OF GLORY LOST
RoyalNobody
Empire Total War DMUC 7.0 Great Britain
Last Update
Siege of Hannover, 1761
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Revere, though vastly outnumbered, vows to at least make a show of trying to break the siege before the inevitable, and inevitably embarrassing, retreat. His self-appointed duty now to make a point to Britain's other protectorates, that they were not completely useless, and the redcoats would still fight for their allies. The redcoats arrive from the North. Revere has with him the 5th, freshly raised from the green Suffolk shires, the 16th, a stout, yet rebellious Irish regiment from windswept boglands of Donegal, and the 6th, a hardy regiment raised from the unforgiving highlands of Scotland. Supporting the infantry are two galloper guns, and two cavalry regiments, the 15th Dragoon and 9th Horse Guards.
Revere, with no intention sacrificing his men in a lost cause, deploys his force defensively. His two 6lbr cannons race ahead, stopping and deploying in a whirl of dust as their crews jump from their horses and manhandle the guns into position. The thunder begins, but not from the British cannon. From the South the assault begins, and the walls thicken with smoke as the Hanoverian cannon buckle backwards in a great roar of iron and flame.
The tidy, red-coated ranks catch up with their cannon, who join their Hanoverian allies as they hurl death at the distant Prussians. News of the British reaches Kornburg, and he orders a brigade to see off the impudence. The redcoats wait beneath their colours. The Kings colours, an explosion of red, white and blue, trimmed with gold fabric with the regimental insignias central; and the regimental colours, a single colour matching the facings of the English, Welsh, Scottish and Irish men who waited patiently beneath them. “Whats going to happen Sarge?” asks a nervous private to his stone-faced sergeant, the same sergeant who had plucked him from the pub nestled in the Suffolk countryside and had brought him to this cold, damp European battlefield that might be his death. “Your going to earn your pay, lad. Your going to earn your pay,” grins the sergeant through rotting teeth, tobacco juice dribbling down his chin.
Revere watches as the blue-coated Prussians approach. “Make ready. Present!” The redcoats all seem to make a half-turn as they bring their muskets to their shoulders. The Prussian line halts, the veterans among them can only watch as the redcoats disappear into a cloud of dirty white smoke. Men are throw backwards, the fortunate are killed outright or bleed out in the grass, the unlucky live to suffer beneath the knifes and saws of the surgeons. "Rüsten, feuer!" Now it is the redcoats turn to die. "Close up, close up!" bellow the sergeants as they push and pull soldiers into the forming gaps.
The fifes, drums and bagpipes fall silent as the bandsman now tend to the growing wounded. Revere anxiously watches his thinning line. He decides that enough show has been made, and orders the withdrawal. The redcoats clumsily edge backwards. More and more are thrown back to join the dead and dying as the British struggle to reload on the move. Like wolves circling a wounded stag, the Prussians smell weakness. "Beheben bajonett!" An observant sergeant sees the glint of steel through the thick smoke and shouts a warning to his officer. "Regiment, halt!" The red-coated ranks grind their feet into the mud and stare into the smoke. "Fix, bayonets!" The crackle of musketry is replaced with the scraping of steel and the clicks of bayonets being fixed.
The Prussians emerge through the smoke, screaming dark figures with bayonets reaching ahead. "Forward, kill the bastards! Kill them!" bellows Revere, any thought of a swift withdrawal gone, replaced instead with doubts of whether his men will follow him. They do. The redcoats surge forward, screaming war cries, in Gaelic, Welsh and English, their lips drawn back over bared teeth. Men in redcoats and bluecoats alike fight with the brutal discipline of professional soldiers, but the Prussians fight with a cold efficiency born of their culture, while the British fight with a savageness bred from the desperation of their own. Both find themselves evenly matched.
It is numbers that win the day, both outside and within the breach. The city falls. For the first time the British redcoats and Prussian bluecoats have met, and a newfound respect earned.
Thanks & Good Luck!
Last edited by RoyalNobody; November 09, 2012 at 04:04 PM.
Follow after Caesar's 13th legion--the Legio XIII Gemina--marching under the command of M. Aemilius Lepidus. From the edge of defeat in the hills of Pannonia to an unrivaled victory on the banks of the Bathinus, this is the personal recollection from one boy who stood with the Lions of Caesar and fought in one of the bitterest yet least remembered war of Roman history.
