Editing Britbongsteros (section)

===Good Omens, or Who do you think you are kidding, Mr. Kaiser?===
Antgyros refuses to be drawn for the rest of the voyage. We actually begin to suspect he's ignoring us. We dock at Portsmouth at night, waving goodbye to the Dreadnowt and feeling a bit cold to arrive in a Britbongsteros winter.

There's a couple things worth restating at this point. Long range communication in Britbongsteros is done by albatross or telegraph. News is fast but not that fast. Especially not on the Dreadnowt calling in at foreign ports.

News that the Germans have annexed Ipswich comes as a bit of a surprise.

We are obligated to return first to London and the Privy Council, taking Antgyros with us. He won't answer questions but does occasionally exclaim
:>GET YOUR DAMN DIRTY PAWS OFF ME YOU APE
and similar.

We meet with Sir Patrick (CYBORG MURDER BODY) Moore and hand over Antgyros. He listens with great interest as we explain who and what he is. Sir Patrick (robot McFacepunch) Moore informs us he has seen seven sequential flashes come from Mons Olympus on each of the last consecutive nights.

If that sounds familiar, well it should...

We leave Antgyros and Sir Patrick (bionic man of violence) (it really helps if you think of him as being a space marine Dreadnought) Moore to chat.

Richard III and Blackadder seem fairly pleased with us, and the process is demonstrated near Windsor Castle (yes, there's oil under that) using a sheep.

We share a mutton curry with Richard III and Blackadder, and the process is safely written down to be transmitted via albatross to Aberdeen.

Then we come to the "annexation."

The Germans have landed in divisional strength in Ipswich. Two brigades of Bears and one of Prussian Gryphons. They don't seem overtly hostile, just they have claimed Ipswich and are fortifying it.

The Privy Council have a plan which is two-fold:
:1. We (the party) politely ask them to fuck off.
:2. We drive a battalion of Landcruisers into Ipswich.

:>Why are they there?
We have no idea, it's Ipswich!
:>Why weren't they stopped/spotted?
After the Ireland "incident" there's not as much home fleet as you'd expect. They are keeping a fleet of Cruisers off Walmington on Sea. There is still a local force in platoon strength of soldiers from the Boer War doing sterling services guarding their homes and reporting on German movements. Their Captain Manwaring (V.C.) and Lance Corporal (V.C., O.B.E., Khorne Bezerker) Jones have kept up observation via albatross and telegraph since the "annexation" with L.C. Jones holding a bridge against successive waves of bears with nothing but a broomhandle with a knife strapped to it.

In other news, King Algernon has made representations to the Kaiser, but we have yet to have received a reply.

The communications from the locals in Ipswich indicate the Germans are not hostile, but are politely and efficiently taking names of locals and then moving them outside of the town. They are digging in like they expect the entire first world war to take place in the locale of Ipswich.

So just making sure all non-british anons are following: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DRip7QLC8g Home Guard] ([http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dad%27s_Army Dad's army]).
:>TFW when your entire party could be dad's army. 

Anyway. So the Landcruisers, at top speed of 8 knots per hour, will arrive in Ipswich in 48 hours. We have that time to come to a peaceful solution.

Sir Hobart is leading the Landcruisers along with Sir Rirchard Clarkson May and they are being escorted by a Ghurkha regiment lead by Sir Stahig (pronounced Stig).

So with the Germans not actually being as hostile as one might expect an invasion to be, and instead they respond to force, but only on a local level. It's like they are here to fight, but not us...

So with the clock ticking, we head onward. We know the Landcruisers will reach the area by dawn the day after tomorrow, and we arrive near Colchester with 40 hours to go. We don't really have a plan yet, but the vague outline of one is starting to form.

It may be helpful for anon to have a [https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Ipswich,+Suffolk/@52.0214421,1.1343642,11z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x47d907861ed5d887:0x33ddc3ac7d2d42a9 map] at this stage.

Just replace Walton on the Naze with Walmington on Sea. So if you've found Colchester, the Germans have landed all along the coast between Walmington and up the coast to Felixstowe, they're inland as far as Ipswich and have stopped there.

The majority of their forces are in the city or surrounding it, digging in and fortifying. The Landcruisers, once ready, will push from Colchester into Ipswich via Copdock (for the Brit-anons it may be fun to imagine the Dad's Army arrows at this stage) while the remains of the Home Fleet will try to circle in from the North and South, trying to close the gap between Felixstowe and Walmington. Even with less hostility than expected, this is still a landing by a foreign power on our coast.

We (the party) are the last attempt at diplomacy and wouldn't even be trying diplomacy if they hadn't been so efficient and reasonable.

The party agrees that walking straight up to their lines, while normally completely insane, actually seems like (with a flag of truce) our best option.

