Gandhi Kahn the Wise

[bassman]

Originally posted by ChrisiusMaximus
Good to see our Xiao is doing okay. dont know if youve seen my map on Mikes Story, could you post one for this, if possible.

I'll see what I can do. I may have to dig through the save games some, as I played this game last Christmas!

[bassman]

Originally posted by dnassman
Since Persia are my favourite civ I was wondering if it was time for India to get its butt kicked. So far it is just beating everyone and Persia is next in line. I'm guessing everyone who reads this knows that India will now beat Persia and so on. Its getting predictable. Hope you could change it up and surprise us.

Well, it is titled "Gandhi Kahn the Wise."

Hopefully, I can still throw in a few surprises. Persia has absorbed France and Germany on its continent and is about the same size as India, so who knows what might happen?

[dnassman]

cool!!!! Should be a interesting.

[bassman]

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Ergili

Behrooz ambled through the early afternoon, driving the livestock to new pasture, humming a tune to which he had danced the weekend before. This was his last chore before he could dress up and walk into Ergili again.

His thoughts naturally drifted back to the previous weekend. Mitra had been young and lithe, and definitely interested in him. It was rare for someone new to come to lonely Ergili, and even rarer for someone so lovely. Behrooz had spent many hours dancing with her, and talking in the garden outside the hall. The hours had drug by while he waited for the next trip into town to see her again.

Arriving at the pasture, he gazed out to sea, reliving his pleasure of the past weekend and planning for the next. He was so preoccupied with his musing that it took several minutes before he noticed the galleons anchored in the cove.

With a start, he realized that the ships were Indian, not Persian. All thoughts of the dance left his head as he bolted towards the town on a dead run.

As he approached Ergili, he noticed papers littering the ground. In some places, they lay in clumps.

Suddenly, he halted. On the ground, peeking from beneath one of the pieces of paper, was a 10,000 Toman bill, a bill he had seen only twice in his life! He rooted through the papers and then grabbed it from the ground.

On the front was the familiar portrait of Xerxes, but on the reverse was written:

The money in Persia has no value.
There is no food, no peace, no happiness in Persia.
There is misery and there is death in Persia.
Xerxes is responsible for all this misery!
Act against Xerxes now!
His fall is inevitable.

Now that his run was interrupted, he noticed more of the fake currency among the papers. One of the sheets he had lifted to retrieve his 'money' remained in his hand - now he read it. In French, German, and Farsi, it stated:

Our forces are armed with state of the art military equipment. What are you using? Obsolete and ineffective weaponry! Our artillery will rain fire down upon your camps before you can detect them. Our rifles are so accurate we can shoot right through your armor. Our cavalry is trained for any climate and terrain on earth -- your knights cannot match them. Indian soldiers fire with superior marksmanship and are armed with superior weapons.

"You have only one choice ... Surrender now and we will give you a second chance. We will let you live. If you surrender, no harm will come to you. You can become free citizens of the Greater Indian Empire, enjoying all rights and privileges."

"When you decide to surrender, approach Indian forces with your hands in the air. Sling your weapon across your back, muzzle or blade towards the ground. Doing this is your only chance of survival."

He jumped up and restarted his run into the city. If the Indians were sending this propaganda, then invasion would soon follow.

His run ended in the town center, at the very hall that had graced his daydreams less than an hour earlier.

Outside the hall stood the object of his daydreams, the angelic Mitra. She was handing out leaflets to all passers, most of whom were streaming into the hall. She smiled beautifully as he approached, and took his arm.

"You are just in time," she said. "They will be deciding soon."

In a daze, he entered the hall with her.

The building was packed with people, all talking at once. People were shouting to be heard over the din. As he and Mitra wedged up against a side wall, her hip pressed delightfully against his, some unseen voice from the front of the hall shouted for order.

The noise level gradually fell to half what it had been, and the mayor stepped onto the raised dais.

"Ergilians," he began, "we must resist this attempt to sway us. We are Persians, not Indians."

"Better a live Indian than a dead Persian," interrupted a loud voice.

"Lies!" shouted the mayor. "We have our musketmen to defend us, we have our cannon, we have our knights."

"They are old and tired!" hollered another voice. "We are lost already."

"We are only lost if we believe these lies," rejoined the mayor. He began to dab his forehead with a kerchief.

Mitra shouted, "They have rapid-fire muskets, and far-shooting cannon. Our forces cannot stand against them."

"Our forces are brave," retorted the mayor. "Besides, who would trust the word of a woman?"

"Our forces are few," shouted another voice from the crowd, a man's voice. "If Xerxes wanted to save us, he would have sent more troops."

"More men are on the way," yelled the mayor, "men with rapid-fire muskets. They will be here long before the Indians."

Behrooz looked at Mitra next to him, then raised his voice. "The Indians are here now!"

"Who said that?" yelled the mayor, as a hush fell over the crowd.

He leaned forward as much as he was able. "I, Behrooz. I have just come from Simin Cove. There are three groups of Indian galleons anchored there now!"

The din resumed and rose to a deafening roar. The mayor tried in vain to calm the crowd.

Suddenly, Mitra began to chant, "Down with Xerxes! Welcome, Gandhi! Down with Xerxes! Welcome, Gandhi!"

Her look implored him to join, and he could not help himself. "Down with Xerxes! Welcome, Gandhi!"

Soon those near him joined the shout, and it spread to the far corners of the hall. The walls shook with the force of the combined voices. The mayor blanched white, and fled out the back of the hall.

