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Hej Norg! Hur står det till (yeah, I know, it's Swedish and not Norvegian. But that's close enough
)
Just found the AAR. I'll be keeping a close eye on this one.
PS: from my own experience, snow doesn't fall gently on Oslo... It's blizzard out there!
)Just found the AAR. I'll be keeping a close eye on this one.
PS: from my own experience, snow doesn't fall gently on Oslo... It's blizzard out there!
Originally posted by Eochaid
Hej Norg! Hur står det till (yeah, I know, it's Swedish and not Norvegian. But that's close enough
Drop the last L and you are there Eochaid! Come to Norway and practice a bit more and you'll be there...
(sorry to spam Norg, but his norwegian is trés bon...
Yikes! I have readership!
Folks, I'll try to have another chapter up by tomorrow afternoon. If I haven't, brother booze has gotten me. Which means you'll get a "I'm never going to drink again" chapter by Monday.
What's the opinion about screenies with you folks? I have a few, but they're not really interesting before any action happens, are they?
I have readership! Folks, I'll try to have another chapter up by tomorrow afternoon. If I haven't, brother booze has gotten me. Which means you'll get a "I'm never going to drink again" chapter by Monday.
What's the opinion about screenies with you folks? I have a few, but they're not really interesting before any action happens, are they?
I don't know, maybe throw in a screenshot as a 'clue' in the mystery? The detective finds an old map of the table with notes in the margins... etc.
Norg,
Wow. Just had to get the first narrative HOI AAR, eh?
It's always nice to start out with the best, anyway... I'm itching for an update, though I can imagine the strategic alliance brewing between your liver and Chris'.
And rest assured-our styles and environs are completely different...
Wow. Just had to get the first narrative HOI AAR, eh?
It's always nice to start out with the best, anyway... I'm itching for an update, though I can imagine the strategic alliance brewing between your liver and Chris'.
And rest assured-our styles and environs are completely different...
I agree with crusin, but i dont miss them much (the HoI map isn't too detailed anyway and Norway is not that big)! /Mattias
Chapter IV: Major intelligence?
The police headquarters at Victoria Terrasse in downtown Oslo weren’t particularly inviting this morning. It was another cold, grey January day as Jon Mold arrived at work a little after 7 am. He successfully managed to procure a cup, and poured himself a generous cup of coffee from his canteen, while lighting the first cigarette of the day. The paper mentioned nothing about the death of mr. Mathiesen. Instead, the posturing before the elections the coming autumn had begun. Gjertsen arrived a few minutes later, and Mold called him into his office. Gjertsen had brought with him a lunchbox packed with leaves of bread with brown goat cheese; a very particular Norwegian cheese.
“Anything new, inspector?”
“Marcussen sent me out to check a red herring last night. Seems as if our man had two places where he lived. His apartment down in Bjørvika was, if possible, even less interesting than the small house in Drøbak…”
Gjertsen nodded, and sipped coffee.
“Nice coffee”
“The wife made it”
“Ah”
There’s no telling what truths the two would’ve come up with had not Mold’s telephone rung at this moment.
“Mold? Yes. Uhm, yes. Right. I’ll see you in moment!”. Mold hung up.
“Marcussen. See if you can get a hold of the day nurses up at Ullevål and get your hands on the coroner’s report, will you? We need every damn clue we can get here!”
“Right! Meet you here at twelve?”
“Good. Now get going!”
Gjertsen finished eating, and exited. Mold lit another cigarette. Marcussen had sounded secretive. Mold didn’t much care for his superior; a bureaucrat-turned-policeman. He knew for certain that Marcussen’s primary function was to build an esprit d’etat and keep the politicians happy. How on Earth he’d made head of Homicide, he’d never quite fathomed.
He sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, checked his tie and left the office. He walked along the corridors, nodding to a few of the people he passed. Marcussen was one of the few that had a personal secretary. Mold nodded at her.
“He expects you, inspector”
“Thanks”
Jon Mold entered his superior’s office. He unconsciously straightened up and swore at himself for doing so.
