With respect to Jeff Wayne and his imagining of HG Wells' War of the Words, the following stanzas (lightly edited) seem entirely appropriate:
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In the immediate aftermath of Cthulhu's arrival, even our most resilient observers in the British Isles disappeared off the map. All we could do was watch the telegraph wires and put together the best defense we were capable of. To that end, Higgins announced an unprecedented peacetime mass conscription.
The diplomatic cables we received were confused and contradictory; most of the world's nations appeared to be undergoing some kind of crisis of leadership. By August, it had become clear: the respective governments of our remaining dominions as well as the United States had joined the dark tide.
North America, August 4th, 1923
Various Asian states were not far behind.
On August 10th, the still-independent government of France offered to renew our alliance.
As the Great Powers of the world fell, less traditionally-powerful nations attempted to take their place.
But throughout what came to be known as the Black August, the world continued to fall.
Until the month was capped off by the death of our most valuable ally against the horrors.
Europe, August 28, 1923
With the world map redrawn so quickly, the State Department was unable to keep up its standard reports. We were flying blind.
Two of the remaining minors did not hold out much longer.
On September 2nd, President Higgins and the Romanian ambassador sat down to plan our joint war strategy.
On the sixth, the ambassador disappeared.
On the 20th, our oldest ally and the birthplace of the cult finally surrendered to it.
Spain surrendered on October 1st.
And Guatemala on the 3rd.
On October 13th, 1923, the French government joined the cult, and New England was alone in the world.
The State Department had nothing to watch but the ghosts of dead nations.
For New England, what happened next was almost a moment of calm. Our few remaining observers described a world in chaos as the cultists crushed all remaining resistance. No one ever laid eyes on Cthulhu and lived to tell the tale.
This continued for several years. In 1924, leaders from all parties agreed not to hold an election, as a leadership change would be too dangerous at such a critical time. This plan was foiled when, on June 30th, 1924, George Higgins died of a heart attack. A great deal of people took this as a sign that open elections should never be suspended in New England.
For President, the Democrats took it upon themselves to choose a candidate based solely on who would be most equipped to defend New England from the attacking forces. After much debate, they chose my personal friend, Commanding General Frederick William Wright. The Progressives and United Socialists saw Wright's 86 years of service as a sign that he was tainted by the same supernatural forces that we were fighting, and jointly nominated Burt Curtis as a less dangerous alternative.
Ultimately, Wright's track record of consistently winning wars despite all odds carried the day. The New English were indeed afraid of his (and I assume my) lack of aging, but fear of enemies without overwhelmed fear of enemies within.
Fear of the man in charge of the almost-dictatorial government was cited by the Communists as they made one last attempt to take the nation for themselves.
Again, the rebellion was crushed with minimal disruption.
In December of 1926, a report written by the Secretary of War highlighted a new problem: technology in New England had plateaued. Despite our massive spending on both education and research and development, no major breakthroughs were on the horizon. Our technology gap with the cult could only shrink.
On March 21st, 1927, Cthulhu finally saw fit to attack. All at once, the cultist troops massed on our border began a massive strike into New England. The War of Revelation had begun.
The diplomatic cables we received were confused and contradictory; most of the world's nations appeared to be undergoing some kind of crisis of leadership. By August, it had become clear: the respective governments of our remaining dominions as well as the United States had joined the dark tide.
North America, August 4th, 1923
Various Asian states were not far behind.
On August 10th, the still-independent government of France offered to renew our alliance.
As the Great Powers of the world fell, less traditionally-powerful nations attempted to take their place.
But throughout what came to be known as the Black August, the world continued to fall.
Until the month was capped off by the death of our most valuable ally against the horrors.
Europe, August 28, 1923
With the world map redrawn so quickly, the State Department was unable to keep up its standard reports. We were flying blind.
Two of the remaining minors did not hold out much longer.
On September 2nd, President Higgins and the Romanian ambassador sat down to plan our joint war strategy.
On the sixth, the ambassador disappeared.
On the 20th, our oldest ally and the birthplace of the cult finally surrendered to it.
Spain surrendered on October 1st.
And Guatemala on the 3rd.
On October 13th, 1923, the French government joined the cult, and New England was alone in the world.
