A semi-Planquest in which you are but one person, slamming their head into nine thousand, nine hundred, nine and ninety players in order to get out of a death game. Most of the time, they'd need a Chosen Hero, but this time, there's something far more terrifying than a dragon to fight: Logistics.
Situation Foxtrot (SAO/Foxhole) [COMPLETE]
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1.1
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Looking around the narrow frontage from around your tree, you groaned. The smoking Dunne behind you was a familiar sight, but the fact there was a pod of Colonial goblins in front of you didn't make things better. It had been a normal logistics run, just hauling Basic Materials, nothing special. The sort of endless trucking that could take your entire life, like bailing out the digital oceans with a teaspoon.
As a few cracks of rifle fire whiffed past your tree, you ducked and scrambled at your belt to get your pistol out. At least this time you'd remembered to load it- some logi drivers didn't, on grounds they never used it. You'd make sure to laugh at them, next time you saw some in the canteen. Should have brought a rifle, damn it! Except no, nobody was uncrating rifles right now, and the front was bleeding themselves dry for the things. Basic Materials and Explosive Materials went into factories, respawn shirts came out next to guns and grenades, then some poor sap like you drove it to where it needed to go- and god forbid you unbox it early!
Still, no more pontificating, you had an ambush to escape. Sticking the pistol out around the side of the tree, you pulled the trigger a handful of times, and then started running- past the disabled truck, into the bushes on the side of the road. It hadn't snowed lately, so it wasn't cold, but the rifle fire was following you. This wasn't safe. A few more rushed shots to keep the mobs' heads down, and you kept running. Either something caught the pod's attention, or you got far enough away to have nominally escaped, because it wasn't a minute or two later things petered off to quietness. Taking a minute to crouch down, you tried not to panic, before looking over your gun.
The gun didn't look back, of course. It was just an Ahti, and you dutifully clicked the safety on with a happy little 'thunk' as you racked the bolt open. There were two bullets inside, so you pulled the magazine out and slotted a new one in, the old de-rezzing as it fell to the ground. One in the chamber, nine in the grip. Not bad, as long as you weren't some mad bastard. Dropping the safety, the gun clack'd shut with a two-step ratcheting noise that was getting far too comfortable for your taste.
Wandering through the backwoods of the hex, you finally spotted a bunker base, a thin trail of smoke emitting from the core's chimney. Coming up to it with a smile, you signed in, feeling the core almost sigh as you hung up your helmet on the crude pegs hammered in on the wall. It was a simple pillbox of six segments, the almost-round walls somewhat warm, even if it wasn't a permanent structure. Digging through a locker did at least get you a rifle, the old Loughcaster a familiar friend. Anyone who was anyone had a captured Argenti by now, in theory, but you drove trucks. Your pistol was enough.
Still, in the relative warmth of the bunker base, you could almost feel a doze coming over you. It was hard to stay awake, after all that, and with a gun in your lap, sleep was too easy.
With dim, soggy haze, you remembered the past. Dreaming in virtual sleep was hard, the Neurohelm inhibiting the memories that rested from Before. So instead, you remembered the Tutorial, hah, "home" island. You remembered your first deployment, doing 'partisan suppression' with the tutorial NPC.
You remembered the Tutorial NPC sticking its head out, before getting filled with lead, as Bombastones landed around your position. Sixty new, shiny Warden players, taken out in under three minutes by four pods of 'grunt' Colonial NPCs. The world moderator, 'Sundowner', had been displeased. That's when you learned: win, or die.
It wasn't some cartoonish binary, though. You could fall in game, and as long as someone took your dog tags, you could spawn back in at a bunker base. If they managed to haul off your entire corpse, it would even be almost free.
The cost to that, however, was titanic. There were no NPCs in this game. Not one. Everything was to be done by players. There were no quests, no vendors, no assistants or conversationalists. This was a game about waging war as directly as possible, it didn't need that. Instead, there were forms and factories, hammers for steel and pistols for murder. Players would build what they wanted, where they wanted, in some twisted, utopian view of the conflict.
"Hey, new guy," a voice called out to you. Stirring yourself from sleep, you looked out. It was some goofball, with a bayonet fixed and a rakish grin. "This your bunker?"
"No," you muttered, wiping sand out of your eyes. "Yours?"
"Nope. Didn't think we'd see an abandoned bunker base this early in the war."
"Well then," you muttered. "All yours."
"Nah, we don't need it," he said, popping a squat and pulling out a well-worn map. "What happened to you, anyway? You're covered in ketchup."
"Ketchup?"
"I mean, urg, blood. Probably got hit and didn't realize it."
Looking over, you wince. The red of blood is clearly visible against your blue infantry uniform, now that you know what you're looking for. "I was hauling B-mats out to the front, must have taken a wrong turn. Got jumped, got shot."
"I'm not suprised," the man said. "I'm Kostechi, with the 15 Uhlans."
You opened your mouth to give your name back, but reconsidered. You were cold, hungry, and most importantly, confused. "Uhlans?"
"Horse soldiers," Kostechi explained. "We're recon, and right now doing QRF. One of the local bunker bases reported an enemy foot patrol, and we came out to handle it."
"Hey, Kos, we're not finding that patrol on the scopes!" someone, female, yelled from outside the base. "Radio isn't reporting it in either, so we're calling it in as a DNF."
"Well, tell Mother Base we found a live logi driver, and are bringing them back. Kid looks like they need a nap."
"Yeah, probably," you muttered, using your rifle to haul yourself upright. "I really need to start carrying a rifle or something."
"I'd say 'get a Blakerow', but the prototypes for those are getting hoovered up by everyone on the frontlines."
That was worth a laugh. "I'm an independent logi main, Kostechi. I barely get rifles."
"Buddha's tits, come off it."
"I've been running that truck since day one, alright?" you said starting to stress out. "I don't want to fight my way through the garage queues to get my hands on another truck, and the Liberation Army has been camped out near my flat in Cuttail Station!"
"You had a flat. In Cuttail Station."
"Well, okay, I had a squat in a garrison house. But nobody tried to steal my truck!"
"It was a good truck, yes, but-" Kostechi said, before the girl outside interrupted again.
"Kos, we've got a situation. Scrap yard in Puncta is reporting a few pods of goblins sniffing around the perimeter, and Nightchurch is seconding the movements."
Great, more Colonials poking at the wire. The 'where' didn't make sense, though. "I thought Colonials couldn't spawn in empty territory?" you asked, digging through the bunker base's inventory as you started stuffing your pockets. Twenty Basic Materials, three clips of rifle ammo, another two clips of pistol ammo, a Harpa frag grenade, and a wrench quickly went into your backpack, while Kostechi laughed at you. "Don't get overloaded. Do you want to come with us?"
You sniffed lightly. "I guarantee I'm a better driver than whoever you have in the hot seat right now."
"Fuck you!" a voice came from the truck outside.
"Well, get in then," Kos said, and soon enough you were headed out to their Dunne. It was, like every other truck in this game, exactly the same as yours. Getting in the driver's seat, it took you a second to adjust to your preferred spot: two notches forward of middle. Then getting it to turn over- choke out, throttle down, pull the ignition and slide the choke in, then let off the gas until it settled on a strong, clear idle tone.
Then all you had to do was clutch in, pop it into first, and then away you went.
"Okay, I might be surpassed," the previous driver griped. "But only because you've figured out how not to drown the engine half the time."
"If you think that's good, watch this," you shot back, getting onto the road. Whoever had done the vehicle modeling for the Dunne had been an absolute gearhead, since they had correctly modeled a double-clutch transmission. Pushing the clutch in, pulling the van out of first, and then pushing it in again to slide it into second, the changeover was smooth as silk.
The less said about your bouncing, screaming and shaking truck otherwise, the better. "How full is this thing, anyway?"
"About four hundred fifty percent. Why?"
"Christ on a pogo stick, no wonder it handles like a load of E-mats and corpses!"
As you swerved to dodge a pothole- seriously, who the fuck modeled in potholes?- Kostechi pulled himself up into the passenger seat. "So, since we've got nothing to do but talk, unless you're Bathroy back there, do you have a unit yet?"
"No, why?"
Dangling his dog tags, Kostechi grinned. "Recovery. Independents have, on average, an extra twelve hours between respawns. It gets boring, up there in the waiting room of the damned. Sign on with the Uhlans, and we'll make sure you get fast revives, and you don't need to spend time dealing with the Teamster's Union."
"On one hand, very appealing," you said, hanging a hard left that made the frame on the truck scream. "On the other hand, I'm not a frontliner."
"We're not frontliners," Kostechi explained patiently. "We're QRF; Quick Response Force."
"A distinction without difference when bullets start flying."
"Listen, we've got a bunker base over in Fallen Crown, and it even has a theater radio station in it already," Bathroy, the girl with the radio, called from the back. "There's only twelve of us right now, and we all have our own bunks and lockers."
"Do you have backup trucks?"
"We have three."
Damn. You were tempted. Still, one more thing to do. "Do I get executive rights?"
"The fuck is that?" Kostechi asked, pulling out his own pistol to check that it was loaded.
"Voting rights on the unit's plans and activities."
"Fuck it, sure."
Double damn. Executive authority, and a real, honest to god bed. This was the best offer you could get- now, if only it didn't involve racing off to your potential doom in a double-clutched shitbox while two real people and three unknowns sat in the back.
"What are you guys doing back there, anyway?" you asked, curious.
"Playing bridge. Coatl's winning."
"Good to know…"
///
Votes
What is your gender?
[] Male
[] Female
[] Undetermined
What is your prefered play style, when you're not doing logistics out of desperation? Choose any and all categories that apply.
(note: this is to inform the GM of 'what you do when not doing important things')
[] Logistics
-[] Transhipment
-[] Aquatic
-[] Production
-[] Material Gathering ("scrooping")
-[] Blockade Running
[] Combat
-[] Forward Operations
-[] Armored Operations
-[] Artillery Operations
-[] QRF (Quick Response Forces)
-[] Naval Invasions
-[] Commando Actions ("partisaning")
-[] Demolitions
What is your Name?
[] Orlando
[] Orr Melanie
[] Write-in
Do you want to join the 15 Uhlans (Recon/QRF) Unit?
[] Yes- you want a real bed, and not to spend all your time camped out in the busy port of call that is Cuttail Station
(Jump into the Grand Plan sections of this quest, and interacting with the Bureau of War)
[] No- You might need a unit to actually get anything done in this mud-and-oil grinder of a game, but you'll have it on your terms
(Jump into the social interactions: recruit a unit of whatever-you-like-doing, build a bunker base, and establish local relations before interacting with the Grand Plan sections of this Quest)
Author's Notes
So, you want to know what's fun? SAO. You can write anything in SAO. You know what's not fun? Trying to guess at MMO mechanics that don't actually make any damn sense. The solution? We just slide the junky JPMMO out, and we slide in a game that actually has all the same base interactions while simplifying a number of problematic scalar things. Sure, the numbers might be a bit small for Planquests, but it'll work out.
Also: The Discord
As a few cracks of rifle fire whiffed past your tree, you ducked and scrambled at your belt to get your pistol out. At least this time you'd remembered to load it- some logi drivers didn't, on grounds they never used it. You'd make sure to laugh at them, next time you saw some in the canteen. Should have brought a rifle, damn it! Except no, nobody was uncrating rifles right now, and the front was bleeding themselves dry for the things. Basic Materials and Explosive Materials went into factories, respawn shirts came out next to guns and grenades, then some poor sap like you drove it to where it needed to go- and god forbid you unbox it early!
Still, no more pontificating, you had an ambush to escape. Sticking the pistol out around the side of the tree, you pulled the trigger a handful of times, and then started running- past the disabled truck, into the bushes on the side of the road. It hadn't snowed lately, so it wasn't cold, but the rifle fire was following you. This wasn't safe. A few more rushed shots to keep the mobs' heads down, and you kept running. Either something caught the pod's attention, or you got far enough away to have nominally escaped, because it wasn't a minute or two later things petered off to quietness. Taking a minute to crouch down, you tried not to panic, before looking over your gun.
The gun didn't look back, of course. It was just an Ahti, and you dutifully clicked the safety on with a happy little 'thunk' as you racked the bolt open. There were two bullets inside, so you pulled the magazine out and slotted a new one in, the old de-rezzing as it fell to the ground. One in the chamber, nine in the grip. Not bad, as long as you weren't some mad bastard. Dropping the safety, the gun clack'd shut with a two-step ratcheting noise that was getting far too comfortable for your taste.
Wandering through the backwoods of the hex, you finally spotted a bunker base, a thin trail of smoke emitting from the core's chimney. Coming up to it with a smile, you signed in, feeling the core almost sigh as you hung up your helmet on the crude pegs hammered in on the wall. It was a simple pillbox of six segments, the almost-round walls somewhat warm, even if it wasn't a permanent structure. Digging through a locker did at least get you a rifle, the old Loughcaster a familiar friend. Anyone who was anyone had a captured Argenti by now, in theory, but you drove trucks. Your pistol was enough.
