The Let's Play Archive


by Various

Part 9: Hegemon

Chapter 8: Hegemon

Medibot and Ironicus both have something they'd like to share with the class:

Jargonia claims 12 armies, Neo-Rome claims 24.

Here we be:

Initiative! Activate!

Another throwdown, Smarmadonia just loves being out in front...

Jargonia takes the lead.

Bloodied by their most recent incursion into Asia, but no less determined, the Jargonians launched a massive second wave assault against the defending Iron Legions in Kamchatka.

At first possessing crushing superiority in numbers, the Jargonians, led by Chief of Operations Medibot, easily trounced their opponents. Morale soared as they contemplated to possibility of an easy victory.

But then, from the south, a strange shape moved into the skies over the battlefield, blocking out the sun.

The fearsome Flying Sweater Puppies had arrived!

Jargonian troops began to fall into disarray as commanders, baffled at the sight and having no tactical response, ordered their men into a disorganized series of uncoordinated retreats.

Neo-Roman soldiers on the ground saw their chance and, not waiting for troops aboard the massive airship to deploy, counter-attacked their fragmenting attackers.

"I'll be damned." Chief Medibot muttered, eying the enemy dirigible through his binoculars.

"What should we do sir?" asked his lieutenant, his voice rising anxiously

"What do we do? What do we always do when the enemy produces a daffodil from within our pocket as if an alcoholic street performer, or bursts forth as a gregarious clown at our funeral wake, both unexpected and alarming?"

His lieutenant stared blankly.

"Oh bother, just shoot the damned thing!"

As Jargonian divisions raced to halt the enemies advance, artillery units quickly formed and opened fire on the hovering menace.

Now under attack, the inexperienced Sweater Puppy pilots quickly realized the concept of 'evasive maneuvers' did not translate well to a gigantic lumbering steel balloon. Moving to gain altitude, they inadvertently exposed the craft's rear pump assembly to direct enemy artillery fire. By chance, a Jargonian shell smashed directly into the aft starboard engine, causing the dirigible's entire stern to burst into a magnificent gout of flame and come crashing down to earth.

Flaming Iron Legion troops poured out of the wreckage and were easily dispatched.

"Get on the wire to every Jargonian command," Medibot ordered his men, grinning, "And tell them how shoot those bastards down!"

Meanwhile, smelling blood in the water, Jargonian units moved quickly to exploit the poorly defended Verdanian outpost of Iceland.

In the south, A-Squadron launched a brief and entirely unsatisfying assault on North Africa, breaking Verdanian resistance easily but finding the area disappointingly lacking in things to pillage.

Jargonia takes Kamchatka, Iceland, and North Africa!

With a swift strike from the Ukraine, Iron legion troops with Sweater Puppy air support smashed into Smarmadonian forces there.

The defenders, many of them delirious with hunger and alcohol poisoning mistook the hovering dirigible for a giant, flying loaf of bread.

In their distraction, they were easily dispatched.

Moving from Southern Europe, the Flying Sweater Puppies again launched a coordinated assault, this time on weakened Verdanian resistance in Western Europe.

Stopping not even to re-fuel, they pushed southward into North Africa where, unbeknownst to them, the Jargonians' A-Squadron had taken up positions.

Hooting excitedly at the thought of more enemy troops to maim, A-Squadron launched an immediate counter-attack. Their advance halted, however, at the sight of the mighty enemy airship hovering their way.

"Oh Lord! How are we going to sodomize that?!" shrieked the Jargonian commander.

A-Team positions quickly deteriorated as the Sweater Puppies situated themselves above the Jargonians' lines and rained down upon them all manner of heavy and/or exploding objects.

Undefeated in battle, the A-Squadron was finally beaten once and for all by the powers of science.

Moving swiftly to pee on Medibot's parade, Ironicus' men moved into the now scantily defended territory of Brazil, cutting off Jargonian domination of the continent.

Concurrently, a sizable force of Iron Legion troops led by General Ironicus set out from the Middle East, merrily goose stepping their way through Verdania's pathetically weakened defenses.

In the Congo they encountered the last meaningful resistance of the once proud Holy Empire.

"Fight, and you shall be ground into the very dust!" Ironicus bellowed over walls of the Verdanians' now encircled fort, "Surrender, and you will be rewarded with a lifetime of servitude to the empire!"

"I must decline your offer, General!" came the voice of Balthor III from within the barricades, "You sir are a loathsome tyrant, and we shall resist your hateful oppression to the last man!"

"Are you quite certain? We have very competitive benefits!"

"....such as?"

"When you've toiled away the last of your strength in the grand imperial salt mines, I shall see to it personally that you are not disposed of by being hurled bodily down a steep and rocky embankment, but rather only publicly devoured for sport by the great slime beast of our grand imperial colosseum!"

"I'm afraid that just won't do at all."

"So be it."

And so it was that the last remaining pockets of Verdanian resistance to the hateful spread of Iron Legion domination over all mankind did hold their ground a truly admirable 90 minutes or so.

Neo-Rome takes Scandinavia, Western Europe, North Africa, Brazil, Egypt, East Africa, Congo, South Africa, and Madagascar!

Surrounded by crates of pilfered booze and seeing no compelling reason to get in the way of the bloodbath brewing in northern Europe, Glorious Leader Smarms declared his mighty People's Army ought to stay in bed for a few days and be sure to drink plenty of fluids.

Staring into the cold, expressionless face of his adversary, Balthor III's heart began to sink.

"General, may I ask of you the fate of my men?"

"Your men are now mine," Ironicus replied, "As we speak they are being fitted with heat resistant mandibles to better serve as stewards of the furnace in my glorious imperial baths."

"I see," Balthor fidgeted awkwardly, "And what is to become... of me?"

Ironicus only laughed.


Another harrowing round of play, another nation falls before the crushing might of the Iron Legion. Increasingly isolated, Chief Medibot now finds himself the only force in the world powerful enough to resist the pink tide. His forces have seized Kamchatka, the first major victory by any world power against Neo-Rome's territories in Asia. But how long can he hold it? And which of the many exotic intergalactic beasts in the Neo-Roman colosseum will Balthor be fed to for the amusement of the masses?

Don't go anywhere! I mean it, not even to pee!

Cards next turn are worth 15 armies!