The State Department had nothing to watch but the ghosts of dead nations.
For New England, what happened next was almost a moment of calm. Our few remaining observers described a world in chaos as the cultists crushed all remaining resistance. No one ever laid eyes on Cthulhu and lived to tell the tale.
This continued for several years. In 1924, leaders from all parties agreed not to hold an election, as a leadership change would be too dangerous at such a critical time. This plan was foiled when, on June 30th, 1924, George Higgins died of a heart attack. A great deal of people took this as a sign that open elections should never be suspended in New England.
For President, the Democrats took it upon themselves to choose a candidate based solely on who would be most equipped to defend New England from the attacking forces. After much debate, they chose my personal friend, Commanding General Frederick William Wright. The Progressives and United Socialists saw Wright's 86 years of service as a sign that he was tainted by the same supernatural forces that we were fighting, and jointly nominated Burt Curtis as a less dangerous alternative.
Ultimately, Wright's track record of consistently winning wars despite all odds carried the day. The New English were indeed afraid of his (and I assume my) lack of aging, but fear of enemies without overwhelmed fear of enemies within.
Fear of the man in charge of the almost-dictatorial government was cited by the Communists as they made one last attempt to take the nation for themselves.
Again, the rebellion was crushed with minimal disruption.
In December of 1926, a report written by the Secretary of War highlighted a new problem: technology in New England had plateaued. Despite our massive spending on both education and research and development, no major breakthroughs were on the horizon. Our technology gap with the cult could only shrink.
On March 21st, 1927, Cthulhu finally saw fit to attack. All at once, the cultist troops massed on our border began a massive strike into New England. The War of Revelation had begun.
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Holy shit, you guys are fucked! What are you thinking, hole up as long as you can in New England or try to secure north america and pray you can do it before the rest of the world arrives? Or has the cult literally sent the whole world's armed forces to your birders already?
I can't be the only one who's always wanted to know what happens if there aren't eight nations to be great powers. I'm kind of disappointed, to be honest.
Doesn't look like it.
There's not much world left.
That's very apt here.
Survive.
From the journal of President Frederick William Wright:
Someone could rightly question the fact that I took time to write this account of the war while it is still ongoing. However, I suspect that very few accounts of these events will survive, so this may be the most important historical document in over 100 years. Also, writing this kind of journal does help me keep the big picture in mind.
Besides, there's a very good chance I won't be able to do it after the war.
When the attack first started, nobody knew what to expect. Some thought Cthulhu would immediately appear and crush the entire army in a day while others dreamed this would just be another conventional war between the two remaining nations. The truth ended up being somewhere in between: the day the attack started, a wave of dread and panic spread across our army, turning our careful plans into mass chaos. A few units had been chomping at the bit to attack since the end of the ritual, and the panic was enough to get them to go over the top. Their defeats were the opening battles of The War of Revelation.
My solution to this was to order even larger attacks. If we had to fight, we had better win. By mid-April, the tide was turning and we were pushing them back.
As President, I also had to worry about comparatively petty issues like the national budget. During the flurry of legislation after the ritual had finished, Higgins had signed the Industrialization Maintenance Act, which offered subsidies to factories that were facing bankruptcy because the global export markets had suddenly disappeared. While this did avert an economic collapse, it was now the nation's largest non-war expense. On April 21st, I signed a law ending all subsidies of private industry. Vital military industries could survive on war contracts and everything else was a luxury we could not afford. The unemployed could head to the front and pick up a rifle.
One of our ill-advised attacks was the army based in Bangor attacking into Fredericton.
However, General Potter managed to slip past the cultists to Prince Edward Island.
The rest of the offensive went well; we had far more men ready at the border than the cult did.
But the places the cultists wanted to hold on to, they kept.
At this point, we learned of another oddity. In many places where the United States army was once concentrated, we discovered ghost armies. These phantoms stood in perfect formation, doing nothing but unsettling us with their presence. We could do nothing but accept it as part of the chaotic world the cult ushered in.
By June, we had pushed the cult back at great loss of life.
At this point, I was feeling good enough about our ability to hold New England that I was willing to send an invasion fleet across the Atlantic. We had no idea what they would find there, but the prospect of discovering a weakness in the enemy was enticing enough that we had to try.
