Gandhi Kahn the Wise

[ChrisiusMaximus]

superb stuff yet again, as always well researched, very civ and thrilling to read. You have done an amazing job with this mans inner feelings, I could almost feel the anger in myself rising.

I know its your story but I hope Mahavir gets to recover after some time in a field hospital becoming India's greatest ever war hero.

[unscratchedfoot]

Cool. The mayhem and slaughter was a pleasant change from the cruddy romantic scene before this. I hope Chrisius and you badassman, don't go on a real-life persian-killing rampage after this. Remember: its just a story! If you find you can't resist the temptation to do like Mahavir did, then aim your attack against saddam and his associates.

[bassman]

Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
Cool. The mayhem and slaughter was a pleasant change from the cruddy romantic scene before this.

Just remember, there must be babies before there can be mayhem.

Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
If you find you can't resist the temptation to do like Mahavir did, then aim your attack against saddam and his associates.

Cool Idea! I'll have to see if I can somehow write Saddam into the next Persian massacre, since Iraq was part of the ancient Persian Empire.

[bassman]

"When Grenoble fell into Indian hands, the French citizenry welcomed us after years of Persian oppression. Men wept, matrons pressed exotic treats on our soldiers, and the young French women were generous with their kisses. For the record, we never stated we would re-establish the French government - the joyous citizens took that assumption on themselves, so they have only themselves to blame for being disappointed later. By contrast, the Germans later 'liberated' in Nuremberg were much more pragmatic. No histrionic displays, but no let down later - they knew how this political game was played."
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, Chronicles of Gandhi Kahn the Wise

"What amazes me most is the wildflowers."

"The wildflowers, sire?" asked Nehru

"In spite of all this carnage, the wildflowers are returning to Mount Saint Joan."

"Uhm, the Persians call it Mount Kalachi, sire."

"When it was in French hands, it was Mount Saint Joan, and so it shall be in Little India."

"As you command, sire."

"Xerxes really thought these mountains were impervious to assault?" I asked.

"Yes, sire. He made no effort to reinforce them."

"He was a fool," said Devon. "Our island-hopping campaign to create mid-ocean bases on the islands of Ergili and Samaria should have been a dead giveaway. Once the transport lanes were set up, the nearest mainland Persian port was Grenoble and the most defensible location was the mountain range between it and Bactra."

Nehru didn't like being contradicted. "It was not an easy task creating a beachhead on a mountain."

"Devon assured me our cavalry, cannons, and riflemen were up to the task," I said. "They performed wonderfully. I understand there are many Persian troops buried on the slopes of this mountain."

"They rail-shipped a large portion of their continental force to the battlefield, sire," said Devon, pleased that I had noticed. "Wave after wave of Persian cavalry sought to knock the troops back into the sea, but the beachhead held."

"The arrogant fools. What did they hope to gain by threatening the greatest nation on the face of the earth?"

"Sire," exclaimed Nehru, "you cannot tell me you did not expect a declaration of war!"

"I had hoped that Xerxes would remain occupied with his consolidation of the Eastern continent. You would think he would have his hands full assimilating all his German and French citizenry."

"Persia chose not to integrate their conquered peoples as we do, sire. They rule by subjugation."

"So why follow up their continental triumphs with a demand on the Greater Indian Empire?

Nehru hesitated for a moment. "It is Siddheiers' belief that they had global aspirations and feared falling behind in technology."

"That's why they made that ridiculous demand? 'Give up the secrets of Military Tradition or face Xeroxes' wrath,' indeed!"

"Your response was not calculated to ease their worries, Sire."

"Well," I said, grinning, "I just didn't want my message being twisted in transit: 'Is that '...u-g-g-e-r-o-f-f' or '...u-g-e-r-o-f'?' I thought my method was direct and effective - Xerxes certainly understood my meaning!"

"It would have been difficult not to, since you returned the envoys in multiple boxes! Bit much, don't you think?"

"Making any reply would have been carrying water in baskets. One does not make such a demand without expecting or hoping for war. As Rujula will tell you, Persia's payments for luxuries and for previous secrets revealed were suspended when war broke out. All contracts will have to be renegotiated after the war ends."

