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WTE_OzWolf
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Australia
Sep 2001
time: 05:19
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Well, finally, the next installment. I don't know how this one will read compared to the other parts because it was written in patches. I've also just completed another Civ III game that will make an excellent story so I'm trying to round out this one for the benefit of those that don't want to be left hanging.
Anyway, this part is really going to be rounding out the story. Hope you enjoy...and there will be other parts of Part IV to follow.
The Cost of War - Part IV
The crumbling church offered little protection from the harsh elements outside but Bill Reddie had grown accustomed to such accommodations long ago. No fire was lit for fear of alerting the Russians to their presence so any miniscule of warmth that might have been gained from the flickering flame had effectively been banished from Bill's life.
A rustling to Bill's right told him that somebody had sat down next to him. He tried to make out who it was in the gloom, but the darkness simply swallowed any distinguishing features his new companion had.
"Looks like another cold one." Charlie Gray's voice said from the darkness. "God how I wish we were in the south."
Bill snorted quietly. This had been a standard line for Charlie since they had first met. He knew the pilot hated the cold but current circumstances meant they were in the north of occupied England.
"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now." Bill commented.
"No amount of years would get me used to this." Charlie said.
Bill didn't voice the obvious follow-up that Charlie could have an amount of years to get used to it.
It had been a year since they had stood on the hill over Brighton and watched the last transport ship sail for the English Isles. It was obvious that it was the last thing the Russians had been expecting. For three weeks, the two men had remained hidden in the deserted buildings of Brighton and watched the Russians wander around aimlessly, knocking down buildings at random, as if unsure of what they should be doing.
Once the Russian forces had moved on, Bill and Charlie had left Brighton behind and struck inland, not totally sure where they were going or what they were to do. But they soon discovered they weren't the only forces left abandoned in occupied England. Slowly but surely, a small army formed under the command of a Colonel Jeremy Saunders. The group of stragglers began a resistance movement against the Russians and Germans and it wasn't long before the Colonel had a bounty placed on his head by the Russians.
The army, calling themselves the Castaways, began the systematic resistance against the Russians and Germans. They destroyed lines of communications such as roads and rail lines; they raided and destroyed enemy settlements setup at resource sites once occupied by the English; and they had even attacked and defeated a number of Russian military convoys, depriving the Russians much needed equipment for their coming war with Rome and Greece.
News from Birmingham, the new English capital, continued to lift the mens' spirits as the Empire continued to hold the Russians, Germans and Iroquios at bay. The initial news from Birmingham informed the Castaways that there would be no rescue ship and originally instigated an angry response, but the men, being professional soldiers, realised that they were doing a much greater job remaining and thorn in the Alliance's side.
With the promising news, the Castaways once again went back to the job of disrupting the enemy. The Castaway army was impressive, consisting of three divisions of infantry, half a division of tanks and an artillery regiment. Nowhere large enough to take on a full-blown, battle-hardened Russian or German battalion, but enough to easily account for the small forces the enemy had committed to hunting down the Castaways.
"How d'ya think tomorrow is gonna go?" Bill asked.
"I don't think the Russians will know what hit them." Charlie said. "All our focus has been further south from here and I doubt the enemy will have any idea what or who we are until it is too late."
"We can only hope." Bill said. "The Russians have multiplied their airforce significantly in the last twelve months. I know the Colonel made every effort to try and hide our path, the footprints of two divisions of men trampled in the snow would be hard to miss."
"Don't panic." Charlie said calmly. "The weather isn't good enough for them. By the time they get their aircraft airborne, we'll have hit the column and be long gone."
"You'd better be right." Bill replied. "We're running low on rations and ammunition as it is. We especially need tank ammo if we're going to look at more prosperous targets."
"More prosperous targets?" Charlie said. "What have you heard that I haven't?"
"Um...nothing." Bill said. "Officially."
"C'mon mate." Charlie chided. "Don't hold out on me now."
Bill sighed.
"Ok, but you didn't hear it from me." He waited for Charlie to nod in the gloom. "Ok, the Colonel is planning to invade."
"Invade?" Charlied hissed. "Invade what?"