“Good morning, sir”
“Good morning, inspector. Please; have a seat”, Marcussen said. Only then did Jon Mold discover the uniformed man sitting behind him in Marcussen’s couch.
“I suppose you’ve not been introduced. Inspector Jon Mold, one of our finest, major Frank Schultz, Army Intelligence”
“How do you do?”, Mold said, perplexed, while stretching out his hand.
The major shook it. He had an iron grip, and silvery hair, slicked back. His head shape and facial features reminded Mold of a rodent. A rat, perhaps.
“The major has come to see us, as he has information relating to the late mr. Martinsen”
“Mathiesen…”
“Ah, yes. Potato, potato”, Marcussen said, trying to light his pipe. He then proceeded to press a button on his intercom.
“Marie, could you bring us some coffee? And perhaps something from the baker’s?”
“Danish, anyone?”, Marcussen said to no-one in particular. He was like that. Absent. Aloof. Schultz cleared his throat and spoke:
“Well, I’d better start. I’m from Army Intelligence, an organisation that was built up after the war. Before that we had an intelligence service for all three parts of the national defence force, but that’s of little importance. However, what you need to know is this…”
Schultz was interrupted by Marie, the secretary, entering the room with coffee and Danish. He looked distinctly displeased, Mold noticed. The good major was probably used to a bit more secrecy than Marcussen offered.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. During the re-armament, we began recruiting operatives to gather intelligence information. Niels Mathiesen was recruited in early 1936, and remained one of our finest assets until he resigned in 1955 due to detoriating health… his two addresses are explained by this. His official address is the one in Oslo. The house in Drøbak was the one he used when on assignments, as it had more… privacy…”
Mold merely sat back in the chair, smoking and sometimes scratching his chin. Marcussen looked out over the office, and didn’t really seem to fathom what major Schultz was saying.
“Uhm, major… could mr. Mathiesen’s death have anything to do with him having been an operative? Is that what you are saying?”
“Inspector, please. I don’t know, but what I am saying is that as far as we are able to, we will assist your investigation, providing information…”. Schultz paused abruptly. “To a limit, of course…”
“Of course”, Mold replied in a tone he hoped was sarcastic. Major Schulz was unfazed, though.
“I have his file. Well, parts of it. This is for your eyes only, inspector, but being the son of colonel Mold, I suppose you know how it works. You may photocopy it, but I want it back before I leave”
“You heard the major, Mold. Get Marie to photocopy the…”
“No, you’ll do it yourself, inspector!”. Schultz was very intent.
Mold went out and photocopied two A4 pages, and gave the file back to the major. The major shook his hand.
“I’ll be leaving now. Should you encounter anything of interest, or need any assistance, do not hesitate to contact me. Here is my calling card, inspector!”. The major saluted and left.
“Right. Off to work, Mold. Off to work…”, Marcussen said and helped himself to a Danish.
The police headquarters at Victoria Terrasse in downtown Oslo weren’t particularly inviting this morning. It was another cold, grey January day as Jon Mold arrived at work a little after 7 am. He successfully managed to procure a cup, and poured himself a generous cup of coffee from his canteen, while lighting the first cigarette of the day. The paper mentioned nothing about the death of mr. Mathiesen. Instead, the posturing before the elections the coming autumn had begun. Gjertsen arrived a few minutes later, and Mold called him into his office. Gjertsen had brought with him a lunchbox packed with leaves of bread with brown goat cheese; a very particular Norwegian cheese.
“Anything new, inspector?”
“Marcussen sent me out to check a red herring last night. Seems as if our man had two places where he lived. His apartment down in Bjørvika was, if possible, even less interesting than the small house in Drøbak…”
Gjertsen nodded, and sipped coffee.
“Nice coffee”
“The wife made it”
“Ah”
There’s no telling what truths the two would’ve come up with had not Mold’s telephone rung at this moment.
“Mold? Yes. Uhm, yes. Right. I’ll see you in moment!”. Mold hung up.