Still, in the relative warmth of the bunker base, you could almost feel a doze coming over you. It was hard to stay awake, after all that, and with a gun in your lap, sleep was too easy.
With dim, soggy haze, you remembered the past. Dreaming in virtual sleep was hard, the Neurohelm inhibiting the memories that rested from Before. So instead, you remembered the Tutorial, hah, "home" island. You remembered your first deployment, doing 'partisan suppression' with the tutorial NPC.
You remembered the Tutorial NPC sticking its head out, before getting filled with lead, as Bombastones landed around your position. Sixty new, shiny Warden players, taken out in under three minutes by four pods of 'grunt' Colonial NPCs. The world moderator, 'Sundowner', had been displeased. That's when you learned: win, or die.
It wasn't some cartoonish binary, though. You could fall in game, and as long as someone took your dog tags, you could spawn back in at a bunker base. If they managed to haul off your entire corpse, it would even be almost free.
The cost to that, however, was titanic. There were no NPCs in this game. Not one. Everything was to be done by players. There were no quests, no vendors, no assistants or conversationalists. This was a game about waging war as directly as possible, it didn't need that. Instead, there were forms and factories, hammers for steel and pistols for murder. Players would build what they wanted, where they wanted, in some twisted, utopian view of the conflict.
"Hey, new guy," a voice called out to you. Stirring yourself from sleep, you looked out. It was some goofball, with a bayonet fixed and a rakish grin. "This your bunker?"
"No," you muttered, wiping sand out of your eyes. "Yours?"
"Nope. Didn't think we'd see an abandoned bunker base this early in the war."
"Well then," you muttered. "All yours."
"Nah, we don't need it," he said, popping a squat and pulling out a well-worn map. "What happened to you, anyway? You're covered in ketchup."
"Ketchup?"
"I mean, urg, blood. Probably got hit and didn't realize it."
Looking over, you wince. The red of blood is clearly visible against your blue infantry uniform, now that you know what you're looking for. "I was hauling B-mats out to the front, must have taken a wrong turn. Got jumped, got shot."
"I'm not suprised," the man said. "I'm Kostechi, with the 15 Uhlans."
You opened your mouth to give your name back, but reconsidered. You were cold, hungry, and most importantly, confused. "Uhlans?"
"Horse soldiers," Kostechi explained. "We're recon, and right now doing QRF. One of the local bunker bases reported an enemy foot patrol, and we came out to handle it."
"Hey, Kos, we're not finding that patrol on the scopes!" someone, female, yelled from outside the base. "Radio isn't reporting it in either, so we're calling it in as a DNF."
"Well, tell Mother Base we found a live logi driver, and are bringing them back. Kid looks like they need a nap."
"Yeah, probably," you muttered, using your rifle to haul yourself upright. "I really need to start carrying a rifle or something."
"I'd say 'get a Blakerow', but the prototypes for those are getting hoovered up by everyone on the frontlines."
That was worth a laugh. "I'm an independent logi main, Kostechi. I barely get rifles."
"Buddha's tits, come off it."
"I've been running that truck since day one, alright?" you said starting to stress out. "I don't want to fight my way through the garage queues to get my hands on another truck, and the Liberation Army has been camped out near my flat in Cuttail Station!"
"You had a flat. In Cuttail Station."
"Well, okay, I had a squat in a garrison house. But nobody tried to steal my truck!"
"It was a good truck, yes, but-" Kostechi said, before the girl outside interrupted again.
"Kos, we've got a situation. Scrap yard in Puncta is reporting a few pods of goblins sniffing around the perimeter, and Nightchurch is seconding the movements."
Great, more Colonials poking at the wire. The 'where' didn't make sense, though. "I thought Colonials couldn't spawn in empty territory?" you asked, digging through the bunker base's inventory as you started stuffing your pockets. Twenty Basic Materials, three clips of rifle ammo, another two clips of pistol ammo, a Harpa frag grenade, and a wrench quickly went into your backpack, while Kostechi laughed at you. "Don't get overloaded. Do you want to come with us?"
You sniffed lightly. "I guarantee I'm a better driver than whoever you have in the hot seat right now."
"Fuck you!" a voice came from the truck outside.
"Well, get in then," Kos said, and soon enough you were headed out to their Dunne. It was, like every other truck in this game, exactly the same as yours. Getting in the driver's seat, it took you a second to adjust to your preferred spot: two notches forward of middle. Then getting it to turn over- choke out, throttle down, pull the ignition and slide the choke in, then let off the gas until it settled on a strong, clear idle tone.
Then all you had to do was clutch in, pop it into first, and then away you went.
"Okay, I might be surpassed," the previous driver griped. "But only because you've figured out how not to drown the engine half the time."
"If you think that's good, watch this," you shot back, getting onto the road. Whoever had done the vehicle modeling for the Dunne had been an absolute gearhead, since they had correctly modeled a double-clutch transmission. Pushing the clutch in, pulling the van out of first, and then pushing it in again to slide it into second, the changeover was smooth as silk.
The less said about your bouncing, screaming and shaking truck otherwise, the better. "How full is this thing, anyway?"
"About four hundred fifty percent. Why?"
"Christ on a pogo stick, no wonder it handles like a load of E-mats and corpses!"
As you swerved to dodge a pothole- seriously, who the fuck modeled in potholes?- Kostechi pulled himself up into the passenger seat. "So, since we've got nothing to do but talk, unless you're Bathroy back there, do you have a unit yet?"
"No, why?"
Dangling his dog tags, Kostechi grinned. "Recovery. Independents have, on average, an extra twelve hours between respawns. It gets boring, up there in the waiting room of the damned. Sign on with the Uhlans, and we'll make sure you get fast revives, and you don't need to spend time dealing with the Teamster's Union."
"On one hand, very appealing," you said, hanging a hard left that made the frame on the truck scream. "On the other hand, I'm not a frontliner."
"We're not frontliners," Kostechi explained patiently. "We're QRF; Quick Response Force."
"A distinction without difference when bullets start flying."
"Listen, we've got a bunker base over in Fallen Crown, and it even has a theater radio station in it already," Bathroy, the girl with the radio, called from the back. "There's only twelve of us right now, and we all have our own bunks and lockers."
"Do you have backup trucks?"
"We have three."
Damn. You were tempted. Still, one more thing to do. "Do I get executive rights?"
"The fuck is that?" Kostechi asked, pulling out his own pistol to check that it was loaded.
"Voting rights on the unit's plans and activities."
"Fuck it, sure."
Double damn. Executive authority, and a real, honest to god bed. This was the best offer you could get- now, if only it didn't involve racing off to your potential doom in a double-clutched shitbox while two real people and three unknowns sat in the back.
"What are you guys doing back there, anyway?" you asked, curious.
"Playing bridge. Coatl's winning."
"Good to know…"
///
Votes
What is your gender?
[] Male
[] Female
[] Undetermined
What is your prefered play style, when you're not doing logistics out of desperation? Choose any and all categories that apply.
(note: this is to inform the GM of 'what you do when not doing important things')
[] Logistics
-[] Transhipment
-[] Aquatic
-[] Production
-[] Material Gathering ("scrooping")
-[] Blockade Running
[] Combat
-[] Forward Operations
-[] Armored Operations
-[] Artillery Operations
-[] QRF (Quick Response Forces)
-[] Naval Invasions
-[] Commando Actions ("partisaning")
-[] Demolitions
What is your Name?
[] Orlando
[] Orr Melanie
[] Write-in
Do you want to join the 15 Uhlans (Recon/QRF) Unit?
[] Yes- you want a real bed, and not to spend all your time camped out in the busy port of call that is Cuttail Station
(Jump into the Grand Plan sections of this quest, and interacting with the Bureau of War)
[] No- You might need a unit to actually get anything done in this mud-and-oil grinder of a game, but you'll have it on your terms
(Jump into the social interactions: recruit a unit of whatever-you-like-doing, build a bunker base, and establish local relations before interacting with the Grand Plan sections of this Quest)
Author's Notes
So, you want to know what's fun? SAO. You can write anything in SAO. You know what's not fun? Trying to guess at MMO mechanics that don't actually make any damn sense. The solution? We just slide the junky JPMMO out, and we slide in a game that actually has all the same base interactions while simplifying a number of problematic scalar things. Sure, the numbers might be a bit small for Planquests, but it'll work out.
Also: The Discord
Last edited:
Month One Tech Tree
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Month One Tech Tree
Items Unlocked to Date
-Weapons
-- No.2 Loughcaster Rifle
-- Ahti Model 2 Pistol
-- A3 Harpa Fragmentation Grenade
-- Mammon 91-b High Explosive Grenade
-- Anti-Tank Sticky Grenade
-Utility
--Bunker Supplies
--Shirts
--Bandages
--Blood Plasma
--Trauma Kit
--First Aide Kit
--Soldier Supplies ("Shirts")
--Shovel
--Hammer
-Construction Materials
--Sandbags
--Barbed Wire
-Uniforms
-Utility Vehicles
--Dunne Transport
--Dunne Fuelrunner 2d
--BMS Packmule Flatbed
--BMS Universal Assembly Vehicle ("CV")
--BMS Class 2 Auto-Crane
-Combat Vehicles
--Tanks
--APCs/Halftracks
--Technicals
--Armored Cars
-Ships
--Motorboat
--BMS Ironship
--BMS Aquatipper
CURRENT REASERCH ITEMS
(get a seat on the War Bureau to get the ability to vote on this)
Weapons Tree
-Blakerow 871 (25% researched)
or
- PT 815 Smoke Grenade (5% researched)
Auto-unlocks
-Sampo Auto-Rifle
-Tank Trap
-Wall
-Gate
-Garrison Supplies
-Physician's Jacket
Vehicles Tree
-Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle (18% researched)
or
-Dunne Leatherback 2a Protectected Truck (12% researched)
Auto-unlocks
-Dunne Loadlugger 3c
Items Unlocked to Date
-Weapons
-- No.2 Loughcaster Rifle
-- Ahti Model 2 Pistol
-- A3 Harpa Fragmentation Grenade
-- Mammon 91-b High Explosive Grenade
-- Anti-Tank Sticky Grenade
-Utility
--Bunker Supplies
--Shirts
--Bandages
--Blood Plasma
--Trauma Kit
--First Aide Kit
--Soldier Supplies ("Shirts")
--Shovel
--Hammer
-Construction Materials
--Sandbags
--Barbed Wire
-Uniforms
-Utility Vehicles
--Dunne Transport
--Dunne Fuelrunner 2d
--BMS Packmule Flatbed
--BMS Universal Assembly Vehicle ("CV")
--BMS Class 2 Auto-Crane
-Combat Vehicles
--Tanks
--APCs/Halftracks
--Technicals
--Armored Cars
-Ships
--Motorboat
--BMS Ironship
--BMS Aquatipper
CURRENT REASERCH ITEMS
(get a seat on the War Bureau to get the ability to vote on this)
Weapons Tree
-Blakerow 871 (25% researched)
or
- PT 815 Smoke Grenade (5% researched)
Auto-unlocks
-Sampo Auto-Rifle
-Tank Trap
-Wall
-Gate
-Garrison Supplies
-Physician's Jacket
Vehicles Tree
-Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle (18% researched)
or
-Dunne Leatherback 2a Protectected Truck (12% researched)
Auto-unlocks
-Dunne Loadlugger 3c
Last edited:
1.2
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Month 1, Week 3
Joining the Uhlans hadn't been a mistake, even if it had been a bit more annoying than you'd anticipated. Kostechi's enthusiasm aside, they weren't a large unit and didn't have any real systems of operation. You'd ended up driving him back home after the QRF mission, signing in at the bunker base's messy workstation desk, and then taking your locker and bunk before racking out.
Big mistake. Apparently, the Uhlans hot-bunked, and you'd signed up for third shift. 2300-0700 was your duty shift, and that put your sleep shift at 1500-2300. Everything else was "free" time, occupied by the little nonsense jobs that a bunker base had. Mostly, since you were a good driver, this meant making the daily Bunker Supply run, and taking the clan's two scroopers out to the scrap field and into the refinery. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Still, you had an ambition: getting to the War Bureau, an uneasy alliance of the big combat units that had been busy purging the Colonials out from your collective area of control. Doing this, though, required a few things.
First things first: you needed twenty people on the rolls. Currently, you were at twelve people. That meant eight more people to grab, but more importantly also meant a bunker base expansion in order to keep them housed in an adequate level of discomfort.
Of course, the bunker expansion was moot, because you needed to get an Observation Bunker. The Observation Bunker, aside from being a constant data transmitter/receiver to update maps with, was also your means of committing off-hex radio communications. Handheld radios only reached out to update the hex you were in, and they only provided actionable- read, auto-correcting- map inputs when you were in broadcast distance of a Watchtower or Observation Bunker. Without the Observation Bunker, you'd be stuck driving into town to get to a safehouse, copy out an incoming transmission from the telegraph, and then reading it out over a handheld.
