Rule of the Verrix

**The Celtic Viking** · 05-25-2008, 20:21

A few first words: no, this is not supposed to be a fully serious AAR. No, I do not aspire the legendary status of Parallel Pain, or think that this will be remotely interesting to read. If you, despite all this, decide to read it, you do so at your own peril. But please, if you do read it, tell me what you like and what you don't like. Heck, just acknowledging that you've read it would work as the carrot on a stick.

So without any further ado...

Introduction: The Chosen Superior

The year is 241. We are at war with the filthy Romans and the Carthaginian scum, and the Aedui aren't even neutrolized yet. Viennos is constantly reminded of their continued existance. But we do not worry. We have the god-king! We cannot fail under his mighty reign. Under him and the one before him, we have come to dominate Gaul, put a puppet in Belgae lands and kick the Romans out of Massalia while at the same time holding the Carthaginians at bay! No, we do not fear, and allying with the Sweboz was not a sign of weakness.

I am Geraint oi Picorae, and I'm the Taoi Arjos of the Arvernian tribe. I command an army of strong warriors, experienced from all the fighting we've done, fearless and fanatical, but not without it's black spot. My forces are depleted. I've seen many a good man fight valiantly, laughing at the peril of their situation and for long denying the enemy a chance to slay him, only to in the end be replaced by a green levy, or a costly mercenary. Of the 4000 spears our Belgae allies sent us, only 290 remain. The Gaedann from the Caturiges are completely replaced, and the botroas and gaeroas are but a memory past. The bataroas are better off, but not even they have escaped the attrition. Damn those Romans! May the gods spit and piss on them! But the grasping Carthaginians and their stinking elephants are even worse. They must be dealt with. But the Romans come first.

A great army of theirs, led by a captain they call Tiberivs, has recently besieged and captured one of our forts in the outskirts of Massalia, and our scouts are reporting that they're now moving towards the city itself. To get there, however, they need to pass a forest. This is the perfect chance, the golden opportunity I cannot pass by. I know the terrain, and it's like set up for an ambush. They won't even know what hit them.

The Ambush

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

- Sir, you won! How does it feel?
- "How does it feel"? What do you think I am, a football player?! My traits does say I'm sharp, you know! I can answer more difficult and meaningful questions.
- S... sorry, sir. My apologies. You lost a lot of good men today, and it was an ambush. Why do you think that happened? Did you underestimate the enemy?
- Argh! Are you even listening to me? I'm Geraint, the Taoi Arjos, the son of a god made flesh, a conqueror and a mighty warrior, the bane of many - not David Beckham! If you want to ask me some questions, at least try come up with some original ones.
- Ok, sorry sir. Just one more question...
- (Geraint grumbles) This had better be good...
- Ok. Your victory wasn't all that convincing today. What do you need to improve upon until the next battle?
(A second later a thump is heard as the questioneer's head hits the ground, separated from it's body.)

---
A few months later, a few miles away.

- Sir? Sir! Wake up!
- Ugh... this had better be good news, and not more ships. Our fleet is no longer in shape for a fight!
- You're right, sir. But the news are good! We're there.
- Aye, those are some great news!
- Yes, sir. If you don't mind me saying, it's the bestest news in weeks!
- ... damn it, Terc, you always were an idiot. It's best news, not "bestest news".
- Sorry, sir. Best news they be. News worthy of your excellence. Like golden news handed in a silver bucket of diamonds adorned with rubies and emeralds. News like the great trinket...
- Enough about the outstanding quality of the news already! Are there any sign of movement on the shore?
- No, sir. Nothing at all. It's quiet like a house.
- A mouse, Terc, a mouse... sigh. Are the men ready, yet?
- Almost, sir.
- Not good enough. They should be ready right now.
- Yes, but... sir... it's just one little thing.
- What now?
- Well, you know... we were expecting to get here earlier, sir, but now it's Salmon. The men are unnerved and uneasy about fighting at this time. They're afraid the dead...
- The dead?! Those who are dead are no more. They cannot hurt us ever - and it's called Samon, by the way, not "Salmon".
- Yes, sir. But...
- No buts! There's no reason for fearing them, and you will fight the enemy whenever I tell you to! Now get out there and make ready the men before I demote you again!
- Yes, sir... sorry, sir.
- (Muttering for himself) Why did I choose such an incompetent fool as my second in command? I'll never make a name out of Troinos moc Togodumnos if I cannot trust the judgement of my underlings.

