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I've finally caught up, and now I'm anxious for more.
The phrase "a healthy act of jingoism" really illustrates what it is that makes this AAR such a treat to read.
And Tibalto continues to be an incestuous twerp, who hopefully will end his life being brutally lynched by unruly rancheros.
The phrase "a healthy act of jingoism" really illustrates what it is that makes this AAR such a treat to read.
And Tibalto continues to be an incestuous twerp, who hopefully will end his life being brutally lynched by unruly rancheros.
Good AAR, I like Ahistoric Nations! 
In fact, Im playing as California now, but to my dismay, Eureka is my capital. Im using a different version then you, but did you change it yourself or was there an event?
In fact, Im playing as California now, but to my dismay, Eureka is my capital. Im using a different version then you, but did you change it yourself or was there an event? 
So is Tibalto the "overall" commander or Alejandro or are they co-commanders? Because on the screenshot...
I wonder whether or not Tibalto will actually have portions of the army that will be at his beck and call; I wonder what Alejandro is doing?
Because on the screenshot... I wonder whether or not Tibalto will actually have portions of the army that will be at his beck and call; I wonder what Alejandro is doing?
A war, and a screenshot! Excellent!
He changed it himself. Check the posts on the first page.
Iron_Skull said:Good AAR, I like Ahistoric Nations!
He changed it himself. Check the posts on the first page.
Jimbo- Oh they definitely will, no worries... But again, this isn't going to be the epoch-defining bloodbath that a couple seem to have intimated it's shaping up as... It's only Colombia after all !
Eams- Well ask and you shall receive!
I've always loved jingoism myself: "Why should we attack those innocent, unarmed tribesmen? Because we feel like it, that's why!!!" Brilliant, just brilliant...
As for Tibalto, he's not exactly lovely (though later characters/events really will make him look like a pussycat), and as to his manner of death... Well that would be telling... (It's not for a pretty long time anyway).
Iron_Skull- Thanks for stopping by! (Or, indeed, "you stay classy, San Diego- another California reference! Does anyone know what I'm going on about...?).
And yeah, California, even on V:IP is a pretty feeble starting nation. I edited them to give them a lot more people (a lot of Hispanics too- it's a very Anglo-Saxon-Yankee nation as it comes), fiddled with the parties and politics, and changed the capital to San Francisco. I'm much too terrible at the game to achieve anything with the California the game comes with...
alex994- The upcoming (imminent) update will deal with this, Tibalto's in command in the south, Alejandro in the north. So yeah I guess they're co-commanders you could say. As far as the southern two divisions are concerned Tibalto is in complete control, for the northern two it's Alejandro.
Strategos' Risk- I know! Could it be that things are actually.... happening? Surely not...
Over 200 others- Thanks and enjoy!
Another update is here! I'm starting to get concerned at the painfully slow crawl of this AAR's speed, so you can take this as an affirmation that, at least until the end of August, I'm going to try and update more often. My target is at least once every two days, possibly more depending on levels of views/feedback, and also the amount of free time I have (which ain't been much recently- but we'll see...).
Enjoy!
!Eams- Well ask and you shall receive!
I've always loved jingoism myself: "Why should we attack those innocent, unarmed tribesmen? Because we feel like it, that's why!!!" Brilliant, just brilliant...
As for Tibalto, he's not exactly lovely (though later characters/events really will make him look like a pussycat), and as to his manner of death... Well that would be telling
... (It's not for a pretty long time anyway).Iron_Skull- Thanks for stopping by! (Or, indeed, "you stay classy, San Diego- another California reference! Does anyone know what I'm going on about
...?).And yeah, California, even on V:IP is a pretty feeble starting nation. I edited them to give them a lot more people (a lot of Hispanics too- it's a very Anglo-Saxon-Yankee nation as it comes), fiddled with the parties and politics, and changed the capital to San Francisco. I'm much too terrible at the game to achieve anything with the California the game comes with...
alex994- The upcoming (imminent) update will deal with this, Tibalto's in command in the south, Alejandro in the north. So yeah I guess they're co-commanders you could say. As far as the southern two divisions are concerned Tibalto is in complete control, for the northern two it's Alejandro.
Strategos' Risk- I know
! Could it be that things are actually.... happening? Surely not...Over 200 others- Thanks and enjoy!
Another update is here! I'm starting to get concerned at the painfully slow crawl of this AAR's speed, so you can take this as an affirmation that, at least until the end of August, I'm going to try and update more often. My target is at least once every two days, possibly more depending on levels of views/feedback, and also the amount of free time I have (which ain't been much recently- but we'll see...).
Enjoy!