"Russia." Bill said. "We're going to strike at the heart of the monster."
Moscow, Russia
Standing on the street, Sam Smith watched as the KGB pulled his apartment to pieces. Shaking his head, he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the gutter, hunched himself into a shape that would hopefully expose as little of himself to the weather as possible and began walking towards the train station.
He couldn't work out if the Russians had stumbled onto him or if he had simply fallen victim to the notorious "witch hunts" that the KGB had become famous for. As far as the Russians knew, he was a law-abiding, hard working peasant of Russia who scratched out a living as a lowly clerk in the Kremlin.
He'd come back to his apartment later in the day. If it was a witch hunt, the KGB would find nothing incriminating and leave. If it wasn't, Sam should have left the country a week ago. But where would he go? Rome? The only people that knew of his real identity were either dead in the streets of London or safely tucked away in Birmingham. Either way, he couldn't reach them. His only means of communication were through pigeon and he no longer knew if anybody was there to collect them.
The news that the English had evacuated to the Isles had shook him to the bone. Until that moment, Sam had known that help could be reached if things went horribly wrong. Now, help was too far away to render any assistance. Now, he was alone. At times like this he wondered if the spy game was truely worth the effort.
Once at the train station, he purchased a ticket to the nearby city of Leningrad, his original destination. By the time he finished his reconoiter to one of Russia's production centres and returned it would be dark but hopefully the KGB would have finished their rearranging of his apartment.
Sam was an expert in his field. Possibly England's best. He knew exactly how to blend into a crowd and that was to look and act exactly like they did. The person that stood out was the one who didn't look completely at home in the given environment. So, adopting the slouching walk of the crowd, he moved towards his designated platform.
The trip to Leningrad was uneventful, but it was starting to snow by the time they pulled into the station. Stepping out onto a nearby street, he cast his eyes about before walking towards the part of town crowded with chimney stacks and smothered with smoke plumes. Until told otherwise, he was going to continue his given mission of finding out the Russian's capabilities. England was still alive and kicking and while it remained that way, it had a chance to retake its homelands and it was going to need Sam's continued reconaissance.
Two checkpoints later, Sam was in the industrial region. He mingled with the work crews and slipped through different areas, taking mental note of tank production lines, fighter production lines and ammunition plants. Everytime he saw the sheer size of the Russian war machine up close, Sam felt sick to the stomach. The only place where English production might match Russian was at the Dover Shipyards now that the Roman oil was getting through. Apart from that, any attempt to attack Russia would need a combined effort. Having made his sortie through Leningrad, Sam made an uneventful trip back to Moscow.
It was dark when he got back to the Russian capital, but with no enemy threat within striking distance of the city, the city was fully lit and people were out enjoying the evening. Sam trudged through the streets until he reached his apartment complex. He climbed up the stairs and opened the door. The light refused to come on when he flicked the switch. He made the usual cursing, stomping around and general noises associated with someone discovering a ransacked. He finally stood still in the middle of the mayhem and sighed. That's when he felt the presence.
Before he could turn around something struck him on the back of the head and stars exploded in front of him. The last thing he remembered was the floor rushing up to meet him. Then blackness.
Birmingham, English Isles
Standing on the podium, Prime Minister Winston Churchill watched the parade before him. He beamed with pride at his people and watched as the fruits of their labour over the last two and a half years were put on display to him.
Thousands of soldiers, hundreds of tanks and brand new fighter jets marched, trundled or roared past. Churchill turned to General Bernard Montgomery and Admiral Harry Jackson who stood behind him.
“Well gentlemen.” He said. “It appears my trust in you was deserved. The English are ready to take what is theirs by rights. Admiral, is your fleet ready?”
“Ready and waiting, Mr. Prime Minister.” Harry replied. “Once the General’s forces have finished parading here they will board the transports and we will begin our invasion of occupied England.”
“And General, are your troops prepped?” Churchill turned to General Montgomery.
“They are fully trained with their new weaponary and are raring to give the Russians some payback.” General Montgomery reported.
