Introduction
Well, you don't know what we can find
Why don't you come with me little girl
On a magic carpet ride
You don't know what we can see
Why don't you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free ...
It is January 1, 1936. A foul smell has begun to permeate Europe. No, it is not the smell of emptied chamberpots in the streets of Rome. It is the smell of totalitarianism, and soon it shall propel the free nations of the Continent (well, most of them, at least) into a horrible conflict that shall decide the fate of democracy.
But, we could hardly care less, for a far more interesting story is developing to the east ... no, no ... look, you've gone a bit too far, there, we're not interested in China. Yes, that's right, back west a bit ... stop! See, the sparkling city of Teheran, with its happily undernourished population. This is the focus of our tale, for here we shall find the ambitious yet benevolent leader of Persia - Shah Reza Pahlavi. Reza had been following the deteriorating world situation for several years, noting the cruelty of the Nazi and Fascist regimes of Europe, as well as the oppression foisted upon the people of the Soviet Union by their Communist leaders. It appeared that the hypocritical Western democracies would do little to stop the spread of such dysfunctional forms of government. No, if sane government by altruistic fiat was to be championed at all, it would have to be championed by Persia.
Of course, in 1936 diplomacy was no means by which to spread the wisdom of one's chosen form of government. As Reza knew all too well, far too many statesmen knew only the language of the sword (or more accurately, the gun, as swords had become somewhat passe by the 20th century). But young Reza was up to the challenge. If gunpoint diplomacy was what the world needed, gunpoint diplomacy was what it would get!
---
The Rules:
v1.02
Persia, 1936 scenario
Very Hard / Furious
The Goals:
Carve out a nice little empire while avoiding a governmental collapse.
---
The Part Immediately Following the Introduction
Persian Harem / War Room - Teheran
January 1, 1936
"Where is that damn music coming from?", Reza asked, visably annoyed.
"No idea, Your Excellency," replied a nameless advisor. (Well, really he did have a name, but it is not important; this is reinforced by the fact that Paradox did not see fit to provide Persia with any named advisors ...
(Regrettably, the original author of this tale was beheaded after it was discovered that he began writing OOC. It is hoped that a similar fate will not befall the current author, who shall now take up the task of completing the story.)
"Well, see that whoever is responsible is beheaded. Here I am, plotting the expansion of our glorious realm, and some twit is pounding out some horrific claptrap about magic carpets."
"As good as done, Your Grace. Now, with regard to expansion ..."
"Ah, yes. What is the status of our armed forces?"
"Strong in spirit, yet weak in number. We have naught but one infantry division and one cavalry division to defend our land and subjugate others. What is worse, our men are ill-equipped, and still carry old-fashioned muskets and the odd slingshot here and there."
"Troubling indeed," remarked the Shah. "Can we not modernize?"
"Presumably, oh Philanthropic One, but we lack the industrial resources to effect such change. It is all we can do to research simple gearboxes for tanks."
"Then we shall have to expand that capacity. Tell me, if we continue this gearbox research, can we still build troops?"
"Just barely, Great One. We should choose our new military units most carefully."
"Hmm ... well, let's go with some mountaineers ... they'll do nicely against the Afghanis to the east."
"As you wish, Your Perfectness."
And so it was that Persia spent the better part of a year building her modest army into a slightly less modest army. And with the ensuing new year, the Shah sent a nicely calligraphed declaration of war to the Afghani nation. Alas, this paragon of prose was lost in transit, and so the Afghanis were taken somewhat by surprise. Nevertheless, four Persian mountaineer divisions, under the command of Mj. General Newcastle (English names were in vogue amongst military men of the era), crossed into Herat, while the cavalry, now two divisions strong, penetrated Qandahar. The plan was to have the cavalry run about like idiots, attracting the attention of the pitchfork-carrying sheep herders that referred to themselves as the Afghani army, while the mountaineers slipped through Mazar-i-Sharif to Kabul. The plan worked satisfactorily enough, and by April 20th Afghanistan was annexed.
Unfortunately, the declaration of war, haphazard as it was, raised the dander of fully one-fifth of the population. Knowing that quality consumer products were the true opiate of the masses, Reza ordered that all factories not engaged in research or the production of military supplies be used to make fine rugs to divert the attention of the rabble away from future Persian acts of diplomacy.
