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Fricken... grammar.
Grandpa's talk is starting to turn a bit silly, I think it's time for him to take his naps again.
Grandpa's talk is starting to turn a bit silly, I think it's time for him to take his naps again.
Empire of the Volga – VI
June 31st 1940 Somewhere on the trans Siberian outside Moscow.
The train was noisy, bringing its cargo along the three thousand miles of rail stock to its destination somewhere in China.
It was cramped, and even worse it was smelly. On high had decreed that we hustle ass over to China and so we hustled onto the first train heading that direction, regardless of what was carried before.
Possibly farm animals? Pig shit? Well now it carries people and every machine, ammunition crate and rifle we could cram into it.
Even worse we weren't separated into passenger quarters, we were crammed in with the crates and equipment.
I was wandering around though...
I just couldn't sit around you know?
I would go mad.
Well... Madder...
“Evening Brother Lt. Ivanova.” A sergeant said as he passed by, saluting me.
“Evening Brother Sergeant Krokov.” I said to him as I passed by.
I was working my way back to my barrel and crew.
It was difficult, the train kept shaking.
The bull horn sounded, the train was signalling something?
“Think the war is going alright?”
“Dunno but I heard rumors...”
Huddled together soldiers were gossiping.
“Hey Lieutenant, far crawl to get back to your side of the train eh?” Another said to me as I passed over him. He didn't salute, so I didn't either, so fuck him'.
It was a little hazing to transfer from one train car to another, you had to open your door, leaving about a meter of open space between your car and the next one while the train was moving.
You had to take a stick and bang on the door opposite of you, and once someone idiot finally got around to opening it for you... You had to then jump across and hope the train didn't suddenly turn...
It is not like the train where I was assigned had bathrooms?
Finally returned, closing the door behind me with a loud slam.
“Welcome back Brother Lieutenant” Anastasia 'Stas' Romanova greeted me.
Nyura was working on the engine it seems, she looked up nodded at me and then bent back down to work.
“How much longer until we get to Kathay do you think?”
“Fucked if I know Brother Private.” I climbed up the machine and crawled into the commander's cuppola.
And then I slept.
***
“Rise and shine Emilia Isayeva... Rise and shine.
Not that I wish. To imply that you had been sleeping... On the job....
No one is more deserving of a rest, and all the effort in the world would have gone to waste...
Until... Well... Lets just say your hour has come again...
The right person in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.
So wake up Emilia Isayeva... Wake up and... Smell the ashes...”
Eh? What the fuck was that?
I woke up with a start as the train suddenly screeched to a halt.
I barely had time to pull up my pants when the train car door slid open to reveal the face of an angry looking military policeman.
“Wake up you fucking sardines, time to move out as there's been a change of plans and get your pants back on.” He spoke out loudly.
Jumping down with my boots in hand I asked what was going on.
“I guess you didn't hear trapped in this sardine can? Things have changed, there's been a big switch. We're at war with Germany now and allied to the Afrikanners.”
Eh? The fuck are the people in suits and fancy uniforms thinking? I want whatever they're smoking that's for sure!
And what of the Chinese, Punjabi's and Japanese?
He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.
“You think I fucking know? What do you think I am? Some General or fancy glasses wearing officer? Fuck that shit you think I am a fucking Umnik?”
I glanced back at Stas', she blushed and looked away.
“Just get your crew out of this sardine can and wait for orders, another train will come down the opposite way to bring you back to the front. You hear me Brother Lieutenant?”
“Yes Brother Sergeant.” Fucking sergeants think they can boss around officers, well fuck, they can but fuck them for knowing it.
I pulled on my boots and immediately got to work hauling ass and driving the barrel' out of the train car, I wasn't able to get away with not helping unload the cargo though, damn shame. Can't get any breaks in this army.
After about an hour the train violently shook and took off again towards Moscow, while we had to sit around and wait.
Hurry up and wait, who the fuck is running things?
“Well Brother Lieutenant seems we're at war with Germany. That makes me sad, weren't they our friends?” Anna came up and talked to me, or was she talking at me?
“Hrrm.” I gave a non committal answer, I was pretty fucking tired and my shoulders ached.
Hands on my hips I just leaned up against the barrel'.
“Brother Lieutenant!” Anna now was nudging me urgently.
“What do you think will happen to Kurt? He was a nice boy...”
