Behind-the-Scenes #1: The Indefinite Gentlemen’s Agreement
The Gentlemen’s Agreement was an armistice without a set expiration date. And the toxic armistice was precisely that—an armistice with no fixed end. The kind where prisoners are exchanged along the current borderlines. Of course, at this point, it was just called the Gentlemen’s Agreement and was technically an armistice, but neither Germany nor the Soviets saw it as a full peace treaty. Not as long as they had the Korean Empire’s support and tacit approval.
In other words, if the Korean Empire turned against them, their little world would instantly become one massive battlefield. Knowing full well how they viewed the Korean Empire, we split our forces to the rear under the pretext of civilian support operations. It was a strong signal that we had no intention of letting a German-Soviet war ever break out.
The problem was the Kaiser’s sudden order to send reservists east. Austria-Hungary already had most of its army deployed to the east, and they were even borrowing our help to focus on the Western Front. Now he wanted reinforcements for the Eastern Front? Poland, of all places? Was he seriously talking about reigniting the Eastern Front at this stage?
From the military’s perspective, as long as the Soviets played nice, concentrating on the West made perfect sense. The Western Front was already cracking. The Kaiser’s overtures to America and Italy’s trolling had put Britain and France on the defensive. This was our chance—the one the Kaiser himself had created.
But his orders were unequivocal. The enemy was aiming for Warsaw-Prague, and beyond that, Berlin and Vienna. They’d only retreated like the tide, and they’d launch a massive offensive soon. Probably right after the prisoner exchange ended.
The military brass couldn’t entirely dismiss it. If they could secure some compromise on the West, those weakened Slavs would bitterly regret not turning this brief Gentlemen’s Agreement into a permanent peace long ago. They’d have to consider that.
But what puzzled them was: “Even if mounting an expedition into Russia right now is tough, defending the homeland should be doable without immediate conscription, right?”“Why shove reservists all the way into Poland?”
Poland mattered, sure. But was it worth conscripting nearly every able-bodied man and skilled worker to defend? Didn’t they have Austria-Hungary for that?
Germany was screwed top to bottom, and in the end, they botched the timing and location too. Hungary got peeled off because of fundamental perceptual gaps. There were reasons for all this.
First off, Germany assumed Austria-Hungary was naturally holding the Eastern and Southern Fronts while still aiding their Western Front. Not entirely wrong. Over half of Austria-Hungary’s army was pinned along the Eastern border, with the rest mostly in the Balkans. With Italy looking like it might flip, their all-around vigilance seemed airtight.
That perception was dead wrong. On paper, maybe. But Austria-Hungary was already struggling with regional imbalances; supplying and maintaining the Hungarian front was a nightmare. Austria itself was isolated except for the Czech-Vienna axis to the Adriatic and the Budapest-Vienna line. They’d laid rails and tried developing the hinterlands to placate locals, but the country was so German-centric it skewed everything leftward.
And their fronts were in those very underdeveloped backwaters—Balkans and Hungarian outskirts. Natural barriers they couldn’t abandon, but holding them was draining their national strength and manpower drop by drop. They couldn’t pull back from the border either; it was just an Gentlemen’s Agreement. Lose those mountains, and the country was done.
That’s exactly what we targeted. War means striking the enemy’s weak spots. Germany’s vulnerability was Austria-Hungary, and Austria-Hungary’s was Hungary. We just had to tease Hungary gently, maintain the standoff there, and they’d weaken themselves breathing. So we never let the Gentlemen’s Agreement become a real peace. No matter how they begged through back channels, we urged them to hold the borders. Or those scary yellow hordes would swarm over the mountains.
We poked at them from the Balkans and Hungary alike. Contrary to Germany’s belief that Austria-Hungary was husbanding strength unlike us, they could barely breathe. Their borders were too long relative to their power. If it hadn’t dragged into a protracted war, they might’ve held, but unfortunately, it did.
Austria-Hungary had no choice but to gnaw at itself without Korea or the Soviets slamming their mountain lines. And gnaw they did—until nothing was left. Hungary and the Balkans got patched somehow, but the rest didn’t. Germany, fixated on those fronts, thought they were overextending heroically. Internally, it was a total shitshow.
And that misperception cost Germany crucial time and place. We didn’t wait for the prisoner exchange under the Gentlemen’s Agreement to wrap up. It wasn’t just because neither side were gentlemen.
