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OOC: This is the first in a lengthy series of short stories which I will be posting over a few weeks separately. They are based on a world war situation in a civ3 game I am in the process of playing. I hope you enjoy.
Rain pelts the windows of the buildings of the city, causing a persistent tap-tap-tapping noise to the few who listen. The occasional burst of lightning and the rumble of the accompanying thunder is all that nature is seemingly able to muster to break the monotony. Not too far away, the rattle of the 2'oclock train sounds as it passes through the darkened city. These noises add to the symphony of a storm in the city of Thebes.
As I look out of my home at this concert of the elements, I am reminded of the night that the world began its descent into insanity, costing millions their lives and my own right leg. I was 39 at the time and had just returned to the city from visiting my brother at the Iron Works in Abydos. Of course, I was unaware of the event I will proceed to tell you about, until the Party released the conversation during the war. It all started just a few blocks down from where I sit now, in Ra Towers, home location of the Memphis-Byblos Rails, Inc., the largest railroad company in the western hemisphere. Now it is also a historical landmark, after all, who can ignore the place where the lives of millions were decided?
It was raining that night too. One of the worst storms Egypt has ever had as a matter of fact. The war to end all wars began in a conference room in Ra Tower. Ra Tower this night was slightly swaying with the incoming wind brought along with the storm. Sixty-seven stories tall, Ra Tower was a miracle of engineering and had stood up through many storms and would continue to stand through this one. The conference room itself was decorated with fine art from across the world, with samples from even the Fascist nations of the East. In the center of the room was a long desk, antique, by the looks of it, late Middle Ages, probably made by Leonardo. Behind the desks were four plush, very comfortable looking chairs. In these chairs sat the four wealthiest men in the world, all looking at a fifth man standing at attention in front of them.
On the far left of the table sat the CEO of the Southwest Import-Export Corporation, Mao Zedong. He was of obvious Chinese descent, his family having emigrated from Beijing just as the Incans burned the city. It was rumored among the elite of the Egyptian society that his family was originally the royal family of China when the Chinese Empire was at its height. According to rumor, Mao's family was offered refugee by the Egyptian government and safekeeping from Incan assassins. Royalty or not, the Zedong family managed to gather wealth of some kind to establish the wealthiest trading corporation in the free world. The man himself looked like your average Chinese immigrant living in the ghettos of Pi-Ramsses or Giza. His one distinguishing feature was a scar across his face which was almost as much of a mystery as the man himself.
In the center two chairs sat the twin Djrasi brothers, co-owners and sole stockholders of Djrasi Oil, the largest fuel company in Egypt, if not the world. They inherited the company from their father, who created the business out of a lucky find in the swamps of Mendes Isle and became a billionaire overnight. Both of them looked pretty much like one another, and both were equally opulent in their dress. Both wore suits made of fine Incan silks, dyed with Carthaginian dyes fresh from the jungle. Both had the dark look on your average Egyptian and could pass for a middle-class citizen if they didn't feel as if that were below them.
In the final chair sat a fair skinned Roman from the northlands. He was not as well dressed as his compatriots and had a sullen look to him as though he resented the entire situation. This man was never caught by the Party and never successfully identified by the others caught, so we may never know who he really was, though it is believed he was an arms producer, which means he could be one of many war profiteers who popped up in trials after the war. It was agreed by the other conspirators that he was a man of great wealth though he never cared to show it.
"So do we have an arrangement, then?" asked one of the Djrasi brothers of the fifth man.
"5 billion Egyptian oracles, or no deal," he replied.
"For that sum of money, we expect you will start a real war then, we need that uranium for our businesses. Not only that, we could all stand to make a bit of money off of a fully-productive war effort and mobilization."
These men disgusted him, wanting to risk hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives for a Carthaginian city in the northern badlands just because they wanted little green rocks for who knows what purpose. Personally he doubted the Carthaginians would react much at all, and their Sumerians allies probably not at all. It still seemed like a great risk to take for a couple of rocks.
"Of course, you will have your war. I expect the money to be deposited in the Thebes bank within 24 hours, or no war."
"It is already there," said the Djrasi brother, "you may leave now, General."
Nodding curtly, the fifth man left the room and the others to their plans.
The Djrasi turned to the others and said, "To review the plot, the bribery of this general is what we need to complete the plan. After this, gentlemen, the world is our oyster."