“Marcussen. See if you can get a hold of the day nurses up at Ullevål and get your hands on the coroner’s report, will you? We need every damn clue we can get here!”
“Right! Meet you here at twelve?”
“Good. Now get going!”
Gjertsen finished eating, and exited. Mold lit another cigarette. Marcussen had sounded secretive. Mold didn’t much care for his superior; a bureaucrat-turned-policeman. He knew for certain that Marcussen’s primary function was to build an esprit d’etat and keep the politicians happy. How on Earth he’d made head of Homicide, he’d never quite fathomed.
He sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, checked his tie and left the office. He walked along the corridors, nodding to a few of the people he passed. Marcussen was one of the few that had a personal secretary. Mold nodded at her.
“He expects you, inspector”
“Thanks”
Jon Mold entered his superior’s office. He unconsciously straightened up and swore at himself for doing so.
“Good morning, sir”
“Good morning, inspector. Please; have a seat”, Marcussen said. Only then did Jon Mold discover the uniformed man sitting behind him in Marcussen’s couch.
“I suppose you’ve not been introduced. Inspector Jon Mold, one of our finest, major Frank Schultz, Army Intelligence”
“How do you do?”, Mold said, perplexed, while stretching out his hand.
The major shook it. He had an iron grip, and silvery hair, slicked back. His head shape and facial features reminded Mold of a rodent. A rat, perhaps.
“The major has come to see us, as he has information relating to the late mr. Martinsen”
“Mathiesen…”
“Ah, yes. Potato, potato”, Marcussen said, trying to light his pipe. He then proceeded to press a button on his intercom.
“Marie, could you bring us some coffee? And perhaps something from the baker’s?”
“Danish, anyone?”, Marcussen said to no-one in particular. He was like that. Absent. Aloof. Schultz cleared his throat and spoke:
“Well, I’d better start. I’m from Army Intelligence, an organisation that was built up after the war. Before that we had an intelligence service for all three parts of the national defence force, but that’s of little importance. However, what you need to know is this…”
Schultz was interrupted by Marie, the secretary, entering the room with coffee and Danish. He looked distinctly displeased, Mold noticed. The good major was probably used to a bit more secrecy than Marcussen offered.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. During the re-armament, we began recruiting operatives to gather intelligence information. Niels Mathiesen was recruited in early 1936, and remained one of our finest assets until he resigned in 1955 due to detoriating health… his two addresses are explained by this. His official address is the one in Oslo. The house in Drøbak was the one he used when on assignments, as it had more… privacy…”
Mold merely sat back in the chair, smoking and sometimes scratching his chin. Marcussen looked out over the office, and didn’t really seem to fathom what major Schultz was saying.
“Uhm, major… could mr. Mathiesen’s death have anything to do with him having been an operative? Is that what you are saying?”
“Inspector, please. I don’t know, but what I am saying is that as far as we are able to, we will assist your investigation, providing information…”. Schultz paused abruptly. “To a limit, of course…”
“Of course”, Mold replied in a tone he hoped was sarcastic. Major Schulz was unfazed, though.
“I have his file. Well, parts of it. This is for your eyes only, inspector, but being the son of colonel Mold, I suppose you know how it works. You may photocopy it, but I want it back before I leave”
“You heard the major, Mold. Get Marie to photocopy the…”
“No, you’ll do it yourself, inspector!”. Schultz was very intent.
Mold went out and photocopied two A4 pages, and gave the file back to the major. The major shook his hand.
“I’ll be leaving now. Should you encounter anything of interest, or need any assistance, do not hesitate to contact me. Here is my calling card, inspector!”. The major saluted and left.
“Right. Off to work, Mold. Off to work…”, Marcussen said and helped himself to a Danish.
This is great, but just two questions:
I know that it is set in 1961, so in the story, do we know who
won the war?
Also, when do we get the HoI action?
Thanks, its great! But I was wondering if this is the right section for it, maybe it should be OT? That is unless it takes a HoI twist?
I know that it is set in 1961, so in the story, do we know who
won the war?
