El Supremo Goes to War (Full Version)

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lancer -> El Supremo Goes to War (10/6/2008 9:46:34 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War

Important Note

I’ve tried hard to make this polite and politically correct. And failed.
Please don’t take offence as none is intended.


You’re a Xenophobic, pencil-necked, Klingon dwarf. In which case consider yourself well and truly insulted. If you want to take the matter further keep in mind that my lawyer probably costs more than yours.


Game Parameters

Map 35 x 35 hexes
Towns level 2 || City Size level 1
Roads level 1
Land 45%
Rivers level 30 || Forests level 30 || Mountains level 25 || Swamps level 20
Research 250%
Optimize for AI
No first level Techs, no map shroud
4 Regimes including mine (all AI+)
People’s Republic (AI normal)
Fog of War
Hardcore Logistics & Anti-supply allowed
Factories (can’t remember…)
Rebellions (can’t remember…)


to be continued...


TheArchduke -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/6/2008 4:25:33 PM)

Looking forward to it.

SSFSX17 -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/6/2008 6:12:42 PM)

Besides the People's Republic, is this game versus AI or versus humans? I'm definitely interested in seeing the efforts of others to assassinate you and install a more favorable dictator who will not traffick with the Soviet Union.

british exil -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/6/2008 7:05:15 PM)

I like the set up.

Wondering how serious we can take this Banana seller!?

El Supremo bring it on -- show us what you can do!!

Jeffrey H. -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/6/2008 8:25:05 PM)

Heh, very funny. Good laugh, very good. I can't wait to see the AI crush El Supremo.

Magpius -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/7/2008 3:56:14 AM)

strapping myself in for the ride on this one.
gotta love HUBRIS

lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/7/2008 10:35:25 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War - Part 2

Day One

With a unilateral declaration of war versus the entire known neighbourhood taken care off – I need a secretary, all this paperwork is a drag – I head down to see Crazy Charlie, the librarian at the Greenbeatle library.

“So I’ve started a war,” says I, “and I’m looking for some advice. What’s hot?”
Crazy Charlie scratches his head and gives the matter serious thought. He might be a direct descendant of feral chicken head biting-off Voodoo stock but he knows his books.

“Give this one a go,” says Charlie, handing me some Chinese crap on War Art. Heaving it over my shoulder I impatiently explain to Charlie that I haven’t ever stepped into an art gallery, never intend to and what in the name of a limp banana does an Asian art nut know about winning wars? You’ve got to stop drinking so much of that rancid jungle juice I tell him. It’s frying your brain cells.

Unabashed, Charlie hands me another book telling me that it’s probably more my style, ‘Advanced Readings in Banana Economics’.


My eyes glaze over. Advanced Banana Economics. Jesus wept. Reluctantly I take it and head back out into the sunshine. Sadly, Charlies’ mind has lost its battle with the bug juice.

Back at the Palace, just for the heck of it, I flip open a page. Chapter 3 “How to make big bucks in bananas”. Well that might be interesting. It’s always good to crank up the economy. I read on.

Create a monopoly. Be the only banana seller on the street corner. Charge whatever you want. Need to control all the fertile land. Need to control all the markets. Wipe out the competition.

Yep, nothing there I don’t already know. I give it one more shot.

Chapter 4 How to swing the market to your way of thinking– Step One: Machinegun everybody who disagrees with you.

Allrighty… now that’s what we’re talking about. I settle down for a prolonged read.

Day Two

Advanced Banana Economics informs me that I need a war cabinet of competent, highly qualified advisers in order to achieve a monopoly by force (is there any other way? Not in the Big book of Bananas there isn’t).

Right. I reach for the nearest Trade Directory and look up Personnel Agencies specialising in the military. Firing up the ham radio rig I establish communications with the International Recruitment Agency.

I tell them I’m the Commander in Chief of an important world nation and I currently have immediate vacancies for the head of our army, navy and airforce.