An hour and a half later, when walking towards the city of Bocchoris, a scout returns to Troinos.

- Sir! We've spotted a small band of enemies just a few short clicks away north-east. They're greatly outnumbered by us, and even though they'll probably call for reinforcements, we should easily be able to crush them.
- Good work, soldier. Show us the way and we'll double time it there! If there's any surprise to be had, I want the most out of it. And if there's none to be had, I'd at least want them to have as little time to prepare as possible. Let's go!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

- Sir, the enemy is fleeing towards their boats! Should we chase after them?
- No, Terc, Let them run. Let them tell their senate just how big wussies they are. Let them spread their fear the the rest of them! We'll be ready if they come back. But lo! the city is abandoned and free for the taking! Plunder and wealth awaits! Onward, sons of Great Gaul!

**Aaldaemon** · 05-25-2008, 20:37

Shouldn't you have used Zinedine Zidane rather than Beckham given you're not Casse?

Although Zidane would be more Carthaginian than Gaul hmmmm... tough one...

**Africanvs** · 05-25-2008, 20:54

A mix between Monday night football, a comedy show, and total war- It's very unique, I'll give you that but this, this was funny.

Originally Posted by :The Celtic Viking"

Meanwhile, Geraint challenges Tiberivs to a fight, man vs Roman.

**The Celtic Viking** · 05-25-2008, 22:01

Originally Posted by Aaldaemon

Shouldn't you have used Zinedine Zidane rather than Beckham given you're not Casse?

Although Zidane would be more Carthaginian than Gaul hmmmm... tough one...

I didn't really think about anything like that. David Beckham was just the first name that popped up in my head (or should I say Geraint's head?) and I went with that.

Originally Posted by Africanvs

A mix between Monday night football, a comedy show, and total war- It's very unique, I'll give you that but this, this was funny.

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. Not sure how much of that quote was actually meant as a joke, though...

**The Celtic Viking** · 05-27-2008, 00:23

Part 1: The death of a Hero

The clouds lay heavy in the sky as the sun was on it's way down. Geraint was watching the western horizon. "Somewhere out there is a great Carthaginian host", he thought, "and sooner or later I will have to confront it." Suddenly he spoke.

- You know, Eathomos, my good friend, sometimes I just wonder if the stars weren't put there by the gods to remind us of what we truly are.
- And what are we, Geraint, my friend?
- Imperfect. No matter how strong we are, no matter how valiant we are in battle, no matter how many foes we slay, what we learn, what we build and invent, there will always be a level that we just can't reach.
- Getting all philosophical on me now, eh?
- Heh, I know too well what you think of philosophy, and were it not for a few perks, I would've thrown it to the wind as well.
- What few perks? All I hear is lots of talk with no practical application.
- Well, for starters it allows the author to fill up some more space in this story with what is more or less disguised bullshit, to enlarge the volume of it, and get away with it too...
- Right.
- ... but it can also teach you a few things.
- Like what, sir?
- Like, for instance, that we should respect the gods and be thankful for what we they give us, never taking things for granted and never getting hubris.
- You mean like that Roman diplomat who came here asking for Massalia and your balls on a silver plate?
- Precisely. The Romans think they are in a position to make such demands because they overestimate their own capabilities; they think that they have the gods' favour, and that their advantage in manpower somehow guarantees them victory. Because of that they will only accept unreasonable terms to end the war, which means that if we come out as victorious in the end, they will not be able to accept defeat, and they will fall. If they lose, they lose everything. If they underestimate us in battle too, their loss comes even closer to reality...
- And you think that's what will happen, sir?
- Perhaps. Perhaps not. As much as I hate to admit it, their numerical and economical advantage is great. Perhaps too great in the end. The future is not yet set in stone.
- You think we may lose?
- We may. See, Eathomos, I know we're not invincible, and unlike the Romans, I readily admit this not only to myself, but to you as well. You must never forget that victory, no matter how sure it may seem to you, can always slip right through your fingers if you aren't careful enough.
- Even if you're led by a god?
- Even then. Being a god is not as easy as it may sound, you know. Think of the pressure of the expectations! A normal man would croak in less than a minute.

Geraint is interupted by shoutings in Greek.

