of new nations. Yugoslavia, Turkey, Manchuko, Iraq, the Phillipines, Mongolia and another place I can't remember let alone pronounce. Turkey's a wierd one though. They're kind of like the Ottoman Empire - they've even got the same flag - but they seem to hate each other. Odd, eh?"

Everyone murmered and nodded their approval. The Pontifex sat back in his chair.

"So, anyone else?"

Another robed hand went up. It was clear that the person underneath the mask was almost bursting with excitment. The Pontifex gestured in a "speak" kind of way. The figure did a little happy shuffle in his seat.

"I had this BRILLIANT idea. Honestly! You know how there's all these wars and killings going on? Well, I thought 'What if the idiots doing the killing didn't have the tools to do the job'?"

He paused.

"By job I mean killing obviously..."

The chorus of yeses indicated that the assembly had got the point. The robed figure continued.

"So, I've asked our industry people to stop selling" he started counting on his fingers "sulpher, fertilizer, ammo, small arms, artillery, explosives and canned food. That way, once they've killed their current armies they won't be able to build much in the way of any more. Awesome, huh?"

Judging by the applause everyone was very pleased.

So, global peace, economic prosperity, no taxes, vast sprawling infrastructure and brand new nations. Is there anything else for Scotland to do?

Specialist290 said:

(Actually, that would make a great catalyst for the Great War when the HoI2 segment rolls in...)

Click to expand...

Oooh. Now you've got me thinking! I may have to write some custom events for HoI2...

Good call!

*sounds of brain machinary clanking into life*

Hello.

It's 1936 now and the Secret Masters of the World, growing board with their games of conspiracy (the robes lose their appeal after a while) return to the dull business of government. Scotland's people are as fat and contented as they were back in the mid 1800s (when tax was abolished) but there are rumours of growing global unrest following Scotland's world-wide embargo of sulpher, fertilizer, small arms, artillery, explosives and ammunition. Saying that, an awful lot of nations are still friends with Scotland, so it might all come to nothing.



The lovely aqua colour is Scotland, and a lot of the world map has gone this colour since 1066. The big green blob is Czechoslovakia, who are best buddies with Scotland. The light green is Italy (formaly the Papal states) and the light blue is Sweden. The bright orange is Algeria and it's pale yellow neighbour is Morroco. Both are Scottish satellites. The little brown blob in Iberia is Spain who have an overseas empire far larger than their size suggests. Elsewhere we have Finland (more or less where it was historically) and the red scary looking mass is Russia (note: not the USSR!). Finally, the pale green nation in the east is the Ottoman Empire (although Turkey is also around I think). We've also got Serbia, Croatia and Yugoslavia somewhere in the Balkans.



Here's Africa. I am tempted to create a bunch of new nations out of that big aqua blob. To the south we have South Africa (formally Transvaal) and Ethiopia and Zanzibar to the East. I can't remember the light blue nation, but the tiny grey blob is Liberia. Scotland is protecting all these nations from any potential imperialist expansionism because it's nice that way (and also a complete hypocrit as well).



Flamin' galah, Australia is a free nation! Scotland let them go back in the 1800s and I really can't remember why. I think it was to make other nations believe Scotland was a swell, stand up kind of guy (IE - to reduce BB).



Welcome to central Asia, also known as "Back Yard of the Ottoman Empire". They're that big pale green blob. The little green nation is Kyrgistan, and China's to the east. Oh, and the small red nation in the middle east is Iraq.



North America. The land of the free and the home of the er...Scottish. At the far north west we have Russia, the green nation on the west coast is California, to the south we have Sweden, Florida is the CSA, and the north east (confusingly the same colour as Sweden) is Quebec. Just above them is the glorious people's republic of Canada.



Wow - a continent that isn't entirely Scottish! The northern light blues are Swedish, but the ones in the south are Argentina. The east coast brown blob is Spain while the west coast is (top to bottom) Bolivia, Peru and Chile. In the middle I *think* is Paraguay.



