Now you've seen that battle, let's look at how I came to this conclusion. As mentioned before I am currently using the system that iHonk/Mike developed in order to determine the edges to each side. I'll be showing you the stats followed by a verbal explanation.
In this system, Firearms are rated on four categories: muzzle velocity, effective range, clip size/caliber, and rate of fire. The more frequently the weapon is likely used, the more weight it will have in the sim. In addition to that, four X factors will be tallied against each other as well to determine the outcome.
With that, here it goes:
Friday, August 5, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Untouchables vs. The Gestapo: The Battle
Author's Note: For this battle and all other future battles, I'll be using iHonk/Mike's newest battle system in evaluating weapons. I shall explain this system and the edges later on, but for now this is what you came here for. Let the match begin!
Battle Start: The Untouchables vs The Gestapo
His name was Herschel Klemp, a faithful employee at the Grand Social Club located somewhere in downtown Chicago. Officially he was merely another manager at the high profile restaurant, but everybody knew him for his homemade beers and taste in schnapps. Through the gracious connections of the "made men" of the area, he found himself in a very comfortable position in the estabishment. Tonight he was manning the bar located behind the restaurant front, an area where only the most exclusive of patrons were allowed in. It truly looked to be a night of good company and healthy tips.
"Long time no see." a voice in a heavy German accent called out from the end of the bar. Herschel turned to see a man in a black coat, a newcomer to the club. Four other men in grey coats entered as well, and they appeared to have arrived on more professional terms.
A chill ran down the barkeep's spine, but as with the nature of the business he kept a calm face and a pleasant demeanor. "So, good sir. What Can I get you?"
The man in black smirked and shook his head, "Good sir? Is that how you greet an old colleague, Herr Schmit?"
Beads of sweat dripped from Hershel's brow, but he still maintained his calm facade. "Schmit? There must be a mistake, there's nobody by that name here." Out of the corner of Hershel's eye he could see the patrons of the bar averting their eyes, as if they knew something like this was going to happen.
"Really Herr Schmit," the man in black continued in full German, "You can stop the lies. Herschel Klemp, aka Officer Johann Schmit of the Fuhrer's Cabinet. It's so good to have finally found you." It was at that point the man produced a brass tag with an eagle and swastika emblazened on the front. On the back bore his name: Officer Heinrech Schwartz of the Geheime Staatspolizei. The men in grey approached the bar as patrons turned their attention away to the scene.
The bustling speakeasy was now cold and tense, a defining silence filling the room. Knowing that the jig was up Herschel switched to his native tongue, his voice firm and scathing, "I have nothing to say to any of you. Whatever secrets you think I have I can assure you I know nothing, so please leave me in peace."
"Forgive me, Herr Schmit", the man in black stated, "But we've come too far to return home emptyhanded. The fact is that you abandoned the Reich at our Fuhrer's time of need, and that's something we cannot overlook."
"He was going to commit genocide on our own people!" Schmit pleaded, "Can you not see that he could tear down everything the Fatherland stood for?"
Before the barkeep could blink the four men in grey had completely surrounded him. Two of them grabbed him by his arms as another walked over to a back wall draped with a large tapestry. Behind it was a door that lead to the liquor cellar of the club. "Our informant told us there would be a room where we could have a more...private discussion. I would hate to spoil this place for your guests." The leader of the Germans snapped his fingers as his men took Schmit down the stairs to begin their questioning.
---
Two cars pulled up to the Grand Social Club, collectively carrying five Prohibition agents. As the agents exited their vehicles, their leader Elliot Ness gathered them around the trunk of the cars, which were loaded with serious firepower.
"Are you sure about this Ness?" Agent Stone asked. "We haven't packed this much heat since busting the last place Capone was fronting."
"You heard the tap," Ness replied, "Five mysterious men taking Herschel down into the cellar? I don't like it. He must've done something serious to bring those Krauts in."
"How do you know it's not just another family trying to squeeze into Capone's turf?" Agent Wallace asked as he loaded his gun.
Eliot shook his head, "If they wanted to send a message to Capone they would've shot the place up, none of this cloak-and-dagger stuff."