In rhythm with the chanting, Behrooz pumped his left fist into the air, still clutching the fake bill. He grinned at Mitra and she smiled back, a smile full of promise. He threaded his right arm around her slender waist, and pulled her close. Regardless of what the future held, tonight would be glorious.

Tomorrow: Off the coast of Satsuma...

[vovan]

Well, I must say that Persia is my favourite civ in the game, as well. Surely, some persians would put up a fight? At least somewhere else?

But the idea of psychological warfare is a very interesting one (and as far as I remember, I haven't yet seen a story using that approach). Very nice.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Never mind all these Persian sympathisers,I for one loathe the pesky Persian hordes although it has to be said Ive always found them to be one of the toughest opponents in the game.

How do you do it Bassman this just keeps getting better. I would now rank this amongst the best Ive read here, and Ozwolf there is a contender here for your crown.

[bassman]

Thanks for the praise. Hope I can keep surprising you.

If you're interested in my progress as a story-writer, you might check out my old stories "If only..." and "Rodina the Motherland" which both lost in one of the story contests to the hilarious cartoon "Bored, with Twenty Nukes in the Arsenal."

The angle for this episode came from supposing what happens when you use a spy to initiate propaganda to subvert a city. In the actual game, it was lightly held and I took it with only three cavalry units. This was more fun!

[dnassman]

Interesting addition of propaganda. Good use of it.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

I searched out those stories you mentioned, most enjoyable. Also read the one about Shaka's speach, very good indeed.

[bassman]

Thanks.

Sorry to delay the next installment.

I've been working on bitmaps. That's harder than writing!

I've attached the map for action before the outrageous demands made by Xerxes.

[bassman]

Here's the map for the remainder of the episodes.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Thanks for the maps

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Oh man the withdrawals are setting in, can we have some more please, pretty please.

[bassman]

I've adjusted the story order a little to avoid having to successive episodes with the same characters.

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Mt. Kalachi
Relieving boredom was an area where Vidyacharan shined.

He had grown sick in the boats that rowed through the surf to the Persian shore. He was no sailor. He had become fatigued during the climb up Mt. Kalachi, having no mountain training. Digging the firing trenches and laying the breastworks had been grueling and unfamiliar as well. But now, while they rested and waited for the inevitable Persian response to their invasion, he led the attack on tedium.

He had doubled his original stake of sungas and was eagerly anticipating separating more from the other big winner in the trench when their gaming was interrupted. Word had come up the line that the waiting was over. The Persian forces were only minutes away.

Vidyacharan quickly dumped his winnings into a pouch and nervously checked his gun and supplies. He hoped he was ready. The others in his company, having previously trained with muskets, were more familiar with guns. On the other hand, perhaps he would do better, having been trained directly with the new rifles.

Braying horns announced the first attack. The Persian cavalry charged up the narrow mountain trail into a sheet of lead. The lead riders and horses went down, but more were right behind.

Vidyacharan fired his rifle and watched with satisfaction as his target went down. He worked the bolt to eject the spent cartridge and feed the next round into the chamber. He fired again. Again. Again. Again.

He pulled five more rounds from the cartridge bag at his hip, quickly loaded the gun's internal box, then leveled his rifle at the wave of Persian cavalry. The volume of fire was taking its toll as the Persians were mowed down, but they continued coming. The seemingly inexhaustible waves were getting closer and closer before falling. The hillside was becoming slippery with the blood of Persian cavalrymen and horses.

After an hour, the Persian wave broke off. All along the trench, calls went up for ammunition. Vidyacharan checked his own cartridge bag and counted only 16 rounds remaining. Being near the end of the trench, he hoped that a fresh supply of bullets reached him before the attack resumed. It took some time before the young runner dropped a box of ammo in the mud by Vidyacharan. "Use it wisely," said the boy, moving on.

The enemy bugles sounded again and the wave resumed. Suddenly, the gunfire intensified on the Indian's left flank. The Persians were attempting to roll up the mountain invaders from the side - Vidyacharan's side!

Vidyacharan fired the rifle as fast as he could work the bolt. He hurried his reload, fired again and again and again. The Persians kept coming. The man next to him slumped against the breastworks, blood dribbling from a hole in the back of his head. Vidyacharan kept firing.

When his bullets ran out, he ransacked the pouch of the dead man next to him and continued firing. When a cartridge jammed his rifle, he relieved the corpse of its gun as well. Still the Persians pressed the Indian flank.

Finally, the enemy cavalry broke off the attack. Vidyacharan looked into his cartridge pouch in disbelief - only six bullets remained!

"Fix bayonets!" yelled the Company commander, and the call was repeated up and down the line.

"Charge!"

Vidyacharan yelled and dashed down the body-strewn slope at the retreating Persians. Now we're back to sword and pike combat, he thought.

Most of the Persians cavalry were on foot, having lost their mounts in the charge. Many struggled hand-to-hand with the Indians. Some simply fled. A few surrendered. None escaped.

The after battle detail roamed among the dead, scavenging cartridges from Indian and Persian alike. Fresh troops arrived from the invasion fleet.

Vidyacharan rested again, receiving a field dressing on an arm wound suffered while routing the Persians.

"Well," he said to the medic, "I longed for combat, and now I've got it plenty."

"You were lucky," said the medic. "A fraction to the left and you could have lost your arm."

"Can I still fight?"

"There'll be lots of fighting ahead. You just rest and heal that arm. Now it's the cavalry's turn."

There were many others resting in the hospital tent, though few were critically hurt. Vidyacharan hoped that recovery would be 'boring.' Perhaps he would win a few more sungas.

Next: Off the coast of Satsuma

[ChrisiusMaximus]