- Geraint! Sir! Leader of the Arverni!
- Hold it right there! Who are you? Why are you here? Show me your hands!
Geraint had pulled his sword, and Eathomos was holding his, ready to unsheath it at any sign of aggression from the man who was obviously Greek, and clad in dirty rags.
- Peace, sir! I'm just a slave under Lord Cavarillos... or at least I used to be before...
- Calm yourself, slave! What is it you want from me?
Geraint was still holding his sword ready to strike at the seemingly unarmed slave, but had relaxed a little. Eathomos had let go of his sword, believing the Greek posed no threat.
- I was sent here from Massalia, sir. Lord Cavarillos, my master and the ruler there, is dead! He was assassinated just three days ago!
- Assassinated?!
- Yes, assassinated, sir. He was poisoned, sir.
- Poisoned? How did that happen?!
- We think through the food, sir.
- Well, of course, you imbecile! I meant, how could you allow this to happen? Was the food taster home, sick? Did he decide "Melrose Place" on Channel 3 was more important than making sure his lord was safe?!
- Sir, I...
- Get out of my sight, worm! Or was there something else you wanted to add? Perhaps the whole garrison wish to go on a vacation to Hawaii! Or perhaps the population is tired of following a local tyrant and want democracy instead? Ignorant fools!
- But sir...
- Didn't I tell you to get out of here?! Leave now, or I will make you leave - but keep your head for myself!
Eathomos laughs.
- Haha! I've never seen someone run so fast in my life! Greeks, huh?
- Aye. Greeks...
- Seriously though, sir, what do you plan to do?
- Well, Massailia does need a new puppet. I think I know just the man for the job. Do you remember that guy we ate with last time we were there?
- That redheaded bastard with a dirty look?
- Aye, that's the one. Tregemlos, I think he was called. See to it that he takes the throne.
- Right away, sir!

The following day in Bocchoris.

- Sir! The Carthaginians are invading!
- Impossible! That's way too early for them to react. Have you actually seen any units land?
- No, sir. Sorry sir... only a great fleet. I thought...
- No, Terc, you didn't think. That's the problem. They must've met those we let away, and are after our ships. They want to strand us here, disconnect us from the mainlaind, and leave us nowhere to escape. This is not good. Admiran Rianhiadoc doesn't stand a chance!
- We know, sir. Terrible navy condition. You've said so more than enough already.
- I have? Oh yeah, I guess I have stressed it quite a bit. Well, let's just go watch the struggle. There's nothing we can do about it now, anyway.

Back in The Eagle's Nest east of Massalia.

- Are you ready, Eathomos?
- Always ready, sir.
- Good. Then we leave now - there will be some heavy fighting up ahead. Do you remember what I told you last night?
- About how we're not invincible, sir?
- Yeah. I hope I'm not too right on that. Their army is great and they're dangerous. We must not underestimate them.
- Don't worry, Geraint. You're a great leader, a great warchief. I'm honoured to serve under the Taoi Arjos, and so are the men. I think you can lead us through any amount of bodies anyone can throw at us!
- Thanks, my friend. I just hope you're right.

Two days later, Geraint recieves word that the Carthaginian army has left in their boats, and so he moves to Gergovia to recruit some new men.

Later in Bocchoris.

- Sir! The Carthaginians are invading!
- This had better not be just another fleet passing by.
- No, this time it's for real! An army 16 000 strong have already gone ashore, and we don't think that's all of them!
- Damn it! Is there any chance they will be reinforced if we attack them now?
- The scouts say nay. An immediate attack would come too soon for them to react, but we'd have to do it now.
- All right, let's do it. If they are indeed more than 16 000, then we have absolutely no chance of taking them all at once. The odds are against us even against this part of them.

The battle of Bocchoris

The battle was intense. The Carthaginians enjoyed superior firepower, so Troinos pressed his to a big degree unarmoured line at full speed ahead as soon as they came within range. Despite this, many Celts met their death even before the lines clashed. A few who had caught the most attention and then had to face the pike wall of the Carthaginian elite spearmen routed quickly. Troinos himself fought alongside his Iberian mercenaries on the right flank, with the main line of Celtic levies doing their best to prove their prowess.

