Hannibal's Quest: A RISK AAR

Texans, Quebecois, Hannibal hated them all. The plan of “Macarthur’s Marauders” could, and maybe would, spread that hate between the Texans and Quebecois. Hannibal’s mind was clouded with thoughts like these as he gazed down at the waters of Lake Michigan as his craft sped across it.

Macarthur’s meeting with a few American irregulars had resulted in a plan to drive apart the Texans and Quebecois, hopefully forcing them into war. This might be the last hope for the Americans, as the map they had received from Macarthur’s “contacts” hadn’t looked good. Some progresses on the Virginia front, but things elsewhere were not looking good.

“If I was in command…” Hannibal then dismissed the thought, there wasn’t much that could be done; the age of excellent tacticians was replaced with the time of trench warfare. Wars and battles could no longer be won against overwhelming odds, something which had been difficult in the old day’s, but was now nearly impossible. His thoughts were interrupted by a marine gesturing to look in front of the boat, where the city of Chicago lay under Quebecois occupation.

“Ready to move into the city?” Macarthur asked him

“Yes, let’s get this over with.”

The twenty or so men lay in anticipation of the operation. The two boats, stealthily and slowly moved into the docking area. The populace of the city had no love for their occupiers, and the few people that saw the “marauders” simply ignored them, some in hope that life would improve, some in pessimism that the group would fail in whatever their mission was. Hannibal looked at their grim faces, covered with the dust that comes with bombing and urban fighting. He preferred the old ways of fighting more actually. When it was personal, when you could see your opponent, when everybody had a chance. Now, with artillery, bombers, submarines and the like, you could die without even knowing you were fighting.

The journey around Michigan had been dangerous, especially after Detroit fell, but now they were here to carry out their mission, to bring relief to America. The group slowly moved through the streets of Chicago, warily, watched for any military presence. The Quebecois had withdrawn troops from the city in for the Detroit campaign. It would now prove to be their undoing, Hannibal hoped. Walking quietly, they reached the Texan consulate in Chicago.

“Now the fun begins.” Macarthur whispered, as cluster of men rounded a corner and saw Texan uniforms.

“Everyone ready?”

The men nodded.

The group walked into the consulate with Quebecois uniforms, taken from Boston. Muttering a few words in the only French he knew, the “Quebecois” marines used a few well-placed bullets to silence the Texans. The marines quickly went to the back of building and found lockers with enough uniforms for the unit.


The men changed into the uniforms in silent, this was an integral part of the plan. The idea that the cloths the group wore was the most important part of the plan was laughable, but true. If the Quebecois could believe that they were Texans, anything was possible.

Once changed, the soldiers collected the bodies and dumped them into a few carts in the street. The group brought the carts to Lake Michigan and threw the carts and men in them, into the water. Hopefully the bodies would remain secret long enough, if not, there was nothing to be done.

Hannibal glanced at the map of Chicago, smuggled out by resistance fighters to American authorities. The map had come with another map, a disturbing map of the front lines. Only Macarthur and Hannibal had seen it, and for good reason. The map was only a few days old, and it showed the American front line was slowly being pushed back.

It looked like Indiana would fall, and than Ohio would be indefensible. The loss of so many industrial regions was going to kill the Union in the long run, without bullets; the most devoted men cannot win a war. Hannibal’s thoughts drifted also to his family, to the promises made by the white-suited man. It all seemed like a dream, a terrible terrible dream. Was the Scandinavian dream real? Could the white-suited man really bring his family back to him? Questions like these troubled him as he walked in silence to the Quebecois civilian control center where collaborators could betray fellow Americans for money and safety. Of course, it also brought danger, but the fellows who gave information to the Quebecois were the shady sort that were already used to violence.

Stuck in his thoughts, Hannibal almost walked into Macarthur, waving his hand at everybody to stop. Had one of the marines not pulled him back, he may have walked right into Macarthur, so deep was he in his thoughts. Gesturing for everybody to bring their weapons out, Macarthur also took his own rife into his hand. The operation relied on being big and noisy, attracting as much attention as possible. Several marines had sub-machine guns, “bullet sprayers” that would knock down a dozen men but were so loud the whole city would hear them.

“Go, Go, Go!!”

The men ran across the street, spraying bullets into the HQ. Several off-duty men were killed in the initial attack, as were several civilians. Quebecois soldiers came rushing to the scene, many were killed, but more started firing back. After about 10 minutes of blood and bullets, the torrent of Quebecois rushing to the scene stopped. The marines entered the building, giving just enough time for the man at a radio to request help, before killing him. Several marines were dead; the ones unable to leave were killed, as they knew would happen. The country couldn’t afford for them to give into torture, so death was their only option.

As Hannibal left the scene, he desperately hoped that the Quebecois would find out the true identities of the dead men.



​