Wings of Freedom #7: The Fuse Lit by Lenin's Shadow
Behind the outbreak of that war—unwanted by any of the three powers, Korea, Russia, or Japan—lurked the Comintern. Or rather, Lenin's special forces.
"The fuse is lit."
"Good!"
The outrageous scheme by those Japanese imperialists—who dared to pit their Korean comrades against their Russian comrades—was rejected outright by the Russian comrades upon receiving the report from the Japanese branch.
And Japan, greatly satisfied with the human blood oath on display in Busan bearing the name Nogi, urged Russia to track down the culprit.
Just like they did to Austria—ever the empire.
Of course, the Tsar—who could tolerate no loss of prestige at this juncture—responded to the islanders' ridiculous pretext by screaming for more war, doubling down.
The Siberian Railway had been double-tracked; what was there to fear?
For a man mired in the swamp of revolution, fighting terrorists on the railway was less appealing than using that very railway for war.
Anyway, he just wanted to break even.
Of course, there's no way he'd lose.
He'd been itching to declare martial law anyway, so this was perfect.
And so, war broke out.
Japanese troops finally landed in Vladivostok and, inevitably, Kamchatka.
This meant that, at this point, both Japan and Russia wanted war.
They hurled accusations at each other, trotting out utterly unconvincing excuses, but those reasons meant nothing, frankly.
The Supreme Leader hadn't even bothered reading the reports.
He just stared out the window.
To him, the real issue with this chain of events wasn't the truth, the pretexts, or the reports.
Unlike Japan's original plan, they currently had no battleships.
Having tried to fabricate a pretext beforehand, only to receive an ultimatum, they had no choice but to launch a surprise landing from freighters.
With Japan lacking battleships to check them at present, Russia had none in the East Sea either.
The Supreme Leader didn't know Japan's original plan, but he knew that fact.
And what would happen if war broke out in such circumstances.
Right now, neither Russia nor Japan had naval power in the East Sea.
What that implied was simple: no quick decisive victories.
To the Supreme Leader, that was the core problem.
The war wouldn't end at sea, but in the brutal Siberian wilderness.
That alone dropped both empires into the speculative arena of Siberia.
It's an ill wind that blows nobody good.
He could feel red Siberia opening its maw, waiting for the two empires.
Jimreiner—no, Jimlenin—that bald bastard tossed his cap skyward.
With this, the revolution would accelerate by at least a decade.
So he believed.
"Now it's our revolution too!"
"Good!!"
"""Good!!"""
"What the hell are those Russian bastards up to now?"
"No idea? If they just drink and brawl like last time, that'd be great. It was hilarious."
The Russian revolutionaries envied this Korea deep down.
To them, the Secretary-General might be a thorough revisionist, but it was still a soviet anyway.
Whatever it was, it beat tsarism, didn't it?
Korea still had its repressive, somewhat authoritarian elements, but seeing it gradually loosening up in revolutionary ways made them dream they could do the same.
Whatever it is, it's still better than tsarism...
The Korean Christian communal gatherings every morning felt familiar to these Orthodox Russians.
And the Supreme Leader's one-man rule? To revolutionaries dreaming of tsarism's dictatorship of the proletariat and beyond to communism, it was all too familiar.
That made them envy it even more. More, more, more.
Why had the Orientals succeeded while they—Westerners(?), Slavs—couldn't?
They called Russia the prison of nations, shouting for national liberation, yet these Untermench Slavs secretly believed in white superiority. If the Orientals had done it, surely they could too.
It wasn't just in their heads; here it stood, bold and real.
The Korean commune was so well-organized that even London was wary.
Sure, the party let its members roam a bit freely, but wasn't that still leadership? That was dictatorship of the proletariat.
Some comrades crossed the line, suggesting Korea hadn't stopped at proletarian dictatorship but achieved full communism—a rather revisionist remark—but the more moderate ones among them just sent those Menshevik comrades on permanent study abroad to Korea.
They weren't the Tsar, after all.
Siberia's cold was harsh on these fervent comrades, who had suffered it firsthand.
"Now back to the west! The fuse of permanent revolution is right before us!"
The months-long struggle between tsarism and revolutionaries had reached its peak.
The fuse was lit at last.
This storm, born in the far eastern boondocks, would sweep west, overturning Russia and then Germany, civilization itself.
At the leadership's signal that the time had come, the revolutionaries—having drunk their fill in Korea and engaged in wild debates—rose as one.
"""Death to the Tsar—freedom to the people!"""
Death to the Emperor—freedom to the people!