No matter how good warriors they could have been, they were still naught but unarmoured levies. While still giving a good account of themselves, they were losing the fight. When enough had died, and the exhaustion were getting to their heads, and the general chaos that had ensued in the battle alongside a constant barrage from the Sardinian archers, the left flank collapsed. Seeing this, Troinos returned to the main line that remained, blew his horns and shouted his battle cries, hoping to inspire his men and lead them on to newfound courage. He desperately tried to chase off and defeat all the skirmishers, but there were a lot of them, and armed with spears, they post a threat even to Troinos and his heavy cavalry bodyguards, and he was forced to give up.

What had seemed so inevitable now happened. The rest of the line broke and ran. But those from the left wing, who had already run, and the balearic slingers who had now ran out of ammo, was reforming on the hill. Troinos headed for them to organize a last desperate attack, for he knew that if the battle was lost, all would be lost. He hoped that if he could get them to attack the enemy chasing the routing Celts, the routers would turn and fight again, whilst the rest of the Carthaginian army chased other routers.

But he didn't have to attack. The Carthaginian general, Abdmelqart, had, along with a unit of light infantry, turned his attention towards this last band of soldiers, who had formed on the hill under Troinos banner. Troinos saw his opportunity. Abdmelqart was very vulnerable in his situation, and if they could just kill him and rout his bodyguards, perhaps, just perhaps, the rest of the Carthaginians would lose heart and run. So he went all-in. He threw every man, himself in the front, at Abdmelqart, hoping to finish him off as swiftly as possible. But they were all exhausted from all the running and the fighting, and if killing a highly trained and armoured man, as a bodyguard and a general always is, isn't easy when you have your breath, it will be thrice as hard when you've lost it. But it was a success in a moment of despair. At last, Troinos' Greek mercenaries managed to get a spear in Abdmelqart, who fell off his horse and was quickly stabbed right in the face. The few remaining bodyguards were immediately thrown in terror, and ran for their lives. The nearby light infantry of the Carthaginians, along with the skirmishers who had tried to join up, was greatly dismayed by seeing their general hacked to pieces, and when they themselves were charged, their nerves broke and they took to flight.

Then suddenly Troinos heard a shout. It was Terc.
- Behind us! Look behind us!
What Terc had seen were the Carthaginian elite spearmen who had stopped chasing routers, and were returning to the battlefield. Unlike the skirmishers and light infantry, the death of their general bothered them little, and they were still determined to see the battle through. Heavily armed and armoured, they posed a great threat to the exhausted and depleted host of Troinos, who didn't waste a second in giving the orders.
- Quick! Chase them off the battlefield! Show them no mercy!
What he feared was that they would rally and return to fight before he could deal with the elites.

The routing Carthaginians split up in two directions, one part of them running downhill, and the other part into the woods. Troinos, along with his balearic slingers, ran after those going downhill. Most of the Celts and the Iberian mercenaries, chased after the ones running into the woods, who also had the shortest way off the battlefield.

Troinos had almost made it when he looked back and saw that the elite spearmen were closing in on those who had ran into the woods. He was thus faced with a dilemma: either he rush back and help them in their defence, risking the remaining routers to rally and come back, or finish off the routers, making sure they won't return, and hope that the Celts would hold and remain in numbers enough to kill the elite spearmen when Troinos returned. He was very concerned with how well his soldiers could stand up to the phalanx if left on their own, so he chose the first option: he left the routers and returned.

Of course, what he had feared would happen, happened. The Carthaginians he had been chasing, rallied and returned. As Troinos and his men had encircled the Carthaginian phalanx, but were still unable to break them, even after their switching to swords, they returned and shot arrows set alight with fire to scare the Celts into a full rout.

Perhaps that's when Troinos made his fatal mistake. He chased after the skirmishers, defeating them and getting them off the field, but in doing so, he left his men alone, and their morale were seriously battered. Few by few they routed, and by the time Troinos came back, there were only the Iberian mercenaries and a few die hard Celts left fighting. But soon they broke too, and when Troinos rushed to rally them once again, he caught an arrow to his neck and fell dead off his horse. Bocchoris was lost, and Troinos moc Togodumnos was no more.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Aaldaemon** · 05-27-2008, 07:06

A defeat? Wow, I love defeats.

No, seriously, there's too many victories all around, usually when I'm defeated in the game I'm having a lot more fun than when I utterly crush the opposition.

/raises glass to Troinos moc Togodumnos.

**The Celtic Viking** · 05-27-2008, 10:06

Originally Posted by Aaldaemon

A defeat? Wow, I love defeats.