It's about Noon when we set off from Washbrook. The bard pipes and we have a white flag. We are moving slowly, thoroughly, and making it very, very obvious we don't have any malicious intent.

The bard plays something neutral (or tries to but fluffs the roll), so off we go to the strains of [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogLwHEPyXBE Raubtier - Achtung Panzer].

It turns out walking across what is nominally no-mans land, we receive no fire, though we can see plenty of troops dug in front of us.

Given that the Bard's performances have been fatal previously, we stop playing about 500 yards out.

We get closer, there are birds singing now, and lots and lots of gun barrels ahead of us. The nature around us is strangely idyllic, English, plants and animals around us, the land green and pleasant.

We jump as a rabbit takes off out of a bush, but we proceed unmolested, we can make out individual figures in feld-grau now.

As we get closer to the trenches, a shape rises, a Prussian Gryphon.

He has enough English and we have enough German to communicate.
:"Who are you and what do you want Englander?"
He takes a notebook and pencil from his uniform.
:"Names und addresses bitte."
I'm not proud to say what followed was a babble of.
:>Don't tell him your name wizard
:>Don't tell him you name Navvie
:>Don't tell him your name Aldous
:"Hi, I'm Bard!"
He looks unimpressed and smooths his moustaches.
:"You really ought not to be here."
:"Neither should you!"
:"Ve haff (ahem) we have as much a right as you!"
:"You're German!"
:"We are on state business. This is not an invasion, it is a peacekeeping annexation."
:"A what?"
:"You can't just march in here and take Ipswich!"
:"We are doing so because it is undefended and weak. Herr Schiarperelli says so."
:"Who?" (Wait a minute that sounds... familiar).
We don't really want to declare war on Germany (I don't, this I've made this sufficiently clear) as the country is still weak. War may be an eventual certainty, yes, but at this stage after everything (we have blown up and) the nation has been through, now is not the time for war.

This is why we are here to politely ask the Germans to bugger off.

The gryphon looks us up and down, and flexes his wings.
:"I suggest you come with me. It is perhaps best explained to you by another."
Well we still have about thirty six hours until the bombardment and advance of the landcruisers which we expect will be enough to throw the invasion back (and irredeemably declare war).

We agree to go into Ipswich with the Gryphon officer. There are orderly ranks of bears marching to and fro. Digging things up, and houses with pink sheets on them being demolished. The locals seem to have some too (I.e. if your house was demolished then you got a pink sheet).

Things are orderly and, while the air is pregnant with promises of things to come, you can see off duty bears playing the accordion and drinking stout, stiff backed Gryphons duel on cricket pitches.

By the by, I haven't really talked about landcruisers. If you look at a MKV male tank and then superimpose a TOG II* on it, you're basically there.

In the center of town we start seeing what can only be anti aircraft guns (aircraft not really being a thing in Britbongsteros beyond zeppelins, this is strange) along with (in the town square) an enormous telescope.

The county hall seems to have been requisitioned to serve as HQ for the annexation. Aside from the presence of Germans, there's not really a great deal that seems to have changed. Aside of course from the Imperial Eagle sitting outside.

When I say sitting I mean perched. It's an actual Reichsadler in the flesh. I.e. it has two heads, feathers and talons. It's quite happily tucking into a can of corned beef and dressed in what can only be a military uniform.

It should be noted two heads is actually an error on part of DM/me as the Reichsadler of the German empire only had one. The Austrians had two headed ones. So this one must have also been a bit Austrian somewhere in his heritage.

By the way anons, if you don't know anything about the German unification and Empire, I would strongly suggest reading up on it. It's a fascinating topic. A lot of devising these campaigns involved a great deal of historical research by me and DM. So while I'm thinking about it, you may enjoy [http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Influence_of_Sea_Power_Upon_History The Influence of Sea Power Upon History] which was one of the most interesting things I read for Britbongsteros. One further point, anon may note the progression of technology in Britbongsteros is quite rapid. Well game time so far has been around 2-3 years, so that is worth considering, also that the idea was it was somehow to go from Elizabethan to Pre WWI in its scope (that was sort of a goal at the start).

We didn't get too excited about it and just MST 3K'd it for a good story.

The Eagle is rapidly joined by a very large bear with huge moustaches.

He is introduced by the Gryphon as "Otto von Baarmarck" (Bismarck if your want to Google him) advisor to the Kaiser, represented by Herr Tirpitz of the Kaiserliche Marine (the eagle).

We are invited inside, the eagle perches on what appears to be an ornate... Well, perch. I'm sure it has a wonderfully complicated German name. Tirpitz doesn't add much to the conversation, Von Baarsmarck does most of the talking 

He reiterates what we already know, that the Germans are annexing Ipswich and as they are nice guys, they are planning on paying for the damage they do and are moving civilians out of the area. They apologize for the inconvenience.

