trekaddict said:
there we go...
is Mr Pigsticker or whetever his silly name translates to playing? if not it'll be 2001 all over again. I mean 1966. I mean...-
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there we go...
is Mr Pigsticker or whetever his silly name translates to playing? if not it'll be 2001 all over again. I mean 1966. I mean...
BritishImperial said:there we go...
...
Well, that 1966 game is something we have to re-do someday. Someday when you lot actually manage to get past the group stage in a tournament.
We should learn from Germany and steal all the good players from other countries then give them passports.trekaddict said:
Are there any actual Germans in the national team or is it all Poles and Brazilians?
El Pip said:We should learn from Germany and steal all the good players from other countries then give them passports.
Are there any actual Germans in the national team or is it all Poles and Brazilians?
Actually most of them are actual Germans. Only a minority come from other countries.
Fellow AuthAAR robw963 just mailed me this. I think this yhould motivate you all to keep commenting.
Chapter 68
September 19th, 1939
Fortress Warsaw, Poland
The 349th Rifle Division prided itself with being one of the oldest standing first-line formations of the Red Army, but even these elite troopers had come entirely unprepared for the hellish nightmare that was the battle of Warsaw. Even after almost a month of warfare the Soviet/German Advance had barely made it into the outer suburbs of the Polish capital, because the poles were fighting tooth, nail and bone for every meter. Private Dimitry Korolev was with the Division ever since he had been conscripted into the Army for the duration in August, and he had seen his fair share of action in the fierce battles in eastern Poland, but this was almost too much even for him. His unit, the 3rd Company/3rd Battalion/44th Rifle Regiment of the 349th Rifle Division was currently holed up in what had been some sort of community centre before the war. The had been given the task to clear this building a three days ago, and in all that time they had advanced exactly three metres into the main hallway, with the poles holding the other end. The brutal urban combat had cost the lives of half the men in the company already and there was no end in sight. The polish radio was still defiantly playing their national anthem, and many of the loudspeakers scattered all over the city still made that sound available to many of the German and Soviet troopers, at least there where they still had power. Korolev was currently standing guard, with his Mosin-Nagant trained at the door at the other end of the corridor, the barrel resting in a hole in the wall. He was hungry. Supplies had a hard time getting through to the 'front', and the ration packs he had traded in from the German patrol they had met a few days ago were almost used up. He could hear the poles talking behind the other door, doubtless steeling themselves for the fighting that would resume as soon was it was light enough to see what you were shooting at. Dimitry wished he had one of the German MP-40s or the new PPSH some of the Soviet Officers carried, his rifle was awfully unwieldy in these tight spaces. At least he had that Walther P-38, taken off a dead German pilot who had been killed when his Stuka had been shot down by the poles. Any time now he would be relieved, and he was looking forward to get a few hours of sleep, despite then constant roar of artillery and Machine Gun fire. Sure enough, some tapped him on the shoulder, and when he whirled around, ready to fight his attacker he realized it was Starshina Markov. “Dimitry, go back and try to get some sleep. We will need all of your strength tomorrow, as you are our best marksman.”
“Da, Comrade Starshina.” He lowered himself to the ground and crawled back, past a long row of windows that were backlit by the burning city, praying to the non-existent god his grandmother was always going on about that no Polish Sniper spotted him. When he reached the room where the rest of his squad was happily snoring away amongst the shattered remnants of some sort of kitchen. He was tired, but before he lay down he cast a quick look out of a window that even still had some glass in it, and what he saw would have shattered him had he not seen it all to often already. Huge chunks of the suburbs of Warsaw were burning, and the night sky was criss-crossed with tracer fire of all imaginable calibres. Overhead he could hear the roar of the Soviet and German bombers that were pounding the polish defences without mercy, in a desperate bid the take some pressure off the ground forces. Dimitry shook his head and cuddled himself into a dark corner of the room, asleep within minutes. After three hours that seemed like minutes to him he was awoken by Markov. “Dimitry, we must move out now!” was the first thing he heard. The squad moved to the door where Dimitry had stood guard during the night, and much to everyone's surprise a DP-28 MG had appeared from somewhere. When everyone was in position Markov just yelled: “FIRE!” The DP-28 blasted away, tearing the door at the other end of the corridor to shreds, along with the Polish Soldier behind it. Dimitry and his comrades threw grenades through the stone dust the MG had created and were rewarded by the piercing screams of the poles. “CHARGE!” Markov yelled again before leading the charge down the corridor. Drawing his P-38, Dimitry followed suit, but when he reached the room he could see that the work was already done. None of the poles were still alive. Markov sat on a couch in a corner, feet propped up on a piece of rubble, grinning widely and smoking a cigarette from a pack that he must have looted from one of the bodies. “Glad you could all join me, Comrades. Come, sit and have a smoke with your old friend Yuri Markov.” Before anyone could answer a shell smashed through the remaining window, missing the crouched Dimitry by mere inches and smashing into the door frame they just come through. The corridor was showered with splinters and Dimitry felt the pain that clearly told him that something must have hit him in his lower thigh. “Aw, shit, I am hit!” he groaned and proceeded to apply a improvised bandage, before joining his comrades that were returning fire through holes in the wall and the window into the general direction where the poles had to have one of their Anti-Tank Rifles. Below them a group of German Panzer II s was attacking another polish stronghold and Dimtiry realized that the shot hadn't even been aimed at him and his squad. Markov realized this too and had them cease fire, as they still had to clear the rest of the building.