No, seriously, there's too many victories all around, usually when I'm defeated in the game I'm having a lot more fun than when I utterly crush the opposition.

/raises glass to Troinos moc Togodumnos.

I can only agree, mate. This defeat was particularly fun, as I was very close to winning at one point, and I actually had to do something for it. It's one of the most entertaining battles against the AI I've ever had. Plus for the fact that they used something I've never seen the AI use before: flaming arrows and their cavalry's secondary weapon in melee. The second thing I didn't even notice until just now when I looked at the screens, though.

**The Celtic Viking** · 06-08-2008, 23:43

Eine echte Kriegsmarine" (aka "A true Kriegsmarine")

It's autumn in Gaul. Geraint still hasn't heard of the death of Troinos and the subsequent loss of Bocchoris, but even if he had, he would've had more pressing issues to worry about. A new, 20 000 strong army of Roman soldiers are approaching, with a scouting party of 11 000 in front of them. Geraint stands alone with only 23 000 soldiers to defend Massalia with.

The question was: should he advance and attack the scouts, even though his troops were tired from marching and fighting, and risk being too tired when the main army arrives, or should he let his men rest and wait for the main army to join the scouts, and fight them all together? Both had it's dangers, but eventually he chose to attack. What he hoped for was that the scouting party would retreat, so that he could then hold the bridge leading to Massalia with his Massalian allies.

His plan was successful, though not optimally played out. The Romans did retreat, but to the wrong side of the bridge. He had to make a new decision: to chase after them, fight them uphill and then tire his men out even further when walking back to the bridge, or wait by the bridge and make ready to be attacked from both sides? This time he chose to wait.

It would appear that not everyone from the scout party ran the same way. The Romans' main army reached Geraint much quicker than they likely would have if they had been unaware of Geraint's presense. It thus came to pass that, just before winter came, Geraint and his 23 000 men plus 2500 allies from Massalia, led by the good king Tregemlos were up against 31 000 Romans, coming from both sides of the river.

The task to hold the bridge was given to the Massalian allies he already had with him, who would form a phalanx and hopefully hold the enemy long enough for them to be throughly shot down by Geraint's experienced slingers. If the phalanx was broken, Noricenes in their linothorax armour and beutiful, oval shields would be ready to rush in and fill the gaps. Geraint, along with his Gallic swordsmen and Eathomos with his charioteers would make up the rear guard, to meet the scout units.

As soon as the enemy closed in, the hoplites moved into position. The Romans put their elite allies in the front, hoping they could cut a way through the unexperienced levies making up the phalanx. Behind them were regular, Roman soldiers along with their general, Sextvs Cornelivs Blasio, and Greek mercenaries. At the same time as the Romans started rushing over the bridge, Geraint made contact with the Roman scouts, who were mostly comprised of lightly armoured to not armoured at all local allies. This meant that a lot of them fell to the javelins of the Transalpine Gauls under Geraint's control, and with Eathomos there to ruin their morale, they quickly routed, even faster than Geraint had thought or hoped they would.

But back at the bridge the Romans were still fighting on, heedless of their casualties, determined to get through the phalanx. At two points, both near the flanks, they had actually succeeded to a degree. In response, the Noricenes had rushed in to fill up the right hole, and the allies from Massalia, led by Tregemlos himself, filled up the left one. Unfortunately, he was eventually killed in the thick of the battle, but with Geraint having returned, they were still reassured of proper leadership and thus did not waver.

This went on for a long time. The Romans kept on pushing and pushing, but they just couldn't break the Celtic-Massalian line. Eventually, Sextvs Cornelivs Blasio was pierced by a spear from the Massalian phalanx, which caused chaos and distress amongst the Romans, who finally broke and tried to run. They were promptly surrounded and quickly cut down to the last man.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

