I read KoM's AAR on ederon and the game looks interesting. I am not familiar with conversions into any of these WW2 games, is world war compulsory, if so what are the 2 power blocks?
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Well, it depends on what you mean by 'compulsory'. It's obviously possible to have an AoD game where nobody declares war on anyone else; but I think it's not all that likely. As for alliance structures, the savegame does include the Axis/Allies/Comintern alliances, but I think they rather cut across the true player blocs, so it's not clear how relevant they will be. The main diplomatic faultline at the moment seems to be Europe versus Africa, with the Asian and American powers not publicly committed.
Also, though it might be different with AOD, the power block mechanics of the HOI series force a total war upon the players, making peace possible only after the complete defeat of either side. Obviously there will be war, probably many in fact, but the examples seen in the previous great games and this very one show that most players won't wait until complete defeat to surrender. Actually most people will accept defeat with their countries and armies largely intact, something impossible if the power blocks mechanic was kept.
Thanks, I have been playing AoD MP for a few weeks now.
Is eastern US time 5 hours behind UTC?
That's only partially true. Players from different Major Alliances can peace with eachother at will. It's just the AI who will never accept, nor propose, any non-annexation peace offer to a member of another Major Alliance if they are also part of one.
Yep, the game takes place at 1500 GMT.
Also, welcome aboard!
Looking at my AAR post again, I see that the Khanate is leader of the Allies, but nobody seems to be listed as leader of the Axis or the Comintern. I found, when I was coding this, that the Big Three bloc mechanism would go a bit hinky if there were bilateral alliances in addition to the big three - for example, if Germany leads the Axis but is also allied to Croatia, which is not part of the Axis. I seem to recall we had a discussion, and decided that it was better to preserve the bilateral alliances of Vicky rather than hammer them into the Big-Three structure. So it's not quite clear what the game engine will do; I hope this doesn't lead to crashes. I notice that the Axis and Comintern still get VPs in the surrender screen, so it must be counting someone as part of those alliances, but it's not clear who.
In any case, as Fivoin says, the total-war thing is mainly an AI constraint, presumably to stop the Russians from surrendering for Memel and three other provinces when Barbarossa is on the outskirts of Moscow. But while the players have been fairly limited in their demands so far, that's because they've been worried about reputation and retaliation; now we approach the endgame and the shadow of the future is not so long.
In any case, as Fivoin says, the total-war thing is mainly an AI constraint, presumably to stop the Russians from surrendering for Memel and three other provinces when Barbarossa is on the outskirts of Moscow. But while the players have been fairly limited in their demands so far, that's because they've been worried about reputation and retaliation; now we approach the endgame and the shadow of the future is not so long.
I don't see wars being anything less than annexation or significant territorial changes that are little different. Because why stop short of annexation when you can press on and win?
International pressure? You know, the kind that got annexed back in the GG2.
Well, given what you've been posting about your manpower woes, perhaps not wanting to suffer the casualties for total victory?
Practically speaking, numerous wars were fought to a negotiated non-annexation peace in the last Great Game during the hoi2 leg. Is there a reason this time should be different?
Empire of the Volga: I
It was cold.
It was abominably cold.
It was so cold that even Captain Malinski's fur lined winter uniforms did little good to protect him from the elements. The wind child him to the bone, he couldn't even see his breath anymore and the urge to close his eyes and rest, never to wake up, was nearly irresistable.
Nearly.
Malinski pulled out his german made binoculars and raised them to his eyes, hoping the gray expanse of the siberian tundra before him might distract from the cold.
As always there was nothing, just the same Mongolian campfires as before, manned by the same Mongolian soldiers and their Chinese conscripts.
How he wished he had a sniper to try to take a few of them out, claim it was a hunting accident, a stray bullet surely? It would be far too minor an incident to get the rodina, the Russian motherland in trouble.
But it could invite reprisals, similar sniper raids on his own men that they wouldn't be able to stop, just as how he and his recon platoon could get this close the Mongols and their reluctant Chinese attachments could do the same.
And sometimes they were just damn better at it.
“Yob tvoyo mat.” He muttered. Fuck their mothers.
“Who is fucking whose mothers Brother Captain?”
Bratischka. The Russian diminutive for “Brother” which served as the official way to refer to all service members in the Army of the Russian Federation. Somehow something felt wrong with it, as if some other word should have been used instead, but no matter.