With the annexation of Afghanistan and its steel reserves, Persia was no longer dependent upon foreign trade for her resources. Despite this, the Shah looked for other areas to expand. To the north lay the Soviet Union, the conquest of which is a quest reserved for the mad and slightly inebriated. To the east lay India, the jewel of the British crown. A tantalizing target, but Persia defeating England (and her nefarious ally, France) could surely only occur in the hallucinations of an opium addict. No, the answer lay to the west and the nation of Iraq, with its plentiful oil supplies which, if seized, could deprive the mighty British of a full one-twentieth of their oil. With no better suggestions from his advisors, the Shah ordered the invasion of Iraq just as soon as the unhappiness amongst the riffraff died down. June 13th, to be specific.
Baghdad and Mosul being the only provinces of consequence in Iraq, victory was quickly achieved via the judicious use of the cavalry to penetrate straight through into Mosul. The whole affair was over by July 1st, and copious amounts of oil flowed into the Persian stockpile while approximately one out of five peasants again voiced their disapproval. But no matter. 5,389 beautiful rugs and six months later, the people were again ready to tolerate another war, and this time the target of Reza's benevolence would be Saudi Arabia. Again, the rabble was ticked off, but they could hardly be expected to understand such complicated matters of state. While the Saudis died valiantly for more than a month at the battle of Riyadh, and took many good-natured Persian horses to Hell with them, they ultimately capitulated and Arabia became a part of greater Persia.
This had a rather odd effect on the already strained situation in Europe. Apparently the French had had all they could stomach of "Persian aggression", and had decided to declare war and drag their British allies and Commonwealth acquaintances along for the ride. However, the literacy of the French leadership not being what it used to be, "Persia" was misspelled as "Germany" on the declaration of war. Furthermore, the thoroughness of the French postal service not being up to snuff, the letter was mistakenly delivered to Berlin vice Teheran. This unfortunate accident plunged Europe into a terrible war which with the benefit of a properly educated French goverment could have been avoided.
Upon hearing of the mistake, Shah Reza was reportedly sympathetic to the new plight of the Germans and their Spanish allies, and said, "Boy, that's gotta suck."
Well, you don't know what we can find
Why don't you come with me little girl
On a magic carpet ride
You don't know what we can see
Why don't you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free ...
It is January 1, 1936. A foul smell has begun to permeate Europe. No, it is not the smell of emptied chamberpots in the streets of Rome. It is the smell of totalitarianism, and soon it shall propel the free nations of the Continent (well, most of them, at least) into a horrible conflict that shall decide the fate of democracy.
But, we could hardly care less, for a far more interesting story is developing to the east ... no, no ... look, you've gone a bit too far, there, we're not interested in China. Yes, that's right, back west a bit ... stop! See, the sparkling city of Teheran, with its happily undernourished population. This is the focus of our tale, for here we shall find the ambitious yet benevolent leader of Persia - Shah Reza Pahlavi. Reza had been following the deteriorating world situation for several years, noting the cruelty of the Nazi and Fascist regimes of Europe, as well as the oppression foisted upon the people of the Soviet Union by their Communist leaders. It appeared that the hypocritical Western democracies would do little to stop the spread of such dysfunctional forms of government. No, if sane government by altruistic fiat was to be championed at all, it would have to be championed by Persia.
Of course, in 1936 diplomacy was no means by which to spread the wisdom of one's chosen form of government. As Reza knew all too well, far too many statesmen knew only the language of the sword (or more accurately, the gun, as swords had become somewhat passe by the 20th century). But young Reza was up to the challenge. If gunpoint diplomacy was what the world needed, gunpoint diplomacy was what it would get!
---
The Rules:
v1.02
Persia, 1936 scenario
Very Hard / Furious
The Goals:
Carve out a nice little empire while avoiding a governmental collapse.
---
The Part Immediately Following the Introduction
Persian Harem / War Room - Teheran
January 1, 1936
"Where is that damn music coming from?", Reza asked, visably annoyed.
"No idea, Your Excellency," replied a nameless advisor. (Well, really he did have a name, but it is not important; this is reinforced by the fact that Paradox did not see fit to provide Persia with any named advisors ...
(Regrettably, the original author of this tale was beheaded after it was discovered that he began writing OOC. It is hoped that a similar fate will not befall the current author, who shall now take up the task of completing the story.)