Devon broke in. "Xerxes would have been better off continuing the payments, which at least have an end. The cities he is losing would have brought in much more revenue that he has now lost forever."

"Yes, Devon," I said, "but those cities have come at a high price. I understand that many of our cavalry troops now rest in the meadows below this mountain."

"Yes, the 'Massacre at Grenoble,' but that occurred after the port had been occupied."

"If only we had been able to land more troops...."

"We hadn't begun our switch-over from galleon to motorized transport yet," said Devon. "But you are right. If we had had more galleons or if they held more, we would have been able to spare a few battalions of riflemen to backup the recovering cavalry after their initial attack. That would have saved many lives. Those brave few bought time for fresh shipments of infantry, artillery and cavalry into Grenoble."

"I'm just glad your R&D corps developed the motorized war elephants. What are you calling them - tanks? They were very useful in widening the beachhead."

"It certainly made it easier to hold the saltpeter deposits between Bactra and Nuremberg! Already, so many of the Persian cavalry troops have been dashed against Indian-held city strongholds that we are seeing a reversion to Middle Age technology - knights, riflemen, and Immortals. The neighboring cities are falling like sand castles."

"Eventually, Xerxes will realize that these seven cities will never again be his," I said, turning to go. "Xerxes cannot allow this war to continue much longer, or Persia's capabilities will fall below those of the Russians."

"One last bit of business, sire, before your return to Dehli," said Nehru. "The French government is clambering for a return to power. There are also a few German grumblings."

"That's not going to be possible. Please point out to them that I was merely liberating them from the oppressive rule of Xerxes and placing them under our beneficent reign. They shall retain their hereditary customs, of course, but start the reconstruction plan immediately. Education, health care, business loans - the works. Same as our policy on the Western Continent."

"As you command, O Mahatma. Namaskar."

[ChrisiusMaximus]

More variety

[bassman]

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Five

Bactra

"Sure sounds like thunder, don't it?"

Vidyacharan turned to see Kaushal joining him at the defensive barrier. In truth, he had been thinking about last weekend's pass spent with Fräulein Frieda in Nuremberg, not the recurring tank barrages in the Alborz Mountains.

"I guess it does," he replied. "Why do the Persians keep trying this? It's massacre."

"Cap' says they're desperate to retake Bactra. You'd think they'd give it up, though. Running the gantlet through the mountain passes is killing 'em."

"Personally, I'm glad our generals put tanks up there to zero in on the Persians cavalry as it rides down the valley. By the time the horse troops get here, they're practically dead already. That's less work for us."

"'Spose you're right," said Kaushal. "Think they'll have enough left for an attack this time?"

Vidyacharan pondered his answer. "The tank cannons are pretty active today. Doesn't sound like it."

At Kaushal's crestfallen look, he laughed. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get your chance. Maybe the Persians will teach their horses to fly."

That made Kaushal laugh, too. "I wouldn't want to be under one when it dumps a load of dung."

"That makes two of us!"

Kaushal looked through his field glasses and started scanning the killing fields lying northeast of their position. The Persian cavalry troops always marshaled in this field following their suicidal dash through the mountains. Presumably, they were regrouping for an attack on Bactra, although none had yet lived to attempt one.

Several other sniper-spotter teams such as Vidyacharan and Kaushal held excellent sightlines to the field. Vidyacharan checked his scope and rifle. He had become quite expert using the gun - the number of kills to his credit numbered over a hundred.

Within the hour, the first Persian survivors of the tank gantlet began to regroup in the field.

"This lot is the worst so far," said Kaushal, peering through the field glasses searching for officers to target first.

Vidyacharan sighted though his scope. The Persians were as wounded as usual, but their uniforms were threadbare and their antique equipage was lighter than usual. Some even sported ancient muskets.

"It won't be long before they run out of cavalry altogether," said Vidyacharan. "Any candidates yet?"

"Three," replied Kaushal. "One to the left of Kartikeya," - they had taken to naming prominent landscape features - "and two right in front of Mahabala."

