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Mike the Mechanic > Toby the Technician.

And both < Earl the Erector + Bob the Builder + Alvin the Architect + Carl the Constructor.

Was there ever a D? I think that 7 hour game stupified us to the point of missing a D...
 
Dave the Destroyer?
 
Discomb: No, we didn't have a D. I can't think of a building type word that begins with D, can you? :p

ColossusCrusher: That's no name for a worker! :p

Update coming up!
 
Somewhere on the Tran Siberian Railroad
December 14, 1936


Voroshilov giggled to himself giddily; he was glad that he was out of the trap that his enemies in Moscow had set up for him. He had decided on the 4th, after getting out of bed some time in the early afternoon, to return to Moscow to take care of some business, as it were, as the Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Army. It was, of course, a total lie but not completely inconceivable and, better yet, it required his own personal presence. Of course, he would stay in Moscow for two to three weeks, the urgent business running past the New Year’s Eve festivities, which he assumed would be quite glamorous, given all the new conquests that would be celebrated. Voroshilov smiled broadly, looking forward to New Year’s Eve. However, he knew that this was not the best part of his plan. The best part was that because he was gone, and explicitly leaving his chief-of-staff in charge of operations, any blame for defeat would fall not only Voroshilov’s shoulders but instead his! Voroshilov giggled sinisterly, pleased that his conniving abilities had not dulled with age and luxury.

Voroshilov sighed happily and slouched in his comfortable chair, which he had taken along with him from Vladivostok, as well as his feather mattress and other effects. He certainly did not want those filthy Manchurians and their White Russian lackeys to get their hands on such prized possessions. He brightened at this thought; the idea of bringing a number of prominent White Russians back from Manchuria to Moscow as prisoners to parade before Stalin was a promising thought. He would have to keep the idea to himself until he could return to Manchuria with another Front, ready for a real invasion of the country. Voroshilov did not think he was being callous, completely writing off an entire Front as lost, for it was likely the case. He was receiving daily reports from his chief-of-staff about the campaign at the way stations along the Trans Siberian railway, all of which had been outfitted with radio receptors.

The attack on Mudanjiang had gone awry, leading to another attack three days later, on the 7th. By that time, however, Vladivostok had actually fallen, and Voroshilov had winced at how close his precious belongings had been to capture. However, this necessarily meant that the division taking part in the attack had only a limited amount of supplies and thus failed to drive the Manchurian cavalry, which was leaderless to add to the insult, from the mountains. His chief-of-staff had directed Shapkin’s 53rd Rifle Corps, consisting, as usual, of only one division, to withdraw from Jiamusi where it had marched back to its starting point at Spassk-Dalnij, where it seemed the Manchurian cavalry from Vladivostok were moving next. Voroshilov shook his head, his chief-of-staff was panicking. Without the protection of not being nominally in charge, he was afraid of taking risks he normally would have taken had he been under Voroshilov’s protective shield. Survival of the fitting, Voroshilov thought primly to himself, the man was obviously not general material.

054-01-SecondBattleforMudanjiang.png

The second battle for Mudanjiang and Shapkin’s withdrawal from Jiamusi.

By late evening on December 8th, the three southern spearhead corps had reached Mukden, the final strategic location along their axis. The chief-of-staff, Voroshilov actually still did not know his name, directed them to attack Harbin in an attempt to gain the last strategic point within Manchuria itself, as well as to open up a supply line back to the Soviet Union via Jiamusi. Voroshilov smiled tightly, that effort did not end well.

054-02-BattleforHarbin.png

The battle for Harbin, which ended in Soviet victory.

Voroshilov acknowledged that the Manchurian defenders had been driven off, but to no avail. By the 11th, the Manchurians had driven a wedge between the division at Jilin and the three at Mukden by reoccupying Xinjing. The Manchurians had then launched an assault aiming to wipe out the division at Jilin, utilizing two cavalry divisions; one from Xinjing and the other from Mudanjiang.

054-03-BattleforJilin.png

The second battle for Jilin.

The battle raged for two days before finally the Manchurians gave up their attempts, somehow the out of supply division had proved too strong for them, though Voroshilov was sure that attacks on Xinjing and Mudanjiang had aided the defense. His chief of staff had redirected two divisions from the Harbin road toward Xinjing and engaged that cavalry division in its rear and defeated it on the 13th, not long before the Manchurians gave up their attacks on Jilin. Shapkin was also employed, attacking Mudanjiang from Jiamusi and leaving Spassk-Dalnij to its fate. As soon as it was able, the division in Jilin joined the march toward Mudanjiang, which happened to be the next day. That same day, Spassk-Dalnij fell to the Manchurians and they began racing toward Iman.

