She balls her fists and scowls at the leviathan. After a sullen few seconds, she forces herself to smile and cheer Dicky on through her radio, "Blow it sky-high, sir!"
Knowledge (Mythos) check: * MadBot rolled a (1d4) with wild die for Razeam and got ( 2 3 ) Results: 3
|# ? Apr 18, 2017 21:54|
|# ? Jun 22, 2017 22:15|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood
"Looks like we're all there is, chaps," he says into his radio as he sees the hulking beast lunge further up the ship, cutting off any chance of more planes coming to assist.
He hears Grace shout encouragement over the radio and chuckles as he lines up for another run. "Count on it, miss!"
No word has come yet regarding the submarine, which might concern him if he didn't already have a bigger foe to worry about. The destroyers look to be doing their part though.
"Keep pouring it on! he says to his fellow pilots over the radio. "Keep it distracted and give it all you've got! Just save enough firepower to deal with the sub once we get word on it's coordinates!
Having manoeuvred around once more to get the hulking beast firmly in his sights, the pilot fires another rocket into the creature's backside once he's sure not to hit any allies on deck.
If no crew member is in danger of being hit, I'll fire another rocket!
I'm unable to do any rolls sadly, so will have to leave that to you, Gaist. Sorry!
|# ? Apr 19, 2017 14:36|
Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy Kuznetsov
"Khorosho!" Irakliy grins coldly as he takes in the damage. He raises the radio. "Fire effective! Creature is rebuilding, but if we keep--"
Which is about when his eyes lock onto a bear-sized blob of blackness, hurtling out from the shoggoth, to slam into the deck near them. A miss--and then it moves, crawling up onto one of the Stuarts.
More through luck than anything else, Irakliy lets go of the radio button before he lets out what is unmistakably a shriek. Terrible memories come screaming into his forebrain as he swings the machine gun around, letting off a burst at the creature on the tank. He brings up the radio again, as the shots scatter wide. "KILL THEM! Kill the d'yavoly before they get too close!"
10:15 Redeye_Mobile !wild d6
10:15 MadBot rolled a (1d6) with wild die for Redeye_Mobile and got ( 3 2 ) Results: 3
Shootin' didn't go so well. I'm directing the armor forces to handle the advance enemies--between Dicky and Harry's massive bomb I think we can take the turn to keep the deck clear.
|# ? Apr 25, 2017 15:29|
Victoire Doucet, W 4/4, B 2, D 1/5, S 0/1 (bazooka),
Victoire grits her teeth as the strange horrors hit the deck. They are not that far away but she figures that the real danger still comes from the massive monstrosity climbing unto the ship. Her own survival was less important than the continuation of the fight against the third Reich. She dashes towards the rockets nearby, reloads her bazooka and once more kneels down before taking aim. She closes her eyes and breathes in and out slowly to suppress the memories of Vassieux that still flood her consciousness.
Her right eye opens, the huge blob is in the sights, she pulls the trigger.
23:24:05) ***MadBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for FathisMunk and got ( 7 5 ) Results: 7
(23:24:23) FathisMunk: !sw 4d8 bazooka damage
(23:24:24) ***MadBot rolled a (4d8) for FathisMunk and got ( 2 7 7 7 ) Total: 23
I assume I have time for only one shot, else Vic will continue taking shots at the shoggoth until its dead, feel free to roll em.
|# ? Apr 25, 2017 21:34|
Bennies 3 Dementia 1
"Keep it up!" Bradley encourages. "Those things are tough, but you are tougher."
MadBot rolled a (1d4) with wild die for Docbubonic and got ( 3 1 ) Results: 3
|# ? Apr 26, 2017 01:07|
His eyes are bright as the firing report is relayed. Ronnie isn't quite sure what the Lieutenant means by 'rebuilding', but as long as as they're still hitting it hard, eventually he figures there has to be a point where the big one can't hold itself together. A point at which they had done the impossible. He likes the sound of that.
Of course, to reach that point, keeping the flanks clear is probably a good idea, and he switches targets on Irakliy's orders without complaints. "AP this time," he calls back. "Gotta be careful not to get our own guys instead!" He tries to line up with one of the launched mini-blobs, acutely aware that they were close enough to the size of a tank to be big problems. "Here we go!"
[16:25] <FractionJackson> !sw 1d8-2
[16:25] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 2 ) Total: 0
[16:25] <FractionJackson> !sw 1d8-2
[16:25] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 4 ) Total: 2
[16:25] <FractionJackson> !sw 1d8-2
[16:25] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 5 ) Total: 3
[16:25] <FractionJackson> !sw 1d6-2
[16:25] * MadBot rolled a (1d6-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 1 ) Total: -1
[16:25] <FractionJackson> well
[16:25] <FractionJackson> that's great
|# ? Apr 27, 2017 23:25|
Jeremiah - March 22nd, Antarctic Sea
Alarms continue to blare as the cannonade of deck guns, armored vehicles and man-portable explosive ordinance lend to the chaotic din suffusing the chilly surface of the Jeremiah. Overhead, Dicky leads with another diving assault against the create and mountainous monstrosity—his own loosed contribution to the burgeoning salvo of rocket fire billowing out great grotesque swaths of squamous mayhem as black ichor explodes away from that undulating horror, large hunks burning and vaporizing on the air while others rain down over the icy tarmac below. Massive tendrils sweep and slap at the skies, trying to seize and strike at the swooping aircraft as the other pilots pitch and yaw in breakneck maneuvers.
Further down the range, Victoire and several of the other sailors and soldiers take to a knee and launch bazooka ordinance at the tentacular terror; she can see the billowing carnage that distant detonation hollows against the quivering colossus—and several smaller fledglings of the monster beyond madness attempting to wriggle and writhe free from its bulk in flaming, cindering lumps. Over the radios, the crackle of frantic shouts intermingled with orders and directive fire reign; Irakliy endeavors to focus the firepower of the small tank company—a trio of thudding turret shells finding purchase as one of the horrible hellish spawns is detonated and ruptures apart.
From his own armored conveyance, however, Irakliy can feel the heavy recoil of Ronnie’s cannon fire—and as the commando seeks to avoid a collateral friendly fatality, the shells fail to find impact against the second of the terrors. Before his and Irakliy’s eyes, the great nightmare manages to encircle its tentacles in a full grip about the beleaguered tank’s turret and treats—before wrenching the top of the vehicle away with a shrieking wail as steel buckles and breaks. Crew within scramble with terror-stricken faces—glimpsed for only a moment before the thing flows down over top of them, their cries silenced and radio calls abruptly left with empty air as they vanish within the undulating mass.