The Mud, the Jungle and the Californian Sun
Penonome Province, Panama, April 1st 1838
It had been three months. Three months since Alejandro had landed his two divisions on a rainy, humid shore, and within three months they had come as far as a rainy, humid jungle. They didn’t appear to have got anywhere. Their one achievement- the capture of the tiny town of Santiago de Veragua- had been rather overshadowed by the conquest, by Tibalto, of Santa Anna’s four Panama forts- Gonzalez, Ventura, Ramona and Castrillon- which he had rapidly, predictably, renamed Barja, Montero, Serrano and Sarriera. Compared to the rapid capture of the Panama Road- the Californian Army’s sole objective, and the subjugation of the four forts to the south, the northern campaign seemed like a lot of rain and a lot of mud, for nothing. What was more, Alejandro could feel that his heart was not as much in this war as it had been in others. He knew exactly where his heart was at this exact moment, and was constantly, silently wishing he could join it there.
On either side of the wide, boggy clearing down which Alejandro’s advance column of 500 men were marching, the jungle sprang up unwelcome and unwelcoming, hiding anything more than about a dozen feet from where undergrowth began to spring up. Alejandro’s horse put another squelching hoof into the mire in front of him. The same ground, the same scenery, the same horizon for five dank days.
The rain had finally stopped. Alejandro looked up at the sky and felt a little lift inside him. There was a break in the clouds- where two great, dull masses of grey had drifted slightly apart to let the light of the sun shine briefly through, like some much-needed divine blessing to the disheartened Californians. He felt the warming glow of the rays on his face, and his feelings rose a little further. Even in the jungle, it seemed, there was hope to be had. He turned to the soldier riding next to him to indicate the momentary breakthrough, but the man’s only response was to jolt violently in his saddle, and then slump forwards. From his still-visible chest, a great red stain was spreading rapidly on his white linen shirt from a well-aimed point right above his heart.
“Peligro!” Came a shout from behind him, and it echoed up and down the entire line. A brief, split-second silence seemed to hang in the humid air, and then, as though the thick air itself was being rent apart, the great hiss and crackle of gunfire erupted from the jungle on the right-hand side. The noise was joined by the cries- mingling pain and surprise- of more men hit by the shots of unseen rifles.
Alejandro tried to regain control of his situation, drawing in the reins of his panicking horse sharply, tugging the animal’s head back. He must, however, have pulled harder than he thought, because the horse jerked backwards suddenly, stamped its hooves frantically a couple of times, and then keeled over sideways. Alejandro threw himself out of the saddle, pushing up in the stirrups and just getting himself clear of the falling animal as he slipped into the mud beside it. From his position lying on the ground, he could see that the horse, now convulsed in its death throes, had been pierced in the neck by a shot that Alejandro had not even noticed. He crouched down behind the animal’s body, and peered over towards the source of the gunfire. Materialising from nothing amid the overgrown roots of the jungle, men in dull yellow uniforms were advancing slowly towards the Californian column. It was the Holy Army.
A few Californian soldiers were firing sporadically back, but it was, so far, largely one-sided. The attackers approaching from the jungle were getting closer. A bullet hissed over Alejandro’s head, and he flung himself further down into the dirt, trying to flatten himself behind the now-still body of the horse. And even now, at this moment, literally, of life and death, he could feel his mind wandering. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be a very long way from here, across the sea, in warm and sunny Monterey. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the Holy Army, or the Californian Army, or the dead horse he was crouching against. The only person he ever wanted to be near was Elena- the only person he could think of was Elena. He wanted to be sitting comfortably with her, telling her some thrilling story of a day, and a place, like this one.
And finally the realisation arrived. There would be no days and places like that with Elena, and certainly none like this to tell her of, if he did not take hold of this one, now. There would be no sun, and no golden Californian fields unless Alejandro could inspire his troops to master the Panama mud, to throw back the Holy Army. A shot of defiance, of courage and anger, coursed through him- flushing out the seeds of doubt and fear that Alvarado had planted there all those months ago. Or rather not flushing them out, but causing them to flourish anew- no army, whether “Holy” or Colombian, would get between Alejandro and his golden day with Elena. He rolled over onto his back, and grabbed a discarded rifle lying just behind him. He leaned over the horse, silently thanking its self-sacrifice that had provided him cover, and raised the rifle carefully. The enemy were getting close- they were no more than twenty-five feet away, and they had abandoned the cover of the jungle.