Meanwhile, we invested more and more into Montreal.
By mid-July a New English force had once again pushed its way to the gates of London. Once again, a devoted but under-equipped cultist army was hellbent on stopping them.
On July 28th, the cultists in Montreal encircled our forces and we simply had no more troops in the area to break their lines. We had pushed our luck too far.
In late August, the same happened in a far more important city: London. Once again, we were outmanned and outgunned.
Neither of these battles were the end. Given its proximity to our major cities, Montreal was considered so vital that every army in the West and South was ordered to cross the country and defend it. Eventually, our sheer numbers forced the cult to make a tactical retreat.
As we were losing in London, a second expeditionary force was on its way. Exhausted from the first battle, the cultists retreated from London as well.
The general staff were pleased by this. One brigadier general boasted "They have a thousand times the men and guns we have. But ours are exactly where they need to be every time."
To our surprise, our attempt to take control of London was met with less resistance than it was during the First Eldritch War. The local population was still fanatically resisting, but there were far fewer of them this time around.
Meanwhile in Africa, the war was going exactly as expected; we were putting only enough resistance to slow them down and make taking the continent an expensive proposition.
As intelligence reports rolled in, we were pleased to learn that the cult had dedicated more men to this front than North America and Great Britain combined.
The abandoning of the West was not without its consequences.
In early October, we finally accomplished our main goal: the capture of London. What we found there was just about the only thing that possibly could have disappointed us: absolutely nothing. Within the improvised city walls was nothing but thousands of acres of ash left over from the largest sacrificial flame in human history. The center of their government and Cthulhu had long since evacuated. We still have not come into contact with either.
At this point, I took a moment to reflect on the war as a whole. We had lost many major battles, but we still had an intact army, and we were far from defeated.
As a side note, many in the State Department had gone mad, doing nothing but staring at a chart or map and repeating the word "France."
Throughout October, we were able to hold most of what we had, but advance no farther.
By November, the armies of the cult had come in earnest to retake their lost land. We had no way to stop them.
On November 8th, I made the decision to recall our expeditionary force from London to defend New England.
In December, our army attacked the largest individual attacking force the cult had in Plattsburgh.
Once again, our sheer manpower pushed them back into Canada.
One by one, our African colonies were falling.
But we still had a few pockets of control.
Despite our victory in Plattsburgh, the cult could not be stopped.
In a way, this was a microcosm of New England's entire history: we had a few glorious victories in battles while the cult quietly won the war.
In December 20th, our last outpost in the London fell, and the city was a silent ruin once again.
By January, it had become the army's official plan to defend only New England and Massachusetts and fight a guerrilla campaign everywhere else.
The few battles we did fight, we fought to win.
On January 18th, the survivors of the expeditionary force arrived in Boston, and the war entered a new phase.
In 1928, we would have no ambitions but to defend whatever we could and let everything else go.
Someone could rightly question the fact that I took time to write this account of the war while it is still ongoing. However, I suspect that very few accounts of these events will survive, so this may be the most important historical document in over 100 years. Also, writing this kind of journal does help me keep the big picture in mind.
Besides, there's a very good chance I won't be able to do it after the war.
When the attack first started, nobody knew what to expect. Some thought Cthulhu would immediately appear and crush the entire army in a day while others dreamed this would just be another conventional war between the two remaining nations. The truth ended up being somewhere in between: the day the attack started, a wave of dread and panic spread across our army, turning our careful plans into mass chaos. A few units had been chomping at the bit to attack since the end of the ritual, and the panic was enough to get them to go over the top. Their defeats were the opening battles of The War of Revelation.
My solution to this was to order even larger attacks. If we had to fight, we had better win. By mid-April, the tide was turning and we were pushing them back.
As President, I also had to worry about comparatively petty issues like the national budget. During the flurry of legislation after the ritual had finished, Higgins had signed the Industrialization Maintenance Act, which offered subsidies to factories that were facing bankruptcy because the global export markets had suddenly disappeared. While this did avert an economic collapse, it was now the nation's largest non-war expense. On April 21st, I signed a law ending all subsidies of private industry. Vital military industries could survive on war contracts and everything else was a luxury we could not afford. The unemployed could head to the front and pick up a rifle.