-Carthago Novo, Carthaginian Empire-
Monsour Al-Rahji was the descendant of Egyptians kidnapped by the barbarian Sea Peoples which raided Egypt and Carthage a long time ago. Though his family had lived in Carthage for years on end, they had never forgotten where their true loyalties lay. Ever since the beginning of contact between Egypt and Carthage, the Al-Rahji family had continued to provide information of Carthage’s defense and resources to the Egyptian government and military.
Monsour was last of the Al-Rahji, and the way things seemed to be going, he probably wouldn’t last much longer. In the past two weeks, all the Egyptian agents in Carthage had been killed with the exception of him in futile missions to irrelevant locations. Now he was here in the ass of the world, the island of New Carthage, in the capital of the island, Carthago Novo.
The city was a typical colonial Carthaginian town, having only the basic infrastructure, namely far below average Egyptian standards. It consisted of a dirt main street, flanked by the town temple, granary, and courthouse. In the rare exception of the city, there was also a colonial capital located at the end of the street. Around the main road were the main shops owned by the Fascist regime of Carthage and the hotel run by Incan immigrants, the only privately owned location on New Carthage, besides public farms. Scattered around the so-called commercial district lay the hovels of the average colonial citizen, in the mud and overall squalor.
He was here on a simple fact finding mission to determine the garrison strength of this city in the middle of nowhere, and was poorly funded to do such. He even had to stow away on a transport galleon carrying fertilizer of all things! So far he had fortunately not been caught, especially with word that the safe house in Leptis Magna had been raided and the people stationed there captured. All that remained to finish his job here was to visit the governor’s house where the militia reports were located. Looking around, Monsour saw that under the porch supporting the local goods store would make for a good hide out until nightfall.
That night, Monsour came out of his hiding place and began sneaking silently through the streets where the local Nationalist Army Militia was in process of training and patrol of the curfew emplaced on all Carthaginian cities. The march of the patrol was the last thing he would ever see. Behind him a silenced revolver coughed, and he felt the bullet rip through him, sending him collapsing onto the ground. The last words he ever heard were, “That’s the last time you Egyptian sons of *****es ever spy in Carthage.”
-Fort Heron, Mendes Isle, north of Mendes City-
Marc Anthony, Roman immigrant to Egypt and the Island of Mendes, marched in formation with the rest of his patrol around the perimeter of the fort. He was your average fair-skinned Roman, his family having immigrated to Mendes during the great Northern Migration of the 4th century AD. He was muscle-bound as most soldiers are from the consistent training and drills the rigorous regime that was emplaced on most Egyptian soldiers by their drill sergeants at Anubis Air Base in the northern mountains of the mainland.
Around him marched men from all walks of life from all over Egypt. Men from the Kahun province, with lighter skin then other Egyptians because of its northern location. Rugged looking me from the province of Abydos, hardened by mountain life. Then your stereotypical Egyptians from the southern provinces along the coast and in Thebes. Some wore glasses, others had obscene tattoos located on their bare arms or necks, and others were straitlaced military men with no objects of personality whatsoever.
The fort itself was your typical Egyptian fortress and outpost. It was stationed in the shadow of the volcanic Mendes Mountain and was built as a guard and early warning station against Carthaginian invasion. It had never seen much use, so most of the troops had not long ago abandoned it to be restationed on the mainland. Only a few local conscripts and trainees were left to garrison the outpost. It was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and was dug into the ground. Most of the fort was concrete reinforced and could withstand even the heaviest artillery shells, with exceptions of some direct hits. This citadel of Egypt was about to be put to the test.
Marc’s patrol was interrupted from its daily constitutional by a cloud of dust coming over the hills in Carthaginian territory. At first it wasn’t noticeable by the soldiers, but once they started to drop from rifle fire, they caught on pretty quick. They managed to turn and dive and lay down a steady stream of fire against the charging Carthaginian cavalry. However, it wasn’t enough against the endless storm of men and horse using new breech-loadings rifles just recently issued to the cavalry. Even the patrol’s machine gun was overrun by the enemy forces. Not a single man of the patrol survived the relentless onslaught.
