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Nuclear Supremacy - Revised

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  • Nuclear Supremacy - Revised

    (To be continued at a later date; compiled for easier reading in the meantime.)


    Following a decade of warfare, an uneasy peace has been declared among the world's remaining powers. The War of Aggression has ended with the detonation of nuclear weapons and the total annihilation of the Russian state. The Triple Alliance, war weary with its armies spread thin across two fronts, finally succumbed to the military juggernaut of the Coalition of Nations and signed a peace treaty. So, as the world's greatest armies slowly dwindle to their pre-1954 size, the world prepares for what seems to be a necessary peace. For what nation could wage war, with the threat of a nuclear holocaust? Apparently, only one.


    Berlin, 1968

    "If the Minister of Domestic Affairs has nothing more to add, I now turn the time to the Minister of Trade & Commerce for his weekly report," Bismarck, Iron Chancellor of Germany, said.

    "Danke," the Trade Minister said. "Our Spice-Furs trade with the Babylonians continues to show profit, and with the approval of the ministry, will renew it upon its expiration. Likewise with the French Incense-Oil agreement. The English are prepared to pay fifteen gold for our excess Furs, in an act of goodwill, and I am sure the Zulu would also be receptive to a trade agreement. And the Persians have, uh, once again made a request regarding our uranium, although they have been somewhat more forceful in negotiations."

    From the look of the other men, this came as no great surprise.

    "If that is all...?" Bismarck asked, glancing questioningly at the Trade Minister. He nodded. "We will forego the rest of the reports, as I have matters of great importance to attend to."

    The other ministers, although surprised by this, dared not ask. They had seen the wrath of the Iron Chancellor, and did not want to try and brave it.

    Bismarck stood and walked to the large window behind him. He parted the heavy curtains and gazed at the city that sprawled beneath him. "Auric, if you would stay for a moment."

    The War Minister looked at the back of the chancellor's head. "As you wish."

    Bismarck gazed contemplatingly at the capital for a moment more, then turned to face his war minister. "I just received a report this morning; an aerial surveillance report."

    "I have also seen it," the Minister replied.

    "And what is your interpretation? Merely the Persian withdrawal?"

    The battle hardened soldier, never one for politics, didn't mince words. "The only thing to keep the Persian schweineshunds from attacking us has been the threat of a Russian or Zulu attack. Now that the Russians have been destroyed and the Zulu down to nearly ten cities, Xerxes has nothing to stop him from driving a dagger into our underbelly."

    "Except our nuclear deterrence," Bismarck replied.

    "Sir, with the bulk of our Panzers along the English front, the Persians could easily attack us and get as far as Munich before we were able to mount a serious defense. We must still worry about an English counterattack." The minister thought for a moment. Perhaps, if we enlisted the aid of the French..."

    "I am meeting with the French ambassador in two hours," Bismarck said. "What is your suggested course of action?"

    "I believe we must consider the Persians a threat to the Fatherland and possibly his allies. The Persians will attempt a blitzkrieg through our southern cities and try to capture our uranium deposits near Munich and Nuremburg, and commence building their nuclear arsenals immediately. Therefore, our only course of action to prevent this from happening, is to launch a series of strategic nuclear strikes against the Persian armies."

    The room grew oppressively silent. "You realize what will happen if we drop more nuclear bombs?" Bismarck asked.

    The old soldier met Bismarck's gaze. "I realize what will happen if we don't drop those bombs."


    German-Persian border - August 1968

    3rd Persian Army Corp

    Private Jones of the 2nd English Volunteer Division gave one last look at the vast expanse before him before heading back towards base. Why the Persians ordered them out on patrol duty was beyond him. What could the human eye see that the radar and satellites could not? Not even a bird could fly out there without being detected.

    He idly followed the railroad tracks back to base, occasionally glancing around him. He patted his breast pockets for a cigarette, then remembered. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and continued.

    He didn't hear it at first. As it got closer, he listened for a moment, then dismissed it. Finally, he turned around and looked up at the sky. There , he thought. The sunlight glinted off of metal. He fumbled around for his binoculars and finally found him. He pulled them out and pressed them against his eyes.

    He first thought there were two of them, but as he brought the binoculars into focus the image converged into one. A plane, although he couldn't tell much beyond that.