One of our ill-advised attacks was the army based in Bangor attacking into Fredericton.
However, General Potter managed to slip past the cultists to Prince Edward Island.
The rest of the offensive went well; we had far more men ready at the border than the cult did.
But the places the cultists wanted to hold on to, they kept.
At this point, we learned of another oddity. In many places where the United States army was once concentrated, we discovered ghost armies. These phantoms stood in perfect formation, doing nothing but unsettling us with their presence. We could do nothing but accept it as part of the chaotic world the cult ushered in.
By June, we had pushed the cult back at great loss of life.
At this point, I was feeling good enough about our ability to hold New England that I was willing to send an invasion fleet across the Atlantic. We had no idea what they would find there, but the prospect of discovering a weakness in the enemy was enticing enough that we had to try.
Meanwhile, we invested more and more into Montreal.
By mid-July a New English force had once again pushed its way to the gates of London. Once again, a devoted but under-equipped cultist army was hellbent on stopping them.
On July 28th, the cultists in Montreal encircled our forces and we simply had no more troops in the area to break their lines. We had pushed our luck too far.
In late August, the same happened in a far more important city: London. Once again, we were outmanned and outgunned.
Neither of these battles were the end. Given its proximity to our major cities, Montreal was considered so vital that every army in the West and South was ordered to cross the country and defend it. Eventually, our sheer numbers forced the cult to make a tactical retreat.
As we were losing in London, a second expeditionary force was on its way. Exhausted from the first battle, the cultists retreated from London as well.
The general staff were pleased by this. One brigadier general boasted "They have a thousand times the men and guns we have. But ours are exactly where they need to be every time."
To our surprise, our attempt to take control of London was met with less resistance than it was during the First Eldritch War. The local population was still fanatically resisting, but there were far fewer of them this time around.
Meanwhile in Africa, the war was going exactly as expected; we were putting only enough resistance to slow them down and make taking the continent an expensive proposition.
As intelligence reports rolled in, we were pleased to learn that the cult had dedicated more men to this front than North America and Great Britain combined.
The abandoning of the West was not without its consequences.
In early October, we finally accomplished our main goal: the capture of London. What we found there was just about the only thing that possibly could have disappointed us: absolutely nothing. Within the improvised city walls was nothing but thousands of acres of ash left over from the largest sacrificial flame in human history. The center of their government and Cthulhu had long since evacuated. We still have not come into contact with either.
At this point, I took a moment to reflect on the war as a whole. We had lost many major battles, but we still had an intact army, and we were far from defeated.
As a side note, many in the State Department had gone mad, doing nothing but staring at a chart or map and repeating the word "France."
Throughout October, we were able to hold most of what we had, but advance no farther.
By November, the armies of the cult had come in earnest to retake their lost land. We had no way to stop them.
On November 8th, I made the decision to recall our expeditionary force from London to defend New England.
In December, our army attacked the largest individual attacking force the cult had in Plattsburgh.
Once again, our sheer manpower pushed them back into Canada.
One by one, our African colonies were falling.
But we still had a few pockets of control.
Despite our victory in Plattsburgh, the cult could not be stopped.
In a way, this was a microcosm of New England's entire history: we had a few glorious victories in battles while the cult quietly won the war.
In December 20th, our last outpost in the London fell, and the city was a silent ruin once again.
By January, it had become the army's official plan to defend only New England and Massachusetts and fight a guerrilla campaign everywhere else.
The few battles we did fight, we fought to win.
On January 18th, the survivors of the expeditionary force arrived in Boston, and the war entered a new phase.
In 1928, we would have no ambitions but to defend whatever we could and let everything else go.
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2,500 brigades, and the Domain is only about 12% mobilized. Meanwhile, we're losing men we can't get back.
This was less than a year?! It felt like so much longer when I was playing it!
This was less than a year?! It felt like so much longer when I was playing it!
Once the war started, I thought there was about a 20% chance of immediate total collapse and an 80% chance of gradually being outpaced until the utter futility of my task was revealed. Looks like the latter happened.
It's late game Victoria 2. If you're dug in enough, you can defend a few provinces for a very long time.
This may be the largest war I've ever fought.
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Huh. Didn't think about that. Fortunately no one in universe is going to have time to think about it either.