Barreling down the deck of the Jeremiah, Harry’s deadly rig of heavy ordinance is set loose as the mad Maori makes his daring gambit to conquer the mountainous monstrosity. With that abyssal peak looming up before him, its shadow overtaking him entirely—Harry launches himself free to go tumbling along the slippery pykrete with a thudding impact, careening away; in an instant the big man is back on his feet and hammering boots in a desperate bid to get clear. A moment later, the backdraft of the resultant explosion is enough to throw Harry through the air against the top of what cover a brace by the forward deck structures can provide.
All eyes on deck are witness to a staggering detonation, a shrieking roar searing away mist and frost as a sizzling inferno blossoms in a nearly blinding explosion. Vast swaths of the otherworldly nightmare are swallowed up by the clinging flames as steel shrapnel goes haphazardly sailing all across the deck, dozens of tertiary impacts raining down on pykrete, deck structures and in the arctic waters beyond. Black billowing smoke unfurls in huge columns as the rippling blast resonates across the deck, the expulsion of air pressure enough to send men and women toppling from their feet, vehicles to rock, and aircraft to experience momentary turbulence above.
As the blast clears, that terrifying colossus of tendrils, teeth and wild maws is a ragged, ruinous mass—burning fiercely as grotesqueries bulge and rupture, the fulmination consuming fresh foulness as quickly as it can grow. Spanning many yards of the Jeremiah, the squamous horror has rapidly begun to fall apart, its rapid regenerative mass vastly overwhelmed by the incredible concentration of ordinance—but not without cost: the damage to the fore of the Jeremiah’s deck is clearly substantive around the base of the great nightmare, and even with the catastrophic blow the creature struggles to lash out wildly in the throes of its unmaking, seeking to visit as much devastation as it can in its final fleeting moments.
Elsewhere, new alarms begin to blare alongside klaxons and sirens—and Bradley and Grace find themselves firsthand presences to what others can only glean via radio: all the while the great and mountainous horror had leveled its assault, Jeremiah’s destroyer escort had endeavored to triangulate the location of the Nazi submarine. As the Icarus and Massey relayed their attempts to locate and destroy the submarine before it could visit another attack on the Jeremiah—the bergship’s sonar began picking up something.
Several somethings, in fact: a group of extremely large signals moving on an intercept course.
Commander Bell rounds the command deck, leaning over the communications crew as the radio operator attempts repeatedly to hail the incoming signals—but gets no response. Radio contact from the Icarus and Massey indicate similar reports as the destroyers begin to prepare for yet another threat—before a shout comes from the man at Jeremiah’s sonar, having roused himself back to his seat. “Torpedo, en route to Jeremiah from one of the new signals, sir!”
Commander Bell snatches up a radio. “All hands, brace for impact.”
Seconds pass as soldiers and crew scramble midst the bedlam—before suddenly, an enormous column of water splashes skyward some eight hundred yards from the Jeremiah’s bow, a clear signifier of an underwater impact against a submarine. Moments later, debris begins to surface—wreckage from a sizable German U-boat’s destruction.
Jeremiah’s radio operator looks up from his headset. “Sir, we’re getting a response—patching it through.” A voice comes through the speakers on the bridge then—a crackling echo heard through to the radios among the aircraft and tanks belatedly afterward: the voice speaks in English, but thickly accented. Russian.
“Allied vessel Jeremiah. This is Captain Gennady Vyatkin, of G-3. Requesting permission to join forces. My apologies for our delay.”
Commander Bell cracks a smile, wiping his forehead with the back of a hand before he takes up the radio microphone in hand. “Captain Vyatkin this is Commander Bell of the Jeremiah—welcome to the party.”
Dicky’s aerial direction and rocket fire had a substantive impact on the greater shoggoth these rounds, slowing its advance over the deck. Victoire scored a solid hit against the greater shoggoth as well—and together, the ongoing fire helped to stymie and outpace the big masses’s regenerative progress.
Irakliy’s directed assault of tank fire managed to destroy one of the two deck shoggoths, but the other evaded fire sufficiently to execute its hunt for prey, as Ronnie struck out completely with tank fire over these rounds.
Horror tests are needed for Irakliy, Ronnie, Ted and Victoire due to a deck shoggoth tank fatality relatively nearby. Bradley and Grace are prompted for a Nausea test for the same event—if only because of their removal from its more immediate clarity where they’re at.
Harry succeeded in delivering catastrophic payload from boom truck, to say the least.
Apologies for the delay!
|# ? May 4, 2017 19:42|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood
He smiles under his pilot mask in grim satisfaction as he sees his fired rocket blast chunks off the unnatural creature. A few more good hits like that and he reckons they'll down it for good.
Pulling out of his attack run, he's some distance back away from the ship just as the larger explosion bursts forth on deck, sending a shock wave high enough to make him grip the controls tighter as his plane rocks from the turbulence. "Jesus Christ!" he says. Just what the hell had caused that?!
Circling then around the chaos from above, he watches the other pilots dive in for their attacks as the beast continues to carve a swath of destruction on deck.
He hears the warning of the coming torpedo, but laments that there is little for him to do with no coordinates for the sub. Thankfully, God seems to have answered their collective prayers and he cheers with a pumping of his fist as the submarine is confirmed destroyed by the newly arrived Russian fleet. "Better late than never, Ruskies!"
The hulking monster remains as the only threat now, if still a terrifying one. "Keep pouring it on! he calls through the radio. "We're almost rid of this bastard! Give it all you've got!" Figuring there's little to do but keep up the pressure, he waits for the other pilots to clear his approach and dives in to loose a rocket once more.
Firing another rocket!
<A_Velociraptor> !wild d8
* MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for A_Velociraptor and got ( 7 3 ) Results: 7
<A_Velociraptor> !sw 3d8
* MadBot rolled a (3d8) for A_Velociraptor and got ( 4 7 5 ) Total: 16
|# ? May 5, 2017 18:40|
The savagery elicits a gasp from Grace! She boggles at it a moment before pivoting on her heel to gawk at the radio operator. After a brief titter, she punctuates the news with her own giddy broadcast: "We're saved! Keep fighting, guys!"