    He tried to steady his hands, and watched as the plane approached over head. He tilted his head farther back and nearly dropped his binoculars when the plane started firing at him. Clouds of dirt and dust rose up around him and the distinctive sound of gunfire filled his ears.

    He dropped his rifle and vaguely wished the ground hadn't been leveled. He felt a burning sensation in his right leg as he dropped to the ground in a heap. He tried to get up, but when he applied weight to his leg it sent a bone chilling pain up the entire right side of his body. He collapsed on the ground, and watched as the plane flew past him and towards the base at New Persepolis.

    He reached for his radio. "Lookout to Base, do you copy, over." He got no response. "Lookout to Base, do you read me?" He still didn't recieve anything.

    He looked at the city and soon saw why. Armor was pouring out of the city in all directions, followed by military vehicles and soldiers. Unable to do much beyond crawl, he waited for them to overcome him. He waved frantically at the tanks, fast approaching.

    It was too late; either the tank drivers didn't see him, or didn't care. He tried to move out of the way, but the tanks were moving too quickly. The tank towered over him, and the last thing he saw before the treads crushed him was a silver cylinder fly overhead. Then everything was gone. Moments after Jones died, so too did the city.

    "Yes, Chancellor. It's been done."
    Last edited by Verto; February 9, 2004, 20:49.

  • #2
    The Dust Settles

    The German nuclear strikes were successful in destroying the bulk of Persia's army. Crippling Xerxes' ability to take the German uranium deposits was not enough. Fearing another war, one in which all the Continent united against the Fatherland, Bismarck mobilized Germany.

    Bismarck was resolute in his belief that out of the radioactive ashes of New Persepolis and her sister cities, a new Alliance would rise, led by the bloodied Persia.

    Desperate in his attempts to keep Germany from fighting a war against the world, Bismarck - at the behest of his War Minister - quickly launched a blitzkrieg against Persia, hoping that a series of quick victories would convince the nations of the world to join Germany, or remain neutral.

    Bismarck's army rolled into Persia in three main spearheads, leaving burned remains behind as they drove deeper into Xerxes' empire.

    However, as the German Panzers neared the banks of the Persepolis River, Bismarck's fears came true. Knowing that a slow in the German offensive would allow Persia to regroup and the rest of the world to think, the Iron Chancellor had assembled Germany's largest army in the south.

    This great army was created at the expense of Germany's borders. First tanks, then infantry, were pulled from Germany's western cities, and later from those captured from the English. Bismarck failed to see how he had left both east and west protected by scattered troops, as all his attention focused on one thing: Persia.

    3rd Panzer Corp, Late September - 1968

    Lieutenant Groeder hurried after the Marshal, attempting to keep up with his commander's quick pace. He took the stairs leading up to HQ two at a time, his once black boots making a heavy noise against the stone. He quickly jumped ahead of the Marshall to open the door for him.

    The Marshall walked by with an almost dismissive salute as he entered what had once been the Forbidden Palace.

    "Herr Marshal, an honor," a black uniformed officer said, appearing from a side door.

    "For one of us," Marshal Eis said coldly. "I have not come from Berlin to listen to empty flatteries, General. Why have you stopped?"

    "Excuse me, sir?" General Schmidt asked surprised.

    Marshal Eis walked to a large window and pointed at a row of grey tanks. "Those Panzers - they are not moving. Those men are not marching. I want to know why."

    "Sir, the supply line cannot keep up with our advance-"

    "Then leave it behind," the Marshal replied, cutting him off. "Bismarck wants Persepolis, not a coward's excuses. Your men will move out in five hours."

    "Yes, Herr Marshal!" the General said with a quavering voice. "I-"

    He was drowned out by the piercing roar from overhead. Several of the officers ran to the windows and looked up. "Planes!" a lieutenant exclaimed.

    Marshal Eis looked out the window, then turned to Schmidt. "Where are your anti-aircraft defenses?" he yelled.

    "We-we have none!"

    Eis shoved the general towards the door. "Then get out their and shoot them down with your pistols!" The Marshal was reaching for another officer when an explosion shook the captured palace. Outside, the air was filled with the screams of wounded while their fellow soldiers took cover as plane after plane flew past.