"I see them. Jitendra will have a better angle on the first one. I'll take the others."

Vidyacharan sighted on the first of the two conferring officers, a stocky man with a heavy handlebar moustache over his solid jaw and sporting a red beret pulled over his brow. Seeing his victims up close in the scope no longer bothered his as it once had. Surely they would be trying to kill him if the situation was reversed.

He let his breathing become steady and slow, and relaxed his muscles, waiting for the signal to begin. His target appeared to be berating the other officer, trying to urge him to attack by the looks of his gestures.

A shot cracked across the field - Jitendra's first shot always signaled the others to fire. Vidyacharan's target swung his head away, towards the sound, presenting a full profile. Vidyacharan smoothly squeezed the trigger and a neat hole appeared in the cocked beret. The victim began to slump even as he slid the scope to the second officer.

"Hit!" called Kaushal.

Vidyacharan was already squeezing off the second shot, leading the remaining officer that was diving for cover. The bullet stuck him just before he reached the gnarled tree root that was his goal.

"Is that a hit?" asked Kaushal.

"He's down," said Vidyacharan, grimly. "Get me another target."

Among the twelve sniper teams, they accounted for over a third of the remaining Persian force. What was left was either captured or eliminated by their own cavalry forces, a force relegated to mostly cleanup duties now that Indian armored cavalry - tanks - were so pervasive on the battlefields.

Afterwards, mop-up details stood ready to clear the bodies from the fields to allow the next Persian force to assemble in the field without anxiety, just as their predecessors had. Before the 'undertakers' could begin their gristly business, the snipers strode among the bodies to confirm their kills.

"Here's your first one," called Kaushal, pointing. "Remember the beret?"

"Yeah," said Vidyacharan, nudging the corpse with his toe. "Good, clean kill."

"They sure have odd names, don't they?"

Vidyacharan looked up in surprise. "I didn't know you could read Farsi."

"A little," said Kaushal, bashfully. "Want to know his name?"

"Sure, kid. Sure."

"Hussein. Saddam Hussein."

Next: Jaipur...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Nice one bassman glad to see some one sort out that menace.

Good chapter.

[unscratchedfoot]

Dude, so we're both working on Saddam in our stories?
Good episode this one. Those persians are sure getting their desserts. They deserve it.

When you mentioned the dung I felt you were referring to me. Why? Because my nickname in the msn gaming zone is RodentDung and I just finished a 2 hour long insult exchange with a whole crowd of people going at it at the same time on the chatline. Needless to say, they tend to formulate insults based on my name so I hear dung repeatedly. It was great fun and I got to make some new friends and enemies. I received some compliments on my more creative cheap shots. You people should come and join the party.

[bassman]

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Six

Jaipur
"Taxes!" spat Adrik. "It's always taxes!"

"And they're always HIGHER taxes," agreed Fadeyka.

"I don't know which I hate more," said Dima, "Bony Gandhi and his crossing taxes or fat Katerina and her exit taxes."

"Hate them both," laughed Adrik, "for they must certainly hate Cossaks, to tax us into poverty."

Dima growled, "If Gandhi had not taken the most fertile sector of the Arms of Rusalka, we would not be blocked from the clan gathering in Novgorod, and there would be no need for a tax. How much more must we pay this time?"

"Full half again as much!" said Adrik.

"That means a third of us cannot go to the clan gathering," cried Fadeyka. "What can we do?"

The others in the suma took up that chorus. Finally, the hubbub quieted and all looked to their leader, Adrik

"I have a plan," said Adrik. "Mount up and be ready for anything. Follow my lead."

Adrik slid into the saddle as if he'd been born to it. In a way, he had. His father had given him tiny weapons and sat him on a pony when he was a mere babe, as all Cossack boys were. He'd grown up riding the wide pastures around Vladivostok. He'd ridden many horses over his two and thirty years, but Karolek was his favorite - strong, fast and smart. His mount seemed to anticipate his commands, allowing him to concentrate on other tasks, be they warring or wenching.

With his clan brothers behind him, Adrik rode to the checkpoint. An oily Indian looked up at the clan and gave them an especially unctuous smile.