There was actually a unit that did that as their entire shtick: 65th Signals. They were mostly kids, the ten-year-olds who'd gotten snookered into this thinking it was just another videogame. Nicknamed "the orphanage", they owned the low-end, long range radio transmission brackets by unanimous agreement of anyone who had to listen to an eleven-year-old girl reading out movements of men and material with a steady, even tone only held that way because of exhaustion.
Once you had an Observation Bunker and twenty men on the rolls, from there you had to submit a formal request to join the War Bureau. The War Bureau would vote on your entry, and if you got more than half of them to agree to your entry, you'd be in. The problem was, well, they were a bunch of codgers, and practically speaking if they didn't know you, they wouldn't vote for you.
This was a problem, since the War Bureau right now was composed of twenty clans- "regiments" in the game's parlance- that mostly specialized in three things: last leg logistics, direct combat, and commando action. Or in other words, suicidal truck drivers, siege specialists, and infiltration lunatics. While it wasn't up to "QRF need not apply", the 15 Uhlans were not, and never would be, a direct combat regiment.
As you drove endless shifts along hex boarder roads in a Dunne, wishing for a nuclear winter to end the endless games of bridge in the back, you learned a lot- starting with the fact that most of the people in the game really hated fighting. Hell, most of the people in the 15 Uhlans hated fighting. QRF skirmishes, generally with numerical superiority, were all they were rated for. Taking on a three-pack of goblins wasn't hard when there were six guns firing, even if your pistol never got too far from the truck.
It was ironic that you'd been personally promoted to 'medic' in the grand scheme of things. 15 Uhlans had a pretty good system: each truck of six had a commanding officer with an Argenti (the Colonial semiautomatic rifle), a driver/medic with their pistol, a grenadier with a pair of Harpa grenades backing up his gun, and three guys with rifles. You, being the best driver, got to spend most of your time hauling a medical kit and a couple bottles of blood plasma and bandages for when people inevitably got shot.
You'd finally, finally managed to get the time to put in a dedicated radio-telephone desk into the bunker, just in time to catch a major transmission.
"This is the War Bureau, reporting from MacConmara Barrows, in The Moors," the repeater said, his young voice trying not to tremble. "We have finished removing the last known Colonial holdout position. With this, we can finally declare the Warden territories to be secure. We would like to thank 1 Infantry, 11 Infantry, 46 Sustainment, and 99 Engineering for their work in helping us eradicate the Colonial menace. At this point, all Warden territory, consisting of Basin Sionnach, Speaking Woods, Howl County, Callum's Cape, Reaching Trail, Clanshead Valley, The Moors, Callahan's Passage, and Viper's Pit is reporting in they are clear of all enemy units. We have won."
Your eyes opened wide. You'd- you'd won? Already? As the radio started crackling again, you reached over to bang on the dinner bell, getting everyone up. "Guys!" you yelled. "We won! We did it!"
"Well now, I can't just hear that and not take notice," another voice said from the radio, and just as everyone started rallying around. "I'll be sending this direct, owner's privileges. Let the kiddos get a drink first."
It was Sundowner- the man who'd trapped everyone here in the first place!
"Now, I'd like to congratulate everyone here on being able to handle this with the bare minimum of competence," he said, smug as all hell, "but the fact there's about five hundred folks sitting around here in the Waiting Room of the Dead indicates otherwise. People are ex-pen-sive, yaknow. 'Bout two hundred, two hundred fifty ain't gonna spawn no more, so that's gonna be a stain y'all can't wash out."
Wait, two hundred people had died? For real? How the fuck? We'd had total control over these hexes for weeks!
"Now that I know I've got your attention, though, I'd like to direct everyone at a bunker base to pull out your maps. You may notice that your tutorial took place in a nice, three hex by three hex area. Nice, round number for a tutorial. Now that you're not liable to trip on a bayonet and die, though, I'm opening up the full and unabridged map."
At this, you got your well-folded road map out, and started unfolding… and unfolding… and oh sweet mother of Christ.
"The new map, for those of you on the road and working like respectable folks, is a super-hex. Four hexes to a side, thirty-seven in total. This puts you at just a hair under one-quarter done. Since I'm a good boss, though, I'll credit you a little for getting done fast, and discredit you for how many warm bodies don't seem to be getting recovered anytime soon. I'm American, I don't like no senren conscripts getting thrown at a problem- so, enjoy your blizzard. Should take a few days to get to you, and remember snow keeps corpses fresh for revives. Have fun with that- I gotta go remember to take the brakes off the orcs down south. Good luck- you'll need it."
With that, the radio fell silent. Slowly, Kostechi walked up to you, gulping.
"Orr," he said, looking you carefully. "How are you feeling?"
"Not great," you answered honestly.
"Good. I need to make a run into The King. I should be back soon, take care of everyone until then. Expect a call from The Pike any minute now- we might have to help stand the line up for a bit, if they come pouring over the border."
"Hey, Kostechi?" you said, voice careful. "Come back safe, alright?"
"Alright."
He didn't come back that day, or the next either.
///
Mechanics
Game Mechanic Change: Radios
Handheld radios are now limited to single-hex operations, and do not provide empirically information on enemy positions inside observance areas unless the handheld radio is also inside territory observed by Watchtowers or Observation Bunkers- outside this area, players must hand-plot vocal descriptions of enemy positions. Voice communication is limited to 20m, past which a handheld radio is needed. Handheld radios use different frequencies to communicate to other radios, and can listen in- but not transmit- on radio frequencies that cover the entire hex. Handheld radios are range-limited to 200m on standard frequencies, with lower frequencies giving better range but worse sound quality, resulting in potential miscommunications. Radio Stations on bunker bases act as Handheld radios, unless that bunker base has an Observation Bunker, in which case it serves to direct the more powerful radios there. An Observation Bunker may serve any number of Radio stations. Cross-hex radio communication must be conducted by Observation Bunkers or Intelligence Centers. Town Halls have an indestructible telegraph line to every other Town Hall and every connected Safe House, and may also listen in and transmit on all radio communication in their hex.
Quest Mechanic: Personnel Rating
In order to model the morale and training of the average player, a color-coding system has been devised as follows, corresponding to the level of risk a given player is willing to undertake, and areas and jobs they are comfortable performing.
White: No acceptable risk. This player is comfortable inside Town Halls and Bunker Bases only. Can perform administrative tasks and light construction work in Green areas.
Green: Low acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in completely-controlled Warden hexes. Can perform basic logistics, production, scrooping, basic and advanced construction, and is willing to move into Yellow areas when en masse or under escort.
Yellow: Medium acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in partially-controlled Warden hexes. Can perform last leg logistics into combat zones, QRF, light combat duties, artillery duties, basic and advanced construction under fire, heavy weapons operation, and solo operations in Warden hexes.
Orange: High acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in frontline combat roles. Can perform direct combat, field entrenchment, scroop under fire, demolitions, siege operations, and staff Pirate Bases and other risky deployments.
Red: Accepts certainty of death. This player is comfortable in high intensity, high risk frontline combat roles. Can perform fortification reduction ("Mammon rushes"), close-quarters combat, commando actions, combat operations out of Risky Deployments, and naval invasions.
Black: Accepts certainty of death and potential permanent death. This player is comfortable on suicidal ventures. Can perform any and every combat operation, regardless of personal risk.
While players will naturally filter into positions to suit their rating, the rating of a group of troops can be improved over time by stationing them in higher-risk areas and ensuring they get vital training time.
////
VOTES
An: please vote by plan, it makes the vote counter not shit itself. Votes will be divided into three categories: Bunker, Personnel, and Upgrades. Each votive period will last one month.
BUNKER
(Choose One)
[] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to sustain larger troop numbers.
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
[] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to operate an Observation Bunker
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
[] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
-[] With small patterns
-[] With medium patterns
-[] With heavy patterns
-[] With artillery firing positions
-[] With infantry fighting positions.
[] Develop a new bunker base in a better location
-[] Write in hex and town/Relic, as well as distance to front line or intended purpose.
PERSONNEL
(Choose One)
[] Go and recruit more personnel
-[] Mass recruitment: whatever you can get, get more of it! (Recruits 3d10 White personnel)
-[] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[] Picky recruitment: Get people who are at least as skilled as you are! (Recruits 1d10 Yellow personnel)
-[] Frontline recruitment: Go to the front and snag some blueberries! (Recruits 1d10 Orange personnel)
-[] Elite recruitment: Go find a group of lunatics, and shanghai them. (Recruits 1d10 Red personnel)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
(You cannot recruit units of higher rating than yourself.)
[] Commit training!
-[] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed.
-[] Rifle training: Everyone will spend time practicing the fine art of "bullet go plink"
[] Extra work shifts
-[] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[] More Mines: Get everyone to do more rounds on the component mines and oil wells. Components mean R-mats, R-mats mean flatbeds. God, you want a flatbed.
-[] More Building: Put everyone to work on getting your bunker upgrades planned. If you don't have some planned, the bunker will get what the troops think it needs.
-[] More Logistics: Put everyone to work on hauling more truckloads of stuff from point A to point B. Whoever's manning the bunker base at the border to Weathered Expanse will be very happy to get more gear for the inevitable offensive.
UPGRADES
(Choose One)
[] Go out and get yourself a lieutenant! (You may have one per twenty Regiment members, minimum one)
-[] Teach them the way of the builder, as much as you know how that works. (Adds one action to Bunker)
-[] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[] Teach them the way of the organizer, so you have more time to put out more fires (Adds one action to Upgrades)
[] Find some actual damn builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare (Unlocks Defensive Patterns)
[] Find a, uh, techmaid, and get some prototype kits by hook or by crook. (Unlocks Blakerow Prototypes or Drummond 100a Protoypes: a short-ranged semi-automatic carbine, and firepower increase for your soldiers, or a four-man offroad car with integral radio)
[] Get in touch with a regiment that's a member of the Bureau of War (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
[] Get in touch with another regiment that does something you need (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
-[] Logistics
-[] Production
-[] Frontline Combat
-[] QRF
-[] Water Logistics
-[] Techmaids
-[] Partisans
[] Find a way to get your guys some quality of life upgrades so things suck less out here.
Joining the Uhlans hadn't been a mistake, even if it had been a bit more annoying than you'd anticipated. Kostechi's enthusiasm aside, they weren't a large unit and didn't have any real systems of operation. You'd ended up driving him back home after the QRF mission, signing in at the bunker base's messy workstation desk, and then taking your locker and bunk before racking out.
Big mistake. Apparently, the Uhlans hot-bunked, and you'd signed up for third shift. 2300-0700 was your duty shift, and that put your sleep shift at 1500-2300. Everything else was "free" time, occupied by the little nonsense jobs that a bunker base had. Mostly, since you were a good driver, this meant making the daily Bunker Supply run, and taking the clan's two scroopers out to the scrap field and into the refinery. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Still, you had an ambition: getting to the War Bureau, an uneasy alliance of the big combat units that had been busy purging the Colonials out from your collective area of control. Doing this, though, required a few things.
First things first: you needed twenty people on the rolls. Currently, you were at twelve people. That meant eight more people to grab, but more importantly also meant a bunker base expansion in order to keep them housed in an adequate level of discomfort.
Of course, the bunker expansion was moot, because you needed to get an Observation Bunker. The Observation Bunker, aside from being a constant data transmitter/receiver to update maps with, was also your means of committing off-hex radio communications. Handheld radios only reached out to update the hex you were in, and they only provided actionable- read, auto-correcting- map inputs when you were in broadcast distance of a Watchtower or Observation Bunker. Without the Observation Bunker, you'd be stuck driving into town to get to a safehouse, copy out an incoming transmission from the telegraph, and then reading it out over a handheld.
There was actually a unit that did that as their entire shtick: 65th Signals. They were mostly kids, the ten-year-olds who'd gotten snookered into this thinking it was just another videogame. Nicknamed "the orphanage", they owned the low-end, long range radio transmission brackets by unanimous agreement of anyone who had to listen to an eleven-year-old girl reading out movements of men and material with a steady, even tone only held that way because of exhaustion.
Once you had an Observation Bunker and twenty men on the rolls, from there you had to submit a formal request to join the War Bureau. The War Bureau would vote on your entry, and if you got more than half of them to agree to your entry, you'd be in. The problem was, well, they were a bunch of codgers, and practically speaking if they didn't know you, they wouldn't vote for you.
This was a problem, since the War Bureau right now was composed of twenty clans- "regiments" in the game's parlance- that mostly specialized in three things: last leg logistics, direct combat, and commando action. Or in other words, suicidal truck drivers, siege specialists, and infiltration lunatics. While it wasn't up to "QRF need not apply", the 15 Uhlans were not, and never would be, a direct combat regiment.
As you drove endless shifts along hex boarder roads in a Dunne, wishing for a nuclear winter to end the endless games of bridge in the back, you learned a lot- starting with the fact that most of the people in the game really hated fighting. Hell, most of the people in the 15 Uhlans hated fighting. QRF skirmishes, generally with numerical superiority, were all they were rated for. Taking on a three-pack of goblins wasn't hard when there were six guns firing, even if your pistol never got too far from the truck.