054-04-ManchurianSituation.png

The situation in Manchuria on the 14th of December.

Voroshilov put down that latest report, feeling slightly sick in his stomach. Other Manchurian units were appearing and some even marching into the Soviet Union! Voroshilov had certainly not left a moment too soon, he might even have to be careful how he explained this drastic change of events, given how fine the difference in time between his departure and the entire campaign falling apart was. Nevertheless, Voroshilov was confident that he would manage it; he was good at saving his own skin. And then, once it was saved, he would return to Manchuria with another Front, possible Buddenij’s Reserve Front, and cover himself in glory by conquering Manchuria and delivering many White Russians as prisoners to serve as the objects of Stalin’s displeasure! Voroshilov’s mouth was nearly salivating, his future seemed so bright.
 
Dave the Designer!
Voroshilov is a pragmatic pig...I like him.
 
He certainly has a way to justify things. I can't believe the front fell apart like that. But perhaps he really did foresee it and thus, no great loss in the long run. At least he got home in time for New Years. ;)
 
ColossusCrusher: Like him?! Damn ;)

coz1: Yes, Voroshilov is special, and soon he'll be in Moscow :p

Comment day again!
 
ColossusCrusher said:
Dave the Designer!

Dave the Disco Dancer!

Anyway, a bit of history. The 4 characters (disregarding Bob the Builder) came from the times me and Myth played Empires: Dawn of the Modern World agressively. We enjoyed playing together against level 10 AI, especially those of China and USSR, because they spammed units and cheated like the apocalypse was now. The first thing I did in such games was, as I played the French, and they had the best walls, I ran off with one builder, whom I nicknamed Bob the Builder, and walled off half the map. Eventually is became clear that the enemy was battering through every part of the wall at the same time, and I required a large team of builders to mantain the 5 layer wall as Myth built up our attack and elastic defence forces. Thus Alvin the Architect, Carl the Constructor and Earl the Erector were born, right in the middle of one WWI age only game. Eventually, as we were already on the offensive and preparing a heavy raid into enemy territory that would prove final, I ordered the builders to write "LOL" in giant letters in the middle of my base, using walls as ink. In a remarkable feat of brilliance, all four of them walled themselves in while writing the O, requiring me to refer to another worker in finishing the missing L.

On Myth's side, he constructed a little valley which was known to the soviet aviators simple as "DEATH!" It had about 30 flak cannons (correct me if I'm wrong) pointing in one direction, and as bombers appeared over the northern hill to stomp the weakest point on our defence line to the ground, they were all shot down in a matter of microseconds. If the game did not automatically remove bomber corpses from the field of battle, they would have collectively amounted to something the rough equivalent of which would have been Mt. Everest.
 
Discomb said:
Dave the Disco Dancer!

Anyway, a bit of history. The 4 characters (disregarding Bob the Builder) came from the times me and Myth played Empires: Dawn of the Modern World agressively. We enjoyed playing together against level 10 AI, especially those of China and USSR, because they spammed units and cheated like the apocalypse was now. The first thing I did in such games was, as I played the French, and they had the best walls, I ran off with one builder, whom I nicknamed Bob the Builder, and walled off half the map. Eventually is became clear that the enemy was battering through every part of the wall at the same time, and I required a large team of builders to mantain the 5 layer wall as Myth built up our attack and elastic defence forces. Thus Alvin the Architect, Carl the Constructor and Earl the Erector were born, right in the middle of one WWI age only game. Eventually, as we were already on the offensive and preparing a heavy raid into enemy territory that would prove final, I ordered the builders to write "LOL" in giant letters in the middle of my base, using walls as ink. In a remarkable feat of brilliance, all four of them walled themselves in while writing the O, requiring me to refer to another worker in finishing the missing L.

On Myth's side, he constructed a little valley which was known to the soviet aviators simple as "DEATH!" It had about 30 flak cannons (correct me if I'm wrong) pointing in one direction, and as bombers appeared over the northern hill to stomp the weakest point on our defence line to the ground, they were all shot down in a matter of microseconds. If the game did not automatically remove bomber corpses from the field of battle, they would have collectively amounted to something the rough equivalent of which would have been Mt. Everest.