The Egyptians were on full alert now; machine guns began sending pikes of flame to dismount the enemy riders. As the cavalry advanced ever further, leaping over the barbed barrier and riding in formation to the bunker, ever more Carthaginians continued to fall and die from the never-ending chatter of the machine guns in their pillboxes. It seemed the outpost would soon be overrun none the less. As the cavalry gathered for their final charge on the beleaguered garrison, the quickly and efficiently approached the bunker’s entrance. To their great surprise and misfortune, the explosives placed as a last resort detonated just as they approached. Man and horse flew everywhere from the awesome blast. The remaining Carthaginians attempted to retreat, only to be mowed down by continuous Egyptian gunfire. The defenders allowed a weary cheer to escape from their battered bodies, the fort had held.
-Mendes City, Egypt-
Marc, wounded from the battle at Fort Heron, lay on the hospital bed, with his window view of the airport. Plane after plane had been landing, marked with the star of the Egyptian army and the corporate symbol of Southwest Import-Export. Tank after tank continued to roll out of the plane’s belly. Boxes upon boxes had been loaded into the airport. Something was beginning, and Marc had a feeling that the Carthaginians would be feeling the bite of the Egyptian crocodile very soon.
-Thebes, Egypt-
Mao had just returned from the cinema after seeing the newsreel of the Carthaginian attack on Fort Heron. President Cleopatra denounced this attack and decried it as a day of infamy when aggressive Carthage attacked peace-loving Egypt without provocation. Rome and the Republic of the Mongols had just declared war on the Carthaginians, and in response the Sumerians had come to their ally’s aid, declaring war on Egypt and its allies for their aggressive oppression of peaceful Carthage.
The telephone was on its second ring before Mao managed to pick it up. On the line was the person who made the war possible.
“The Sumerians declared war,” the person said.
“Indeed,” replied Mao.
“You’ve gone in over your head chairman.”
“Perhaps, but this is Egypt’s moment, this is our time for us to achieve our manifest destiny of conquest of the world.”
“Chairman, what you and your friends have begun will not be easily stopped. Do you think the Fascist Inca will allow us to fight their ideological Carthaginian and Sumerian brethren unhindered? No this will be the war to determine whether peace and democracy prevail or if we will live under Fascist oppression. What you began forced this conflict, and when it ends, the world will remain forever changed. May the gods have mercy on you and your corporate friends’ souls.” With this, he hung up.
Mao shrugged and proceeded to complete his preparations for a good night’s sleep.
The war had indeed begun.
Coming soon to a forum near you:
World War: The Blitz
Rain pelts the windows of the buildings of the city, causing a persistent tap-tap-tapping noise to the few who listen. The occasional burst of lightning and the rumble of the accompanying thunder is all that nature is seemingly able to muster to break the monotony. Not too far away, the rattle of the 2'oclock train sounds as it passes through the darkened city. These noises add to the symphony of a storm in the city of Thebes.
As I look out of my home at this concert of the elements, I am reminded of the night that the world began its descent into insanity, costing millions their lives and my own right leg. I was 39 at the time and had just returned to the city from visiting my brother at the Iron Works in Abydos. Of course, I was unaware of the event I will proceed to tell you about, until the Party released the conversation during the war. It all started just a few blocks down from where I sit now, in Ra Towers, home location of the Memphis-Byblos Rails, Inc., the largest railroad company in the western hemisphere. Now it is also a historical landmark, after all, who can ignore the place where the lives of millions were decided?
It was raining that night too. One of the worst storms Egypt has ever had as a matter of fact. The war to end all wars began in a conference room in Ra Tower. Ra Tower this night was slightly swaying with the incoming wind brought along with the storm. Sixty-seven stories tall, Ra Tower was a miracle of engineering and had stood up through many storms and would continue to stand through this one. The conference room itself was decorated with fine art from across the world, with samples from even the Fascist nations of the East. In the center of the room was a long desk, antique, by the looks of it, late Middle Ages, probably made by Leonardo. Behind the desks were four plush, very comfortable looking chairs. In these chairs sat the four wealthiest men in the world, all looking at a fifth man standing at attention in front of them.
On the far left of the table sat the CEO of the Southwest Import-Export Corporation, Mao Zedong. He was of obvious Chinese descent, his family having emigrated from Beijing just as the Incans burned the city. It was rumored among the elite of the Egyptian society that his family was originally the royal family of China when the Chinese Empire was at its height. According to rumor, Mao's family was offered refugee by the Egyptian government and safekeeping from Incan assassins. Royalty or not, the Zedong family managed to gather wealth of some kind to establish the wealthiest trading corporation in the free world. The man himself looked like your average Chinese immigrant living in the ghettos of Pi-Ramsses or Giza. His one distinguishing feature was a scar across his face which was almost as much of a mystery as the man himself.
