Episode 20 – Part 2: The Widening Gulf – S2

Welcome back to the Civ Battle Royale Xtra, episode 20.3. I’m still BloodyAltima, and I’m still narrating, so without further ado, let’s get back to the synthetic warcrimes we left off on.

We return to the bombing of Georgia.

Tamar sat in her throne room, nursing a monster of a headache. Either the bombers needed to give up, or their masters needed to conquer Tblisi, and frankly, she didn’t care which anymore.

Uzbek air wings watched the bombing, conducting recon exercises to practice for future wars against both of the Russians. Some forty frames sat in waiting for just such an occasion.

In the far off land of Swedes, the war of Yuans found an unexpected front, as two Northern Parajumpers assaulted a Hetu Alalan Rifle Division entrenched in an Uzbek citadel. The sparse Uzbek and German soldiers took bets as to how long it would take the City-State’s infantry to die.

The misfired war against the USSR filled many Uzbeks with confidence; while the USSR may have better tech, it seemed that incompetence at war was just a Russian fixture, red or white. If and when hostilities began again, surely Uzbek numbers would turn the tide again.

This confidence did not spread to the troops stationed in Konigsberg. There were more Northern Yuan troops nearby than allied reinforcements. Most of their easily accessed reserves were depleted in the fighting. Sure, there were the Peace Corps and the Oceanic Division, but they weren’t exactly in position to just airlift to the front. There just weren’t enough numbers to turn the tide again.

Geneseric and Awolowo were frequent drinking buddies, a frequency that seemed to extend to their troops, who spent time in each others lands on shore leave. Vandal marines would hang out with the handlers of Nigerian velociraptors and pet the little murder turkeys, exchange trinkets for shed raptor feathers.

Awolowo called for the systemic blockading and embargoed of the incompetent White Russians, for in a fascistic world defined by war, those who fail boringly deserve the time (and goods) of no-one. Meanwhile, Wilhelm made a doomed play to try and stop defining the world by fascism and violence.

And in the middle of the negotiations, Rio declared that it would snuff the flame of freedom out for once and for all.

It should have been so simple. March a few troops into the pathetic Palmarene city-state. They had basically nothing for a military. If the Gauls had brought breakthrough forces, they’d be dead now. But there was one problem: Marajoara. They owned every approach to the city. To kill Quilombo for once and for all, you needed P’kuee’s approval. Vercingetorix had it. Rosilio did not.

A missive came back to Vercingetorix. After reading it, he ordered everyone but his grand admiral to leave his office. The dress-down was not loud enough to echo throughout the palace, but it’s hate was felt by everyone who saw the former admiral afterwards. Vercingetorix would later pen a letter back to Zumbi: “We have wasted enough time with you. The war is over.”

Kristjan of Iceland sent a letter to Tuskaloosa. “Do you remember when you denied my people the chance to rise, to excel? When you damned us to an irrelevant icy hell? We do. It is time we repaid the favor.”

Thanadalfeur laughed when the news broke. “Good luck, kiddo.”

On the open seas of Chola, remnants of the Paraguayan fleet ambushed a wandering Marajoaran mechanized artillery unit in transit. “How well do your guns work on the seas, bastards!” shouted one captain as his cannons tore into the transports.

Karimov looked out to his legions. “This time, we shall not wait for them to come to us!” The 13th, 235th, and 267th Powered Armor Divisions readied their weapons. “We shall march into Moscow, raw force of Uzbek manpower sweeping aside the hollow Russian army!” Three Vertol wings readied for takeoff. “Today, we seize the initiative!” The missile left its silo. “Today, Uzbekistan wins!”

Lenin was ready for this, though the initial glance may not show it. Already, a large mechanized force marched for Konigsberg, ready to take back the city. Uzbek air command did not expect this surge, having spent most of its effort bombing city defenses into oblivion.

