Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Württemberg's Genius (1)
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A general of the national army, a war hero whose name anyone would recognize at the mere mention.
That was me.
Mountainous terrain, a massive fortress zone built with North Korea's full might, endless Chinese manpower.
I had broken through it all, encircled it, annihilated it, and planted the Taegukgi flag in Pyongyang.
I was a hero. Because of me, their front lines collapsed, paving the way for an armistice on overwhelmingly favorable terms.
My honor, my glory, my devotion to my country—all of it recognized, I went down to Seoul to receive my medal...
And in a gray flash, it all ended.
When I opened my eyes, I had become Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox, the mythical figure of World War II.
But my duty hadn't changed.
To protect my fatherland and its people, to seize victory for their glory.
That was my duty.
"Father, I want to become a soldier."
"...What?"
Throughout my teenage years, I quietly focused on my studies, and at 18, I revealed my true intentions.
"Hmm, a soldier... That's a fine idea. I was just thinking it was time to discuss your future anyway."
At my sudden declaration, my father pondered for a moment before beginning to write a letter of recommendation.
Scratch-scratch- With the neat handwriting of a teacher, he spoke as he wrote.
"With your grades, you could aim for artillery, engineers... maybe even cavalry. Though the competition is fierce because of those 'von' nobles in the middle of their names..."
"No, Father. I want to become an infantry officer."
He paused. Looking up from the half-written recommendation, my father met my gaze as I straightened my back and held my head high.
He set his pen down on the desk, resting his chin in his hand, looking utterly baffled.
"Infantry is the least desirable branch among soldiers, and the pay is low, from what I hear... Why infantry?"
"Because the paradigm of war is about to change. Infantry may be looked down on now, but soon cavalry will be the ones scorned."
His expression turned peculiar at my immediate, clear answer.
"Explain yourself."
"Machine guns that fire hundreds of rounds per minute, and more effective artillery shells—they've been newly developed."
At his prompting, I continued slowly.
"In the Boer War, the Boers, armed with the latest weapons, built defensive lines and slaughtered the British. The key was trenches and machine guns."
"Hmm..."
"This is a report outlining the new paradigm of the battlefield. The details are all here."
I calmly pulled the prepared documents from my bag and placed them prominently on the desk.
My phrasing must have landed well, because Father picked them up and examined them closely.
"You made this yourself?"
"Yes. I compiled it from various newspapers and scattered reports."
"...Impressive."
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. He seemed astonished by the professional, lucid content.
I'd written countless such documents in my past life, but I was only 18 now. No wonder it surprised him.
Soon, he flipped through the report intently.
"I knew casualties were high, but... over 100,000?"
"Many from disease, but the key point is that large-scale maneuvers can no longer secure victory."
Any German with a basic understanding of the military would grasp the implications.
The battlefield is unforgiving. It's where natural selection plays out most brutally.
Whether soldier, officer, general, or nation.
Those who fail to adapt are weeded out, and those who do take their place.
Which means...
"...So you're saying infantry will become the stars of this new battlefield?"
To me, who knew the future, the pool of infantry officers was a blue ocean.
Unlike the original Rommel, I would enter infantry fully prepared.
Father fiddled with the documents, still conflicted.
"But without a massive war to prove this theory, the German Army won't accept it."
He soon shook his head as if it were hopeless.
"You know how conservative the military is as an institution. Especially the Junkers—they'll reject you even more because of your bloodline."
"..."
"In the end, if war doesn't break out, nothing changes. Infantry will remain the undesirable branch with low pay."
"War."
I spoke after silently hearing him out.
"It will happen."
"!"
Thud. Father set the documents down and spoke in a grim tone.
"...Don't get ahead of yourself. This is the Belle Époque."
"There is no eternal peace. His Majesty the Kaiser's recklessness is steadily dragging war into reality."
"No, even so, we're civilized people, so in the end..."
"Europe today is a powder keg, and its leaders are merely smoking cigarettes atop the arsenal."
I looked down at Father coolly and recited words no German could ignore.
"A single spark will ignite a war that engulfs us all."
The words of Otto von Bismarck, Chancellor of the German Empire.
A brilliant diplomat and statesman among the great powers, Bismarck had remarkable foresight.
"It will be the foolishness in the Balkans that sets off the explosion."
The Sarajevo incident.
It all begins when a Serb assassinates the Archduke of Austria.
Bismarck had precisely predicted how the Great War would be triggered.
"Chancellor Bismarck said the powder keg would blow in the Balkans, though he didn't know when. I'll go further."
Father licked his parched lips.
"Five years."
It was now 1909.
And the outbreak of World War I was...
"A massive war that will upend the world will erupt within five years."
1914.
Late at night.
A genius son.
Erwin Rommel Senior thought.
'He's made analyses bordering on prophecy since he was young. Not a single one has been wrong.'
Listening to his son, Senior himself had made a fortune in stocks and built connections.
His son had never lost first place in anything taught at the gymnasium, and unlike most geniuses, he wasn't arrogant.
On the contrary, he was so polite and rigidly proper with his own parents that it felt awkward.
Rumors were already circulating among the nobility that Württemberg had finally produced a genius.
But...
"Too radical... Even if it's true..."
Pacing the staff room, Senior's eyes fixed on a forgotten cigarette case.
Click- After hesitating, he took out a cigarette with trembling hands and lit it.
A faint glow flickered in the dark room.
"...Suck."
As nicotine filled his lungs, his pounding heart settled.
"Hoo. Too radical..."
These were words he'd never heard before.
A powder keg exploding in the Balkans, war engulfing Europe centered on alliance nations.
And not just that—new weapons would make Europe's blood flow. A terrifying prophecy.
It sounded like something out of a novel, but...
"...Still."
Rommel's father, Senior, resolved.
"If I don't believe my own child, who will?"
He decided to trust Rommel.
Senior smoked for a while, stubbed out the butt in the ashtray, and stood.
To help his son, even moving now wouldn't be enough.
"First, I need to edit this report appropriately."
Muttering to himself, he packed the report into his bag.
Plans formed steadily in his mind.
At the very least, until war broke out... he had to support his son down the flowery path.
It was modest compared to what the boy had given him.
'Let's see. The editor's address... And connections to army generals...'
A publishing house in Stuttgart released a provocative book—report or novel, it was hard to tell.
"They say this was written by Senior's famous son."
"Hm? That child prodigy everyone's talking about?"
"Heavens, take a look. It's about a great war spanning all of Europe."
"Oh... Looks interesting? But he can't seriously believe that, can he?"
"No, of course not."
On one hand dismissed as fanciful, on the other compelling in its plausible plotting and details, the controversial book Der Weltkrieg gained a cult following.
Especially since it wove politics, diplomacy, and military affairs into a meticulously researched, tightly knit narrative—no one read it just once.
Thanks to the book's appeal and Senior's efforts, it quietly spread even among military circles.
Among the highest figures to take notice was the infantry commander and commander of the 4th Army Corps.
Paul von Hindenburg.
"So... you're saying this isn't a novel?"
"There may be some dramatization, but the overall framework is my son's prediction."
Senior stood respectfully and handed over documents from his breast pocket at Hindenburg's question.
"This is the original. It's more professional and detailed."
"..."
He had met at his adjutant's urging, half-expecting a waste of time, but Hindenburg reluctantly accepted the papers.
Soon, he was lost in deep thought.