“Ah, Mr Joseph from Moscow. We have been expecting your call, Sir. Five star generals… the same as last time?”

Huh? Wherever the hell Moscow is they don’t eat bananas, I can tell you that. Probably a bunch of apple heads from way down south.

“No, no”, says I, “this is El Supremo from the Agnostic Party.”

Their prolonged silence is spooky.

“Grasshopper Island”, I add, to provide clarity to an obviously confused and stunned radiophonic audience. Probably the first time they have spoken directly to a genuine Commander in Chief.

Ahhh, the little people, always falling at my feet. What can I do about it but assume the burden that the creator has placed upon my broad shoulders?

“Grasshopper Island? El Supremo? Mmmm….. Do you have any particular preferences, Sir?

“Only that you send me the very best and that they arrive before the next full moon. I’m in a hurry.”

“Err…the moon, Sir?

Damn, shouldn’t have mentioned that. That’s what happens when you spend too much time with Crazy Charlie and his weirdo Voodoo ways. Alignment of planets and all that stuff about how important it is to start the war on the correct moon cycle.

“Quality, experienced candidates, on the boat, TODAY!”

I slam the receiver down so hard that it jumps of the desk and crashes to the floor.

El Supremo doesn’t take sh*t from the little people.

To be continued...


Vic -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/8/2008 10:58:45 AM)


“Grasshopper Island”, I add, to provide clarity

Thats really funny :)
Is this El Supremo guy somehow related to Doctor sinister?

lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/8/2008 11:49:26 AM)

Goodaye Vic,


Thats really funny :)
Is this El Supremo guy somehow related to Doctor sinister?

I'm not sure. Who's Doctor Sinister? Armchair General bloke?

Keep in mind that Grasshopper Island is a serious place full of serious people who aren't to be trifled with.


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/9/2008 9:50:09 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War - part 3

Day Seventeen

There are a couple of other matters to take care of before the war can start. Once again taking my que from the Big book of Bananas, I find that I have a need for a Quartermaster and an Intelligence Chief.

The current head of the Grasshopper Island Banana Transportation Board will suffice for a Quartermaster. He’s pretty good at shunting boxes of bananas around the place and he is an ethnic minority, not that the Big Book of Bananas mentions this to be a consideration. Quartermaster Ken hails from some obscure valley on the Dark Side of Grasshopper Island and has some peculiar personnel characteristics.

I don’t hold this against him and I’d give him the job even if he was a Klingon. Which he probably is.

The Intelligence Chief is tricky. Crazy Charlie insists that he knows just the person. Don’t call him, he’ll call us.


Strategic Briefing

Religiously following the prescribed plan to successful Bananadom, I called a meeting of my newly constituted Joint Chiefs of Staff to discuss grand strategy. Uncertain of exactly what that entailed I mapped out the broad outline (‘world domination’) and threw the discussion open.

After a lot of unnecessary politeness and waffle Lord Ascot Dungdidler the fifth (Horace to his mates) took the floor and outlined what he considered our only three options. Horace, it seemed, had the tacit approval of the others in his self-appointed role as spokesman. I made a mental note that perhaps there was more to Horace than met the eye. Given that Horace was a geriatric monocle-sporting dwarf this didn’t set too high a bar. An alternate theory suggested that the others were too frightened to put their own necks on the line.

Snapping back to Horace and his ‘Grand Strategy’, I caught him half way through a dissertation on ‘Threats and Opportunities’. Apparently the existing population that lived throughout our corner of the world, the “People’s Republic” (a.k.a the Pencil-necked wimps) were considered a threat. Could have fooled me. Little do they know that the Sausage folk of Grasshopper Island were coming to get them.

My unilateral declaration of war had also, explained Horace, continuing on with his theme of threats, stirred up all the ratbags in the area. Way up north in Franco Land was a bunch of loonies called the Facist Empire. Down on the eastern coast of Santa Grand were another bunch of sabre rattlers called the Cross Marines. I’d be cross too if I had to front up to battle in slippers and a tutu.


