Poland Partition (3)
“I hear the Polish nobles cut open their own bellies.”
“...So we won’t have to go to war?”
“For now, let’s sit tight and watch how things unfold until we get word from the homeland.”
Russian Imperial Commander Petrovich in the Lithuania sector let out a deep sigh of relief at the Polish confederate sejm’s decision.
With Austrian forces now marching into Poland, the chances of Russia winning a prolonged war were approaching zero.
Besides, with the Tsarina’s health in poor shape, no one in Russia wanted a drawn-out conflict anyway.
As Petrovich had anticipated, Russia’s War Council—which oversaw troop deployments and operations—was dealt a severe shock by the report from Lithuania.
“The gap in strength... is this wide?”
“Full-scale war impossible? Not just against Austria, but Prussia too?”
“Isn’t Petrovich just exaggerating to cover his own incompetence?”
“No, that can’t be. Commander Petrovich has racked up countless merits in previous wars.”
Having clashed with foes like the Ottomans or Lithuania, they were stunned into clarity upon facing a true European superpower.
Of course, Russia had its eyes on Poland’s Black Soil Region too.
Much of Ukraine was already under Russian control, and grabbing more would put nearly the entire black soil area in their grasp.
That would give the Russian Empire overwhelming grain production, letting them wield wheat exports as a weapon.
But after reading Petrovich’s report, no one could bring themselves to push for more greed.
What if Austria and Prussia joined forces, not just to devour Poland but Lithuania too? Who’d take responsibility for that?
“Shall we tell the Foreign Affairs Committee it’s best to avoid further fighting? Then they can advise His Majesty to respect the Polish sejm’s decision...”
“The problem is, what guarantee do we have that Austria won’t push eastward after taking the whole Black Soil Region?”
“...”
The grain yields and harvest ratios from the black soil were superior even to France’s blessed lands.
Factoring in the cold climate and the extra labor compared to France, underestimating this region’s productivity would be a mistake.
Russia even had plans to plant windbreaks to shield crops from the harsh winds blowing in from Central Asia.
They couldn’t afford to let Austria swallow it whole without countermeasures.
“For now, Austria and the homeland are still allies. And relations with Austria are the Foreign Affairs Committee’s domain, not ours, right?”
“True. We just need to make it clear that full-scale war with Austria is absolutely impossible.”
In the near future, this would surely become a headache, but by then, they’d all be long gone from these seats anyway. What did it matter?
Yeah, as long as it’s not me.
The councilors unanimously dumped the headache onto the Foreign Affairs Committee.
Needless to say, the committee—stuck handling the messy aftermath—pushed back immediately.
“If this goes through, we’ll share borders with both Prussia and Austria. And the Austrian border is prime grain country!”
“It’s all flat plains too—no natural defenses if they come charging in. They know that as well as we do!”
“We need at least some safety measures. This is impossible as is.”
“But if we say it’s impossible and war actually breaks out, can we handle it?”
Fight the guys who shipped France off in six weeks?
Petrovich on the front lines had already nailed down that full war wasn’t feasible against Austria or Prussia.
Pushing back here risked vomiting up even the lands they already held.
But letting it slide? That was like hanging a powder necklace around their necks when the problem was obvious.
Really?
“Then let His Majesty decide...”
BAM!
“Disaster! Total disaster!”
“What? Can’t you see we’re in a meeting? How dare you...”
“His Majesty has collapsed!”
“...What? Of all the timing...”
Russia’s Tsarina Anna Ivanovna, who’d been complaining of pains lately, had suddenly collapsed.
Not yet publicly announced, but the diagnosis suggested she might never wake again.
With the ruler down, what choice was there?
The cabinet had no option but to accept the Polish sejm’s decision and share borders with Prussia and Austria.
War with two powers during a succession crisis was out of the question.
This breakneck pace left more than just Russia reeling.
For instance, the Emperor, who’d dumped the matter on Franz hoping to finally see his son-in-law flustered.
“Theresa.”
“Yes, Father.”
“No one else here, so drop the stiff titles and call me comfortably. But is this really true?”
Maria Theresa nearly burst out laughing at her baffled father but barely kept a straight face.
He seems genuinely disappointed. Who knew he had such a cute side?
Men stayed boyish no matter their age, but she hadn’t realized it applied to her father too.
“It’s exactly as written. The Polish sejm accepted tripartite rule by Prussia, Austria, and Russia, and Russia’s agreed.”
