The March of History

The links are to themefiles that go up on the server to give people some idea of the backdrop to what is going on on the game. And text are just some examples of roleplay from those time periods, which we feel capture the atmosphere of that particular campaign particularly well.

The Lost Generation

"They are not missing. They are here."
- General Plumer's speech at the Menin Gate memorial, 1923

Morgenstern moves up close and lies down next to Mason, pulling him close to let his head rest on his arm. He leans in to be able to hear the dying corporal's last words. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says, his own voice labored and out of breath. In a sudden fit of frustration, anger and sadness, he pulls out the whistle and throws it towards west. The metal of it glitters in the sun when it arcs, and then it falls down into the mud.

"I'd tell you to report to Corporal Luz, but he bought it a few days ago," Rothschild tells Marchand, not looking up as he rifles through his pouch. He appears to be acting as courier for the day. He's carrying a small bag of what looks like mail. "Then I'd tell you to report to Corporal Mancuso, but he bought it last night." He lays this out with a stark sarcasm, as if he can't quite believe it. "I think there are a couple others knocking around town right now. You can probably track a corporal or a sergeant down. Just be quick about it. He'll probably have bought it by dinner time."

The Spanish Civil War

"Was there ever a people whose leaders were as truly their
enemies as this one?"
- Ernest Hemingway

Juan blinks at Marchand. "We are not here to trade one tyrant for another." he says crisply… in French, as he does speak that. "The revolution is upon us, and we will not end it merely to bow down to the degenerate workers state created by Stalin.". He eyes Vidal, and switches back to Spanish. "It was you, Comrade, who warned us not to cooperate with the government when the rising began. What has happened to your ideals?" he wonders.

Lind doesn't like it, even if she brought it up. She bites her lip and nods, seeing the necessity for discretion. "Have you heard, the rumours?" she says, and now choses to whisper as if just talking about the rumours will put the spies of the SIM on top of them. "About people disappearing."

The Winter War

"We gained 22,000 square miles of territory. Just enough land to
bury our dead."
- an unnamed Soviet general

"That or shoot us." No gentle lies for the ears of women from Matti - his words are harsh, and blunt. He shakes his head. "In Stalin's eyes, we're all undesirables. Mass deportations, executions, and everything that goes with them." He adopts a mock cheerful smile, that ends up being rather horrible, "So I guess we all just better fight really really hard."

"29, now…" Sonja replies after a moments thought. "I didn't really think much of what it meant to be Red or White until very recently, I've never been all that political.".

"Only that…" He squeezes her arm again, then lets go. "Far too young…" He groans softly, leans back in his seat and listens. "One of the boys said, the other day… 'Red blood on White snow: Finland's pink.'" He leers, but briefly—nun or not, prudish Lutheranism or not, an old soldier of all people is going to appreciate the irony of saying that to a woman. It goes away, though, and is replaced by a more somber visage. "Pink, like the sunset after a good hard day's accomplishments. I think I like a pink Finland, Sister."

Ivan smiles, and offers a cigarette to Pekka when he's done, letting him keep his own copy of the signed document. And Mikhail does the talking. "The orders are already given to our men, no more offensive action. We will need your cooperation in ensuring a smooth transition to peace in this city, of course. All locomotives on the Leningrad-Viipuuri railway line must be left as they are, with Soviet soldiers guarding them to make sure the treaty terms are met. And we expect an orderly withdrawal from the city, within seven days, which we think is generous in the extreme.".

Rise of the Third Reich

"I have not come to make men better, but to make use of their weaknesses."
- Adolf Hitler

Wagner's voice is loud and clear as he raises his right hand and repeats the oath, "I swear to you, Adolf Hitler, as my Fuhrer, loyalty and bravery. I pledge to you and the superiors appointed by you, obedience unto death. So help me God." The oath uttered, Wagner can't help but grin in satisfaction.

Wagner whistles sharply at the SS men, to get their attention. Then he shoulders his submachine gun and shouts, "Prepare to fire! Get the untermensch off this road, now! Those who don't run immediately are partisans! Show no mercy!"

