The Korea-China War Begins: China's Surprise Attack
Day after day, a torrent of articles set the world abuzz.
The uproar had begun with China's additional troop deployments along the border. Seizing on that pretext, Korea grabbed the microphone and shouted it from the rooftops — and before long, the public consensus was that China was gearing up for war.
And just as foreign politicians had predicted, Korea had no intention of leaving that perception alone.
"Now's the moment!"
Korea was certain: this was the perfect time to start a war. China had moved hundreds of thousands of troops and was already under suspicion of preparing for conflict. Under those circumstances, a little covert work followed by the claim that China had attacked first and Korea was merely counterattacking would be more than enough to make the uninformed nod along and say, I knew it!
"His Majesty desires war! Fight! Reclaim our land! Advance into the Promised Land!"
"Waaaaaah!!!"
An army that had always been ready moved at once.
As the first step, a small operation began near the Yalu River — the border between China and Korea.
"Shall we set it off now?"
The cat beastman soldier's eyes sparkled; he could barely contain his excitement. Having beaten out countless rivals for the honor of firing the opening salute of the war, his thrill was only natural. In truth it wasn't a salute at all — just an explosion manufactured for a casus belli — but from Korea 3's point of view, a salute was exactly what it was.
"We have to hit the timing exactly. Wait."
The officer checked his watch with care, calming the restless soldier. After what felt like an eternity, the order the soldier had been waiting for — tail and ears standing straight up — finally came.
"It's time. Detonate."
"Nya!"
KWA-AAANG!
At the officer's command, the explosion went off — artificial, clumsy stagecraft. The plan was to claim that China had opened fire with artillery. Absurd on its face. But the truth didn't matter. They had a plausible set of circumstances, and powerful allies on their side. If the United States and the Soviet Union agreed, and Korea said it was so, then it would become fact.
"Chinese forces have shelled our territory!"
The officer's face wore a smile even as he transmitted the report in urgent tones.
"I knew those filthy Chinese bastards would pull something like this!"
"Then we begin the 'counterattack.'"
That was the exchange at headquarters. Strangely enough, Korea had already begun its counterattack before the conversation even took place. The instant the explosion went off, Korean stealth aircraft crossed the border. The war had begun far faster than any nation had expected.
A short while before the "cowardly Chinese surprise attack" was scheduled to occur at the time of Korea's choosing, a flurry of activity was underway across countless sites in Korea. The entire nation had been quietly seized by a single fervor, simmering just beneath the surface. The blow about to be struck would set off a colossal explosion — and the moment was drawing near when one critical piece of the puzzle supporting that blow would fall into place.
One of those critical pieces — Korea's electronic warfare command post — was a hive of activity. Directional transmission antennas tracked the northern sky, and on the monitors the trajectories of low-orbit satellites refreshed by the second.
"Five minutes to pass."
The operations officer's voice was cold, but his face could not hide the flush of excitement rising in his cheeks. A Chinese military reconnaissance satellite covering the Manchuria theater was entering range.
Under normal circumstances, approaching that satellite would of course have been impossible. But somewhere, always, there is someone willing to sell state secrets for a little money. Korea had succeeded in purchasing the latest control codes and authentication keys from a relevant official for a mere two billion won.
A fool drawn straight out of a picture book.
Lianna thought back on the man they had bought. At first she had been skeptical — was he really going to hand this over? For only two billion won? He couldn't possibly fail to understand how valuable codes that changed daily truly were. But if they were genuine, the help would be enormous.
Lianna had put him under surveillance, and it wasn't long before she heard something that left her speechless.
What's the worst that could happen from selling this? It's only one day. I've greased enough palms — it'll be fine.
That was the sort of thing he was saying out loud. The man trusted the daily-rotating codes and keys. From his perspective, trading "just one day's password" for two billion won was a thoroughly satisfying deal. He even planned to sell more later!
Safety blindness, endemic corruption, and money-blinded stupidity had produced a fantasy collaboration of the highest order. The man was firmly convinced that no matter what his superiors said, Korea would never actually go to war. The modern age was that peaceful — on the surface, at least.
After receiving detailed reports on every move of their surveilled collaborator, Lianna clutched her head. What kind of nonsense was this? Common sense said that selling confidential information on a military satellite could not possibly end well. That was Lianna's thinking — but reality was different. Astonishingly, if no war had broken out, he would have been fine. The man could have settled the whole affair with a modest fine. That was the nature of corruption: the absurd became ordinary, and even legal punishment turned into a slap on the wrist.
Lianna decided to help ensure that the man who had been promised two billion won would not die of natural causes just yet. What potential traitors needed was a good precedent — a message that helping Korea would be amply rewarded. Korea needed to keep alive the fool who had been humming a tune on his way to a firing squad.
In the end, this magnificent slave to money handed over the satellite control codes and authentication keys at dawn that very day and, with Korean assistance, slipped out of the country. He would remain under the watch of Korean agents until the war was over — but afterward he would live large under a new identity Korea had prepared for him.
For a while, at least.
"Thirty seconds to pass."
The operations officer's voice pulled Lianna from her thoughts.
Tap-tap-tap.
Personnel inside the base were inputting the control codes and authentication keys into the transmission equipment.
Wiiiiing.
The high-output transmission module warmed up, and power consumption spiked sharply.
"Ten seconds. Frequency locked."
The ground tracker calculated the satellite's velocity, making minute adjustments to the antenna angle, and an encrypted command packet was launched.
[BEEP——.]