The one thing he doesn't actually tell us is why exactly they feel they need to do this? 
:"Why? (Vhy?) Because we are incapable of defending ourselves."
:"So you invaded to prove a point?"
:"Nein. From what is coming. Herr Schiarperelli believes they will land sooner rather than later."
The Germans (we discover) know at least as much about the Martians as we do (it seems we may have some spies to kill soon) and Schiaperelli has had the planet under observation for months. He has worked out from the trajectory and some other calculations (possibly involving a dart and a map) that this is the most likely landing site.

We are then stuck with a bit of a problem. If there are Martians coming then we really ought not to be fighting each other, nor should we be asking the Germans to go home.

We have a further problem, to stop the Landcruisers (which are about a day away), we will need to convince them to do so. We then realize the average citizen of Britbongsteros, even one in command of a Landcruiser brigade, is going to find us asking them to stop from "bashing the bosch" (sorry Germ-anons) because we are raving about Martians laughable. Why? Only the Privy Council and us know about them. 

There is a little ooc discussion at this point, including my favourite "why is nothing ever simple in this setting..."

We don't really fancy our chances in convincing the commanding officers of the taskforce (slowly) motoring its way here.

We decide to do some more fact finding before deciding on our next step. 

More to the point though, the Germans seem awfully keen to tell us all this.

:"Why are you being so nice?"
:"Because if Grosse Britain falls then the aliens will have a base of operations, then Europe, and then the rest of this weird, nasty, violent, beautiful world will be ended."
:"Why didn't you just offer to help? Why invade."
They get a bit shifty at this point.

The door to the room busts in as what can only be described as [https://data.archive.moe/board/tg/image/1427/84/1427846265905.jpg a man-shaped crocodile skin handbag] is wheeled in. (If you don't know who that is, go watch Dr. Strangelove)

It appears Herr Schiaraperelli is not entirely human, or sane... (please note to everyone, I am so so sorry wherever you are from).
:"Mein unterkaiser, ve haff made zignifikant progress mit die deff raiii!"
Herr S. notices the new faces, and switches gear,
:"Ach vatt fine specimens such excellent breeding stock..."
He zips past Cruella and pokes at Angus's bicep. (This had sort of become a running joke by now)
:"Vould du kare to submit yourself to some of my (giggles insanely) ecksperimentaaaation?"
We try to get between him and Angus, but there's no separating the two, so we turn our attention to Von Baarsmarck.
:"Soooo... Death Ray?"
:"To use on the Martians of course, and acquire their technology, ensuring that the world will be ein reich..."
In the background Herr S. is babbling to Angus about
:"Mitt my super zerum derivved from ze gods toe ve could make you ten, twenty veet tall!"

Von Baarsmarck seems quite non-plussed,
:"Assuming any of us survive the landings, do not tell me that you British would not take the items for yourselves? This way, we ensure there is no..."
:"Death Ray Gap!" Cackles herr S.
Ok that sort of seems weirdly fair, we will just backstab them later... next comes the awkward bit...
:"So maybe we should leave now? Get the landcruisers stopped? Work together?"
Herr S. cackles again,
:"Du may kill or imprison ze rest, but I wish to keep zis one... and this one... Perhaps maybe I can keep all of them...."
One last try...
:"Your death ray will massacre our forces, and then you will face the aliens alone... you are very likely to lose, we all are..."
:"You have seen to much... heard too much, Herr DoktorProfessor, you may have them..."
It is worth remembering at this point that yes we can probably take everyone in the room easily enough, what we cannot do is fight our way out of town through an alarmed garrison.

Also, worth considering is Martians don't really like magic (or at least the north pole ones, it seems likely then that they may not have something like that. 

So the party is taken away at gunpoint for MAD SCIENCE.

:>Why didn't you escape from the highly visible HQ where all of the German forces were concentrated? 

Well that's why.

Arriving in Herr Schiaraperelli's lab we are greeted by tesla coils, fizzing falcon tubes, a smell of frying eggs, *things* in jars, and he offers some boiled sweets.

He explains that this is his "travel" lab and we are really missing out on the interesting stuff, but at least there was space aboard the Brunmiggi II to bring ZE DEATH RAY.

(It may be helpful for anon to look up Professor Death from ''That Mitchell and Webb Look'')

But that (zat?) is not why we're here, nein, we are here because he wants Angus for experimentation, and to this end he fills a syringe. Angus doesn't look terribly concerned.

:"Zis ist mein ubermensch zerum."
:"Bring it on" says our favourite camel-lover.

(It's worth adding we have had our weapons taken off us and stored we think in the guardhouse - which by-the-by also appears to be doubling as a barracks).

So Angus, being Angus, and not even tied up, accepts being stabbed in the arm with a novelty sized syringe. Angus gets this bizarre grin (as does his PC).