South east asia is a muddle of nations. China and the Ottoman Empire clash in the centre whilst India spreads over most of the bottom. Dark blue is Vietnam, Burma sits greenly in the centre of India. The red nation is Malaysia while Japan is the yellow nation north of that. Scotland owns most of the Japanese home islands after some falling out in the 1500s.

I'm completely new to HoI and, although I've read the rather wonderful "How the Heck Do You Play This Game?" AAR I'm still learning. However, looking at these scores (taken a couple of days into 1936) even I can see I'm going to have an easy job of things.



Also, I'm not alone. Here are the nice people who will be helping govern the Scottish Empire.



We've also go a lot of friends...



So - some of you are probably wondering why I'm carrying on. After all, it's not going to be much of a challenge, is it? Either I'll be able to conquer absolutely everything in sight, or else nobody is going to challenge me. True on both counts. However, this is a labour of love, and I really want to see where my formarly backwater little Catholic country is after a thousand years. So, roll on 1963!

A more narrative update will follow soon!

Krgy...where?​

The noise from the Combined Services Military Parade (TM) was almost unbearable. From his position on the podium, Field Marshall Philip Maxwell Balfour was thankful for the ear plugs which he had wisely decided to wear. The crashing of the infantry's boots, the roar of the tanks' engines, the drone of the ships powering along the river Clyde and the whine of the aircraft flying in formation overhead all merged into a soft gentle hum, thanks to the tiny foam balls that nestled in his ears.

The sight of the massed ranks of troops and hardware both elated and saddened Balfour in equal measure. On one hand, here was visible proof of just how advanced and technically capable the military machine that he command was. On the other, he was probably never going to see its capabilities fully tested in his life time. Decades of easy-living had made Scotland's people lazy and complacent. They had absolutely no desire to support a war of conquest and the government of the day, ever eager to secure their extra-luxurious lifestyles in an empire already famed for its comforts meant that they would listen to the people before their generals. The military's own strength was its downfall - no other nation out there would dare challenge the Scottish Empire for fear of the swift and furious retribution that would be visited upon them.

No, for the Scottish General of today, military exercises and parades were as real as it got.

Balfour noted a light tugging at his sleeve and looked down. Standing there was a junior member of the general staff and behind him a rather twitchy looking Air Chief Marshal. The younger officer was mouthing something at Balfour which exasperated the older man.

"Speak up, you young fool! I can't hear you over the noise out there!"

The other two men recoiled in shock and several people nearby turned around to see what all the fuss was about.

Balfour suddenly remembered the ear plugs, so he smiled sheepishly and made a show of removing them.

"Er... Sorry about that chaps! Damned tanks make such a bloody noise I can't hear myself think!"

He offered the two plugs to Air Chief Marhsal Perry Keane.

"You're next up Keane, old chap! Care for a shot?"

The other man regarded the slightly waxy blobs being proffered to him and shook his head.

"No thanks, sir. I find the sound of my air force as they swoop overhead to be exhilirating in the extreme."

Balfour tsked.

"Wouldn't catch me going up in one of those bloody kites. Damned unnatural, what? Chap's got to stay firmly rooted on the ground, that's what I say!"

Keane shrugged before returning his attention to the parade and snapping to attention. Balfour, taking this as his cue to leave, turned and walked away, the junior officer scurrying behind him like a lost puppy. When they were a good distance from the stands (and the tinatus had faded slightly) the younger man handed the field marshal a thick, buff envelope.

"Latest reports from across the globe, sir."

Balfour regarded them with barely concealed boredom.

"Production figures the highest they've ever been...blah, blah, blah. Poverty and disease almost unknown...blah, blah, blah. Great relations with our neighbours...yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. Boffins thinking up exciting new weapons that we'll never get to use...blahdy, blahdy, blah!"

He tossed the piles of papers back to the other man who barely caught them.

"So, just give me the highlights, yes? Anything I should know of?"

The junior officer nodded.

"Well, there's that problem with the rebels in the far east..."

Balfour growled in interuption.