Over to the west festered the Muslim Front. I knew all about them. In fact I have spent a significant portion of my life to date explaining to all and sundry that our, (the ‘Grasshopper Island Agnostic Front’) national flag had nothing to do with the Muslims way over west. While I do admit to some striking similarities, our flag actually portrays a yellow banana (the state fruit) and the Royal Star of Madness. Nothing to do with Mecca at all.

So far all I’d heard from Horace was a litany of doom and gloom. Threats building upon threats. How, I wondered, is this motley lot going to win the war for me if they have managed to spook themselves into a total funk before the war had even begun?

With a suitable prod from my baton Horace reluctantly outlined the ‘Opportunities’, such as they were. Plan Taswegia involved a direct invasion of that wooded, backward, hillbilly land. The disadvantage being the distance that had to be traversed and the necessity of some hard fighting in awkward terrain.

Plan Dead (who thought of that?) was a similar amphibious invasion but this time directed at the closer, more hospitable and developed Isle of the Dead. Given the flat, slightly swampy terrain and the existence of a road network connecting the three main centres of civilisation this was a preferred option.

Plan Santa was a ‘don’t muck around, let’s go for the throat’ direct onslaught onto the southern part of Santa Grand. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Horace didn’t. Too close to the Cross Marines, says he. We’ll bleed ourselves dry fighting them before we’ve got our own production base established. Wait until we have conquered at least one of the two southern islands first. His lower lip quivered as I gave him the evil eye. Not for the first time I noticed how ancient Horace was. I wondered where he was hiding his Zimmer frame.

A lot of argy bargy followed with stuff about the importance of a strong navy, the need for a whole flotilla of cargo ships and don’t forget the air force! I ignored it all, yelled for quiet and pronounced loftily that Plan Dead was green for go. My very first command decision. I hope that I wouldn’t regret it.

To be continued...


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/13/2008 6:36:50 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War - part 4

Day One hundred and fifty


My war started badly. I knew nothing about amphibious assaults apart from a brief mention in ‘Banana Economics’ – ‘they’re difficult, dangerous and best avoided’.

Addressing my Joint Chiefs of Staff I asked anyone who had conducted at least three successful amphibious landings to put up their hand. Nobody. Two? Nope. One? None? All hands immediately shot up.

“Not a lot of demand for them in the middle of Africa, old chap”, muttered Horace.

Admiral Maximillian, a.k.a Max the Axe, assured me that I was in competent hands. Admiral Max had always made me uneasy for reasons that I couldn’t quite pin down. Perhaps it was his nickname. There was no mention of it in his resume and he had laughed so hard when I’d asked him about it that the room had cleared. Not a happy laugh. More of a neurotic, psychotic screech.

I’d have to get Crazy Charlie to rattle his bag of bones and do some heavy duty Voodoo research if I wanted answers there.

So a bunch of sausage people were duly issued with guns, formed up into a division, shipped across the vastness of the Turtle sea and offloaded onto the nearest beach on the Isle of the Dead. Yep, Elvis is in the building. ET has landed. The sausage folk of Grasshopper Island are on the move. Watch out world.

The Central Command Centre bursts into life with a flurry of activity. However as much as I’d like to sit around drinking coffee and cognac, listening to the radio reports stream in with my hairy-chested team of handpicked Commanders there is a certain recently bereaved widow who needs my urgent attention…

To be continued


TheArchduke -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/13/2008 7:16:42 AM)

Nice theme and nice AAR. I will be sure to follow you.

And I do hope Plan Santa comes after Plan Death.

Or what the heck after Plan Death invade both the main island and Taswegia.:D

lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/16/2008 11:14:05 PM)

El Supremo goes to War - part 5

One Year Later

Lazing on my private beach at Green Beatle, I admire the gorgeous Senora Desserae as she vigorously waxes my surfboard. Reluctantly I turn my mind to mundane matters of world conquest.