Becauses...distract the AI perhaps?
Excellent but as the cult can afford to be glacially slow and steady, this isn't necessarily a good thing for you.
Paradox dev teams frequently get the same malady.
So time for a big last stand until cthulu shows up to take you down persobally. Well, it was fun.
On the mod, can you play as the cult? And is it possible to defeat the cult, or is it hardcoded in?
If you're one of those people who has really in-depth knowledge about the game's economy, there's probably some interesting things to learn from this situation.
Maybe the cult had a weakness at its heart.
An army halfway across the world is far less of a threat than one at the gates.
Haha.
It was.
You can't play as the cult. I have some ideas for a player victory.
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From the journal of President Frederick William Wright:
As we carefully planned which lands to defend and which to abandon, a flood of refugees moved from Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania into more safe areas.
We did not despair; the army was strong and well-equipped.
And we did have the ability to push the enemy back.
By February, the lines were drawn. We would zealously defend the original territory of New England and only advance if given an excellent opportunity.
The prime early example being the battle of Sherbrooke.
I winced as the cult erased all our early gains and more.
However, to effect this occupation, the cult effectively abandoned the North for us to retake.
During the First Eldritch War, the Domain of the Cult had developed (partially by adaption of our work) a deadly gas that could wipe out entire armies. Since then, they had deployed this weapon in every major battle against us with devastating results. In March of 1928, we finally developed and deployed a viable countermeasure.
Everyone in command hoped that this could be what turned the tide.
Our newfound lack of fear caught the cultists by surprise when they attempted to launch a major assault on Arkham.
Even as we lost ground by the mile, everyone was beginning to believe the war was going our way.
With these new tactics and new weapons, our concentrated forces won border skirmish after border skirmish.
But the cult kept coming.
On March 17th, our last African holding fell to the cult. We never received news from our colonies again.
On the 19th, a group of Radicals based out of Miskatonic University stole rifles from a supply truck and tried to seize control of the campus, starting with the building from which we monitored the cult. They were defeated within a day, but we were forced to pull troops off the front line to do so. We never got a clear understanding of their motives.
In response, we tightened security around the University, placing armed guards in front of every building. My colleague was so shaken that he had a squad of soldiers stationed outside his office and a bed placed inside it. He never left the building again.
Over the last two weeks of the month, the army in the North pushed back the largest thrust the cult had made yet.
In April, the army in the West accomplished a similar feat.
Although Africa was dead to us, the lessons we learned there survived. Through guerilla warfare, we bogged down much of the Eldritch army far away from the front lines.
Slowly, we were falling into a rhythm; bait the cult into crossing our line and pound them into the dirt.
In May, I declared (as everyone expected me to) that we would adhere to Higgins's dying wish and hold an election as scheduled in 1928.
As expected, the Democrats renominated me, citing the recent string of victories. The Progressives nominated a former Secretary of War, Curtis Swanson, who promised a very similar platform to mine without the baggage of my supernatural longevity. The United Socialists, after much consideration, nominated former union leader Robert McMullen, who promised to restore me as Commanding General to lead the war while he focused on domestic policy.
In June, I reviewed the national budget. Even with taxes as high as we could possibly extract and all spending on things other than war materials cancelled, we still faced a significant shortfall. I was forced to drastically cut funding for the Department of War to avert a total economic collapse.
Our victories in battle continued to excuse our loss of territory. When not looking at a map, the people of New England began to feel we were coming out ahead.
And the victories kept coming.
Of course, these small but powerful movements of the line could not save the territory we abandoned.
The results of the election surprised no one. The New English people feared the change in leadership promised by Swanson and thought McMullen's proposal was completely absurd.
This was the sixth election in a row won by the Democrats. It was universally acknowledged that fear of the cult kept the people of New England in line with the status quo.
Near the end of 1928, we decided that our defensive forces had stabilized the lines to the point where we could go on the offensive. This was the worst decision New England ever made.
By the time the dust cleared, New England had less than half the men it did before the ill-fated offensive.
But our sheer force of will did grant us a few victories.
By September of 1929, realization that the majority of New England was under cultist control was gradually dawning on the populace.
The much smaller New English army was forced to consider how to defend the territory they had retaken.
That winter, it was clear that our force was falling apart at the seams.