:>DM, what is this stuff?
:"Eet ist mein superzerum!"
:>Yes DM, but what does it *do*?
:"Zis vill make you stronger, ein Ubermensch!"
:Party: "DM, think about this!"
:Angus: "Oh yes!"
Angus starts to grow. To hulk out... (He has hulk level clothing. Thank fuck for that.)

Angus is getting bigger. Not just ripped but fuek huege, eight feet, ten feet.
:"Herr schiarparelli, this death ray, is it man portable?"
Angus flexes his enormously powerful hulk arms while Herr S. Enthusiastically babbles at a portable gramophone.
:"Herr S. You really cannot be this stupid."
:"Nein mein Ubermensch. I'm not."
The taser Herr S. fires knocks Angus on his arse. The rest of the charge knocks him out.
:"MEIN KAISER, I CAN WALK!"
He stands up and kicks Angus in the balls for good measure.
:>DM: "Come on guys, give me some credit..."

Herr S. Looks quizzically at us. He cocks his head to one side. He takes a box with flashy lights from his belt.
:"Zomethink is giffink powerful magical emanations. Ist not the fraulein... nor ze oaf... nor ze musician, ze wizard I know of... ze midget? Zis child's toy? Was ist das? Ein Pinguin!?"
At gun point he takes the purple penguin from my bandolier.
:"Und now to enter ze data into mein komputer und then ve proceed to ze dissection."
Herr S. Sits back down and wheels himself off.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party begin to properly size up our situation. We have eight attentive and armed bears, five unarmed party members.

So, captive (wrist manacles) and at gun point, the DM makes us whisper to one another or our communications will be overheard.

The Wizard's player is actually bit deaf, so he doesn't hear very much, only interjecting with the occasional "Fit?" (What?)

The rest of the party decides that Angus is out for the count (DM is having him roll to wake up every so often, but he keeps failing).

We know the Herr S. is probably going to sense anything magical before it happens (flashy box).

The bears can see us whispering (the Wizard's occasional "Fit?!" doesn't help), so giving up on any semblance of plan, when the nearest bear goes to crack me over the back of the head with his rifle, some violence occurs.

Cruella gets her chains around his neck, the wizard has the bear's now dropped rifle levitating.

While this is going on, the Bard kicks one bear in the balls and gets his rifle, and I (with a little jump and some mechanical arms) headbutt the other and then it's a Mexican standoff.

:>Why are you being non-lethal?

I didn't make this very clear earlier, but the DM had quite clearly told us that the more we fuck up the bears, the more we may suffer for it later. We decided to try our hardest not to kill anyone. So in effect, we are now murder hobos, without the murder. Hobos if you will.

Bear looks at man, dwarf looks at bear, (etc.) we're rolling intimidation, then Herr S. sweeps back into the room, having clearly heard/detected something.
:"Was ist los!? Meine Meerschweinchen! Nein!" ("What is this!? My guinea pigs, no!" Also "Meerschweinchen" is absolutely adorable as words go)
:"YOU. KICKED. ME. IN. THE. BALLS."
Angus wakes up and punches him in the side of the head (well, taps really - again non lethal).

With the Angus aided distraction, we subdue the rest of the bears and begin to take stock.

:>Things we need to do:
:1. Escape
:2. Disable death ray - hopefully not permanently
:3. Stop Britain declaring war (by driving several thousand tonnes of Landship through this place).

The bard has one of his ideas.

:>Some dicerolls and a small argument later.
:"Hey guys what's a wunderwaffe?"
:"It's German for... DO NOT TOUCH THAT."
:"Why does it sting or something?"

We decide to take one. The Navvie, as the only party member who can be trusted not to set it off out of curiosity/fun/accident, is entrusted with it.

We decide to have a quick look out the door of the building - [https://data.archive.moe/board/tg/image/1428/50/1428508080888.jpg - pic related].

So with that outside, and as the bears are... well, bears... that rather rules out the traditional steal their clothes approach, as does the fact Angus is 12 feet of Orc.

:>Diplomacy tiem
Cautiously, we poke a white flag (made mostly from Herr S.'s labcoat) around the doorframe. That doesn't get shot, so we poke our heads round.
:"Don't shoot, we have a doomsday device and are not afraid to use it!"
:"Do you know how to?"
:Wizard: "I'm rolling to bluff"
:"Yes!"
:"Alright, what do you want?"
:"Free passage out of here and a promise you will not use the death ray if we can stop the British forces from attacking."
:"That seems reasonable."
Hmm, that went better than expected. We nervously proceed out of the building, doomsday device in tow. We get most of the way out of town before someone remembers, aren't we forgetting someone?

:Navvie, check,
:Cruella, check,
:Aldous, check,
:Cruella, check,
:Bard, check,
:Angus, check.
No we're all here... Aren't we?

Oh shit.
:"Ok, large group of angry well armed bears, we're turning round!"