"Shame. Would've been one less speakeasy to bust," Agent Malone quipped as he picked up a shotgun. "Shouldn't we wait for backup?"
"They're on their way," Eliot answered, "But by the time they get here those Krauts are gonna be long gone." He turned to his team as he cocked his shotgun, "Our job right now is to keep our mystery men here long enough until backup gets here. So let's get going boys." After all the agents properly armed themselves, they approached the entrance to the club and knocked on the door.
Battle Start: The Untouchables vs The Gestapo
His name was Herschel Klemp, a faithful employee at the Grand Social Club located somewhere in downtown Chicago. Officially he was merely another manager at the high profile restaurant, but everybody knew him for his homemade beers and taste in schnapps. Through the gracious connections of the "made men" of the area, he found himself in a very comfortable position in the estabishment. Tonight he was manning the bar located behind the restaurant front, an area where only the most exclusive of patrons were allowed in. It truly looked to be a night of good company and healthy tips.
"Long time no see." a voice in a heavy German accent called out from the end of the bar. Herschel turned to see a man in a black coat, a newcomer to the club. Four other men in grey coats entered as well, and they appeared to have arrived on more professional terms.
A chill ran down the barkeep's spine, but as with the nature of the business he kept a calm face and a pleasant demeanor. "So, good sir. What Can I get you?"
The man in black smirked and shook his head, "Good sir? Is that how you greet an old colleague, Herr Schmit?"
Beads of sweat dripped from Hershel's brow, but he still maintained his calm facade. "Schmit? There must be a mistake, there's nobody by that name here." Out of the corner of Hershel's eye he could see the patrons of the bar averting their eyes, as if they knew something like this was going to happen.
"Really Herr Schmit," the man in black continued in full German, "You can stop the lies. Herschel Klemp, aka Officer Johann Schmit of the Fuhrer's Cabinet. It's so good to have finally found you." It was at that point the man produced a brass tag with an eagle and swastika emblazened on the front. On the back bore his name: Officer Heinrech Schwartz of the Geheime Staatspolizei. The men in grey approached the bar as patrons turned their attention away to the scene.
The bustling speakeasy was now cold and tense, a defining silence filling the room. Knowing that the jig was up Herschel switched to his native tongue, his voice firm and scathing, "I have nothing to say to any of you. Whatever secrets you think I have I can assure you I know nothing, so please leave me in peace."
"Forgive me, Herr Schmit", the man in black stated, "But we've come too far to return home emptyhanded. The fact is that you abandoned the Reich at our Fuhrer's time of need, and that's something we cannot overlook."
"He was going to commit genocide on our own people!" Schmit pleaded, "Can you not see that he could tear down everything the Fatherland stood for?"
Before the barkeep could blink the four men in grey had completely surrounded him. Two of them grabbed him by his arms as another walked over to a back wall draped with a large tapestry. Behind it was a door that lead to the liquor cellar of the club. "Our informant told us there would be a room where we could have a more...private discussion. I would hate to spoil this place for your guests." The leader of the Germans snapped his fingers as his men took Schmit down the stairs to begin their questioning.
---
Two cars pulled up to the Grand Social Club, collectively carrying five Prohibition agents. As the agents exited their vehicles, their leader Elliot Ness gathered them around the trunk of the cars, which were loaded with serious firepower.
"Are you sure about this Ness?" Agent Stone asked. "We haven't packed this much heat since busting the last place Capone was fronting."
"You heard the tap," Ness replied, "Five mysterious men taking Herschel down into the cellar? I don't like it. He must've done something serious to bring those Krauts in."
"How do you know it's not just another family trying to squeeze into Capone's turf?" Agent Wallace asked as he loaded his gun.
Eliot shook his head, "If they wanted to send a message to Capone they would've shot the place up, none of this cloak-and-dagger stuff."
"Shame. Would've been one less speakeasy to bust," Agent Malone quipped as he picked up a shotgun. "Shouldn't we wait for backup?"
"They're on their way," Eliot answered, "But by the time they get here those Krauts are gonna be long gone." He turned to his team as he cocked his shotgun, "Our job right now is to keep our mystery men here long enough until backup gets here. So let's get going boys." After all the agents properly armed themselves, they approached the entrance to the club and knocked on the door.
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