The Poles that occupied the rest of the rooms seemed to be in a beehive of activity by now, as the German Panzers outside where showered with everything from mortars to what seemed to be heavy artillery. The Soviet troopers inside realized that if the Poles managed to defeat these Panzers all their forces in the area would be devoted to hunt them down, and the depleted, quarter-strength Company could not hope to survive such an effort. Senior Lieutenant Cradvosk, the highest-ranking survivor, therefore declared that the Polish observers had to be killed before they realized that the company was still alive. Most of the lower floor was clear, but the second floor and last but not least the roof still held several defenders, the remnants of a Regiment the 349th had fought ever since the beginning of the Battle of Warsaw. The carnage of the fighting on the few miles between the outer perimeter and their current position had ground both units down, and when rumour was right the 349th was about to be pulled off the line in order to replenish it. Dimitry had heard this too, but he suspected that it was nothing more than wishful thinking, because never in the glorious History of the Red Army had a unit been pulled out before the mission was accomplished. But these were idle thoughts, and as the commissar had told them before he had been killed in the explosion of some sort of gas tank, a Soviet Soldier needed to keep his mind on the matter lest he be killed. “Comrade Sergeant, we have no more grenades among us all.” he yelled at Markov, who promptly let loose a long stream of expletives before ordering Dimitry close. “Listen, Dimitry my friend, I know that you are the best shot here. Do you think you can do this?” Markov explained his plan.
Five minutes later the Soviet troopers had made their way to the roof of the building, encountering no more Polish soldiers inside, something that mightily surprised everyone. It seemed as if the poles were preparing to make a stand on the roof which was, naturally, a maze of pipes and all sorts of obstacles, something that made Dimitry's job both easier and harder. At least with the masses of Soviet and German Aircraft overhead they would not have to be as silent as a grave, and probably no one would hear his shots. He was alone, only accompanied by his trusted rifle, perched atop a small rise from a ventilation shaft. He trained it at the area where they presumed the polish Artillery Observers to be, and sure enough, four of them came into view. He knew that Markov and three others were near, camped out near the passageway that was the only other entry to the roof, having killed the guard there surprisingly silent. All around them, Axis and Polish shells were falling. The few remaining polish heavy guns were shelling the advancing Soviet Infantry, the Soviets and Germans were trying to force the Polish defenders to keep their head down, and it all resulted in an incredible carnage of men, machines, dirt and blood. Dimitry didn't have to look down to know what it looked like. He had seen it time and again these past few weeks, and the older veterans of the Division could tell stories from the alter parts of the Civil war against the White Counter-Revolutionaries. The four Poles on the other hand watched it with interest as they had to direct the artillery fire. He sighted his Rifle, targeting the Pole that had to be an officer judging by the binoculars and the hat he was wearing. Luckily for him they were making a crucial mistake: They were all watching the battle in the street, trusting the now-dead guards to keep their rear free. Dimitry was about to show them the error of their ways. He pulled the trigger and the Officer went down. In one smooth motion he worked the action of his rifle and sighted the next enemy. Again a hit. Only now did the Polish soldiers realize that someone was shooting at them, but it was too late. Twice more did his rifle bark, then this little engagement amidst the fierce battle all around them was over.
[Game Notes: The Battle of Warsaw is far from over. Up next a meeting of HM Government, detailing the state of the war and giving a general idea of the state of the war.]
Go Poles.
What? I always root for the underdog.
Once again, a good update and I love this type of update.
What? I always root for the underdog.
Once again, a good update and I love this type of update.
That, sir, is an outstanding poster.
Good to see the Poles are not going quietly into the night, though I do wish the French were taking advantage of this and probing the Siegfried Line (or indeed doing anything at all). If nothing else surely French high command would prefer to fight on German territory rather than French, they can always fall back to the Maginot Line if necessary.
Good to see the Poles are not going quietly into the night, though I do wish the French were taking advantage of this and probing the Siegfried Line (or indeed doing anything at all). If nothing else surely French high command would prefer to fight on German territory rather than French, they can always fall back to the Maginot Line if necessary.
Perhaps the French army is preparing a landing in Danzing itself, to hurry then towards Warsaw and Berlin at the same time... :rofl:
ColossusCrusher
humancalculator Root as much as you want, in the long term the poles are screwed.
El Pip The French High Command is currently pre-occupied with being annoyed about the British and the whole war itself, and the ongoing unrest behind their lines doesn't really help them either. More on that in the next update(s)
Kurt_Steiner As of late the French have the more annoying tendency to land in Dunqerke (sp?) as soon as the German lines have passed it.
humancalculator Root as much as you want, in the long term the poles are screwed.
El Pip The French High Command is currently pre-occupied with being annoyed about the British and the whole war itself, and the ongoing unrest behind their lines doesn't really help them either. More on that in the next update(s)
Kurt_Steiner As of late the French have the more annoying tendency to land in Dunqerke (sp?) as soon as the German lines have passed it.
robw963 said:Aww man...don't tell me that! It breaks my heart.
Sorry, but if your country was reduced to your capital and of your allies one a bloody coward by design and the other willing but still too weak....
Inspired by my recent post I am thinking of replacing the "United Kingdom" in the title of this AAR with "British Empire" and to ask a mod to do the same with this threads title. Any toughts? Because I can't really decide...
I am once again officially caught up. Great series of updates there. I especially enjoyed the depiction of urban warfare in the last one, and the fact that you're showing characters from the opposite side.
Hardraade said:
Well, that's what wasting countless hours on various parts of the Call of Duty series does to you.
trekaddict said:Well, that's what wasting countless hours on various parts of the Call of Duty series does to you.
Those hours were not wasted, my friend.
I call it time well spent.
"The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time" - Bertrand RussellHardraade said:Those hours were not wasted, my friend.
I call it time well spent.
A philosophy I fully agree with.