Nausea check: * MadBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for Razeam and got ( 9 5 ) Results: 9; Knowledge (Mythos) check: * MadBot rolled a (1d4) with wild die for Razeam and got ( 1 3 ) Results: 3
|# ? May 7, 2017 08:20|
He yelps, eyes wide as he goes airborne, then the breath is knocked out of him as he slams into the brace and tumbles over it, dropping into a fetal position and covering his ears as the shock wave washes over him. Raising his head warily to look over his handiwork, he grins savagely as he sees the flaming ruin of the behemoth. Pulling himself to his feet, he begins picking his way back across the pockmarked deck, avoiding the falling debris as best he can as he looks for his flamethrower.
The klaxons bring his weary attention to bear again, 'what now' written all over his face, then he hears the faint cheers going up after the underwater explosion, takes the win without needing the details, and resumes his hunt for his liquid flame backpack.
Gonna find my flamethrower and do some cleanup on whatever's left skittering around deck.
|# ? May 7, 2017 18:52|
Bennies 3 Dementia 1
"Oh, " he watched as the thing had its death throes. "How disgusting."
He managed to keep his resolve and not show how much the scene disgusted him. Then came the warning about the torpedoes and he manged to hang on to the control panel in front of him to keep himself from falling over.
<Doc_bubonic> !wild d8
* MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for Doc_bubonic and got ( 5 3 ) Results: 5
|# ? May 7, 2017 20:47|
Ronnie can't help but mumble a curse through gritted teeth, taking ragged, heavy breaths as he sees the tank get swallowed up. Some strange part of his mind invites the thought: so much for friendly fire. In trying to avoid cooking them, he'd let them get eaten. Not a good trade, not even a little bit. It's not as though S/Sgt. Thomas hasn't seen someone killed before - but an entire tank? Not even blown up or mobility killed, but simply swallowed up like a light lunch! It takes all he has to stay steady, to avoid throwing up his hands and declaring the day lost, if even parts of the big thing on the deck can munch metal like that.
But then, with the big boom at the end of the deck, there starts to be a little light at the end of the tunnel.
He adjusts the sighting, lining the turret up. "We gotta start moving or we're gonna get eaten," he says to really no one in particular - Ted, Irakliy, their seconadry driver, whoever's listening. "Let's see if I can't put a shell through it though-"
[17:01] <FractionJackson> !wild d8+1 horror
[17:01] * MadBot rolled a (1d8+1) with wild die for FractionJackson and got ( 4 4 ) Results: 4
[17:01] <FractionJackson> !sw d8-2 rapid fire
[17:02] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 4 ) Total: 2
[17:02] <FractionJackson> !sw d8-2 rapid fire
[17:02] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 2 ) Total: 0
[17:02] <FractionJackson> !sw d8-2 rapid fire
[17:02] * MadBot rolled a (1d8-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 6 ) Total: 4
[17:02] <FractionJackson> !sw d6-2 wild die
[17:02] * MadBot rolled a (1d6-2) for FractionJackson and got ( 2 ) Total: 0
[17:02] <FractionJackson> !sw 4d8 damage
[17:02] * MadBot rolled a (4d8) for FractionJackson and got ( 10 1 1 7 ) Total: 19
Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at May 11, 2017 around 00:05
|# ? May 11, 2017 00:03|
Victoire Doucet, W 4/4, B 2, D 1/5, S 0/1 (bazooka),
"Oh putain!" Victoire curses as the explosion from Harry's doom-truck knocks her onto the deck.
"Oh merde!" She screams as the dark ocean erupts into a white spray while she tries to stand back up.
But the sight of the monstrous mass swarming over the tank and ripping it apart leaves her speechless. For a moment it drowns out the noise and the images and the fire and she seizes on that moment to reload the bazooka with calm and steady hands, to take aim, and to send the ordnance flying towards the submerged tank.
(18:54:30) FathisMunk: !wild d8 horror
(18:54:30) ***MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for FathisMunk and got ( 3 9 ) Results: 9
(18:56:56) FathisMunk: !wild d10 shooting
(18:56:57) ***MadBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for FathisMunk and got ( 6 4 ) Results: 6 --- +2 for shoggoth size=hit'n'raise
(18:57:45) FathisMunk: !sw 4d8
(18:57:46) ***MadBot rolled a (4d8) for FathisMunk and got ( 6 1 5 4 ) Total: 16
(19:13:18) FathisMunk: !sw d6 bonus damage
(19:13:19) ***MadBot rolled a (1d6) for FathisMunk and got ( 5 ) Total: 5
Total of 21 damage
|# ? May 11, 2017 18:37|
Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy Kuznetsov
The turret pops off the Stuart, and Irakliy--up high, looking down--has an exceptional view through into the bottom of the turret basket, and the look on the face of the gunner, before the blackness sloshes past, sloshes IN, and nothing more can be seen.
sickening green beams, peeling 45 millimeters of pressed steel aside like fruit skins, and then
Cold fear ignites into something equally unhinged, and he leans in, pouring .50 caliber rounds into the top of the monstrosity, both hands fully on the machine gun. Everything else leaves his mind--command, presence, the explosions from the bow. Two burning eyes stare down the top of the Browning with the tunnel vision of a man possessed. "Umeret'! Umeret', ty, sukin syn! Ublyudok Fashistskiy monst'r! UMEREEEEEET'!"
Horror Check: [12:59] <Redeye> !wild d8
[12:59] * MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for Redeye and got ( 1 5 ) Results: 5
Shooting: [19:41] <Redeye> !wild d6 shooting
[19:41] * MadBot rolled a (1d6) with wild die for Redeye and got ( 8 4 ) Results: 8
Notice to boost Ronnie's targeting: [19:42] <Redeye> !wild d6-2 notice
[19:42] * MadBot rolled a (1d6-2) with wild die for Redeye and got ( 1 3 ) Results: 3
Scored hits with the .50 caliber turret machine gun, passed the Horror check, no luck with helping Ronnie.
Redeye Flight fucked around with this message at May 25, 2017 around 02:27
|# ? May 14, 2017 05:07|
Jeremiah - March 22nd, Antarctic Sea
It burns. Horrible otherworldly wails echo and peal, the wild death throes of that mountainous abomination sending detritus and terror sowing far and wide. Sweltering heat washes over the deck of the Jeremiah as the inferno gutters and flares, fueled by additional ordinance crackling, popping and booming resonance through the arctic air. Engines rumble and blare, heavy machine-gun fire serenading destruction wrought by rockets and the angry bloom of flamethrowers and high explosives. Shouts continue to ring, within armored shells, over radios, the cockpit canopies of aircraft and the control deck of naval craft.