Alejandro fired. It would have taken far less than his considerable marksmanship to hit a man at such little distance and with such little cover, and his target twisted back as the bullet caught him in the left shoulder. Swerving the rifle’s long barrel to the right, he fired again. A second man fell. Away down to the right, one of the yellow-uniformed soldiers had almost reached the Californian lines- remarkably unscathed. Alejandro leaned out over the horse, propping himself up on the creature’s side with his elbow, and aimed carefully. The bullet flew straight into the side of the man’s head, and the force of it threw him sideways and down into the ground. Along the whole line, the Californians were slowly starting to return fire. Carts, barrels, dead men or animals were all being used as cover as the defenders prepared their rifles and began to fight back. Alejandro looked ahead of him again, and fired off two rapid shots at the still-advancing men, observing with some satisfaction two more hits.
He dropped the rifle, and picked his way, keeping his head down, to where the flag-bearer of the advance column had fallen, and sure enough, about ten feet away, found the great Californian banner lying in the dirt where it had been discarded. He looked over briefly to the enemy, and then picked up the flag by its long pole- raising it aloft.
“California!” He roared above the noise of shouts and gunfire, sweeping the flag to and fro in the air. “Viva California!”. A few poorly-aimed bullets whizzed by him. The flag was a very large, very obvious target. Alejandro began to jog down the line, holding the flag high in the air with both hands, the banner streaming out behind him in the breeze. “Viva California!” He shouted again, and this time a ragged cheer came back to him above the noise of the fighting, and an echoing reply.
“Viva California!” Rang down the lines through many voices, and the firing from the Californian troops tangibly intensified. They were gaining heart. Alejandro reached the point he had been aiming for, planted the flag deep into the soft, saturated ground and crouched over.
“A messenger!” He shouted. “Where is a messenger?” A pale, frightened face rushed towards him. The “messenger” could not have been much more than a boy. “Can you ride, chico?” Alejandro demanded, grasping his shoulder. The youth looked startled at being addressed so abruptly by an officer so obviously high above his station.
“Si, General.” He replied tremulously.
“Bueno,” continued Alejandro rapidly, “you will ride away from here, follow the road we were taking, chico. Ride on until you find the southern army, and you will tell General Barja to advance to this position. Tell him we have located and held Santa Anna’s army, and advise him to proceed with caution. Entiende?”
The boy was turning still paler, he nodded his head tremblingly and turned towards a horse that stood, looking equally nervous, a few paces away. Alejandro put a hand on his shoulder, detaining him a moment longer. He knelt down in front of the boy. “Be brave, chico.” He said with a smile. “You’re not much younger than me!” The boy tried a smile and nodded, blinking hard. “Come now, amigo. Can you be a hero for California?” The boy’s smile widened, he nodded more certainly. “Go then!” Alejandro added. The boy dashed to his horse, mounted rapidly, and spurred it away.
Alejandro turned in the direction of the Holy Army, drawing his pistol. He took aim carefully, fired, and then moved forwards to a small group of Californians using a cart as cover. He straightened up over the side of the cart, and fired repeatedly, spending his anger and frustration on the trigger and on Santa Anna’s men. One for making him call for Tibalto’s help. One for the Californian sun. One for Elena Barja.
The Californian Army and the Holy Army finally clash in Panama.
Penonome Province, Panama, April 1st 1838
It had been three months. Three months since Alejandro had landed his two divisions on a rainy, humid shore, and within three months they had come as far as a rainy, humid jungle. They didn’t appear to have got anywhere. Their one achievement- the capture of the tiny town of Santiago de Veragua- had been rather overshadowed by the conquest, by Tibalto, of Santa Anna’s four Panama forts- Gonzalez, Ventura, Ramona and Castrillon- which he had rapidly, predictably, renamed Barja, Montero, Serrano and Sarriera. Compared to the rapid capture of the Panama Road- the Californian Army’s sole objective, and the subjugation of the four forts to the south, the northern campaign seemed like a lot of rain and a lot of mud, for nothing. What was more, Alejandro could feel that his heart was not as much in this war as it had been in others. He knew exactly where his heart was at this exact moment, and was constantly, silently wishing he could join it there.
On either side of the wide, boggy clearing down which Alejandro’s advance column of 500 men were marching, the jungle sprang up unwelcome and unwelcoming, hiding anything more than about a dozen feet from where undergrowth began to spring up. Alejandro’s horse put another squelching hoof into the mire in front of him. The same ground, the same scenery, the same horizon for five dank days.
The rain had finally stopped. Alejandro looked up at the sky and felt a little lift inside him. There was a break in the clouds- where two great, dull masses of grey had drifted slightly apart to let the light of the sun shine briefly through, like some much-needed divine blessing to the disheartened Californians. He felt the warming glow of the rays on his face, and his feelings rose a little further. Even in the jungle, it seemed, there was hope to be had. He turned to the soldier riding next to him to indicate the momentary breakthrough, but the man’s only response was to jolt violently in his saddle, and then slump forwards. From his still-visible chest, a great red stain was spreading rapidly on his white linen shirt from a well-aimed point right above his heart.