Germany figured we’d lead the Eastern Front push and dispersed to the rear, guessing our attack timing. But we waited for them to mass reservists east. They thought war would start once we were ready; we planned to strike once they were.
The prisoner swap? Irrelevant to us. Once Germany had mustered every last man in Poland to grind down the yellow hordes, and they sensed our Eastern forces stirring—expecting the big push—that’s when we launched a silent war. No Soviets involved.
The Soviets stayed in armistice with Germany; we broke out alone, not as Russia’s avengers or Britain’s allies, but on our own. Germany, geared up to fight both us and them, was baffled—we didn’t come east. We hit south.
Faster and more threatening than they imagined. We lightly hopped the Adriatic and landed. “The Dual Monarchy seeks Korea and Britain’s cooperation from Algeria.” That was the real issue—for Germany and Austria.
With France and Italy at war, Italy siding with Germany and Austria? Hardly. Hilariously, for Italy to snatch Algeria from France, they needed dominance over the Mediterranean—courtesy of Korea and Britain.
Whatever France thought, it was true. Britain and Korea had bought Italy’s cooperation in advance with cash and troops. We reorganized the Southern Army Group in the Balkans and Albania into landing forces.
British and colonial troops had taken heavy losses at Gallipoli, so we led the reorganization. Germany, Austria, and Britain figured it was to check Italy. No way.
Britain hesitated after Gallipoli’s bitterness but found our pitch for a true second front irresistible. They preferred the East, but Italy or a second Balkans front? Fine.
We had no intention of hitting Italy or the Balkans. Straight shot to the Adriatic’s depths—a dropship right into Austria’s heart. Italy couldn’t stop it anyway. Landing there would force us to pin dozens of divisions—waste of money and time.
But bypass Italy no-look and slam Austria? Violate Italian waters? They’d protest, but with us controlling the Adriatic gates, what could they do? Land, toss Italy some real estate like dog treats, done.
And it worked. Austria watched helplessly as our landing force materialized from across the sea. We’d been softening their coastal forts for this.
No other targets. Even during the Gentlemen’s Agreement, our battleships—under British naval command—patrolled and shelled Austrian coasts at whim. We’d agreed with Germany, not Britain. Fireworks nonstop along the shore.
We didn’t close for bombardment; from beyond fortress range, we just hosed them with main guns. Austria couldn’t tell if it presaged landings.
We shelled whenever bored. Battleships are the most efficient main-gun platforms—floating at sea. With disarmament treaties looming, we milked them dry.
But landing was landing; the follow-up was key. If Austria read the barrages as invasion precursors, they’d have thrown in the guards to repel.
Landings start isolated; push them back. But our ships just kept shelling on D-Day—no landing craft in sight. Just several aircraft carriers, dozens to hundreds of times larger.
Pure dropship—bomb drop. Tactically, we smashed openly after strategic surprise. Carriers owned the skies, obliterating Austria-Hungary’s rails and arsenals first.
That’s why they just watched. Couldn’t stop paratroops? Fine. But as transports followed, landings built up, pushing to Vienna—Austria-Hungary had to shift everything from Hungary and Balkans.
What was left? Unimaginable timing, vacuum assault. “Tanks to Vienna? Just armored cars pushing through, and Austria-Hungary got decapitated.”
Then Hungary, thinking the coast clear, declared independence from the war. And from Germany. They’d half-doubted it all along but caved to our firm persuasion.
That’s why we’d wooed Hungary so hard—no need to occupy it ourselves. Let Hungarians sort Hungary; no trenches to stop our armor between us and Germany.
We rolled up, startled German troops tumbling from Poland, then U-turned, blew rails retreating. “Come to Vienna if you dare.” Before we fully landed, the Kaiser had to choose: reclaim secessionist Hungary and rally troops, or merge Austria per our proposal.
He picked the latter. How trust a neighbor you can’t even defend your yard from? Austria’s impotence shocked Germany beyond words.
Thus, Korea and Germany entered another Gentlemen’s Agreement—to exchange isolated troops in Hungary.
In the end, it was Germany’s blunder assuming Italy was already on their side. Why would Italy side with Germanic Deutschland?
“Unless Germany knocks France out in six weeks—impossible.”