Tearing free from the tube at her shoulder, Victoire’s bazooka round lands home against one of the horror’s foul spawns, blowing a shower of sizzling ichor to scatter over the tarmac. From above, Dicky leads the charge of pummeling strafing runs to hammer home that moment of weakness; Irakliy’s mounted weapon rattles off powerful rounds to pepper pockmarks against the beasts and as the whittling, winnowing horror undulates and shunts itself toward an egress, seeking the ample organic mass within the decks below—Harry interjects, flamethrower leveled to burn the remnants to so much cinder and ash.
And then, it’s over.
Errant rattles, cracks and pops of additional weapon fire are stymied and halted as cease-fire orders are called—though a few more sporadic downpours of munitions erupt when guttering remnants of the nightmares twitch or spasm. What should not be, ceases to be—that squamous heap of horror dwindling away as it burns. There are a few calls and shouts to avoid the great billowing smoke and fumes, much as such ought to be among sensible thoughts: but many of the men and women aboard the Jeremiah were not of a sensible mind in present circumstances.
One thing above all else was an absolute certainty: the presence of horrific weapons in the arsenal of the Nazi remnants was unmistakable, the imperative of the mission to Antarctica that much clearer.
Antarctic Sea - A Rendezvous of Strange Bedfellows
Together, the crisis of the U-boat—and the terrible weapon the Nazis had brought to bear—had been dealt with. Not long after the din and carnage of the great horror had been quelled, a great number of the crew members of all three Allied vessels emerged to their respective decks to bear witness to the revelation of newly arrived forces in their rendezvous. One by one, great swaths of icy arctic waters as absolutely massive submarines—each comparable to underwater aircraft carriers in sheer capacity—unlike anything anyone aboard the Jeremiah had ever seen… save for its Soviet accompaniment.
Ten in total, the vast vessels are the product of Project Goliath, based on intelligence of the German Pottwal project captured by Communist partisans in Slovenia. Codenamed Goliaf, each of the massive troop-transport submarines are expansive enough to boast the capable of carrying up to two brigades of troops—albeit in considerably cramped and uncomfortable accommodations—alongside light tanks, support aircraft and landing craft.
Commander Vyatkin emerges from one of such craft carrying a bullhorn, calling out to Commander Bell who responds in kind from the deck of the Jeremiah; not long afterward, emboldened by forces so bolstered, an infectious cheer seems to spread over broad swaths of the deck even as dozens of crew members begin to sift through the mayhem, with many injured, dead—or unhinged by the ordeal.
Over the next few hours, the newly arrived Soviet forces are welcomed and numbers tallied with those of the berg ship Jeremiah, the HMS Icarus and the USS Massey. With the fleet united, personnel and information is exchanged—among which the survivors of Saxemberg and now heroes of the assault on the Jeremiah are made privy.
Together, the Soviet submarine fleet had departed from Port Pegasus, Australia—where they had taken on additional Australian and American units; en route to the original rendezvous, the fleet had encountered German U-boat activity and were thereafter forced to travel deep underwater at great lengths in an effort to avoid detection, for fear of tipping their hand to the Nazis. Unfortunately, this also led to the apparent radio-silence as the Allied fleet were unable to signal the Soviet command during the interim.
LCpl. Harry Manahi is quickly singled out for his incredibly daring and dangerous attack on the horrible abomination—dragged into a growing celebration made substantially rowdier when it surfaces that among the additional Allied accompaniment of the Soviet submarines present was Captain “Hoop” Kaimona, head of the Māori Battalion out of New Zealand.
Harry is not alone in his recognition, however; from the daring maneuvering and leadership of Sgt. Barton-Morewood in the skies to the bravery of S/Sgt. Ronnie Thomas, Sgt. Ted Willis, Lt. Irakliy Kuznetsov and even Victoire Doucet on the deck as well. Bradley and Grace are similarly given a great deal of appreciation among the men and women of the command staff for their assistance in coordination and dismantling the great menace. For many, March 22nd, 1945 would stand forever in their minds—and for far too many, it would do so midst deep psychological scars.
There would be time to mourn the dead when all that was necessary had been done, however: what had been endured already could scarcely compare to what still awaited ahead in Antarctica. With the troops marshaled together, all potential Allied forces had been assembled and united together. That final stretch of sea voyage is begun anew, still several days away from the coast of Antarctica and the forthcoming assault on Ritscher Station.
In the distance, the first few icebergs can be spotted among the fog as a great chill descends upon the combined Allied forces, proceeding in unison into the unknown beyond.
——End Chapter Two——
It’s been a hell of a ride so far, albeit with more delays than I would have liked—things get busy, as they’re wont to do. Thank you to everyone still on board though, and everyone reading along—this concludes not only Chapter Two, but Book One: Tides of Turmoil. We’ll have a brief interlude as folks have a chance to shore themselves up: everyone has received another advance for their characters, and there’s liable to be some medals and promotions in the mix as well.
When we dive back into things, we’ll be entering Book Two: The Cold Wastes, of the three books in total for this campaign. Saxemberg and the events aboard the Jeremiah have been a warm up and primer, but the way ahead will be a difficult one and rife with grisly demise. You have a substantial force backing you now, but Antarctica will be anything but easy even despite this.
Any of you injured or traumatized can seek medical attention or counseling aboard the Jeremiah in the intervening days. In the meantime, repairs are now in progress while the fleet is underway—and Jeremiah is now almost crowded as sailors, soldiers and marines eagerly transfer from the cramped Soviet mega submarines to the bergship’s more spacious accommodations.
For edification and reference for those curious, in addition to the already introduced forces of the Allied portion of the assault and the command staff you’ve already been introduced to, you’ve now been joined by:
* Lieutenant Alexander Zhulin of the Soviet 98th Guards Airborne, a group of Soviet paratroopers whom have fought alongside the Red Devils in the past.
* Captain Piotr Ulanov, commander of the Soviet 28th Ski Brigade, bringing with him a wealth of cold-weather combat experience and veterans to the battle.
* Commander Evgeni Koroleva of the Soviet 35th Red Banner Army; in sheer numbers, his men represent the largest single formation in the entire campaign.
* Captain Stefan Antoly Rudenko, leader of the Soviet’s 101st Rifle Division, to be deployed alongside the 35th.
* Captain Pavel Yakunin, Russian naval officer in charge of U-3517, a captured and intact German Elektroboot seized by Soviet special forces.
With the Soviet forces, additional Australian forces have been brought to the table:
* Commander Reynold Owlsey of Z Special Unit out of Fort Pegasus, the South Pacific counterpart to the British SOE.
