Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: The End of a Bitter Enmity
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“Good work suppressing the rebellion, Hans. I knew entrusting it to you was the right call.”
“You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”
“Haha! Today, you can drop the humility and boast all you want. The moment you arrived, the rebellion crumbled in an instant. And the foreign press even praised me, comparing me favorably to that devil Leopold.”
After departing from German South West Africa, I returned to Germany amid a warmer welcome than expected.
Not only had I neatly wrapped up the Herero War, but my propaganda to the journalists—pointing out how benevolent Germany was compared to Belgium—had clearly hit home. The German public, who’d once eyed me with suspicion, now started speaking positively about my performance.
Of course, the Junkers were gnashing their teeth, grumbling that they should have been the ones in that spot.
Too bad the train had already left the station—and arrived at its destination.
“I was right to entrust you with such a heavy responsibility. Now, chest out.”
Wilhelm II, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, smiled with satisfaction as he pinned a medal to my chest.
Of course, it wasn’t the German Empire’s highest honor, the Pour le Mérite. Instead, it was one of the Prussian Kingdom’s military medals, instituted in 1861: the Order of the Crown. Specifically, I received the Second Class.
The Pour le Mérite, established by Frederick the Great, was the most prestigious award in both Prussia and the German Empire. Suppressing a mere colonial revolt wasn’t enough to earn it.
Likewise, the Iron Cross—the medal most associated with the German Empire—wasn’t available, as awards had been suspended.
The Iron Cross was only bestowed during wartime.
That’s why it had been inactive since the Franco-Prussian War, only to be reinstated after the outbreak of World War I.
Of course, the Order of the Crown isn’t second-rate by any means.
This medal held prestige on par with the Red Eagle Order, second only to the Black Eagle Order.
However, German officers preferred the more traditional Red Eagle, so the Order of the Crown was typically awarded by the government when a reward was due but the Red Eagle felt too generous—or awkward.
Exactly my situation.
I also received the South West Africa Commemorative Medal, a souvenir for participants in the Herero suppression. It didn’t carry much weight.
The Boxer Rebellion had a similar China Medal, after all.
Still, in a sense, these two colonial wars left such a mark on the German Empire that separate commemorative medals were created.
“I’d love to elevate your title as well, but that might be jumping the gun.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m not asking for more at this point.”
My Junkers uncles were already puffing out their cheeks, shooting me jealous glares for my achievements.
Adding a title promotion would draw too much attention and provoke them excessively.
Besides, the German Empire lacked a viscount rank like Russia’s. After baron came count, and becoming one for quelling a single colonial revolt was a stretch.
Even if the Herero War was one of Germany’s more notable colonial conflicts.
For now, baron is plenty.
In fantasy tales, barons were low-tier nobles, but in reality, it was no pushover title.
Foreign Minister Richthofen was a baron, after all.
“I’m planning a banquet tonight to celebrate your return, but first, you should meet those waiting for you.”
“Yes. With the war in the Far East taking such an odd turn.”
Japan floundering as planned was expected, and so was the righteous army uprising sparked by Choi Ik-hyeon.
But the early uprising in the Korean Empire had tied Japan’s feet without altering the war’s course.
Japan still had Ito Hirobumi, their external annexation expert, alive and well.
Thanks to him, they were desperately clinging to control of the peninsula.
The Russian Imperial Army, ordered not to leave their trenches, had ventured out anyway, got schooled in trench warfare by the Japanese, and now hunkered down like shut-ins. The war was at a total stalemate.
Both sides were losing the will to fight as time dragged on.
Exactly the development I wanted.
“Tch. It would’ve been nice if Japan had suffered more.”
“Then Russia might actually win, Your Majesty. We don’t want them getting too big.”
“True enough.”
“As we discussed, America has stepped in to mediate between Russia and Japan. The war will end as we desire soon enough.”
Japan went without saying, Britain was fidgeting to collect on promises, and in Russia, Witte was starting to move to end the war.
Peace was just a matter of time.
“Then, Your Majesty, I’ll take my leave.”
“Very well. Good work, Hans.”
I bowed to Wilhelm II and turned to exit his office.
I had plenty of work and talks ahead.
But first, one matter to handle.
“So, how does it feel to see me alive and well, Field Marshal Waldersee?”
“Cough! Hack… Gasp… Gasp…!”
After leaving Potsdam, I headed straight to Waldersee’s villa in Hanover and looked down at the field marshal, who seemed on the verge of death.
The official reason was a sick visit, but that was just a pretext.
I’d come to inform the man who’d clung to life past his natural span by sheer obsession to witness my death that he had lost.
In technical terms, it’s called teabagging.
“You… You bastard… How…!”
“How am I alive? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice such a sloppy assassination plot? You’re seriously underestimating me.”
“Cough! Lud… Ludendorff…”
“Captain Ludendorff—no, soon to be Major, I suppose. Anyway, he’s doing fine in South West Africa. Oh, I should thank you, Field Marshal. Thanks to you, I got my hands on a useful slave.”