- Phew! I have never seen so many men wasted so badly! What a carnage! Where they trying to build a wall of corpses, to block us out?
- One might think so, Eathomos. There's no sense or reason with the Romans. They can afford it, though. (Sighs heavily) Mark my words, Eathomos: there will be a lot more battles like this one. They will never stop coming.
- So let them come! We'll kill them all - every last soldier they throw at us!
- Then they will send their oldtimers.
- No problem! We'll kill them too.
- Then they'll send their women to fight.
- Fine. We kill them, and then rape them. Or whatever order you prefer.
- Then they will send their children.
- To hell with them! They'd only grow up to fight us, anyway.
- Well... then they'll finally have to send, uh, go to fight themselves. Then they'll be no more.
- Ha! Wouldn't that be the dream!
- Not really. Think about it: who would we then laugh at, and call weak?
- The Germanics...?
- Yeah, but it's not the same thing. People don't show them the same undue respect that they show the Romans. There's just not enough fanboys of them to make them as good a target as the Romans currently are. Besides, there's this "special relationship" we have with them, what with Vercingetorix and all...
- Who?
- Vercingetorix. Lead, or will lead, a great and glorious uprising against the Romans and Caesar, you know? Vercingetorix.
- Caesar who?
- Bloody hell, Eathomos! Are you really so ignorant of the historical happenings in this area of the world in the covered time period that you've never heard of these guys?!
- I... uh... sorry sir, but... what?!
- Never mind. All I'm saying is that it's not as fun to, well, make fun of the Germanics as it is to make fun of the Romans. Besides, if we did make fun of the Germanics, we'd have Blitzkrieg on our asses! And you know what that will do here in about 2000 years from now... Trust me, it would not be pretty.
- Geraint, my friend, my lord... sometimes you really scare me. Seriously.
- Ha! You don't say. Ah well, gather up what loot you can from the dead, and then have some slaves clean up the mess. We need to open up this road for trade again.
- Yes, sir!
- Oh, and while you're at it, tell the men that they can rest the next three months with wine and women if they can raise a fort before nightfall. The Romans won't come again at least until spring. If they're not here by then, we'll retake The Eagle's Nest.
- Will do, sir!

Out on the high seas, admiral Verucloetios is steering his freshly built fleet to intercept a Carthaginian invasion force, including three elite phalanx units, headed towards Tolosa. He outnumber the enemy and expects to win.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

However, after that battle, another Carthaginian fleet moves up to attack Verucloetios. This time, the Carthaginian fleet outnumbers Verucloetios, who is a slight underdog. Despite hard fighting and couragous moves, he loses and has to retreat back to Tolosa for repairs and reinforcements.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Spring comes, and yet no Roman army has come. Geraint makes his move - west towards the Eagle's Nest, which only has a small garrison, which won't be able to withstand his own forces. He plans to either starve them to death, or force them to leave the walls in a sally. But before he leaves, he orders another navy to be built in Tolosa. It is clear that he wishes to establish a Celtic presense on the sea as well - a true Kriegsmarine worthy of a Verrix is to be built! If only he could get a Luftwaffe too... but sadly it's a few years too early for that. A Kriegsmarine will have to do.

With the repairs finished, and reinforcements arrived, Verucloetios prepares to, once again, confront the invasion force. He must win, or they will land and then Tolosa is surely lost. Of course, when he outnumber them almost 5:1, there shouldn't be any problems... and there weren't any, either. Verucloetios is victorious, the Carthaginian fleet destroyed, and a lot of Carthaginian soldiers, including the three elites, find themselves on the bottom of the ocean. Sagen Sie hallo zur Kriegsmarine!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Aaldaemon** · 06-09-2008, 06:33

Gallic domination of the Middle Sea??? What next?

An amphibious invasion of India?

I have to check and see what's the best ship the gauls can build, I don't remember it being particularly good.

**The Celtic Viking** · 06-09-2008, 19:29

Now that you mention it, perhaps I should take a trip to India... hmm...

Seriously though, the best Celtic ships are those of the Veneti, IIRC. They're "ok" - not extraordinary, but they're fine. The worst thing about them is not their stats, but rather that they're only available from the one province in north western Gaul, which makes them logistical nightmares to use in the Mediterranean. As to how it'll go in this AAR, well... he who lives will see, aye?

**LotW89** · 06-10-2008, 15:44

Originally Posted by The Celtic Viking

Ein zutreffendes Kriegsmarine (aka "A true Kriegsmarine")
[...]
Sagen Sie hallo zum Kriegsmarine!

In german it should be "Eine echte Kriegsmarine" and "Sagen Sie hallo zur Kriegsmarine" ;)

**The Celtic Viking** · 06-10-2008, 18:36

Thanks. I wish I could speak German myself, but unfortunately I've never learned the art, so I hoped sacrificed to Thor that babelfish would, for once, make an accurate translation. Guess I just didn't find enough virgins (and I have absolutely no part in that, really!).