StarDestroyer.Net BBS

DISCLAIMER: This has very little to do with real-world history. Characters have been made up out of whole cloth or drastically altered, sanity has been tossed aside, and in general, don't scream 'HISTORICAL INACCURACY!' because frankly, it's not meant to be.

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Well, first I'd like to list my influences and inspirations. Paramount are the Wolfenstein series, the Hellsing manga, the tabletop RPG Exalted, and real-world history, among others.

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A TERRIBLE BEAUTY

“Man now has the capacity to utterly annihilate himself” – Unknown British soldier, 1918

“I love war!” – Anonymous German soldier, September 1939

Berlin, 1940

The inner sanctum of Prussianism has never been so dark, so grim, or so drab. The clouds cry tears hard, as if they are weeping for Germany’s lost innocence, roiling winds blowing Swastika-banners through the air as the grand parade continues. Troops goose-step through the great boulevard, marching, the crash of their boots on stone and asphalt forming a hellish, almost demonic sound, totalitarianism made manifest. Following them are innumerable tanks, and then the mighty Kriegmaschines – gigantic, 25-foot robots given mechanical life by skilled thaumaturgy and masterful science and the deft skill of their pilots. Then follow the Germaniatruppen Waffen-SS, the elites, gas-masked, leather-coated and power-armoured.

Looking on is a short, dark-haired, toothbrush-moustached former corporal now given ultimate power over his nation, made its Leader until the day of his death. From a balcony he overlooks the scene, the triumphal procession marking victory over Poland.

They stop before the balcony; raise their hands into the air, mimicking the old Roman salute the Party has perverted into its symbol of loyalty.

They hail the old corporal, and he basks in their adoration until a figure beckons him to come inside, come into the place, his bunker. He follows, going down several flights of stairs, then into the bunker, through an adamant door that could be used for a bank vault. He looks at them, the room is lit by torches and braziers of bright flame, banners with runic symbols and torches are on the wall, in the centre is an immense map of Europe, recently updated to reflect the obliteration of Poland. The flames glow an eerie blue, and by their light Hitler looks to the west of the map.

Alsace shines, marking it as important, and so does Lorraine. But there is a pressing trouble to the south, south of Bavaria and Silesia – Austria-Hungary. The wretched place narrowly escaped punishment in the last war, losing no territory, while land was stripped from the sacred Fatherland. The Augsleich, Austria, Danubia, the Dual Monarchy – no matter its name, its destruction is absolutely imperative. They have sided with France and Britain, rejecting their previous loyalties, betraying everything. He fumes with rage, striking his fist on the map just where Vienna lies.

An electric jolt passes through him – he shouldn’t have done that, although it felt good.

He guesses the odds – he has always been a gambler, and it has always paid off. The Austrians have Artefacts of their own – the Kahlenberg Weapon, to name one. They also have the best Thaumaturges in the whole of Europe, but he has many more, in both Artefacts and men. His augurs and spies have determined that they are still modernising their military. How weak they are! A single strike and they will fall, he has determined it; if the blow is hard enough of course, but then that is the very essence of Blitzkrieg.

He looks at Rommel, at Guderian, at Himmler and Mannstein, the very best generals and Thaumaturges he has.

He tells them what he wants – the complete destruction of Austria-Hungary.

Vienna

Kaiser Otto Von Hapsburg-Lothringen looks at the map, a tiny (when compared to the real thing) depiction of the whole of Europe, from Greenland to the Urals, forests, mountains, rivers and seas in miniature. Countries glow a soft colour, the borders determined by the edges of the glow. Poland is shown as occupied, German grey is striped over its dark brown colour. Austria glows white. The map shows armies and fleets and plane squadrons moving in real time, showing them as figures or planes or ships. It’s a fine work of thaumaturgy, having cost much for the Hapsburg court.

The Germans are massing near the Bohemian border, and the Italians near South Tyrol. He doesn’t think much of the Italian military, but the Germans are a real threat. The Italian fleet is concentrated in Venice – a good strike could knock it out, but Italy hasn’t joined the war yet, so he decides to wait for a declaration of war.

An attack will do as fine, but he’s concerned – Poland fell before the Blitzkrieg in only 18 days. He clutches his repeater-pistol tightly; he’d rather die than be captured by the Germans.

He leaves the bunker, going into the Schönbrunn Palace, looking over Vienna, taking sight of the Kahlenberg and the powerful weapon upon it. Who built it is long lost to time, but the first and only time it was used in anger was during the siege of 1683; a rather large crater, a mile deep and wide, now marks the spot that it was used upon, obliterating the heart of the Turkish host. And that was on its least powerful setting.