* Commander Edmund Longford of the W Unit, the “Ghostwatchers,” a group of hardened (though colorful) commandos. Bradley and the rest of you even with cursory contact will quickly recognize that these teams have been involved in Mythos-related covert actions across several theaters of war.
*Captain Gareth Logue of the 5th Independent Company, also known as “The Snow Dogs,” another group skilled in arctic combat conditions.
* Lieutenant-Commander Philip Wright of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force, 3rd Divison, bringing nearly 1,000 men from Port Pegasus.
* Captain “Hoop” Kaimona, head of the Māori Battalion out of New Zealand.
Finally, you’ve been joined by forces from the United States:
* Captain Stephen Hocking, leader of the U.S. 1st. Marine Division, “The Old Breed,” just diverted from Port Pegasus.
* Captain Tom O’Halloran, commanding officer of the Marine Raiders, veterans pulled from the 1st Marine Division and re-assembled for this assault after having been previously disbanded.
|# ? May 23, 2017 15:19|
Irakliy will be seeking assistance with removing the Terror level he took. I haven't decided on an advancement yet.
|# ? May 25, 2017 02:55|
The triumph over calamity intensifies her hospitality towards both old and new comrades aboard the Jeremiah. She maintains a bubbly temperament and freely offers psychiatric aid to those in need of it.
Advancing Spirit to d12! Put my character sheet into my first post since the recruitment thread didn't let me edit it.
|# ? May 25, 2017 03:01|
Victoire Doucet, W 4/4, B 2, D 0/5
As the battle died down, Victoire let go of the bazooka and sagged to the ground, extenuated both physically and mentally. The flashbacks disappeared alongside the danger they had all found themselves in, but they left Victoire reeling. This had never happened before, not as intensely at least. Maybe all the killing she did and saw and heard and felt had finally caught up with her. This had always been a one way trip for her, a flight forwards both from her past and from the future she could not see herself in. So far she had kept ahead of her pursuers but apparently they were catching up. Well, nothing to do but to keep running and fighting for those among them that were not yet doomed. She pushed herself of the ground and went to look for Ronny and Irakliy, hoping to share a cigarette in the company of someone else who had experienced the toll this war could take on your psyche. Both men seemed less damaged by it than her, but she always figured that the cracks had begun to show.
Victoire immediately returned to work at the infirmary after the battle, there was a lot to be done. She poured herself into her work for a few days but her mood quickly deteriorated. She was irritable and mean, she felt stuck on this ship, afraid that she was not outrunning the demons chasing her. She felt the need to take the fight to the enemy, to rush into battle and make it all worth it. She had been hesitant about going to Grace for psychological help but her sudden deteriorated mood convinced her that it was a necessity. She did her best to remain civil but talking about her past experiences did little to lighten her mood and sometimes she wondered how Grace was able to stand her meanness.
(13:33:09) FathisMunk: !wild d8 spirit
(13:33:10) ***MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for FathisMunk and got ( 6 1 ) Results: 6
Enough to lose the 1 dementia point I have
Victoire is going to attempt and get rid of her flashback insanity with Grace's help : 7 sessions of 1 hour at a rate of 2 hours/week so in 4 weeks Grace needs to make a K(psychology) roll at -4 to see if it worked. How long is the remaining trip?
Also Victoire's new Blood Lust insanity means that she becomes "dangerously mean" 7 days after the battle, until she gets a hand to hand kill.
Finally getting to take the Brave edge with my advance
Also Also, I really want to thank you for running all this Gaist !
|# ? May 26, 2017 11:40|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood
Even when the fighting's done, he continues to circle the skies above the Jeremiah for hours. The deck has to be cleared enough for them to make a decent landing and Dicky makes sure all other pilots land first before he finally sets himself back on board. Only when he's out of the fighter and leaning against it with a well deserved smoke in his mouth does he truly relax and let the exhaustion take hold of him. He had been tired enough before the spy hunt and now after fighting off a harbinger of the end of the world he's drat sure ready to collapse into bed.
But it's not over yet. There's still the debrief that follows, along with the meeting of their newly arrived allies. The horrific sight of the bodies on deck as he leaves the sight makes him sick, but he can't help but smile at the sight of all his new friends still alive and well.
There's still time to hear their accounts of the battle before bed and his eyes widen as he hears of Harry's explosive truck. "That explosion was you?! You're a bloody nutcase, Harry." he says laughing and clapping the towering Maori on the shoulder. "drat glad you're on our side." He looks to each of them in turn. "I'm drat glad you're all here."
And with that he trudges off to his quarters and promptly collapses face first onto his bed as soon as he arrives.
Over the next days, Dicky pays a visit to Grace when he has one too many nightmares involving the large, tentacled beast in which he isn't so lucky at avoiding the thing's grasp as he circles the skies above it... And thanks to her help once more, the dreams stop nearly as quickly as they came.
Aside from this, he helps clear the wreckage on deck from the fight and generally assists with the numerous repairs needed to get the Jeremiah back into a fit and fighting state.
Shedding my Dementia point, thanks to Grace.
Spending my advance to boost Piloting to a D10
<A_Velociraptor> !wild d8
* MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for A_Velociraptor and got ( 5 3 ) Results: 5
|# ? May 27, 2017 19:53|
He feels the tank shake as he fires off another barrage, just as others come to focus on the same target. A target that he should have obliterated on the first volley - that if he had, a few more soldiers and sailors might still be alive. It's no excuse that he was never a tanker; Ronald John Thomas, Staff Sergeant, was Called, and he Answered, and here he was. He gave what he had - had been giving, for quite a whole - but there were a few for which it was not enough.
Still, as the firing dies down, and he pops out of the machine, the thrill of victory sets in. He looks to the others - to Ted, and Irakily, and...the other guy whose name he never got, there in that silly M3. He points off where the Thing used to be, in all its absurd, monstrous weight now long gone from the efforts of the defenders, in all its promise of destruction, where it had been on the bow. He points. And then he laughs, hearty, and manic, the thrill of the survivor.
He laughs, as if he cannot believe it - the laughter echoes in the cold Antarctic air, off the machine of war in which they sat, off the deck and the tower and everywhere else up to the heavens that spared him.
He celebrates with his comrades, hearty claps on the back and the occasional pick-up hug. Ted, Irakily, Grace, Harry, Dicky, Victoire, Bradley - they all made it, and somewhere in the celebration he finds himself greeting each of them with a bear hug and an exclaimation of victory. He salutes the Brigadier, and Commander Bell as he finds them. There is hardly anyone who comes within sight of Ronnie that does not get an acknowledgment of victory from him.