“Excellent.” Churchill replied. “Admiral, I want to see you in twenty minutes. Good day gentlemen.”
With that, Churchill turned from his two High Commanders and departed back into the new Prime Minister’s residence in Birghmingham. Once he was sure the Prime Minister was out of earshot, Harry turned to Montgomery.
“You didn’t inform him about the Castaway’s plans.” He said bluntly.
Montgomery raised an eyebrow at Harry.
“And why would I do that?” He said. “Our fair Prime Minister would most likely order them to stop their plans.”
“So, if the plan was stopped, we lose a valuable distraction?” Harry observed. “You do realise that we could lose a thousand loyal men through this?”
“Better than losing ten thousand men because the Castaways weren’t distracting those Russian troops.” Montgomery replied. “Trust me Harry. I don’t like it anymore, but as you’ve probably realised, being in command doesn’t mean all decisions are going to be easy, straight-forward or easy to swallow. We need the Castaways for this. I need the full compliment of my troops on the ground over there if we’re going to ensure a victory for this.”
Harry leant against the railing and sighed.
“You’re right.” He said. “I just hope you don’t expect me to lie to Churchill.”
“Of course not.” Montgomery said. “Just don’t bring it up unless he asks you directly about it and if he does, try and convince him that the measures taken are necessary.”
Harry nodded.
“Ok General.” He said. “I’ll go see what Churchill wants and then I’ll see you on the Invincible.”
General Montgomery nodded his agreement and Harry headed inside the Prime Minister’s residence, making sure he turned up five minutes early. He was ushered straight in. As he walked into the office, Churchill rose and came around to greet him.
“Welcome Harry.” He said, offering Harry a cigar. Hesitantly, with a growing suspicion, Harry took a cigar and chewed the end off. After taking the offered seat, Harry waited for Churchill to begin.
“Excellent work in marshalling the naval forces in such a short time.” Churchill said. “I realise that all civic development basically stopped since we abandoned the mainland, so managing to get a fully-operational battlefleet and keeping the populace happy was impressive work.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Is this going anywhere, Mr. Prime Minister?” He asked.
Churchill chuckled.
“Straight to the point.” He said. “I like that. Admiral, I have a secret mission for you.”
Harry’s curiosity picked up.
“A secret mission for myself?” He asked. “How does that happen?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a secret, just the objective is.” Churchill explained. “This mission is taking place after you’ve delivered Montgomery to the mainland. I want you to personally take half of the fleet and sail south towards Berlin. Stay at least a hundred nautical miles away from the coast, but look towards it on this date.”
Churchill gave a specific date that Harry committed to memory.
“What should I look for?” Harry asked. Churchill simply smiled.
“You’ll know when you see it.” He replied. “I need a visual witness there plus if all goes to plan, having my High Seas Commander in he vicinity will be a bonus.”
Harry gave Churchill a sceptical look.
“Will the result be that big?” He asked.
“It’s going to be bigger than that.” Churchill said. “I intend for this to knock Germany out of the war for good.”
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WTE_OzWolf
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Australia
Sep 2001
time: 05:19
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Normadic Wastelands, Old English-Russian Border
“I can’t believe I’ve made the round trip.” Bill Reddie grumbled to Charlie. “Four years ago I stood on this spot and watched a Russian behemoth trample England into the ground.”
“Don’t feel too bad Bill.” Charlie replied. “At least you can do something to avenge what happened here.”
“I can’t believe I really came up with this suicidal mission.” Bill replied. “What the hell was I thinking?”
“You probably weren’t, as usual.” Charlie quipped, before becoming serious. “However, it does make logical sense. The Russians are spread pretty thin throughout occupied England while the move towards Rome. This could give England something that they desperately need.”
Bill simply shook his head in disbelief. After a number of successful raids, he had begun to study the response times of Russian troops and the general numbers dispatched in an attempt to run down the Castaway army. He had eventually concluded that the Russians weren’t as thick on the ground as originally thought or portrayed. In fact, he believed the Russians main forces were either spread throughout the English countryside or marching towards the Roman border. Some serious negotiation with the Colonel had eventually given birth to the plan to strike at the Russian oil fields near the coast. If they took the oil fields, then they would try to take the provincial port town of Slomensk which would open up a supply line back to Birmingham of oil. So, after three days hard march north, the Castaway army was now in the Wastelands preparing to make an assault on the Russian oil fields.