She was talking about that German engineer she had flirted with when her unit had met up with a German barrel unit when they had advanced into Croatia. Somewhere in Slovakia... Honestly I didn't like Kurt and wanted to kick his ass, for messing with my cute little soldiers.
Sigh.
But you didn't want to terrorize your subordinates all the time, gotta throw em' a bone every so often.
“I'm sure he'll be fine....” An idea struck me. Awesome.
I smiled. “Hey? Maybe we'll capture him! Then you can have your very own pet German eh?” I laughed a little at that, not a very big bone was it?
“That's mean of your Brother Lieutenant Isayeva!” She got all angry at me, which was hilarious.
So I laughed at her to her face.
Sigh, time for a cig, where did I put my lighter...
[Yup, opening sequence from Half Life 2, Kinda wanted a "Eurasia was always at war with Eastasia" line there but couldn't pull it off.]
June 31st 1940 Somewhere on the trans Siberian outside Moscow.
The train was noisy, bringing its cargo along the three thousand miles of rail stock to its destination somewhere in China.
It was cramped, and even worse it was smelly. On high had decreed that we hustle ass over to China and so we hustled onto the first train heading that direction, regardless of what was carried before.
Possibly farm animals? Pig shit? Well now it carries people and every machine, ammunition crate and rifle we could cram into it.
Even worse we weren't separated into passenger quarters, we were crammed in with the crates and equipment.
I was wandering around though...
I just couldn't sit around you know?
I would go mad.
Well... Madder...
“Evening Brother Lt. Ivanova.” A sergeant said as he passed by, saluting me.
“Evening Brother Sergeant Krokov.” I said to him as I passed by.
I was working my way back to my barrel and crew.
It was difficult, the train kept shaking.
The bull horn sounded, the train was signalling something?
“Think the war is going alright?”
“Dunno but I heard rumors...”
Huddled together soldiers were gossiping.
“Hey Lieutenant, far crawl to get back to your side of the train eh?” Another said to me as I passed over him. He didn't salute, so I didn't either, so fuck him'.
It was a little hazing to transfer from one train car to another, you had to open your door, leaving about a meter of open space between your car and the next one while the train was moving.
You had to take a stick and bang on the door opposite of you, and once someone idiot finally got around to opening it for you... You had to then jump across and hope the train didn't suddenly turn...
It is not like the train where I was assigned had bathrooms?
Finally returned, closing the door behind me with a loud slam.
“Welcome back Brother Lieutenant” Anastasia 'Stas' Romanova greeted me.
Nyura was working on the engine it seems, she looked up nodded at me and then bent back down to work.
“How much longer until we get to Kathay do you think?”
“Fucked if I know Brother Private.” I climbed up the machine and crawled into the commander's cuppola.
And then I slept.
***
“Rise and shine Emilia Isayeva... Rise and shine.
Not that I wish. To imply that you had been sleeping... On the job....
No one is more deserving of a rest, and all the effort in the world would have gone to waste...
Until... Well... Lets just say your hour has come again...
The right person in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.
So wake up Emilia Isayeva... Wake up and... Smell the ashes...”
Eh? What the fuck was that?
I woke up with a start as the train suddenly screeched to a halt.
I barely had time to pull up my pants when the train car door slid open to reveal the face of an angry looking military policeman.
“Wake up you fucking sardines, time to move out as there's been a change of plans and get your pants back on.” He spoke out loudly.
Jumping down with my boots in hand I asked what was going on.
“I guess you didn't hear trapped in this sardine can? Things have changed, there's been a big switch. We're at war with Germany now and allied to the Afrikanners.”
Eh? The fuck are the people in suits and fancy uniforms thinking? I want whatever they're smoking that's for sure!
And what of the Chinese, Punjabi's and Japanese?
He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.
“You think I fucking know? What do you think I am? Some General or fancy glasses wearing officer? Fuck that shit you think I am a fucking Umnik?”
I glanced back at Stas', she blushed and looked away.
“Just get your crew out of this sardine can and wait for orders, another train will come down the opposite way to bring you back to the front. You hear me Brother Lieutenant?”
“Yes Brother Sergeant.” Fucking sergeants think they can boss around officers, well fuck, they can but fuck them for knowing it.
I pulled on my boots and immediately got to work hauling ass and driving the barrel' out of the train car, I wasn't able to get away with not helping unload the cargo though, damn shame. Can't get any breaks in this army.