"No… Belief. Nothing to believe in. Progress is… A lie. Science is a harlot - she has been sold for a pittance." Dr. Schmidt staggers to his feet, the bottle of Schnapps dropping away from his hand, and tilting on the table, splashing hard A across his desk. "Welcome to the New World we are bu-builing, Fraulein Weir! Welcome to apathy, welcome to unreason, welcome to my-mystical nonsense and madness on a gr-grand scale. The w-world is my asylum!" Dr Schmidt stares at you with maddened eyes, staggering on his feet; suddenly, he pulls a crisp, perfect Nazi salute, "Heil Hitler!" And falls straight backwards. It's not a sissy collapse, but a straight transformation from vertical to horizontal, without anything in between. By the time he hits the ground, he's already passed out.

The Fall of France

"We are beaten. We have lost the battle."
- Prime Minister Paul Reynaud

WW1 - The Gallipoli Campaign

"I was justified in being proud of being an Australian."
- Letter, Private Roy Howard Denning, 213, 1st Field Company Engineers, Malta, 23 July 1915, to his mother

"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives…
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets
to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours.
You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears.
Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace.
After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well."
- Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, Memorial at Anzac Cove, 1934

Callaway continues his desperately muttered call to command for several minutes, but finally slams the radio down. He takes a deep breath, face white as a sheet as he turns to his men. "Lads…one of you grab a signal flag. To be planted when we reach the enemy trench. The third wave has been ordered forward. Five of you, form up with me. The rest, provide us with cover fire until the next wave is called." He points to Passmore and four of the other men. Seemingly at random. At this point, it matters little who goes with which wave. There will be another to follow. Callaway adds, a catch in his voice, "If you're wounded, retreat." Best chance they have.

Nothing is lush here, less so even with the line having been pushed back. There's shells and all the other horrors of warfare about. But strangely, this evening is a bit quiet. The peace of exhaustion, war wariness and other phenomena. This war at least, has more honor and mercy in it than those poor souls fighting the Germans themselves. Silverson is himself sitting quietly in the trench, writing a little note on what looks like an index card and tieing it to a tin can of the bullied beef. Huh, why is he doing that? A few others seem to be doing it too…

"The fuck are you talking about," Lee harumphs and throws a punch at Silverson with the wounded hand, something he immediately regrets in a form of sick self foreshadowing. "We made it another night." The antisocial South Australian turns about in the trench. Something's off. "Listen lads, I hate to tempt Satan, but we may just all go back ho—" His mouth stays in that shape as the soldier sees the man of their number lying at the end of the trench. The only change in his body comes in the form of his arms falling limp, the bomb falling from his good hand.


"Goddam it, you'll never get the Purple Heart hiding in a foxhole! Follow me!"
Captain Henry P. Jim Crowe - 13th January 1943 - (Guadalcanal)

"Before Guadalcanal the enemy advanced at his pleasure — after Guadalcanal he retreated at ours." - Admiral "Bull" Halsey

The Marines have been pulled back to hastily-improved defenses on and around the ridge following the previous night's attack by the Japanese. When the squads were stationed here this afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel Merritt A. Edson briefly addressed the men. "You men have done a great job, and I have just one more thing to ask of you. Hold out just one more night. I know we've been without sleep a long time. But we expect another attack from them tonight and they may come through here. I have every reason to believe that we will have reliefs here for all of us in the morning." That was many hours ago, of course. Relief still seems a long way off now that night has fallen. The Japanese are expected to surmount the hill soon, with cover of darkness. It is a moonless night, pitch black, as the Marines wait for the inevitable assault.

Grayling falls back, hand throbbing, as Nobuo finally, finally dies! "Get me out of here." he moans from the stained floor of the trench. "I can't take any more.". He grunts and another foul torrent adds to the already noisome trench. The US is in breach of the bioweapons convention here.

Fischer welcomes the Japanese warmly, as always. Fish is cuddly that way. A gout of flame roars out of the trenches.
Masaru is turned into a human torch, running around screaming for a few seconds before he collapses and smolders. Tsubasa is cut down before getting ten feet. Shortest charge ever.
Fischer winces as Masaru runs around screaming. He wishes they wouldn't do that. He takes a deep breath. Fish certainly looks a little more grim.


"The disaster of Stalingrad profoundly shocked the German people and armed forces alike…Never before in Germany's history had so large a body of troops come to so dreadful an end."
General Siegfried von Westphal - 1943

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