Delegation. That’s the secret proclaims the Big Book of Bananas. Assemble a winning team, wind them up, point them in the right direction and let them go.

Solid advice that. I’ve been on holiday from matters of state for the past eleven months. Naturally I’ve signed a few papers here and there but that’s pretty much been it. Now it’s time to reel in my team of crack warmongers and see what’s what.

First up is Horace. I peruse his report while he slumps forward, gasping, over his Zimmer frame.


Wondering what constituted a ‘few minor hiccups’ in point one I get a puzzled look from Horace.
“Supplies, old bean. Supplies. Didn’t have enough of them. Damn poor showing.”

And why was this?

“We didn’t have control of the port. Supplies couldn’t get across our beachhead fast enough to keep all the chaps fed and ammo’d up. In fact,” Horace leaned over and gave me a surreptitious wink, “the chaps very nearly starved. It was a close run thing, I can tell you.”

So how did you overcome this problem with the subsequent amphibious invasions?

“Went direct to the source, we did. Invaded the ports directly. No more of this starving in the dunes.”

And why couldn’t we do this at Dirtflow?

“Didn’t have Admiral Max and his Cruiser support, old son. Had nothing heavier than a bunch of chappies with pop guns. Can’t capture a port with that.”

Ah! So now I’m learning something - knowledge is power. If you’re going to conduct an amphibious invasion make sure you have lots of support. Don’t just plonk some grunts down on the beach and hope that all will be well.
The Big Book of Bananas briefly states (in an appendix – missed it the first time) that you could get your engineers to build a temporary port to facilitate supply throughput at the beachhead. I mention it to Horace.

“Never heard of that, old son. Back in Africa the only thing engineers did was dig the latrines. Gets awfully smelly otherwise. Enough to put you off your G&T, I can tell you.”
Horace paused, gazed wistfully at the horizon and continued.
“I can remember one hot sweltering evening on the savannah, lounging back in the officer’s tent with Freddie after a hard day of shooting the golly wollies. Freddie had just given the boy our drinks orders when he turned to me all of a sudden and asked “What’s that awful bloody pong?”

It was flashback time for Horace. Or early onset dementia.

“Turns out,” continued Horace, “that there was a huge pile of sh..t behind the tent because some fool had forgot to tell the engineers to do their job properly.” Horace wrinkled his nose. “As far as I can recall we don’t have any engineers on Isle of the Dead and I don’t intend to be conducting any field inspections until we do. It’s all jolly well telling engineers to build ports and roads but their main function in life is to get rid of the pong.”

Horace clearly wasn’t moving with the times.


Struck by a sudden thought I queried Horace. “How many divisions are we fielding?”

Lots’ apparently.

I prod Horace with my big toe, carefully. Old man and all that. Damn, a good breeze would blow him away, helter skelter down the beach. All that would be left would be his Zimmer frame with its legs bogged in the sand. Who in their right mind drags a Zimmer frame across the sand?

A geriatric ex African-hand dwarf, that’s who.

Eventually I got the level of precision that I was after. Although it wasn’t specifically stated in the Big Book of Bananas, I knew enough by now to realise that blasé generalities from doddering Generals don’t win the war. Precision is what brings home the bacon. Precision.


That many, huh? I immediately ordered all state cinemas to change their programming. Racier films. It’s clear we are going to need more sausage folk. The sooner the population of Grasshopper Island procreates the better.

Racy surfboard waxing type films.

To be continued...


Magpius -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/16/2008 11:35:18 PM)

(taswegia? Me thinks you from Aus!)

lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/17/2008 2:40:39 AM)



(taswegia? Me thinks you from Aus!)



lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/21/2008 10:17:22 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War - part 6

Horace takes his leave and begins the long trek back to terra firma. I would have offered to carry both him and his Zimmer frame but I was otherwise occupied. Besides, I was about to be accosted.