“Peligro!” Came a shout from behind him, and it echoed up and down the entire line. A brief, split-second silence seemed to hang in the humid air, and then, as though the thick air itself was being rent apart, the great hiss and crackle of gunfire erupted from the jungle on the right-hand side. The noise was joined by the cries- mingling pain and surprise- of more men hit by the shots of unseen rifles.
Alejandro tried to regain control of his situation, drawing in the reins of his panicking horse sharply, tugging the animal’s head back. He must, however, have pulled harder than he thought, because the horse jerked backwards suddenly, stamped its hooves frantically a couple of times, and then keeled over sideways. Alejandro threw himself out of the saddle, pushing up in the stirrups and just getting himself clear of the falling animal as he slipped into the mud beside it. From his position lying on the ground, he could see that the horse, now convulsed in its death throes, had been pierced in the neck by a shot that Alejandro had not even noticed. He crouched down behind the animal’s body, and peered over towards the source of the gunfire. Materialising from nothing amid the overgrown roots of the jungle, men in dull yellow uniforms were advancing slowly towards the Californian column. It was the Holy Army.
A few Californian soldiers were firing sporadically back, but it was, so far, largely one-sided. The attackers approaching from the jungle were getting closer. A bullet hissed over Alejandro’s head, and he flung himself further down into the dirt, trying to flatten himself behind the now-still body of the horse. And even now, at this moment, literally, of life and death, he could feel his mind wandering. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be a very long way from here, across the sea, in warm and sunny Monterey. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the Holy Army, or the Californian Army, or the dead horse he was crouching against. The only person he ever wanted to be near was Elena- the only person he could think of was Elena. He wanted to be sitting comfortably with her, telling her some thrilling story of a day, and a place, like this one.
And finally the realisation arrived. There would be no days and places like that with Elena, and certainly none like this to tell her of, if he did not take hold of this one, now. There would be no sun, and no golden Californian fields unless Alejandro could inspire his troops to master the Panama mud, to throw back the Holy Army. A shot of defiance, of courage and anger, coursed through him- flushing out the seeds of doubt and fear that Alvarado had planted there all those months ago. Or rather not flushing them out, but causing them to flourish anew- no army, whether “Holy” or Colombian, would get between Alejandro and his golden day with Elena. He rolled over onto his back, and grabbed a discarded rifle lying just behind him. He leaned over the horse, silently thanking its self-sacrifice that had provided him cover, and raised the rifle carefully. The enemy were getting close- they were no more than twenty-five feet away, and they had abandoned the cover of the jungle.
Alejandro fired. It would have taken far less than his considerable marksmanship to hit a man at such little distance and with such little cover, and his target twisted back as the bullet caught him in the left shoulder. Swerving the rifle’s long barrel to the right, he fired again. A second man fell. Away down to the right, one of the yellow-uniformed soldiers had almost reached the Californian lines- remarkably unscathed. Alejandro leaned out over the horse, propping himself up on the creature’s side with his elbow, and aimed carefully. The bullet flew straight into the side of the man’s head, and the force of it threw him sideways and down into the ground. Along the whole line, the Californians were slowly starting to return fire. Carts, barrels, dead men or animals were all being used as cover as the defenders prepared their rifles and began to fight back. Alejandro looked ahead of him again, and fired off two rapid shots at the still-advancing men, observing with some satisfaction two more hits.
He dropped the rifle, and picked his way, keeping his head down, to where the flag-bearer of the advance column had fallen, and sure enough, about ten feet away, found the great Californian banner lying in the dirt where it had been discarded. He looked over briefly to the enemy, and then picked up the flag by its long pole- raising it aloft.
“California!” He roared above the noise of shouts and gunfire, sweeping the flag to and fro in the air. “Viva California!”. A few poorly-aimed bullets whizzed by him. The flag was a very large, very obvious target. Alejandro began to jog down the line, holding the flag high in the air with both hands, the banner streaming out behind him in the breeze. “Viva California!” He shouted again, and this time a ragged cheer came back to him above the noise of the fighting, and an echoing reply.
“Viva California!” Rang down the lines through many voices, and the firing from the Californian troops tangibly intensified. They were gaining heart. Alejandro reached the point he had been aiming for, planted the flag deep into the soft, saturated ground and crouched over.
“A messenger!” He shouted. “Where is a messenger?” A pale, frightened face rushed towards him. The “messenger” could not have been much more than a boy. “Can you ride, chico?” Alejandro demanded, grasping his shoulder. The youth looked startled at being addressed so abruptly by an officer so obviously high above his station.