“Welcome to the end of science!” boomed a voice over the intercom, as the Kulin representative greeted the new arrivals. “Here at the International Association of Looking Busy, we’re busily researching new ways to justify our continued employment to the literal fascists who we had previously been researching under so they don’t just liquidate us. We look forward to the new and exciting methods of Looking Busy.”

Lenin’s generals had retaken the initiative. Power Armor was a great leg up in infantry technologies, a few hundred years ago. Now that it was Powered Infantry against Battlesuits and GDRs, it was more akin to fighting automatic rifles with old bolt actions, to say nothing of the Nexi in the air.

Nowhere was this clearer than Konigsberg. All that was left to defend the city by land was a single Powered Armor division. It was doomed to fall to the USSR.

Russian forces rushed into the Uzbek border once more. This time, local forces were already exhausted. The Uzbeks could maybe retake the fallen cities with reinforcements, but they’d need to get them there first. And they’d never have the chance.

Karimov stared at the report, befuddled. “We were supposed to win.” They had lost Konigsberg, Nicopsia, Sukhumi. Certainly, not a huge loss; certainly, a terrible look for a war they had started in the first place. It was clear- numbers alone could not suffice against a prepared foe.

And all the while, Tbilisi still burned.

The Dene population in the Pacific Northwest had cause for concern. The Rockies may be a wall, but the Rio forces stretched for miles, while Thanaldenfeur had not seen fit to garrison any forces along her very wide borders. Even Malacca had more units in theater, and they were doomed just to be a cushion should hostilities break out with Rio.

Thinking on it, Thanaldenfeur decided that if the blood Icelanders were willing to put their hat in the ring, she could at least try again to finish her old foe. Having an actual naval force built up in theater couldn’t hurt.

Persistence proved itself a virtue. Tanks rolled through Bottle Creek. The Mississippi were finally dead. Tuskaloosa was nowhere to see, someone had already ferried him out.

Tuskaloosa felt no self-pity or shame on his way out. He had been a prominent figure in North America. He handed Roslio his first humiliation so long ago. Were it not for Rio’s impossibly defensible cities, the Mississippi would likely have gone on to hold a sizable control over the continent. They fought, they tried, and they lost, but they lost from a position so many never reached. No-one has ever feared Finland, but once, so long ago now, they feared Mississippi. He descended into the submarine, head held high.

While the Marajoaran fleet was nothing to sneeze at, the Vandals had so many more ships. If and when it came to war, it would be a bloodbath, and an annoying one for how similar their flag colors are.

Once more did Ranjit Singh declare upon Raja Raja. Once more would their forces smash into each other. Once more, would the subcontinental peninsula be stained with blood.

Further east, Punjab had not properly readied its forces, leaving Chola an ideal position to push back in.

Even as sparse as Punjabi forces were, every inch of the Cholan coast was a battleground. Here and there, a city still fell.

The former Bhutan stronghold of Thimpu found itself a battleground once more. As cut out from supply lines as they were, the defenders still held out hope in the city’s near-mythical reputation for holding out against Punjab.

Kublai Khan received another declaration of war. This time, from P’kuee of the Marajoara. “Get in line,” he told the messenger.

Meanwhile, the Kulin/Malaccan front settled in an uneasy quiet. Malacca had far more boats on scene, with most of the nearby Kulin forces being embarked land combat divisions, but what few Kulin naval frames were present were much more modernized. Should it come to a fight, it would be a mess.

Punjabi forces took more cities along the front. Seeing this slaughter, Raja Raja sent two messages: one, an order for more Nexi production to help stem the tide. The other, a declaration of war upon Kublai Khan, for luck.

Most wars are messier than wargames and movies make them out to be. Commandos behind the established lines, random stragglers fighting in long-lost territories, battle lines are rarely as clear as “we have this part, they have that part.” Several Nexi rampaged within Punjabi borders while rest of the front developed broadly in Punjab’s favor.

A large Cholan naval force rallied, ready to try and raise hell in the west, where a weak Punjabi naval force stood defender over a wide front. Still, sent in detail as they had been, they were doomed to defeat even if their foes counted an ironclad from the steam age among them.