It was ironic that you'd been personally promoted to 'medic' in the grand scheme of things. 15 Uhlans had a pretty good system: each truck of six had a commanding officer with an Argenti (the Colonial semiautomatic rifle), a driver/medic with their pistol, a grenadier with a pair of Harpa grenades backing up his gun, and three guys with rifles. You, being the best driver, got to spend most of your time hauling a medical kit and a couple bottles of blood plasma and bandages for when people inevitably got shot.
You'd finally, finally managed to get the time to put in a dedicated radio-telephone desk into the bunker, just in time to catch a major transmission.
"This is the War Bureau, reporting from MacConmara Barrows, in The Moors," the repeater said, his young voice trying not to tremble. "We have finished removing the last known Colonial holdout position. With this, we can finally declare the Warden territories to be secure. We would like to thank 1 Infantry, 11 Infantry, 46 Sustainment, and 99 Engineering for their work in helping us eradicate the Colonial menace. At this point, all Warden territory, consisting of Basin Sionnach, Speaking Woods, Howl County, Callum's Cape, Reaching Trail, Clanshead Valley, The Moors, Callahan's Passage, and Viper's Pit is reporting in they are clear of all enemy units. We have won."
Your eyes opened wide. You'd- you'd won? Already? As the radio started crackling again, you reached over to bang on the dinner bell, getting everyone up. "Guys!" you yelled. "We won! We did it!"
"Well now, I can't just hear that and not take notice," another voice said from the radio, and just as everyone started rallying around. "I'll be sending this direct, owner's privileges. Let the kiddos get a drink first."
It was Sundowner- the man who'd trapped everyone here in the first place!
"Now, I'd like to congratulate everyone here on being able to handle this with the bare minimum of competence," he said, smug as all hell, "but the fact there's about five hundred folks sitting around here in the Waiting Room of the Dead indicates otherwise. People are ex-pen-sive, yaknow. 'Bout two hundred, two hundred fifty ain't gonna spawn no more, so that's gonna be a stain y'all can't wash out."
Wait, two hundred people had died? For real? How the fuck? We'd had total control over these hexes for weeks!
"Now that I know I've got your attention, though, I'd like to direct everyone at a bunker base to pull out your maps. You may notice that your tutorial took place in a nice, three hex by three hex area. Nice, round number for a tutorial. Now that you're not liable to trip on a bayonet and die, though, I'm opening up the full and unabridged map."
At this, you got your well-folded road map out, and started unfolding… and unfolding… and oh sweet mother of Christ.
"The new map, for those of you on the road and working like respectable folks, is a super-hex. Four hexes to a side, thirty-seven in total. This puts you at just a hair under one-quarter done. Since I'm a good boss, though, I'll credit you a little for getting done fast, and discredit you for how many warm bodies don't seem to be getting recovered anytime soon. I'm American, I don't like no senren conscripts getting thrown at a problem- so, enjoy your blizzard. Should take a few days to get to you, and remember snow keeps corpses fresh for revives. Have fun with that- I gotta go remember to take the brakes off the orcs down south. Good luck- you'll need it."
With that, the radio fell silent. Slowly, Kostechi walked up to you, gulping.
"Orr," he said, looking you carefully. "How are you feeling?"
"Not great," you answered honestly.
"Good. I need to make a run into The King. I should be back soon, take care of everyone until then. Expect a call from The Pike any minute now- we might have to help stand the line up for a bit, if they come pouring over the border."
"Hey, Kostechi?" you said, voice careful. "Come back safe, alright?"
"Alright."
He didn't come back that day, or the next either.
///
Mechanics
Game Mechanic Change: Radios
Handheld radios are now limited to single-hex operations, and do not provide empirically information on enemy positions inside observance areas unless the handheld radio is also inside territory observed by Watchtowers or Observation Bunkers- outside this area, players must hand-plot vocal descriptions of enemy positions. Voice communication is limited to 20m, past which a handheld radio is needed. Handheld radios use different frequencies to communicate to other radios, and can listen in- but not transmit- on radio frequencies that cover the entire hex. Handheld radios are range-limited to 200m on standard frequencies, with lower frequencies giving better range but worse sound quality, resulting in potential miscommunications. Radio Stations on bunker bases act as Handheld radios, unless that bunker base has an Observation Bunker, in which case it serves to direct the more powerful radios there. An Observation Bunker may serve any number of Radio stations. Cross-hex radio communication must be conducted by Observation Bunkers or Intelligence Centers. Town Halls have an indestructible telegraph line to every other Town Hall and every connected Safe House, and may also listen in and transmit on all radio communication in their hex.
Quest Mechanic: Personnel Rating
In order to model the morale and training of the average player, a color-coding system has been devised as follows, corresponding to the level of risk a given player is willing to undertake, and areas and jobs they are comfortable performing.
White: No acceptable risk. This player is comfortable inside Town Halls and Bunker Bases only. Can perform administrative tasks and light construction work in Green areas.
Green: Low acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in completely-controlled Warden hexes. Can perform basic logistics, production, scrooping, basic and advanced construction, and is willing to move into Yellow areas when en masse or under escort.
Yellow: Medium acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in partially-controlled Warden hexes. Can perform last leg logistics into combat zones, QRF, light combat duties, artillery duties, basic and advanced construction under fire, heavy weapons operation, and solo operations in Warden hexes.
Orange: High acceptable risk. This player is comfortable in frontline combat roles. Can perform direct combat, field entrenchment, scroop under fire, demolitions, siege operations, and staff Pirate Bases and other risky deployments.
Red: Accepts certainty of death. This player is comfortable in high intensity, high risk frontline combat roles. Can perform fortification reduction ("Mammon rushes"), close-quarters combat, commando actions, combat operations out of Risky Deployments, and naval invasions.
Black: Accepts certainty of death and potential permanent death. This player is comfortable on suicidal ventures. Can perform any and every combat operation, regardless of personal risk.
While players will naturally filter into positions to suit their rating, the rating of a group of troops can be improved over time by stationing them in higher-risk areas and ensuring they get vital training time.
////
VOTES
An: please vote by plan, it makes the vote counter not shit itself. Votes will be divided into three categories: Bunker, Personnel, and Upgrades. Each votive period will last one month.
BUNKER
(Choose One)
[] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to sustain larger troop numbers.
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
[] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to operate an Observation Bunker
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
[] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
-[] With medium patterns
-[] With heavy patterns
-[] With artillery firing positions
-[] With infantry fighting positions.
[] Develop a new bunker base in a better location
-[] Write in hex and town/Relic, as well as distance to front line or intended purpose.
PERSONNEL
(Choose One)
[] Go and recruit more personnel
-[] Mass recruitment: whatever you can get, get more of it! (Recruits 3d10 White personnel)
-[] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[] Picky recruitment: Get people who are at least as skilled as you are! (Recruits 1d10 Yellow personnel)
-[] Elite recruitment: Go find a group of lunatics, and shanghai them. (Recruits 1d10 Red personnel)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
(You cannot recruit units of higher rating than yourself.)
[] Commit training!
-[] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed.
-[] Rifle training: Everyone will spend time practicing the fine art of "bullet go plink"
[] Extra work shifts
-[] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[] More Mines: Get everyone to do more rounds on the component mines and oil wells. Components mean R-mats, R-mats mean flatbeds. God, you want a flatbed.
-[] More Building: Put everyone to work on getting your bunker upgrades planned. If you don't have some planned, the bunker will get what the troops think it needs.
-[] More Logistics: Put everyone to work on hauling more truckloads of stuff from point A to point B. Whoever's manning the bunker base at the border to Weathered Expanse will be very happy to get more gear for the inevitable offensive.
UPGRADES
(Choose One)
[] Go out and get yourself a lieutenant! (You may have one per twenty Regiment members, minimum one)
-[] Teach them the way of the builder, as much as you know how that works. (Adds one action to Bunker)
-[] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[] Teach them the way of the organizer, so you have more time to put out more fires (Adds one action to Upgrades)
[] Find some actual damn builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare (Unlocks Defensive Patterns)
[] Find a, uh, techmaid, and get some prototype kits by hook or by crook. (Unlocks Blakerow Prototypes or Drummond 100a Protoypes: a short-ranged semi-automatic carbine, and firepower increase for your soldiers, or a four-man offroad car with integral radio)
[] Get in touch with a regiment that's a member of the Bureau of War (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
[] Get in touch with another regiment that does something you need (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
-[] Logistics
-[] Production
-[] Frontline Combat
-[] QRF
-[] Water Logistics
-[] Techmaids
-[] Partisans
[] Find a way to get your guys some quality of life upgrades so things suck less out here.
Last edited:
Maps, Part 1
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
How on God's Green Earth did I forget maps. This quest needs so many maps. If players ever feel like making their own, I will threadmark good ones.
Note: the soft brown area south of Kirknell and Fort Viper is a lake. Sometimes, it's frozen over and you can truck over it.
More maps will be available on request. I'm posting a mix of friendly and enemy hexes right now, mostly neighboring hexes. Right now your supplies are coming in from The King, but The King is a very popular factory town since it doesn't have the shipment issues that come from Great Warden Dam or Cuttail Station, or fucking Kirknell.
Note: the soft brown area south of Kirknell and Fort Viper is a lake. Sometimes, it's frozen over and you can truck over it.
More maps will be available on request. I'm posting a mix of friendly and enemy hexes right now, mostly neighboring hexes. Right now your supplies are coming in from The King, but The King is a very popular factory town since it doesn't have the shipment issues that come from Great Warden Dam or Cuttail Station, or fucking Kirknell.
1.3, Battle for the Eastern Front
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
[X] Plan Minimize (Logi) Suffering
-[X] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to sustain larger troop numbers.
-[X] Go and recruit more personnel
--[X] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[X] Find some actual damn builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare (Unlocks Defensive Patterns)
-[X] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to sustain larger troop numbers.
-[X] Go and recruit more personnel
--[X] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[X] Find some actual damn builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare (Unlocks Defensive Patterns)
Month 2, Week 1
Staring at the bunker blueprints you'd been laying out, you looked over at Coatl, one of the oldtimers from before you'd defacto taken command of the 15 Uhlans. "You're sure this is considered best practice, right?"
"Yeah, I played enough Old Foxhole to know a thing or two," the tannish man said, scratching his cheek from under his field cover. "Three bunkers in a line, door on one end, and side trenches connecting to, but not dooring, the middles. That way, we can stick a kitchen, pantry, or bath in the back end, then a bunkhouse in the middle, and a locker by the door where it's coldest. Then we stagger them a little so anything that tries to get into one of the fakeout trenches gets shot from enfilade by the rifle garrisons."
"We don't have rifle garrisons teched yet."
"We're like three-quarters of the way there, it'll only be another week."
You were, ah, doubtful of this plan. "Just lay it out, but don't start excavating yet," you ordered, trying to compromise. "I've got a lead on a bunch of dudes who want to stop being part of the logistics union, and maybe a builder."
"Alright boss."
Nodding, you just grabbed your helmet, and went off to your truck. Giving it a light hammer-tap to make sure it was at full health- it was- you jumped in, and gave it a crank. Only thirty liters of fuel left? Damn, you'd have to fill it up soon. Taking off towards The King, you made sure to drive well south around Bramble Field until you came up to The Trongle- a three-sided intersection that connected the Bastard's Channel coast road with the Bramble Field road. As usual, a fairly steady parade of Dunnes and flatbeds trundled out of it, full to bustling as they headed towards The Pike. Heading up Bastard's Channel, it wasn't long before you got across the south bridge, and over to The King's town hall.
The King had a great town hall, if you were being honest. The 65 Signals had parked up in the north end of its school-like layout, with bedrolls and cots all piled up along the wall while a salvaged desk served as an impromptu radio station as two telegraph operators manned the phones next to the radioman. In the back, another pair of kids calmly unpacked a crate of B-sups, heating up a tin of lima beans and tomato to serve over a fresh pot of rice. Taking a cup of thick, northern coffee thinned with chicory and pine nuts, you settled down to wait.
It was approximately a half-hour later that a pair of trucks pulled up, both belonging to the Logistics Union according to the chalked-on liveries on the door. Most of the custom liveries were basic- just a fast sketch with a rattle can, or chalked-on without much thought. The 15 Uhlans was a sabre and strap design, with a proud 15 above the intersection of the two, while the Logistics Union was a large LU and chapter designator: here, the letter K with a crown over it. Cuttail, back when you'd worked with them, had been a pine bough and broken sword.
"Is Orr Melanie here?" a young man asked as he got out of the lead truck, his clean blue uniform and polished helmet striking you immediately as horribly wrong. As you raised an arm, you were struck by the lack of unit patches on his arms- or any of the greenfolk that were getting out of the trucks behind him.
"I am she, yes," you replied.