The bears seem confused, but ok with it, it's getting dark by the time we have retrieved the extremely annoyed looking penguin, Herr S. laments the loss of his Wunderwaffe, but kindly suggests that dropping it is a really bad idea (so at least we now know how to activate it).

When the bears realize what and why we went back, we're a laughing stock, if you've heard the chuckling of several thousand bears, it is not a nice thing. I think the purpose of the ridicule (or DM's) was for us forgetting him.

Penguin in tow, we head off again. There's a very large star in the sky that no one recognizes and some fainter ones too... It seems we don't have long...

Now we have our real problem. Martians aren't far off and the pride of the British army is about to attack our next best hope in the morning. We book it back to our lines.

The DM punishes us for our stupidity when we hit the dirt as our own sentries fire on us (don't run around in war zones).

When we eventually convince them not to shoot us (for some reason we have also progressed to Lee Enfield rifles), we enter the camp. There are tents and the huge looming bulk of the landcruisers, if you (I hate this term) diesel-punked a Bolo, you're not far off. They glow a little with the light of magic, it appears the oil is already being used. The wizard detects a presence within them. An additional note, Angus is slowly shrinking back to normal size.

We pause momentarily near the HMLS AR4 (it has "Arthur" painted next to this).
:>HELLO
Oh fuck no. We made Bolos.
:[http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bolo_%28tank%29 >Wut is a Bolo?]

:"Hi... Hi?"
:>I AM UNIT AR4 OF THE LINE. PLEASE CALL ME ARTHUR. 
(Wizard and I are huge Bolo nuts so have gone all fangirl by this point. Cruella, Angus, and Bard continue to engage in conversation)
:"What... are you?"
:>I AM A BRITISH OFFENSIVE LINE OPERATIONS-UNIT
:>squee
Our Ghurkha escort urge us onwards, we rather hope we might get to meet more BOLOs later (we do).

We are escorted to the command tent, we recognize Sir Clarkson-May, and Sir Hobart, along with Sir Stahig. In addition are two well know faces: Sir Barnes Wallis (who is... wiki him, awesome read) and Sir Patrick ROBOT DEATH MACHINE Moore.

With Sir Patrick Murderborg Moore here this may make our task a little easier. We explain where things stand. He is particularly pleased to see Herr S.'s device.

Sir Patrick takes the device off us for safe keeping, the military men are still in favour of assault. Sir Patrick is adamant that it would be unwise. That we should prepare for the first ship (he has also worked out where it's going to land) and that we should head back to London where he expects the heaviest fighting to be.

Sir Patrick doesn't manage to convince the military folk, they are of the opinion that we should wipe out the Germans (real threat of course), then deal with the Martians.

Struck by this remarkable bit of military daftness, and even Sir Patrick can't sway them, we appear a bit stuck. The most advanced armour on earth is going to ram itself against the death ray tomorrow unless we do something.

The military men are moving landcruiser shaped counters around the map and ignoring us so we decide to head back out to collect our thoughts. We end up back near AR4.
:>HELLO AGAIN HUMANS AND HUMAN APPROXIMATIONS.
:"Hello AR4."
:>YOU APPEAR TROUBLED. WHY IS THIS?

We explain the situation.

AR4 stays quiet for a bit. We start to think he isn't talking to us.
:>SO IN SUMMATION, AN ATTACK ON A POSSIBLE ALLY WOULD SQUANDER OUR FORCES PRIOR TO ENGAGEMENT WITH THE REAL THREAT?
:>some dice are being rolled here. 
:"Yes, essentially."
If he's listening then we might as well talk to him.
:"AR4 what is your primary duty?"
:>TO DEFEND THE REALM.
:"Against all threats?"
:>ALTHOUGH I HAVE NOT YET TASTED BLOOD, I KNOW THERE ARE NO THREATS TO ME. 
(You might change your mind there)
:"But if there was a threat to the entire realm, would you face it needlessly diminished?" (nice rollan occurs)
:>HUMAN MALE IN A SKIRT, I CAN SEE WHAT YOU ARE ATTEMPTING. WE HAVE ALREADY DECIDED NOT TO RIDE OUT TOMORROW. WE WAIT. WE WAIT FOR THE TRUE CHALLENGE.
Across the field, other Landcruisers light up their sensors, flashing affirmatives. The most patriotic thing we have met today was a very large tenk.
:>The following morning.
:>Dawn.
Sparrows flit across the sky, in the gloaming the world rises, grasses still wet with dew. A hedgehog wends his weary way to bed beneath the great amroured flanks of AR4.

Sir Richard Clarkson-May unsheathes his saber. A trumpet sounds.
:"Drive me closer. I want to hit them with my sword."
:>NO.
:"Wut?"
:>YOUR ORDER WAS ANSWERED IN THE NEGATIVE.