"So you decided to pay, rather than leave some behind," he said.

"Da, we'll pay your tax," said Adrik, reaching towards his saddlebag, "never!"

As he yelled 'never!' he drew his kalep from its socket on the saddle and struck the official in the head. One blow from the heavy battle hammer knocked the man to the ground, never to rise again. Blood and brains oozed from the cracked skull.

Two guards at the checkpoint never had a chance to reach the automatic rifles slung over their shoulders before they were leveled by deadly accurate carbine fire. The other two died trying.

Indian soldiers not on duty were slaughtered as they scrambled from the guard barracks. In five short minutes, the checkpoint was unmanned.

With the action completed, Adrik's clan brothers gathered before him. They were a ragged bunch, as were all Cossacks. Every bit of clothing was old; even their rifles looked rusty and unfit. Looks were deceiving, though. The old clothing hid men that were precise and quick, having drilled at warfare for many years. And unpolished rifles, meticulously clean and smoothly working on the inside, never glared to give away a Cossack's position.

Besides their scruffy firearms, each had several diverse 'honest' weapons for hand-to-hand combat, either carried openly, or concealed beneath their long felt Burkhas, or in leggings and boots. A clan of Cossacks was a formidable force, a fact the Indians at the checkpoint had discovered too late.

With his suma ranged before him, Adrik stood in his stirrups. "For too long, Katarina and Gandhi have used Jaipur as an excuse to tax us into poverty. Let us take that city as our own and force fat Katarina to give us this corner of Russia for a Cossack state. We will rule ourselves.

"Valerii and Kolenka," he called, "ride and gather the other clans. Have one clan hold this border with promise of a share of the spoils. Bring the others to Jaipur. That jewel is only thinly held and we will need few to take it, but we will need help to hold it. Gandhi will be angry, no?"

"No more so than Katarina," laughed Dima, as the other two men sped off for reinforcements.

"Then let's ride, my brothers," cried Adrik. "Tonight, we feast in Jaipur!"

Next: Novgorod...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

A fascinating new twist this bassman, its a shame there is no civil war in Civ 3 I always liked that feature in Civ 2. dont keep us waiting to long for some more.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Where is my favourite story teller ? has anyone seen him ?

Please come back bassman were lost without your fantastic stories!!

[History Guy]

Yes, Bassman...or the Stories Forum might...descend into anarchy!

[bassman]

We wouldn't want that, would we?

From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Six

Novgorod
The sound of nearby gunfire painfully reminded Mahavir that he had once been a warrior, before allowing his vengeance to carry him into disgrace. Now, he could only listen as others fought and triumphed. As a truck driver, assigned to the Indian mainland, this was probably as close as he would get.

In fact, it was probably much closer than the board of court martial had intended when sending him back to the Greater Indian Empire. The sudden attack on Jaipur had quickly changed his humdrum boredom into frenzied boredom. An Indian attack on Novgorod had been mounted to relieve Russian-locked Jaipur to the south. The troops on the siege needed ammo, hence his presence near real fighting once again.

Mahavir dragged a crate out of the truck and carried it over to the waiting quartermaster's assistant.

A distant rattle of gunfire made the younger soldier jump. Jishnu, thought Mahavir, how young do they enlist these days. "What's the hold-up at Novgorod?" he asked, adding the crate to the growing pile.

"Don't know," replied the youthful soldier. "The Colonel says 'resistance is stiff; we'll need more supplies.' I thought we were supposed to be through to Jaipur by now."

"Guess they should have brought up some of those new tanks," said Mahavir.

"You got it. Heard they're all still over in occupied Persia."

"That's what I heard, too," said Mahavir.

As sounds of battle drew closer, the young quartermaster's assistant was growing more visibly nervous.

"They guard these ammo dumps pretty well, don't they?" asked the kid.

"I guess so," said Mahavir. "You'd know better than I."

"I think the Colonel pulled most of 'em up on the assault," gulped the kid.

"Vishnu save us from stupid commanders," muttered Mahavir, under his breath.

The battle was definitely getting closer. If it continued at this rate, Mahavir guessed it would envelop the ammo dump in ten minutes.