Marching across the hot sand comes a barrel-chested, steel bar chunk of a man with a scowl that would frighten the Atlantic into gurgling down the nearest drain. Watch out folks, it’s Admiral Max.



To be continued...


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/22/2008 9:58:22 AM)

El Supremeo goes to War - part 7

Next up was Quartermaster Ken, a.k.a The Klingon. I noticed that he and Admiral Max gave each other a wide berth as they passed, all crimson complexions and upright hackles, on the beach.



To be continued...


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/28/2008 12:06:12 AM)

El Supremo goes to War - part 8


Give the man a lolly and take him away. Anymore talk about bowel movements and lunch will have to be cancelled.

To be continued...


Barthheart -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/28/2008 12:09:40 AM)

This is a great story![&o]

Keep it up.[8D]

lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (10/30/2008 1:35:11 AM)

El Supremo goes to War - part 9

Another report lands on my lap. I sit up and look around, puzzled.. Did the wind blow it here?


The Shrub? Bloody hell.



To be continued...


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (11/1/2008 10:18:19 AM)

El Supremo goes to War - part 10

Private Conversation

Quartermaster Ken the Klingon, after the official report session, sneaks back and asks for a word in private. Sure, says I. What’s on your mind?

“We must sue for peace,” blurts out the Klingon. “Immediately”.

What the hell?

“The problem is”, says he, ‘that all the towns we have captured are dirt hovels. They have a production capacity of 500 boxes of banana equivalents per month.”

Well damn, that sounds like a whole lot of bananas to me.

“No, no. Green Beatle has a capacity of 10,000. The towns have enough to provide local supply only. They can’t build anything. They’re too small.”

I could see that I had a seriously worried Klingon on my hands. Now, what kind of pills would be best, the blue ones or the supersize pink ones?

“Green Beatle,” he hissed, his voice becoming hoarse, “has to carry the entire armed forces production and our entire research program. It can’t do it on it’s own.”

So? We’ll capture more towns.

“That will only make the situation worse. We’ll have a larger military with longer supply lines to support and even less capacity to upgrade and improve our technology. Eventually we’ll be overrun, island by island. We are doomed.”

The pink ones. Definitely the pink ones.

“There are only two ways out of our predicament.”

Two? Great. Mind meld with me baby, mind meld it across. El Supremo accepts all types of communications.

“We could capture a capital city. They have a similar production capacity to Green Beatle.”

Mmmm. The only feasible nearby capital was that of the Muslim Front. This would require a significant naval presence in order for the sausage assault divisions to make it safely across Storm Gulf. Given that we are currently outnumbered by Muslim Front naval forces by a factor of 4 to 1 that is going to be a big ask. I strongly suspect that we are also behind the eight ball in naval technology.

Except in subs. We are hell on wheels in submarines. There is no better submarine in the entire world than the Sausage Sea Serpent Mk 2.

Submarines, unfortunately –as Admiral Max belligerently keeps reminding me – don’t rule the waves.

The Klingon took my dispirited look as a no and launched into option two. “Factories. If we could instigate a crash building program of factories on both Taswegia and Isle of the Dead we could boost our production capacity sufficiently to carry on the war”.

Factories. Good idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Gosh, we could probably fit five of those suckers on the combined islands. Put another one on Grasshopper Island just for fun. Six in total. Golly gee whiz. An extra 12,000 production capacity. There would be no stopping us!

Except for one tiny little thing. The sausage folk of Grasshopper Island don’t believe in factories. Not at all, bugger them. When God made the sausage folk he forgot to tick the little box that inserts the word ‘factory’ into their native language.

Or did he? I’ll have to check. Where’s the bat phone? What number do I dial?

To be continued...


lancer -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (11/3/2008 8:51:16 AM)

El Supremo Goes to War


The End


EmTom -> RE: El Supremo Goes to War (5/26/2011 12:31:20 PM)

Klingons don't mind-meld for god's sake... Vulcans do! :)

Funny AAR, shame it ended so quickly. I hope to hear from El Supremo again.

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