“I wish I could give their mothers a good fucking Brother Sergeant.” He said to the Ukrainian Cossack who had crawled up next to him. “What do you see?”
Malinski raised the spec's to his eyes again for a few seconds before lowering them again.
“The same.”
The Cossack nodded, “How boring. Maybe we can knife one if he wanders over here to piss.”
How blood thirsty she is.
“That's not very lady like Brother Sergeant Ivanova.” He got a good jab in the ribs for that one and had to hold her back with his spare arm while keeping the optics in the other.
Sighing. He packed it away the optics and said “Lets pack this up and report in Brother Sergeant, we're done here.”
******************
Clak-clak-clak-preeeeng!
Clak-clak-clak-preeeeng!
Working the type writing at a breakneck pace of 350 words a minute the teenager was compiling invoices for his father's business accounts. Normally no one would need to work so fast, especially not with such an old type writer, you typed too fast and it would jam taking precious seconds to unjam, pointlessly delaying his work.
But the boy was good at his task, he knew just when to hit the keys hard to insure the ink properly pressed onto the paper and when to let up the pressure and when to slow down to avoid jamming the keys. Skilled in this sort of craft he could take care to reduce the number of delays to a fraction of what anyone else with his experience would commit in the same time span.
He stopped to check the clock on the wall. 4:45, he had been working for nearly the whole day inhis father's store.
The bookstore that sold those foreign books and magazines would close at 5:30.
He needed at least 35 minutes to get there.
He needed to finish up if he was to get the newest issue that arrived from America, he loved science fiction and had taught himself English just to be able to read and absorb it.
“There!” The last invoice was done, he got up and put on his hat and coat and run outside into the St. Petersburg streets where his family had moved to escape the pogroms.
Robots, wars between alien kingdoms, explorers finding worlds where no man has gone before, rockets! Such amazing wonders to behold and imagine, he couldn't get enough of such expansive worlds and so he had turns his attention to find Russian fiction by Russian authors between shipments; Obruchev, Belyayev, that newcomer Gribonosov, Kazantsev and many more, he read them all just as he had surely read Jules Verne, Abbott and Barnes.
They had inspired him, he was already taking mathematics courses by correspondence and already looking to apply to varying Universities with a reputation for the sciences, he didn't want to just imagine and read about the wonders of science... He wanted to help in their creation!
Something darted out in front of him, instinct forced him to close his eyes as the object collided into him, his momentum was such that even if he had seen the shape a few seconds earlier he wouldn't have been able to move in time.
Over and over he tumbled and fell onto the ground in a large pile, he was in pain now, his head head and back hurt as he had unknowingly been turned around in the tumble and was now on the ground with a heavy weight on his torso.
He opened his eyes and they widened in surprise.
There above and lying above him was the shape of a lith girl.
Her straw berry blond hair all tossed asunder by the fall, amazing, he should have been able to see it earlier, why didn't he?
“Uuu-erhgn.” Her closed eyes squinted, furrowing her brow in a cute fashion before they opened somewhat dreamily.
Could she have a concussion?
Her eyes finally widened in surprise in notice of him, and of her arms braced on his chest. She got up in a start before muttering.
“oh, yo-you saved me! Thanks goodness... You must be a gracious gentleman!”
Definitely a concussion, looking down to inspect his peasant shirt and trousers, and his old and patched up woolen jacket.
He muttered a shy and confused “I, I guess...” before averting his eyes, she clearly had an aristocratic air about her, must be the daughter of some important big shot noble family.
Sigh. She was cute too.
She got up, somewhat unsteadily before she reached out her hand to help him up.
Aren't these roles reversed!?
He unthinkingly accepted it, getting back to his feet they helped each other steady themselves to shake off the last vestiges of the “accident”. Rubbing the back of his head where he was sore, he muttered his thanks and turned to leave. Darn it. He knew he was going to be late, Granny Olga might keep the store open for him for a while but he wouldn't be able to browse the store, darn it again.
“W-Wait!” She cried clutching the back of his jacket sleeve.
“Eh?” Was all he could barely muster to say, what's happening here!?
“I...” She averted he gaze downwards and off to the side. So cute. “I... I must know your name! You were my protector there and I must know who I am thanking!” She closed her eyes again as she said this, her gaze now facing the street hiding her face.
The air grew still, he could almost hear the gears of fate in motion, or was it something else? The waters of the rapids before the waterfall where he would surely plunge to his demise?