As the Soviets arrive, he recognizes a patch on one group and hobnobs with the 98th Guards for a while - to celebrate old victories from old battles, outnumbered expressions of valor that by now seemed to belong to a different war. A few handshakes and a bit of chatter with the Americans too, perhaps a soul or two from towns near his old stomping grounds near the Appalachians, before he had run off to the Army; even if he'd been half a world away from their campaigns until now.
It's only later, after the adrenaline and the thrill has died, that Ronnie realizes the harm done. The twitchiness. The sight of that Thing, raking itself across the deck, the screams. Ronnie had seen Action long before Saxemberg Island, and knew the mental ebb and flow, the fear and the bulwarks against it that the real Soldiers learned to use. But that thing, even now, he saw behind his eyes with every blink, and at every moment he tried to rest...
Advance: shooting to d10, climbing to d6. Ronnie will try to shake the point of dementia on his own, but will also be seeking out Grace's help if that doesn't work:
[23:47] <FractionJackson> !wild d8 spirit
[23:47] * MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for FractionJackson and got ( 13 2 ) Results: 13
As usual: Ronnie is fine. Mostly.
Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at May 29, 2017 around 06:47
|# ? May 29, 2017 06:44|
And, just like that, the thing was over. In truth, Ted barely knew what he was doing- at times, he was as worried about the edge of the flight deck as he was the squamous nightmare on top of it. If he drove the tank into antarctic waters, odds were he and the crew would be just as dead as if the tank got hit by a tentacle and blown up... though maybe more pleasantly. Still, gritting his teeth, shutting out most of the battle, he makes slow patterns here and there, enough to keep most of the attention of the beast off of him even as the others open fire with all they have. The driver's small vision slit- usually a curse- here is almost a blessing, as it stops him from getting as much of an eyeful of what their enemy is doing out there as the commander was getting (and from the sounds of it, not enjoying one bit). When it's all over, though, Ted climbs out of the tank, apparently unfazed by the nightmares around him. The handshakes, the bearhugs, the congratulations- they're all taken with even more blank, emotionless acceptance than is the norm for Ted... and when he's done with his 'obligations', he just goes back to his book, finds a manual of military hardware, and reads the same page ten or twelve times without making sense of any of it.
I dunno what I want to spend my advance on yet, I just wanted to try to drag myself back into the posting habit.
<Mukaikubo> !wild d6 (spirit to shake dementia)
* MadBot rolled a (1d6) with wild die for Mukaikubo and got ( 4 4 ) Results: 4
|# ? May 29, 2017 14:06|
He keeps the fire trained on what's left of the smoking debris, making sure its burned to ash, squinting against the roar and heat of the flames, face smeared with soot. Burn it to ash, then dump it in the ocean. Only way to be sure.
Finally his self-appointed task is done, and he greets Hoop with a weary smile, teeth white in his smoke-blackened face. "Bout time you showed up, eh? Right after all the heavy liftin's done as usual." He claps the man on the shoulder, looking around the ship and noticing quite a few Aussie flags on uniforms. "Brought the whole crew, eh? Tu meke. Gonna need the help."
He does not seek out help for what he's seen, just buries it along with all the other horrors of war. A warrior doesn't go whinging about war any more than a cook complains about the dirty dishes; its part of the job. He'll deal or he'll drink it off, same as always.
He fills Hoop in on the more supernatural aspects of what's going down - his take on it, at least - and warns him to keep an eye on his spiritual well-being, dead serious. Then he's off to celebrate and hopefully not catch too much heat for melting half the boat along with the thing the Nazis shot at them.
Gonna raise my spirit; we're gonna need it, I have a feeling.
|# ? May 31, 2017 18:40|
Bennies 3 Dementia 1
After the battle, he found himself watching the scene on the deck. The cleaning up and repairing. This monster managed to do so much damage and they were lucky to beat it. He knew he needed to keep up his studies. Conventional weapons can only do so much. If this effort was going to succeed, they would have to find a supernatural edge to make the battlefield level. Somewhere in the books he had, he knew he could find the edge they needed to defeat these Nazis.
Later on, he saw that the W unit joined the expedition. He had heard of them officially and unofficially. Even though most of their exploits were supposed to be secret, word about them got out. If half the stories about them were true, then they would provide quite an advantage in the fight ahead.
For the advance, boosting Smarts by a die.
|# ? Jun 1, 2017 03:21|
And then it's over. The hideous black thing shrieks, and recoils, and then kind of deflates in on itself as its mother creature burns and dies, falling into the uncaring ocean. And all that's left is the sounds of fire, and wounded men.
The sound of one more man staggering out onto the deck and evacuating the contents of his stomach is scarcely worth any attention amidst the clamor.
Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy Kuznetsov
Silhouetted by the blazing lights of the Jeremiah, a man sat on what had once been a gun mounting, legs hanging out into the abyss, staring out at the dark waters where Icarus was picking through the remains of the U-boat. The glowing red light of a cigarette could be seen in his hand, stark against the black tableau. Victorie had been by, and left, as had Ronnie and Tim, and eventually the others.
He'd just sat with Victoire, for a while, and not much had been said. She didn't have to--he could see it in her face, her eyes. He'd felt like that before. He knew the path that kind of anger always went down. But could he really tell her it was wrong? After all he'd seen, all he'd done for this war?
He took a long drag on the cigarette. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate having them around. But some thoughts you just had to be alone to process. And so now it was just Irakliy, alone on the edge of the world, with his thoughts. The sight of that tank gunner. The look on the spy's face as he realizes what he is about to become. More faces to be added to the ranks of the ghosts marching through his mind.
The sound of boots climbing up the metal stairs didn't make him turn at all. But then, a voice rang out that he thought he'd never hear again.
"Hah! Finally, we find the man at the drat edge of the world."
"You keep trying to leave us behind, Commander!"
Irakliy froze, then turned. At the top of the stairs, both grinning like idiots, stood two men in Soviet uniforms bearing the insignia of 35th Red Banner Army. One was tall and broad, the very image of the New Soviet Man. The other was wiry, with thin wire-rimmed glasses and the decided look of a clerk to him. Irakliy dropped the cigarette. "Vissarion." He sprang to his feet, grinning. "Yefrem!"
"Ahh, you see, he--oof!" Yefrem, the shorter of the two, was abruptly cut off as Irakliy embraced him, followed in short order by Vissarion. The babble of friends reunited filled the air for a moment, the cold unable to dampen Soviet hearts.
Finally, Irakliy stood back from the group. "Well, what are you two fools doing here, and not killing fascists in Hungary?"