"Well, see that whoever is responsible is beheaded. Here I am, plotting the expansion of our glorious realm, and some twit is pounding out some horrific claptrap about magic carpets."
"As good as done, Your Grace. Now, with regard to expansion ..."
"Ah, yes. What is the status of our armed forces?"
"Strong in spirit, yet weak in number. We have naught but one infantry division and one cavalry division to defend our land and subjugate others. What is worse, our men are ill-equipped, and still carry old-fashioned muskets and the odd slingshot here and there."
"Troubling indeed," remarked the Shah. "Can we not modernize?"
"Presumably, oh Philanthropic One, but we lack the industrial resources to effect such change. It is all we can do to research simple gearboxes for tanks."
"Then we shall have to expand that capacity. Tell me, if we continue this gearbox research, can we still build troops?"
"Just barely, Great One. We should choose our new military units most carefully."
"Hmm ... well, let's go with some mountaineers ... they'll do nicely against the Afghanis to the east."
"As you wish, Your Perfectness."
And so it was that Persia spent the better part of a year building her modest army into a slightly less modest army. And with the ensuing new year, the Shah sent a nicely calligraphed declaration of war to the Afghani nation. Alas, this paragon of prose was lost in transit, and so the Afghanis were taken somewhat by surprise. Nevertheless, four Persian mountaineer divisions, under the command of Mj. General Newcastle (English names were in vogue amongst military men of the era), crossed into Herat, while the cavalry, now two divisions strong, penetrated Qandahar. The plan was to have the cavalry run about like idiots, attracting the attention of the pitchfork-carrying sheep herders that referred to themselves as the Afghani army, while the mountaineers slipped through Mazar-i-Sharif to Kabul. The plan worked satisfactorily enough, and by April 20th Afghanistan was annexed.
Unfortunately, the declaration of war, haphazard as it was, raised the dander of fully one-fifth of the population. Knowing that quality consumer products were the true opiate of the masses, Reza ordered that all factories not engaged in research or the production of military supplies be used to make fine rugs to divert the attention of the rabble away from future Persian acts of diplomacy.
With the annexation of Afghanistan and its steel reserves, Persia was no longer dependent upon foreign trade for her resources. Despite this, the Shah looked for other areas to expand. To the north lay the Soviet Union, the conquest of which is a quest reserved for the mad and slightly inebriated. To the east lay India, the jewel of the British crown. A tantalizing target, but Persia defeating England (and her nefarious ally, France) could surely only occur in the hallucinations of an opium addict. No, the answer lay to the west and the nation of Iraq, with its plentiful oil supplies which, if seized, could deprive the mighty British of a full one-twentieth of their oil. With no better suggestions from his advisors, the Shah ordered the invasion of Iraq just as soon as the unhappiness amongst the riffraff died down. June 13th, to be specific.
Baghdad and Mosul being the only provinces of consequence in Iraq, victory was quickly achieved via the judicious use of the cavalry to penetrate straight through into Mosul. The whole affair was over by July 1st, and copious amounts of oil flowed into the Persian stockpile while approximately one out of five peasants again voiced their disapproval. But no matter. 5,389 beautiful rugs and six months later, the people were again ready to tolerate another war, and this time the target of Reza's benevolence would be Saudi Arabia. Again, the rabble was ticked off, but they could hardly be expected to understand such complicated matters of state. While the Saudis died valiantly for more than a month at the battle of Riyadh, and took many good-natured Persian horses to Hell with them, they ultimately capitulated and Arabia became a part of greater Persia.
This had a rather odd effect on the already strained situation in Europe. Apparently the French had had all they could stomach of "Persian aggression", and had decided to declare war and drag their British allies and Commonwealth acquaintances along for the ride. However, the literacy of the French leadership not being what it used to be, "Persia" was misspelled as "Germany" on the declaration of war. Furthermore, the thoroughness of the French postal service not being up to snuff, the letter was mistakenly delivered to Berlin vice Teheran. This unfortunate accident plunged Europe into a terrible war which with the benefit of a properly educated French goverment could have been avoided.
Upon hearing of the mistake, Shah Reza was reportedly sympathetic to the new plight of the Germans and their Spanish allies, and said, "Boy, that's gotta suck."