After about an hour the train violently shook and took off again towards Moscow, while we had to sit around and wait.
Hurry up and wait, who the fuck is running things?
“Well Brother Lieutenant seems we're at war with Germany. That makes me sad, weren't they our friends?” Anna came up and talked to me, or was she talking at me?
“Hrrm.” I gave a non committal answer, I was pretty fucking tired and my shoulders ached.
Hands on my hips I just leaned up against the barrel'.
“Brother Lieutenant!” Anna now was nudging me urgently.
“What do you think will happen to Kurt? He was a nice boy...”
She was talking about that German engineer she had flirted with when her unit had met up with a German barrel unit when they had advanced into Croatia. Somewhere in Slovakia... Honestly I didn't like Kurt and wanted to kick his ass, for messing with my cute little soldiers.
Sigh.
But you didn't want to terrorize your subordinates all the time, gotta throw em' a bone every so often.
“I'm sure he'll be fine....” An idea struck me. Awesome.
I smiled. “Hey? Maybe we'll capture him! Then you can have your very own pet German eh?” I laughed a little at that, not a very big bone was it?
“That's mean of your Brother Lieutenant Isayeva!” She got all angry at me, which was hilarious.
So I laughed at her to her face.
Sigh, time for a cig, where did I put my lighter...
[Yup, opening sequence from Half Life 2, Kinda wanted a "Eurasia was always at war with Eastasia" line there but couldn't pull it off.]
Warships in the Wine-dark Water
August 3rd, 1940
Off the shore of Anatolia, near Rhodos
An hour before sunset
The unloading proceeded without haste. The heavy crates took four men to lift, and would have been impossible to carry down the rope ladders that connected the Elena Patropos to the smaller fishing vessel; but that was why she had the crane. They were on the eleventh crate when the lookout yelled a warning.
"Ship, hard astern!"
"What flag?" Myron shouted back. His skin crawled. Of course it was most likely just some tramp steamer or fishing trawler; unlike the broad Okhotsk Sea where he had learned his craft, this Mediterranean crawled with ships everywhere. But with their luck...
"She flies the Blue Ensign!"
Myros cursed silently, making for the stern at a quick walk to see for himself. The glasses confirmed it, showing clearly the royal blue flag with a tricolor splash in one corner. THere was no need to make out the Lion of Judah crowned and crossed; Black Navy, right enough, nobody else flew a flag remotely like it.
He stood indecisively for a moment, taking in other details. It was a warship; a merchant ship would have flown the state flag, not the naval ensign - but anyway, the sleek lines would have been sufficient, and the speed; it must be making twenty knots. Of course, it was no great battleship, no cruiser, not even a destroyer - such combatants weren't wasted on patrolling occupied coastlines. In fact it was actually smaller than the Elena; a customs cutter, or a frigate perhaps. But however the Ethiopians classified their brown-water ships, the single 37mm cannon on its forecastle could turn Myron's unarmoured vessel into an abattoir, if its captain thought he had reason.
Well, if it came to that, Myron had a few things up his sleeve that weren't displayed openly on his forecastle; the Elena looked like a peaceful merchantman, but looks were deceiving. A fight would be a chancy gamble, though. Even if they won, there was a good chance the Ethiopian could radio a warning to its fleet, and then they'd have the Devil's own time getting out of the Med. For that matter, a sinking frigate might just rake them with that gun, which looked bigger every time Myron looked at it; and who knew what might get holed? To include Myron's personal body, and the engine and hull that was going to take him back to Asia. No, better to brazen it out, at least at first. They had, after all, decoys for precisely this purpose.
Myron took a quick look at the Sun, then straightened in decision; there was no chance of running for it, though if the frigate had spotted them half an hour later he might have tried it. Surely the Ethiopians could not have installed the rumoured night-detectors on their customs patrols yet? Actually, he wouldn't put it past them; the Black Navy had been cocks of the walk at sea for hundreds of years, and, as the saying went, always travelled first class. But in any case it was irrelevant; the Elena didn't have the speed to open the range enough, and the Ethiopians had certainly installed the Mark One eyeball, which would suffice as long as the light held.