    "Bombers coming!" a sergeant yelled as he and a few others began starting up the parked Panzers.

    Eis ran to the steps and looked out where the sergeant had pointed. He squinted his eyes against the bright glare of the sun, then turned to Lieutenant Groeder. "Have one of these men take you to a radio. Raise whoever you can and tell them of our situation. Find out if we have any fighters nearby."

    "Ja, Herr Marshal," Groeder said. He grabbed a nearby soldier and together they sprinted into the temporary HQ.

    "Lauf!" Eis yelled as the bombers began to appear overhead.


    • #3
      Berlin Weekly Post

      For two months, the world has watched, both in astonishment and fear, as Persia slowly disappeared against the mighty forces of Germany, like the sand in an hourglass. The Persian Empire, secretly attempting to build nuclear weapons in which to terrorize the world, was caught off guard and sent reeling by a preemptive strike ordered by our Chancellor. Unopposed, German Panzers struck deep into the heart of treacherous Persia, reaching the Northern Plains within weeks. Encircling the capital of that treacherous country, the unstoppable juggernaut of envied Germany slowly tightened the noose around Persepolis, and the cowards hidden inside those crumbling walls cowered, fearing the arrival of those who would finally bring them to justice for their attempted betrayal of Germany.
      Our brave men, fighting in that cess pit of traitors and cowards, are expected to return home soon, to a thankful Germany, and a world which will forever be in their debt.


      A small, wiry aide quietly opened the door and peered inside. The vaulted chamber, built nearly two hundred years ago, was filled with heated debate.

      The multi-sided table which dominated the room was caught in the middle of a battle between the various ministers, shouting back at each other.

      He ducked outside when someone turned his way, then cautiously looked back into the room and listened.

      "We have to take Persepolis!" Bismarck shouted. "I want that city!" He was waving his arms jerkily, his clothes rumpled. His hair was uncombed and he had grey stubble from not shaving.

      "You have to face facts," the War Minister replied from the opposite side of the table. "We've lost nearly a tenth of our Panzers. Those left are damaged, their crews fatigued. The city's population is being armed and trained to fight us. If the bombers had been delayed by two days, Persepolis would have been taken. However, they weren't delayed; Persepolis is still in Persian hands. Our Panzers need to fall back - no more than thirty miles, to the nearest city. That way, they will be protected by the little AA defense we have, until the factories in Munich finish the first fighters."

      Bismarck glared at the minister, his expression changing from anger to rage to insanity. "Retreat?! Three miles away from Persepolis and you want us to retreat?!"

      "Only-" the minister started to reply.

      "Never!" Bismarck shouted, slamming a fist on the table. "Germany does not retreat! We do not falter!"

      "Then Germany will lose," the Minister of War replied calmly, seemingly oblivious to Bismarck's outburst. He wore his dark uniform, which he had donned since the war started.

      "Might I suggest, if I may, that we enlist the aid of France and Babylon? We have brought Persia to her knees - let us be magnanimous, and allow our allies to help us cut up Persia into territories?" the Minister of Trade said.

      "That would take time, but it is our wisest course of action," the Foreign Minister agreed.

      "I agree, the War Minister said. "If we allow our allies take the eastern cities left, it would free up men to fight."

      "What? You want me to give Persia to those SPECTATORS? Where has the Babylonian Navy been? At anchor - certainly not helping Germany. We gave them back their island, and in return? They stand by while we fight Persia.


      "Ah, perhaps if we told them the truth, the seriousness of the situation, they would be persuaded to send reinforcements? England - possibly even Zululand - allied with Persia? A defeated Germany? They would most certainly have to help."

      "DEFEATED? Germany is not defeated until Berlin is under siege! Cowards, all of you! If we cannot control Persepolis, then no one will! If Persia will not bow to the Fatherland, then they will accept their fate! If Germany cannot have Persia, nobody will!"

      The aide, realizing what he was hearing, quickly shut the door and hurried down the hall, away from the wrath of Bismarck and the terrible words he had heard.

      October 28, 1968

      General Schmidt read the hastily decoded report quickly, and paused when he reached the end. He looked up at the dishevelled soldier standing in front of him, the one who had brought the message to him, then back down at the report.