Screw it. I'm taking this chance.
Clearing his throat with a cough with his other hand covering his mouth. He looked at her properly in the eyes as she raised her head back up.
“My name is Izaak. Izaak Yudovich Ozimov. Nice to meet you devushka.” This, he one thing he could say with confidence and clarity of purpose, for he know who he was, who else would he be but himself and how could he not know it?
“And may I ask for yours Lady...?” He asked with a flourish and a smile.
She blushed, she didn't seem to think this far ahead.
“Uhm...” She hesitated, she seemed to be thinking very deeply.
“Irina... My name is Irina von Einzburn.”
One of the big three aristocratic families with roots with Baltic German Teutonic knights.
Oi, vai... I'm in for it now.
And there's no turning back.
It was cold.
It was abominably cold.
It was so cold that even Captain Malinski's fur lined winter uniforms did little good to protect him from the elements. The wind child him to the bone, he couldn't even see his breath anymore and the urge to close his eyes and rest, never to wake up, was nearly irresistable.
Nearly.
Malinski pulled out his german made binoculars and raised them to his eyes, hoping the gray expanse of the siberian tundra before him might distract from the cold.
As always there was nothing, just the same Mongolian campfires as before, manned by the same Mongolian soldiers and their Chinese conscripts.
How he wished he had a sniper to try to take a few of them out, claim it was a hunting accident, a stray bullet surely? It would be far too minor an incident to get the rodina, the Russian motherland in trouble.
But it could invite reprisals, similar sniper raids on his own men that they wouldn't be able to stop, just as how he and his recon platoon could get this close the Mongols and their reluctant Chinese attachments could do the same.
And sometimes they were just damn better at it.
“Yob tvoyo mat.” He muttered. Fuck their mothers.
“Who is fucking whose mothers Brother Captain?”
Bratischka. The Russian diminutive for “Brother” which served as the official way to refer to all service members in the Army of the Russian Federation. Somehow something felt wrong with it, as if some other word should have been used instead, but no matter.
“I wish I could give their mothers a good fucking Brother Sergeant.” He said to the Ukrainian Cossack who had crawled up next to him. “What do you see?”
Malinski raised the spec's to his eyes again for a few seconds before lowering them again.
“The same.”
The Cossack nodded, “How boring. Maybe we can knife one if he wanders over here to piss.”
How blood thirsty she is.
“That's not very lady like Brother Sergeant Ivanova.” He got a good jab in the ribs for that one and had to hold her back with his spare arm while keeping the optics in the other.
Sighing. He packed it away the optics and said “Lets pack this up and report in Brother Sergeant, we're done here.”
******************
Clak-clak-clak-preeeeng!
Clak-clak-clak-preeeeng!
Working the type writing at a breakneck pace of 350 words a minute the teenager was compiling invoices for his father's business accounts. Normally no one would need to work so fast, especially not with such an old type writer, you typed too fast and it would jam taking precious seconds to unjam, pointlessly delaying his work.
But the boy was good at his task, he knew just when to hit the keys hard to insure the ink properly pressed onto the paper and when to let up the pressure and when to slow down to avoid jamming the keys. Skilled in this sort of craft he could take care to reduce the number of delays to a fraction of what anyone else with his experience would commit in the same time span.
He stopped to check the clock on the wall. 4:45, he had been working for nearly the whole day inhis father's store.
The bookstore that sold those foreign books and magazines would close at 5:30.
He needed at least 35 minutes to get there.
He needed to finish up if he was to get the newest issue that arrived from America, he loved science fiction and had taught himself English just to be able to read and absorb it.
“There!” The last invoice was done, he got up and put on his hat and coat and run outside into the St. Petersburg streets where his family had moved to escape the pogroms.
Robots, wars between alien kingdoms, explorers finding worlds where no man has gone before, rockets! Such amazing wonders to behold and imagine, he couldn't get enough of such expansive worlds and so he had turns his attention to find Russian fiction by Russian authors between shipments; Obruchev, Belyayev, that newcomer Gribonosov, Kazantsev and many more, he read them all just as he had surely read Jules Verne, Abbott and Barnes.
They had inspired him, he was already taking mathematics courses by correspondence and already looking to apply to varying Universities with a reputation for the sciences, he didn't want to just imagine and read about the wonders of science... He wanted to help in their creation!