"Excewent!" the man said, with the stupidest fucking smile. "I am fwedewick the gweat and tewwibwe constwuction engineew!"
"Diu est mort, et nous etions ses fusiliers."
"Pawdon me? I couwdn't heaw."
"I said, 'welcome to the Fifteenth Hussars, Frederick.'"
At the first instance, you were going to trade this man for a crate of Blakerows. No, scratch that- Mammons. You would trade this man for a crate of Mammons. Maybe a new Dunne if he kept talking-
"I am so happy to be hewe, aftew i had to weave my wast cwan," Frederick said, continuing to murder your ears.
"Well, 15 Uhlans does need a base-builder," you said, trying and failing to not have an eyetwitch. "I'm glad to have you- but we do need to hurry. I remember there was that snowstorm thing-"
At that moment, one of the orphans in 65 Signals stood up, running towards the telegraph. As the kids scampered to start recording and recovering signals, you grimaced. That was a bad sign- and then one of them got a speaking trumpet. "All personnel! All personnel!"
Oh, this was definitely bad. "All personnel! The snowstorm is restricting hand radio range, currently estimated maximums are one hundred meters! We have lost contact with 123 Sustainment, and bunker bases around Sweetholt are reporting enemy vehicle traffic! In addition, 85 Light Horse has reported enemy contacts at the Esterwild Estuary! We are requesting assistance, and will provide transit to Fort Esterwild or Sweetholt! Trucks start rolling in twenty minutes!"
Oh. Fuck. "Fred, get in your truck, we need to get those people to our bunker base before this place gets jammed up," you hissed. "Go!"
Credit where credit was due, the fop shut up and went to his truck. The jog north, normally full of traffic, was mostly empty as you took the north bridge and put the hammer down.
You hadn't been recruiting combatants. You'd been recruiting builders and scroopers, for heaven's sakes, and there was no way you wanted them anywhere near a fight. It took a good ten minutes to get to your base, though, and you nearly rolled the truck as you ground the thing around in a hard skid turn.
"Everyone out!" you yelled, kicking the suicide door open and running into the base. "QRF call, Sweetholt needs help! Get your rifles and a sack of grenades, this is going to be messy!"
Coatl and Bathroy just looked up from their bowls of pumpkin and peanut soup (honestly one of the better B-sup meals really) and started grabbing kit. Meanwhile, you just made sure you were full up on tools- medical kit, three bottles of blood plasma, three bandages, three spare pistol clips. Wrench, hammer, and forty B-mats were in the truck, as well as a spare Loughcaster and six clips of ammo.
"Frederick, get this place dug in, and do it smart-like. We've got two thousand B-mats in the inventory, and if there's more than a hundred left by the time I get back you're fired," you said, making sure to get the trauma kit and first-aide box. Banging on the side of the bunks, you growled. "Up and at 'em boyos, it's time for a panic run!"
Bathroy just gaped at you, her jaw trying to work. "You want everyone out there?"
"Yes."
"That's nuts, we barely have enough trucks and medical-"
"Logistics Union will comp us if we get anything destroyed in the course of fighting," you lied as easily as you breathed, "and frankly speaking we'll be due a share of the loot anyway. Argentis and Bombastones, not just shitty Loughcasters and Harpas."
"Alright, alright, fine!" Bathroy griped. "We better not loose anyone, you hear?"
"Everyone's coming home this time, I promise," you said, before packing everyone into your truck. As seatbelts buckled and you resumed floring it, you frantically looked around for gas trucks. A tanker was the name of the game- and thank god, Fort Ealar had one.
"I thought we were rapid response," he said, laughing. You just flipped him the bird, and took back off. It said something as to your driving when you could get gas faster than Bathroy could haul ass to Fort Ealar. It took fifteen minutes to get to and through the Pike, and over the bridge on the Bastard's Channel- and there was a parking lot, and a guy holding a torch up and waving it energetically. Sliding open your window, you glared at him. "What?"
"Park tight in, I'm with 13 Sustainment and we have to keep bonfires lit," he explained. "If we don't, your trucks will freeze."
"Fucking hell, how are we supposed to fight in this?"
"You're not," he said, glaring into the west. "Get parked, alright?"
"I was going up to Sweetholt, though."
"Then head east, and be prepared to need to ditch the trucks," he warned. "Comms from 123 Sustainment are scratchy at best, and they're reporting enemy packet movement."
"It's better for us, we're not rated for close order battle."
"Then keep going up to the north end of Sweetholt- they're getting pressed too, and our last message from Colonel Kishi with the 11 Infantry Training Company said they were bringing up trucks for something. Or you can move up to 29 Uhlans, they're facing probing attacks and are getting beat to shit by the cold- they're the ones who learned about trucks freezing."
"Thanks for the data," you said, mind whirring. There were a lot of fires to put out, and you weren't sure which one to jump on. Everyone needed help, but you only had eight people- and you may well get trapped by this damn blizzard.
"Hey, before you go!" the dude yelled. "If you have to dismount, make sure to take some B-mats and diesel to make a fire! It'll keep your trucks and wounded from freezing! Trench lines stop the freezing timer too, and bunkers can reverse it!"
"Thanks!"
///
Game Mechanic: Blizzards
Blizzards are a multi-hex weather system that brings precipitation, cold weather, and deliberating status effects. Blizzards are heralded by an increase in wind speed and increasingly erratic wind direction changes, before blotting out the sun and lowering all ranges that the system assist will offer autocorrections with (spotting, weapons fire, map/radio interactions, etc) as well as information gathering. In addition, blizzards also offer lethal effects through the Cold mechanic.
The Cold mechanic has three primary effects: first, to cause damage on a "Cold" tracker, which must be countered by entering a warm environment (level one trenches, fires between three and five meters distance, weapon emplacements, bunker or relic base husks to stop progression; level two or three trenches, bunkers, running vehicles, within three meters of a fire, or relic bases to reverse track); second, to reduce speed offroad by a percentage tied to storm severity; and third, to freeze vehicles. To counter vehicle freezing, leave them with the engine idling, or with the vehicle parked within ten meters of a fire.
Finally, Blizzards refresh snow cover and reduce the progression of No Man's Land timers, as well as perserving dropped items or ground objects- bunker husks, corpses, fallen equipment, vehicle husks, et cettera.
Units In Operational Theatre
11 Infantry Training Base (War Bureau)
29 Uhlans
74 Infantry
123 Sustainment
13 Sustainment
Current Forces
8x Yellow players (2x squad of 1x Medic w/radio, 3x Rifleman)
2x Trucks
////
Vote
[] Support 11 Infantry by moving north and screening the approaches to keep the Relic Base from getting flanked
-[] Details on deployment? (Write-in, remember radios have less range and you have less vision)
[] Support 29 Uhlans in trying to close the line and protect 123 Sustainment
-[] Details on deployment? (Write-in, remember trucks and people can freeze up due to exposure)
[] Support 123 Sustainment in driving off the enemy push
-[] Details on deployment? (Write-in, remember that Sustainment units are very combat adverse and this is not a fortified position)
1.4, Battle for the Eastern Front Conclusion
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
[X] Plan 29th's Bunkers
-[X] Support 29 Uhlans in trying to close the line and protect 123 Sustainment
--[X] Details on deployment:
---[X] Load up the trucks and squads with BMATs and diesel cans plus extra shovels and hammers, and if space permits, some ammo and medical supply.
---[X] Once the two squads reach the 29 Uhlans, set up fires immediately to keep the trucks from freezing and start building a bunker ASAP to give the 29th Uhlans the ability to recover from the cold and bring back casualties. If there are insufficient BMATs or insufficient time for a good enough bunker then build Trenches to provide protection from the Cold. Upgrade Trenches to tier 2 if sufficient BMATs exist.
---[X] Once the Bunker (or Trenches) is built one squad will take overwatch assist the defense against Collie probing attacks while the other seeks to recover 29 Uhlan casualties or dig additional trenches as needed.
---[X] Finally, if time and materials permits set up a watchtower to give better idea of the area.
-[X] Support 29 Uhlans in trying to close the line and protect 123 Sustainment
--[X] Details on deployment:
---[X] Load up the trucks and squads with BMATs and diesel cans plus extra shovels and hammers, and if space permits, some ammo and medical supply.
---[X] Once the two squads reach the 29 Uhlans, set up fires immediately to keep the trucks from freezing and start building a bunker ASAP to give the 29th Uhlans the ability to recover from the cold and bring back casualties. If there are insufficient BMATs or insufficient time for a good enough bunker then build Trenches to provide protection from the Cold. Upgrade Trenches to tier 2 if sufficient BMATs exist.
---[X] Once the Bunker (or Trenches) is built one squad will take overwatch assist the defense against Collie probing attacks while the other seeks to recover 29 Uhlan casualties or dig additional trenches as needed.
---[X] Finally, if time and materials permits set up a watchtower to give better idea of the area.
"We're moving to the Uhlans," you said, looking over the man from 13 Sustainment.
"Hang a right here, I'll call in to the bunker base."
"Wilco."
Getting the truck moving again, you winced as the back tires skid over a snowdrift. This weather was Problematic, no two ways about it. Still, the road was mostly clear until you hit 13 Sustainment, and you had to hide a gulp.
You knew, intellectually, that the Sustainment Regiments tended to be big. They were safe postings, and more importantly, they were safe postings that tended to be comfortable. Everyone got their own truck, bunker bases tended to have minimal hot-bunking, and frequently they had builders to optimize their layouts so it was comfortable too.
Seeing what had to be a hundred people frantically wide-walking around with backpacks overflowing with B-mats, hammers swinging and trucks screaming in with more materials by the minute was still a hell of a shock though. Up on the top of the bunker core, screaming his lungs out, was the foreman, a radio in one hand and binos in the other as he directed construction. As you politely rolled up to his position, window still slid open, he glared mightily at you.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"15 Uhlans, we're moving to reinforce the 29-"
"Don't care," he said, spitting a stream of chaw juice over the parapet (since when did this game have chaw?) "Smokey! Get these idiots loaded up, two hundred B-mats a pop and a few clips!"
"Yessir!"
You stared a little. "Just like that?"
"Fucking hell kid, they're just B-mats. I go take a shit, fifty of 'em land in the john."
"Yeah, but I wasn't expecting that much."
The foreman rolled his eyes. "Every son of a bitch on my job site is either rolling the same number, burning them on getting defensive patterns up- don't think I don't see that rifle garrison where we're putting in anti-tank KittyKiller, unfuck that shit!- or running back here empty. Smokey, toss in a few extra jerry cans too, they'll need it for fires!"
"Can I pull from the tanker?"
"Yeah, sooner it's empty sooner we can get it filled again!"
You just gulped. "Think it's gonna be bad?"
"If you don't all die I'll be highly surprised, but you'll have died doing the right thing. More than I can say for the last unit to come through here- 69 Mechanized Infantry tried and if the radio intercepts from the Intel Bunker we have are right, 69 Mechanized died."
Well that was a great way to bring your morale screaming down as Smokey's team loaded your trucks up. Two full jerry cans apiece, and two stacks of B-mats went into your truck beds, plus some kind soul who tossed in a shovel. Once that was done and the loaders slapped your truck-beds, you were off like a shot.
It took about ten minutes to get out to where you should have been in range of 29 Uhlan's radios, but all you heard was silence. Night was falling, the snow was picking up, and you still didn't see them. You didn't see the Colonials either, until a spattering of rifle fire hit the front of your truck.
"Everyone out!" you roared, pistol drawn and firing as you kicked the door open. "Anyone see anything?"
"I'm in contact with the intel teams in North King- CONTACT EAST!" Bathroy shouted, and you turned. It was a traditional truck struggling in the snow off-road, and as you watched the canvass cover started moving.
"All guns, fire on that truck!" you shouted. As lead started flying, you got low, pistol forwards. It was quiet, deathly quiet except for rifles cracking, until you heard a crackle on your radio.
"This is 29 Uhlans, does anyone read me?"
"This is Orr Melanie with the 15 Uhlans, we read you," you said, before seeing a flash of green and squeezing off three bullets at it. "Where the fuck are you?"
"About a hundred and twenty meters south of 11 Infantry's positions. We're out of fuel, down to about four effectives and nine walking wounded, and we're out of medical supplies and 7.62. It's pistol and shovel hours."
"I need a grid square," you grumbled. "We're at Eight-Mike-Five."
"We're holding the line at Eight-November-Six to Eight-November-Nine."
This game used the screwiest map system. Numbers were the horizontal distance from the top of the hex, letters were distance from the right of the hex, and each number/letter square was divided into nine squares, laid out like the number pad on a keyboard.
"Roger. We'll come in from the south," you said, before falling over as a white pain came over you. Fuck! Those fuckers shot you! "Medic!"
As Bathroy ran over with her first-aid kit, you checked the wound gingerly. It hurt to poke, but other than that it was a sharp, present ache: as much pain as the VR ever let you feel. It wasn't 'bleeding' at least, even if the shock of the pain made it hard to move.