“Si, General.” He replied tremulously.
“Bueno,” continued Alejandro rapidly, “you will ride away from here, follow the road we were taking, chico. Ride on until you find the southern army, and you will tell General Barja to advance to this position. Tell him we have located and held Santa Anna’s army, and advise him to proceed with caution. Entiende?”
The boy was turning still paler, he nodded his head tremblingly and turned towards a horse that stood, looking equally nervous, a few paces away. Alejandro put a hand on his shoulder, detaining him a moment longer. He knelt down in front of the boy. “Be brave, chico.” He said with a smile. “You’re not much younger than me!” The boy tried a smile and nodded, blinking hard. “Come now, amigo. Can you be a hero for California?” The boy’s smile widened, he nodded more certainly. “Go then!” Alejandro added. The boy dashed to his horse, mounted rapidly, and spurred it away.
Alejandro turned in the direction of the Holy Army, drawing his pistol. He took aim carefully, fired, and then moved forwards to a small group of Californians using a cart as cover. He straightened up over the side of the cart, and fired repeatedly, spending his anger and frustration on the trigger and on Santa Anna’s men. One for making him call for Tibalto’s help. One for the Californian sun. One for Elena Barja.
The Californian Army and the Holy Army finally clash in Panama.
Ok, so it won't be a cakewalk. Looks like you're going to take down Colombia though.
The Holy Army? What a name for the soldiers under Santa Anna. Hah! Holy!
Hmm. Taking his frustration and anger on Santa Anna's army, I guess he wouldn't agree with the old Star Wars maxim; Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hatred. Hatred leads to suffering. He must fear losing Elena.
I wonder how Santa Anna will die
Hmm. Taking his frustration and anger on Santa Anna's army, I guess he wouldn't agree with the old Star Wars maxim; Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hatred. Hatred leads to suffering. He must fear losing Elena.
I wonder how Santa Anna will die
He won't. Santa Anna being who he is, will likely flee to some other nation and rile up trouble there.
It's no issue. It spices up the story. Besides, the only change in history that would lead to it is more European and American colonization. By Anglos I actually meant Californios, since I was thinking of both British and Anglo-Americans when I posted.
I do hope you'll include a Russian character or two. Fur trappers, natch.
DerKaiser said:Strategos' Risk- Well to be honest, the Club is based on the one capitalist Yankee POP that is in San Francisco when the game begins. I'm pretty sure there were Anglos (Americans) in the country at the time, but the reason that I made them more "English" than "American" is that at that time, particularly in the West, I would have thought they would be more recent immigrants- thus more obviously English, particularly if they don't live in the US and don't have to adhere to that identity. Apologies for any inaccuracy- I'm going on what game and story dictate to me, I'll admit 1830s America isn't my historical speciality
It's no issue. It spices up the story. Besides, the only change in history that would lead to it is more European and American colonization. By Anglos I actually meant Californios, since I was thinking of both British and Anglo-Americans when I posted.
I do hope you'll include a Russian character or two. Fur trappers, natch.
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I meant Santa Anna's eventual death; I do hope it's better than his death in history, quite boring if for a man with his history.
Destroy the 'Holy' Army to a man.
Not meaning to bring your AAR off topic btw, but how does one change the capital?o
Not meaning to bring your AAR off topic btw, but how does one change the capital?
o
Nowhere near done, but I have begun to read...
An interesting challenge you've set for yourself! With a good depth that should keep the story interesting.
Looking forward to seeing the rest of it!
Rensslaer
An interesting challenge you've set for yourself! With a good depth that should keep the story interesting.
Looking forward to seeing the rest of it!
Rensslaer
Why do I have the feeling Tibalto's going to betray his erstwhile brother-in-law eventually?
Jimbo- Well, not a complete cakewalk ... Again, those looking for a huge, tumultuous war should wait. There will be enough of those, I promise!
alex994- I guess Santa Anna is a fan of the incredibly blunt, un-self-conscious statements. Though the Roman Catholic Church was, in real life and this 1838, a big supporter of his in Mexico- that and the support of the army is how he kept coming back. I haven't really thought about his manner of death yet- there's so much more he has to do first!
You're right to pinpoint Elena as central to Alejandro's thoughts/actions, and that will only become more so later...
Strategos' Risk- Well you're about right about Santa Anna!
And the Brits and Anglo-Americans are certainly a big force in California, but at the moment the Hispanics are definitely more in the ascendancy. That will not necessarily be the same for ever, of course...
And the Russians will come into it very much. In fact the fur trappers entirely indirectly lead to a very important event in a few years time!