Back at the crane, his second in command was still supervising the unloading, and raised his eyebrow inquiringly. "Ethiopian frigate," Myros responded, keeping his features calm. "We'll try the decoy drill first. But, just in case, go make sure the tubes are loaded right." Daeho nodded silently and headed for the cargo decks; the Korean was not much given to talking where an economical movement of the head would do. Myron dismissed the hidden torpedo tubes from his mind. Daeho would see that they were properly loaded and ready, and the thought of them might make it harder to play his role. He should be nervous, like any smuggler caught by the authorities; but not sweating and stammering like a man facing a firing squad, nor arrogant or even confident like a man who had a hidden trump up his sleeve and could sink the other officer's ship any time he chose.
At length the Ethiopian pulled alongside, about a hundred meters to the starboard, and after a perfunctory "prepare to be boarded for inspection" sent a longboat across. There was no question of asking permission, less than five miles off a coast the Ethiopians controlled, even though they were technically in international waters. In this wartime, the Eastern Med was an Ethiopian lake, and anyone who disliked it could send battleships to enforce the three-mile limit. The officer in command was young, a lieutenant if Myros remembered the insignia correctly. He couldn't recall what heathen name the Ethiopians gave that rank, but it hardly mattered; the captain of a Greek merchantman wouldn't be expected to know such niceties. Besides, there was an interpreter, an Anatolian Greek who turned his woolen cap in his hands; Myros suspected the man's sympathies were with him, not his foreign employer. In fact for all he knew the interpreter's surname might be 'Komnenos'; Anatolia still held many of the Imperial dynasty, descendants of those who had not followed Alexandros into exile. Although, admittedly, few of them spoke with the thick sailor's accent of the Rhodos docks; Myros had to concentrate to follow the fellow's Greek, which was quite different from the version spoken in New Byzantium, lacking Chinese loanwords and Mongolian affricates.
"Captain, he asks what you are doing here. He, ah, thinks he is being funny."
Indeed, Myros could see the supercilious lift of the Ethiopian's brows, and sighed internally in well-hidden relief. A man who thought he knew what was going on could be shown what he expected to see. He coughed as if nervous, then smiled ingratiatingly.
"Well, if the truth were told, ah, we realised somewhat too late that our cargo would perhaps not entirely meet with the approval of the inspectors at Marmaris. Of course, these are international waters, so we are perfectly legally transferring a cargo for our own good reasons, no? So, perhaps it is not something that need concern the Black Navy, yes?" That was, at any rate, what Myros's superiors had told him: That the Ethiopians were, in strict theory, still enforcing the Shah's laws in their occupied territories, including the prohibition on importing alcohol. But, not Muslims themselves, the officers charged with enforcing the law often found it silly, and could be persuaded to look the other way if there was any sort of excuse. Myros rubbed his thumb and two forefingers together, down by his hip. It was a deniable gesture; if the Ethiopian turned out to be excessively rigid - some of them had strong views about the honour of their uniform - he could deny any intent to bribe, and say that he had merely been scratching an itch.
The Ethiopian smiled sardonically and spoke, and the interpreter translated: "He says, that's for him to judge; he demands to see your cargo."
Myros nodded, gesturing for the boarding party to follow him to the decoy crates. Technically the penalty for smuggling good brandy into the Persian Empire, when that polity still existed, had been two years in prison. Which for him was as good as a death sentence, for if they decided to haul him in they would certainly look at the rest of the cargo, and then they'd shoot him. But the Black Navy took pride in its capacity for drink, and sneered at what they considered an effeminate law; and besides, merchant shipping was the lifeblood of their empire, the more so now they were at war with the world's premier power. They didn't like to keep ships in dock for what they considered trivial reasons, even temporarily. But sometimes they did make an example, to keep their Moslem subjects happy. Myros licked his lips in what had to be a convincing display of nervousness as he opened the crate, revealing layers of green bottles wrapped in paper. He tried another ingratiating smile; it felt like a grimace on his face. "Ah... perhaps the officer would care for a few bottles, as a gift? Or a crate?" He waited nervously as the Ethiopian spoke again.
"He says, thank you, but his teacher taught him to always bring enough for everyone. And he says, there's two extra squads of Marines on his ship, and they are hard drinkers and rather cramped and cranky. Ah, he's still trying to be funny, but he'll just take what he wants if you don't give it to him."
