Wow , a very very cool way of portraying such starting moves , Mr. Myth . I'm very impressed . The graphics as well are well done ! Looking forward to the carnage !
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~Hahahahahaha! He pretty much quoted everything I said to him pre-game, save some things. I actually said that I expect to have around 100 mobile elements, composed mainly of tanks and motorized infantry. Also, there was plenty of deception on my part as well. Some of the plans he listed as my probable course of action are plain out wrong. :rofl:
Great update Myth, must admit that I liked this update better than first one, maybe because I fancy strategic plans. Also I must admit that you inspired me to start new MP game with similar setting.
canonized: thanks, and there will indeed be some carnage later! 
Discomb: yup. still, it makes for an interesting STAVKA report
Edzako: what, also with a massive equatorial africa?
stnylan: yup, seems like it. eastern europe isn't much use except to gain some strategic depth anyway
rcduggan: thanks!
therev: indeed...theory vs practice. theory goes "wheeee this is great" and practice goes "wtf?"
Middelkerke: thanks!
Brad1: glad to have you following along!
Dinglehoff: welcome, nice to see you!
like two days ago, today's just comment day. next update will be tomorrow morning
Discomb: yup. still, it makes for an interesting STAVKA report
Edzako: what, also with a massive equatorial africa?
stnylan: yup, seems like it. eastern europe isn't much use except to gain some strategic depth anyway
rcduggan: thanks!
therev: indeed...theory vs practice. theory goes "wheeee this is great" and practice goes "wtf?"
Middelkerke: thanks!
Brad1: glad to have you following along!
Dinglehoff: welcome, nice to see you!
like two days ago, today's just comment day. next update will be tomorrow morning
Comment days are always good policy ! Especially since sometimes people aren't available on the first day -- plus good grief updating every day would make you a very prolific writer and would make a lot of people perpetually behind haha !
Not necessarily. Myth's been churning out one update per day for about two weeks, give or take a few rest days. I suspect he'll be finished writing the AAR before it hits the 2/3 posted mark.
*subscribed*
Shame about the loss of screenshots...but I'll definitely be following this.
TheExecuter
Shame about the loss of screenshots...but I'll definitely be following this.
TheExecuter
canonized: indeed, think of poor old grayghost when he comes back from vacation!
Discomb: well, I've been kind of neglecting them since coming to England. I've posted two (soon, three) and I've only written one here. still, I'm going to try to keep ahead
TheExecuter: yeah, his screenshots would have been useful as I didn't really follow his progress in much detail. however, I personally still have over 300 screenshots to pick and choose from and some of them focus on him...
rcduggan: it is coming
update in a bit, lads
Discomb: well, I've been kind of neglecting them since coming to England. I've posted two (soon, three) and I've only written one here. still, I'm going to try to keep ahead
TheExecuter: yeah, his screenshots would have been useful as I didn't really follow his progress in much detail. however, I personally still have over 300 screenshots to pick and choose from and some of them focus on him...
rcduggan: it is coming
update in a bit, lads
5 Kilometers east of Smolensk
December 15, 1935
The barracks door slammed open as Junior Lieutenant Evgenij Bessonov stormed in, more fearsome than the icy winds that followed in his wake. Before he had even begun bellowing orders, soldiers were tumbling out of beds and struggling into their uniforms yet he roared all the same, “SOL-DIERS! Prepare for action! I want everybody on the trucks in three minutes or I’ll have you indicted for cowardice in the face of the enemy and shot!”
By the time he had finished, the last of the soldiers were rushing past him, the first having already climbed up onto the trucks. Once they had all left, Bessonov turned around to watch the last handful clamber into the trucks, the pre-dawn darkness hiding an insignificant curvature of his lips. He was secretly proud of his men.
Private Nikifor Talenskij shivered and rubbed his hands, holding his Mosin Nagant rifle with his knees, as the truck he was riding jerked its way down the frozen, hole-ridden pathetic excuse of a road that served to connect their barracks to the trenches further westward. He looked over to the man sitting next to him, Private Arsenij Chafirov, who was also holding his rifle with his knees as he tended to his two daggers. Nikifor shook his head, “why do you carry those daggers everywhere with you? You won’t need them today.”
