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KYOON GRIFFEY JR posted:Adding escort carriers to your SAGs in HOI2 allows them to close the range through some mechanic I don't really understand (For a while it was bugged and SAGs would instantly close the range to optimal and then wreck CBGs, that was funny). As I understand it, the ratio between a fleet's visibility and detection determines how the distance by which a fleet will start an engagement, relative to the range that it "wants" a Battleship is going to have a visibility of 90 to 95, but a surface detection of only 1 (plus whatever you can gain via radar, but this is rendered irrelevant if you do have CVLs in the TF, which you should) a Carrier is going to have a visibility of 100, but then their carrier air group will give them a surface detection between 7 to 22 (14 for a 1941 CAG) a Light Carrier is going to have a visibility of 80, but they also have a surface detection between 8 to 14 (10 for a 1941 model of CVL) if you sent a BB TF against a CV TF, the lopsided surface detection (the BBs have not, the CVs have a lot) will mean that the battle will almost always play out with the CVs starting at their maximum range if, on the other hand, you included two CVLs with your BBs, the TF would have a much higher surface detection, such that you're likely to start the engagement much closer. Night battles or bad weather hurt surface detection, which is how a BB TF would otherwise be able to close-in against carriers otherwise, but CVLs allow BBs to generate these conditions consistently, and without the tech and industrial commitment of having to research and build full fleet carriers
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Feb 16, 2021 17:00
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That makes sense. It was CVEs though, if I recall correctly. CVLs were just less expensive CVs off the same tech branch.
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Feb 17, 2021 13:28
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Re-reading this over the past month made me finally try HoI4 and its attendant KR. It's been a ton of fun. csm141, ever thought about doing one set in HoI4 or are you all-KR-ed out? Really awesome work, by the way.
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Feb 23, 2021 19:25
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DrPop posted:Re-reading this over the past month made me finally try HoI4 and its attendant KR. It's been a ton of fun. csm141, ever thought about doing one set in HoI4 or are you all-KR-ed out? You should try Home of the Brave, a KR submod that overhauls the ACW. Interestingly enough it makes things more chaotic by making Long's base in the Midwest Louisiana, gives MacArthur a puppet Omar Bradley in Denver and turn the Klan baddies are a new faction of their own (which if they go way too far in being racist jerks, might result in a black belt revolt against them!).
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Feb 23, 2021 19:34
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Plutonis posted:You should try Home of the Brave, a KR submod that overhauls the ACW. Interestingly enough it makes things more chaotic by making Long's base in the Midwest Louisiana, gives MacArthur a puppet Omar Bradley in Denver and turn the Klan baddies are a new faction of their own (which if they go way too far in being racist jerks, might result in a black belt revolt against them!). Sounds cool, thanks for the recommendation. And it features L. Ron Hubbard
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Feb 23, 2021 19:49
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DrPop posted:Re-reading this over the past month made me finally try HoI4 and its attendant KR. It's been a ton of fun. csm141, ever thought about doing one set in HoI4 or are you all-KR-ed out? I did consider it but HoI4 was very new when it was time for the last intermission and there's not going to be any more intermissions. I like KR a lot but I'm definitely American Socialisted out and I think that's the only subject which I've felt a desire to write extensively about. There's plenty of other interesting games to play in KR and I wouldn't mind learning how to play HoI4, but playing a fun game and turning it into a story is pretty different. I've learned not to plan too far into the future but I think I'd like to establish this as a ~universe~ and come back to it in other LPs of other games. I've got a solid timeline of events that exists in my mind from this game on towards the 21st century, and if I ever find a game that let's me explore those events that I think that'd be fun. Stellaris is an obvious choice I've brought up before but that's a big undertaking and I want to actually finish something before letting my mind run away with other ideas.
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Feb 23, 2021 22:24
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Not gonna let this fall into the archives. I'm still down to read.
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Jun 1, 2021 07:27
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Redeye Flight posted:Not gonna let this fall into the archives. I'm still down to read. appreciate it, i've lost track of time. I've got a half finished update, I'm working on it. For the last two years i've been in varying levels of crisis about the direction my life was going to take post finishing my degree and the pandemic didn't help much. It's been hard to think about much else for that time frame. Fortunately, i've secured the bag finally with a good paying long term job and I'm hopeful this will add some stability to my life and help me get back to a balanced life that includes working on this rather than feeling constantly uneasy and precarious. For instance, I've been trying to get to see a doctor about my ruinous inability to focus on the things I love for over two years! So bear with me. We'll get there.
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Jun 2, 2021 03:22
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csm141 posted:appreciate it, i've lost track of time. I've got a half finished update, I'm working on it. For the last two years i've been in varying levels of crisis about the direction my life was going to take post finishing my degree and the pandemic didn't help much. It's been hard to think about much else for that time frame. Fortunately, i've secured the bag finally with a good paying long term job and I'm hopeful this will add some stability to my life and help me get back to a balanced life that includes working on this rather than feeling constantly uneasy and precarious. For instance, I've been trying to get to see a doctor about my ruinous inability to focus on the things I love for over two years! So bear with me. We'll get there. I know that feeling for the last one. Could be any number of things -- ADHD, hyperfocus, executive dysfunction, chronic anxiety. Ask me about having all four at once! It's butts. Keep plugging away, man. We're getting closer to the finish line.
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Jun 2, 2021 11:51
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Chapter Fourteen: The Others (Spring-Summer 1946)quote:FROM: AU SECRETARIAT DAKAR  The Staten Island Ferry The boy fought as hard as he could against the tears. The whole idea of leaving Dakar had been so frightening. He knew what New York was. It was in the books. Big buildings, underground trains, huge statues, all that. But he didn’t know anybody here. And now Father had left, with no warning at all, all because of some stupid slip of paper. And Kwame was left here, with an uncle he had heard about but didn’t really know. “Ah, child, you don’t even remember me, do you?” His uncle’s words snapped Kwame out of his rumination. Not because of the words themselves, but the tongue in which they were spoken. The only person who ever spoke Fulani to him was Father. “You were very young the last time I was home. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Uncle looked out the window of the ferry, forlorn. Young Kwame wanted to say something to make him feel better, but he didn’t know what. “Ay! Is that you, Claude?” Uncle looked up, at a woman. She had tan skin, dark hair, and wore overalls speckled with grease stains. “Francesca!” “Ah, and who is this? Is this Claude’s most handsome little nephew?” The woman looked down at Kwame, with a smile on her face. Uncle stared at Kwame expectantly. “Uh… um…” What language to use here? “Bonjour!” “Bonjour, mon chou! You must be Kwame. My name is Francesca. Your uncle has told me all about you. Are you excited to come to New York?” Kwame nodded and muttered “Oui.” Why wouldn’t the adults just talk to each other and leave him alone?! Francesca took a seat next to Kwame and turned towards Uncle. “How are things, Claude?” “Oh, fine. Teaching my courses, doing my speaking whenever anybody asks. Cataloging the birds in Central Park. Getting old before my time.” “Well, you’ve done plenty of living, comrade. I’m sure you could still show up to West Point and be the best marksman of the bunch, even if it’d take you a minute to get down on your knees.” The woman laughed at her own joke. “You could probably show them a thing or two as well, but they wouldn’t let you in the door on account of being a wise-rear end.” Kwame’s eyes darted from Uncle to Francesca as they bantered back and forth. Did people in New York really talk to each other like this? “What have you been up to, Francesca? Keeping out of trouble?” “Of course not. The howitzer plant is closing and I’m rebuffing my many suitors for my services.” “Why don’t you take that job with the consulate? They could use you. An Italian who came to America to fight in the earliest most dangerous days? That gives you some pull, Francesca, and you could use that to do good things.”  