“Cough! Hack hack hack!”
Waldersee coughed violently, unable to continue, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me.
His gaze brimmed with sticky, profound resentment and hatred, as if cursing me even from beyond the grave.
Sorry, but I don’t believe in ghosts.
Ironic, given my fall from 21st-century Korea to 20th-century Germany.
“That said, I’m not going to tattle about your assassination attempt. I’m busy enough without extra hassle. Besides, you look ready to drop into hell’s flames soon—no need for me to intervene.”
“You… Disgusting chink…! You’re the cancer that’ll ruin the German Empire… Cough! Hack hack!”
“Me, ruining the Empire? Seems like a misunderstanding. It’s the opposite, actually. Why do you think I’m working so hard?”
It’s all to save the German Empire.
Not that Waldersee would ever admit it, even in death.
“Anyway, I’ll be off. I have a meeting with Chief of the General Staff Schlieffen.”
“You… You…!!”
“Take care of yourself, Field Marshal Waldersee. Oh, almost forgot.”
I nearly overlooked it.
I leaned in one last time.
“Major Ludendorff sends his regards.”
“Hans Choooooi!!! Cough! Hack hack!!”
The field marshal spat blood, screaming my name.
Soon after, word of his passing reached me.
It wasn’t particularly important.
“I was impressed by your exploits in the Herero War, Hans.”
“I didn’t do much. Governor Leutwein and his men were the capable ones.”
“Tactically, perhaps. But the overall strategy—wasn’t that your idea?”
Schlieffen set down his teacup with a subtle smile.
“If you want to go to the war academy even now…”
“Chief of the General Staff, we agreed not to bring that up.”
“Tch.”
Schlieffen clicked his tongue, looking disappointed.
He was always trying to turn me into a soldier the moment I let my guard down.
I had considered joining the military, of course.
But honestly, with my past life’s ordinary service—shared by most Korean youths—what could I achieve?
Besides, the German army was full of talent even without me.
Especially in World War II, with legends like Walter Model, Manstein, Guderian, Rommel, Hoth—too many to count on fingers.
To rise high, I’d have to compete with them.
No thanks.
And the military is Junkers territory.
Schlieffen liked me, but most of the military didn’t.
I wasn’t a masochist like the Kaiser, so I had no hobby of walking into the lion’s den.
Above all, the German Empire’s urgent issues were diplomatic.
In German terms, I needed to be a Bismarck, not a Great Moltke.
Even if it was mere imitation.
Personally, diplomacy and politics suit my tastes more than the military.
Sorry, Schlieffen, but I had no intention of enlisting.
My past-life service was enough.
“By the way, the ‘trench warfare’ shown by the Russians in the Far East was fascinating.”
“Is that so?”
“I never imagined trenches, machine guns, and barbed wire could be so devastating. Japanese casualties already exceed 100,000, they say?”
I nodded at Schlieffen’s words.
In original history, Japan lost about 80,000 in the Russo-Japanese War. This was staggering.
That was trench warfare’s terror.
It stripped war of romance, reducing the dead to mere numbers.
“Of course, the Japanese high command bears blame for throwing troops at fully fortified lines.”
“The submachine gun performed well too, right?”
“Indeed. The Russians treasure them like jewels. Our army’s calls for mass adoption are growing louder. Never mind the ammo consumption.”
No worries there.
Germany had Fritz Haber and his ammonia synthesis process—the Haber-Bosch method.
Once developed, it would enable cheap nitrogen fertilizers and explosives, solving ammo issues.
But Haber also created poison gas, history’s worst mass weapon.
No wonder he was hailed as humanity’s savior for smashing Malthus’s trap, yet reviled as a mass murderer.
Even his scientist wife was so shocked by his gas work that she begged him to stop. When he didn’t, she took her own life in despair.
“Lately, it’s been troubling me.”
“The submachine gun?”
“No, trench warfare. I’ve been working on something recently…”
“Baron!”
As Schlieffen began to speak, someone called urgently.
It was Foreign Minister Richthofen.
“Phew, there you are!”
“Foreign Minister, is something urgent?”
“Yes, an emergency. Word just came from Finance Minister Witte via the Russian ambassador: the Russian Empire is dispatching the Baltic Fleet to the Far East.”
“What?!”
I shot up from my seat.
The Pacific Fleet was still intact, Admiral Makarov alive—why send that one?
This makes no sense.
From what I knew, Russia wanted to end the war.
Sending the Baltic Fleet meant they intended to keep fighting.
This violated our deal.
“Witte passed this on?”
“Yes.”
“Then something’s slipped even his control. We need details. Chief of the General Staff, I must excuse myself.”
“Mm.”
I hastily bowed to Schlieffen and followed Richthofen to meet the Russian ambassador.
Left alone, Schlieffen pulled a map from his pocket with a complicated expression.
“Looks like we’ll discuss this later.”