Several cities fell to Punjab assault, as Cholan forces were worn down by attrition.

Yuan General Guo Kan sat in his transport, watching the Kulin boats come and go. While their proper naval forces were lacking, he still found himself favoring them if it came to a fight against the Mapuche- for while they had an entire Australia to pull new boats from, the Mapuche would have a harder time reinforcing losses.

A rush of reinforcements pushed Cholan forces into Thakhek. Local Punjab forces were badly outnumbered, an unexpected result for their leaders.

Backed by a host of Nexi and Nanohives, Cholan forces pushed north into two mid-lane Punjab cities.

Two bloody blitzes of wars had done a number on the Uzbek infantry. Most of their surprisingly thin military forces were rocket artillery divisions, long out of date in an age of mechanized artillery.

Elsewhere, peace bloomed between Chola and Punjab once more.

Historians debate if Tamar was driven to madness, rage, or apathy by the decades of bombing. What none debate is that her decision to follow the same path as Zumbi, as Liliʻuokalani, as Saint Stephen, was certainly inspired.

The ultimate result of the war was mostly that Chola was pushed south. They had gained a city in Southeast Asia, a city on the Peninsula, but lost two in former Bhutan and one on the Eastern coast of India. The Nexus Resurgence had done a lot to stem the losses, but there were still losses.

Every now and then, the Peacekeeper stuck in Hetu Ala would cycle to a new one. Today, it was a Kulin AA corp. It ultimately didn’t matter who it was- the Glass Stronghold would stand as long as anyone was there.

The people of Omsk knew how to party.

Wilhelm called on his fellow leaders to embargo those weak freedom-loving Quilombans, as Hong Xiquan called on his fellow leaders to please stop embargoing him. It had been so long since he had done anything to deserve it, really.

Two declarations of war arrived at Lautero’s desk. The first, he saw and mostly laughed off. Rio Grande was unlikely to pose much of a threat. Sure, he’d never make any actual gains against their citadels of adamantium, but they were too far to really threaten him. The other made his blood turn cold. The Kulin were back for blood.

While there was admittedly a large Rio armored column near enough by, that was not the problem Lautero was most concerned with. That problem was the large garrison of Lima, large and close enough to be a potential problem in the imminent future.

Airpower had already brought most of the western cities defenses low, and skirmishes began in the northernmost cities against the odd advance unit, most of whom had been “peacekeeping” in Marajoaran territory.

Lautero and his admirals all knew that long-term, they could not hold the seas, not against the raw numbers in the Kulin navy. Any city they took would only be a holding action to keep the Kulin further from Puren, the capital. Even so, that was their best shot, and so the navy went to fight.

Mobuto looked at the map, saw a stretch of the Arabian peninsula not owned by an actual power, and decided to to take it himself before that changed. Jerusalem was to fall, as soon as possible. As its garrison was mostly Biscillian tanks, this didn’t seem much of a problem in the grand scheme of things, barring the inevitability of naval assets reconquering the city a few times.

Wilhelm joined his cabinet of generals in the board room. “Gentlemen, that was an excellent campaign against the Swedish remnant.” The generals nodded. “Truly one of our quickest wins,” a general replied.

“We need to capitalize on this momentum,” Wilhelm began. One of the generals suddenly realized where this was going, and stifled a scream. “We need to get back into the field. Now, we could try to navigate some sort of open borders with either the USSR or Uzbekistan, but those guys are fascist and suck respectively. No, we need to go for someone closer to home. Someone we have more experience fighting.” Another general blanched. “Gentleman, it is time to invade the Twin Sicilies again, alongside fellow communists, Zaire!”

The Mapuche Eastern Fleet sat idle, but not quiet. They knew they were needed out west, but getting there would be a nightmare, so instead they mostly ran logistics and readied in case the Vandals or (in the worst case) Marajoara joined in against them, watching as Two Sicilies boats fought the random boats of other civs.