Iron_Skull- The problem with the Holy Army, as with Santa Anna, is that they keep coming back. When they're beaten they disband and follow him individually, and as he's rich and famous he can always recruit more... Quite a few more yellow uniforms before he's gone...
To change the capital, save a game in progress, go into the Strategy First/Victoria/scenarios/saved games file, then find the name of the game you saved (eg. my playing file for this is called "AAR"), then scroll down to find your country (the best way is to do CTRL+F and search "tag = CAL" or whatever your country's tag is, CAL is California), and look for the line that says "capital = " and then a number. Change the number to whatever you want! If you're California and you want San Francisco, I happen to know from memory the province is 518, but if you need another one go to Strategy First/Victoria/db and then open the "provinces" file and look for the one you want! Simple! If I can do it, anyone can!
Rensslaer- Delighted to have you on board! I remember getting great advice from you on 84 Years in Vienna, not least because Fire Warms the Northern Lands is such an incredible benchmark for Victoria AARs, particularly narrative!
Hope it doesn't disappoint!
aussieboy- Well I won't say it's inconceivable that they'll end up on different sides at some point... Don't quote me on that though, because I'm not actually sure about it!
... Again, those looking for a huge, tumultuous war should wait. There will be enough of those, I promise!alex994- I guess Santa Anna is a fan of the incredibly blunt, un-self-conscious statements. Though the Roman Catholic Church was, in real life and this 1838, a big supporter of his in Mexico- that and the support of the army is how he kept coming back. I haven't really thought about his manner of death yet- there's so much more he has to do first!
You're right to pinpoint Elena as central to Alejandro's thoughts/actions, and that will only become more so later...
Strategos' Risk- Well you're about right about Santa Anna!
And the Brits and Anglo-Americans are certainly a big force in California, but at the moment the Hispanics are definitely more in the ascendancy. That will not necessarily be the same for ever, of course...
And the Russians will come into it very much. In fact the fur trappers entirely indirectly lead to a very important event in a few years time!
Iron_Skull- The problem with the Holy Army, as with Santa Anna, is that they keep coming back. When they're beaten they disband and follow him individually, and as he's rich and famous he can always recruit more... Quite a few more yellow uniforms before he's gone...
To change the capital, save a game in progress, go into the Strategy First/Victoria/scenarios/saved games file, then find the name of the game you saved (eg. my playing file for this is called "AAR"), then scroll down to find your country (the best way is to do CTRL+F and search "tag = CAL" or whatever your country's tag is, CAL is California), and look for the line that says "capital = " and then a number. Change the number to whatever you want! If you're California and you want San Francisco, I happen to know from memory the province is 518, but if you need another one go to Strategy First/Victoria/db and then open the "provinces" file and look for the one you want! Simple! If I can do it, anyone can!
Rensslaer- Delighted to have you on board! I remember getting great advice from you on 84 Years in Vienna, not least because Fire Warms the Northern Lands is such an incredible benchmark for Victoria AARs, particularly narrative!
Hope it doesn't disappoint!
aussieboy- Well I won't say it's inconceivable that they'll end up on different sides at some point
... Don't quote me on that though, because I'm not actually sure about it!
Panama Province, Panama, April 2nd 1838
The horse staggered, exhaustedly, down the great column of men; the pale-faced boy looking desperately through the crowds of soldiers to find the man he was looking for, or anyone like the man he was looking for.
“General Barja!” He called out, in a thin, despairing voice. One soldier looked up at him with irritation from his position on the end of the line.
“Stop whining, kid!” He shouted. “The general’s just down there!” He waved vaguely back behind him with his one free hand.
“Gracias, señor.” He gasped, bowing as low as he could and slipping slightly from his saddle.
“Alright, alright. Don’t faint, boy…” The messenger turned his horse and it trotted off torturously down the line, it’s worn legs barely able to put one hoof after another, but the boy could now see the command group of the army of the south. Compared to the rest of the column, they all looked very clean, very rested and very well fed. He spurred his horse, one last time, towards the cleanest, most rested and best fed looking of all of them. “General Barja?” He called hopefully.
The man looked at him with a cold expression. “Who addresses him?” He sneered.
“A messenger, Excellency. A messenger from General del Serrano!”
“Oh, indeed?” He replied, his distasteful expression becoming more curious. “And the codeword is, boy?”
“Caudillo, Excellency…” It was correct, and Don Tibalto nodded slowly.
“And your message?”
“General del Serrano is one day's ride from here, Excellency, and sends word that he has engaged-”
“Speak up boy!” Snarled Tibalto. “I know Don Alejandro is engaged.” He laughed at his own joke, and the men around him hastily joined in.
