Prelude #6: 1914
"You bastard, this is a betrayal of the revolution!"
"The revolution has already been achieved, comrade."
In exchange for maintaining the Bavarian Council Republic and securing greater equal rights, they sold out Lenin and the vanguard, along with the International leadership, to Germany.
Lenin and the vanguard, rather than becoming the Comintern, chose to join the ranks of the privileged like Hungary in Austria-Hungary. Deeply disappointed by comrades who not only allied with nationalists but embraced the revolution's failure itself, they fled into exile in Switzerland.
Because of them, the Comintern—an international organization—lost its legitimacy and purity, degenerating into just another interest group.
Of course traitors would emerge.
"I'll come back."
Then, they would truly liberate Germany. Even if he failed, some other comrade would surely succeed. The liberators of Germany and Britain, the two holy lands, were the true legitimate successors to Marxism.
'Organizations joining councils have already sprung up across Europe. Yes, the revolution can be halted, but it cannot be reversed.'
Unlike the old Second International, which was little more than a workers' federation, the Third International—backed by the full might of a nation—was ideologically organized and armed, even if it bore national colors. This remained true even now, after Lenin had been betrayed and expelled by the Bavarian nationalists.
"We've shown those imperialist sons of bitches the people's fury."
This anti-imperialist Third International, though evicted from its Bavarian headquarters, had—as befitted an international body—planted armed forces across Europe, no, the entire world, and still commanded them overall. Being expelled from Bavaria only transformed it further into a true international organization.
"The North African Liberation Front is still battling the Italian imperialists."
"The North-North African Liberation Front is propagandizing that the Moroccan invasion war spills Spanish blood while the imperialist French just laugh."
"The Italian Liberation Front vows to march on Rome, but... uh... I don't really know why."
What the hell? I don't know either. Scary.
Lenin, now in exile in Switzerland, couldn't fathom what Comrade Mussolini was thinking, but he decided to give credit to the effort amid these dire conditions. Italy had to be liberated for North Africa to follow, and North Africa for the Iberian Peninsula.
Shove a razor to the throat of those imperialists, and they wouldn't stay calm. Just look at the German-French squabble over Morocco—they were still more focused on fighting colonies, independents, and revolutionaries than each other.
This filled Lenin with contempt, but also a strange sense of relief. Paradoxically, while the revolution was stalled, their full commitment to suppressing it meant war among themselves was unlikely—for now.
"This is war."
"Pardon?"
"War. Prepare. For war."
Sorry to the widows and orphans about to wail at fresh graves, but humanity's guardian Lenin's turn was over. Now it was my turn as the doomsayer.
I quietly folded the newspaper announcing that the Kingdom of Bavaria—no, the Bavarian Council Republic—had rejoined the German Empire, or rather the German Federation, as a constituent state with superior status and autonomy.
Lenin had failed to prove that social justice and humanity still lived in Europe? Then it was my turn. Hell, in this world, neither justice nor humanity existed anyway—my turn.
Comrade Lenin might grit his teeth and insist the revolution hadn't failed yet, but honestly, that was none of my business.
Lost your home base? Game's tilted, then.
Truth be told, after being dragged to Joseon, my goal was just to limp along economically until we hit export-led growth. Full steam ahead if luck allowed, maybe even build a Manban-do.
But the world permitted neither. Joseon suddenly became the celestial Great Korean Empire, and when I tried isolationism anyway, even that was denied. Britain dragged the Korean Empire into the global game.
What could I do? The world needed to be a better place. If I didn't want to swallow all the disgusting sewage spreading across it, the world had to be "cleaned" first.
So what now? Dive into the World Water Quality Management War.
This wasn't optional. I'd briefly pinned hopes on Lenin midway, but did the world ever make things easy for me?
I'd promised Germany I'd pull all troops from the Korean protest over the Ottoman pearl grab—then sent more. Supplies had to go in, after all. How long did I say? Not "right now," right?