Francesca grimaced then spit out of the window. “Pah! I don’t want to be associated with those loving liberals. Just because everybody else wants to play nice to lure the Pope back from Brazil doesn’t mean that I have to be a part of it.” “Harsh.” “Maybe, but that’s my right. There’s bigger and better things going on. Out there there’s actually people in power who have an imagination, who have big ideas for how they can make the revolution real. Playing nice with a bunch of Northern bourgeoisie does nothing for me. I get their reasons, but they can own the consequences.” “Ah, well. You’ll find something that makes you happy. Something that helps you channel that anger of yours. Maybe you could become a boxer, or a piledriver operator.” Francesca laughed. “Go gently caress yourself, Claude. If you hadn’t saved my rear end in Roanoke, I’d smack you one right now. Anyway… Kwame, did you know your uncle saved my life?” I don’t even know who you are! Or who he is! “No.” “Well, he did. You see, your uncle and I knew each other in Paris, before you born. Your dad was there too. We would all sit around and drink and talk about how we were going to kill the capitalists and colonizers. So we all went off to America together, well not your dad, he stayed behind, but we did. And we marc- oh God, I’m boring you, aren’t I? Sorry, pal.” Kwame shifted in his seat and didn’t respond. This woman was intense. “I should be asking about you, not boring you with my own story. Are you excited to be in New York?” “I um, I guess. I wasn’t really expecting to stay here. We were supposed to go to Chicago.” “Ah Chicago. Chicago’s alright. But New York is better. Enjoy it while you’re here. How long do you have him for, Claude?” “Not sure, Jean is due back in a week but you never know.” “Hm, sure, struggles of a diplomat. Say, Kwame, do you know what that is?” Francesca pointed out the window. The statue! The one from the picture books in the library! “Haha, that got him excited.” Uncle was smiling now. “See, your papa had to leave, but you get to stay here and look at all this cool stuff! Isn’t that right, Claude?” “That’s right. We’re going to have a lot of fun while you’re here.” “And your papa, he’s not having any fun. He’s probably off on some boring work trip, talking to stuffy old diplomats in a old boring room with stupid old paintings. There’s no way what Jean’s doing is as exciting as what you’re gonna do in New York with your Uncle Claude.” ~*~*~  Ajusco, south of Mexico City “Vargas crosses the finish line and… she tops the timing chart! Incredible drive from the Centroamerican driver!” “Yes, Paul, truly spectacular. From our vantage point above the hairpins, Maria seems to have a comfort level here that you rarely see anybody have with a brand-new course. And whatever her engineers have done with that Alfa Romeo seems to be paying off.” “Indeed, Harry, she’s put herself in contention to be the winner of the inaugural Ajusco Hillclimb. But we still have Randall Holmes and hometown favorite Pascual Dos Santos left to take a crack at the course. We’re getting a message in now that Holmes will need an additional ten minutes before they can begin their final run. Is there a mechanical issue with the Michigan Missile?” “I’m sure if there is, the UAW-Detroit team won’t be telling. And while our American listeners probably don’t like to hear that, we can hear the murmur in the grandstands as the Mexican spectators realize that perhaps Holmes is not as overwhelming a favorite as they thought.” “The Michigan Missile looked unstoppable in Indianapolis, but this is unfamiliar territory. A new course at a high altitude that the American teams rarely race in. One stumble and Randall’s winning streak could come to an end. It should be a thriller, folks, and we will return with our radio broadcast after this brief news bulletin.” “Now hold up a second, Paul. I think we might have some news of our own.” Jean put his hand over his eyes and turned his head up towards the tall wooden tower which held the radio broadcasters. A figure with a wide brim hat was slowly ambling up the stairs. The tower was laden with loudspeakers. An array of them pointed towards the dignitary’s stand was playing the English broadcast which was being retransmitted across the Combined Syndicates. When the English broadcasters were silent, Jean could hear the Spanish broadcast through the other array pointed towards the general public stands. The general public stands began hollering and whistling when they realized who was entering the broadcast booth. “Hola, Senor Presidente!” “Hello, hello.” The voice of caudillo turned exile turned presidente Pancho Villa emanated from the loudspeakers. “How are you enjoying the racing so far, Mr. Villa? How about that drive from Vargas?” “I thought it was quite rude of her to show us up in our car.” “Isn’t that an Italian-made car?” “Sure, but the Mexican army looted it from Milan fair and square. If I had known she’d be so quick in it, I wouldn’t have had it sent to Centroamerica as a gift.” Villa laughed, almost as if to make sure his audience knew he was being lighthearted. But Jean had been a diplomat for some time now, and he knew when a humorous jab was also a reminder of who was buttering whose bread. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It was a very impressive performance. I hope that Maria makes it back for next year.” “Oh, so will there be an Ajusco Hillclimb next year?” “Oh, I don’t know, but we can do you one better. Next year, we hope to welcome you all back to El Gran Premio de Mexico!” Villa was almost shouting this line so that the microphones of the Spanish broadcasters picked it up as well. The crowd roared with approval. Jean had read in dispatches that Villa had wanted to have a full Grand Prix in Mexico City to complement the security conference, but it was too complicated an endeavor to put together on such short notice. Instead, there would be this hillclimb exhibition event, and anybody who could make it in time would be able to race. Out of a field of nineteen entrants, twelve were Mexican, four were American, and a Centroamerican, Quebecois and Cuban rounded out the field. The level of professionalism varied wildly. UAW-Detroit towered above the rest but a few other UAW teams from the lesser American auto-making cities seemed like real professional race teams. And a few of the Mexican entries were also fairly well-oiled, benefitting from state support doled out by car enthusiast President Villa. But most of the other entries were amateur outfits, putting self-built cars out on track and hoping for the best. The Cuban entry had caught on fire about a mile into the course. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. Jean had heard about this kind of motorsport during his time living in Paris. He had heard about the exploits of Alfa Romeos, Mercedes-Benzes and Bugattis. But he had never actually seen a race. Wasting petrol on frivolities like this was unheard of in the autarkic revolutionary economy of the France he had lived in. But in North America, where the fires of war were passing from recent memory into history, they did have the luxury to do things like this. That was something that Jean was having trouble getting used to. North America was… wealthy. Revolutionary, certainly, but still wealthy. Visible scars remained of the wars that had raged across the continent in years past, but the damage was minimal compared to what one would find in the industrial heartlands of Flanders and the Rhine valley. The Syndicate Guards, Royal Army of Canada and the Federal Army had fought relatively quick wars with not much in the way of artillery or heavy bombers. The Deutsches Heer and Armée Communale, on the other hand, had brought an amount of firepower to bear against one another that had never been seen before in human history, and hopefully never would again. While France struggled to keep a continent orderly and fed, the OAS member states seemed prosperous and carefree by comparison. A spectacle like this made it evident why Mexico had been invited to take part in the security conference. Mexico was, by some accounts, the fourth largest producer of goods in the alliance, and Mexico’s eagerness to cultivate influence with nations outside the alliance gave it a diplomatic heft that the paranoid British government had lost with its recent antics. Mexico was determined to matter, to transcend being America’s unfortunate southern neighbor, and spectacles and initiatives like this made Mexico look like it mattered. “That is exciting news, Senor Presidente! I can’t wait to see it.” “Yes, yes. I hope that it will be a true Gran Premio, that all the great drivers of Europe will be able to attend and compete. And not just Europe, bring them all! Japan, Africa, China, Brazil and La Plata if they can stop their stupid bickering. If you can build a race car, bring it to Mexico City and show us what it can do!” “Well, that is exciting news, and now the President is speaking with our Mexican colleagues so we will go to that news bre- nope, wait a second, it looks like Randall Holmes is ready to start.”  Jean was seated next to a few Americans. Gitlow, Olson and Marshall, the Big Three of American Foreign Policy, were not present. But there was an array of big-time union men, presumably here to negotiate with their foreign customers about armament trades. The chief of Portland Air Works was two down. Rumors abounded that there was some new amazing weapon that had been developed, and all the big shots would swarm the conference hoping to place orders for it. The most popular rumor was that it was the largest bomber plane ever created. Jean hoped it was true. If it was, then the great military powers of the alliance would want to upgrade their air forces, and Jean could pick up some of the old models on the cheap. Strip those planes down to the bone, resell the scrap, fit them to ferry cargo and specialists to the hinterlands of the African nations. Cars, railroads, rolling stock, engineers, doctors. Anything that could help bring about the century or more of progress and development that had been stolen from Africa.  