“He has engaged, Excellency, he has engaged…” Replied the exhausted boy desperately.
“Alright, yes, I understand, chico. Don’t keep moaning about it. Do you have anything else to say, or has he just engaged?”
“He has engaged Santa Anna, Excellency.” This time Tibalto did not come up with some cruel response. His eyebrows raised involuntarily, and he waited for the messenger to continue. He was interested, and again his staff shared it. They became hushed, and a few quick whispers went between some of the men nearby.
“Indeed?” Prompted Tibalto softly.
“And he wants you to advance to reinforce him, Excellency.”
“And so we shall, boy!” Shouted Tibalto. He turned to his men. “Sound the advance, we will march double-time all night if we have to! We will catch Santa Anna now!”
“General,” began Colonel Christian Hamann, “don’t you think it would be wise to rest the men first? They’ve been marching non-stop already, most of them haven’t had a proper rest in two days…”
“No I don’t, Colonel Hamann. We must catch Santa Anna unawares now! It is precisely what he won’t expect, and if I have to force-march these lazy excuses for soldiers all the way, I will! Tell the buglers to sound quick-time, Colonel!”
Christian hesitated briefly, and then saluted. “Yes, sir.” He replied briskly, and rode off to the head of the column.
“But, Excellency.” Came the thin voice of the messenger suddenly. “You must advance slowly. General del Serr-”
The metal tip on Tibalto’s whip hissed through the air like an angry wasp, and struck the boy directly in the face. He clutched at his nose with both hands as blood poured from it, and toppled sideways out of his saddle, crashing into the damp ground with a wet thud. “Telling me what to do, chico? Giving me orders now, are you?” The boy tried to stagger to his feet, but Tibalto spurred his horse round to him and struck him again, lashing the whip across the top of his head viciously, and fell again. “That is for forgetting your place,” he swung the crop again at the boy’s arm, raised in desperate self-defence, “and that is for showing me a lack of respect!”
Tibalto’s staff were quiet. A couple of the more sadistically-minded had laughed at the first blow, but their general’s rage had silenced them. Only the boy’s faint, half-suppressed sobs disturbed the silence. Tibalto looked down on him in utter disgust and anger. There was no pity in his face.
“Now,” he said finally, “what do you say?”
“I…” stuttered the boy, “I am sorry, Excellency…”
“You are forgiven.” Replied Tibalto smugly. He turned to Christian, riding back towards him, and the colonel rapidly tried to fight the look of horror and anger from his face. “Colonel Hamann,” said Tibalto, as though nothing had happened, “are the men ready to march?”
“Yes, General.” He replied quietly.
“Bueno.” Tibalto spurred his horse and trotted off. Christian’s horse took a few paces forwards and he slipped out of the saddle, squelching down into the mud next to the fallen, bleeding messenger, who looked up in horror only to see that it was not Don Tibalto again.
“Get up, boy.” Said Christian gruffly, hauling him to his feet by the shoulder. “There’s a surgeon at the back of the column who’ll sort your face out for you, you’ll live.”
“Gracias, colonel.” Said the boy, gasping and still clutching at the gash in the middle of his face.
Christian shrugged, feeling awkward. “I guess some people just learn the hard way not to provoke the General… He’s not that bad, kid, really. Just don’t rub him up the wrong way…” He turned to his horse, remounted, and rode off for the head of the column, which was visibly speeding up, beginning it’s forced-march to keep it’s dawn date with Santa Anna and the Holy Army.
The horse staggered, exhaustedly, down the great column of men; the pale-faced boy looking desperately through the crowds of soldiers to find the man he was looking for, or anyone like the man he was looking for.
“General Barja!” He called out, in a thin, despairing voice. One soldier looked up at him with irritation from his position on the end of the line.
“Stop whining, kid!” He shouted. “The general’s just down there!” He waved vaguely back behind him with his one free hand.
“Gracias, señor.” He gasped, bowing as low as he could and slipping slightly from his saddle.
“Alright, alright. Don’t faint, boy…” The messenger turned his horse and it trotted off torturously down the line, it’s worn legs barely able to put one hoof after another, but the boy could now see the command group of the army of the south. Compared to the rest of the column, they all looked very clean, very rested and very well fed. He spurred his horse, one last time, towards the cleanest, most rested and best fed looking of all of them. “General Barja?” He called hopefully.
The man looked at him with a cold expression. “Who addresses him?” He sneered.
“A messenger, Excellency. A messenger from General del Serrano!”
“Oh, indeed?” He replied, his distasteful expression becoming more curious. “And the codeword is, boy?”