Got to love bad AI! Reminds me of the most effective anti-air defence in Command and Conquer. Take your cheapest unit (a rifleman, generally) and put him in an iolated, out of the way place that happened to be closer to the AI's base. Whenever the AI looked for targets to bomb...it automatically selected the target closest to its base...thus spending its 'once every 10 minutes' air raid pulverizing one poor sod!

His sacrifice will be remembered...Jones, get out there! :rofl:

Anyway,
Do I sense the beginnings of a purge to get rid of Voroshilov's enemies?

TheExecuter
 
I loved that bit about corps-sized divisions and division-sized corps. Deciphering those formations must be a nightmare for enemy Military Intelligence. Power to the organization of the glorious Red Army!

Given the exploits of the "young" generals out in the West, I think the days of Voroshilov and his kind are numbered (ie, however long it takes for Zhukov, Koniev, etc to get autopromoted ;) ).
 
Aha! The Mighty Manchu Banners are causing distress amongst the poor benighted Soviets.

Tell you what. I'll trade you some white russian officers for a peace treaty and maybe a trade deal. I might even throw in military access if your nice...what do ya say?:D
 
Discomb: Basically, the morale of your post is that we have awesome war stories :D

TheExecuter: We'll see...:p

VILenin: Yes, the Red Army has slightly odd organization. And that's an interesting thought you raise concerning the young generals...;)

grayghost: Never! :mad:

Update coming up!
 
The Kremlin
December 31, 1936


Voroshilov stirred the champagne in his glass before delightfully sipping it and grinning. Stalin knew what he liked, the champagne from Riga. Of course, the bottle this champagne had been poured from had been procured in the late 1920s or early 1930s, before Latvia had been reincorporated into the Russian Empire—Soviet Union, rather, as Voroshilov corrected himself. Voroshilov was standing near the corner of the large hall that held the many guests that were attending, some of whom were foreign attaches, diplomats or ambassadors. The rest were Soviet politicians and the generals, from both categories not only those who held high-ranking positions but the up-and-coming men of the next year. Voroshilov always enjoyed speaking with such men, sounding them out and deciding whether to take them under his wing or not. A thought went through his mind that he had done such with his chief-of-staff, and that did not seem, at the moment, to have turned out well. Annoyed, Voroshilov shooed the thought away, determined to enjoy a completely business-free evening. Amazingly, it was one of the first he was having since returning to Moscow; he kept up the pretence of having a lot of work as the commander-in-chief by taking care of a lot of the work. It was a clever political ploy, and very convincing given how real it was, but it tended to leave him exhausted. He wanted just one night without worry, and this was to be that night. He hoped.

Voroshilov stood on his tiptoes, attempting to spot recognizable heads in the crowd. He thought he saw Maksim Litvinov speaking with an assorted bunch of diplomats, most of whom seemed to have come from either Asia or South America, though he thought he saw someone who was potentially an African as well. Voroshilov was never good with races, they all always looked the same to him, especially at a distance after his eyes had begun to go bad from too much reading. Voroshilov noticed the coterie old Soviet Latvians grouped together to one side, talking animatedly in what Voroshilov believed to be Latvian. This group included Jakov Alksnis and Jan Berzin, chief of the Soviet Air Force and of the intelligence services, respectively, as well as the Latvian field marshals Fricis Vacietis and Robert Eidman, Yan Rudzutak, Valerij Mezlauk, Eduard Berzin, Ivar Smilga and the up-and-coming Latvian Robert Eihe. Voroshilov shook his head, they had always kept to one side in some ways, though he knew better than to doubt their loyalty. None liked to admit it, but it was the Latvians who had been Lenin’s personal bodyguards, because they had been trust-worthy.

Suddenly a great spill of laughter emerged in waves from one end of the hall, which Voroshilov immediately recognized as Buddenij’s. Smiling to himself, Voroshilov followed the sound, threading his way through the crowds, until he came upon the Bolshevik old guard. Buddenij was captivating the crowd with tales of his cavalry exploits against the Poles in 1920, of how he himself, as he told it, would ride against them and force them to flee or hole up in the towns as the Galician countryside was ravaged all around them. His audience laughed with evil glee at his story and some of the antics he performed out for them, though to Voroshilov the laughter seemed a bit forced, as though they had heard the stories too many times and were somewhat embarrassed by his drunken acts. Nevertheless, they felt too much loyalty to him to do anything but pander to his harmless whims. Voroshilov stopped just outside the group, not wanting to really associate with them, but wondering what would happen if someone noticed him. For some reason, he expected guilt, as though these men who had once been his brethren would feel sorry for scheming against him behind his back. He was, after all, the finest of the old Bolsheviks.