As Bathroy pulled open your uniform to start dumping a sulfa packet and a bandage on the injury, you growled. "Is that all of them?"
"Yeah," Coatl said, rifle over his shoulder.
"Good. Take a minute to scrounge for ammo; I need to get back to my truck."
Pulling into the driver's seat, you winced. The bullet hole hurt less, now, but it still made it hard to move your arm. As Coatl and the rest finished scavenging, the grumbly riflemen shot you a look as he got in the passenger seat.
"We got lucky- most of them were carrying field dressings and Bombastones," he explained. "Most of us came out about ammunition-neutral in that one."
"Good. I know where we're headed now."
Wrenching the transmission into first, you glared at the dash and the engine cover. The engine hadn't been off for more than five minutes, but it was already notably stickier to get the thing into first gear. Still, Bathroy didn't seem to have any trouble following you, though, until you had to start dropping gears and going offroad. There wasn't an ambush again, though, and you kept driving until you saw the light of a campfire near a pair of smoking, disabled Dunnes. One of the few standing soliders looked at you with a madcap grin, waving, and as you dismounted he rushed up to give you a hug.
"Thank fuck, you actually made it!" he said, grinning. "Come on, we've got twenty minutes until the next truck starts coming."
"Hello yes relief provided," you said prefunctuarly. "Coatl, get some people, start digging in. Make a bunker, we need the warmth buff. Bathroy, medical detail: I want their guns on the line. Anyone from the 29, get some ammo from our trucks or help dig in."
"Orr, problem," Coatl said, going over the back of the truck. "We only have one shovel."
"What."
"I'm not fucking suprised," Bathroy growled, setting up a blood plasma IV as she grabbed a three-quarters bled out player and started sprinkling more sulfa on his wounds. "We're Uhlans, not infantry or Dragoons."
"Fucking, fine. One man shovels, another one clonks together bunker upgrades. I want hammers swinging, damnit. Everyone else, spread the fuck out: I don't want to see multiple people go down to one frag."
"Still, thank you. Thank you so much," the former leader of the 29 Uhlans said, holding on to you desperately.
"What happened to the other commander?" you asked, glaring at him.
"He bled out."
Oh. "Well, you grabbed his dog tags, right?"
"I've got all the tags, yeah. That's why I'm in charge now."
"Then get down, and stay in the bunker," you ordered, half to get him off you and half to get him away. "I have to treat the wounded."
Kneeling down next to a young man near the fire, you winced. That was a lot of bullet holes in his tunic, and whoever had patched him up had done bandaging over the tunic, not under. You'd have to cut them off. Pulling out a service knife and getting to work, you winced- those weren't bullet wounds, those were shrapnel wounds. Still, the bleeding was mostly stopped, so you could just pile on your own sealants and re-bandage, before getting him hooked up with a blood plasma bottle.
Twenty minutes passed, and like clockwork two of the enemy trucks showed up. By this point, you had a pair of small tier two bunkers, and a pair of trench wings for the troops to man. A small watchtower was by the campfire, and most importantly to your mind was a nice, happy bunker ramp that you and Bathroy used to get the wounded inside the heated bunker.
Reviving the unlucky 29th had taken all your blood plasma, though, and between you and Bathroy there were only a handful of bandages left. It had gotten bad enough you'd taken a spare Loughcaster, your trauma kit left back in the barely-warm trucks.
"Steady," you warned. "Remember, auto-assist turns off on targets past forty meters."
"We can barely see twenty," one of the 29s said, before Coatl cuffed him on the helmet lightly.
"Steady…"
As the trucks stopped to unload, you chambered a round with that familiar pull-push to work the straight bolt, system assist putting it to your shoulder dead level. "Remember," you hissed. "Aim for the back of the trucks."
Another moment, as you checked around. Every gun was up. "Fire!"
Twenty-one guns sounded as one, bullets streaking into the darkness. "Present!" you roared, the computer whispering the infantry drill into the back of your mind like a well-meaning tutor. "Fire!"
Another volley, tighter and crisper than it had any right to be. "Fire!" One more, for effect- and then the Argentis started up. They couldn't see you either, but the sound of hot lead whipping over their heads broke the momentary cohesion of the gun line to turn into a spritz of sporadic rifle fire. As magazines went dry and people ducked under the trench bulwark, the Colonial figures started appearing for certain, guns blazing.
"Pronta granata!" a shout went from the other side, and you gulped. Colonials didn't talk. That was absurd, madness, this was a game-
"Gettate! E Carica!"
A half-dozen Bomastones started whistling through the air, your people outside in the trenches frantically scrambling to get inside, the small fortification too deeply-packed to be useful. It turned a small voley of grenades into something devastating, the cans on sticks turning into an explosive hail that scythed down men of the 15 and 29 alike. As the goblins drew closer, you started clubbing people with the butstock of your rifle. "Out! Into the trenches!" you roared, but the press was too much. Someone managed to ram your shoulder, forcing you to drop your Loughcaster, and as they ran out the trench ramp more than a few were brought down by rifle-fire. "Rot your eyes, get back here!"
As another blow sent you to the floor, you grabbed that one lonely, abandoned shovel, and dug around you combat rigging for a Bomastone of your own. It was a half-hearted fling to get it outside the door of the bunker, and it didn't even clear the trench- but it did kill four Colonials that managed to get their boots in your trenchline. As another came through the other trench, though, you were down to a pistol and the shovel- so you attacked. Gunfire and explosions echoed around you as you slammed the shovel into a helmet, the thick steel denting around the entrenching tool, but the next one coming around the door had a pistol drawn. It was nearly touching your chest when it fired, and you were filled with pain for it.
So you returned the failure, the Aalto a faster shot as you put two more into him than he into you. The third one didn't even get a chance to bring his rifle up, and your pistol kept going until it clacked out of rounds. Dropping it, you staggered back, blood pouring out of your chest in dramatic artorial heaves.
That was bad. Dropping your first aide kit, shaking hands trying to pour sulfa into the wound, before taping on a bandage. There. You shouldn't- probably- maybe- wouldn't bleed out.
Then another thrice-damned Colonial came in from around the other door, and shot you in the gut. Blacking out from pain, the last thing you remembered was your head hitting the floor.
///
When you next awoke, it was in a dusty stone base, a medic looking over you with a droll grin. "Well, congratulations."
"I feel like shit," you griped, before coughing painfully.
"Yeah, that happens when you get here on five hit points out of a hundred. Damn near drank the blood-plasma bottle dry."
"Where the fuck am I?"
The nurse- male, bearded, and still wearing his helmet- laughed. "Sweetholt Relic Base. 11 Infantry was riding in like they wanted to earn a Hussars tag, and they sent a pair of trucks to relieve 29 Uhlans- they didn't know your unit was there too."
"How many of my people made it out?" you asked, trying to think around the pain and the drugs the medic was giving you.
"Eh, two? Three? We got all their dog tags, and most of the 29 Uhlans guys. All the ones at your little screwed-up firebase, at least."
"Fuck."
The medic snorted, before giving you a pair of green pills and a tin cup of water. "Not becoming of you to swear so much, young woman. We got the rest of your regiment back home once they revived- best be sending you home too."
Getting up, you nearly fell over as a stab of pain went through your chest. Grabbing your heart, you sat back down until the nurse offered you a cane. Hauling yourself upright, you started hobbling around to the Relic Base's arms locker.
"Your kit is in your new car, sweetie."
"I don't have a car."
"You do now," a young woman said, walking in with a smile. She was gorgeous, in a sharp, kitsune-faced sort of way, with long auburn hair braided up in a glorious bun you could see below the nape of her helmet. "Lance Sergeant Asuna, 11eRC Infantry, ma'am. The officers were happy with your holdout action, so they decided to give you a gift."
"A gift," you muttered, limping outside. As Asuna handed you the keys, you walked outside to see a dun-colored Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle. It was obviously a prototype, but damn… it looked good. "Please express my thanks to the Regiment, Asuna."
"With pleasure."
Sliding yourself in, you turned it on, the little flat-four under the hood purring up to life as you carefully pulled out of the Relic, and started working your way off to the King, and then back home.
Naturally, aside from a tendency to understeer, the Drummond was wonderful. Excellent power to weight ratio, didn't mind the snow at all, and best of all? It had a radio on the dash, and speakers! Tuning into the daily news, you just kept driving on home. God, it would be good to be home.
/////
Battle for the Eastern Front: Narrow Victory
Casualties: 15 Uhlans- 4/6 dead, 2 wounded. 29 Uhlans- 18/18 dead.
Revivals: All casualties
Equipment Lost: 15 Uhlans- 2/2 Dunne trucks, all small arms. 29 Uhlans- 3/3 trucks, all small arms.
Mission Objective: Reach and Relieve the 29 Uhlans- Completed. Deny route of attack on 123 Sustainment- Completed.
/////
VOTES
(Standard plan vote now, please and thank you.)
BUNKER
(Choose One)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War) (Base is currently set to auto-expand by 1x Small Pattern/turn)
[] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to operate an Observation Bunker
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
[] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
-[] With small patterns
-[] With heavy patterns
-[] With artillery firing positions
-[] With infantry fighting positions.
[] Develop a new bunker base in a better location
-[] Write in hex and town/Relic, as well as distance to front line or intended purpose.
[] Get your builders to stop expanding the base for now.
PERSONNEL
(Choose One)
[] Go and recruit more personnel
-[] Mass recruitment: whatever you can get, get more of it! (Recruits 3d10 White personnel)
-[] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[] Picky recruitment: Get people who are at least as skilled as you are! (Recruits 1d10 Yellow personnel)
-[] Elite recruitment: Go find a group of lunatics, and shanghai them. (Recruits 1d10 Red personnel)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
(You cannot recruit units of higher rating than yourself.)
[] Commit training!
-[] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed, or your Drummond if you're feeling nice.
-[] Rifle training: Everyone will spend time practicing the fine art of "bullet go plink"
[] Extra work shifts
-[] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[] More Mines: Get everyone to do more rounds on the component mines and oil wells. Components mean R-mats, R-mats mean flatbeds. God, you want a flatbed.
-[] More Building: Put everyone to work on getting your bunker upgrades planned. If you don't have some planned, the bunker will get what the troops think it needs.
-[] More Logistics: Put everyone to work on hauling more truckloads of stuff from point A to point B. Whoever's manning the bunker base at the border to Weathered Expanse will be very happy to get more gear for the inevitable offensive.
UPGRADES
(Choose One)
[] Go out and get yourself a lieutenant! (You may have one per twenty Regiment members, minimum one)
-[] Teach them the way of the builder, as much as you know how that works. (Adds one action to Bunker)
-[] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[] Teach them the way of the organizer, so you have more time to put out more fires (Adds one action to Upgrades)
[] Find some actual damn builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare (Unlocks Defensive Patterns)
[] Find a, uh, techmaid, and get some prototype kits by hook or by crook. (Unlocks Blakerow Prototypes or Drummond 100a Protoypes: a short-ranged semi-automatic carbine and firepower increase for your soldiers, or a two offroad car with integral radio)
[] Get in touch with a regiment that's a member of the Bureau of War (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
[] Get in touch with another regiment that does something you need (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
-[] Logistics
-[] Production
-[] Frontline Combat
-[] QRF
-[] Water Logistics
-[] Techmaids
-[] Partisans
[] Find a way to get your guys some quality of life upgrades so things suck less out here.
Situation Foxtrot The Books
AN: I decided to make a google sheet to keep track of things.
Last edited:
WAR 90: Warden Victory!
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Also, mandatory
WARDENS WIN WAR 90
You may all resume the quest at your leisure.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUZNXgIXM1c
WARDENS WIN WAR 90
You may all resume the quest at your leisure.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUZNXgIXM1c
2.1
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
[X] Plan Radio Check but Talker
-[X] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to operate an Observation Bunker
-[X] Commit training!
--[X] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed, or your Drummond if you're feeling nice.
-[X] Go out and get yourself a lieutenant! (You may have one per twenty Regiment members, minimum one)
--[X] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[X] Expand your bunker base with additional infrastructure to operate an Observation Bunker
-[X] Commit training!
--[X] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed, or your Drummond if you're feeling nice.
-[X] Go out and get yourself a lieutenant! (You may have one per twenty Regiment members, minimum one)
--[X] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
You were sitting on a tire outside, enjoying a mug of tea with two splashes of vodka in it as the blizzard raged, when your week was horrifically ruined. Completely and totally shot dead in the street. It was Frederick, his helmet in his hands, and a pittable look on his face.
"Spit it out, Frederick," you said with a sigh, getting ready to put up with his bullshit once more.
"I wegwet to infowm you we've compweted the infowmation bunkew and wewated infwastwuctuwe," he said, as you mentally unfucked his lisping- and completely unnecessary- method of speech. You knew what an actual lisp sounded like, and this was a cruel mockery of it. "and now we need to get a fuel truck."
"That's not too bad-" you said, before you stopped. "-wait. A fuel truck."