Also, when do we get the HoI action?
Thanks, its great! But I was wondering if this is the right section for it, maybe it should be OT? That is unless it takes a HoI twist?
To answer your questions:
1) Uhm, no. The characters know. We don't.
2) Soon. Very soon. This AAR may differ greatly from what you're used to. If you visit the EU II AAR forum, you'll notice that there are several AARs not so much depicting "I built 11.000 troops in Constantinople" as they're describing what you cannot see in the game.
1) Uhm, no. The characters know. We don't.
2) Soon. Very soon. This AAR may differ greatly from what you're used to. If you visit the EU II AAR forum, you'll notice that there are several AARs not so much depicting "I built 11.000 troops in Constantinople" as they're describing what you cannot see in the game.
Thanks mate.
I'm not complaining, It's just we don't have HoI here yet and we need as much game info as possible!
Also, I hate it how all the people are complaining, so I am just bypassing the main HoI forums and coming straight to the AARs, and maybe i will break my AAR virginity when I get the game, for christmas! (YAY!)
I'm not complaining, It's just we don't have HoI here yet and we need as much game info as possible!
Also, I hate it how all the people are complaining, so I am just bypassing the main HoI forums and coming straight to the AARs, and maybe i will break my AAR virginity when I get the game, for christmas! (YAY!)
It has had some small HoI twists already ie Norway (unlike Sweden, even if it was done very late) never rearmed before the war - IRL Germany shouldn't have been able to conquer a rearmed Norway from the sea with the tiny forces availeble (and with most of the country out of reach from Stukas - Skagerack is wider than the English channel). /M
Chapter V: The Sins of the Fathers
Back in his office, Jon Mold pondered what had happened. An hour earlier, he’d been happily oblivious of the existence of a tie to military intelligence in this case. He’d been drinking coffee and thinking about what to do with the case. Now he felt even more uncertain.
He opened Mathiesen’s file. A list of dates. No details. A description. Parents. Education. Nothing about his actions in the service. Suddenly he felt very tired. What had seemed like a breakthrough suddenly seemed futile. He lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. A spider was sitting in a corner, probably waiting for a fly to stumble into its web.
Mold was bereft of ideas. The file told him absolutely nothing of any interest. He checked his pocket watch again. Gjertsen would be away for three and a half hour. Mold sighed, stood up and put on his overcoat and scarf. He knew of one person to that could enlighten him a little about that shady period in history.
He went to the desk of the receptionist. She was a woman in her fifties, and had looked exactly the same way for the fifteen years or so Mold had worked in the building.
“I’ll be gone for a few hours, Hilde”, he said.
“Very well, inspector Mold!”
He put on his hat and thanked his lucky star that he’d taken his own car today. The old Austin was standing there in ten degrees below zero. He scraped the ice of the window panes and got in. On the fifth attempt, the heap of British craftsmanship reacted and sputtered and puttered. Mold drove off to the west side of Oslo.
His father had spent the last three years in the retirement home on “the good side of the city”, not far away from the house he still owned, and that Mold’s older sister lived in with her family. Jon Mold and she weren’t close. Neither was he close with his older brother. In fact, he wasn’t close to anyone in his family. He decided to stop by at one of the state-owned wine and liquor store to buy his father a bottle of whisky.
The weather was still grey, no sign of a sun. He’d driven the road a thousand times before. Through the quiet apartment buildings in Frogner up to Ullern down to Bestum.
A smiling nurse welcomed him as he entered the concrete building they called a retirement home. An abnormity from the fifties, surely.
“I’m here to see my father… Jacob Mold…”
“Ah, yes, the Colonel! Go right ahead, sir!”, the nurse said, smiling still.
Mold pondered how they managed to stay so cheerful when dealing with old people, before realising that not all people were as grumpy as his father. And perhaps it was a mechanism to survive the long days at this terrible place. Room 171b. That would be his father’s room. He knocked hard.
“Enter!”. His father’s voice was as clear and loud as when he was commanding fresh recruits.