Arsenij barely glanced at Nikifor before returning his gaze to his beloved blades. “As you carry that photograph of Faina next to your heart, so do I carry Masha and Sasha at each hip. While on duty, that photograph is your only link to your past save occasional letters. So it is with Masha and Sasha, they are the only relics I retain of a previous life.”
Grunting, as much with acknowledgment as pain as the truck jolted over a particularly vicious pothole, Nifikor turned his head to look at Private Vadim Radek on his other side. He was dreamily staring off into the ether, seemingly oblivious of his surroundings, absently holding his rifle upright in his hands. Nikifor nudged him, causing Vadim to blink several times before turning his own head to smile unsteadily at Nikifor. “And what does the bearer of victory wish to say to Vadim?”
Nikifor sighed, Vadim always spoke so strangely. “Why do you keep calling me the bearer of victory?”
“That is your name, is it not? Nikifor—bearer of victory. Vadim knows this.”
“Uhhh…you know what? Nevermind.”
Still smiling, Vadim nodded before straightening himself to stare absently forward into the clouds above the horizon. Resigned to the journey, Nikifor also simply looked blankly forward, his gaze slipping past the vague forms of squadmates Afonka Basmanov and Valeri Razumovskij. Suddenly, however, the truck slid to a stop, turning a third of a revolution as it did so, slipping on the ice. Under the watchful eyes of the barking sergeants, a group which included Andrei Suvorin, the soldiers spilled out of the trucks and flowed into the trenches awaiting them as artillery roared somewhere behind them. Within moments, Nikifor was sitting wretchedly in a frozen, snowed-in trench, wondering what was to happen that day. Beside him, Arsenij was still, or perhaps again, whetting his twin daggers. As he expected, Vadim was sitting on his other side, staring intensely into the opposing trench wall. His gaze was, however, interrupted by Suvorin as came by, bending low as to not reveal himself over the top of the trench. “The enemy has setup a light anti-tank screen as they wish to build extensive fortifications to the west. As soon as our artillery ends, the whistles will blow and the assault begins.”
Suvorin waggled his whistle semi-menacingly at the three soldiers before moving on down the trench line to inform others. After what seemed to be an eternity, but was much more likely only ten minutes or so, the artillery barrage ended. Immediately, the shrill yowls of the whistles carried through the air and before he knew what he was doing, Nikifor was scrambling over the top of the trench along side hundreds, if not thousands, of other soldiers and dashing forward across the ankle-deep snow. Somewhere behind, he could hear the drone of engines as T-27 light and T-18 medium tanks growled to life and crunched the snow beneath their treads as they too joined the advance. Soon a T-27 light tank was passing by Nikifor and, motioning to Arsenij and Vadim, he grabbed at one of the rails welded onto the tank’s hull and swung himself up next to the turret, turning back to watch as the other two managed to barely clamber up behind it. Elsewhere, he could see that other tanks were also donning passengers. Staring ahead, Nikifor could just barely make out dark shadows in the green smoke that shrouded the enemy positions.
Suddenly, a canister dug into the snow by a T-18 near the T-27 they were riding, spewing red smoke. Immediately, the tank lurched to a stop and a white flag was quickly hoisted. All along the advancing line, tanks were hoisting flags as they were ‘hit’ and infantrymen tumbled into the snow as referees determined that their deaths had come. Nikifor noticed Valeri dive into the snow at a referee’s instigation, followed quickly by another squadmate, Timur Charpak. Before he could look around for others, however, Vadim called out to the other two passengers on the tank, “Vadim suggests abandoning this tank and continuing on foot. The tank, it is too good a target.”
Nikifor was on the verge of complaining, as the tank’s engine was quite warming, when Vadim pushed him off before jumping off himself, dragging Arsenij with him. They sprawled together in an untidy pile in the snow and watched as a canister almost immediately pounced onto the T-27’s frontal armor and spun off, spraying red smoke in all directions; the tank instantly halted and yet another white flag began snapping in the wind. Before they had a chance to untangle themselves, Suvorin was upon them, running bent low. Waving his PPSh around with one hand, he swore at them and kicked at their feet. “Get the hell up you bastards! The enemy trench line is just ahead, we need to clear it of anti-tank guns so that the rest of our armor can pass safely. Davai!”