"Yes."
"One of the tankers full of fuel."
"Yes."
"And how long will that last?" you asked, gulping. A full tanker was a lot of fuel- those things were legendarily hard to drain amongst the stories of the Sustainment groups you'd worked with back in the Logi Union, but you also had no idea of how thirsty engine rooms were.
"two hundwed days, give ow take."
Oh thank fuck, alright. "I'll wrassle up some backup. Can you baby it online until we get back?"
"Cewtainwy."
With that, you dumped the dregs of your tea out, tossed the tin cup in your backpack, and stormed into the base. At some point, they'd managed to upgrade most of the main bunker to Tier 2, and the rifle garrisons were finally online- as evidenced by the sound of soft shuffling coming out of their areas. Pulling off your coat, you hung it on a peg, before sidling your way out to the main radio station. As expected, Bathroy was there playing radio chess, the little board covered in artfully-carved bullet casings. Bathroy was also loosing horribly- she was down her queen, both rooks, and either four pawns and her bishops, or six pawns- you weren't quite sure.
"Hey, Bathroy," you said, jogging her elbow. "C'mon."
Holding up a finger, Bathroy grabbed the radio-telephone receiver, smiling lightly. "Sorry honey, colonel's calling. No, not for that. Really."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Well okay, maybe. She's like that- no, not that!"
I tapped an invisible watch.
"Honey, you really need to get some. It's not like we can get- oh come on you prude!"
I cleared my throat, boot clipping on the floor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll see you next time I'm in Cuttail."
As the old bakelite receiver hit the cradle, Bathroy swept the chessboard off into a sack, and grabbed her pistol off the side of the table. Holstering it, she rolled her shoulders and smiled at me. "Walk and talk while I get my coat?"
"Don't tell me you left it in your locker," you moaned, following her as she started climbing the ladder out. It might have looked like a three meter fall from the top of the back bunker piece to the trench out the back, but both of you rolled it off easily enough, heading to the three-by-one. It still had a little bit of that 'new bunker' smell, as Bathroy pulled on her coat and grabbed a helmet. Since you shared a bunk, it wasn't hard for you to go over to your locker and grab a fresh coat too. Slinging a backpack on and picking up your rifle, it was easy enough to rifle through the bunker base inventory by way of your locker to get three clips of ammunition- even if they weren't technically clips.
Several, several gun nuts- likely Americans- had pitched an absolute fit when they figured out a "clip" of standard 7.62 for the Wardens was actually an em-bloc magazine. There'd been more than a little buzz about the issue for a while, but more pressing concerns had won out in the end- like how it was exactly the wrong size to fit in a uniform pocket that wasn't the designated ammunition pouch. They worked in quite nicely at three per, and so did the pistol ammunition you habitually loaded up to the gills on.
"What are we doing, anyway?" Bathroy asked.
"We're driving up to the King to see if I can get us a fuel tanker. Maybe if we're lucky-"
"You should have told me we were going to the King!"
Oh hell. You'd activated Bathroy's girl mode. "It's still basically like Detroit on meth-"
"Yes, but there's shops! Bars! Horny sailors from the Water Logistics regiments!"
"Urg. Don't remind me."
"Oh, relax~" Bathroy said, dragging you out so quick you barely had time to grab your helmet. Walking over to the 'parking lot', it was quick work to pile into your Drummond, and start heading off. It only took Bathroy a minute to realize what she was riding in, gulping. "Uh, Orr, you know I can't drive an oil truck, right?"
"Relax, call me Melanie," you said, chuckling as you passed a flatbed with a short shipping container on the back, before swerving into a handbrake lane change to dodge an unloaded Dunne who was laying into the horn on you. "I know you can't drive an oil tanker, that's why I'm coming."
"You're trusting me with a prototype car?!"
"Well yeah, we're like the only two girls in the regiment."
"But- wait," Bathroy muttered. "The scroopers have some girls though."
"Bah, they're scroopers," you snorted, before throwing the Drummond into a drift to get in line for the parking lot at the west side of The King. Pulling in, it was easy to lock up, and start heading for the safe house that served as the headquarters for the Logistics Union.
Thirty minutes of screaming, fist-beating, and pointing your pistol at a mid-level clerk who blamed you for the loss of your truck a few months ago, and you had a fuel tanker. Issue was, it was empty- right now. Fortunately, Bathroy had done the Know Someone thing with someone in a sustainment regiment- you think it was 13 Sustainment- who had arranged to discharge you a full tanker in exchange for some unidentified favor of Bathroy's. You didn't know what it was, you just left her in your Drummond and let her handle it.
By the time you'd wallowed the tanker back home and parked it next to the engine rooms to fill them up, Bathroy had gotten home, and you were seriously considering a few things. Fact was, you needed help. Bathroy could handle herself pretty well, she had friends in other regiments… yeah. She could help out.
The next day, you cleared patrol schedules, and got everyone together in the bunker core with a smile.
"Now, I'm sure you might wonder why I've got you all gathered here today," you explained carefully. "But the regiment is expanding, and I can't do this all alone. As such, I'm formally going to be handing out a promotion."
Cue noise as everyone stood up from the camp tables and squats, clamoring for more information.
"Now I know this is unexpected, but Bathroy, please come forward."
Bathroy just looked shocked as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a pair of large, silver bars. Pinning them to Bathroy's collar felt Significant, and she just gulped as a flash of video game magic welded them in place permanently.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant Bathroy," you said, and there was much rejoicing. Nothing else really got done that day- there was too much drinking and partying, and you did dutifully register that you weren't patrolling today due to mechanical breakdowns.
///
Once the hangovers and other assorted bad decisions wore off, you decided to hold driving classes, mostly so people would stop getting your trucks shot. Right now, standard protocol was to cruise around with just enough B-mats and E-mats in the cargo bed to simulate a fully-loaded Dunne (yes, the Collies could tell the difference) before having five people with rifles jump out and counter-snipe them. However, this resulted in the trucks getting shot up quite a bit- not a fun time. So, you were working on a new plan- a running dismount that would allow you to jump from the back of the truck as it kept driving, before committing a handbrake U-turn to allow the driver to move back, shield any downed soldiers with the vehicle, and then jump out the passenger door to provide treatment.
You were rather embarrassed to say the first few times you had people try this, there were squishes. Drivers dismounting wrong and getting caught by back tires, shotgun seat dismounts suffering the same fate, people not nailing the landing out the back and falling flat, people getting run over on the 'medical retrieval' turn…
Yeah. That wasn't getting tested seriously in combat for quite a while yet. However, you did manage to borrow a flatbed to teach everyone that, which went much better- as long as you didn't ask anyone to go higher than sixth gear. See, the BMS Packmules had a Mack truck style transmission- six gears, plus a Hi-Lo switch. After going through a traditional six-speed tree, drivers had to clack a switch on the stick, push the stick back up to neutral, and then shift back to first to get it into seventh. That switch was the devil, though: most people didn't kick it over until they were already in neutral, which meant it only had one or two soft walls to trigger off of- and older or damaged trucks really needed all three possible soft walls to cross in order to reliably switch it on.
Thankfully, you got all the greenies trained up on the fuel truck without too much work, and all your yellow-rates to where they could be trusted not to accidentally murder someone with the Drummond. Currently, it was your Fast Response Car: two rifles wasn't a lot, but it's large inventory and high speed made it great for delivering more ammunition and medical supplies to troops in the field, as well as for getting a wounded and stabilized soldier to a hospital.
Breathing in deeply, you smiled. Everything was going well, and you were finally in good enough shape to consider joining the War Bureau- and then the radio desk started ringing off the hook. Picking up the phone, you heard one of 65 Signals roaring happily.
"We unlocked Tier 2 tech!"
Hell yeah. This was gonna be a good month.
/////////
NEW TECH
Blakerow 871 Carbine
Sampo Auto-Rifle
Tank Trap & Field Bridges
Wall
Gate
Garrison Supplies
Physician's Jacket
Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle
Dunne Loadlugger 3c
Current Tech Post to follow soon
//////
VOTES
BUNKER
(Choose One)
(Base is currently set to auto-expand by 1x Small Pattern/turn)
[] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
-[] With small patterns
-[] With heavy patterns
-[] With artillery firing positions
-[] With infantry fighting positions.
[] Develop a new bunker base in a better location
-[] Write in hex and town/Relic, as well as distance to front line or intended purpose.
[] Get your builders to stop expanding the base for now.
PERSONNEL
(Choose
[] Go and recruit more personnel
-[] Mass recruitment: whatever you can get, get more of it! (Recruits 3d10 White personnel)
-[] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[] Picky recruitment: Get people who are at least as skilled as you are! (Recruits 1d10 Yellow personnel)
-[] Elite recruitment: Go find a group of lunatics, and shanghai them. (Recruits 1d10 Red personnel)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
(You cannot recruit units of higher rating than yourself.)
[] Commit training!
(You have trained all current regiment members to this standard)
-[] Rifle training: Everyone will spend time practicing the fine art of "bullet go plink"
[] Extra work shifts
-[] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[] More Mines: Get everyone to do more rounds on the component mines and oil wells. Components mean R-mats, R-mats mean flatbeds. God, you want a flatbed.
-[] More Building: Put everyone to work on getting your bunker upgrades planned. If you don't have some planned, the bunker will get what the troops think it needs.
-[] More Logistics: Put everyone to work on hauling more truckloads of stuff from point A to point B. Whoever's manning the bunker base at the border to Weathered Expanse will be very happy to get more gear for the inevitable offensive.
UPGRADES
(Choose One)
-[] Teach them the way of the builder, as much as you know how that works. (Adds one action to Bunker)
-[] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[] Teach them the way of the organizer, so you have more time to put out more fires (Adds one action to Upgrades)
(You are at Officer Cap)
[] Find some actually good builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare, anymore than it already is. (Unlocks Better Defensive Patterns)
[] Find a, uh, techmaid, and get some prototype kits by hook or by crook.
-[] Angle for Cascadier 873 Kits (A standard 8mm Machine Pistol; the definition of "good enough" and handy in a storm)
-[] Angle for Cometa T2-9 Kits (A magnum revolver; allows ammunition to stack for many non-stacking uniforms)
-[] Angle for Dunne Landrunner 12c (A halftrack logistics vehicle that does exceptionally well off-road in exchange for poor speed on-road)
-[] Angle for Dunne Caravaner 2f (A personnel transport bus, seats twelve in reasonable comfort. Unarmored.)
[] Get in touch with the War Bureau to join up.
[] Get in touch with another regiment that does something you need (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
-[] Logistics
-[] Production
-[] Frontline Combat
-[] QRF
-[] Water Logistics
-[] Techmaids
-[] Partisans
[] Find a way to get your guys some quality of life upgrades so things suck less out here.
Month Two (Tier 2) tech tree
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Month Two Tech Tree
Items Unlocked to Date
-Weapons
-- No.2 Loughcaster Rifle
-- Ahti Model 2 Pistol
-- A3 Harpa Fragmentation Grenade
-- Mammon 91-b High Explosive Grenade
-- Anti-Tank Sticky Grenade
--Blakerow 871 Carbine
--Sampo Auto-Rifle
-Utility
--Bunker Supplies
--Garrison Supplies
--Shirts
--Bandages
--Blood Plasma
--Trauma Kit
--First Aide Kit
--Soldier Supplies ("Shirts")
--Shovel
--Hammer
--Wall
--Gate
-Construction Materials
--Sandbags
--Barbed Wire
-Uniforms
--Physician's Jacket
--Caovish Parka
-Utility Vehicles
--Dunne Transport
--Dunne Fuelrunner 2d
--BMS Packmule Flatbed
--BMS Universal Assembly Vehicle ("CV")
--BMS Class 2 Auto-Crane
--Dunne Loadlugger 3c
--Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle
-Combat Vehicles
--Tanks
--APCs/Halftracks
--Technicals
--Armored Cars
-Ships
--Motorboat
--BMS Ironship
--BMS Aquatipper
CURRENT REASERCH ITEMS
(get a seat on the War Bureau to get the ability to vote on this)
Weapons Tree
-Cascadier 837 (10% progress)
or
-Cometa T2-9 (7% progress)
Auto-unlocks
-12.7mm Anti Infantry Flak Gun ("EMG" or "Flakvierling")
-Gas Mask
-Concrete Mixer
-Green Ash Gas Grenade
-Outrider's Mantle
-The Osprey (AN: Tremola Grenade GPb-1 is already available)
-Buckhorn CCQ-18
Vehicle Tree
-Dunne Landrunner 12c (9% progress)
or
-Dunne Caravaner 2f (14% progress)
Auto-unlocks
-Balfour Wolfhound 40mm Field Gun
Items Unlocked to Date
-Weapons
-- No.2 Loughcaster Rifle
-- Ahti Model 2 Pistol
-- A3 Harpa Fragmentation Grenade
-- Mammon 91-b High Explosive Grenade
-- Anti-Tank Sticky Grenade
--Blakerow 871 Carbine
--Sampo Auto-Rifle
-Utility
--Bunker Supplies
--Garrison Supplies
--Shirts
--Bandages
--Blood Plasma
--Trauma Kit
--First Aide Kit
--Soldier Supplies ("Shirts")
--Shovel
--Hammer
--Wall
--Gate
-Construction Materials
--Sandbags
--Barbed Wire
-Uniforms
--Physician's Jacket
--Caovish Parka
-Utility Vehicles
--Dunne Transport
--Dunne Fuelrunner 2d
--BMS Packmule Flatbed
--BMS Universal Assembly Vehicle ("CV")
--BMS Class 2 Auto-Crane
--Dunne Loadlugger 3c
--Drummond 100a Light Utility Vehicle
-Combat Vehicles
--Tanks
--APCs/Halftracks
--Technicals
--Armored Cars
-Ships
--Motorboat
--BMS Ironship
--BMS Aquatipper
CURRENT REASERCH ITEMS
(get a seat on the War Bureau to get the ability to vote on this)
Weapons Tree
-Cascadier 837 (10% progress)
or
-Cometa T2-9 (7% progress)
Auto-unlocks
-12.7mm Anti Infantry Flak Gun ("EMG" or "Flakvierling")
-Gas Mask
-Concrete Mixer
-Green Ash Gas Grenade
-Outrider's Mantle
-The Osprey (AN: Tremola Grenade GPb-1 is already available)
-Buckhorn CCQ-18
Vehicle Tree
-Dunne Landrunner 12c (9% progress)
or
-Dunne Caravaner 2f (14% progress)
Auto-unlocks
-Balfour Wolfhound 40mm Field Gun
Last edited:
2.2
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
[X] Plan We All Scroop Together
-[X] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
--[X] With infantry fighting positions.