On the southernmost edge of the Cylinder itself, Mapuche and Kulin fleets fought over the Antarctic islands. The Kulin took the first blow, seizing Lof Ta, but the fighting was far from over, as what elements of the Western Fleet could do so began to trickle in.

The first core city to fall was Futra Kura, although it would not stay in Barak’s hands for long. The push was unsupported, and the seas still contested. It was still an ill omen for the Mapuche.

Kulin forces continued to bear down on the frozen cities, and the defenders continued to hold as best they could, for once those cities fell, all the heat would fall on the peninsular heartland cities.

The hills of Italy and the peacekeepers within, as normal, made progress a slog for the Germans. Wilhelm’s hope was that the raw gap in troop quality would make the difference. The generals thought it a faint hope, but Wilhelm was willing to take the gamble.

When Puren fell for the first time, Lautero’s generals tried to convince him to pull back to a bunker out east. After he finished chewing those generals out in private, he opened with a public declaration to return to Puren, in person. “We will retake Puren. And they’ll take it back again. And we’ll repeat this cycle again and again, but I promise you all: I will keep coming back, no matter how many times it takes, and I’ll still be there in the end.”

Zairepower had brought Jerusalem’s defences to the brink, but no troops were in theater to press the advantage for now. The Bisclian troops joked about Wilhelm being closer to conquering the capital than Zaire was to taking them. It wasn’t the kind of joke anyone actually intended to laugh at.

Elsewhere, Lautero kept his promise for the first time of many.

The conquest of the coastal core finally began in earnest, with tentative land reinforcements arriving to help secure the beachhead. Mapuche forces were clearly waning, but they still had plenty of fight left in them, as they retook Puren before long.

In the south, the naval situation was far better, with the Antarctic holdings falling back into Mapuche hands..

Lautero looked across the broken city of Puren. Barely six thousand still lived here now, most having died in or fled from the fighting. Everywhere he went, he found corpses left unburied. There was just too much fighting to do. He knew things were worse in Futra Kura, and he knew it would only get worse. He prayed he’d at least be able to keep it from spreading.

Raiders from Lima managed to take Temu Ko while the Mapuche fought to keep their main core. This sent alarm bells among the cabinet- not only would it be hell retaking the city given the border situation, that opened up a new front for the Kulin to send ground troops.

Taiping and the Northern Yuan stood at peace, two armies far out of date, left behind in the press of science. Hong Xiuquan knew if it came to it, they’d lose horribly. Quantity, as some Soviet general had said, had a quality of its own, and the Northern Yuan certainly had quantity. Higher than they could mentally fathom as a number, at that.

Lautero took in the barrage of eight declarations of war, skimmed the list, noticed that neither the Vandals nor Marajoara were among them, and threw them all in the trash. Thomas Sankara and Wangchuck weren’t his biggest problem at the moment.

Admittedly, he quickly realized that the Kosovar of all people had the potential to become a problem with their massive parajumper exodus. The Eastern Fleet found a problem to solve.

“Are we actually making… headway?” one German general whispered to another. “It looks like it,” the other whispered back. No-one wanted to betray skepticism in front of the Emperor, of course, but this was going better than it had any right to.

Further south, a host of Uzbek drones and powered armor sat around, metal-plated thumbs up their rectums, and whistled loudly whenever command asked what the hell they were doing when the USSR was pushing back in the last war.

The dead had mostly been buried, and small regrowth had begun. Back to ~150k, so far from 6k, still so far from where it was at the start. Hopefully with the push dented, they could hold out from here.

Naples and Teramo fell in one swoop, German robots crushing all resistance and planting a flag in the heart of Caserta per Wilhelms request. It seemed premature to their operators, but who’s gonna tell the Emperor no?

Tamar started a metal band at some point, inspired by the hellish sounds of constant air raids. Called themselves the Burning of Hope. They shredded pretty hard, but some metal purists weren’t willing to count them as metal for inane gatekeeping reasons.