      A stiff breeze brought a short relief from the oppressive glare of the sun and caused the paper to ripple; the printed letters glinted with sunlight, momentarily blinding Schmidt. Winter was right on schedule in Germany; here, it seemed as if summer wasn't quite ready to relinquish its grip over the land. He blinked, both against the dust the wind had brought and the salty sweat that had fallen from his brow. The words, hastily written, were still clearly readable, and the direct orders left no room for mistake, or negotiating.

      Military Directive Order 03917

      3rd Corp
      Top Secret
      Organize and commence general withdrawal of the 3rd Corp to a position five miles north of the Hannover River (Schmidt almost smiled at the arrogance of whoever had decided to rename the captured cities, mountains and rivers before the war was over) immediately and coordinate with 1st Corp to set up a defensive perimeter against possible English strike.

      All troops and equipment must in place 5 miles north of Hannover by the 3rd of November and maintain position there. No troops are to be allowed to cross the Hannover. Radio blackout in effect from Nov. 3rd to the 5th for all ; radio transmissions to resume at 1200 hours on the 5th. All troops are to be in quarters at 0100 on the 4th, and remain so until 0200.

      He didn't bother to reread the last paragraph, a 'personal message from Bismarck to all the brave Germans fighting for their homes'.

      Hannover? Schmidt folded the report and tucked it into his breast pocket. Withdraw nearly forty miles? When they were right on the outskirts of Persepolis? It didn't make sense - if Berlin would just provide air cover, send him more men and equipment, and if that idiot Kregel wasn't stuck in those was all a matter of 'ifs'.

      What was this business about radio blackouts? They want us to coordinate a defense against an English attack, and do so without radio?

      He gazed at the rolling hills to the north, dotted with short stubby trees and surmounted by a tall, lone mountain peak in the distance. Thirty miles beyond that edifice lay the murky waters of the Hannover. That was where they had to be in seven days. He intended to make it there in half that time, even with the injured and the nearly disabled Panzers. The sooner he was there, the sooner he would be able to find out what all this was about. He dismissed the lieutenant, who had been standing at attention while Schmidt had studied the message.

      Something tugged at the back of his mind, something he could almost remember. Almost.


      • #4

        "Look!" the black haired boy shouted. They're leaving! The Germans are going!"

        At first, only silence greeted his announcement, and he frowned at that. Then, slowly, his companion stood up and took the boys binoculars from him and looked out at the charred plains.

        "The-the Germans are leaving!" he cried, grabbing for his radio set. He quickly announced the news to the other men on duty, and soon the entire district was filled with cries of joy, astonishment, doubt and fear. Rumors spread as quickly as the news. An army from England was marching on Berlin; Babylon and France had come to the aid of Persia; the Germans had been fed up with Persia and were going to burn the entire country down; the generals had defected and a coup de'tat was going to overthrow Bismarck; Xerxes had capitulated to Germany. As the German army slowly disappeared, so did any semblence of order. Soldiers and civilians, both armed against the German attack that seemed imminent, broke into celebration, their posts abandoned.

        Only the boy remained, watching in silence as the German Panzers slowly disappeared along with the last rays of sunlight.


        0130 November 4, 1968

        Private Schroeder kicked a small rock down the side of the hill and looked at the twinkling river, miles away. He glanced back behind him at the muted encampment behind him, then slowly worked his way down the hill.

        The Hannover, a thin snake that cut across Germany and southern Persia to the Southern Sea, shimmered beneath a million glowing stars. Shroeder sighed, slinging his rifle across his left shoulder and walked around the remains of a tree. Upturned mounds of earth, scorched grass and charred trees dotted the land, scars left by the German invaders and the retreating Persians.

        Schroeder sat down on a half buried rock, smoothed by years of rain and winds. He put his rifle across his knees and watched the purple-black sky before him. The moon, half hidden behind an impenetrable veil of darkness, provided an almost eery light.

        The German private scratched his cheek absently, almost hypnotized by the river's glittering surface. Like a thousand diamonds the Hannover seemed, Schroeder thought.