In the center two chairs sat the twin Djrasi brothers, co-owners and sole stockholders of Djrasi Oil, the largest fuel company in Egypt, if not the world. They inherited the company from their father, who created the business out of a lucky find in the swamps of Mendes Isle and became a billionaire overnight. Both of them looked pretty much like one another, and both were equally opulent in their dress. Both wore suits made of fine Incan silks, dyed with Carthaginian dyes fresh from the jungle. Both had the dark look on your average Egyptian and could pass for a middle-class citizen if they didn't feel as if that were below them.
In the final chair sat a fair skinned Roman from the northlands. He was not as well dressed as his compatriots and had a sullen look to him as though he resented the entire situation. This man was never caught by the Party and never successfully identified by the others caught, so we may never know who he really was, though it is believed he was an arms producer, which means he could be one of many war profiteers who popped up in trials after the war. It was agreed by the other conspirators that he was a man of great wealth though he never cared to show it.
"So do we have an arrangement, then?" asked one of the Djrasi brothers of the fifth man.
"5 billion Egyptian oracles, or no deal," he replied.
"For that sum of money, we expect you will start a real war then, we need that uranium for our businesses. Not only that, we could all stand to make a bit of money off of a fully-productive war effort and mobilization."
These men disgusted him, wanting to risk hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives for a Carthaginian city in the northern badlands just because they wanted little green rocks for who knows what purpose. Personally he doubted the Carthaginians would react much at all, and their Sumerians allies probably not at all. It still seemed like a great risk to take for a couple of rocks.
"Of course, you will have your war. I expect the money to be deposited in the Thebes bank within 24 hours, or no war."
"It is already there," said the Djrasi brother, "you may leave now, General."
Nodding curtly, the fifth man left the room and the others to their plans.
The Djrasi turned to the others and said, "To review the plot, the bribery of this general is what we need to complete the plan. After this, gentlemen, the world is our oyster."
-Carthago Novo, Carthaginian Empire-
Monsour Al-Rahji was the descendant of Egyptians kidnapped by the barbarian Sea Peoples which raided Egypt and Carthage a long time ago. Though his family had lived in Carthage for years on end, they had never forgotten where their true loyalties lay. Ever since the beginning of contact between Egypt and Carthage, the Al-Rahji family had continued to provide information of Carthage’s defense and resources to the Egyptian government and military.
Monsour was last of the Al-Rahji, and the way things seemed to be going, he probably wouldn’t last much longer. In the past two weeks, all the Egyptian agents in Carthage had been killed with the exception of him in futile missions to irrelevant locations. Now he was here in the ass of the world, the island of New Carthage, in the capital of the island, Carthago Novo.
The city was a typical colonial Carthaginian town, having only the basic infrastructure, namely far below average Egyptian standards. It consisted of a dirt main street, flanked by the town temple, granary, and courthouse. In the rare exception of the city, there was also a colonial capital located at the end of the street. Around the main road were the main shops owned by the Fascist regime of Carthage and the hotel run by Incan immigrants, the only privately owned location on New Carthage, besides public farms. Scattered around the so-called commercial district lay the hovels of the average colonial citizen, in the mud and overall squalor.
He was here on a simple fact finding mission to determine the garrison strength of this city in the middle of nowhere, and was poorly funded to do such. He even had to stow away on a transport galleon carrying fertilizer of all things! So far he had fortunately not been caught, especially with word that the safe house in Leptis Magna had been raided and the people stationed there captured. All that remained to finish his job here was to visit the governor’s house where the militia reports were located. Looking around, Monsour saw that under the porch supporting the local goods store would make for a good hide out until nightfall.
That night, Monsour came out of his hiding place and began sneaking silently through the streets where the local Nationalist Army Militia was in process of training and patrol of the curfew emplaced on all Carthaginian cities. The march of the patrol was the last thing he would ever see. Behind him a silenced revolver coughed, and he felt the bullet rip through him, sending him collapsing onto the ground. The last words he ever heard were, “That’s the last time you Egyptian sons of *****es ever spy in Carthage.”