"Yes, of course," Myron agreed, wincing visibly for the officer's benefit. He didn't really have to worry about the bribe cutting into his profit, but his persona would. "Tell him I mis-spoke, of course I meant to offer him three, no, four crates as the gift of my ship's company to his, in honour of the Black Navy's well-known capacity for drink. Lay it on thick."
The officer smiled and nodded, and Myros almost melted in relief. He gave orders, and his crew began to hoist crates into the longboat. The officer parted without another word, but did give Myros a reasonably polite nod, one seaman to another; Myros found himself glad he hadn't had to shoot the man and sink his ship. After all you could hardly dislike such a reasonable fellow, even if their nations were at war. As the frigate hove out of sight - still at twenty knots - he wiped his brow and sent a crewman down to tell Daeho to disarm the tubes, then returned his attention to the unloading of the real cargo.
The men were laughing and grinning, elated by their narrow escape, and in such moods men made mistakes. "Belay that chatter!" he shouted. "Attention on your task, if you please." Relieved men might get careless, and a moment's carelessness with the stuff they were sending the resistance movement in Anatolia could be rather worse than a minute of bombardment with the frigate's 37mm.
Even allowing for the space the torpedo tubes took up, you could fit a lot of explosives and guns in a Q-ship's hull.
August 3rd, 1940
Off the shore of Anatolia, near Rhodos
An hour before sunset
The unloading proceeded without haste. The heavy crates took four men to lift, and would have been impossible to carry down the rope ladders that connected the Elena Patropos to the smaller fishing vessel; but that was why she had the crane. They were on the eleventh crate when the lookout yelled a warning.
"Ship, hard astern!"
"What flag?" Myron shouted back. His skin crawled. Of course it was most likely just some tramp steamer or fishing trawler; unlike the broad Okhotsk Sea where he had learned his craft, this Mediterranean crawled with ships everywhere. But with their luck...
"She flies the Blue Ensign!"
Myros cursed silently, making for the stern at a quick walk to see for himself. The glasses confirmed it, showing clearly the royal blue flag with a tricolor splash in one corner. THere was no need to make out the Lion of Judah crowned and crossed; Black Navy, right enough, nobody else flew a flag remotely like it.
He stood indecisively for a moment, taking in other details. It was a warship; a merchant ship would have flown the state flag, not the naval ensign - but anyway, the sleek lines would have been sufficient, and the speed; it must be making twenty knots. Of course, it was no great battleship, no cruiser, not even a destroyer - such combatants weren't wasted on patrolling occupied coastlines. In fact it was actually smaller than the Elena; a customs cutter, or a frigate perhaps. But however the Ethiopians classified their brown-water ships, the single 37mm cannon on its forecastle could turn Myron's unarmoured vessel into an abattoir, if its captain thought he had reason.
Well, if it came to that, Myron had a few things up his sleeve that weren't displayed openly on his forecastle; the Elena looked like a peaceful merchantman, but looks were deceiving. A fight would be a chancy gamble, though. Even if they won, there was a good chance the Ethiopian could radio a warning to its fleet, and then they'd have the Devil's own time getting out of the Med. For that matter, a sinking frigate might just rake them with that gun, which looked bigger every time Myron looked at it; and who knew what might get holed? To include Myron's personal body, and the engine and hull that was going to take him back to Asia. No, better to brazen it out, at least at first. They had, after all, decoys for precisely this purpose.
Myron took a quick look at the Sun, then straightened in decision; there was no chance of running for it, though if the frigate had spotted them half an hour later he might have tried it. Surely the Ethiopians could not have installed the rumoured night-detectors on their customs patrols yet? Actually, he wouldn't put it past them; the Black Navy had been cocks of the walk at sea for hundreds of years, and, as the saying went, always travelled first class. But in any case it was irrelevant; the Elena didn't have the speed to open the range enough, and the Ethiopians had certainly installed the Mark One eyeball, which would suffice as long as the light held.
Back at the crane, his second in command was still supervising the unloading, and raised his eyebrow inquiringly. "Ethiopian frigate," Myros responded, keeping his features calm. "We'll try the decoy drill first. But, just in case, go make sure the tubes are loaded right." Daeho nodded silently and headed for the cargo decks; the Korean was not much given to talking where an economical movement of the head would do. Myron dismissed the hidden torpedo tubes from his mind. Daeho would see that they were properly loaded and ready, and the thought of them might make it harder to play his role. He should be nervous, like any smuggler caught by the authorities; but not sweating and stammering like a man facing a firing squad, nor arrogant or even confident like a man who had a hidden trump up his sleeve and could sink the other officer's ship any time he chose.