"Yes. Yes. Bloody bad business! Damned Ruskies unable to control their own people, and then the scum rampage into our territories. Bloody rich that the Ivans won't grant us passage so that we can go and deal with what is their problem! I tell you, our boys would give those filthy traitors a right royal spanking, just like we did with those dashed Turks that rebelled in Greece. Tell me son, have you ever seen a cavalary charge at full tilt?"

The other man was mouthing silently in an attempt to keep up with the Field Marshal's reknowned tendancy to jump off on tangents.

"What?"

"Desk jockey are we, what? Never experienced the rush of combat?"

"No sir, I didn't mean that..."

"...never looked a man square in the eye and pulled the trigger? Never felt the near-sexual rush of jamming down the trigger of your machine gun and emptying an entire belt into your opponent, all the while laughing as his mangled body danced like a marionette? Never driven a bayonet through a chap's throat and watched as..."

"Kyrgystan has agreed to join our alliance", barked the younger officer.



Balfour's eyes unmisted and he shook his head to regain his train of thought.

"Sorry? What? Where?"

"Kyrgystan has joined our alliance."

"Kyrgywhere? What are they? Africans? South Americans? Why do we want them? Another bunch of spongers, what?"

"Kyrgystan allows our troops passage into the territories currently being 'administered' by the Russian rebels, sir."

"Oh. Yes - I'm sure I knew that. Bloody good. Well done to those chaps in the foreign ministry. Bloody hard workers those civies!"

"I thought so, sir."

"So, it'll be pip-pip, up and away and good-bye Johnny rebel then!"

"Certainly seems like it, sir. Shall I get your car to drive you back to headquarters?"

"Damned good idea."

The younger man went to leave, but as he did so Balfour stopped him.

"Those questions I was asking you earlier. About war and all that jazz?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you a desk jockey?"

"No, sir - I took part in the Athens campaign you mentioned previously."

"Ah. Bloody good show. So everything I mentioned; the bayonets, machine guns, the other chap's eyes..."

"Yes, sir..."

"You've done all that, right?"

"Mostly, sir..."

"What does it feel like?"

Nemo Me Impune Lacessit​

The bunker was deep underground and dimly lit by red lamps that hung from the ceiling. Various orderlies equipped with clipboards scurried around or stood taking notes, whilst the general staff clustered around the enormous oak table that dominated the centre of the room. A huge map was spread out on its surface along with several little models representing the land, sea and air forces of the Scottish empire. Off to one side stood several women in military garb, wearing headphones and carrying long sticks.

General Carmichael stroked the tip of his moustache thoughtfully before stroking his chin.

"I may be accused of being too conventional, but I suggest we deploy three infantry corps here, here and here."

He jabbed his finger at three urban areas on the map and one of the be-headphoned stick carriers dutifully pushed models representing the forces into position.

Carmichael stood back, arms folded before waving a hand at his fellows.

"What do you chaps think?"

Admiral Conroy shook his head.

"The first two locations I'm fine with, but the third," he stroked his beard and shook his head, "I just don't see how I could realistically be expected to provide any kind of naval support."

The woman with the headphones was poised over the table, stick at the ready, awaiting the nod from Carmichael to hook the third model from the map. He gestured in her direction and she hooked the small model soldier so quickly that it spun off the table, bounced twice and smacked one of the other women on the knee. She squealed, winced and mouthed "I hate you" at her colleague who shrugged by way of apology.

As the other members of the general staff craned forward for a better look at the map Air Chief Marshal Keane cleared his throat.

"Before we go any further with the deployment of ground forces I should point out that my air wings are operating out of bases in this region", he tapped the northern point of the map with his cane. "You will require air support, so please bear in mind the effective operating radius of our aircraft when making your decisions."

A low murmer of approval indicated the other officers had taken his advice on board. Conroy turned to the headphoned lady.

"Mind if I borrow this?" he said, indicating the stick. She dutifully complied and went to stand with her colleagues, one of whom was still drawing her daggers. Conroy seemed to test the stick for weight, nodded approvingly before reaching out to shift models around on the map.