Buddenij was in the midst of reenacting the beginnings of a rape when he first noticed Voroshilov. His face contorted with the exaggeration of surprise, revelation and possibly anger that drunkenness tended to bring on as he ceased his activities and turned unsteadily to face Voroshilov. By this time, others had noticed that Voroshilov was standing behind them and stepped to the side, respectfully allowing an emptiness space to form along the straight line between Voroshilov and Buddenij. Adopting a serious face, Buddenij slowly half-stumbled, half-strode toward Voroshilov, stopping just short of falling into him, and stared him defiantly in the eyes. Seeing Voroshilov calmly return the stare, Buddenij unsteadily wavered back and forth before letting out a great booming laugh and throwing his arm drunkenly over Voroshilov’s shoulders.

The ice was broken and the audience reformed as Buddenij began drunkenly telling tales of the Civil War and the battles he and Voroshilov had fought together. Voroshilov smiled, knowing that he ad won, but that victory had come at a price. Voroshilov’s mind was far away as he idly swirled his champagne, sipping it and absently chuckling with the rest of the audience at Buddenij’s tales. He was thinking of the report that had come from the Manchurian Front on the 26th. The division in Jilin was nearly through the trap and would soon be free. That was when he expected to return to Manchuria, to take command after the disaster and turn it around.

055-01-MovementsinEasternManchuria.png

The situation in eastern Manchuria.

With an effort, Voroshilov banished such thoughts from his mind. He did not want to care about business on New Year’s Eve. Rather, he excused himself from the group of old Bolsheviks and began sliding through the crowd, eager to find Stalin. First, however, he had an important meeting with the buffet table and a new bottle of Riga champagne. Voroshilov sighed; it had been a very long year.
 
Gak...Voroshilov has an overblown opinion of his own self importance.

Okay, how bout this. White peace, and I'll take Vorshilov off your hands. C'mon...you are certainly getting the better part of the bargain.;)
 
It can't get that much worse in Manchuria IMO, turning it around shouldn't be that hard but I guess the Soviet Union take any victory as a victory no matter how long it takes to take down poor minor countries. :D
 
Hmm, interesting scene. The guilt sits at the back of his mind, but once you throw some drink around and get the old guys back together, its all stories and fun. At least until news of the setback gets to Stalin. Perhaps Voroshilov should bring some of that champagne to that meeting. ;)
 
i caught up!!!!!! that was one hell of a long slog to get here. not that it wasnt enjoyable o course. love this - though never seen an aar that takes 30 pages to do one year. i expect ill be married and have kids reading this before you and discomb go to war. and i dont even have a girlfriend :)

one question i have been wanting to ask for ages: i know you are roleplaying, and it makes a great story, but isnt it kinda giving discomb and his bro the advantage? cos you could have taken much more than you have now if you used most of your forces.
 
Buddenij, Blucher and Voroshilov are all useless gits. I can't wait for the day when they "retire" to make room at the top for some compotent officers.

So how did the Manchu AI get such a jump on you? Was it just a shortage of combat troops? Ironic, if that was the case, considering the massive commitment against the Tuvans.
 
grayghost: Hmm, that sounds kind of good, actually :D

General Jac: Hey, conquest is conquest ;)

coz1: That might be an idea, getting Stalin drunk ;)

BritishImperial: Nah, the AAR won't take that long. 1936 was the long year, events thin out a fair amount in '37-'39 and almost nothing happens but war preparation in '40-'42 so those will go by quickly and near-instantaneously, respectively. Though the war will slow down game-time again quite drastically--even more so than early 1936! :p
And yeah, it gives them an advantage though they are bound by some of the same house rules that I am (the most particular one not being able to wage war against two DOWed states at a time). However, I'm also playing for flavor, with the Fronts and all, which they're not. But I'm also the better player :D

VILenin: I think the entire Manchurian army is a bit bigger than my Manchurian Front, which might have had something to do with it, and also that I have one division dealing with Tannu Tuva and returning by train etc etc, and that because the Manchurians had to deal with only one area of offensive, near Vladivostok, they could concentrate their forces against it. To be fair, I had accomplished all of my objectives except for Harbin and was moving on Harbin when it all went tits up. It's mostly because the Manchurians snuck into Vladivostok and Xinjing, thus dividing the Manchurian Front into three :p

Comment day again!