They would build a far cooler soviet than this Korea's. One with a Secretary-General but no emperor.
Japan finally punched first at Russia.
Japan, panicked by the ultimatum, landed straight from freighters flying the Korean flag onto Vladivostok and Kamchatka.
After all the accusations and ultimatums, war had finally erupted—in the form of a Japanese surprise attack.
With things as they were, Britain decided to offload its obsolete battleships sooner rather than later.
To Japan.
First dibs, with extras thrown in—who'd refuse that? Especially when you're desperate for a bathroom break.
And these were premium British battleships.
Britain aimed to curb Korea's hostility while bolstering a needy Japan to check Korea and Russia.
They needed to drag Korea to the negotiating table first, ahead of Russia.
Japan, of course, shouted "OK!" at the offer.
Chosen over Russia and Korea—how touching. They could've sealed an Anglo-Japanese alliance right then.
To Japan at this point, the Tsar's ultimatum had been a shock.
No matter how fabricated the pretext, which country in the world responds to a simple extradition request with a sovereignty violation claim and an ultimatum?
Japan had planned to seize sea dominance with battleships later and occupy Siberia.
Not fight Russia man-to-man in Siberia forever.
The goal of this first war was securing bases in Kamchatka and eastern Siberia, wasn't it?
So Japan responded to the ultimatum by pre-emptively occupying Vladivostok and Kamchatka.
Vladivostok to draw in Korea, Kamchatka as their own goal—they knew failure to seize them now meant no bargaining power later.
But with objectives met, they absolutely needed those British battleships delivered before the Baltic Fleet rounded the world.
Otherwise, the nightmare of a war that wasn't a war would repeat.
If sea lanes to the occupied territories were cut, they'd be isolated.
They'd trusted Korea would open the way if they just occupied.
But before Britain or Japan could complain, Korea declared strict neutrality—surrendering, no, slamming into neutral gear. So they needed sea lanes.
As neutrals, they could only expect a mediator role if Japan lost anyway.
So, Korea must dislike this traitorous behavior from Japan.
In that case, no choice but to push hard.
To Japan, the Supreme Leader was thoroughly lukewarm toward the strong.
Even toward those motormouths, he wasn't lukewarm, despite his mighty army.
So Japan just needed to grow stronger.
Then even Korea would respect them.
Emotions aside, Britain growing Japan to check Korea.
Japan growing itself to earn more respect from Korea, whatever Korea thought.
In a way, their partnership was as inevitable as Korea's own growth.
The Supreme Leader, who had foreseen this long ago, just shut up the sailors chattering beside him.
Britain selling six or eight battleships to Japan—it was all the same.
"If I build one battleship, they'll build two. Two, and they'll build four."
To him, it was obvious.
Getting mad wouldn't fix it.
So those sailors endlessly yammering about building ships? Off to ideological re-education camp.
"Quiet."
The Supreme Leader's command—shut up and listen—rang out after ages.
Ahead of this Anglo-Japanese alliance (not quite), they snapped to attention, blades drawn.
We absolutely cannot intervene in the Russo-Japanese War. Whether Japan cozies up to Britain or not—never. Siberia awaits if we slip.
If the Supreme Leader decided thus in this nation, Korea had no choice.
So Korea would just watch this death race from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
It'd be a hell of a show, after all.
A battleship race? Box office gold.
Thus, rather than head to Siberia, the Supreme Leader decided to hype the spectacle further.
Above all, a three-way race needs obstacles.
As sponsor and stakeholder, Korea would scatter minor hurdles before the two racing for hype's sake.
Because they'd committed to making it a show.
-Boom-
Unlike Britain's obsolete battleships trailing in a line toward Japan from behind the canal, the Korean battleship—gleaming at the front, heading to Korea—met its fate.
Named the Yi Sun-sin class by the sailors, Korea's first battleship and first dreadnought turned to scrap before even delivery.
An inexplicable explosion aboard punched a perfect hole in the hull.
Sinking right in the canal's center, blocking all passage—it was an obstacle Britain had never imagined.
Well, they'd imagined it, sort of.
They'd told Russian battleships earlier, "You're warships; per the Suez Canal Neutrality Treaty, you can't pass."
Theirs weren't commissioned yet, were decommissioned, and not Japanese yet—so they passed.
But Russian ones? Already commissioned, active duty, mid-war—no.
Yet the Evergreen—no, the Yi Sun-sin-class battleship anchored in the canal's heart.
Forever.
Japan's eight battleships now faced a total no-go.
How to backtrack with battleships? Who knew—but the Russo-Japanese War entered a new phase.