Jean was aware of how odd a wish this was. Was the future of Africa to be made out of the ashes of Australian cities? The Germans had attempted to bomb Paris into submission during the stalemate in Flanders. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Even though the damage was limited, experts said that the reason it hadn’t been more effective is that Germany didn’t have the ability to build truly heavy bombers at scale. An armada of 500 four-engined heavy bombers could reduce a major city to ash, some said. Jean didn’t know if that was true. And he supposed it bothered him to think that the key ingredient for that nightmare scenario was perhaps being built in the foundries of the West Coast right now. It also occurred to him that the French military command had made a promise to never engage in terror bombing, because the revolution still needed to fight for German workers no matter how existential a threat the German state was. The lack of a similar attitude towards Australian workers in America was something he supposed bothered him. But he was here to do a job. Things like this created opportunity. Opportunity that didn’t come around often enough. “Say, friend, who do you favor to win this thing?” Jean was shaken from his thoughts by the question. It came from the man to his right. He was a Black American. The pins on his jacket indicated he was a member of the New York branch of a rail worker’s union. If he was here, he had to be the president of it, or close to it. Jean had absolutely no idea who was going to win, but he would pretend. “I think Randall Holmes will be too tough to beat. American engineering is just too far ahead.” “You seem like you know more than I do so I’ll take your word for it. I don’t know anything about car races. We don’t have the space for them in New York City. The name is Phillip, by the way. Phillip Randolph.” “Jean Sekou. Pleased to meet you, Phillip. Will you be attending the conference?” “Oh, God no. I’m hardly that important. I’m here to speak with the Railway Minister about smoothing out some issues with the railroad crossing at the Rio Grande. During the war, when it was just freight, nobody really cared but there’s a lot more tourists going south and north, so now lots of people are finding the delays quite aggravating. Nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid. Truth be told, we could have just met another time, but I’ll not pass up an opportunity for some warmth in the colder months. How about yourself? What brings you here?” “I am the new envoy from the African Union to the OAS. I just arrived in New York City two days ago, so this seemed like a good opportunity to meet a lot of people.” “Oh, I thought I had read your name. People speak very highly of your work in Paris and Dakar. I hope you can achieve similar success in Chicago.” “Thank you. I hope to enjoy the benefits of your work smoothing out the border crossing when I ride the train back to Chicago.” Phillip laughed at this. “No plane ride back for you?” “No. I tagged along on the plane carrying the British delegation. They’ll be flying on to Toronto after this. And besides I could use a day or two to rest.” “Well, when you get to Chicago, call me up and let me know how you enjoyed the ride. It is our business after all.” “I will do that, Mr. Randolph.” The faint roar of an engine could be heard in the distance. The crowd shuffled in their seats to get a good viewing angle for when the Michigan Missile would come roaring around the bend. The loudspeaker broadcast started to pick up as well. “And here he comes, Randall Holmes, the favorite. His timings in the first few sections look like he’s on pace to beat out Vargas by a few seconds. But the final section is the trickiest of all.” The roar grew louder and louder, except for when it dropped out as the Michigander applied the brakes to negotiate the hairpin turns on the mountain road. “Come on! Come on!” The Americans in the dignitary stand started to get to their feet and peel their eyes for when their man in the Michigan Missile would come into view. “And here he comes into view. He looks to be setting a blistering pace. It’s all coming together nicely for the American!” The white and blue car roared around the bend, its begoggled driver laser focused on the road ahead. Jean had never seen anything without wings move so fast before. He dove full speed into a dip in the road and rose out of it just as confidently. And then he – wait a minute. “Oh no! He’s misjudged that one!” The Michigan Missile was spinning out of control, kicking up rocks and chunks of dirt as it left the asphalt. The driver was wrestling the wheel as if it was a lion trying to devour him. He brought the car to a stop. “Well, folks, he hasn’t flipped the car. He seems unhurt. And… yes, he’s gotten the car moving again.” The Michigan Missile limped back out onto track and lumbered on towards the finish line. One of its front wheels was facing about thirty degrees to the right of parallel. A piece of metal was dragging along the asphalt, sending up a shower of sparks. “Well, Randall Holmes is going to finish, but UAW-Detroit’s unbeaten streak is over. He will finish in the middle of the pack thanks to a phenomenal first two thirds of the run, but this is a massive disappointment for such a highly regarded team. Now it remains to be seen if our final runner Puascal Dos Santos can beat out Maria Vargas to take home the trophy.” Phillip and Jean sat back down. “Looks like I was wrong about that one.” “Well, it makes sense. All the engineering in the world can’t stop you from making a mistake in an unfamiliar place.” “I suppose so.” “So now who do you think is going to win, Jean?” “I’d rather not say, it would curse them.” Phillip laughed. The loudspeaker crackled again. “And Puascal is off!” ~*~*~  Desierto de los Leones National Park “Gracias, señor.” The soldier gave a brief salute before struggling with the gearshift to get the putt-putt in reverse. At least, that’s what Jean called it. The Mexican soldier who had just driven them called it a mula, presumably because the Mexican army used them as beasts of burden. During Jean’s time in Paris, he had heard them referred to as détroits, since so many of them bore the name of the city where they had been manufactured. The Americans and British called them mutts. He had read in the newspaper that this was because of their designation as Military Utility Trucks. Back home in the Sahel, they were more or less the only automobiles to be found, and they were called putt-putts, thanks to the noises they’d sometimes make under acceleration. The Americans had left behind thousands of them. There had been a surplus of several thousand in Port Harcourt awaiting shipment back to America, but then all shipping was diverted to ferry troops across the English Channel to defend London from the Laurentian counter-revolutionaries. And then they never came back. The American army installation in Port Harcourt closed, and they left almost everything behind. So, the putt-putts made their way all across the region. They were handy little vehicles, especially when there were no good roads. Jean wondered if he could get the Americans to send more surplus putt-putts? He had grander ambitions, surely, but a big shipment of putt-putts would be an immediate win and a sign of good faith. Something to think about… The soldier got the putt-putt turned around and rumbled off. PUTT PUTT PUTT PUTT putt putt putt putt putt putt Jean waved goodbye and turned around. A handful of work crews were streaming in and out of the mission, carrying crates and tables back and forth. This was to be the site of the reception to open up the conference. Crates of fresh fruit and liquor were stacked high. What a struggle to be a diplomat! Strolling into the mission’s courtyard, Jean’s head turned at the sound of an angry shout. One of the workers was atop a ladder, with a large banner barely held in one hand, staring at the ground and muttering. Jean jogged over and lifted the banner up closer to the man. “Ah, gracias… um…” The man regarded Jean for a moment. “Sir?” Jean smiled at this. It seemed in Mexico as well as America nobody was quite sure what to make of Jean. Fortunately, he knew all the official languages of the OAS. “De nada. ¿Dónde está el Señor Castañeda?” “¡FELIPE! ¡No, no, no!” Another voice roared from behind. Jean knew that voice. He turned his head just in time to see his old friend Jorge storming across the courtyard. “¡Las cinco banderas juntas! ¿Quieres insultar a los británicos?” “¡No hay espacio!” “¡Pues consigue banderas más pequeñas! ¡Resuélvelo! Ay…” Jorge paused and turned. His frown turned into a big toothy smile and he embraced Jean. “Jean! I’m glad you could make it.” “From how you were talking on the phone, I didn’t know I had a choice in making it.” Jorge laughed at this but breezed past the implied question. Why the hell did you demand I come up here as soon as possible? There are too many people to meet in too little time for this diversion to end up an unproductive one. “It is so good to see you, my friend. It has been so long. Who would have thought in those Paris days that we’d be meeting again in a place like this? And that we’d both be wearing suits.” “True, it has been too long. I see you are plenty busy. Are you the Minister of Hospitality as well as Armaments?” “If it gets me another vote on the committee, sure, I’ll do