“Hello, father!”, Mold said in a low voice.
“Oh, it’s you…”
“How are you?”
“Well, I’ll be eighty soon, I live in a place filled with nurses where they carry out corpses every day and spend my days reading or playing Solitaire. How do you think I am?”
“At least I’m here to see you now. Look, I bought you this”. Jon Mold handed his father the whisky bottle. His father’s eyes lit up, and he put his steely grey gaze into his son.
“Sometimes even fools do right, Jon… sit down, if you’d like. I suppose that you calling on me during work hours should tell me your visit is not a social call. Am I under arrest?”
His father’s mind was still sharp. Almost as sharp as his tongue, Jon Mold thought.
“I need some help, actually. What can you tell me about the late thirties?”
“A period when this country was run by worthless communists!”
“I meant what happened in the army. You were with the Chief of Staff then… I remember, because I was in the army myself…”
“Ah, yes… your splendid career as a corporal between 1936 and 1938 in Narvik!”
“Please… I just want your help, father!”, Jon Mold said emphatically.
“Okay, okay… I was unfair. I appreciate you coming to see me. I haven’t seen your sister in weeks, even though she got the house. Now, what do you want to know?”
“What happened during the re-armament?”
“Ah… the re-armament. Finally the Labour government woke up, and from 1936, when war seemed inevitable at some point in the future, they poured resources into the military. We were sent to England to study the warfare doctrines. A standardised service rifle was introduced for all who served in the army. You remember that one, don’t you?”.
The old colonel smiled. Reminiscing about the past seemed to bring out the best in him.
Back in his office, Jon Mold pondered what had happened. An hour earlier, he’d been happily oblivious of the existence of a tie to military intelligence in this case. He’d been drinking coffee and thinking about what to do with the case. Now he felt even more uncertain.
He opened Mathiesen’s file. A list of dates. No details. A description. Parents. Education. Nothing about his actions in the service. Suddenly he felt very tired. What had seemed like a breakthrough suddenly seemed futile. He lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. A spider was sitting in a corner, probably waiting for a fly to stumble into its web.
Mold was bereft of ideas. The file told him absolutely nothing of any interest. He checked his pocket watch again. Gjertsen would be away for three and a half hour. Mold sighed, stood up and put on his overcoat and scarf. He knew of one person to that could enlighten him a little about that shady period in history.
He went to the desk of the receptionist. She was a woman in her fifties, and had looked exactly the same way for the fifteen years or so Mold had worked in the building.
“I’ll be gone for a few hours, Hilde”, he said.
“Very well, inspector Mold!”
He put on his hat and thanked his lucky star that he’d taken his own car today. The old Austin was standing there in ten degrees below zero. He scraped the ice of the window panes and got in. On the fifth attempt, the heap of British craftsmanship reacted and sputtered and puttered. Mold drove off to the west side of Oslo.
His father had spent the last three years in the retirement home on “the good side of the city”, not far away from the house he still owned, and that Mold’s older sister lived in with her family. Jon Mold and she weren’t close. Neither was he close with his older brother. In fact, he wasn’t close to anyone in his family. He decided to stop by at one of the state-owned wine and liquor store to buy his father a bottle of whisky.
The weather was still grey, no sign of a sun. He’d driven the road a thousand times before. Through the quiet apartment buildings in Frogner up to Ullern down to Bestum.
A smiling nurse welcomed him as he entered the concrete building they called a retirement home. An abnormity from the fifties, surely.
“I’m here to see my father… Jacob Mold…”
“Ah, yes, the Colonel! Go right ahead, sir!”, the nurse said, smiling still.
Mold pondered how they managed to stay so cheerful when dealing with old people, before realising that not all people were as grumpy as his father. And perhaps it was a mechanism to survive the long days at this terrible place. Room 171b. That would be his father’s room. He knocked hard.
“Enter!”. His father’s voice was as clear and loud as when he was commanding fresh recruits.
“Hello, father!”, Mold said in a low voice.
“Oh, it’s you…”
“How are you?”