With that, he grasped a canister—a mock grenade—one hand, still holding his PPSh in the other, and dived into the smoke. Scrambling to their feet, Nikifor, Arsenij and Vadim quickly followed him. However, they almost failed to notice the gaping maw of the trench just in front of them and only barely avoided painfully tumbling in. Ahead of them, they could barely see Suvorin’s shadowy form as he threw the canister into a bunker, which immediately exploded into a cloud of billowing green to join the emerald haze that was already shrouding the area, and swinging his PPSh back and forth, locked in melee combat with the enemy. Suddenly one of the defenders broke free of Suvorin’s fury and pulled out his pistol; he aimed first at Nikifor, but Arsenij whipped out a dagger and mocked throwing it. The man pulled the trigger; the on looking referee refused to recognize Arsenij’s dagger and Nikifor crumpled to the ground. The defender then turned to Arsenij and eliminated him as well before being tackled by Vadim. Arsenij, Nikifor and a half dozen defenders lay still as the fighting moved on further, the attackers having broken through the defensive line. For Nikifor and Arsenij, however, the exercise was over.
Arsenij gritted his teeth as they picked themselves up at the referee’s behest and began walking back to their own trenches, where they would be transported back to the barracks and released to eat breakfast. “I swear to you, Nikifor, one day Masha will save your life, or the life of another, and there will be no referee to disregard it!”
Behind them, red and blue smoke twisted together.
December 15, 1935
The barracks door slammed open as Junior Lieutenant Evgenij Bessonov stormed in, more fearsome than the icy winds that followed in his wake. Before he had even begun bellowing orders, soldiers were tumbling out of beds and struggling into their uniforms yet he roared all the same, “SOL-DIERS! Prepare for action! I want everybody on the trucks in three minutes or I’ll have you indicted for cowardice in the face of the enemy and shot!”
By the time he had finished, the last of the soldiers were rushing past him, the first having already climbed up onto the trucks. Once they had all left, Bessonov turned around to watch the last handful clamber into the trucks, the pre-dawn darkness hiding an insignificant curvature of his lips. He was secretly proud of his men.
Private Nikifor Talenskij shivered and rubbed his hands, holding his Mosin Nagant rifle with his knees, as the truck he was riding jerked its way down the frozen, hole-ridden pathetic excuse of a road that served to connect their barracks to the trenches further westward. He looked over to the man sitting next to him, Private Arsenij Chafirov, who was also holding his rifle with his knees as he tended to his two daggers. Nikifor shook his head, “why do you carry those daggers everywhere with you? You won’t need them today.”
Arsenij barely glanced at Nikifor before returning his gaze to his beloved blades. “As you carry that photograph of Faina next to your heart, so do I carry Masha and Sasha at each hip. While on duty, that photograph is your only link to your past save occasional letters. So it is with Masha and Sasha, they are the only relics I retain of a previous life.”
Grunting, as much with acknowledgment as pain as the truck jolted over a particularly vicious pothole, Nifikor turned his head to look at Private Vadim Radek on his other side. He was dreamily staring off into the ether, seemingly oblivious of his surroundings, absently holding his rifle upright in his hands. Nikifor nudged him, causing Vadim to blink several times before turning his own head to smile unsteadily at Nikifor. “And what does the bearer of victory wish to say to Vadim?”
Nikifor sighed, Vadim always spoke so strangely. “Why do you keep calling me the bearer of victory?”
“That is your name, is it not? Nikifor—bearer of victory. Vadim knows this.”
“Uhhh…you know what? Nevermind.”
Still smiling, Vadim nodded before straightening himself to stare absently forward into the clouds above the horizon. Resigned to the journey, Nikifor also simply looked blankly forward, his gaze slipping past the vague forms of squadmates Afonka Basmanov and Valeri Razumovskij. Suddenly, however, the truck slid to a stop, turning a third of a revolution as it did so, slipping on the ice. Under the watchful eyes of the barking sergeants, a group which included Andrei Suvorin, the soldiers spilled out of the trucks and flowed into the trenches awaiting them as artillery roared somewhere behind them. Within moments, Nikifor was sitting wretchedly in a frozen, snowed-in trench, wondering what was to happen that day. Beside him, Arsenij was still, or perhaps again, whetting his twin daggers. As he expected, Vadim was sitting on his other side, staring intensely into the opposing trench wall. His gaze was, however, interrupted by Suvorin as came by, bending low as to not reveal himself over the top of the trench. “The enemy has setup a light anti-tank screen as they wish to build extensive fortifications to the west. As soon as our artillery ends, the whistles will blow and the assault begins.”