Temu Ko was retaken, despite early estimates. It was an impressive victory, given the terrain and Marajoara in the way, but even in this shot, you can see that it only belied bigger problems on the Pacific.

“Why, we’re besting those Bisilians so hard we’ve conquered Teramo three times now!” boasted Wilhelm, oblivious to the mild own-goal of that statement.

The Kulin fleet had reconquered the Antarctic, and begun another push for the southernmost reaches of mainland Mapuche. The row of islands in front of Kallvu Ko and Mewin would make the next line of defense, so the generals planned.

Further north, the situation went south very rapidly as a pair of Nexi vanguarded a push into Peng Ko and Temu Ko. The fighting was now in the heartland.

A squad of advanced XCOM units came out of nowhere to knock out the Mewin from behind the citadel islands. The fighting was both north and south now.

Peng Ko was retaken at the cost of losing Futra Kura, a trade Lautero hated even as he consoled himself that it at least wasn’t Puren this time.

“Well shit, they came for us finally,” shot one soldier to another as they unloaded their rifles at advancing Zairan battlesuits. The city would fall, but they’d keep fighting well into the night to try and take it back, and with their naval support, they didn’t even have bad odds of it.

Futra Kura was retaken once more, at the cost of Peng Ko. Still, both it and Temu Ko were well within Mapuche capacity to retake.

Mewin and Yowinguerra were retaken, the Kulin navy pushed back to the Antarctic line.

Wilhelm’s generals sheepishly avoided eye contact with their Emperor. “What do you mean we haven’t taken any further ground? We had them routed!”

“My Emperor, the peacekeepers literally occupy every position we could take to advance the assault. Our men literally cannot advance without crushing a purple parajumper or red-and-blue tank to death.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. “GOD. DAMMIT.”

The south was secure. Not a Kulin boat in sight. Still, most of the remaining fleet was stuck in the wrong ocean, made more complicated by the Taiping units clogging up parts of the cape.

“My queen! Some guy who calls himself Our Lord and Savior’s brother just declared war upon us,” the assistant called out over the din of the rehearsal. “Mmm, is he Uzbek or Russian?” Tamar responded, letting the guitar hang off her shoulder for a second. “No, my lady. Chinese.” Tamar took the guitar back up. “Don’t care!” And then she shredded approximately as hard as the Taiping privateers shredded the wandering line infantry section they found embarked.

The aid rushed back in. “My queen! Lenin just declared war!” Tamar paused. “Well, we’re dead.” She resumed rehearsal.

There used to be a group of Georgian soldiers wandering the frozen north. Then they died.

The Kulin made a deeper push, taking much of the north in a series of swift motions, with more ground forces on the way. Still, the Mapuche were ready to fight.

Awolowo had more wondrous structures within his borders than the next four civs combined.

The Mapuche counteroffensive hit a new problem: there were so many Northern Yuan peacekeepers that they could not physically make their way into Peng Ko without triggering another war. They already had enough issues just fighting one relevant civ- like hell did they want to end up like the Chinook, losing ground to random purple parajumpers.

Further south, the situation was deteriorating. Puren fell and was retaken again, the Citadel Islands fell, Kallvu Ko behind them also fell. Kulin ground troops were starting to arrive in number.

Ferdinand looked at the casualty reports. He couldn’t keep Jerusalem going. He only had a handful of breakthrough forces left in that theater, with most of what still survived being submarines.

Tiblisi fell to the Soviets quickly, ending the Georgian state in as much of a whimper as it had lived. As Tamar fled, she thought of the life her people had lived. Certainly, they hadn’t accomplished a lot in their life, but they still had their moments. Their early diaspora across the frozen north; their enclaves amidst the Soviets; their enduring stand against the Uzbeks. Her people would live on through their peacekeepers- assuming their many new enemies didn’t just blow them to pieces. She brought a guitar and founded a band on the sub, taking some of the crew as bandmates.