At length the Ethiopian pulled alongside, about a hundred meters to the starboard, and after a perfunctory "prepare to be boarded for inspection" sent a longboat across. There was no question of asking permission, less than five miles off a coast the Ethiopians controlled, even though they were technically in international waters. In this wartime, the Eastern Med was an Ethiopian lake, and anyone who disliked it could send battleships to enforce the three-mile limit. The officer in command was young, a lieutenant if Myros remembered the insignia correctly. He couldn't recall what heathen name the Ethiopians gave that rank, but it hardly mattered; the captain of a Greek merchantman wouldn't be expected to know such niceties. Besides, there was an interpreter, an Anatolian Greek who turned his woolen cap in his hands; Myros suspected the man's sympathies were with him, not his foreign employer. In fact for all he knew the interpreter's surname might be 'Komnenos'; Anatolia still held many of the Imperial dynasty, descendants of those who had not followed Alexandros into exile. Although, admittedly, few of them spoke with the thick sailor's accent of the Rhodos docks; Myros had to concentrate to follow the fellow's Greek, which was quite different from the version spoken in New Byzantium, lacking Chinese loanwords and Mongolian affricates.
"Captain, he asks what you are doing here. He, ah, thinks he is being funny."
Indeed, Myros could see the supercilious lift of the Ethiopian's brows, and sighed internally in well-hidden relief. A man who thought he knew what was going on could be shown what he expected to see. He coughed as if nervous, then smiled ingratiatingly.
"Well, if the truth were told, ah, we realised somewhat too late that our cargo would perhaps not entirely meet with the approval of the inspectors at Marmaris. Of course, these are international waters, so we are perfectly legally transferring a cargo for our own good reasons, no? So, perhaps it is not something that need concern the Black Navy, yes?" That was, at any rate, what Myros's superiors had told him: That the Ethiopians were, in strict theory, still enforcing the Shah's laws in their occupied territories, including the prohibition on importing alcohol. But, not Muslims themselves, the officers charged with enforcing the law often found it silly, and could be persuaded to look the other way if there was any sort of excuse. Myros rubbed his thumb and two forefingers together, down by his hip. It was a deniable gesture; if the Ethiopian turned out to be excessively rigid - some of them had strong views about the honour of their uniform - he could deny any intent to bribe, and say that he had merely been scratching an itch.
The Ethiopian smiled sardonically and spoke, and the interpreter translated: "He says, that's for him to judge; he demands to see your cargo."
Myros nodded, gesturing for the boarding party to follow him to the decoy crates. Technically the penalty for smuggling good brandy into the Persian Empire, when that polity still existed, had been two years in prison. Which for him was as good as a death sentence, for if they decided to haul him in they would certainly look at the rest of the cargo, and then they'd shoot him. But the Black Navy took pride in its capacity for drink, and sneered at what they considered an effeminate law; and besides, merchant shipping was the lifeblood of their empire, the more so now they were at war with the world's premier power. They didn't like to keep ships in dock for what they considered trivial reasons, even temporarily. But sometimes they did make an example, to keep their Moslem subjects happy. Myros licked his lips in what had to be a convincing display of nervousness as he opened the crate, revealing layers of green bottles wrapped in paper. He tried another ingratiating smile; it felt like a grimace on his face. "Ah... perhaps the officer would care for a few bottles, as a gift? Or a crate?" He waited nervously as the Ethiopian spoke again.
"He says, thank you, but his teacher taught him to always bring enough for everyone. And he says, there's two extra squads of Marines on his ship, and they are hard drinkers and rather cramped and cranky. Ah, he's still trying to be funny, but he'll just take what he wants if you don't give it to him."
"Yes, of course," Myron agreed, wincing visibly for the officer's benefit. He didn't really have to worry about the bribe cutting into his profit, but his persona would. "Tell him I mis-spoke, of course I meant to offer him three, no, four crates as the gift of my ship's company to his, in honour of the Black Navy's well-known capacity for drink. Lay it on thick."