"We all know our target cities, and I think you'll agree that a concentration of our forces would be the best way to swiftly meet our objectives. If we ensure an adequate combination of air, army and naval elements at each of the key costal areas I don't believe a push further inland would be necessary."

The other officers began to talk amongst themselves, but Carmichael held up a hand for silence. He turned to Conroy.

"You really think this can work? It's a bold move..."

"I KNOW it will work - the sight of our new battleships alone should be enough to convince most of our targets that we mean business."

Some of the air force and army officers began to grumble, but before any objections could be raised the door to the bunker flew open and a red-faced captain stood there panting, one hand pressed against the wall as he struggled to regain his breath. In his other hand he brandished a telegram that he flapped in the direction of the staff officers. Carmichael strode over to him and the man struggled to attention. The general waved his hand.

"At ease, son. What brings you here in such a hurry?"

The young man held out the telegram and wheezed.

"This...just in sir...Kyrgystan...Russia invaded them this morning...we're at war, sir!"



A dozen of Scotland's most highly decorated and senior military officers suddenly snapped their heads in the captain's direction. A deadly silence had settled on the bunker. Carmichael blinked but failed to lose his poise.

"Are you sure about this son?"

The captain nodded.

"Absolutely, sir! The news came in from the foreign ministry only twenty minutes ago."

There was a pause before the room suddenly errupted into a chorus of whooping, hollering and cheering as the creme-de-la-creme of Scotland's top brass engadged in rounds of back slapping, cheering, high-fiving and excited dancing. Carmichael beamed at the captain.

"You've just made a bunch of old men very, very happy son!"

The captain scratched his head and indicated the table.

"But over there, sir... Weren't you in the middle of planning something important?"

Carmichael shook his head.

"Nothing to worry about. Just another round of military parades."

He smiled again.

"But now we've got a REAL war to plan. Bloody hell, it's exciting isn't it? Kind of like Christmas, only with guns, bombs and dead Russians! I can't wait to see what happens!"

Faces of War​

To: Commander Imperial Maritime Forces (COMIMPMARFOR)
From: Commander Baltic Task Force (COMBALTF)

BALTF RESPONDED TO CALIFORNIAN DISTRESS CALL STOP SQUADRON OF DESTROYERS AND THREE CAPITAL SHIPS UNDER HEAVY FIRE FROM RUSSIAN IMPERIAL FLEET STOP ENGADGED AT OH FIVE HUNDRED HOURS STOP LAND BASED AND NAVAL AIR FORCES SUPPORTED MAIN BODY BALTF IN SORTIE STOP RUSSIAN FORCES COMPLETELY DESTROYED STOP DAMAGE TO BALTF NEGLIGIBLE STOP MESSAGE ENDS

Transcript of phone conversation between Grand Admiral of the Californian Republic and Task Force Commander Baltic Forces:

TFC: Dude!
GA: Dude! Que pasa?
TFC: Sweet.
GA: Whassup?
TFC: You know that war in Europe?
GA: Yeah.
TFC: Well, we like totally found some Russians!
GA: No way!
TFC: WAY! Freakin' millions of them!
GA: That is so not cool.
TFC: For real! All these big Russian ships and I was like "No way!" and they were all "BANG! BANG!" and our little boats were all "ARGH! SINKING!"
GA: Total bummer, dude.
TFC: Yeah. Then these Scottish dudes show up and I'm waving and cheering and they're all "We'll save you, dudes!" and the Ivans are going "OH NO!" and I'm like "In your face!" and then there's all these gnarly planes going "ZOOM!" and the Scottish boats have these totally bigs guns and I'm like "Woah!" and the Russians are like "Shit!" and there's bombs and things going off everywhere and smoke and all sorts and I'm like "Dude's what's happening?" and my officers are like "No freakin' idea, man!" and the smoke clears and everyone's going "Russians? What Russians?" and the Scottish wave and I'm like "Gracias amigo!" and they're all "De nada!" and speed off.
GA: Cosmic.
TFC: Totally. Can I come home? It's freezing here.