A rustle of footsteps came up behind the two friends.
“Attack begins in two hours gentlemen.” The Colonel’s voice said. “With the sun’s light behind us.”
Bill grunted and settled into a position better suited for waiting.
He must have dozed because the next thing he knew was Charlie shaking his shoulder.
“Look alive Bill.” He said. “It’s time.”
Bill checked his carbine. The action was clean and well oiled. Rumours had reached the ears of the Castaways that English soldiers were now being issued fully automatic rifles, but he knew the Castaways were now technologically inferior to the new-look English forces. That generally happened when you have been fighting a guerrilla war for a year and a half and had to suffice with what you could capture or steal from the enemy.
“Here we go again.” Charlie said as the whistle blew. As one, a thousand men climbed to their feet and began crouch-running towards where the objective was. At the same time, twenty tank engines belched into life and the squeaking sounds of moving tracks soon accompanied the footfall of soldiers. Off in the distance, an alarm began to cut through the early dawn air.
Bill had believed that they could surprise the Russians by moving close under the blanket of night, pushing the tanks into position. It had taken a lot of work, but it seemed to be working. Any enemy fire was erratic and thinly spread. A second whistle blew and the entire line broke into a run, trying to reach the enemy line before the Russians were fully organised.
As they neared the enemy line, withering fire erupted towards the English castaways. Tracer fire lit the grey morning like a flickering fire and English troops began to fall. Bill felt shock as he realised they had walked straight into a trap. He waited for the three whistle blasts to order the fall back, but nothing came. Gritting his teeth, he pulled in front of the line and began charging the enemy front on. A ragged roar rose from the English troops as they followed his example. He felt pride warming his heart as his fellow countrymen faced overwhelming and suicidal odds yet still attacked, refusing to back down. The dice had been thrown.
His breath burned in his throat and roared in his ears. His legs screamed in agony as he clambered up the slippery surface that was the hillside below the enemy stronghold. Comrades, friends and vague acquaintances fell beside him, barely registering in a brain that shouted for him to flee. With a concerted effort, he pushed those thoughts aside and simply ordered his legs to take another step. And another. And another.
With automatic precision, he shot at enemies that made themselves seen. Bullets hummed through the air past his head but failed to make contact. He could see the crest now. With a sense of triumph he was the first to stand atop the hill that he and his countrymen had spent so long fighting for. For a split second, he was enraptured by the stunning vista of mountains, forests and plains spread out before him. Then his life erupted in pain as a volley of rounds from a second line of entrenched soldiers hit him in the chest. Then there was nothing. Only blackness.
Charlie saw Bill fall, but could do nothing. Instead, rage filled his heart and he strove to the front of the line and took Bills spot. Like a small wave washing up on a big beach, the English soldiers crested the hill and fell on the Russians. Russian tanks moved in amongst the English soldiers and like wolves among sheep mowed them down. But the English refused to fall back. Distracted by the easy human targets, the Russian tanks did not notice the English tanks until their numbers began to explode from English shots.
The distraction was all the English tanks need. Caught off-balance, the Russian tanks began to falter under the sheer suicidal belief the English soldiers had. As the first rays of sunlight crested the hill and lit the advancing battlefield, the Russian troops threw down their weapons and surrendered. Four years of hatred overflowed and the English troops killed them.
It took Charlie three hours to find Bill’s body in the field of dead and it took him three hours to return to where his friends journey had begun those years ago during the first battle, but he buried Bill amongst the reminants of the Battle of the Wastelands.
“You’re finally with your troops, Bill.” Charlie said quietly after he had buried his friend. “Rest in peace. Some of us need to continue the fight and carry your legacy.”
Charlie saluted Bill’s grave before turning around and walking away from the man who had saved his life, never looking back.
“And god bless your soul.” He whispered as he picked up his gear and headed back towards the Castaways’ encampment.