"We volunteered! Comrade, sir." Vissarion grinned, waving his hand broadly towards the Soviet super-subs laying off the Jeremiah. "When you were selected for whatever it was SMERSH pulled you out for, we wanted to be sure we could back you up. So we went to the commissar, and asked to be kept on as your crew."
Yefrem nodded. "The thought of letting the fascists sneak out from under us was unacceptable. Who could say no to this?"
Irakliy shook his head. "I was right, you're both drat fools." He looked up, smiling. "Never have I been happier to see fools than you two. I assume having my driver and gunner here means there is a tank for me?"
"Of course!" Yefrem pointed a hand up, towards the Jeremiah's bridge. "Commander Koroleva sent us to fetch you. We're assigned to 35th Red Banner Army, but now that we've found you we're to be detached to support whatever it is you have been doing or mean to do."
"Koroleva." Iralkiy nodded, thinking for a moment. "Has she changed at all?"
"Not one bit!" Vissarion laughed. "She remembers you, for better or worse. So does Rudenko."
"Well, if Rudenko is here as well, then I suppose I cannot continue to linger here!" Irakliy fished out a fresh cigarette, lighting it as he made his way to the stairs. "Let us go meet old friends, then. We have many fascists to kill."
"Ura!" Vissarion and Yefrem moved to follow him, and once more the gun platform was silent, and this time, empty.
Let the drat ghosts have their vigil, he thought. We will remember them. But there are still comrades left to fight for, and so long as there are, I will keep fighting.
= = =
Rolled successful Spirit to remove Dementia point.
[15:34] * MadBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for Shuteye and got ( 6 2 ) Results: 6
[15:34] <Shuteye> I on the other hand am no longer nuts
[15:34] <Shuteye> I simply remain in my usual fringe state
The two new arrivals are Vissarion Semago and Yefrem Lukoshkin, Irakliy's driver and gunner respectively from his prior command. In practice this is just to make it so I can have names and known NPC characters to refer to when I'm in a tank in the future, so that I don't have to tie down people into tank times with me.
Redeye Flight fucked around with this message at Jun 2, 2017 around 06:19
|# ? Jun 1, 2017 20:51|
Book Two: The Cold Wastes
Jeremiah - March 23rd, Antarctic Sea
It was nearly over: the journey of countless men and women across frozen seas as the Jeremiah and its accompanying fleet near the coast of Antarctica; there, the strike force’s ultimate target would be found: Ritscher Station. Soon, the strike force would arrive at their destination—and in the coming hours the fate of the entire mission to thwart the Nazi schemes would be decided on the southern edge of the world. All the preparations and planning laid force by command would come to a head by the morrow—and in that vast military action, the future of the world could well be at stake.
With the saboteur’s radio transmission made from the Jeremiah, Allied command expects that the Nazis at Ritscher Station are likely aware of their presence—and will subsequently have prepared themselves against an assault. Without the element of surprise on their side, the Allied vessels and united forces with Soviet ground troops would face a daunting challenge: to cross treacherous arctic waters in order to land on inhospitable terrain, in an attempt to seize a fortified and deeply entrenched base protected by an unknown extent.
Ritscher Station would doubtless be a battle fought with bloody cost, fiercely defended by an enemy of unknown size and quality—but who nevertheless would be well aware that the arrival of the Allied forces would leave them to do or die. Even at its face, the opposition which laid ahead was a daunting proposition—but among closed door congregation with command, the men and women of the Saxemberg team were privy to an inescapable reality: it was more than likely that the Nazis would have additional supernatural forces at their disposal, perhaps even creatures more horrific than the monster encountered at Saxemberg Island.
Despite all this, the team would need to help lead Allied forces into combat—forces comprised of many unaccustomed to such horrors—in an effort to launch a desperate attack from an experimental aircraft carrier that had not yet faced a true test of battle.
Here we are, folks—the real deal to battle tooth and claw for a foothold in Antarctica. For the battle ahead, you must decide how you wish to take part in the assault on Ritscher Station. Components of the joint assault include aerial bombardment, the dispatch of paratroopers in an effort to enter the base from above, the bulk of the forces in an over-water shore assault, as well as a clandestine landing hoping to infiltrate the base in an effort to sabotage it from within to further aid the fleet’s approach.
Due to the circumstances, command has elected to approach Ritscher Station directly, rather than hugging the coast for the approach; the size of the Jeremiah creates far too much risk of being sighted prematurely on a landward approach and command strongly suspects that the Nazis have significant artillery support at their disposal—which they would gladly level against the fleet well before it could reach the objective.
Overall, as posed by command, the ultimate objectives of the joint assault are as follows:
-Cripple Ritscher Station
-Capture and/or eliminate the German forces holding it
-Disable Ritscher station once and for all as a strategic asset.
Dicky is presumably going to serve with the aerial assault, and Irakliy accompanying the armored ground forces; it is up to the rest of you to collaborate on where you'd like to direct yourselves. Note that elements like e.g. the paratroopers or forward commando incursion can occur without player characters present; one of the perks of your combined forces is that you've got a lot of specialists backing you up as well.
Command estimates that Ritscher Station is the only substantive German foothold on the continent—and between recon and review, it is expected to be a bulwarked and fortified supply base. Command is hoping to be able to utilize a combination of aerial superiority and coastal bombardment to soften the base while ground troops close the gap and take the fight to the interior.
As has been mentioned on IRC, it’s strongly suggested that academic players bring a separate combat-friendly character to participate in the assault, for the sake of having an opportunity to play a direct hand in the events about to unfold.
Additionally, and this will be a long shot at the bottom of this post: but if anybody reading along with the game at this point is interested in joining up, please shoot me a PM on the forums or meet us on irc at irc.synirc.net in the channel #aotmom in the near future.
|# ? Jun 19, 2017 20:34|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood
Between debriefs and reporting to higher ranks up the chain of command, Dicky lends his help to clearing the wreckage of the battle and to try and get the Jeremiah back to near enough what state it was in before the deadly encounter with the German sub. The news and plans for the much larger battle to come occupy his thoughts throughout his work. He's been through hell in such a short span of time and yet it seems the worst is still to come...
At the end of a long and laborious day, he decides to track down as many of his Saxemburg cohorts as he can find. A drink, smoke and perhaps even a card game or two amongst friends seems like the best thing to do at this point between one mad event and another.
"Almost time for the big push," he says, taking a shot of gin before passing on the bottle. He also slaps down a pack of cards on the table. The unspoken offer of a poker game is there for whoever might wish to join in.