Potsdam

At least the Kaiser left us one good thing, thinks engineer Ruprecht – this. He is thinking, of course, about the Walküre, otherwise known (in Germany, at least) as the ultimate weapon. Completed in September 1918, far too late to change anything, it is a Strategic Artefact, the ultimate example of the skyship. It stands a mile long, wrought of orichalcum and adamantine, dwarfing all other examples of its kind, flying through sheer thaumaturgical might. Battery upon battery of plasma cannons, sufficient to destroy armies, combined with masses of anti-air guns, missile turrets and immense bomb bays make it a tough foe at the least. Uncounted millions of tiny, silvery machines scuttle through it, repairing and maintaining day and night.

It has as its ultimate armament the Godkiller Cannon – a weapon firing a white beam of pure energy that simply obliterates everything within a kilometre of the point it strikes, causing massive destruction within ten kilometres as a direct result.

And then there are its thaumaturgical defences, the most important of which is the Shield; when activated, no weapon, thaumaturgical or otherwise, can breach it. It can only last ten minutes, takes weeks to recharge, and the skyship cannot retaliate during this period – but it makes it simply invincible when activated.

The skyship is not due to be unleashed just yet – although the multitude of spirits bound to it hunger for battle.. No, if the Austrians prove unusually resistant, it will be deployed. And then it will destroy them all.

Well I'm certainly intrigued.

I'm gathering this is closer to a steampunk-with-magic 20th century?

'cause if it is, keep going.

Well, not exactly steampunk - 'Magitechpunk' is probably closer to the general feel of the setting.

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Vienna

Lukas Edelstein takes one last look at Vienna, before the train passes it entirely. The mighty hill of Kahlenberg, with its terrible cannon, is soon on the horizon, and then gone. Lukas knows where he is going - the forts of South Tyrol, built to withstand anything the Italians can throw at them. Of course, there are rumours that the Italians have better weaponry than is commonly known, including shadowed whispers that they have an Artefact.

Artefacts are the big guns, strategic weapons that can lay waste to cities or armies. A big reason that Austria-Hungary survived the last war was the large number of Artefacts it possessed, spread throughout its territory in fortresses - no state could countenance a non-Great Power, or a possibly hostile state, gaining control of Artefacts even for a brief period.

He isn't scared of death - well, that is a factor, but it's not important - he's scared of what might happen to the Austria he knows and loves. Little does he know, one day he'll be fighting on the streets of Vienna against the Germans, and from then on to the streets of Munich and Stuttgart.

Luftwaffe Base, Carynthia

Himmelkapitän Georg Von Trapp looks on at his superheavy battle-skyship, the Kaiser Franz Josef. It is immense, 263 metres long, 39 metres wide, and 11 metres deep. It has dozens of guns, mostly plasma based, lifting itself via thaumaturgy and moving via fusion engines, powered by a fusion reactor.

It's one of the new types, a powerful and mighty skyship. It's easily the equal of a German Bismarck sky-battleship or one of their Graf Zeppelin carriers.

He hopes it'll be enough. Then, a plane lands near him, without any flags. The pilot leaves, and Von Trapp notes that it doesn't have any flag markings, marking it out as a mercenary plane. Von Trapp doesn't like mercenaries at the best of times, but at least they don't seem to be fighting for the Germans. More planes soon land, with the same markings and various motifs marking their nation of origin - one seems to be American, a second British, and so on. The plane that first landed is Swedish, he notes.

===

Magnus Skarsgård looks around the base. He has a deal with the Dual Monarchy, he'll fight for them throughout the war, as long as it lasts, payments made after. It was a proposition the Augsleich could not ignore. Each of his pilots is an ace, marked by their number of kills - they also have better planes than the majority of Austrian pilots, with heat-seekers, rotary cannon and so forth.

He certainly hopes everything turns out alright.

Venice

Count Rezzio looks at the map, non-thaumaturgical - Italy has too few thaumaturges to spare, and only one - one! Artefact, which is going to be used in the attack on South Tyrol in a matter of mere weeks. The attack that he is leading.

The Tyrol is heavily fortified, a legacy of old wars and a remembrance of new developments. If Italy is to assault Austria, it must do so at the Tyrol. Il Duce (curse his name!) is also planning an offensive in Libya, which seems to have more support, so he is going to have to make do with something that seems like a parody of an army - the men are ill-trained and disciplined, the equipment un-standardised, the tanks and planes pitiful. Still he must make do - the wishes of Il Duce are commands to him.

If Il Duce wants the Tyrol, he will get what he wants - no matter how many die to achieve it.

Breslau

The sky is grim, as train after train of soldiers arrive at the city. Through the lashing rain, Karl Adlerssohn walks through the streets of the city to the specified point. He gets on the truck, and it starts moving. Breslau is swiftly behind him, even as he cradles his rifle, and then it is gone entirely. The rifle he’s carrying is a plasma weapon, state-of-the-art, fully automatic, capable of burning flesh and melting metal with a flurry of shots.