By Spring of 1930, our arrogance had come to haunt us. The lines were in the same place they were two years prior, but we no longer had a massive force to protect us.
Of course, we still could protect the core when necessary.
And hunt down the attackers on occasion.
That summer, the Domain of the Cult launched their own offensive, pushing with a massive wave over every point on the front. We had no choice but to draw our new line, defending only Massachusetts.
This is where we will make our last stand.
As we carefully planned which lands to defend and which to abandon, a flood of refugees moved from Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania into more safe areas.
We did not despair; the army was strong and well-equipped.
And we did have the ability to push the enemy back.
By February, the lines were drawn. We would zealously defend the original territory of New England and only advance if given an excellent opportunity.
The prime early example being the battle of Sherbrooke.
I winced as the cult erased all our early gains and more.
However, to effect this occupation, the cult effectively abandoned the North for us to retake.
During the First Eldritch War, the Domain of the Cult had developed (partially by adaption of our work) a deadly gas that could wipe out entire armies. Since then, they had deployed this weapon in every major battle against us with devastating results. In March of 1928, we finally developed and deployed a viable countermeasure.
Everyone in command hoped that this could be what turned the tide.
Our newfound lack of fear caught the cultists by surprise when they attempted to launch a major assault on Arkham.
Even as we lost ground by the mile, everyone was beginning to believe the war was going our way.
With these new tactics and new weapons, our concentrated forces won border skirmish after border skirmish.
But the cult kept coming.
On March 17th, our last African holding fell to the cult. We never received news from our colonies again.
On the 19th, a group of Radicals based out of Miskatonic University stole rifles from a supply truck and tried to seize control of the campus, starting with the building from which we monitored the cult. They were defeated within a day, but we were forced to pull troops off the front line to do so. We never got a clear understanding of their motives.
In response, we tightened security around the University, placing armed guards in front of every building. My colleague was so shaken that he had a squad of soldiers stationed outside his office and a bed placed inside it. He never left the building again.
Over the last two weeks of the month, the army in the North pushed back the largest thrust the cult had made yet.
In April, the army in the West accomplished a similar feat.
Although Africa was dead to us, the lessons we learned there survived. Through guerilla warfare, we bogged down much of the Eldritch army far away from the front lines.
Slowly, we were falling into a rhythm; bait the cult into crossing our line and pound them into the dirt.
In May, I declared (as everyone expected me to) that we would adhere to Higgins's dying wish and hold an election as scheduled in 1928.
As expected, the Democrats renominated me, citing the recent string of victories. The Progressives nominated a former Secretary of War, Curtis Swanson, who promised a very similar platform to mine without the baggage of my supernatural longevity. The United Socialists, after much consideration, nominated former union leader Robert McMullen, who promised to restore me as Commanding General to lead the war while he focused on domestic policy.
In June, I reviewed the national budget. Even with taxes as high as we could possibly extract and all spending on things other than war materials cancelled, we still faced a significant shortfall. I was forced to drastically cut funding for the Department of War to avert a total economic collapse.
Our victories in battle continued to excuse our loss of territory. When not looking at a map, the people of New England began to feel we were coming out ahead.
And the victories kept coming.
Of course, these small but powerful movements of the line could not save the territory we abandoned.
The results of the election surprised no one. The New English people feared the change in leadership promised by Swanson and thought McMullen's proposal was completely absurd.
This was the sixth election in a row won by the Democrats. It was universally acknowledged that fear of the cult kept the people of New England in line with the status quo.
Near the end of 1928, we decided that our defensive forces had stabilized the lines to the point where we could go on the offensive. This was the worst decision New England ever made.
By the time the dust cleared, New England had less than half the men it did before the ill-fated offensive.
But our sheer force of will did grant us a few victories.
By September of 1929, realization that the majority of New England was under cultist control was gradually dawning on the populace.
The much smaller New English army was forced to consider how to defend the territory they had retaken.
That winter, it was clear that our force was falling apart at the seams.
By Spring of 1930, our arrogance had come to haunt us. The lines were in the same place they were two years prior, but we no longer had a massive force to protect us.
Of course, we still could protect the core when necessary.
And hunt down the attackers on occasion.