Watching from nearby with a bacon buttie, we decide we should probably make ourselves scarce. Sir Patrick Moore and wunderwaffe in tow.

Above us, the lights in the sky grow stronger, visible even in daylight now. Above serried ranks of motionless landcruisers, above the German defences, above us.

Tonight the Martians will land. The first battle of a war no one wants will begin.

Martian war call: [https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]

We are nearly at the end of this adventure (tbh it was more a of set up for the last one anyway) and about this stage a discussion took place after a session.
:DM: "After this... Well, look... All good things come to an end right?"
:>The party agree.
:DM: "You want to go out with a bang right? You don't want me to hold back?"
:>ohshit.jpg
:"We guess not?"
:>DM cracks his knuckles. "The bad news is you're all going to die, the good news, is it will be awesome."

:>'''Disclaimer:''' if you are attached to anything in Britbongsteros, you may wish to stop reading now.

We wait for dark, the British (some of the senior officers are still swearing at the Bolos), the bears across the fields, and the party with Sir Patrick.

The day is quiet. The lights in the sky grow and grow. The brightest is heading straight for us.

The day has an eerie quiet to it. A heavily pregnant pause. No one appears minded to shout at us for causing the Bolos to refuse orders but we keep out of the way. Occasional patrols of bears meet with ours, they exchange cigarettes. Attempts to teach the bears cricket do not go well.

Darkness falls as it must.

High command still intends on attacking the Germans (though Sir Stahig refuses to commit his Ghurkhas, and the Bolos aren't shifting).

DM introduces a new mechanic:

For the first time we have friendly troops. We may if we so seek, inspire them. It will help.

We have been chatting with AR4 and he shares his findings with his counterparts. We learn about Bolos and he learns about the tale of the purple penguin.

AR4 and Cruella have made friends. Other units including B3A have responded occasionally.

:>On the Bolos of Britbongsteros:
:They are smart, they are also the first real sentient race that has been created, their minds inspired by the automatons of London. The amount of magic and technology within them ensured that what was meant to be a machine spirit became self aware. It was decided (based Sir Hobart) that this was actually incredibly useful. So they were taught, taught the ideals of knights. Bolos exist to protect and are one of the few genuinely good things in the setting. Except of course being fueled by oil, blood, and some of those soul cube things from waaaay back in the first adventure.

Dusk turns to dark, dark into night, but the lights are still above us. The largest now the size of a saucer, the sonic boom that precedes it knocks men flat, windows are blown out, the Navvie's beer bottle shatters.

The light grows, like daylight now as the thing decelerates, bits of what must be heat shield raining down around us.

It hits the ground. Hard. About five miles from our position. A huge plume of dust washes over us with the shock wave.

What we can see in the distance are the raised sides of a crater. Sounds of hammering, blight plasma flashes, and tortured metal reach us even from here.

The bard hops up onto the turret of AR4 as crews mount up. Ghurkhas get into formation. Khuhkris gleam in the dark.

He plays [https://youtu.be/1-rHdSWZLpQ Ennio Morricone The Ecstasy of Gold].

From the crater comes the Martian war call: [https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]

A black smoke starts to rise from the crater, spilling between waiting armies, the fitful light of the moon obscured. Darkness almost absolute. Visibility down to 75 metres.

The bard plays on.

We wait.

The twin 16" guns of AR4 track left in the darkness.

In their gas masks the Ghurkhas wait. A sea of bayonets glint in the darkness. Breathing heavily in our own, vision fogging, we scan the darkness. Martian war call: [https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]
:Wizard: "How can you play the bagpipes in a gas mask bard?"
:>DM & rest of party: "Because fuck you. Shut up."
The Navvie has acquired a Union Jack from the semaphore lines of AR4, knitting it about his shoulders. Looking like an anglican version of Thor.

The purple penguin looks on waiting lines of nervous men. The world may be a horrible, vicious, nasty place, a place where children have no childhoods, a world where gods make men playthings, a world of blood and pain, but there is still hope in this world, there are still purple penguins, and now, Mars has come to take even that from us.

Flickers of magic begin to play around the barrels of AR4, Cruella starts as Excalibur bursts into flame, red, white and blue.

This battle will see the beginning of the war, not even the end of the beginning, there are still seven more dots up there.

From out of the black smoke, great silver shapes begin to rise. Small metallic items grow lighter.

Then...

Silence.

Darkness.

The first red pulse of laserfire immolates four score of men, screaming skeletons silhouetted in the darkness and then all hell breaks loose.

Fighting machines tower in the darkness as waves of Martian infantry wash from the smoke.

The Bolos duel with the fighting machines, guns tracking, firing, tracks crushing Martians as they advance.
:"Ayoooo ghoorkha!"
The infantry charge with the tanks, halting every few feet for volley fire, but it's seconds before bayonet meets energy sword, khukhri meets claw.