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WTE_OzWolf
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Australia
Sep 2001
time: 05:19
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Invasion Fleet, Just Off of London
Raising his binoculars to his eyes, Admiral Harry Jackson looked out across the waters at the remnants of London, the once proud capital city and centre of power for the English Empire. But the Empire was now only such in name and the capital was little more than a ghost town.
"My troops are ready, Admiral." General Montgomery said from Harry's side. The General had finally got his wish and was now leading an English army against the Russian forces.
"Acknowledged, General." Harry replied. "You may begin the invasion. Our guns will be starting their bombardment shortly."
General Montgomery nodded his understanding then left to do his job, leaving Harry to do his.
"Lieutenant, order all ships to open fire on their designated targets." He called. Then all conversation was blithely obliterated as the thirty-odd warships of the English invasion fleet opened fire on the Russian encampments dotting the shoreline. He watched as great plumes of smoke, dirt and rubble rose into the air.
The troops ships began lowering the landing boats into the water, packed with marines destined for the fortified shores. It was surreal watching such an invasion unfold from such a distance. The skies were clear of enemy aircraft as the English fighter jets picked off the enemy's piston-engined planes with deceptive ease.
"Sir." A Midshipman called from alongside him, barely audible over the thunderclaps of firing guns. "We have reports that the cruise-missile attacks have been successful. The Russian cities of Leningrad, Moscow and Kiev are in disarray. The follow-up bombing runs have confirmed this."
"What of the Castaways?" He asked. With the invasion underway, the English had planted a great deal of intelligence assets on the ground for such reports.
"Initial reports indicate that they have succeeded." The Midshipman said.
Waving his dismissal, Harry was shocked to a standstill. The English High Command had known of the Castaways' attempt to take the Russian oil-fields, but nobody expected them to win. Command had deemed that the attack should continue to act as a decoy for the main invasion and intelligence had been dropping hints to the Russians that that was where the Castaways were going to attack. Eighteen months of guerilla warfare had the Russians screaming for Castaway blood and this was the ideal oppurtunity to rid themselves of a persistant thorn in the side.
"Quatermaster!" He bellowed and a Leading Seaman appeared at his side. "Where is General Montgomery?"
"He's just about to launch for his troop ship sir." The Quatermaster reported.
"Tell them to hold." Harry said. "I'm going down. I need to tell him something. Captain, you have the fleet."
Without waiting for confirmation, Harry left the bridge and made his way through the decks of the English battleship, RES Formidable. The sailors working throughout only paid Harry a cursory glance, which was how he liked it. He reached the stern and jogged up to General Montgomery.
"General." He called. "The Castaway's have got their objective."
To Montgomery's credit, he managed to not fall over the rail when he took a step back in shock.
"They took the oil?" He asked in disbelief. "Are you sure?"
"As sure as I could ever be." Harry said. "If it is true, then the Russians no longer have access to their oil supplies."
"How fast can you create a detachment of vessels?" Montgomery asked. "I want a ground force to head there and help the Castaways. If we can keep the oil out of the Russian's hands and in ours for long enough, they will eventually grind to a halt."
"Give me an hour and I will have your detachment ready." Harry said. "Will you still be going ashore here?"
"Yes." Montgomery replied. "I will place Brigadier O'Donnell in command of the northern detachment. Will you still be heading south?"
"Yes, I need to oversee that mission." Harry said. "Good luck General."
"And you too Admiral." Montgomery responded.
Harry returned to his bridge.
Russian Oilfields, Normadic Wastelands
The Russian counter-attack came fast and it came hard. Charlie Gray focused only on the enemy in front of him. He pulled the trigger, over and over again, but the wave of Russian soldiers didn't seem to stop. Fortunately, it appeared the Russians didn't have any serious tank force in the region because the Castaways' tank compliment were holding their own.
Slowly but surely, the Russian line got closer and closer. Muzzle flashes announced lethal replies to the English defensive fire, but the well-entrenched positions gave the English an advantage their distinct lack of numbers didn't. Mortars popped and whistled through the air, spraying dirt and body parts into the air amongst the Russian ranks and the stink of death, still lingering from the first battle, once again hung thick in the air.