        The peaceful silence shatted with a thunderclap explosion which lit up the sky, blinding the soldier. He fell back, rolled to his stomach and grabbed his rifle. Warily peeking over the rock, he heard the same roar again. Trying to discern from which direction it came from, Schroeder stood and made his way towards the leafless trees to his left. The same explosion came again, somewhat muted. He waited, silently counting to himself. Roughly thirty seconds later, another explosion reached his ears, significantly more quiet than the previous four.

        Rough hands grabbed him and forced him to his knees. His rifle was knocked from his hands while a hand covered his mouth seconds before a scream escaped.

        His head was craned back while the cold metal barrel of a pistol buried itself in his neck. He was thrown down to the dirt before he would make out the faces of those behind him, then kicked in the ribs.

        "What're you doing out here?" a gruff voice demanded of him in German.

        "Who-who are you," Schroeder asked, gasping for air. He raised himself to his feet, looking at the men standing in front of him.

        The shortest of the three - four, Schroeder corrected himself, seeing the one standing off to the side - grabbed the front of his uniform. "What were you doing? Taking a stroll through the meadow?"

        "Alright, that is enough," the fourth man said. He flicked on a flashlight, then waited while their eyes' adjusted to it.

        Schroeder looked from one man to the other, not sure whether they were really German or English. His training slowly came back, as well as his pride, and he straightened.

        "Ah, so you do have a spine," one of the men growled.

        The fourth man ignored that. "I am Captain Leutwyler," he said.

        In the silence that followed, Schroeder finally realized they expected him to reply. "I-I am Private Schroeder, 3rd Corp."

        The Captain walked past him, almost as if he were strolling through the avenues of Berlin, then turned. "You have disobeyed a direct order from both General Schmidt, Marshal Eis and Berlin. I have orders to shoot anyone who approaches the Hannover, from north or south, on sight. You realize this, don't you?"

        Schroeder nodded weakly, painfully aware that the captain's hand rested on his pistol. "I-I didn't mean-"

        "Did I ask for excuses?"

        Schroeder clamped his mouth shut.

        "Now, I will ask you for a reason why I shouldn't obey my orders to the letter - I wouldn't want to be accused of insubordination."

        "I won't do it again - I just needed some fresh air! I'll go back, no one has to know!"

        "Oh, but you already know...more than you should," the captain said, almost to himself. "Tell me, Private, did you hear anything tonight?"

        "Ah, well, yes-" Schroeder looked at the captain's expression, then quickly shook his head. "No," he said hurriedly. "Just a few birds."

        Captain Leutwyler looked at him with a guarded expression, then suddenly grinned. "Alright boys, let's go."

        They're cries of dismay were cut off. "This side of the river's clear, we'll go back and report in."

        As the other men walked away, grumbling, the captain approached Schroeder, and his voice became menacing.

        "If you speak a word about tonight to anyone, they won't find enough of you to fill an envelope to send home."

        Auric Treusch quietly capped his pen and set it on on the table. Enclosed in the near darkness of his office, he slowly folded the crisp paper into thirds, then rose from his chair and crossed the room to the door. He looked back at the paper lying on his desk. What have I done... he asked himself. What have I done...


        • #5
          0930 Berlin Time, November 4, 1986

          "WHAT HAS HE DONE!?" Bismarck shouted as he knocked a folder off the table, scattering paper on the marble floor. His fist closed around the piece of paper, which he dropped on the table. He glared at the two ministers before him menacingly.

          "Ah, well, as I said, we only found out this morning; we've only had a few hours to sort through it all, and we're still trying to establish contact with Marshal Eis. As we said, Minister Treusch ordered a radio blackout which will remain in effect until tomorrow," the Foreign Minister said.

          "General von Trapp is on his way here...I thought he would be the best person to take over as War Minister..."

          "Ridiculous! I've already been backstabbed; I won't set another one up to do it to me again," Bismarck declared angrily.

          The two ministers exchanged quick glances: it was going to be one of those days...

          Bismarck was pacing across the room, muttering to himself. Finally he turned around. "Get the Ministers here," he ordered. "And tell von Trapp to turn around."

          "Ah - yes, Chancellor," the Foreign Minister said. He nudged his colleague, and turned and left.

          The other Ministers took the news about Auric Treusch' suicide without saying a word, merely nodding sadly. When Bismarck announced his replacement for War Minister, they did not.