The party fights in the mist of the the smoke, flares casting some light. A fighting machine goes down, casing cracked by shellfire. Elsewhere a Bolo in flames from tip to stern rams another before exploding.

The party fight and fight hard, the night a wash of images of violence. The Navvie smashing skulls, Cruella leaping from creature to creature, the wizard and I back to back on a mound of corpses, Angus cackling as he burns his way to us.

Lightning crackles through the sky, the landing of the ship having caused enough atmospheric change for it to rain. A green pulse flashes through the sky, impacting deep in Martian lines - the death ray at work.

Men fall, rent asunder, Bolos are wrecked one by one. There seem no end to the Martians, we push forward, making progress into the tide but for every step we lose more men.

Lasers wash through the smoke. It seems for every fighting machine that falls, others lumber from the darkness. It is impossible to tell how the battle is going, we can see the great hulk of AR4 ahead of us, Martian corpses crushed in his wake. The Bard still on his turret booting the occasional Martian off.

We fight through the night, bodies piling high, the Martians it seems are implacable, they will not break. They will not run. Are we winning? We genuinely can't tell.

A headless Martian lands at my feet. Followed swiftly by the other half of it. Lit in the darkness by his chain guns is Sir Patrick Cyborgmurdertron Moore, he seems to know what he's doing so we join him. Side by side. Advancing on the LZ.

Suddenly from out of the darkness, the crater walls loom. As does something else. Bears. And one familiar chap in a wheelchair.

We start to climb the crater walls. Not knowing what we'll find. AR4 covers us as we ascend, ramming his way through the earthern parapet and firing his guns at their lowest depression, laser fire crackling over his upper front plate and baking the earth covering his LFP into some sort of ceramic.

We get our first look at what lies below us while the battle rages behind us.

Some more mood music: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nl8mmoH_63g For A Few Dollars More - Final Duel Music ]

Think back to us, the rain has soaked the still warm earth of the parapet into mud, on the other side of this thing, hell lies below us, actinic plasma flashes wash upward, we ascend, clawing into mud, to our side AR4 keeps firing, his armour melting.

Behind us the first battle of Britbongsteros rages. Fighting machines and Bolos, men and martians, hell on earth. The sound of it is a physical thing, this is not the war we first knew, a war of heroes, this is industrial scale violence, German artillery thunders down into the landing site, directed we think somehow by Herr S.

We pause at the brim, laser fire raking across it.

Sir Patrick Moore is the first to go over the top, we follow, below us is the sight of the first stage of Martian conquest.

Automated machinery assembling fighting machines, squadrons of Martian troops being cut down by AR4 even as others scramble up and out into battle.

At the very center of what is almost a Martian city, we can see a green glow.

The party knows from experience, we are going straight towards that, big glowy things are usually exactly where you have to go.

We number about twenty in total between party, bears, Sir Patrick, and us. 

The terrain below us, in the thunder of guns, the flash of lightning, the pulse of energies no man could ever stand against, looks for all the world like a city, the exterior of the first ship. We shout over the noise, Herr S. and Sir Patrick agree, we are going to make straight for that glowy thing (yes that's what it's called), Sir Patrick hefts something, a familiar something.
:Herr S: "Mein Wuderwaffe!"
We look at each other, let's do this.
:"VORWARTS FUR DIE WISSENSCHAFT!" Herr S. and the bears roll (in his case literally) down the hill, not to be outdone,
:"BY ENGLAND AND ST. GEORGE, WE ARE HERE TO FUCK YOU UP GLOWY THING!" (we are not good at battle cries)

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyF8RHM1OCg Whitesnake - Here I Go Again '87]

We go over the top, we get the better part of thirty metres down, sliding, slipping, loose mud sloshing before us onto the metal of the decking, our boots ring on it soon after. The Martian's attention is fixed on AR4, and he does his best to keep it, even over the noise, we can hear his engines, see the earth bank in front of his hull break, and down he comes, tonnes of Sheffield steel, crashing onto the hull of the ship, if this is his first battle, it will also be his last, but he, as he makes for the fighting machine assembly line, will sell himself dearly.

As he tears past, we see a little something on the side of his turret. It's purple.
:"Where did that come from?"
:Cruella: "He wanted one of his own. I can paint."
The OOC is cut short as Martian infantry start to notice us, we take cover, returning fire.

Then from behind us.
:>Shave and a haircut.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZlDZPYzfm4 Iron Maiden - Run To The Hills]

:"Was ist los?" One of the bears asks as one of his spent shell casings floats past his muzzle, we've dealt with this before.

Cruella is up and over the bear's head, eyes closed, seemingly from nowhere bits of bodies start appearing. The wizard hold's Angus by the shoulder, directing his fire.

Sir Patrick kicks through a wall, and laughing as he goes, hoses Martian infantry with large caliber rounds.

Then Herr S.'s chair starts floating.