Inevitably, the Russians breached the English positions and the battle turned into a close-up, face-to-face struggle with rifles, bayonets and knives. A burly, bearded man fell into the trench alongside Charlie. He looked at Charlie, roared something in incomprehensible Russian and thrust his bayonetted rifle at him. Charlie deftly parried the thrust aside then fired into the gut of the Russian. A look of shock covered the man's face before Charlie thrust his bayonet through the enemy's throat. Then the only look the Russian gave him was the glassy-eyed look of the dead.
But the enemy just kept coming. Somehow, the English managed to defeat the first wave, but in the short break between that and the second wave, Charlie looked over the parapet. A veritable human wave of brown trench coats trudged through the snow and sleet towards their position. He looked around and his fellow soldiers were now half the strength they had been ten minutes ago.
Working another round into the breach, Charlie fired his gun again and suddenly the Russian lines exploded into a spouting tower of flame. Looking around, Charlie noticed the bewildered look of his fellow soldiers. No weapon in the limited Castaway arsenal had that firepower. Then a cheer erupted from the crowd as a giant bat-wing with English Air Force insignia passed overhead, its engines eerily quiet. Then came the strange fighter aircraft that screamed and flew at fantastic speeds.
Stunned, bewildered and completely decimated from the attack by the English aircraft, the Russians fell to a renewed Castaways force as they charged the Russian forces. By nightfall, Charlie was shaking hands with an English marine, specially detached by General Montgomery himself to aid in the defence of the oil fields. He had to sit down when he heard that the English were invading to take their homeland back. He went looking for somebody to give him a stiff drink.
Task Force Gamma, Sea of Sorrows, South of Europa
The invasion had gone exactly as planned. Montgomery had got his troops ashore and had secured the remains of London. Even before Harry had managed to move his task force south, Monty had even succeeded in an attack on the scattered Russian troops. It appeared Stalin had over-stretched his troops in an attempt to keep the now-vacant English countryside occupied and with the sudden loss of his oil-fields, the remnant Russian forces were ripe for the picking.
And now Harry waited. What for, he had no idea. Twice they had been attacked by German forces not engaged in their war against the Greeks. Twice they had thrown them back. Harry could sense a big change in the air. The triumphant return to Europa by the English only justified what he felt. The Russians and Germans were fighting a prolonged war and their economies and general happiness was beginning to suffer from it.
Harry believed that the sudden withdrawal of the Empire from Europa had caused Russia to fall over, much like a person would do if the wall they were leaning on suddenly gave way. Russia had invested a large amount of their treasury into building a force to capture London yet all they got was a lot of empty real estate and some ghost towns. He had to give it to Churchill, he knew how to keep his enemies off balance.
England was now the powerful force in the world. Her navies, besieged by an endless stream of Russian and German attacks, had kept the would-be invaders from the English Isles, giving the Empire time to rebuild itself and return stronger than ever to its native homelands. Harry realised that this didn't mean victory, because the Russians would catch up and an invasion of Russia was a good many years away. But it meant that England could stand on its on two feet once again.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted when a sudden flash of light lit up the evening sky. He quickly turned towards the point on the horizon that Berlin lay past and watched in fascination as a giant mushroom cloud, majestic in its beauty and size; sedate in its slow rise; yet promising infinite pain and destruction, rose above the horizon. Even as he watched, the rolling sound of thunder washed across the open sea towards the English fleet.
"Oh my god." A rating muttered beside him.
Harry agreed with him but did not voice those thoughts. Instead, he stood transfixed and continued to watch. Churchill had been right. He knew exactly what to look for when it happened.
"Sir!" A Petty Officer called as he ran onto the bridge, carrying a piece of paper. "Communication just intercepted this open-air transmission from German High Command in Hamburg.
'To all German forces stop cease fire and withdraw to German territory immediately stop To all English forces and their allies stop The German people hereby surrender unconditionally stop Signed General Rommel interim German Chancellor out.'"
Harry turned and leant against the rail. Yes, there was definitely a change in the air.