-Fort Heron, Mendes Isle, north of Mendes City-
Marc Anthony, Roman immigrant to Egypt and the Island of Mendes, marched in formation with the rest of his patrol around the perimeter of the fort. He was your average fair-skinned Roman, his family having immigrated to Mendes during the great Northern Migration of the 4th century AD. He was muscle-bound as most soldiers are from the consistent training and drills the rigorous regime that was emplaced on most Egyptian soldiers by their drill sergeants at Anubis Air Base in the northern mountains of the mainland.
Around him marched men from all walks of life from all over Egypt. Men from the Kahun province, with lighter skin then other Egyptians because of its northern location. Rugged looking me from the province of Abydos, hardened by mountain life. Then your stereotypical Egyptians from the southern provinces along the coast and in Thebes. Some wore glasses, others had obscene tattoos located on their bare arms or necks, and others were straitlaced military men with no objects of personality whatsoever.
The fort itself was your typical Egyptian fortress and outpost. It was stationed in the shadow of the volcanic Mendes Mountain and was built as a guard and early warning station against Carthaginian invasion. It had never seen much use, so most of the troops had not long ago abandoned it to be restationed on the mainland. Only a few local conscripts and trainees were left to garrison the outpost. It was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and was dug into the ground. Most of the fort was concrete reinforced and could withstand even the heaviest artillery shells, with exceptions of some direct hits. This citadel of Egypt was about to be put to the test.
Marc’s patrol was interrupted from its daily constitutional by a cloud of dust coming over the hills in Carthaginian territory. At first it wasn’t noticeable by the soldiers, but once they started to drop from rifle fire, they caught on pretty quick. They managed to turn and dive and lay down a steady stream of fire against the charging Carthaginian cavalry. However, it wasn’t enough against the endless storm of men and horse using new breech-loadings rifles just recently issued to the cavalry. Even the patrol’s machine gun was overrun by the enemy forces. Not a single man of the patrol survived the relentless onslaught.
The Egyptians were on full alert now; machine guns began sending pikes of flame to dismount the enemy riders. As the cavalry advanced ever further, leaping over the barbed barrier and riding in formation to the bunker, ever more Carthaginians continued to fall and die from the never-ending chatter of the machine guns in their pillboxes. It seemed the outpost would soon be overrun none the less. As the cavalry gathered for their final charge on the beleaguered garrison, the quickly and efficiently approached the bunker’s entrance. To their great surprise and misfortune, the explosives placed as a last resort detonated just as they approached. Man and horse flew everywhere from the awesome blast. The remaining Carthaginians attempted to retreat, only to be mowed down by continuous Egyptian gunfire. The defenders allowed a weary cheer to escape from their battered bodies, the fort had held.
-Mendes City, Egypt-
Marc, wounded from the battle at Fort Heron, lay on the hospital bed, with his window view of the airport. Plane after plane had been landing, marked with the star of the Egyptian army and the corporate symbol of Southwest Import-Export. Tank after tank continued to roll out of the plane’s belly. Boxes upon boxes had been loaded into the airport. Something was beginning, and Marc had a feeling that the Carthaginians would be feeling the bite of the Egyptian crocodile very soon.
-Thebes, Egypt-
Mao had just returned from the cinema after seeing the newsreel of the Carthaginian attack on Fort Heron. President Cleopatra denounced this attack and decried it as a day of infamy when aggressive Carthage attacked peace-loving Egypt without provocation. Rome and the Republic of the Mongols had just declared war on the Carthaginians, and in response the Sumerians had come to their ally’s aid, declaring war on Egypt and its allies for their aggressive oppression of peaceful Carthage.
The telephone was on its second ring before Mao managed to pick it up. On the line was the person who made the war possible.
“The Sumerians declared war,” the person said.
“Indeed,” replied Mao.
“You’ve gone in over your head chairman.”
“Perhaps, but this is Egypt’s moment, this is our time for us to achieve our manifest destiny of conquest of the world.”
“Chairman, what you and your friends have begun will not be easily stopped. Do you think the Fascist Inca will allow us to fight their ideological Carthaginian and Sumerian brethren unhindered? No this will be the war to determine whether peace and democracy prevail or if we will live under Fascist oppression. What you began forced this conflict, and when it ends, the world will remain forever changed. May the gods have mercy on you and your corporate friends’ souls.” With this, he hung up.
Mao shrugged and proceeded to complete his preparations for a good night’s sleep.
The war had indeed begun.
Coming soon to a forum near you:
World War: The Blitz
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