He jumps from the thing (he can actually walk remember?)

We have to struggle to hang on to weapons as they start to rise, there is a flash and a fizzle in our midst, the cloaking field (think predator) goes down on something very large, and very fast.

It's big, carnifex sized. It takes apart one bear with a slash, then another. I turn the shotgun on it, blowing chunks from it, the Navvie points at it.
:"YOU!"
It paws at the deck. It knows a challenge when it sees one.

I start trying to get behind it, as the Navvie spreads his arms in a come-at-me-bro way.
:"TRY ME, COME ON!"
It spreads all of it's claws, and roars, spittle landing on the Navvie's chest from the better part of 5 metres.

I'm behind it now, I aim for the backs of the knees. Hitting critically, the thing goes down on it's belly. The Navvie nonchalantly walks forward, and busts it's skull open.
:"Twat."
He spits on it, and we start to pursue the Martian infantry who have begun to break.

Elsewhere, AR4 sings a song to himself as he takes damage, his left track unit running on wheels only now, guns glowing red.
:>Daisy... daisy....

:>Why are you still talking about the Bolo?
DM had noticed we had already gotten fond of him, and if the DM can, the DM will break your heart and burn everything you ever loved.

We push onwards, it can't be more than 300 metres to the center of the thing.

The closer we get, the quieter it seems to be, we can barely even hear the battle above for the low thrum of whatever the glowy thing is, we reckon it might be a power source, we don't care, if we chuck enough explosives at it, sheer narrative alone says that should fuck the thing up good and proper.

:>200 metres

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mHe6FMs46o Iron Maiden - The Number of the Beast]

We're closing in, no Martians, just that low, low thrum, you can feel it in your chest, in your teeth.

:>150 metres

AR4 considers tactical withdrawal, rejects it, and decides to sell his life for a country he has never really known. Martian infantry swarm his hull, he allows himself to take laser fire from the nearest walker, immolating them, and another section of ablative armour.

:>100 metres

[https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]

:>75 metres 

[https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]

:>Where is that coming from?

:>50 metres.

Oh fuck. Fighting machine.

The thing fires straight at us, the DM has us all roll to dodge it, we all pass. Except the bard.

We're blinded by the flash. When we can see again, he's still standing, still piping, glowing saltire standing between him and the beam. It fades out and he starts laughing. (I.e. fate point used).
:"I AM ALIVE AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" ([http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_1DNzc2aX8&t=25m19s see])
It starts to charge to fire again
:DM: "Are you gonna take cover Bard?"
:Bard: "Why? I AM ALIVE."
:DM: "That laser is charging up."
:Bard: "So! BRING IT!"
The Navvie knocks the stupid bastard aside and into cover with a shoulder barge.

DM made it quite clear while he poured a beer that the bard was about another second away from dying.

The laser burns a hole in the hull instead.

We take cover behind a large building, the fighting machine stomping towards us.

We have about five or six seconds to plan.

We look at each other... err...
:"AT-AT?"
:"AT-AT."
The wizard summons chains, snaking them out toward it. Cruella distracts its fire as the most agile. The chains hold tight, the thing totters, falls. Legs flailing uselessly, laser pointed at the sky.

We smash the thing to bits and proceed to the glowy thing.

We examine the glowy thing, it's definitely... glowy... beyond that, no one has the damndest idea what to do with it.

[https://youtu.be/4CbGKsjQ09I ULLA]

There's another one, and another one, and another.

We can't take three of them.

Sir Patrick hefts the wunderwaffe and runs into the glow, deeper into the ship and what we assume is the power generator.
:"GO!"
Before we can stop him, he tuns toward the glow, the thing beeping in his hand.
:Herr S. helpfully adds: "Ve should be leaving..."
We start to run, elsewhere, AR4 fights on.

We run, firing, killing as fast as we can, making as quickly as we can for that muddy parapet, Martians pursue us, Herr S. and the bears take cover.
:"Go, we will hold them."
We aren't going to say no, struggling up through the mud, it's clawing at us, slowing us, fire pattering around us, the climb is slow, excruciating.

We fling ourselves up over the parapet, slithering down the other side. The land before us is a sea of flame, the battle still raging.

We run toward it, away from the ship.

Within, Sir Patrick wades through bodies, laughing,
:"I always wanted to meet alien life! and KILL THEM!"

The parapet shields us from most of the force of the blast, but we are knocked flat.

The rest of the battle is vicious and messy, but with the ship gone, the alien's spirit is broken, the Bolos and Ghurkha's mop them up. We do our best to assist, eventually the sun rises fitfully over a blasted, lunar landscape, wrecks still burn, bodies bleed and scream.

Ghurkhas stalk over the fields, giving peace to their comrades, finishing off Martians.

Bloodied, victorious, and with seven more stars falling above us. We begin the final tale of Britbongsteros.