"We might just survive this afterall." He muttered.
"Sorry sir?" Asked the Petty Officer.
"Nothing PO." Replied Harry. "Send word to Birmingham asking what are we to do next."
"No need sir." The Formidable's captain said. "We've just got orders from Churchill himself. You are to oversee the formal surrender of German forces. We're to set sail for Hamburg immediately."
A cheer rose from the bridge crew as the announcement was made over the tannoy and to the other ships. Soon, all the vessels' sailors were on the upper decks, swinging their caps about and shouting with joy. Harry turned to the navigator.
"You heard the captain, Nav." He ordered. "Plot us a course for Hamburg."
Birmingham, English Isles
Churchill sat behind his desk, enjoying his cigar and the feeling of a possible end to the nightmare of the last four years. With the capitulation of Germany, Russia and the Iroquios found themselves on the outer. Germany had handed over a number of cities, including York which they had captured early in the war. The nuclear bomb detonated over Berlin had killed the German leadership and the German High Command had wasted no time in surrendering. Churchill could never remember anybody folding so quickly before.
The Iroquios, always the oppurtunists, refused to stay on a possible losing side and signed a peace treaty soon after Germany's surrender which netted the English three cities in the Southern Isles. He was still deciding whether or not to give the French back their cities. That was something for later.
Without their allies, Russia faced the possibility of Rome and England dividing their territories between themselves, or worse still, have them burnt to the ground with England's new weapon. Only problem was, it wasn't England's alone anymore. The Americans had developed it and spies reported that the Russians were close themselves. But they didn't have it yet, so Stalin had grudgingly signed a peace treaty, giving Smolensk to England which effectively gave England its own oil supply.
Churchill sighed, both a heartfelt sigh of relief and one of despair. A knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie.
"Come." He called. The door opened to reveal General Montgomery.
"Bernard." Churchill said. "I'm glad your trip back home still sees you alive."
Montgomery chuckled.
"It'll take more than some Russian bullets to stop me, Mr. Prime Minister." He replied. "Though I think one of your new weapons would probably work."
"I do believe I have opened pandora's box with that new weapon." Churchill grumbled sourly. "And the Russians are going to be one of the recipients."
Montgomery sobered.
"Reports are arriving telling us that the Russians are already beginning perperations for having this weapon."
Churchill sat down and looked at Montgomery.
"Four years later and we're still at the same point, aren't we?" He stated.
"That is the cost of war, Mr. Prime Minister." Montgomery said. "The creation of faster ways to kill ourselves."
"And it all starts again." Churchill said, turning to the world map, wondering when the next nightmare would show its face.
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WTE_OzWolf
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Australia
Sep 2001
time: 05:19
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I realise the ending may seem a bit abrupt...but that is what happened in this section of the game. One nuclear weapon...and voila! instant peace.
Here is what happened later on:
- The Americans ended up overrunning the Aztecs.
- The Iroquios, having obtained nuclear technology, declared war on England (who still held the cities in the Southern Isles).
- The English, having kept the majority of its focus on the Russians lost four cities before forces could deploy to take them back.
- The Germans were invaded by the Greeks and reduced to three cities.
- The English threw back the Iroquios and signed a military alliance against them with America.
- Russia attempted to attack Rome, but lacking any oil supplies was stuck with equipment that couldn't be replaced. The Romans threw them back then with England invaded and the Russians ceased to exist.
- America and England, the two biggest land-owners in the world began buying the favours of the smaller countries. Surprisingly, the long allies of the English in Greece and France sided with the Americans as did the Germans, leaving the Romans and England to fight them.
- The Anglo-America war lasted well past the "game end" point with no real successes for either side. Meanwhile, the Romans had invaded Greece and Germany, annexing those two countries themselves.
When I finished the game, America was ranked first, England second, Rome third, France fourth.
It would seem the cost of war for Russia, Germany and the Iroquios was the utter defeat of their nations.
A thoroughly entertaining game and worthy story material.
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pgrau
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great !
thanks a thousand times.
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25-06-2002 04:29
I hope you'll end this with something happier.
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