"I suppose it goes without saying, but I'll be assisting with the aerial assault." If more horrific monsters are waiting for them, then he'd much rather face it from the air with a few machine guns and bombs at his disposal.
"Have you chaps gotten your orders yet, or made up your minds?"
Thought it would be nice to discuss our various plans IC over a drink and such.
|# ? Jun 20, 2017 17:58|
He hangs out with the Maori contingent that's popped up, glad for some familiar faces amid all these Brits and Yanks and Russkies. Catching up on what's going on in the various theaters, at home, on board ship, what they've been up to. Helping with cleanup and making sure things've been purified to his satisfaction. He was no tohunga granted, but hell when it came to these things he felt a bit of an expect at this point. Fire, fire and more fire, and disposing of the ashes to the wind and the sea to disperse, seemed the most thorough way to go about it. Feels like he can't shower enough to get rid of the smudge.
Thus he agrees readily to Dicky's offer of a drink and a smoko and starts shuffling the cards by force of habit as the man asks after their various druthers. "I imagine I'll go where they send me, same as allays," he replies laconically around a smouldering butt, dealing out a five card hand to each person present. "Five card stud, aces, deuces one-eyed jacks are wild, jacks or better to open, quarter ante." He removes the ciggie long enough to take a swig and passes it on.
|# ? Jun 20, 2017 20:22|
"Deal me up, friend," chimes in Ronnie, rushing over and dropping himself into a chair. Like hell if he didn't need to unwind - it's been 24 hours of insanity followed by drudgery followed by what felt like a million different conversations catching up with this unit or that one and celebrating victory over the dark and deadly thing that tried to eat the ship.
After Harry gets his drink from Dicky, he takes one of his own, and keeps the bottle moving along to whoever's next. "Tastes like Christmas," he notes with a smile. "Never understood why it should, but there you go. Of course, killin' those bastards wherever in the operation they drop us in - that's like Christmas too, I reckon. Gotta see if I can arm up real nice before they move us out."
He examines his hand, and decides that chatter is easier than a poker face. "If I had to guess, I'd say they'll try to keep as many of us in one place as they can. That way if the Nazis spring some more bullshit from Lucifer's house, we can all respond at once and kick that back to Hell. Whether they have us drop in, or they put us on the first boats, or they bring us in with the second wave and the armor - that's the question." He smiles, almost wistful. "Man, wish we'd have had some of that armor back at Anzio. Ain't like an AT gun at all. More fun. Think I'd have more fun with an MG for this kind of work, though, wherever they put us."
|# ? Jun 20, 2017 20:56|
Bennies 3 Dementia 1
With the upcoming part of the mission looking to be focused on combat, Bradley decided to spend time poring over the occult works he had. Given time perhaps he could find information that could be used in tactical situations.
Working on a U.S. paratrooper for the upcoming combat heavy portion of the mission.
|# ? Jun 21, 2017 03:52|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood
The pilot starts lighting up his pipe as Harry shuffles the deck. He smiles at Ronnie's mention of the taste of gin. "My thoughts exactly. Always was a Christmas tradition back home to toast the day with a glass of gin. Glad to see some traditions made it across the pond." He tries not to let the thought of Christmas and home linger for long in his mind. The chances of being back to see either at this point are remarkably slim.
"And, bloody hell, when I see a Nazi kick the bucket it's as good a feeling as Christmas, my birthday and a kiss from a particularly ravishing young lady all in one! It'll almost be a shame when we wipe the buggers out for good." He grabs his dealt hand from the table and starts rearranging his cards, trying not to let on how bad a hand he's been dealt.
"I'll be more than happy to give you all an aerial tour of Jerry's winter holiday home if you'd like. We'll drop some heavy firepower on him and heat the place up in no time." He grins jovially at the image. "We'll send them bombs down the chimney, just like Santa."
He pours himself a glass of gin when the bottle comes back around. He finishes the bottle by doing so, but produces another just as quickly. Thankfully he's found out that alcohol is not too difficult to procure here if one knows where to look and who to ask...
"Even if they split us up for the battle, I've no doubt that once it's over they'll round us all back up into our little group again to explore what secrets Jerry's been hiding. Not that I have a problem with that now. I have to say, I'd feel better going through the rest of this war with you lot, given how well we've fared against these Nazi monsters so far. By all rights we shouldn't have made it off Saxemberg, but here we all are sitting around after blowing up one as big as my house back home!"
|# ? Jun 22, 2017 15:55|
Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy Kuznetsov
Irakliy, for the first time in a long time, is grinning. Whether or not it has anything to do with what he's just been dealt is unclear. "Ahhh, it will be good to get onto front line again. And without all this infantry bullshit." He looks up, staring off into the middle distance. "Ahh, this is pale imitation as we only have BT-7s, but you have never seen warfare until you have seen Tank Guards Army thundering towards horizon in formation. Rockets screaming into enemy lines, cannons roaring and rifles cracking... bezuprechnaya koordinatsiya! Deep battle is future of warfare."
He transfers his hand to one hand, to take a swig of the gin, and turns his gaze onto Ronnie. "But this... will be interesting. You have been in desantnyy... uhh, landing. My army barely even has words for such things." He shrugs. "And you have navy. So I will be learning from you, at first." The grin returns. "And then we will get onto proper ground, and you can learn from me."
|# ? Jun 22, 2017 16:41|
|# ? Jun 22, 2017 22:15|
Victoire Doucet, W 4/4, B 2, D 0/5
Victoire takes a long drag on her cigarette and chases it with some gin. It was always nice to take a break on their long journey into darkness. She picks up her hand and looks at it, an eyebrow cocked. To be honest she has no clue how to play this game but she figures she might pick up the basics by watching the others. At least she would be pretty hard to read right?
"I 'ave not quite decided, hmm let's see..." Victoire shuffles some cards around in her hand, trying to look like she knows what she's doing. "Not quite decided where I should 'elp. I mean, I guess ze serious thing to do would be to hang back a bit on ze beach and 'elp patch up ze wounded, you know."
She takes a sip of gin from the glass Dicky refilled before shrugging.
"I don't know I feel like zis entire landing thing might not be for me. I'm used to small scale fights, ambushes, sabotage. Zat's where I would be the most useful and I 'eard zere might be an opening for just zat."
Victoire is not quite decided, she'll either head onto the beach or do the sneaky stuff, depending on where the others go.
Fathis Munk fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2017 around 19:15
|# ? Jun 22, 2017 19:11|