Karl never truly believed in the Nazi ideology, but now the coming war has forced him to fight. He remembers his father, Heinrich, the horrible fate he suffered in the first war, the mourning, the misery. Karl has sworn that that will not happen to him, but with the coming assault through the Bohemian highlands, unfortified as they are, the fear of death is strong in him.

Venice

‘Damn the Austrians,’ Admiral Alessandro mutters under his breath. A few minutes ago, conditions in the Adriatic were balmy and calm, now a nigh-impenetrable storm shields the Austrian coast. Thaumaturgical work, for certain, the immense power required to do so means the Austrians have at least nine First Rank thaumaturges in their navy. Thaumaturges below First Rank are considered practically useless on the operational level – they may turn the tide of an individual skirmish or battle, but the sheer scale of war nowadays prevents those below First Rank from deciding the fate of campaigns.

‘What does Il Duce suggest, Alessandro?’ an aide says.

‘Go straight ahead, damn the waves and lightning,’ Alessandro says. ‘It won’t work.’

‘What do you say?’

‘Wait until the thaumaturges have exhausted themselves,’ Alessandro says. ‘It should work.’

‘Il Duce has a timetable to be met, Alessandro,’ the aide replies. ‘He will be angry if you fail to meet it.’

‘Then, I will send my fleet into the heart of the storm,’ Alessandro says. ‘Just don’t expect many to survive.’

The Siegenberg

The Siegenberg is a fortress on a hill, overlooking the swift flow of the Adige, at the eastern border of South Tyrol. Lukas Edelstein looks at it, the grim concrete fortifications more than capable of shrugging off a sustained bombardment. The Adige is shallow at this point, a natural ford as it were. It is thus vital to any planned invasion.

Guns and AA cannon defend it, but the Siegenberg is a more recent development, built in 1921.

Looking at it, he wonders if it can endure.

Near Vienna

The great aerial assault seen against the twilight sky, incorporating the Himmelschlachtschiff Bismarck, a thousand bombers and twice that number of fighters, is intended to cow Austria, to fill it with terror. It is in many a ways a grand waste of resources, but psychological warfare is essential to Blitzkrieg. If the enemy has no courage, then you have won half the battle already.

The grand accoutrement has tipped off radar stations throughout the Dual Monarchy, and even now fighters ready a grand counter-strike intended to rescue Vienna from destruction. It only remains to be seen if they will succeed.

===

Von Trapp watches from the command deck as the instruments register success – the Franz Josef is flying. Hundreds of fighters are being scrambled throughout Austria, and even more in the other Hapsburg realms. The Germans have sheer numbers on their side, ready to deliver a gigantic knock-out blow to Austrian morale, but Austria has allies, even though war is being fought almost on the outskirts of Paris, the Blitzkrieg having briefly stalled against sheer numbers and moral courage

===

Magnus Skarsgård looks, checking his flight instruments as they near

Vienna. Fires burn far below, and bombers fill the air. It looks like they ignored the Schönbrunn and Hofburg, as well as governmental and industrial centres (including the Kahlenberg Weapon) in favour of setting residential districts aflame. He’s a pilot; he’s at home in the air, in his element.

He speaks on the radio.

‘Eagle One reporting, engage. Repeat, Eagle One reporting, engage. Fire at will, repeat, fire at will.’

The planes begin their assault, and the battle begins in earnest.

===

The duel of the skyships begins. Plasma blasts fade into exotic particles as they touch thaumaturgical defences, missiles and shells explode in mid-air or against decks. The other planes know not to interfere – if they do so, they will be swatted down like ants against these titans of the sky. The air hums with exotic energies, as Von Trapp considers his options. The Bismarck has more powerful guns, and he can’t last forever. He considers his options, before deciding what to do.

It will be something utterly unexpected.

‘Brace yourselves,’ he says. ‘Accelerate to ramming speed!’

A massive chunk of metal, the skyship takes some time to accelerate, mighty as its engines are. It turns round, moving right into the guns of the enemy. They are dumbfounded, surprised. Arcane fields break down trying to stop the mighty ship, as its guns blaze, tearing holes in the armour. Then, with a fateful shot, the magazine of the German skyship is struck.

Fireball.

Half the ship is destroyed by a massive explosion, a terrible flash of fire burning, in some cases, more colours than the usual, the fields holding it aloft weaken and the rest begins to fall. The Austrian vessel sends another shot, this time to the now-exposed fusion reactor, destroying the remains. Then, the battle begins to end. Most bombers are unable to endure the damage caused, the Bismarck was the only skyship deployed – arrogance said it would be enough.The Austrians have the upper hand now and a desperate retreat begins.

Victory comes at a high cost – 10,000, most of them civilians, died in the bombing and subsequent fighting. Whole districts have been razed.

But it is victory, of a most peculiar sort, for the Austrian people have proven that the German juggernaut is not invincible, that it can be defeated. And that is a lesson they will always believe, for as long as this war lasts.

Alright Magitechpunk it is