He grabbed a crowbar from the rack on the truck's side and started to pry open one of the crates.

"Hey!" protested the kid, "You can't do that."

He paused to wipe his brow and peered at the youngster. "You ever fight in combat?"

"Nope."

"Hunt?"

"No."

"Fire a rifle?"

"Just in Basic."

Mahavir jerked his thumb towards Novgorod. "Better start rememberin' quick. They're headed this way."

The kid jerked his head towards the city, and indeed, several Indian soldiers were running into the compound.

Mahavir levered the top off the crate and pulled out an automatic rifle and a pair of magazines. He slammed the magazine into its slot and chambered the first round. Pulling the trigger, he fired a burst into the ground ahead of the fleeing soldiers.

"That's far enough!" yelled Mahavir.

The soldiers had pulled up in their headlong rout, stunned to find gunfire in front of them as well as behind. The kid's face was dead white, as if he'd been shot himself and bled all the liquid from his body. There was a dark stain on the inside of his pant leg.

"We've got plenty of ammo and guns," yelled Mahavir. "You men stand and fight, or I'll kill you right here."

They looked at him with wild eyes. By now, there were twelve men, with more arriving. He could see them thinking, calculating whether they could chance a mass rush. He fired another burst into the ground, closer this time.

"You three hunker down by the guard shack," he yelled, pointing. "You six get behind those crates. The rest get into the repair trench. You stop anyone coming. If he's Indian, shoot in front and make him join up. If he keeps going or if he's Russian, shoot him. Don't miss."

The men appeared to make up their minds and jumped at the tasks as he had commanded. His lack of visible rank didn't faze them. They moved as quickly as if he'd been their superior officer, reacting to the tone of authority in his voice.

"Kid," he called, "get over here and help me load up this machine gun."

With the young soldier's help, Mahavir swung the heavy gun around to aim it up the road. While they worked, sporadic gunfire announced the arrival of more panicked Indians.

They dragged over several boxes of ammo for the gun and had just finished loading the first belt when a large squadron of Cossack horsemen came pounding up the road, intent on the wealth of military hardware contained in the ammo dump.

"Send 'em to Nerg!" yelled Mahavir, and he let loose with the heavy gun.

The front wave of Cossacks crashed to the ground like sawn timber. Short bursts from the other Indian guns were picking off the shoulders of the force. The center group attempted to shift to its left around the perimeter of the dump, but in doing so, they presented a broader front to the sheet of lead being thrown at them. Many attackers escaped the bullets by riding Cossack-style down on the neck of the horse. It mattered not, as the horses went down, taking their riders with them. Some of the Cossacks were crushed by their falling, dying mounts. Those that survived were picked off Indian infantry.

Finally, the few remaining Cossacks broke and turned tail. A cheer went up from the ragged band of defenders.

"A good defense, men," hollered Mahavir. "Not a word as to how you happened to come here. You have done well and are to be commended."

Another cheer went up. If they all kept silent, no one would know of their initial shame, only of their subsequent bravery.

None of the soldiers were aware that each and every one of them outranked their emergency 'commander'. None cared to scrutinize too closely. All that mattered were the results - they had won.

"You did well, son," said Mahavir to his reluctant assistant. "You could serve with honor in the infantry."

"Thanks, sir," said the young soldier, with a bashful grin. "Maybe I'd better change my pants before I report for duty."

Mahavir laughed. "That's a good idea."

"What about you, sir? Why are you driving a truck instead of commanding?"

"That's a long story, son. Go get changed and then get back here in case the Cossacks return. Maybe I'll tell you while we wait."

As the young man left, Mahavir examined his conscience. He had felt no blood lust in fighting the Cossacks. In truth, he no longer felt hatred towards the Persians that had massacred his friends. He had just been doing his job, and doing it well. Maybe he should look into reinstatement and advancement.

He chuckled and muttered to himself, "I wondered how many butts I'll have to kiss."

Next: More Gandhi Memoirs...

[bassman]

P.S. Only four more episodes left!

[vovan]

Yet another quality chapter. Keep the goods coming, bassman.