The Mapuche were running out of men in the south. They had retaken the northern Citadel Islands and held all mainland southern cities, but Puren had fallen again, and the lands behind the Andes were mostly unguarded at this point.

Elsewhere, “How is that one city harder to take than ours are?” Rosilio grumbled as he signed the peace treaty. As he left, a Gallic envoy arrived. Seemed Vercingetorix wanted another go at the Quilombans.

A huge throng of hybrids arrived, backed by naval support. The front just collapsed, with most coastal cities falling immediately. Puren was retaken, but it would not hold for long.

Up north, the situation was only a bit better in that Kulin forces were thinner.

The west had fallen. Puren, had fallen. Lautero grieved the loss of so many of his people, and grieved the losses that were now inevitable. West of the Andes, all the remaining mainland cities had been bombed out, their defenders attritioned to a handful of nanohives and battlesuits. Still, he did not wear his grief on his face- if the Kulin were out for his blood, he would make them earn it.

The Kulin began to earn it. Advancing scattered naval forces across the tip of the continent while scattered ground units assaulted Ainil and Tralkawenu, they continued to push the beaten Mapuche nanohives to the sea.

Airborn divisions continued to push deeper into the mainland. Only a handful of ground defenders remained to hold the line. The north had fallen.

More and more Mapuche mainland cities fell into Kulin hands. The Eastern Fleet readied to defend Tukapel and Trakla, with some vessels contesting captured cities, but anything they could do at this point would be too little, too late.

The mainland was lost. All that was left now was the two islands...

...And Trakla was not long for this world.

Rio had a strong, modern carpet, ready to go toe-to-toe with any of their neighbors, especially with their impregnable walls rendering their cities unassailable should they meet a match. It was just a matter of actually using it on someone other than Quilombo.

Tralka fell as expected. The rest of the fleet was absent, no-where to be seen, perhaps retreated behind Tukapel.

Jerusalem and Naples were still in enemy hands, but thanks to clever Biscilian engineering, their fleets now sported modern vessels far faster than any other power would dream of retrofitting. In practice, this was mostly a logistical nightmare- now they had to spread a thin pool of nanomaterials among all of their suddenly-cybersubs, which would only weaken them all and make the defense harder.

The fleet was gone. Tukapel was doomed to fall.

And so it fell, and with it, the last Mapuche city. The death of Mapuche.

“How’re you feeling? After all this, after losing it all in a twenty-three years?” the stranger asked him. He thought for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t regret much. Maybe should could have pushed harder, earlier, researched techs faster, taken more cities. But we brought the Lima and Palmares to their knees, stood proud against our Marajoaran rivals, and fought our killers to a standstill before they wore us down. We went from strength to the grave, without wallowing in miserable failure like the city-states. We have nothing to regret.” The stranger nodded. “We should all be so lucky,” she replied.

“Well, on the one hand, there are too many Northern Yuan units for Germany to advance. On the other hand, Kulin forces keep us from retaking Teramo. Mixed bag, these peacekeepers,” the intel advisor reported. Ferdinand simply shook his head in annoyance. “Maybe if we could get those arsenal ships out of the way and get an actual breakthrough force, we could recapture Naples, sir-” Ferdinand threw up his hands and tossed the paper work on his desk to the ceiling as he stormed out.

Once more, Punjab began a war upon their Cholan rivals, but we shall have to wait until the next part to see how that goes. Current situation: Punjab. Still. Has. Not. Built. Units!

We end on an account of the various leaders' accounts, where we mostly see who can still afford to pay the scientists to look busy.

This has been BloodyAltima, and this has been Episode 20 Part 2. Key events this part: Mississippi and Georgia finally fell, Uzbeks threw the horde against a wall and lost, Chola and Punjab exchanged inconclusive blows, and the Mapuche died out of nowhere in a brutal slugfest. Fewer civs died this part, but I think you’ll agree that the nature of that last one puts us still on rate.