The officer smiled and nodded, and Myros almost melted in relief. He gave orders, and his crew began to hoist crates into the longboat. The officer parted without another word, but did give Myros a reasonably polite nod, one seaman to another; Myros found himself glad he hadn't had to shoot the man and sink his ship. After all you could hardly dislike such a reasonable fellow, even if their nations were at war. As the frigate hove out of sight - still at twenty knots - he wiped his brow and sent a crewman down to tell Daeho to disarm the tubes, then returned his attention to the unloading of the real cargo.
The men were laughing and grinning, elated by their narrow escape, and in such moods men made mistakes. "Belay that chatter!" he shouted. "Attention on your task, if you please." Relieved men might get careless, and a moment's carelessness with the stuff they were sending the resistance movement in Anatolia could be rather worse than a minute of bombardment with the frigate's 37mm.
Even allowing for the space the torpedo tubes took up, you could fit a lot of explosives and guns in a Q-ship's hull.
Nice writeup KoM, I must say I find it much easier to read AARs in the third person than in the first.
BREAKING NEWS!~
Mongolians knocked out the war! German offensive stumped! Catalunya front collapsing!
Mongolians knocked out the war! German offensive stumped! Catalunya front collapsing!
there is some japanese MILITIA on our side 
but then again, 44 comitern divisions were trapped in Greece... Axis had massive naval superiority and yet Jodokus managed to get all those troops safely back home without us loosing any of them
but then again, 44 comitern divisions were trapped in Greece... Axis had massive naval superiority and yet Jodokus managed to get all those troops safely back home without us loosing any of them
I see that massive naval superiority is relative. You had 50+ vessels in the sea of Crete to my 30.
Also, you just retreated past my BBs. Not much I could do about it.
You had 50+ vessels in the sea of Crete to my 30.Also, you just retreated past my BBs. Not much I could do about it.
In Africa Californian bombers continue to darken the sky with their numbers, bombing countless north African strongholds.
Else where, Japan rejoins the war on Africas/Russia side, backstabbing its allies once again!
Just prior to that, Californian elite shock troops had begun a significant armored and motorized assault on Australia! Even the most conservative predictions predict total victory in the battles for Australia!
Japans landings to defend Australia have been routed and the transports used to bring them have been sunk.
California marches forward to victory!
An Approximation of some of the battles off the coast of Australia...
Else where, Japan rejoins the war on Africas/Russia side, backstabbing its allies once again!
Just prior to that, Californian elite shock troops had begun a significant armored and motorized assault on Australia! Even the most conservative predictions predict total victory in the battles for Australia!
Japans landings to defend Australia have been routed and the transports used to bring them have been sunk.
California marches forward to victory!
An Approximation of some of the battles off the coast of Australia...
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I see that massive naval superiority is relative.
Also, you just retreated past my BBs. Not much I could do about it.
you had naval superiority you just didn't use it. You paired your BBs (that jodo could take) outside the province and didn't use your other assets to prevent the transports that were from Lebanon to enter there and do the schoolbook retreat trick... you carriers got there allready when it was too late... and then you send them away, not to leave guarding the entrances to that seazone... and once again jodokus managed to do another sortie out. (he did three runs totally)
In this session the Khanate invented and deployed, in rapid succession:
- The War-Winning Offensive (tm)
- The War-Winning Minor Tactical Setback (tm)
- The War-Winning Strategic Retreat to Previously Prepared Positions (tm)
- War-WInning Negotiations (tm)
Fear our unmatched technological prowess!
- The War-Winning Offensive (tm)
- The War-Winning Minor Tactical Setback (tm)
- The War-Winning Strategic Retreat to Previously Prepared Positions (tm)
- War-WInning Negotiations (tm)
Fear our unmatched technological prowess!
yes your tactical retreat from your capital immediately became advance towards german border!
Good work guys, the show is still going on strong. Still a pity that so many had to be replaced, but I guess that's the fate of the megacampaign.
In command of the entity they started the campaign in, where the entity was not held by anyone else before:
* Fiv
* Dano
* me
(hey, that combination of people looks familiar)
In command of an entity not held by anyone else before:
* KoM
Mark has only played Punjab, though it has been played by multiple people; Blayne, Golle and Jodokus are pretty much veteran players as well.
On the whole. not too bad.
* Fiv
* Dano
* me
(hey, that combination of people looks familiar
)In command of an entity not held by anyone else before:
* KoM
Mark has only played Punjab, though it has been played by multiple people; Blayne, Golle and Jodokus are pretty much veteran players as well.
On the whole. not too bad.