          "With all due respect, Chancellor, we need someone with military training - someone who can handle the complexity of our current situation. The logistics alone..."

          "I believe we should worry about replacing our former colleague later; right now, is not our priority in finding out what exactly is going on in Persia? We have to order 1st and 3rd Corp away from the English border, before they suspect an invasion. And where is 2nd Corp? Surely we can reach them?"

          "Yes, we can reach them," the Domestic Minister said. "But they won't respond."

          "Why not?"


          "That would be a question to ask General Gustav," Bismarck said.

          "What do you mean?"

          "Gustav is the 2nd Corp commander...and Treusch' roommate and best friend from their days at the Berlin Military Academy."

          "You-you can't possibly be suggesting that he's..."

          "What else could it be? He is receiving our messages, but won't respond. The other two Corp were ordered to pull back to Hannover, but what of Gustav? What were his orders?"

          "Well, what's he doing? Where is he?"

          Bismarck, who had been standing at the window ever since he had brought up his plans to take over as War Minister, snorted. "The idiot refuses to report his position, or what he is doing. Whatever Treusch told or did to him...we are fighting a war now with two Corp commanders we cannot reach and a third who refuses to respond, and whom we have no idea is to what he plans to do." Bismarck paused. "It is ten thirty in the morning. We have no idea when Treusch spoke to Gustav, nor where he is right now...How long would it take a column of Panzers to reach Berlin?"

          "You can't possibly be serious!" the Domestic Minister cried.

          "You think I would be otherwise? We have to prepare for any possibility until that radio blackout ends."

          "If word of this leaks to the press..."

          Bismarck waved his hand, as if to dismiss the notion. "The GNN will be the only one who could possibly give us trouble; if they do, shut it down."

          "You're talking about-"

          "I know what I'm talking about," he snapped. He realized his left cheek was twitching, and angrily turned around to look out the window at Berlin. "Get whatever fighters you can to look for 2nd Corp, and send someone to 1st Corp."

          Just as Bismarck was finishing, the door burst open and a wiry aide ran in. "Chancellor! The Zulu have taken Persepolis!"


          • #6
            The news that Persepolis had fallen quickly reached all the Continent; the news that it had fallen not to Germany, but to Zululand had caused an uproar in Berlin, panic in France, bemusement in Babylon, and the people of England to smirk.

            Zululand, declared by Berlin to be a crushed state with no military after the War of Aggression, had made no advances in Persia after taking Persepolis.

            Finally able to make radio contact, Bismarck ordered the 3rd Corp to the Zulu-Anglo border as a sign to Shaka and Elizabeth, while the 1st Corp moved south toward Persepolis.

            2nd Corp was found encamped twenty miles southeast of Persepolis, and finally replied to Berlin's constant orders to do so.

            Colonel Warner, the new Corp commander, announced that General Gustav had suffered a tragic accident sometime after ordering that the 2nd Corp remain in placeafter word was received that the Zulu were marching on Persepolis.

            Bismarck, acting as both Chancellor and Minister of War, ordered the 1st Corp to move to the Zulu-Anglo border with the promise that fifty thousand men and over a dozen Panzers were on their way, along with two squadrons of fighters.

            2nd Corp was ordered to secure the southeastern coast of Persia so that Babylonian and French troops could land, while 3rd Corp moved south to destroy any Zulu reinforcements, capture any supplies, then sweep west and help block the Zulu border.

            The French and Bablyonian ambassadors, after meeting with the German Foreign Minister, finally agreed to urge their leaders to commit more forces to the campaign, with assurances from

            Bismarck promised that they would be remembered after the war, when it came time to cut up Persia.

            On the 8th, the Babylonian Navy moved west. Battleships and destroyed blockaded the coast while the 35th Babylonian Infantry division landed with the French 12th Marine. Germany had finally regained its balance, and Persia had not been forgotten.


            • #7
              Interesting regrouping of this story.

              Are you adding more to this than was in the original?
              Gurka 17, People of the Valley
              I am of the Horde.


              • #8
                Originally posted by Paddy the Scot
                Interesting regrouping of this story.

                Are you adding more to this than was in the original?
                I haven't yet, but I will be.


                • #9
                  Good story, glad you've rewritten this. Update soon!