Extracting the follow-on units from Iraq? Probably take a year or so. With Korean troops holding the capital, the Ottomans couldn't join the war anyway. My final courtesy. I'd pull out eventually, but this bought them some neutrality time.
If they insisted on riding the German coin, nothing I could do. Just rip away Iraq.
"Have the mobile forces vacating the Ottoman capital negotiate with Russia and stand by in Ukraine. It's a rare vacation. Ukraine's full of beauties, they say."
"Yes, sir."
"And no screwing around."
With Germany's naval arms race ambitions against Britain materializing, Russia's odds of picking a fight with Korea converged to 0%. Conversely, they were probably wondering if Korea would truly join a great war against Germany.
Not quite 0%—they were Slavs, after all. Korean troops? Buncha pure yellow-bellies, right? Sure. But not to Russia. They'd been burned bad once. Humans only learn pain after a solid ass-kicking.
If they sat idle in Ukraine waiting for trains that never came, while Germany executed the Schlieffen Plan and Austria annexed Bosnia—or hell, Serbia—my mobile forces could charge straight in, snap both legs of the Triple Alliance—no, Quadruple Alliance.
A legless Germany versus sky-flying Korean mobile forces? Victory odds at 0%.
More precisely, the war would be won from that point.
'When Russia issues general mobilization, feint north with media play threatening Posen and Berlin, then hard left turn. As Germany advances Schlieffen, hit Kraut fully, isolate Galicia.'
'Thoroughly destroy all Galician oil fields with Russian forces—primary objective achieved.'
'Swing around, invade neutral Romania, wreck oil regions. Secondary objective on destruction success.'
Romania siding with Germany over neutrality violation? Not even ant-shit scary. What scared me was Romanian oil—and Germany guzzling it. Not their army.
"Neutrals can't be touched"? You mean the "neutrality" of selling oil to Germany?
Smash both decent German oil sources in WWI, and Germany becomes legless. No running even if they wanted. Lure them back, widen the front, sweep 'em up—they couldn't retreat without fuel. Railroads suit swapping supplies, corpses, recruits, and casualties—not retreats. Especially half-encircled.
'Galicia, Romania—stuff bombs down every drill pipe, shatter the underground reservoirs themselves. Make recovery impossible forever.'
Presumptuously, I secretly hoped Germany would develop synthetic oil and rubber tech this chance. I'd confiscate it post-war. Force their scientists to grind it out. Then snag it after.
'Economic damage from wrecked reservoirs? Environmental disaster? Who gives a fuck.'
Could Russia do that shit? Poland and Romania as their potential turf? Nah. They'd torch or blow derricks at best. But they'd want the oil later. So Germany rebuilds, teeth gritted. Thus, Korea had to do it.
Only Korea could surgically gut those reservoirs.
'Don't worry, Russia. And become the Soviets, for sure. Korea will make you win.'
Not even bad for Europeans. Wipe oil zones from German reach, curb their chronic invasion lust. Art student Adolf might rethink charging Baku sans oil fields once war kicked off.
No proper oil anywhere Poland, Romania, or German grasp touched!
The Supreme Leader signed sealed orders for the mobile forces, dismissed everyone, and settled in to await Archduke Franz Ferdinand's demise.
Not just waiting, though. As long as it was in Serbia, right?
'No regrets. Hell, I agree with you, Your Highness.'
I truly agreed with ditching nationalism bullshit for mutual prosperity. But what could be done? Just as they exploited natives without remorse, I'd clean them from the world without remorse.
Truly no regrets. Business as usual.
The Supreme Leader closed his eyes, savoring how posterity would brand him a fool and idiot. Surely some future critic would whine about Schlieffen, note Posen and Berlin undefended, claim my mobile forces could've ended the war racing to Berlin—but for my fatal misjudgment.
Overrating Germany's East Army, vaporizing Polish oil fields with Posen and Berlin in sight, invading neutral Romania? Dictator's emotional folly, they'd cry.
My response? Spot on—it was a misjudgment. Willfully forgoing a chance to end a war that killed tens of millions, letting those tens of millions die? The very definition of "misjudgment."