Receiving a matching authentication signal, the satellite temporarily re-synchronized its uplink and halted sensor data transmission. The connection recovered almost at once, but the transmission cycle had shifted by a subtle margin, and coordinate data began to show errors — enough for warning indicators to flash across the situation board at the Shenyang air defense command post.
"Satellite imagery delayed — coordinate error detected!"
It was only a short discrepancy of about half a second. But given the speed of a stealth aircraft, a 0.5-second delay meant a difference of several hundred meters between the actual position and the position on screen. With an error of that magnitude, every intercept missile targeting calculation would miss, and the missiles would be fired into empty air.
At that exact moment, Korea was subjected to China's cowardly surprise attack — and at that exact same moment, the stealth aircraft launched. A truly remarkable coincidence.
This shitty game made real was endlessly mysterious. Who would have thought there'd be someone casually selling off state secrets that granted access to a satellite? Amazingly, there was even a guy who sold the military deployments he knew about. Something that could never have happened in Korea 1, 2, or 3! Truly a fantasy-worthy affair.
Hmm. A strange thought kept nagging at me. Military satellites might be hard, but for about a billion won, I was pretty sure a private company would sell satellite frequencies and a control station to a foreign country. And if they got caught, a fine of maybe twenty million won would leave them perfectly fine! I was certain of it. Probably only possible because this was a fantasy world.
Great Earth 1 ran on plausibility and common sense. Therefore, something like this was utterly impossible in the modern age!
Anyway, by tampering with the satellite covering Manchuria and delaying its alerts and directives, the stealth aircraft seemed to have entered safely. A good start, you could say.
"Your Majesty, as you commanded, a new subject has been added to the military's training curriculum."
At the Head Maid's words, a small smile touched the corner of my mouth. I didn't really understand the war plan Lianna had drawn up — all that business about satellites doing this and stealth aircraft opening that and pressing the other thing — but I knew well enough that this would help.
"How's production?"
"Output continues to increase. Is it necessary to manufacture them in such quantities?"
She was following orders, but clearly didn't understand. I liked seeing her express her own opinions more and more.
"The drones will be a great help."
"Miss Lianna said it was a good idea as well, but I still don't quite see it."
Drones never appeared in the game. But this wasn't the game. Of course we could use weapons that hadn't been in it. In this fantasy modern age, drones had yet to take on any real significance in warfare — for all that people were fighting scattered across medium and large scales. As for technical capability, it had reached a level where they could be put to proper use. Using them while no one else knew about them would yield early advantages.
The problem was that once we used them even once, other nations would immediately be able to copy us. And if we delayed too long, waiting for the critical moment, some country somewhere might think of it on their own and put it to use. For whatever reason, they simply hadn't conceived of unmanned drones yet. When to use them — that was quite the dilemma.
"They might be useful in fights between ordinary soldiers, but at our level, I don't expect them to help much."
...A bit of a wet blanket, but the Head Maid's words were sound reasoning. Say we built an army of a million suicide drones and successfully stuck every last one into Mao Zedong. Could we deal damage to that boss monster? Not a chance! Even a scratch would be a miracle. A man who walked away fine from missile bombardments wasn't going to keel over because a few drones blew up on him.
"Combat between Superhumans isn't the end of it."
Beyond suicide attacks, drones held enormous value as reconnaissance assets. Once we used them, the other side would start using them soon enough — but it was only natural that our side, having prepared in advance, would hold the lead.
"I believe that our battles determine the course of the war."
Unfortunately, the Head Maid didn't seem to place much value on drones. Very Superhuman of her, I supposed. She wasn't speaking out of pride or any sense of chosen-people superiority. As she said, the combat results of Superhumans among Superhumans — people like them — exerted a massive influence on the war.
Hmm. Calamity-class would suit her rather well. From now on, let's call one Head Maid a Calamity-class.
This Calamity-class Superhuman could sweep ordinary soldiers aside like so much dust. But her eyes and ears did not extend across the entire world. She could not cross to the opposite side of the planet in a single step. So if, while the Head Maid was fighting in China, an enemy invaded the Korean Peninsula and began massacring Koreans, the nation would fall. Korea had additional Calamity-class Superhumans, so that particular scenario wouldn't happen — but there was no guarantee that all of them would survive to defend the homeland afterward either. Take a missile barrage while marinated in poison, and even they took damage, just like Mao Zedong in the game.
That meant a Calamity-class was not invincible. Calamity-class Superhumans also ate, breathed, and expended stamina. In other words, when fighting a Superhuman of comparable level, the longer the fight against the small fry they usually dusted off dragged on, the more disadvantageous it became.
To summarize:
1. There was a problem of distance. With only one body, their full might could be displayed in only one place at a time.
2. A Calamity-class was not invincible. Throw every desperate measure at them, and damage would land.
3. There were fights where victory and defeat turned on the finest margins of disadvantage — and ordinary soldiers could create those margins.
These three premises made clear that ordinary soldiers were indispensable. Their victories and defeats still meant something.
"The Head Maid isn't invincible. If the people all die, even victory is meaningless."
Once I explained this simply, the Head Maid understood at once.
"Should Your Majesty so desire, please remember that every citizen would stake their lives. You said that even victory would be meaningless that way — but to us, it would have meaning."
...Separate from her understanding, an extremely heavy reply came back. It was frightening because it was probably true. If I got kidnapped, the country would explode on the spot. I should always keep at least one Calamity-class as an escort.
"If you can smile to the very end, we can do anything at all."
Looking at the Head Maid's face as she said it so gently was a little difficult.
"Are you embarrassed?"
There was amusement in the soft whisper. She must have drawn close while I turned my head and stayed silent.
Ugh. My Head Maid had gotten awfully cheeky!