-[X] Go and recruit more personnel
--[X] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[X] Extra work shifts
--[X] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[X] Find some actually good builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare, anymore than it already is. (Unlocks Better Defensive Patterns)
-[X] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
--[X] With infantry fighting positions.
-[X] Go and recruit more personnel
--[X] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[X] Extra work shifts
--[X] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[X] Find some actually good builders, and get a copy of their playbook. You don't want your bunker base to turn into a nightmare, anymore than it already is. (Unlocks Better Defensive Patterns)
With the blizzard having finally ended, you found yourself at windershins. Expansion was still on your mind, but the question of how still rang out like a tolling bell. More people were obviously important, but more people didn't make a good unit. As it was, you'd yet to draw anyone willing to take real risks in: everyone you'd gotten was out of the Logistics Union as more and more teamsters realized that either they were in one of the component guilds, or they were getting screwed over.
And no- you wouldn't call those regiments, you called them guilds. They were nearly as exploitive as the Logistics Union, and practically worthless for anything other than the holy trinity of supplies: shirts, rifles, and 7.62 ammo. Now that there were three models of rifle floating around, they couldn't even be assed to do that right either.
Still, scraping ten warm bodies out of the Logistics Union wasn't hard- you literally put up a sign with your radio frequency on it, and got people to call in to join up from a scroop field the Union 'owned' and in reality underserviced miserably. They'd hired a few toughs, but few things got people to reconsider their mentality on the question when you had a team of scroopers behind you with Loughcasters and a willingness to use them.
The base, though, wasn't doing so good. Another three-by-one pattern, dedicated entirely to being a bunkhouse, was not enough beds for everyone, and the hot-bunking was intensifying something awful. Even with people pulling extra shifts at the scroop yard, you only barely got your hands on a flatbed by trading techmats to 46 Sustainment- and you got your first serious conversation with someone else who seemed reasonably professional.
It was about a half hour after you'd showed up with a gun to get the Logistics Union bully-boys to fuck off that 46 Sustainment rolled in with a pair of flatbeds and a crane. While your scrubs were scrooping, what appeared to be a leader came up to you with a smile. Tall, dark-skinned, and about the approximate size of a fridge, the man sat down next to you on the scroop pile you'd found a good tire to plonk yourself on.
"So you're the Uhlans we keep hearing about," he said, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I'm Agil, with the 46th."
"Colonel Orr Melanie, 15 Uhlans- unless you're hearing about some other unit?"
"29 Uhlans don't use a saber and strap for livery, and 163 Uhlans operate out of Moors. Might want to add a bit to it, by the way: you have earned battle honors."
"That mess in the blizzard is hardly worth battle honors," you protested. "We ran forward, half-assed digging in, and mostly got killed."
"Nah."
"Nah?"
"So, you're not War Bureau, so you don't know this yet and I didn't tell you this, but the Colonials have their own prototype weapons in the field. 11 Infantry captured a few when the training cadre broke ranks and charged. When we recovered the trucks that went after you, we found more of them."
"So they got some prototype rifles-"
"They're not rifles."
Now you were paying attention. "Well, they didn't try and smoke us."
"That's because their new weapon is a tripod-class gun. Thirty millimeter high-ex shell, and it'll crack open rifle garrisons or pillboxes without asking questions. Not so good at trench lines, but that implies you have people in the trench lines."
"Okay, so they've got a bunker-buster and we don't. Tell me something else bad so we can get it over with."
"We don't have a bunker-buster-"
"We have Mammons"
"-that isn't suicidal."
You grumbled. "Point. Night attacks?"
"Bunker searchlights exist."
"Under suppressive fire?"
"We don't have anything to provide suppressive fire. We would have smoke grenades, but the tech teams weren't set up to get rando techmats and every one of the idiots wanted Blakerows."
"Artillery-"
"-doesn't exist yet."
"Motherfucker," you muttered. "That's going to make pushing expensive."
"You're telling me. We captured about ten of the Colonial prototype Daucus guns, and the current plan is to put them under the command of a second-line regiment so we can be sure they don't get captured in case shit goes south."
"Good luck with that."
"Thanks. We'll need it- the War Bureau really needs more members."
"I didn't think it was undermanned," you said, scratching your chin. "You've got what, five regiments?"
"Eight: 1 Infantry, 11 Infantry, 163 Uhlans, 45 Infantry, 46 Sustainment, 52 Sustainment, 99 Engineering, and 32 Research."
"They seriously call the techmaids a Research unit?"
"Yeah, they get a kick out of it."
Sighing, you just sat down and looked at the scrap. "This whole, everything. It's too much for one person to comprehend."
"That is why there's a war bureau, yes."
You snorted. "Sure, when I get a builder worth a damn."
Agil smirked at you, before picking up his radio. "Where's your base?"
"Just north of the Lost Orphans intersection."
"99 Engineering has a team in the King to fix up the 11's training company base at Sweetholt. I'll put in a request to give your base a once-over."
And that was that. It took the better part of a week, but you got yourselves access to a real builder- and one who took a quick look at your base and started screaming. Apparently, whoever you had doing the base architecture had built in blind spots the size of Dunnes, and the angles of fire on the garrisons were cancerously bad. Fortunately, Frederick was out on a scroop run, so he couldn't bitch.
When you explained what you needed in broken French, though, the builder nodded. AT tech was a long way away, unfortunately, and you had no plans to concrete this base any time in the foreseeable future.
What this ended up getting you, though, was a large, proud ring of single-unit rifle and machine gun garrisons, a stern talking-to for Frederick about using the right god-damn patterns when he got back, and a massive pile of snarling trenchways that lead to octagons for you to put AT emplacements or MG nests. For now, though, the octagons were kill zones: if the enemy got in, any one of three trenches out would have clear and good shots on every angle of the figure.
While the build team was doing what build teams did, you also happened to learn something- the Logistics Union, in cooperation with a handful of independent regiments, was preparing for an offensive into the Nevish Line. You wished the poor bastards the best of luck: there was a relic base they'd have to bash their heads through either way to get to Scrying Belt, and if they wanted to invest it for a siege they'd need to push down to Blackcoat Way and set up a fortification there.
Really, the more you looked over your map of the Nevish Line, the worse the idea looked. It would be a slog in, Scrying Belt had a refinery and factories so they'd be a bitch to starve out, and there were a lot of ways for reinforcements to get back into the fight at any one of their likely points of frontage. Really, you'd rather push into Stonecradle: the terrain was equally shit, but it would be possible to seize The Dias from Callum's, and then start pushing in from The Moors. It would be a tighter, bloodier frontage- but that would be to your advantage, since it also meant bases only really needed to defend from one angle of attack. Just a creeping wall of bunker bases, all the way down to Buckler Sound where they put the boots to the small, secondary town, and then pivoted south to wipe Fading Lights and The Cord before moving on.
Then you could punch in and raid Oarbreaker, cut the logistics to Nevish, and then only worry about the refinery/factory pair in Scrying Belt as the grinding advance pushed their shit in. That, or a push into maybe Morgen's Crossing: it would be a lot easier to cut off, you could do water logistics in super-easily if someone took Quietus, and hey: just as much logistics value without nearly as much bullshit!
If you ever decided to talk to the War Bureau, they might appreciate some planning on that. Without good bunker-busters, you'd have to plan any advances carefully, making sure you had combat engineers and a constant supply of shirts and Mammons for the inevitably bloody charges and saps. Any advance now would be in mud, blood, and tears- the sort of fights that would make Passendale look simple. You'd be buying meters of ground with corpses- but this was Foxhole. You could walk it off, if you were good enough.
The question was, well, if.
///
Votes
BUNKER
(Choose One)
(Base is currently set to auto-expand by 1x Small Pattern/turn)
[] Expand your bunker base with Defensive Patterns (Requires techniques, vote to begin development)
-[] With small patterns
-[] With medium patterns
-[] With heavy patterns
-[] With artillery firing positions
-[] With infantry fighting positions.
[] Develop a new bunker base in a better location
-[] Write in hex and town/Relic, as well as distance to front line or intended purpose.
[] Get your builders to stop expanding the base for now.
PERSONNEL
(Choose
[] Go and recruit more personnel
-[] Mass recruitment: whatever you can get, get more of it! (Recruits 3d10 White personnel)
-[] Selective recruitment: Look for people who aren't clueless. The Logistics Union has a lot of folks. (Recruits 2d10 Green personnel)
-[] Picky recruitment: Get people who are at least as skilled as you are! (Recruits 1d10 Yellow personnel)
-[] Elite recruitment: Go find a group of lunatics, and shanghai them. (Recruits 1d10 Red personnel)
(This will help your goal of joining the Bureau of War)
(You cannot recruit units of higher rating than yourself.)
[] Commit training!
-[] Vehicle training: Teach everyone drive good. Car goes on right hand side of road, revolutionary concept. Might as well also learn to drive a flatbed, or your Drummond if you're feeling nice.
-[] Rifle training: Everyone will spend time practicing the fine art of "bullet go plink"
-[] Administration Training: At some point, you're going to figure out the fine art of delegation. Some point.
[] Extra work shifts
-[] More Scroop: Get everyone to do more rounds of scrooping at the scrap fields. You do your part, and more importantly, can use the B-mats to get useful stuff like more trucks or dedicated equipment.
-[] More Mines: Get everyone to do more rounds on the component mines and oil wells. Components mean R-mats, R-mats mean flatbeds. God, you want a flatbed.
-[] More Building: Put everyone to work on getting your bunker upgrades planned. If you don't have some planned, the bunker will get what the troops think it needs.
-[] More Logistics: Put everyone to work on hauling more truckloads of stuff from point A to point B. Whoever's manning the bunker base at the border to Weathered Expanse will be very happy to get more gear for the inevitable offensive.
[] Begin operational planning for Something Big
-[] Write-in Something Big. May generate Billets.
UPGRADES
(Choose One)
-[] Teach them the way of the builder, as much as you know how that works. (Adds one action to Bunker)
-[] Teach them the way of the talker, so you don't have to do that crap! (Adds one action to Personnel)
-[] Teach them the way of the organizer, so you have more time to put out more fires (Adds one action to Upgrades)
(You are at Officer Cap)
(All currently developed Bunker Patterns at this tech level unlocked)
[] Find a, uh, techmaid, and get some prototype kits by hook or by crook.
-[] Angle for Cascadier 873 Kits (A standard 8mm Machine Pistol; the definition of "good enough" and handy in a storm)
-[] Angle for Cometa T2-9 Kits (A magnum revolver; allows ammunition to stack for many non-stacking uniforms)
-[] Angle for Dunne Landrunner 12c (A halftrack logistics vehicle that does exceptionally well off-road in exchange for poor speed on-road)
-[] Angle for Dunne Caravaner 2f (A personnel transport bus, seats twelve in reasonable comfort. Unarmored.)
[] Get in touch with the War Bureau to join up.
[] Get in touch with another regiment that does something you need (Discovers and improves relations with one random regiment inside the search group)
-[] Logistics
-[] Production
-[] Frontline Combat
-[] QRF
-[] Water Logistics
-[] Techmaids
-[] Partisans
[] Find a way to get your guys some quality of life upgrades so things suck less out here.
(AN: added billets to the Big Sheet)