“Caudillo, Excellency…” It was correct, and Don Tibalto nodded slowly.
“And your message?”
“General del Serrano is one day's ride from here, Excellency, and sends word that he has engaged-”
“Speak up boy!” Snarled Tibalto. “I know Don Alejandro is engaged.” He laughed at his own joke, and the men around him hastily joined in.
“He has engaged, Excellency, he has engaged…” Replied the exhausted boy desperately.
“Alright, yes, I understand, chico. Don’t keep moaning about it. Do you have anything else to say, or has he just engaged?”
“He has engaged Santa Anna, Excellency.” This time Tibalto did not come up with some cruel response. His eyebrows raised involuntarily, and he waited for the messenger to continue. He was interested, and again his staff shared it. They became hushed, and a few quick whispers went between some of the men nearby.
“Indeed?” Prompted Tibalto softly.
“And he wants you to advance to reinforce him, Excellency.”
“And so we shall, boy!” Shouted Tibalto. He turned to his men. “Sound the advance, we will march double-time all night if we have to! We will catch Santa Anna now!”
“General,” began Colonel Christian Hamann, “don’t you think it would be wise to rest the men first? They’ve been marching non-stop already, most of them haven’t had a proper rest in two days…”
“No I don’t, Colonel Hamann. We must catch Santa Anna unawares now! It is precisely what he won’t expect, and if I have to force-march these lazy excuses for soldiers all the way, I will! Tell the buglers to sound quick-time, Colonel!”
Christian hesitated briefly, and then saluted. “Yes, sir.” He replied briskly, and rode off to the head of the column.
“But, Excellency.” Came the thin voice of the messenger suddenly. “You must advance slowly. General del Serr-”
The metal tip on Tibalto’s whip hissed through the air like an angry wasp, and struck the boy directly in the face. He clutched at his nose with both hands as blood poured from it, and toppled sideways out of his saddle, crashing into the damp ground with a wet thud. “Telling me what to do, chico? Giving me orders now, are you?” The boy tried to stagger to his feet, but Tibalto spurred his horse round to him and struck him again, lashing the whip across the top of his head viciously, and fell again. “That is for forgetting your place,” he swung the crop again at the boy’s arm, raised in desperate self-defence, “and that is for showing me a lack of respect!”
Tibalto’s staff were quiet. A couple of the more sadistically-minded had laughed at the first blow, but their general’s rage had silenced them. Only the boy’s faint, half-suppressed sobs disturbed the silence. Tibalto looked down on him in utter disgust and anger. There was no pity in his face.
“Now,” he said finally, “what do you say?”
“I…” stuttered the boy, “I am sorry, Excellency…”
“You are forgiven.” Replied Tibalto smugly. He turned to Christian, riding back towards him, and the colonel rapidly tried to fight the look of horror and anger from his face. “Colonel Hamann,” said Tibalto, as though nothing had happened, “are the men ready to march?”
“Yes, General.” He replied quietly.
“Bueno.” Tibalto spurred his horse and trotted off. Christian’s horse took a few paces forwards and he slipped out of the saddle, squelching down into the mud next to the fallen, bleeding messenger, who looked up in horror only to see that it was not Don Tibalto again.
“Get up, boy.” Said Christian gruffly, hauling him to his feet by the shoulder. “There’s a surgeon at the back of the column who’ll sort your face out for you, you’ll live.”
“Gracias, colonel.” Said the boy, gasping and still clutching at the gash in the middle of his face.
Christian shrugged, feeling awkward. “I guess some people just learn the hard way not to provoke the General… He’s not that bad, kid, really. Just don’t rub him up the wrong way…” He turned to his horse, remounted, and rode off for the head of the column, which was visibly speeding up, beginning it’s forced-march to keep it’s dawn date with Santa Anna and the Holy Army.
I suppose the chances are slim that a Columbian soldier will get in one lucky shot and dispose of this Tibalto problem for good.
Keep up the good work!
Keep up the good work!
Yeah. Tibalto's head is so far up his rear, that if he sneezed, he'd perforate his colon. Colon, geddit? :rofl:
I'm rapidly growing to dislike Mr. Barja. I think a well placed bullet would be no ill thing at this exact moment in time.
Added bonus: presuably his inheritance then passes to his sister
Added bonus: presuably his inheritance then passes to his sister
How old is this boy anyways? Young teens? It may just be me, but Tibalto is a GENERAL; he shouldn't be one to "soil" his hands dealing with lowly messengers
Alejandro and Tibalto's commanding styles seem quite distinct from each other, I wonder if they'll ever end up fighting...
Alejandro and Tibalto's commanding styles seem quite distinct from each other, I wonder if they'll ever end up fighting...