That summer, the Domain of the Cult launched their own offensive, pushing with a massive wave over every point on the front. We had no choice but to draw our new line, defending only Massachusetts.
This is where we will make our last stand.
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They do say it is darkest just before dawn.
But with Cthulu awake ... this is not a dawn to hunger for.
But with Cthulu awake ... this is not a dawn to hunger for.
Oh, what a terrible time to have fallen behind on my reading. Of course, it would have been terrible no matter what.
But what is this 1936 that seems to have been mentioned by the cult? Is there perhaps something significant about that year? Maybe something in those papers at Miskatonic? It may not be of any help, though, as there is little hope of lasting that long.
But what is this 1936 that seems to have been mentioned by the cult? Is there perhaps something significant about that year? Maybe something in those papers at Miskatonic? It may not be of any help, though, as there is little hope of lasting that long.
There's not much left to hope for.
Truly.
We won't be around to see it.
It's unlikely we make it far enough. Even if we did, nothing lies on the far end of that transformation but more death and destruction.
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As our enemy grew ever closer, Miskatonic University became less and less of a safe haven from a world in chaos. Over the course of the war, I had confined myself to my study, pouring over all the information we had about the cult even as the volume of information coming in diminished.
By 1930, we had no observers anywhere in the world but the few remaining uncaptured cities, speaking of nothing but doom from the cultist horde. When President Wright ordered the army fall back to Massachusetts, we all knew to prepare for the end.
One by one, telegraph lines from our cities went dark.
I cannot fault the heroism of our troops; they never gave up, even when most of us civilians did. On July 31st, a Cultist army attacked Boston.
Rallying the remaining armies, Wright was able to repel them and buy us more time.
On August 23rd, the New York News printed its last issue.
On September 28th, I woke the sound of machine gun fire and explosions; the cult had made their next big move.
It was here, with our backs against the wall, that Wright's ability as a general truly shined.
The civilians of New England lived in constant fear of death. Many decided to elevate themselves in their final months,and sought to study philosophy before they met their fate.
Capitalizing on the victory in Arkham, we were able to break several sieges of New English cities.
This string of victories lasted for over a year, but for every man we killed, they sent two more.
All we were doing was delaying the inevitable.
On October 23rd, 1931, The Second Battle of Arkham capped off our heroic last stand.
Our long string of tactical victories had left our army much smaller and divided around New England.
On December 22nd, the main New English army defending Boston was defeated, leaving only a few squads to man the fortifications. Our government was under siege by an army far larger than any we could fight.
Our force in Maine rushed to relieve the garrison but were intercepted and scattered.
The survivors were hunted down and killed.
On January 20th, 1932, the Domain of the Cult engaged the final New English army outside Arkham.
The battle lasted months. In late February, I deafened myself so I would not lose what remained of my mind listening to explosions and screams.
On March 8th, the cultists broke the wall and burned Boston to the ground. The morning before the end, President Wright had a group of men run though enemy lines to deliver a box containing his journals to me, which I have included in this account. Wright himself opted to stay in the capitol building with a pistol and take as many as he could with him.
On the 10th, a message appeared in the sky over each of our remaining cities demanding our surrender.
We refused.
The day Boston fell, the New English navy loaded every cargo ship in Boston Harbor with as much fuel and supplies as they could carry and escaped into open ocean.
Once safely out of range of cultist guns, they examined their options. With the fuel they had, they could travel anywhere in the world. But they could not escape the fact that there was no shore in the entire world that was not under direct control of the cult, or that being captured would lead to a fate worse than death. After two days at sea, the fleet made the only decision they could: they first had the warships sink each of the cargo ships, then simultaneously detonated their own magazines, sinking the fleet and killing everyone aboard.
Almost as a joke, the few remaining political party leaders nominated candidates for the 1932 election. The Democrats nominated General Ambrose Kimball without knowing he had already died in battle. The Progressives nominated Stephen Nelson, the last surviving New English senator. The United Socialists nominated Ulysses Strong, a madman who raved that this Eldritch invasion was merely a bad dream, and it would disappear if we stopped believing in it.
All three candidates would be dead before the end of June.
On May 15th, the Third Battle of Arkham ended when the New English army was forced to retreat north.
They were hunted down and slaughtered.