Preview
The advance up towards the ridge met no resistance. In the front, we lowered our shields to get a wider view. My helmet felt like it was stuck to my head and I had trouble hearing. Only the steady sound of the buccinae and the hand resting on my back kept me in formation.
I watched the surrounding ridges through the rippling haze. A phantom figure would appear only to fade when I squinted to look closer. The entire time, one thought constantly repeated in my mind: the line was too loose. My hand brushed against the pommel of my sword every now and then. The feeling of the rounded heavy wood calmed me slightly but it was always temporary.
My lips grew chapped and dry each time I inhaled the hot air around me. Bugs buzzed in the distance and I was sweating through the layers of armor. My mouth grew dry from the heat and I became increasingly tempted to reach down to the canteen of posca slapping against my waist. Men sighed behind me as we marched forward.
Suddenly, I felt something slam into my shield. Instinctively, I raised it up to my eyes and felt something embed itself in it. And in an instant, hoots and jeers rose up all around us. Armored warriors emerged from the surroundings hills. Arrows whipped and snapped through the air. I heard someone scream in pain and didn’t dare look back.
Can YOU dance like the Cookie Man?
Improbe amor quid non mortalia pectora cogis? - The Aeneid
I run an Asteroid mining website. Visit it before James Cameron takes it from me.
Short introduction: Echilion II is dead. He has given his son a decaying Nation on the decline for centuries. Nevertheless Denethor, the Steward of Gondor and son of Echilion has decided enough is enough, and he attempts to restore Gondor to the Greatness it had under the Kings. This is a difficult task, and the Haradrim and Orcs stand in the way, bringing uncountable troops into the War. Despite the title, Gondors superior troops, and some of Middle Earths Greatest Generals, the situation is perilous and some internal warfare took its tool. Now the forces of evil muster and prepare to destroy Gondor forever.[/COLOR]
Last edited by Steward Denethor II; December 11, 2012 at 10:31 PM.
Reason: Providing Short description
Re: MAARC XLII - SUBMISSIONS (Extended to December)
Hi guys, due to the lack of 5 submissions the MAARC is now extended until the end of December. The current submissions are still valid, and to enter you need to have updated your AAR at least twice between November and December.
Medieval 2 Total War: Kingdoms
Third Age Total War Mod
Eriador AAR
Short Information: It is a third person narrative which follows the events of the generals of Eriador on their campaign against evil in different realms of Middle Earth; Misty Mountains, Dunland, Rohan and Isengard. It has been intended a prequel to the next AAR I will write, The Resurrection which shall account the rise of Arnor and the war brought deep into the East.
Last edited by Paladin94610; December 14, 2012 at 04:15 AM.
Reason: made the trailer picture aligned to centre :P
It is 12th January 1848, and he Kingdom of Sicily is in chaos. Street fighting between gangs are common, and the common people are dissatisfied with years of harsh Bourbon rule. Ever since the 1200's Sicily had been conquered by many different nations due to their weakness and attractive trade location. The Spanish, Italians and even the Germans had control of Sicily at some point of time before 1848. Now open revolt is in the streets, and Sicily faces her worst crisis in its history: one created by her own people, and one she cannot survive. It is now up to our hero to go back in time, somehow right the wrongs with his new found, faithful sidekicks and make Sicily a powerful Kingdom from scratch, prevent any internal rebellion and restore rightful law and order in Sicilian society. Abandoned by his parents and his only guardian dead, our hero must strive against all odds to triumph and ensure that the Kingdom of Sicily will never once again be subjugated by foreign kingdoms, and save the lives of millions of Sicilians in the future. Dueling Dukes and fighting for his life in the streets during pitched battles, a seemingly insurmountable challenge awaits. In the process, he hopes to discover his ancient lineage as well. Cults and Knightly Orders seek to influence him in order to achieve a greater goal that he can't even begin to imagine. Can he overcome the challenges and succeed?
Last edited by Swaeft; December 21, 2012 at 08:27 AM.
In the rise of medieval warfare, the forging of a legend commences! A tale in the past, one single man between the total destruction of Moorish domination and the glory victory! And another in the present, with a simple man trying to find the truth in the legend as he sinks more and more deeply in a conspirancy with an extension he can only begin to imagine! Slowly, these two stories get tangled together, until their meeting on the finale...
Grote Smurf
MAARC XLII - SUBMISSIONS (Extended to December)
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