“Well, I’ll be eighty soon, I live in a place filled with nurses where they carry out corpses every day and spend my days reading or playing Solitaire. How do you think I am?”
“At least I’m here to see you now. Look, I bought you this”. Jon Mold handed his father the whisky bottle. His father’s eyes lit up, and he put his steely grey gaze into his son.
“Sometimes even fools do right, Jon… sit down, if you’d like. I suppose that you calling on me during work hours should tell me your visit is not a social call. Am I under arrest?”
His father’s mind was still sharp. Almost as sharp as his tongue, Jon Mold thought.
“I need some help, actually. What can you tell me about the late thirties?”
“A period when this country was run by worthless communists!”
“I meant what happened in the army. You were with the Chief of Staff then… I remember, because I was in the army myself…”
“Ah, yes… your splendid career as a corporal between 1936 and 1938 in Narvik!”
“Please… I just want your help, father!”, Jon Mold said emphatically.
“Okay, okay… I was unfair. I appreciate you coming to see me. I haven’t seen your sister in weeks, even though she got the house. Now, what do you want to know?”
“What happened during the re-armament?”
“Ah… the re-armament. Finally the Labour government woke up, and from 1936, when war seemed inevitable at some point in the future, they poured resources into the military. We were sent to England to study the warfare doctrines. A standardised service rifle was introduced for all who served in the army. You remember that one, don’t you?”.
The old colonel smiled. Reminiscing about the past seemed to bring out the best in him.
Hey Norg, I really like your AAR it the way it is ... I know there is an impatience to see the 'HoI action'...
But if you start writing 'I built 1000 troops in Constantinople', you will loose me to heavy, boredom-induced sleep with lots of snorring
I am enjoying the atmosphere; and the storyline is very good, methinks. I like following Jon Mold as the story unfolds.
Sasha.
But if you start writing 'I built 1000 troops in Constantinople', you will loose me to heavy, boredom-induced sleep with lots of snorring
I am enjoying the atmosphere; and the storyline is very good, methinks. I like following Jon Mold as the story unfolds.
Sasha.
Thanks, Sasha!
I think I might need to strike a balance between conveying bits about the game (in solidarity with those who have yet to try it) and the narrative.
Being a fan of nAARratives ( ) myself, I suppose I'm easily swayed towards simply writing. Hopefully, another chapter will be up before the end of the day.
I think I might need to strike a balance between conveying bits about the game (in solidarity with those who have yet to try it) and the narrative.
Being a fan of nAARratives (
) myself, I suppose I'm easily swayed towards simply writing. Hopefully, another chapter will be up before the end of the day.
Everybody and his dog tells us about the game but only you tells us a great Hoi-related crime-story! It's (very) good as it is (including the details about Oslo in the 60's)! /MOriginally posted by Norgesvenn
Thanks, Sasha!
I think I might need to strike a balance between conveying bits about the game (in solidarity with those who have yet to try it) and the narrative.
Being a fan of nAARratives (
Shouldn't that be "See if you can get a hold of the coroners report and your hands on the day nurses"?
Anyway, good job building anticipation of what is to come.
Your doing a great job Norg! I haven't seen a butler show up yet so I still don't have a clue who done it. Now don't forget to put in a little sex and your audience will continue to grow. I like the style you’ve chosen. It has a nice gritty feel to it. One would think you don't like winter.
Joe
I haven't seen a butler show up yet so I still don't have a clue who done it. Now don't forget to put in a little sex and your audience will continue to grow. I like the style you’ve chosen. It has a nice gritty feel to it. One would think you don't like winter. Joe
Norg, I agree with storey and Gaijin, write the story in your own style, leave the HOI related things until you need them. There are plenty of straight battle stories out there and I like your story so far
V
V
Hey Norg, I really like your style What Valdemar said - bring the HOI elements in when they support the story, as you have a smooth thing going here as it is.
Good writing!
What Valdemar said - bring the HOI elements in when they support the story, as you have a smooth thing going here as it is.Good writing!