It is here, in these last few months before my inevitable demise, that I decided to write this account of the history of New England. Now that it is complete, I intend to hide it in the depths of Miskatonic University Library, just as Napier hid his notes. I can only hope that somehow humanity survives, and at some point some future generation can read and learn from this history.
As I reviewed every moment of the life of myself and my nation, I asked myself if there was something we did wrong, some turning point where if we had made a different choice we could have survived. But at every junction from 1836 to now, no matter what we did the cult grew exponentially. As the enemy breaks down the final walls protecting us from them, I can only reflect on one inescapable conclusion: we were doomed from the start.
The End
By 1930, we had no observers anywhere in the world but the few remaining uncaptured cities, speaking of nothing but doom from the cultist horde. When President Wright ordered the army fall back to Massachusetts, we all knew to prepare for the end.
One by one, telegraph lines from our cities went dark.
I cannot fault the heroism of our troops; they never gave up, even when most of us civilians did. On July 31st, a Cultist army attacked Boston.
Rallying the remaining armies, Wright was able to repel them and buy us more time.
On August 23rd, the New York News printed its last issue.
On September 28th, I woke the sound of machine gun fire and explosions; the cult had made their next big move.
It was here, with our backs against the wall, that Wright's ability as a general truly shined.
The civilians of New England lived in constant fear of death. Many decided to elevate themselves in their final months,and sought to study philosophy before they met their fate.
Capitalizing on the victory in Arkham, we were able to break several sieges of New English cities.
This string of victories lasted for over a year, but for every man we killed, they sent two more.
All we were doing was delaying the inevitable.
On October 23rd, 1931, The Second Battle of Arkham capped off our heroic last stand.
Our long string of tactical victories had left our army much smaller and divided around New England.
On December 22nd, the main New English army defending Boston was defeated, leaving only a few squads to man the fortifications. Our government was under siege by an army far larger than any we could fight.
Our force in Maine rushed to relieve the garrison but were intercepted and scattered.
The survivors were hunted down and killed.
On January 20th, 1932, the Domain of the Cult engaged the final New English army outside Arkham.
The battle lasted months. In late February, I deafened myself so I would not lose what remained of my mind listening to explosions and screams.
On March 8th, the cultists broke the wall and burned Boston to the ground. The morning before the end, President Wright had a group of men run though enemy lines to deliver a box containing his journals to me, which I have included in this account. Wright himself opted to stay in the capitol building with a pistol and take as many as he could with him.
On the 10th, a message appeared in the sky over each of our remaining cities demanding our surrender.
We refused.
The day Boston fell, the New English navy loaded every cargo ship in Boston Harbor with as much fuel and supplies as they could carry and escaped into open ocean.
Once safely out of range of cultist guns, they examined their options. With the fuel they had, they could travel anywhere in the world. But they could not escape the fact that there was no shore in the entire world that was not under direct control of the cult, or that being captured would lead to a fate worse than death. After two days at sea, the fleet made the only decision they could: they first had the warships sink each of the cargo ships, then simultaneously detonated their own magazines, sinking the fleet and killing everyone aboard.
Almost as a joke, the few remaining political party leaders nominated candidates for the 1932 election. The Democrats nominated General Ambrose Kimball without knowing he had already died in battle. The Progressives nominated Stephen Nelson, the last surviving New English senator. The United Socialists nominated Ulysses Strong, a madman who raved that this Eldritch invasion was merely a bad dream, and it would disappear if we stopped believing in it.
All three candidates would be dead before the end of June.
On May 15th, the Third Battle of Arkham ended when the New English army was forced to retreat north.
They were hunted down and slaughtered.
It is here, in these last few months before my inevitable demise, that I decided to write this account of the history of New England. Now that it is complete, I intend to hide it in the depths of Miskatonic University Library, just as Napier hid his notes. I can only hope that somehow humanity survives, and at some point some future generation can read and learn from this history.
As I reviewed every moment of the life of myself and my nation, I asked myself if there was something we did wrong, some turning point where if we had made a different choice we could have survived. But at every junction from 1836 to now, no matter what we did the cult grew exponentially. As the enemy breaks down the final walls protecting us from them, I can only reflect on one inescapable conclusion: we were doomed from the start.
The End
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