“Why would Russia? This partition doesn’t seem all that appealing from their perspective.”
“According to Franz’s letter, it seems Tsarina Anna Ivanovna is at death’s door. Picking a fight with Prussia or Austria now, with imperial authority shaky, wouldn’t be wise.”
“That guy’s got luck on his side too.”
This Polish crisis wasn’t just carving up one country.
Augustus III, an imperial elector, was still King of Poland-Lithuania. Prussia and Russia had deployed troops and even clashed in skirmishes.
Austria’s involvement, plus the ripples from the partition, should’ve taken years to resolve.
Karl VI had assumed as much, and Theresa agreed.
Who could’ve guessed the Polish nobles would slit their own throats—and that Russia’s ruler would take ill at this exact moment?
The former was Franz’s doing, but the latter? Pure luck.
Theresa, having heard hints already, didn’t chalk it fully to fortune.
“Father, Franz did say that pushing hard before year’s end would leave Russia no breathing room. He must’ve learned of the Tsarina’s health through some channel.”
“So he timed the partition for their power vacuum? Heh... He’s the one I’ll hand the throne to, but sometimes he scares me.”
“You’ve already dumped all the tedious work on him anyway. You shouldn’t complain about someone handling it well.”
“Urgh... That’s why they say raising daughters is pointless. Siding with her husband over the father who birthed and raised her.”
“You’re the one in the wrong here. And you need to remember you’re still the Emperor. The Polish crisis is over, but the cleanup’s just starting.”
Austria had secured the vast granary it desperately wanted, so the campaign’s harvest was undeniable.
But how to handle the culprit behind this mess? No decision yet.
Saxon Electorate. Saxon Elector Augustus III.
What to do with this fool?
Karl VI had no ready answer to Theresa’s question.
He was stumped too.
“Theresa... What do you think?”
“It’s ambiguous. Too ambiguous, which makes it tricky.”
The Saxon Elector hadn’t committed high treason like the Bavarian.
But his rash actions had given Russia pretext to march, handing them a chunk of Lithuania.
Clear blunder benefiting a foreign power.
Yet he was already dethroned as King of Poland-Lithuania. Pile on more punishment?
No hard evidence of intent to harm the Empire—just circumstantial, mostly pure incompetence.
You couldn’t strip an elector’s status for being a goddamn idiot without tact.
But leaving him be? Risk of more weird stunts.
“In cases like this, best to defer to on-site judgment, right?”
“So you’re dumping it on Franz again?”
“Hey now, Theresa. Franz is this empire’s future Emperor. And you’ll be the Habsburg heir and Empress. You two handling this wisely is best for the Empire’s future. I trust you both.”
Sounds good. If not for the hunting gear peeking behind him.
“Sigh... Fine. We’ll handle it, so just stamp it.”
“No problem. No one in this empire stamps better than me.”
Actual brag.
On the way back after successfully carving up Poland,
I stopped in Saxony as Vienna requested.
“Your Highness Franz, what will you do with the Saxon Elector?”
Friedrich, predictably, stuck to my side for the front-row entertainment.
“Not sure. Have to talk it out first. His crimes are too ambiguously perched.”
“The man himself is ambiguous and hazy. Like that pea pudding they call a British delicacy.”
British food? That’s harsh.
“Didn’t you pass through Saxony before marching on Poland, Your Majesty? What’d he say?”
“Whined at first, so I showed him reality. Then he flipped to full cooperation. Probably the same now.”
A bit dim, but not a total fool—he’d grasp the situation minimally.
Maybe strip real power, keep the elector title, and turn him into my puppet.
Weighing options, we entered Dresden’s beautiful streets. From the gates to the palace, banners stretched everywhere, leaving Friedrich and me staring blankly.
“Poland’s new ruler! Long live Prussian King Friedrich! Long live German King Franz Stefan!”
“What the...”
Astoundingly, leading the welcome parade was the culprit himself: Saxon Elector Augustus III.
Beaming, he approached and bowed nearly ninety degrees to me.
“Your Highness Franz! Thank you for the long journey to Dresden! Did my gift please you?”
“Gift?”
“Yes! The Black Soil Region of Poland-Lithuania. From the start, I orchestrated this to give it all to Your Highness!”
When someone’s too absurd, words fail.
I froze, glancing at Friedrich.
He just blinked between me and Augustus III, speechless.
Never saw this coming.
Human survival instinct... truly remarkable.
I couldn’t help but admire it anew.