that. Come, come, walk with me.” Jean followed Jorge out of the courtyard, leaving the frustrated Felipe to figure out how to get smaller flags. “It’s so many stupid little things, Jean. It’s why I can’t stand this kind of thing. I do better with numbers, efficiency, throughput. Not all these delicacies. I understand the point of them, but I find it all very tiring. I don’t know how you diplomatic types do it.” “By keeping our frustrations to ourselves, for a start.” Jorge let out a laugh. Despite all his pretensions of being too simple for it, he would make a good diplomat. He dodges criticism and challenge without even speaking a word. “Well, how has your week been? What has Dakar sent you to find? Guns, artillery?” “Engineers, doctors, railroads, airports, planes, trucks.” “Ah, you always were smart. Unfortunately, I don’t have any of those to spare. Ask the Americans.” “Oh, I plan to.” “Hm. Good luck.” Jean wondered what that was about. Tightening of the purse strings in Chicago? “They’re not like the Paris Gang, Jean. These Americans, so many of the delegates now are so… political. Transactional. A whole load of them would have just as easily been thieving congressman.” “Some snakes can change their skin.” “You get it. Anyway, there is a reason I called you up here. There’s someone who would like to confer with you.” Jean laughed at this and followed his friend out of the courtyard. “Is who a state secret? Am I going to be blindfolded and escorted to a distant meeting spot in Chihuahua?” “Don’t worry, it’s not Pancho.” RAT TAT TAT Jean flinched at the sound of gunfire, but Jorge was unbothered, so Jean relaxed too. It sounded unlike any gun he’d heard of before? Maybe the mystery superweapon wasn’t a plane after all. Jorge led Jean down a set of stairs. They were part of the historical complex, and so they were hard stone with a steep rise, unspoiled by any comforts like railings. A man had a rifle shouldered, though it was unlike any rifle Jean had ever seen. Another man was standing nearby, in military uniform, at attention, hands clasped behind his back. The uniform was not Mexican, however. In fact, the beret and the red armband looked very familiar. The man with the gun fired off more shots in quick succession, then turned around for more ammunition. He looked up and noticed the new arrivals.  Jean shaded his eyes from the afternoon sun and squinted. It couldn’t be… but it was. “Hello, Jean.” Nestor Makhno, leader of France and by extension Europe, set down the automatic rifle and extended a hand, which Jean took. Nestor looked better these days. When Jean had first gone to Paris as a teenager with his older brother seeking aid for the liberation of their nation, the whole city had been murmuring about if Nestor was going to make it. He had contracted tuberculosis and the disease ravaged his body, but it did not kill him. Nestor started to become Old Man Makhno, even though he was not even fifty at the time. He was a has-been, a heroic failure who had been smashed between the rocks of Russia and Germany then disappeared into a Parisian exile, like so many others. He had given his all to revolution, and ended up with nothing, superseded by those with better timing than he had. He ended up studying logistics and signed up for the construction corps, spending the war in Paris minding the inventories of warehouses and keeping an eye on the chronically depleted stocks of vital materials. It was honorable and vital service, but hardly glorious. Which is why it took everybody by surprise when he jumped into national politics. No, that wasn’t the right way to describe what had happened. He skipped local and national politics and went directly into continental politics. What Nestor’s supporters said about his reemergence was that after the surrender of the Reich, he was reassigned to a forward base in the Rhineland and was in charge of reconstruction in the region. Consulting with locals, he realized that for true peace to last, the people of Europe would have to join hands as soon as possible in one society. A borderless society was not a far-off dream that could one day be possible: it was something that was a moral imperative and a practical solution, and it could and should be implemented immediately. Nestor gained more and more support in the conquered regions of Europe. The Emperor had told his subjects for decades that, if they lost, Germany would be subject to a humiliating French domination like they had known in centuries past, except these Frenchmen were morally debased atheists as well as ambitious conquerors. Nestor was not French. His story did not fit the narrative of the ancient enemy returning to finish what Napoleon started. His work made the defeated Germans feel like they were still citizens, that they had the ability to direct the course of their own communities and lives. And his internationalism and public exhortations that the Germans should be afforded all the privileges and rights that the French had caught the interest of a certain cohort of the French proletariat. They had sacrificed so much, and the Commune had become so singularly focused on warmaking that many were starting to wonder if the demands of fighting the revolution had caused the spirit of the revolution to die. Nestor’s bold proposals for a borderless united Europe where they would rise or fall together rekindled that spirit and carried the Anarchistes to a resounding victory. At least, that was the story the Anarchistes liked to tell. It was obviously political mythmaking. But how much of a myth? Jean couldn’t be sure. Sometimes these sorts of tales were just the actual history with the rough edges polished off to look more heroic. Other times they’re legends invented out of whole cloth. But one thing was indisputable: Nestor Makhno had gone from running a warehouse to being the leading man of Europe in under a year. “Nestor. You look well.” “You too. How have you been the last… five, six years? I hear you’re a father now.” Jean smiled, but then lost the smile quickly. He wished he could have taken Kwame with him. “I have been busy. It’s a shame that my posting in Paris coincided with your posting in Germany. We weren’t able to see one another.” “There’s a lot of ships passing in the night these days. Building the society we want for ourselves is hard work. We give up a lot for it, to be sure. Say, Jean, I recall you having some combat experience. What do you make of this thing?” The gun! Jean had been so shocked to see Nestor that he forgot all about the strange gun. He leaned down and picked one up. “I noticed that. What is it?” Jorge, who had been sitting back watching the reunion, chimed in. “The pride and joy of the Armaments Ministry! A combat rifle for the future! It has the kick of a large-caliber rifle, but it is automatic and any soldier can carry and use it all by themselves. We hope to have it be the standard weapon for our infantry within two years. Just think about it…” Jean tuned out the sales pitch. He was not going to be striking any kind of deal with Jorge to deliver these guns to the African Union. The military men back home could do that themselves. And Jean did have combat experience, but he recoiled at the memory of it. There was a reason why Jean was sent back to Paris to be his peoples’ advocate, why Jean had stayed off the boat to New York to help the syndicates in ‘36. Still, men like Makhno and Villa were old warlords. They had been in battle and shot their enemies personally. They respected others who had been through the same experience. So, Jean would suck it up and test out the gun. It seemed easy enough to understand? The magazine goes there, the safety was there. The construction was simple, but sturdy. Seemed like it would be easy to clean and repair. He braced the stock against his body, the way his older brother had taught him. Down the sights were an array of targets, of different materials. He took aim at a concrete one and squeezed the trigger. The gun was loud, and his ears rang. He winced at that but forced himself to seem unbothered. The gun had let off six shots in that brief time, and he looked at the concrete block down the range. It had taken a serious beating. There was even a hole where the bullet had shot clean through. This was a powerful weapon. Jean was sure it would excite someone other than himself. “It’s impressive. You should be proud of it.”  Nestor smiled. “I figured you might enjoy that. If I had two hundred of those in Ukraine, we could have taken them all. But I didn’t call you up here to help Jorge sell these guns. Truth of the matter is that you’re the only representative of the African Union in Mexico City right now, and the African Union has one of the votes on the War Council. I’m starting to have concerns about… well… America entangling us all into the Pacific.”  Jean knew exactly what he was getting at. He had seen all the cables. The handful of Asian members of the Internationale had been screaming at the top of their lungs about the developing situation between China and Japan. Indochina wanted more weaponry in case an all-out war broke on their northern border. They should be the ones getting these rifles, and yet you couldn’t find an Indochinese representative within a hundred miles of this security conference. At the same time as all of this, Japan was beginning to murmur about the extent of its Pacific sphere of influence, a barely coded message to the encroaching Americans that they ought to stay away.  “It hasn’t come up in my circles, Nestor. I’m sure you understand that we don’t really factor into General Marshall’s calculations for overseas conflict. They come asking for more rubber and more minerals, and we get what we can out of them in exchange. I hope it comes to nothing, of course, but I don’t see how it involves us whatsoever.” Nestor grimaced. “Focused on your own house, hm?” “Of course. Aren’t you as well? I thought you had made it clear that France had no forces to spare for overseas operations.” “There’s more to it than that. If the alliance starts picking sides in some imperialist conflict, playing sphere of influence games, it will corrode the faith the people have in the alliance.” “Well, I trust your domestic political calculations, Nestor. You ought to trust ours as well.”  Nestor snorted, as if to say Fair enough. “I suppose it will come up during this damned conference. This whole Australia thing, it just seems like its bound to draw us further into this mess. And then all of a sudden, we’re being the protective big brother for the Dutch and their colonies, who manage to extract such a high price for every concession they make to our demands. I think it is in both of our interests if the alliance remains firmly committed to rebuilding and developing the territories we do have control over. We can exert our influence in Asia by building alliances with the workers themselves. Bhartiya and Indochina have done so much, through their own efforts, and created something that has the undying loyalty of their people. Because it is theirs. I don’t think we need to have the Americans trampling around picking and choosing who the Chairman and General Secretary is in every country that hasn’t already joined the cause. And if they trigger a general war in the Pacific by invading Australia, then we’re just going to end up with a lot more problems.” Jean’s brain developed a sharp retort to this, but he caught it and forced it back before it reached his lips. Jean had lost family members and friends in the struggle against the French Imperials. And then suddenly, an enormous army from across the ocean swept all his enemies away. The relationship between Africa and America since had hardly been a honeymoon, sure, but a lot of lives were spared because a well-equipped and powerful army had destroyed the colonial forces in one fell swoop. Years, possibly decades, of struggle against white domination had been avoided in a few grand operations. How could Nestor expect him to think negatively about such a powerful agent for change? But he understood why Nestor would think differently. While Jean saw the Americans as a power that could tip the balance in the favor of the friendless and voiceless, surely Nestor must think of the Bolsheviks instead. A large powerful force that sweeps in and wants to dictate how your revolution ought to be run. Whatever Nestor’s reasons, Jean would not allow himself to be swayed. This was not his problem. “Nestor. Do you want the African Union to unite with the European Union to vote down the OAS’ motions about military action in the Pacific?” Jorge coughed at this. Nestor remained silent. “Listen, Nestor. I get where you are coming from with this. I really do. But we are not a great power. We do not have a say in what all of you are going to do about this. I am here because my nation, and my continent, needs help rebuilding was what taken from us. If you would like to talk about how Africa and Europe can integrate and cooperate for the well being of all our people, I would love to have that conversation. I am not interested in your squabbles with Gitlow. It is beyond our capabilities, and thus, beyond our responsibilities. This whole thing with Australia is your problem. The five of you. I take it you are against, and I imagine Italy will follow your lead. America is for, and Britain still has an exiled King they’d like to lock up. And Mexico?” Jorge looked up. “Uh… Pancho keeps an enemy list with him. People who ran off to Australia. People who helped Calles overthrow us. He wants to personally execute everybody on it. He likes to play the eccentric and generous leader, organizing big parades and car races, but he’s still the same old Villa. The man doesn’t forget poo poo that’s been done to him.” Jean looked back at Nestor and threw up his hands. “Sounds like you’re trying to convince the wrong person. I will not allow the African Union to be your backup option if this conference doesn’t go your way. Not at the expense of our own recovery.” Nestor looked away and shouldered the prototype rifle. “I think, Jean, you are underestimating how disruptive these kinds of entanglements can become. War in Asia has the potential to derail the unity of our entire alliance.”  “We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t come to th-“ RAT TAT TAT TAT
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Oct 14, 2021 02:50
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It lives! Its great see Mahkno realizing his dream.  And does Pancho Villa still star in movies about himself?
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Oct 14, 2021 03:31
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Communist Zombie posted:It lives! God, I hope so.
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Oct 14, 2021 11:36
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csm141 posted:“We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t come to th-“  That's one hell of a diplomatic incident.
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Oct 14, 2021 12:58
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AJ_Impy posted:
I think it was just implying that Nestor was done with him and went back to range shooting. The text above it said that Nestor had looked *away* and shouldered the rifle.
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Oct 14, 2021 14:42
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lmao, that was supposed to be that Nestor was frustrated and interrupted him with target shooting, not that he personally assassinated an allied diplomat, but that'd be a funny branching path
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Oct 14, 2021 16:32
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csm141 posted:lmao, that was supposed to be that Nestor was frustrated and interrupted him with target shooting, not that he personally assassinated an allied diplomat, but that'd be a funny branching path Makhno (Or really anyone) pulling a Vincent or William Foster into a delegate's chest would be a great flavor event.
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Oct 15, 2021 00:59
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BTW can Nestor actually become leader of the Commune in normal KR?
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Oct 15, 2021 02:53
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Unfortunately it makes sense that the Americans are a bit hawkish TTL for the same reason it happened historically - the CSA gained tremendously out of its foreign wars for relatively minimal blood being spent. Yes, a million men and women is nothing to sneeze at, but that has been over the course of a decade, and for that trouble, the CSA has multiple continents under its belt. Obviously they wouldn't be shy about further interventions, whereas the Europeans who lost tens of millions in the past few years would be very eager not to do that ever again.
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Oct 15, 2021 09:48
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Just wanted to say, since it hasn't been mentioned yet, that I like the new illustrations!
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Oct 15, 2021 16:11
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Communist Zombie posted:BTW can Nestor actually become leader of the Commune in normal KR? Well this is using the version that is several years old by now so I don't know what's possible in the newest DH or HoI4 versions of KR, but yes, this event is part of the mod and I didn't do anything to bring it about. My edits have been minimal, the ones I can think of off the top of my head: 1. I adjusted the Reed Doctrine event so it would trigger an alliance with Centroamerica which felt justified as they'd surely want to seize the canal from Canada for themselves rather than sit around and wait for me to do it. 2. I manually triggered the African Conference events that trigger revolts in South Africa and the Portuguese colonies because those events were not built to accommodate American involvement in Africa, only if the British and French had taken over Africa from the Germans/National French. 3. I've tag switched to move things along a few times. Like for instance, Qing got stuck in its event chain because it hadn't taken a bit of Yunnan, so I went and made them go to war for it. In combination with Japan taking the isolationist path, this would have meant nothing happened in Asia, ever, which again feels unrealistic given the power vacuum of a defeated Germany. 4. I zeroed out Germany's dissent when war broke out because it had been thirty percent, and the malus to combat would have allowed the French to steamroll them in a few months. Otherwise, everything happened according to that version of the mod.
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Oct 15, 2021 17:07
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Makhno is only Security Minister for the Anarchists on HoI4 but on the (crappy) Kaiserredux Submod they make him a leader with his own (crappy) tree.
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Oct 15, 2021 21:41
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Honestly Kaiserreich's lore has been changing so much it's kind of subjective at this point.
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Oct 15, 2021 23:27
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Plutonis posted:Makhno is only Security Minister for the Anarchists on HoI4 but on the (crappy) Kaiserredux Submod they make him a leader with his own (crappy) tree. how can you call a mod where HP Lovecraft can become ruler of the US crappy?
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Oct 16, 2021 22:54
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Mycroft Holmes posted:how can you call a mod where HP Lovecraft can become ruler of the US crappy? It runs at 4fps by 1939 dogg
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Oct 16, 2021 23:06
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Chapter Fifteen: Fumigators (June & July 1946) A rooftop, the Free City of Shanghai “I hate having to do these things. I have to become a character, a repulsive little worm. It hurts my spirit.” “Oh boo hoo, Pierre. If we’d went with your plan, they’d have me cleaning the toilets.” “I was just saying, you are an American, you know what these people are like.” “I am a black American, Pierre. Don’t you think I’d stand out a little bit in Shanghai?” “I know, I know, we don’t have to go over this again.” “Now remember, you’re an exiled Imperial French captain, you are training a battalion of Siamese and you’re looking for officers to liberate Indochina from the communists.” “Got it.” “We need to find our mysterious friend Harry from Tokyo. Primary objective is to see if he can lead us to any more of our targets. Secondary objective is to figure out what he’s up to. Our contact says he was still here yesterday.” “Do we need to get her out?” “Nope. She’s left town with her family, headed inland. A lot of the locals are. Can’t blame them. Neither Japan nor China are going to let these cities stay independent for long.” “And when that happens, we’ll lose our best leads on all of these bastards.” “Right, and we do not want to be stuck here in the middle of a war anyway. If we need to abort, we make for the French or American consulate and we’re out of here.” “British?” “No. I don’t want them reading our papers.” “Got it.” “No unnecessary risks, Pierre. The world is getting smaller for these sons of bitches. Justice will come for them eventually. You don’t need to die for it.” “Right.” Albert drew a deep breath, then clapped Pierre on the shoulder. “Good luck, mon ami.” ~*~*~ The American Club had been let go. Pierre had looked at some photos of the place to prepare for the mission. They had been taken in the 20s, when the building was new and there were lots of Americans coming through on business. Now it had the air of a widow’s manor. Rooms that once hosted parties and important business dealings were now dusty and unused. The American Revolution had cut off the flow of Americans coming to save Chinese souls or steal Chinese money, or both. Now it was a home for a handful of dispossessed exiles. Pierre could see the bare spots on the wall and empty shelves where artwork had once been. They had probably been sold to keep the Club going. Or stolen to pay for these leeches’ lifestyles. “A fine club you have here.” “It is nice of you to say so. It has seen better days, Captain.” “Haven’t we all?” The man wasn’t on the target list. Pierre was glad for that. He smelled bad; it would be horrible to have to interrogate him in a small cell. He led Pierre through the club, past the empty rooms, finally opening up the room to the main hall. This room, at least, didn’t look decrepit. It was relatively clean, and there was some chatter and energy. There were eight men in the room. One was Harry. Two others were on his list, but not the death sentence list. Not worth the effort. Besides, how was he going to drag two unwilling men out of a city that could become a warzone at any time? “Gentlemen, if I may introduce Captain Jean-Luc, formerly of the Imperial French Army.” “Good day, fellows.” The eight men looked up and nodded. They all seemed preoccupied. Obviously, they would be. They were all likely thinking that they had to run. Again. Even still, Pierre expected a response. “Ah. Well. I have been tasked by my patron with recruiting officers for a most vital effort. My patron has graciously funded the arming of a clandestine force in Siam. With the blessing of the King, we will aim right at the ethnic divide in Indochina and incite a civil war which will destroy the syndicalist government there. In so doing, we deprive the Internationale of vital resources, and prevent them from using Indochina as a base to take advantage of the conflict between China and Japan. Naturally, all officers who serve honorably in this effort will be granted land concessions in Indochina upon the defeat of the enemy.” Pierre scanned the room. A few more of the men were actually looking at him. This story didn’t need to stand up to any kind of long-term scrutiny. It just needed to get him in today. A little bit of temptation. A little bit of hope. “In my travels, I have heard that several gentlemen with command experience in the American wars spent their evenings in clubs such as these. And so here I am. I would be very interested to speak with any of you, should this offer intrigue you. Normally, I would of course like to give all of you time to consider this, but I am afraid given the developing situation, that I will be departing tomorrow.” This was the bait. A way out, a way to keep going. These grotesque relics so desperately wanted to believe they still mattered. The opportunity to command an army of their “lessers.” A fiefdom to rival any plantation or coal mine or textile mill they had once controlled. Maybe one of them would bite, and they would spill something important. After all, who asks to see the boating license of the captain dragging them out of stormy waters? ~*~*~ Albert peered out once more from his rooftop perch. There was a lot of activity in the streets below, but nobody was paying any mind to Albert’s concern. If anybody was looking at the American Club, they were only glancing at it for a second. Albert wasn’t overly worried about anybody coming to arrest Pierre. The Legations were barely functioning. No funding had been forthcoming from any of the backer states. The police had seemingly melted away, and the city’s leadership was just waiting to see who showed up first with an army demanding they hand the cities over. He could see a white family loading what looked like all of their earthly positions into a car. Some of the locals were pulling rickshaws. He wondered how many had their life savings somewhere in there. Surely there were bandits taking advantage of the war out there. He had half a mind to throw his pistol down to the street and scream for the unfortunate souls to take it. They might need it. The night was hot and humid, but there was a breeze up here. It was, relatively speaking, pleasant. He peered up from the streets to the cityscape surrounding him. He liked this city. It was an interesting place, made unique by its recent history. So many different types of people came through a place like this, and all left their mark. A chorus of shouting and cursing below stole his attention. The pedestrians below were parting for a truck which contained a few dozen soldiers. The truck was not driving carefully. One poor fellow had to jump out of its way and had one of the wheels shorn off his hand cart by the speeding truck. The road was covered in splinters, and nobody on the truck so much as glanced back to see what they had hit. Then another one, and another one. They were driving to the port. Albert clicked the dial on his radio unit so his words would carry to command rather than Pierre. “Command, this is Crabman, come in.” A voice crackled out of the radio. “This is Command.” “Three trucks of armed men speeding towards the port, is there a situation, over?” “Unsure, Crabman. Let me check.” The radio went silent. Albert looked back down at the street. The victim of the hit and run was trying to reattach what was left of the wheel to his cart. It was never going to work. The rim was cracked and half the spokes were gone.  “There is a situation, Crabman. An ultimatum was just received by the city government. The Japanese.” “Copy that. Do we pull out?” “Negative, not yet. We will let you know if anything develops.” “Copy that.” Albert clicked the transmitter off on his radio unit. “Goddammit, Pierre, hurry up and get out of there.” ~*~*~ “You are certainly a qualified candidate, sir, thank you for your time. As mentioned earlier, we will be leaving tomorrow. Please be ready.” The guy was an idiot. No way he had ever been in the US Army. Union State might have taken him in their desperation days, but the federals? No way. He wasn’t on the list either. Probably just a joiner who followed somebody over here. Pierre smiled, shook his hand, shuffled him out and let the poor dumb bastard dream dreams of plantations and concubines. The Club had let him use one of the parlors to interview any Club member who was interested in his proposal. These were frightening times, and as predicted, it had been easy to dazzle these men with the promise of a new safe haven, where they could reclaim what they believed they were entitled to. Four men had come through, and all four were willing to go. Two thuds reverberated through the door. “Come on in!” “Hello, Captain.” It was Harry. “Welcome.” Pierre had to catch himself from saying his name. He couldn’t remember if they had been properly introduced or not. “You have made this place lively again, I must say. It is fortuitous that you came when you did. We were starting to lose hope and then you come bearing the opportunity we were looking for.” “Yes, I am glad I was able to make it here when I did. Normally, we would be more selective and take our time with who we recruit. But it would be a great shame for so many potential allies to be swept up in this tragic and unnecessary situation.” “Ah, so you would not have accepted all of them in normal circumstances?” “I am afraid not. But it is as I said. It is partially a humanitarian effort now. Not all of your fellows will be officers. But we will have something honorable and honest for all of them, I promise you that.” Pierre could tell immediately that Harry was much cleverer than the rest of these people. He had to step things up. The same routine wouldn’t work. Pierre was betting that he was an arrogant man. If he talked to him as if he was obviously superior to all his comrades, then maybe he would get somewhere. “Captain, will you be recruiting in the other legation cities? Shanghai has the most foreigners, to be certain, but we have many contacts throughout who may be interested.” Pierre perked up at this. This could get them somewhere. “Indeed, sir. We have other representatives combing the Orient. We would be happy to know of any potential recruits.” “Excellent, excellent. Consider me interested, but please also allow me to give you my contacts. I can vouch for all of them. Hatred of socialism burns in their veins. They would jump at the opportunity to fight back against these bastards.” “Very good, sir, we will do everything we can to reach them.” “Excellent! Allow me to pack my things.” Harry stood and walked out of the room. Pierre smiled. “Ah, that was easy. For once.” He furrowed his brow. Too easy? ~*~*~ “Crabman, come in, Crabman, come in.” “This is Crabman.”  “The city government has accepted the ultimatum. Japanese troops are expected to dock in port within the hour, repeat, within the hour. Return to the consulate ASAP. There are very little Qing forces in the area, the Japanese are going to be all over the province in no time.” “Roger that.” ~*~*~ The speaker in his ear crackled to life. “It’s the Japs, Pierre. They’re going to land at the port within the hour. We need to go.” Pierre didn’t let his face betray what he was hearing. “Monsieur, a restroom?” One of his new recruits pointed him down the hall. “Albert, I am close. Harry gave me a list. But something was off about it. I need to get more info out of him.” “Goddammit, Pierre, we don’t have time. Get out of there.” “Just a few minutes. I promise, that’s it.” ~*~*~ If this building had a few more stories, maybe he could see to the port and get an idea of how much time they had. loving Pierre. Goddamn idiot! If he lost him now, at the end of all this… He instead looked at the window of Harry’s office. He could see a shadow in there. “If you’re going to do this… well. Harry is in his office.” “Alone?” “I think so. Radio is playing the announcement now. Wish me luck.” “Be. QUICK!” ~*~*~ Pierre cracked the door open. Unfortunately, it was old and ornate, so it creaked. Harry spun around. “Captain. You scared me.” “Apologies, Monseiur. Did you hear the announcement on the radio?” Harry was shuffling to the side to block Pierre’s view of something. Pierre tried his best to make it out in his peripheral vision, without actually looking directly at it. It looked like a safe… open. “I did. I take it this might change your plans.”  “Unfortunately, it has.” Pierre hadn’t thought of a reason to be in this office. “I had intended to travel by land to the other legations, but I’m afraid the war may cut off those paths. I believe we may be best served by decamping for the Australian consulate. They are one of our mission’s sponsors, and I believe they will provide protection.” Harry nodded. “Yes, yes. Alright. I have some important personal matters to attend to before we depart. I hope you understand. But I will meet you there tomorrow morning. Do not worry for my safety. I will be fine.” “Excellent. I will gather the others.” “Very good.” Harry stared at Pierre. He was not going to turn his back on him. Pierre backed out of the room, and pulled the door closed. He stopped just short of closing it all the way. ~*~*~ “Tell me what he’s doing.” Albert was glad he could see well at night. Through a window, with lights outside. It wasn’t easy to tell. “He’s just turned away… crouching. Picking something up.” “Great.” Suddenly another figure burst into view. The crouching figure stood up and spun around, just in time for the new figure to come upon him. A struggle. An arm held some kind of object high and crashed it down. A few times. The struggle ended. “Jesus Christ, Pierre. Was that necessary?” “Oh what, are you a priest now?” “Whatever. Just get whatever you went in there for and get the hell out of there.” ~*~*~ Pierre strode down the stairway into the main hall as confidently as he could. “Gentlemen. I am sure that you are wondering how this development affects our plans. The good news is that our project has the full support of Australasia and the tacit support of Japan. No harm will befall any of you. If you are still willing to go through with this, please prepare to travel to the Australian Consulate. While I trust the Japanese, I do not wish for any of us to be caught up in anything unfortunate. That will be the safest place for us.” The men scrambled to pack their things. One came to Pierre. “I’m sorry, Captain, I… I have a family here. I can’t go without them. I need to go to them.” “We can’t… I… alright, go to them.” That one was sentenced to ten years. Negligent homicide. Unsafe work conditions. There was nothing to be done about that now. He would get these guys on their way to the consulate, then disappear. He’d be in the American Consulate before anybody found Harry. ~*~*~ Albert had to calm his body. His knee was bouncing almost violently. He didn’t think anybody was in the room underneath where he was sitting. But you never know. He scanned back and forth, looking for any sign of activity, or of Pierre. A loudspeaker crackled down the street. “Citizens of Shanghai, your government has agreed to allow the Imperial Japanese Army to protect Shanghai from the naked aggressions of the Qing Emperor. Do not be alarmed.” “poo poo, poo poo, poo poo.” A convoy of trucks rumbled around the corner. The one in front had the loudspeaker. The two behind it carried maybe twenty soldiers. One had a Japanese flag tied to the side. “They’re here, Pierre. They’re coming up Fuzhou Street now. It’s time to go.” ~*~*~ What do I do now? poo poo. Pierre strolled over to the door and peeked out. “Ah, there they are. Please, sirs, stay calm. I have a document guaranteeing us safe passage. I will retrieve it." Albert was right. poo poo. “Pierre, get the hell out. What are you doing? They’re approaching the door.” “I’m working on it.” As soon as Pierre rounded the corner, he broke out into a run. He had no idea where he was. Where could he go? The Japanese were coming here. They were looking for something specific, surely. Is there a backdoor? As he rounded a corner, he saw a Chinese servant stripping off his uniform. “Sir… I go now. Sorry but I go.” “Yes, yes, all of you must get out. Please get out. Do you know another door?” “Yes, sir, this way, sir.” The servant led Pierre through the kitchens to an alley way door. Pierre peeked out. A truck blocked the end of the alley. “Dammit! No good. Any other door?” “No, sir.” poo poo. Out of time. ~*~*~ “Pierre, where are you?” No response. The Japanese soldiers disembarked and surrounded the building. Two opened the front door, submachine guns at the ready. “Son of a bitch! Pierre, get the gently caress out of there!” Albert flicked the dial. “Command, this is Crabman. The Club is compromised. No sign of P- Hopper.” “Goddammit, I thought I told you to be out of there by now.” “I tried! He wouldn’t listen!” “Keep me updated.” He flicked the dial back. “Pierre?”  Nothing. Albert looked to and fro, desperate for a sign of his friend. In the windows, on the street, on the roof. Nothing. Then the windows on the first floor lit up and the sound of gunfire rang out. “Pierre?!” One by one, the windows lit up as the Japanese soldiers swept through. One figure fell to the ground unmoving. It was too big to be Pierre. Albert flicked the dial. “Club is under attack. Gunfire, I repeat, gunfire inside the club.” Attack was a generous term. This was a summary execution of a bunch of pathetic runaways. “Goddammit, Crabman, get out of there.” “Not without Pierre! My position is secure, I am keeping an eye out.” “It is too late. He got himself into this mess by going beyond the objectives. Do not repeat that mistake. He will have to fend for himself.” The line became noisy and busy. Something was interfering with it or playing over it or something. Were the Japs jamming the radios? Why would they bother? Albert flicked the dial. sccccrt scccrt sccccrt… sccccrt scrt scccrt What the hell was that? sccccrt scccrt sccccrt… sccccrt scrt scccrt Albert took a deep breath. Dare he hope? “Repeat.” sccccrt scccrt sccccrt O. sccccrt scrt scccrt K. ~*~*~  “I don’t think anyone expected things to move so quickly. I am shocked that the Japanese liquidated the Legations so ruthlessly. The city government accepted the ultimatum, and the army arrested or killed all of them. They have been clearing out every legation.” The commander looked up from the table which contained the contents of a messenger bag. Albert stared at the floor. Pierre met the commander’s eyes and smiled. “Anyway, this bag belongs to the mysterious Harry?” “Yes, sir.” “You killed him to get it.” “Err… Yes, sir.” “Were you told to kill Harry?” “No, sir.” “Was Harry a threat to you?” “Err… not really.” “Okay. Why did you not exfiltrate when told?” “I… err… I thought I was close to something big.” “So, you stayed inside the Club as it was surrounded by Japanese soldiers, who then executed everybody in the Club.” “That’s right. Well, not everybody. There was a servant I ran into when I was trying to get out. We both hid in the wine cellar. He survived. And Harry, well… yeah.” “This servant. Does he know anything about you? Besides your cover?” “Uh… I didn’t tell him anything. I gave him my .22, for protection. He saved my life, you know.” “You gave the man an American made and issued firearm, while pretending to an Imperial French exile. Interesting choice.” Albert wanted to melt into the floor. Pierre was going to get them both thrown out of Intelligence. Maybe it was time to retire anyway. The commander let out a heavy sigh. As if he wasn’t busy enough managing the fact that a war had come to his jurisdiction, he now had this to deal with. “We will have a lot to talk about, Pierre. Albert… You did your best. Thank you. Let’s see what you’ve found.” ~*~*~ Chicago “I need the quick version. I’m going on the radio in ten minutes.” “Our Longarm squad in Asia has been being led to their target exiles by a Qing agent. For at least a year. Some American guy who went by Harry. They caught up with him in Shanghai.” The Chairman stopped in his tracks. “What?” “He was under explicit orders to recruit American exiles to reactionary conspiracies. Then lead us to those conspiracies.” “Why would they do that?” “I can think of a lot of ways in which America believing Japan is a threat to them would benefit the Qing.” Ben rubbed his eyes. He pressed his fingers ever harder against the bridge of his nose, until it started to hurt a little. They didn’t pull this off. There’s no way they pulled this off. But they clearly had. He wished he had just told him to wait until after the broadcast. It’s a good thing nobody can see you sweat on the radio. ~*~*~ Excerpt of a radio address from Chairman Benjamin Gitlow There has been a great deal of uncertainty about the status and future of the war, particularly given the recent outbreak of war in Asia. I want to be absolutely clear. We remain at war with the German and British empires. We will only accept total victory.  The war between Japan and China has no bearing on our state of war with those two states. Our Navy is working hard to police the sea lanes and ensure that the Sino-Japanese conflict stays contained. We will not accept any hindering or harassment of Internationale citizens on the seas. The aggressive posture of Japan in response to their dispute with China is also concerning. While the Internationale recognizes none of the treaties forced upon China by the imperialists, it is revealing that Japan would seize the Legation Cities which were formed by treaties it was party to. This expansionist attitude has necessitated us to take our own precautions.  Last month, I ordered the Revolutionary Marines to begin seizing all German-held islands in the Pacific. Many Americans have raised very important concerns about how these islands will be governed, and we had previously paused our operations while we considered these questions.  This pause has been revoked, due to the risk of Germany signing over these territories to Japan.  Japan is seeking to expand its sphere of influence, to gain more access to the mineral resources of Melanesia as well as to surround the Dutch East Indies and their supply of oil. In so doing, they threaten to expand their war against China into an all-Pacific conflagration. We will not allow this to happen. A free Pacific does not mean a Pacific subservient to the needs of the Japanese war machine. All actions by the Japanese empire must be interpreted in this context. We will not accept any effort, by any state, to interfere with our final destruction of the British and German empires. These dual blights have caused more misery than any other state in human history, and any nation that wishes to keep them from being snuffed out shares their guilt. No matter who stands in our path, we will finish the job.
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Nov 23, 2022 03:51
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Pierre, you have been on stage since you ran a dinky little boat into Nantucket, all those years back. You are not allowed to get punked this late.
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Nov 23, 2022 03:59
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 This Let's Play is going to outlast Hearts of Iron IV and possibly the entire Kaiserreich mod at this rate.
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Nov 23, 2022 04:34
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Oh hell yes a CSM update.
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Nov 23, 2022 04:46
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Hell yeah 8 years and still going
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Nov 23, 2022 05:17
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Does this make it the longest running LP on the forums?
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Nov 23, 2022 05:23
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Including this new update, how many 'chapters' have there been so far? I can't be arsed to count. I wish that the archive allowed people to update LPs incrementally; too many good LPs have been lost by never leaving the forum. I will say that I don't really remember the characters in this update. It's just been to long and I haven't back-read.
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Nov 23, 2022 05:26
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Kangxi posted:Does this make it the longest running LP on the forums? This or the Final Fantasy VII LP
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Nov 23, 2022 05:59
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Albert and Pierre have been working together on CSA special operations for a long time. The first time we saw them working together was in the runup to War Plan Red, snooping out across Long Island Sound to Nantucket in preparation for the invasion of New England (and rather ruining a young man's night out as a result). Since then they basically seem to specialize in groundlaying for invasions, having shown up repeatedly during the European campaign. Harry I forget if he's a prior character, though, uh, he sure isn't now anymore -- though actually I think he was one of the guys in that doomed series of bartop meetings in Sydney that one update covered while the Red Navy was taking what was left of the Royal Navy and turning it into a series of marine life habitats. I also need to reread the story again, it's been a while. But I said it before and I'll say it again -- so long as you keep writing it, CSM, I'll be here to keep reading it.
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Nov 23, 2022 06:02
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I may be getting things mixed but I think Albert has been part of the Let's Play for a long time, fled Klan-tastic Missouri to Chicago with his family then became a soldier during the Revolution. Harry was a landowner in California, I think, responsible for the abduction and murder of several farmworker union leaders. Tried and convicted in absentia of murder. One of his naïve followers and his descendant were focus characters in old updates.
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Nov 23, 2022 06:09
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A new CSM update means I have something extra to be thankful for on Thursday
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Nov 23, 2022 06:29
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NewMars posted:Oh hell yes a CSM update.
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Nov 23, 2022 08:36
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I’m so excited this is back.
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Nov 23, 2022 08:55
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First of all, thank you. With the number of delays lately, I always half expect nobody to show up when I do update. It means a lot to still have your interest after all these years.JustJeff88 posted:Including this new update, how many 'chapters' have there been so far? I can't be arsed to count. I wish that the archive allowed people to update LPs incrementally; too many good LPs have been lost by never leaving the forum. By my count, this is the seventy seventh update, not counting the intermission games. Kavak posted:I may be getting things mixed but I think Albert has been part of the Let's Play for a long time, fled Klan-tastic Missouri to Chicago with his family then became a soldier during the Revolution. We probably need a character refresh! I had to do one myself recently to keep track of everyone. You are likely thinking of Leon and Leo (look at me using too similar names by accident) respectively. Albert and Pierre have been in the story since Act Two Chapter 9, where they were doing commando operations on Nantucket the night before the outbreak of the Great North American War. They were again seen the following year linking up with local partisans prior to the invasion of Algeria in the intro to Act Three. Albert is from Baltimore and Pierre is French. At some point, Pierre left the Communal Army entirely and is now a part of Operation Longarm with Albert. Operation Longarm is the American effort to hunt down and extradite (or eliminate) criminals from the American Revolution and Great North American War. They tracked down American exiles in Tokyo and Shanghai as part of this effort. Harry has been a mysterious figure and we were first introduced to him in Act Four Chapter 5 where he recruited the blowhard Leo and the depressed and apathetic Eddie. In Chapter 10, the Longarm crew catches up with Leo in Tokyo, who it turns out is due for execution due to the murders of six unionizing workers before the revolution. While Pierre and Albert were kidnapping Leo, they also came across Eddie, and were forced to apprehend him as well, despite Harry's best attempts to keep Eddie out of trouble. Eddie was relocated to Nebraska and given a new identity. He lived out his days as a beloved member and leader of a ranching syndicate. Leo was presumably shot. We just saw what happened to Harry. Leon, on the other hand, refers to two different Leons, senior and junior. Leon Sr. moved his family from Mississippi to Chicago before the revolution to escape Klan violence. He joined the revolution and moved his family back after victory. He became a big deal in a major farming syndicate and had the pull to have his son Leon Jr chosen as the apprentice to the syndicate's Chamber delegate. Leon Jr is clearly meant to be Sr's successor in the syndicate, but Jr has no interest in Mississippi and is instead drawn to the cosmopolitanism of the capital that he spent most of his childhood in. It was there, in the finale of Act Three, that he met a fellow Chamber apprentice, Samantha Pryor, orphaned daughter of Alabama planters and protege of a Washington fishing syndicate delegate. Leon Jr is last mentioned briefly in Act 4 Chapter 6, where he serves as a volunteer in the Angolan revolution. We'll be seeing them again shortly. The other characters I have plans for are Jean Sekou, envoy from the African Union to the OAS. Jean has only been seen in one recent update (the Mexico one) so I will not rehash his story here. We also have Ella Stewart and Adrienne Duclair. These two were highly publicized trainees at the Joint Franco-British Air Training Centre in Wales before the outbreak of civil war in America. The media in both France and Britain put a lot of pressure on the two, that they were in a race to be the first great female ace of the Internationale. Despite all efforts to make them into rivals, the two became lovers, and the story of their affair eventually leaked to the press. Both would drop out of the program and took up civilian flying duties, such as air mail. The American Revolution gave them both a second chance and both would become prolific aces during the war. American media was far friendlier to the pair, and both would end up as celebrated and world famous heroes who double as living symbols of the syndicalist alliance and all of its progressive aims. Most recently, the pair were seen during the invasion of New Zealand. I am not foolish enough to make any promises about future consistency, but the last three years have been a weird time, obviously. Finishing college just led into a different stressful grind of trying to get a new job, and pandemic and unemployment didn't really work out the way you'd think in terms of my creative output. Fortunately life has stabilized, I have a job I like a lot and I'm getting back in touch with the things I used to like doing in the before times. We are, by my estimation, 80% complete. I know what the end will be, and I have taken a lot of time recently to reread the LP and make plans for how I want things to wrap up. I have solid outlines for the next five updates, and hope to put them out soon. After those five, there will be a pretty major shift in the story that I am still not sure how to treat. But I will figure it out. Thanks again for sticking it out. I will try my very best to not make this a literally ten years long LP. csm141 fucked around with this message at 15:51 on Nov 23, 2022 |
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Nov 23, 2022 15:49
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I recently had an interest in HOI 2 rekindled and I'm very happy this thread has come back top shelf work
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Nov 23, 2022 15:52
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Oh and on the topic of backups, I am going to be keeping my website (timkel.ly) up to date with this LP. And definitely will look into archiving the entire thing once complete.
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Nov 23, 2022 15:52
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