Suvorin waggled his whistle semi-menacingly at the three soldiers before moving on down the trench line to inform others. After what seemed to be an eternity, but was much more likely only ten minutes or so, the artillery barrage ended. Immediately, the shrill yowls of the whistles carried through the air and before he knew what he was doing, Nikifor was scrambling over the top of the trench along side hundreds, if not thousands, of other soldiers and dashing forward across the ankle-deep snow. Somewhere behind, he could hear the drone of engines as T-27 light and T-18 medium tanks growled to life and crunched the snow beneath their treads as they too joined the advance. Soon a T-27 light tank was passing by Nikifor and, motioning to Arsenij and Vadim, he grabbed at one of the rails welded onto the tank’s hull and swung himself up next to the turret, turning back to watch as the other two managed to barely clamber up behind it. Elsewhere, he could see that other tanks were also donning passengers. Staring ahead, Nikifor could just barely make out dark shadows in the green smoke that shrouded the enemy positions.
Suddenly, a canister dug into the snow by a T-18 near the T-27 they were riding, spewing red smoke. Immediately, the tank lurched to a stop and a white flag was quickly hoisted. All along the advancing line, tanks were hoisting flags as they were ‘hit’ and infantrymen tumbled into the snow as referees determined that their deaths had come. Nikifor noticed Valeri dive into the snow at a referee’s instigation, followed quickly by another squadmate, Timur Charpak. Before he could look around for others, however, Vadim called out to the other two passengers on the tank, “Vadim suggests abandoning this tank and continuing on foot. The tank, it is too good a target.”
Nikifor was on the verge of complaining, as the tank’s engine was quite warming, when Vadim pushed him off before jumping off himself, dragging Arsenij with him. They sprawled together in an untidy pile in the snow and watched as a canister almost immediately pounced onto the T-27’s frontal armor and spun off, spraying red smoke in all directions; the tank instantly halted and yet another white flag began snapping in the wind. Before they had a chance to untangle themselves, Suvorin was upon them, running bent low. Waving his PPSh around with one hand, he swore at them and kicked at their feet. “Get the hell up you bastards! The enemy trench line is just ahead, we need to clear it of anti-tank guns so that the rest of our armor can pass safely. Davai!”
With that, he grasped a canister—a mock grenade—one hand, still holding his PPSh in the other, and dived into the smoke. Scrambling to their feet, Nikifor, Arsenij and Vadim quickly followed him. However, they almost failed to notice the gaping maw of the trench just in front of them and only barely avoided painfully tumbling in. Ahead of them, they could barely see Suvorin’s shadowy form as he threw the canister into a bunker, which immediately exploded into a cloud of billowing green to join the emerald haze that was already shrouding the area, and swinging his PPSh back and forth, locked in melee combat with the enemy. Suddenly one of the defenders broke free of Suvorin’s fury and pulled out his pistol; he aimed first at Nikifor, but Arsenij whipped out a dagger and mocked throwing it. The man pulled the trigger; the on looking referee refused to recognize Arsenij’s dagger and Nikifor crumpled to the ground. The defender then turned to Arsenij and eliminated him as well before being tackled by Vadim. Arsenij, Nikifor and a half dozen defenders lay still as the fighting moved on further, the attackers having broken through the defensive line. For Nikifor and Arsenij, however, the exercise was over.
Arsenij gritted his teeth as they picked themselves up at the referee’s behest and began walking back to their own trenches, where they would be transported back to the barracks and released to eat breakfast. “I swear to you, Nikifor, one day Masha will save your life, or the life of another, and there will be no referee to disregard it!”
Behind them, red and blue smoke twisted together.
Wow , a truly unorthodox approach to smash us into a wargame . Did they really have wargames like that ? seems kind of cool for back in the day . Well done , Mr. Myth ! The characters have been introduced and now the train will roll !
canonized said:
I doubt that they have something like this in 1935, even in 1939 they were "famous" foe bad tank doctrines and lack of cooperation with other arms, although I am not against well written update.
as they say, training can't prepare you completely for actual war.. but we'll see
oh, and a VERY minor nitpick... but ongoing is one word, not too
but AARwesome update
oh, and a VERY minor nitpick... but ongoing is one word, not too
but AARwesome update