Something darted out in front of him, instinct forced him to close his eyes as the object collided into him, his momentum was such that even if he had seen the shape a few seconds earlier he wouldn't have been able to move in time.
Over and over he tumbled and fell onto the ground in a large pile, he was in pain now, his head head and back hurt as he had unknowingly been turned around in the tumble and was now on the ground with a heavy weight on his torso.
He opened his eyes and they widened in surprise.
There above and lying above him was the shape of a lith girl.
Her straw berry blond hair all tossed asunder by the fall, amazing, he should have been able to see it earlier, why didn't he?
“Uuu-erhgn.” Her closed eyes squinted, furrowing her brow in a cute fashion before they opened somewhat dreamily.
Could she have a concussion?
Her eyes finally widened in surprise in notice of him, and of her arms braced on his chest. She got up in a start before muttering.
“oh, yo-you saved me! Thanks goodness... You must be a gracious gentleman!”
Definitely a concussion, looking down to inspect his peasant shirt and trousers, and his old and patched up woolen jacket.
He muttered a shy and confused “I, I guess...” before averting his eyes, she clearly had an aristocratic air about her, must be the daughter of some important big shot noble family.
Sigh. She was cute too.
She got up, somewhat unsteadily before she reached out her hand to help him up.
Aren't these roles reversed!?
He unthinkingly accepted it, getting back to his feet they helped each other steady themselves to shake off the last vestiges of the “accident”. Rubbing the back of his head where he was sore, he muttered his thanks and turned to leave. Darn it. He knew he was going to be late, Granny Olga might keep the store open for him for a while but he wouldn't be able to browse the store, darn it again.
“W-Wait!” She cried clutching the back of his jacket sleeve.
“Eh?” Was all he could barely muster to say, what's happening here!?
“I...” She averted he gaze downwards and off to the side. So cute. “I... I must know your name! You were my protector there and I must know who I am thanking!” She closed her eyes again as she said this, her gaze now facing the street hiding her face.
The air grew still, he could almost hear the gears of fate in motion, or was it something else? The waters of the rapids before the waterfall where he would surely plunge to his demise?
Screw it. I'm taking this chance.
Clearing his throat with a cough with his other hand covering his mouth. He looked at her properly in the eyes as she raised her head back up.
“My name is Izaak. Izaak Yudovich Ozimov. Nice to meet you devushka.” This, he one thing he could say with confidence and clarity of purpose, for he know who he was, who else would he be but himself and how could he not know it?
“And may I ask for yours Lady...?” He asked with a flourish and a smile.
She blushed, she didn't seem to think this far ahead.
“Uhm...” She hesitated, she seemed to be thinking very deeply.
“Irina... My name is Irina von Einzburn.”
One of the big three aristocratic families with roots with Baltic German Teutonic knights.
Oi, vai... I'm in for it now.
And there's no turning back.
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Interesting start there, Blayne. I'll be interested to see if this relationship turns out to be a metaphor for your alliance with Germany, and if so who ends up doing what and to whom; or if it's an event in the life of a character who later does something conventional like fight in a war.
Breaking news today.
Punjab acquires Congolese India in trade. Indian, Mohandas Gandhi form Punjabi Nazi Party together with Persian Nationalist, Reza Pahlavi. Punjabi banking sect disapproves of the new party.
Punjab acquires Congolese India in trade. Indian, Mohandas Gandhi form Punjabi Nazi Party together with Persian Nationalist, Reza Pahlavi. Punjabi banking sect disapproves of the new party.
The state of the world in January of 1937 (supposed upcoming land transfers not included):
IC levels:
Axis(678/451):
-Germany: 520/358
-Russia: 158/93
-Norway: 0/0
Allies: (130/90)
-The Roman Khanate: 130/90
Comintern: (1063/743)
Ethiopia: 334/202
Kongo: 306/226
Japan: 287/221
Punjab: 136/94
Portugal: 0/0
America: (821/540)
-Catalan Commonwealth: 547/351
-New Californian Republic: 274/189
IC levels:
Axis(678/451):
-Germany: 520/358
-Russia: 158/93
-Norway: 0/0
Allies: (130/90)
-The Roman Khanate: 130/90
Comintern: (1063/743)
Ethiopia: 334/202
Kongo: 306/226
Japan: 287/221
Punjab: 136/94
Portugal: 0/0
America: (821/540)
-Catalan Commonwealth: 547/351
-New Californian Republic: 274/189
Last edited: