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Old November 5, 2002, 20:58   #61
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Off the coast of Satsuma
Normally, the gun crew found riding in the wagon behind the artillery piece boring, but there was no sleeping or gambling today. All eyes were on the surrounding fields, where shell holes left little reminder that this area had once been cultivated.

The sight reminded Xiao of the broken surface of the moon he had once seen through a telescope. Save for the recently cut road they were using, all signs of human civilization had been blown into oblivion. Fields, farmhouses, side roads, mining operations, village stores - all smashed by Persian sea-borne guns.

India had neglected its navy to concentrate on land borne threats. This had allowed the enemy ironclad boats to ply long stretches of the coast, darting in to blast away with their terrible cannons, then clanking back out to sea to avoid repercussions. Today, India hoped to give back some of that pounding.

The wagons and their towed pieces arrived at the hilltop and work immediately began to unlimber the guns. The crews quickly wrestled the battery into place. Soon, all eight guns were prepared, with shells stacked at the ready.

Before long, the ker-thank, ker-thank of the Persian ironclads filled the air. The section chiefs called out coordinates to each gun crew.

Xiao had risen in the crew to become Assistant Gunner. He grabbed some primers from the pouch at his belt and took his place by the breechblock while the Gunner and Shell man dragged the trails to adjust the azimuth of the gun. The Gunner fine-tuned the aim while the Shell man and the Rammer jacked the gun to its proper elevation, and the Powder man cut out a couple of the powder charges. The Shell man ran back, grabbed a smoke round, fused it, and pushed it into the breech. The Rammer man rammed home the shell, then the Powder man inserted the charges. Xiao closed the breech lock and twisted in the primer in one smooth motion, while the Gunner read back the elevation and deflection to the section chief.

"Fire One!" called the chief.

Xiao slapped the fire hammer and the big gun roared. The round whistled off towards the Persian warships.

Xiao opened the breech and the Swabber cleaned it out, damping any smoldering bits of cloth from the powder bags. Only a minute had passed.

"Left 50; Up 100," called the chief.

Xiao and his crew went through the process again, and another smoke shell whistled into the sky.

"Down 50," called the chief.

Again the gun roared. The other seven guns in the battery were zeroing in on their own targets.

"Repeat your last," yelled the chief. "Fire for effect!"

The Shell man switched to High Explosive shells and the gun roared six times.

The Chief gave a little cheer. "He's done for!"

A short pause, then the Chief called, "Next coordinates."

The guns of the battery coughed their deadly projectiles into the sea until the Persian fleet of ironclads was decimated. It would be a long time before Persia could threaten this coast again.

As the last of the surviving boats limped out to sea, all eight crews broke into cheers.

"What are you cheering for?" growled the Section Chief. "You're only doing your jobs."

But even as he said it, he grinned.

Next: Grenoble...
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Old November 6, 2002, 03:36   #62
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Nice way of including what most people consider to be a boring element of civ, theres some good threads on their use on the general pages.

I always use Artillery in offensive wars in the game, a nice stack of 20 or so does the job nicely. Does make wars a longer part of the game but thats good IMO.

Anyways keep writing
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Old November 6, 2002, 07:40   #63
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Getting caught up on my reading today. So bassman, have you read about Hannibal at all? It's quite ironic the way you used whistles to scare the dogs away from the elephants. Did you know Hannibal's legendary elephant army was defeated in Africa in that exact way?

Scipio, the genius Roman commander, arranged his men in lines with a couple of metres space between the lines and each legionary was given a whistle. When they all blew the whistles, the approaching elephants went mad, and following their natural instincts, ran down the spaces between the rows of legionaries who slashed away at them until they were killed. Kinduv like a series of gauntlets. Some of the elephants turned around and trampled the Carthaginian soldiers. Very sad story. The legionaries then went on to have a very closely contested fight with Hannibal's veteran troops.
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Old November 6, 2002, 11:53   #64
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I was unaware of the use of whistles to defeat Hannibal's elephants. I did check to be sure that dog whistles would NOT effect Gandhi's elephants - the range of hearing for elephants is much lower than that of dogs. Men, dogs, and elephants cover much of the same range, but dogs can hear high pitches inaudible to man, just as elephants can hear ultra low pitches.

Even though the war elephants were prone to stampeding, their use was adopted by many ancient cultures, including the Romans. The shock value to ground troops, and especially to horse troops, was worth the risk.

Mahouts were equipped with an iron wedge that they were supposed to use to kill their elephant if it went berserk, driving it through the soft eye socket into the brain! I didn't want to describe that in the story.

(But now I guess I have)
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Old November 6, 2002, 19:47   #65
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Hmmm I seem to be making everyone unhappy with my commentation so I better refrain.
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Old November 6, 2002, 20:07   #66
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On the contrary, unscratchedfoot! I am sure every bit of feedback is useful for the authors of stories.
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Old November 6, 2002, 21:02   #67
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Quote:
Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
Hmmm I seem to be making everyone unhappy with my commentation so I better refrain.
Sorry, I gave the wrong impression. Guess I should have used an eek! smiley instead of the other one.

I welcome all comments, especially informative comments about an aspect I hadn't considered or discovered. That's been part of my problem keeping up with my self-imposed publishing deadline - researching this stuff is so fascinating that I get caught up trying to incorporate it. You should see all the text I delete before posting!

In short, keep commenting...
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Old November 10, 2002, 09:14   #68
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Well Bassman Ive got a comment for you,

GIVE US MORE!! please pretty please!
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Old November 12, 2002, 21:04   #69
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Grenoble
The horses pawed nervously at the ground, eager to run free on the attack. Mahavir held tight to the reins of his horse. His company had been held in reserve. He had fruitlessly called in every obligation he had, trying to be transferred to Company H to join Prajeet and Narhari, but they had gone out on the attack while he sat and watched. During their last dinner together, Narhari had joked that, without Mahavir to rescue, Prajeet would be free to earn honors for himself.

With the rest of his company, he had laughed on seeing the boulders catapulted out of Grenoble in a vain attempt to disrupt the Indian attackers. It was hard to believe in this modern age that armies still relied on such obsolete technology. On the other hand, scouts had reported seeing companies of riflemen in the city. Mahavir had seen what fortified riflemen could do to charging cavalry riders, their own rifle troops having earlier decimated the foolhardy charge of the Persians.

The Indian cavalry attack pressed in tighter and tighter around Grenoble and then into the city proper. Finally, the reserves were ordered into the fray.

Mahavir looked about the field of battle as they trotted into Grenoble. Many of the initial attackers were unhorsed and injured. Mahavir strained to catch sight of Prajeet and his ridiculous hat, flamboyantly pinned up on one side with an enormous ostrich feather, but neither hat nor friend could be seen. Soon the reserve company reached the edge of the city and the charge was ordered.

Mahavir's company of cavalrymen smashed into the remaining Persian defenders that huddled in the city's center. Mahavir fired the clip from his carbine, emptied both revolvers as he charged the bayoneted rifles, and then hacked with his saber as his horse jumped the line of defense. Several others in the company also made the hurdle and they set to with a will, slashing at the defenders from behind. Unnerved by a battle from two directions, the Persian riflemen milled about in confusion and were quickly dispatched.

As the Indian flag was raised over the city center, the rifle and artillery companies were quickly marched from the mountainous beachhead into the city and defenses erected in preparation for the inevitable Persian counterattack. Workmen quickly readied the docks for the galleons of replacements already on their way from Ergili. Medics worked to bring in as many of the wounded cavalrymen as they could.

Everywhere, throngs of rejoicing French people delayed progress. The overjoyed reaction of the French people, former subjects of the Persians, interrupted all attempts at preparing the city for the counter-siege. Young women spontaneously kissed Indian soldiers, men stopped workers to shake their hands or kiss them on both cheeks in the French manner, and older women pressed French pastries into the hands of astonished Indians regardless of office or occupation. The scene was chaotic, at best, and dangerous, at worst, since the remainder of the Persian army would surely arrive soon.

Mahavir tried to press through this bedlam, seeking Prajeet and Narhari, or at least, word of them. He haunted the medical stations, and tried in vain to join the medics carrying in the wounded from the field, but the invasion commander had ordered all able-bodied soldiers to remain in the city to suppress revolt from within. Armed Military Police were strictly enforcing the order.

At last, the counterattack began. The Persian cavalry thundered in from the road, at least thirty companies. A massive howl went up from the conquered city as the Persians detoured their attack to slash any Indian wounded still in the field. Every downed cavalryman that moved or moaned was hacked until the body parts were separated. Some of the injured men were able to fight back with bullet or sword, but they were no match for the massed might of the Persians. Every man that remained on the field remained as a corpse.

Only when the Persians had finished their butchery did they turn to the conquered city. Nineteen successive attacks were repelled by shell and bullet.

After the attacks had failed, the Persians retreated to await reinforcements. As they did, fresh Indian troops fell upon them to repay the massacre. During the prolonged defense, the long awaited relief galleons had entered the harbor and debarked their troops. As the Persians had dealt death to the Indian horse troops, so the Indians cut down the murderers to the last man.

Released from city defense, Mahavir wandered the battlefields like a wraith, without food or sleep, searching for sign of his dear comrades. Finally, he came upon the broken body of Prajeet, who's battered and muddied hat was barely recognizable in the mire. Mounds of Persian bodies surrounded the corpse, attesting to the price paid in killing the brave cavalryman. Buried under one of the mounds was Narhari, or what was left of him. An arm, a hand, and a leg, to the knee, were all missing.

Mahavir flew into an intense rage, hacking at the dead Persians that surrounded the bodies of his friends. Left and right his saber flew, dicing the Persian corpses.

Hours later the medics found him carefully tending the bodies of his two friends, quietly weeping.

"Namaskar, my friends," he said, over and over, "Namaskar."

They fed him some medication and dragged him back to the city. As he was taken away, his eyes burned with a white-hot anger and he stared continually in the direction of Bactra and the rest of Persia.

There would be many opportunities for retribution and Persians aplenty to feed his vengeance.

Next: Nuremberg...
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Old November 13, 2002, 17:15   #70
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Another quality installment of this epic tale of yours bassman Keep up the good work.
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Old November 18, 2002, 21:39   #71
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Nuremberg

Vidyacharan was disappointed. After the reception in Grenoble, he had been looking forward to liberating another Persian-occupied city. But the Germans were merely lining the streets and cheering the marching column of Indian infantry. Granted, the struggle to take the city of Nuremberg had not been nearly as great as that for the former French city - the small detachment of musket-equipped militia had been quickly defeated by the rapid-firing weapons of the Indians - but surely the German's were as happy to be free of Persian oppression as the French had been.

He was not the only soldier to have such thoughts. After Grenoble, many had discretely added bags to their kit in hopes of taking in another haul of booty. The Germans weren't pressing foodstuffs or spirits on the incoming troops, and worse, in Vidyacharan's eyes, the young women weren't being free with their kisses. Perhaps, he thought, this town did not suffer much under the Persians.

But he continually saw signs that they had. There were many shops and eateries that were marked "Persians Only," or "No Germans." He had also seen "Help Wanted" signs paired with "No Germans Need Apply." There were even separate water fountains marked for Persian use and German use. Yet the Germans were not overjoyed with their deliverance.

Maybe the Germans thought they were exchanging one conqueror for another, he thought. He hoped they would realize how much better their treatment would be under Indian rule. He had seen first-hand how the Indians had treated the Chinese, Egyptians, and Japanese, allowing them limited citizenship rights until they could apply for full citizenship. His family had many friends of all four extractions currently contained in the Greater Indian Empire. Everywhere he went, he heard how cooperation between peoples had led to greater prosperity for all.

In time, he knew, the Germans would realize how fortunate they were to be under Gandhi's beneficent reign rather than Xerxes cruel oppression. Unfortunately, by the time the Germans wished to express their joy, he and his comrades would have moved on to other exploits, and they would not be inclined to show their gratitude as the French had.

He caught sight of a young German woman looking at him. She was young enough to be bold, but old enough to be wary. Her face was pretty, though not astonishingly so. What caught his eyes were the penetrating blue eyes under the dark cap of hair. The effect was startling. The only women he had ever met had always had dark hair and dark eyes. Even the French girls, with their strangely fair skin, had not had such piercing blue eyes.

He smiled at the girl and grinned wider when she turned round to see if it was indeed her on whom he was lavishing his attention. When she turned back, she caught the grin, smiled sheepishly, and dropped her gaze. After a moment, she returned his look, dead level, and raised her hand to flip her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She gave a toss to her head, as if to say 'do you propose to back that look with action?'

He grinned wider, and straightened the cravat at his throat. He gave a wink, and hoped it meant the same in German as in Indian. Her returning wink told him that it did.

The platoon lieutenant cleared his throat and Vidycharan snapped his head back to parade position. He had to adjust his marching step twice to restore his cadence to that of the platoon, which brought a few snickers from his mates. He felt his face redden, and knew he would be teased unmercifully tonight at mess.

On the other hand, perhaps he could wrangle an early pass tonight and find better ways to pass the occupation than in gaming.

Next: Bactra...
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Old November 19, 2002, 03:37   #72
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No fighting description at all. No dont get me wrong its not a complaint, its my observation of yet another style to this story and your writing.

I think the way you personalise this and allow us into the characters minds is great.
Another to you bassman, keep up the good work.
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Old November 19, 2002, 14:28   #73
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Make Love, Not War!

There're only so many ways you can describe carnage and mayhem. Besides, there will be carnage a-plenty when Mahavir leads his revenge attack on Bactra!

Thanks for the comment, Chrisius Maximus. You are my faithful reader!
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Old November 21, 2002, 20:44   #74
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Bactra
The squadrons of cavalry trotted out of Grenoble, heading down the road towards the morning sun and Persia's only saltpeter works. Moving with his company, Mahavir thought about the death of his friends.

Prajeet had saved his life twice. At the first battle of Lisht, an archer had tracked Mahavir's path through the city, finally felling him with a well-placed shaft to the shoulder. Had Prajeet not personally dispatched the Egyptian, the next bolt would surely have been through his heart. When another archer had laid Mahavir low during the bloody battle to retake that rebellious city, it was Prajeet and Narhari who had dragged him to the medical station for aid.

The two friends had followed Mahavir into the cavalry when war elephants were phased out in favor of the agile, more reliable horse. He had been delighted to be reunited with his companions in function, although he had been unable to have them assigned to his company. In a way, he blamed himself for their deaths. If they had not transferred to follow him, they could have retrained as riflemen and nearly all the riflemen in the invasion force had survived. Many had been bloodied, it's true, and some had been maimed, but they had survived.

Now, this fine morning, he was tired, but grimly happy. He had worked hard to lay the groundwork for his revenge.

It had taken weeks to convince the medics he was fit for duty. During his convalescence, he had visited shrines constructed for his deceased friends, but only so much as was considered appropriate by his doctors, especially Dr. Navara, the battalion psychiatrist. Every visit, he had quietly renewed his vow to retaliate for their massacre. He had banked his anger, feeding it slowly to keep the fire concealed. At last, he had been returned to his company.

The night before, he had lost nearly a years salary visiting all the gaming in the various company camps. In each camp, he had casually planted the rumor that the mission tomorrow to destroy the saltpeter works at Bactra was just a feint, that the actual target was Bactra itself. Most of the cavalrymen were already primed for the story; merely raiding a mine and mill was not thought to be much of a soldering job.

The saltpeter mill and its accompanying mine soon rose on the horizon. It appeared unguarded. So much the better for Mahavir's plan, for there were others than he who sought revenge on the Persians. The more frustrated soldiers there were, the better his plan would work.

Bugles had sounded the advance, and Mahavir grinned to see his own company bugler shaking his horn. In the still, dark hours between night and morning, he had visited the bivouac of each company's bugler, seeding their instruments with a mixture of lime and powdered clay. It had taken many trials to develop the correct proportions that, when mixed with saliva, would form a slowly hardening clay stopper in the bends of the bugle, rendering it useless for sounding the recall. While convalescing, it had amused him greatly to impress Dr. Navara with his interest in pottery.

The squadrons of cavalry rode into the mill compound and set up a defensive perimeter. The sun had cleared the horizon and was well along its path, lighting the mill and mine. In the near distance, the outlaying buildings of Bactra began to sparkle. A detail was assigned to begin destroying the mill building. Another crew began tearing up the road connecting the mill to Bactra and the Persian transportation network. Their supply of saltpeter would soon be unavailable.

For Mahavir, this wasn't enough. He knew the generals expected Persia to sue for peace once their capability for modern warfare was diminished. He was afraid that they would, denying him revenge. He hungered for the opportunity to kill more Persians before that happened.
Those cavalrymen not on patrol, or working to disrupt the mill and its roads were pacing their horses about expectantly. Many were looking out over the short ride to Bactra. Mahavir hoped they were waiting for the order to charge. He pulled a bugle from his saddlebag - one of many back-up instruments he had stolen during the night - and blew a decent rendition of "Charge." Thrusting his sword into the air, he hollered "Charge!" with all his might and galloped towards Bactra. Nearly two companies worth of cavalrymen followed.

At the mill, the company commanders ordered their buglers to sound "Recall," but only a few managed to even coax rude squawks from their horns. The commanders tried calling to the men by voice, or even physically diverting the men from their spurious charge, but by then it was too late. Nearly all the remaining soldiers had joined in on the attack. Only a few were stopped. Indeed, a few commanders, recognizing the futility, decided to join the assault themselves.

Mahavir knew none of this. His focus was completely upon killing Persians. The distance to the city quickly fell beneath his horse's hooves, as he spearheaded the charge into the city. He had quickly tossed away the bugle, and now cradled an automatic rifle in his arms. The two rapid-firing guns he had bartered for from the Infantry had remained hidden in his rifle scabbards during the ride to the saltpeter mill. Now he proposed to put them to deadly use. From his greatcoat pocket, he fished one of the many magazines and assembled the gun.

The first bullets from Bactra's defenders were beginning to crack around him. A mixed line of musketmen and riflemen blocked the road into Bactra. He emptied the entire 30 rounds of the magazine into the defenders and watched the stream of lead mow down the entire line. The rifle was quick, accurate to long range, and had less recoil than his standard-issue carbine. He grinned, an evil deaths-head sort of grin, and slammed home another magazine. Bloodlust pounded in his brain and hazed his vision slightly red.

He continued his deadly gallop through Bactra. Defenders were firing from windows and doors, but he cared not. Let those following take the stragglers. Two buildings further up the road lay a hastily erected barrier of wagons, barrels and furniture. Now an unthinking, killing machine, he controlled the horse with his knees, fired the automatic with the right hand, and pulled a grenade from another pocket of his greatcoat. Grabbing the arming pin in his teeth, he wheeled the horse to the right and flung the grenade at the barrier. Racing away from the barrier, he had only time to replace the spent magazine with another clip of death before the explosion buffeted his back. He wheeled his mount again, and plunged back up the street, firing at any defender who moved in the rubble. Up and over the splintered, smoking wood went rider and horse.

Ahead, a rifleman scurried for the cover of a doorway. The line of bullets from Mahavir's gun stitched its way up the man's body, exploding the head in a crimson-gray cloud of blood and brains. Mahavir dropped the empty magazine and slammed another home. He had over 100 magazines hidden in his coat and he intended to use them all.

Further ahead lay the town barracks. A double line of soldiers stood and kneeled in disciplined ranks. Centering the line was an old-style cannon, where a cannoneer struggled to finish ramming home the charge. Mahavir spurred his horse faster, and fired on the line, raking it with deadly effect. Bullets whizzed by him, some ricocheting off the nearby buildings. One struck his shoulder; he cared not. He did not intend to live out the day, expecting to join his friends shortly in death.

His left arm ached as he drew out a revolver and fired at the cannon crew. The rammer's knee buckled and he went down in a heap. Another sprang to take up the ram, but it was too late. Mahavir was among the remnants of the line, squeezing off short bursts from the rifle, and single shots from the revolver. One survivor tried to drag him from the horse. Mahavir slammed the empty pistol into his face and the soldier fell back.

He drove on past the shattered line. The shouts and clanking behind told him that the renegade cavalry was still behind him, mopping up the surviving Persians. This would be a massacre Persia would long remember.

The killing and death blurred into one continuous stream of bloody gore. Mahavir's mind was not involved to the slightest degree. He fired, bombed, attacked, wheeled, kicked, hacked, clubbed and bashed until his anger was spent.

At last, conscious thought struggled through the miasma that had clutched his brain from the first shot fired at the outskirts of the city. I'm alive, he thought, startled.

A cavalryman rode up, but Mahavir had no weapons left. Even his sword was gone, scabbard empty.

"Here he is, sir," called the officer - Indian. Another horse and rider swam into view, a view becoming increasingly unstable.

"Dammit, Mahavir" - his company commander - "what were you thinking? I'll have to court-martial you, for sure."

Mahavir looked down sheepishly, and attempted to brush some of the clinging viscera off his grimed and bloddy uniform. His or others, he wasn't sure.

"Bust me to wagon-loader, for all I care," he said. "Prajeet and Narhari are avenged."

The captain's face began to swing in wider and wider circles, then jumped away to be replaced by a blue sky tinged with smoky clouds. In the clouds, Mahavir could see Prajeet and Narhari grinning down on him. He grinned back, until the darkness swallowed them.

Next: more Gandhi Kahn Memoirs
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Old November 21, 2002, 23:32   #75
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Well, it's gret that you are continuing the story, bassman, the breaks were getting a little lengthy Then again, There're only so many ways you can praise a story, and encourage the writer And Chrisius says it all. Once again, I say: don't mind the lack of feedback sometimes - you have more faithful readers than you might think. Therefore, to quote Chrisius:

Quote:
Originally posted by ChrisiusMaximus:
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Old November 22, 2002, 03:17   #76
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superb stuff yet again, as always well researched, very civ and thrilling to read. You have done an amazing job with this mans inner feelings, I could almost feel the anger in myself rising.

I know its your story but I hope Mahavir gets to recover after some time in a field hospital becoming India's greatest ever war hero.
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Old November 22, 2002, 04:19   #77
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Cool. The mayhem and slaughter was a pleasant change from the cruddy romantic scene before this. I hope Chrisius and you badassman, don't go on a real-life persian-killing rampage after this. Remember: its just a story! If you find you can't resist the temptation to do like Mahavir did, then aim your attack against saddam and his associates.
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Old November 22, 2002, 20:19   #78
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Quote:
Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
Cool. The mayhem and slaughter was a pleasant change from the cruddy romantic scene before this.
Just remember, there must be babies before there can be mayhem.

Quote:
Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
If you find you can't resist the temptation to do like Mahavir did, then aim your attack against saddam and his associates.
Cool Idea! I'll have to see if I can somehow write Saddam into the next Persian massacre, since Iraq was part of the ancient Persian Empire.
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Old November 22, 2002, 20:20   #79
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"When Grenoble fell into Indian hands, the French citizenry welcomed us after years of Persian oppression. Men wept, matrons pressed exotic treats on our soldiers, and the young French women were generous with their kisses. For the record, we never stated we would re-establish the French government - the joyous citizens took that assumption on themselves, so they have only themselves to blame for being disappointed later. By contrast, the Germans later 'liberated' in Nuremberg were much more pragmatic. No histrionic displays, but no let down later - they knew how this political game was played."
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, Chronicles of Gandhi Kahn the Wise


"What amazes me most is the wildflowers."

"The wildflowers, sire?" asked Nehru

"In spite of all this carnage, the wildflowers are returning to Mount Saint Joan."

"Uhm, the Persians call it Mount Kalachi, sire."

"When it was in French hands, it was Mount Saint Joan, and so it shall be in Little India."

"As you command, sire."

"Xerxes really thought these mountains were impervious to assault?" I asked.

"Yes, sire. He made no effort to reinforce them."

"He was a fool," said Devon. "Our island-hopping campaign to create mid-ocean bases on the islands of Ergili and Samaria should have been a dead giveaway. Once the transport lanes were set up, the nearest mainland Persian port was Grenoble and the most defensible location was the mountain range between it and Bactra."

Nehru didn't like being contradicted. "It was not an easy task creating a beachhead on a mountain."

"Devon assured me our cavalry, cannons, and riflemen were up to the task," I said. "They performed wonderfully. I understand there are many Persian troops buried on the slopes of this mountain."

"They rail-shipped a large portion of their continental force to the battlefield, sire," said Devon, pleased that I had noticed. "Wave after wave of Persian cavalry sought to knock the troops back into the sea, but the beachhead held."

"The arrogant fools. What did they hope to gain by threatening the greatest nation on the face of the earth?"

"Sire," exclaimed Nehru, "you cannot tell me you did not expect a declaration of war!"

"I had hoped that Xerxes would remain occupied with his consolidation of the Eastern continent. You would think he would have his hands full assimilating all his German and French citizenry."

"Persia chose not to integrate their conquered peoples as we do, sire. They rule by subjugation."

"So why follow up their continental triumphs with a demand on the Greater Indian Empire?

Nehru hesitated for a moment. "It is Siddheiers' belief that they had global aspirations and feared falling behind in technology."

"That's why they made that ridiculous demand? 'Give up the secrets of Military Tradition or face Xeroxes' wrath,' indeed!"

"Your response was not calculated to ease their worries, Sire."

"Well," I said, grinning, "I just didn't want my message being twisted in transit: 'Is that '...u-g-g-e-r-o-f-f' or '...u-g-e-r-o-f'?' I thought my method was direct and effective - Xerxes certainly understood my meaning!"

"It would have been difficult not to, since you returned the envoys in multiple boxes! Bit much, don't you think?"

"Making any reply would have been carrying water in baskets. One does not make such a demand without expecting or hoping for war. As Rujula will tell you, Persia's payments for luxuries and for previous secrets revealed were suspended when war broke out. All contracts will have to be renegotiated after the war ends."

Devon broke in. "Xerxes would have been better off continuing the payments, which at least have an end. The cities he is losing would have brought in much more revenue that he has now lost forever."

"Yes, Devon," I said, "but those cities have come at a high price. I understand that many of our cavalry troops now rest in the meadows below this mountain."

"Yes, the 'Massacre at Grenoble,' but that occurred after the port had been occupied."

"If only we had been able to land more troops...."

"We hadn't begun our switch-over from galleon to motorized transport yet," said Devon. "But you are right. If we had had more galleons or if they held more, we would have been able to spare a few battalions of riflemen to backup the recovering cavalry after their initial attack. That would have saved many lives. Those brave few bought time for fresh shipments of infantry, artillery and cavalry into Grenoble."

"I'm just glad your R&D corps developed the motorized war elephants. What are you calling them - tanks? They were very useful in widening the beachhead."

"It certainly made it easier to hold the saltpeter deposits between Bactra and Nuremberg! Already, so many of the Persian cavalry troops have been dashed against Indian-held city strongholds that we are seeing a reversion to Middle Age technology - knights, riflemen, and Immortals. The neighboring cities are falling like sand castles."

"Eventually, Xerxes will realize that these seven cities will never again be his," I said, turning to go. "Xerxes cannot allow this war to continue much longer, or Persia's capabilities will fall below those of the Russians."

"One last bit of business, sire, before your return to Dehli," said Nehru. "The French government is clambering for a return to power. There are also a few German grumblings."

"That's not going to be possible. Please point out to them that I was merely liberating them from the oppressive rule of Xerxes and placing them under our beneficent reign. They shall retain their hereditary customs, of course, but start the reconstruction plan immediately. Education, health care, business loans - the works. Same as our policy on the Western Continent."

"As you command, O Mahatma. Namaskar."
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Old November 22, 2002, 20:51   #80
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Old November 25, 2002, 19:55   #81
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Bactra

"Sure sounds like thunder, don't it?"

Vidyacharan turned to see Kaushal joining him at the defensive barrier. In truth, he had been thinking about last weekend's pass spent with Fräulein Frieda in Nuremberg, not the recurring tank barrages in the Alborz Mountains.

"I guess it does," he replied. "Why do the Persians keep trying this? It's massacre."

"Cap' says they're desperate to retake Bactra. You'd think they'd give it up, though. Running the gantlet through the mountain passes is killing 'em."

"Personally, I'm glad our generals put tanks up there to zero in on the Persians cavalry as it rides down the valley. By the time the horse troops get here, they're practically dead already. That's less work for us."

"'Spose you're right," said Kaushal. "Think they'll have enough left for an attack this time?"

Vidyacharan pondered his answer. "The tank cannons are pretty active today. Doesn't sound like it."

At Kaushal's crestfallen look, he laughed. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get your chance. Maybe the Persians will teach their horses to fly."

That made Kaushal laugh, too. "I wouldn't want to be under one when it dumps a load of dung."

"That makes two of us!"

Kaushal looked through his field glasses and started scanning the killing fields lying northeast of their position. The Persian cavalry troops always marshaled in this field following their suicidal dash through the mountains. Presumably, they were regrouping for an attack on Bactra, although none had yet lived to attempt one.

Several other sniper-spotter teams such as Vidyacharan and Kaushal held excellent sightlines to the field. Vidyacharan checked his scope and rifle. He had become quite expert using the gun - the number of kills to his credit numbered over a hundred.

Within the hour, the first Persian survivors of the tank gantlet began to regroup in the field.

"This lot is the worst so far," said Kaushal, peering through the field glasses searching for officers to target first.

Vidyacharan sighted though his scope. The Persians were as wounded as usual, but their uniforms were threadbare and their antique equipage was lighter than usual. Some even sported ancient muskets.

"It won't be long before they run out of cavalry altogether," said Vidyacharan. "Any candidates yet?"

"Three," replied Kaushal. "One to the left of Kartikeya," - they had taken to naming prominent landscape features - "and two right in front of Mahabala."

"I see them. Jitendra will have a better angle on the first one. I'll take the others."

Vidyacharan sighted on the first of the two conferring officers, a stocky man with a heavy handlebar moustache over his solid jaw and sporting a red beret pulled over his brow. Seeing his victims up close in the scope no longer bothered his as it once had. Surely they would be trying to kill him if the situation was reversed.

He let his breathing become steady and slow, and relaxed his muscles, waiting for the signal to begin. His target appeared to be berating the other officer, trying to urge him to attack by the looks of his gestures.

A shot cracked across the field - Jitendra's first shot always signaled the others to fire. Vidyacharan's target swung his head away, towards the sound, presenting a full profile. Vidyacharan smoothly squeezed the trigger and a neat hole appeared in the cocked beret. The victim began to slump even as he slid the scope to the second officer.

"Hit!" called Kaushal.

Vidyacharan was already squeezing off the second shot, leading the remaining officer that was diving for cover. The bullet stuck him just before he reached the gnarled tree root that was his goal.

"Is that a hit?" asked Kaushal.

"He's down," said Vidyacharan, grimly. "Get me another target."

Among the twelve sniper teams, they accounted for over a third of the remaining Persian force. What was left was either captured or eliminated by their own cavalry forces, a force relegated to mostly cleanup duties now that Indian armored cavalry - tanks - were so pervasive on the battlefields.

Afterwards, mop-up details stood ready to clear the bodies from the fields to allow the next Persian force to assemble in the field without anxiety, just as their predecessors had. Before the 'undertakers' could begin their gristly business, the snipers strode among the bodies to confirm their kills.

"Here's your first one," called Kaushal, pointing. "Remember the beret?"

"Yeah," said Vidyacharan, nudging the corpse with his toe. "Good, clean kill."

"They sure have odd names, don't they?"

Vidyacharan looked up in surprise. "I didn't know you could read Farsi."

"A little," said Kaushal, bashfully. "Want to know his name?"

"Sure, kid. Sure."

"Hussein. Saddam Hussein."

Next: Jaipur...
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Old November 26, 2002, 03:29   #82
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Nice one bassman glad to see some one sort out that menace.

Good chapter.
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Old November 26, 2002, 11:23   #83
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Dude, so we're both working on Saddam in our stories?
Good episode this one. Those persians are sure getting their desserts. They deserve it.

When you mentioned the dung I felt you were referring to me. Why? Because my nickname in the msn gaming zone is RodentDung and I just finished a 2 hour long insult exchange with a whole crowd of people going at it at the same time on the chatline. Needless to say, they tend to formulate insults based on my name so I hear dung repeatedly. It was great fun and I got to make some new friends and enemies. I received some compliments on my more creative cheap shots. You people should come and join the party.
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Old December 4, 2002, 20:29   #84
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From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Six

Jaipur
"Taxes!" spat Adrik. "It's always taxes!"

"And they're always HIGHER taxes," agreed Fadeyka.

"I don't know which I hate more," said Dima, "Bony Gandhi and his crossing taxes or fat Katerina and her exit taxes."

"Hate them both," laughed Adrik, "for they must certainly hate Cossaks, to tax us into poverty."

Dima growled, "If Gandhi had not taken the most fertile sector of the Arms of Rusalka, we would not be blocked from the clan gathering in Novgorod, and there would be no need for a tax. How much more must we pay this time?"

"Full half again as much!" said Adrik.

"That means a third of us cannot go to the clan gathering," cried Fadeyka. "What can we do?"

The others in the suma took up that chorus. Finally, the hubbub quieted and all looked to their leader, Adrik

"I have a plan," said Adrik. "Mount up and be ready for anything. Follow my lead."

Adrik slid into the saddle as if he'd been born to it. In a way, he had. His father had given him tiny weapons and sat him on a pony when he was a mere babe, as all Cossack boys were. He'd grown up riding the wide pastures around Vladivostok. He'd ridden many horses over his two and thirty years, but Karolek was his favorite - strong, fast and smart. His mount seemed to anticipate his commands, allowing him to concentrate on other tasks, be they warring or wenching.

With his clan brothers behind him, Adrik rode to the checkpoint. An oily Indian looked up at the clan and gave them an especially unctuous smile.

"So you decided to pay, rather than leave some behind," he said.

"Da, we'll pay your tax," said Adrik, reaching towards his saddlebag, "never!"

As he yelled 'never!' he drew his kalep from its socket on the saddle and struck the official in the head. One blow from the heavy battle hammer knocked the man to the ground, never to rise again. Blood and brains oozed from the cracked skull.

Two guards at the checkpoint never had a chance to reach the automatic rifles slung over their shoulders before they were leveled by deadly accurate carbine fire. The other two died trying.

Indian soldiers not on duty were slaughtered as they scrambled from the guard barracks. In five short minutes, the checkpoint was unmanned.

With the action completed, Adrik's clan brothers gathered before him. They were a ragged bunch, as were all Cossacks. Every bit of clothing was old; even their rifles looked rusty and unfit. Looks were deceiving, though. The old clothing hid men that were precise and quick, having drilled at warfare for many years. And unpolished rifles, meticulously clean and smoothly working on the inside, never glared to give away a Cossack's position.

Besides their scruffy firearms, each had several diverse 'honest' weapons for hand-to-hand combat, either carried openly, or concealed beneath their long felt Burkhas, or in leggings and boots. A clan of Cossacks was a formidable force, a fact the Indians at the checkpoint had discovered too late.

With his suma ranged before him, Adrik stood in his stirrups. "For too long, Katarina and Gandhi have used Jaipur as an excuse to tax us into poverty. Let us take that city as our own and force fat Katarina to give us this corner of Russia for a Cossack state. We will rule ourselves.

"Valerii and Kolenka," he called, "ride and gather the other clans. Have one clan hold this border with promise of a share of the spoils. Bring the others to Jaipur. That jewel is only thinly held and we will need few to take it, but we will need help to hold it. Gandhi will be angry, no?"

"No more so than Katarina," laughed Dima, as the other two men sped off for reinforcements.

"Then let's ride, my brothers," cried Adrik. "Tonight, we feast in Jaipur!"

Next: Novgorod...
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Old December 4, 2002, 22:27   #85
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A fascinating new twist this bassman, its a shame there is no civil war in Civ 3 I always liked that feature in Civ 2. dont keep us waiting to long for some more.
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Old December 9, 2002, 14:54   #86
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Where is my favourite story teller ? has anyone seen him ?

Please come back bassman were lost without your fantastic stories!!
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Old December 10, 2002, 00:17   #87
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Yes, Bassman...or the Stories Forum might...descend into anarchy!
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Old December 10, 2002, 13:15   #88
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We wouldn't want that, would we?

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Six

Novgorod
The sound of nearby gunfire painfully reminded Mahavir that he had once been a warrior, before allowing his vengeance to carry him into disgrace. Now, he could only listen as others fought and triumphed. As a truck driver, assigned to the Indian mainland, this was probably as close as he would get.

In fact, it was probably much closer than the board of court martial had intended when sending him back to the Greater Indian Empire. The sudden attack on Jaipur had quickly changed his humdrum boredom into frenzied boredom. An Indian attack on Novgorod had been mounted to relieve Russian-locked Jaipur to the south. The troops on the siege needed ammo, hence his presence near real fighting once again.

Mahavir dragged a crate out of the truck and carried it over to the waiting quartermaster's assistant.

A distant rattle of gunfire made the younger soldier jump. Jishnu, thought Mahavir, how young do they enlist these days. "What's the hold-up at Novgorod?" he asked, adding the crate to the growing pile.

"Don't know," replied the youthful soldier. "The Colonel says 'resistance is stiff; we'll need more supplies.' I thought we were supposed to be through to Jaipur by now."

"Guess they should have brought up some of those new tanks," said Mahavir.

"You got it. Heard they're all still over in occupied Persia."

"That's what I heard, too," said Mahavir.

As sounds of battle drew closer, the young quartermaster's assistant was growing more visibly nervous.

"They guard these ammo dumps pretty well, don't they?" asked the kid.

"I guess so," said Mahavir. "You'd know better than I."

"I think the Colonel pulled most of 'em up on the assault," gulped the kid.

"Vishnu save us from stupid commanders," muttered Mahavir, under his breath.

The battle was definitely getting closer. If it continued at this rate, Mahavir guessed it would envelop the ammo dump in ten minutes.

He grabbed a crowbar from the rack on the truck's side and started to pry open one of the crates.

"Hey!" protested the kid, "You can't do that."

He paused to wipe his brow and peered at the youngster. "You ever fight in combat?"

"Nope."

"Hunt?"

"No."

"Fire a rifle?"

"Just in Basic."

Mahavir jerked his thumb towards Novgorod. "Better start rememberin' quick. They're headed this way."

The kid jerked his head towards the city, and indeed, several Indian soldiers were running into the compound.

Mahavir levered the top off the crate and pulled out an automatic rifle and a pair of magazines. He slammed the magazine into its slot and chambered the first round. Pulling the trigger, he fired a burst into the ground ahead of the fleeing soldiers.

"That's far enough!" yelled Mahavir.

The soldiers had pulled up in their headlong rout, stunned to find gunfire in front of them as well as behind. The kid's face was dead white, as if he'd been shot himself and bled all the liquid from his body. There was a dark stain on the inside of his pant leg.

"We've got plenty of ammo and guns," yelled Mahavir. "You men stand and fight, or I'll kill you right here."

They looked at him with wild eyes. By now, there were twelve men, with more arriving. He could see them thinking, calculating whether they could chance a mass rush. He fired another burst into the ground, closer this time.

"You three hunker down by the guard shack," he yelled, pointing. "You six get behind those crates. The rest get into the repair trench. You stop anyone coming. If he's Indian, shoot in front and make him join up. If he keeps going or if he's Russian, shoot him. Don't miss."

The men appeared to make up their minds and jumped at the tasks as he had commanded. His lack of visible rank didn't faze them. They moved as quickly as if he'd been their superior officer, reacting to the tone of authority in his voice.

"Kid," he called, "get over here and help me load up this machine gun."

With the young soldier's help, Mahavir swung the heavy gun around to aim it up the road. While they worked, sporadic gunfire announced the arrival of more panicked Indians.

They dragged over several boxes of ammo for the gun and had just finished loading the first belt when a large squadron of Cossack horsemen came pounding up the road, intent on the wealth of military hardware contained in the ammo dump.

"Send 'em to Nerg!" yelled Mahavir, and he let loose with the heavy gun.

The front wave of Cossacks crashed to the ground like sawn timber. Short bursts from the other Indian guns were picking off the shoulders of the force. The center group attempted to shift to its left around the perimeter of the dump, but in doing so, they presented a broader front to the sheet of lead being thrown at them. Many attackers escaped the bullets by riding Cossack-style down on the neck of the horse. It mattered not, as the horses went down, taking their riders with them. Some of the Cossacks were crushed by their falling, dying mounts. Those that survived were picked off Indian infantry.

Finally, the few remaining Cossacks broke and turned tail. A cheer went up from the ragged band of defenders.

"A good defense, men," hollered Mahavir. "Not a word as to how you happened to come here. You have done well and are to be commended."

Another cheer went up. If they all kept silent, no one would know of their initial shame, only of their subsequent bravery.

None of the soldiers were aware that each and every one of them outranked their emergency 'commander'. None cared to scrutinize too closely. All that mattered were the results - they had won.

"You did well, son," said Mahavir to his reluctant assistant. "You could serve with honor in the infantry."

"Thanks, sir," said the young soldier, with a bashful grin. "Maybe I'd better change my pants before I report for duty."

Mahavir laughed. "That's a good idea."

"What about you, sir? Why are you driving a truck instead of commanding?"

"That's a long story, son. Go get changed and then get back here in case the Cossacks return. Maybe I'll tell you while we wait."

As the young man left, Mahavir examined his conscience. He had felt no blood lust in fighting the Cossacks. In truth, he no longer felt hatred towards the Persians that had massacred his friends. He had just been doing his job, and doing it well. Maybe he should look into reinstatement and advancement.

He chuckled and muttered to himself, "I wondered how many butts I'll have to kiss."

Next: More Gandhi Memoirs...
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Old December 10, 2002, 13:18   #89
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P.S. Only four more episodes left!
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Old December 10, 2002, 13:47   #90
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Yet another quality chapter. Keep the goods coming, bassman.
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