Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Polish Crisis (1)
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In February 1939, as the Korean Empire grappled with the fallout from its "revolutionary reeducation camps," Germany kicked off its annexation of Czechoslovakia.
Europe was aghast to see that mustache stirring up trouble again.
"You promised you'd stop at the Sudetenland, didn't you?"
"Did I? I think I did, but anyone who believed me must be an idiot, right?"
Hitler had trashed Germany's credibility as a nation.
On March 15, 1939, the German Wehrmacht occupied Czechoslovakia.
Slovakia was spun off as an independent protectorate, while Bohemia-Moravia became a protectorate.
Czechoslovakia was no more.
The lesson for Europeans was crystal clear.
"Don't believe a word that con artist Hitler says—not even if he tells you seawater is salty."
Britain and France finally faced the fact that a showdown with Hitler was inevitable.
Better late than never, they got the picture.
Poland caught on late too.
"If you hand over Danzig and the Polish Corridor, we'll guarantee Poland's security."
"Handing them over is absurd to begin with, and even if we did, you'd just demand more—why should we?"
Poland rejected all of Germany's territorial demands outright.
What Poland didn't realize was that Hitler wasn't the only one craving its land.
From the right-wingers excluding the Nazis to even the Social Democrats, every faction in Germany yearned to reclaim the lost territories.
From the moment Germany's leader demanded Polish soil, he might as well have climbed onto the guillotine himself—no turning back.
"If we can't get payback, we're done for anyway."
With economic pressures mounting, the Nazis were desperate in their own way to reclaim the eastern territories.
"Uh, we'll hand it over, big brothers."
On March 23, 1939, Lithuania returned Memel—the German territory it had swallowed right after World War I—to Germany.
Emboldened by the Memel success, Germany dug in harder.
"If we sit this out again, forget international law—the entire anti-German encirclement collapses."
On March 30, 1939, the international referees Britain and France made a big call.
"In case of war, we guarantee military aid to Poland."
The referees flashed a yellow card at the mustache: a warning to watch himself.
"Führer, if the Anglo-French get involved, war becomes dicey. Better to explore other options."
"You're wrong! Those guys are total cowards! Push hard enough, and they'll cough it all up!"
Hitler wasn't scared one bit.
He was convinced brute force would solve everything.
Poles stiffened up against Germany's hardline drive too.
"We'll stand and die before kneeling to live."
"Oh yeah?"
On April 28, 1939, Germany scrapped the 1934 German-Polish non-aggression pact and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement.
Italy invaded Albania too.
In May 1939, the two fascist powers signed the Pact of Steel, formalizing their alliance.
Now across the ring stood Germany and Italy, two heavyweights teamed up.
"Britain, France—you two are a team? Well, we've evened the numbers now."
With things escalating like this, war was just a matter of time, obvious to anyone.
As Germany—the anti-communist powerhouse—showed signs of starting a war, the Soviets got antsy.
"If the Germans spark a war, won't we get dragged in too? Propose a collective security setup to those Western imperialists."
Stalin made one last push for talks with Britain and France.
"Our three nations guarantee the security of every country from the Baltic to the Mediterranean. If even one is attacked, the three great powers hit Germany together."
It was a desperate proposal from Stalin's corner.
But no reply came.
"Do we have to respond to those red bastards' pitch?"
"Let's mull it over nice and slow. Oh, and we don't need to bother with diplomatic niceties against commies, right?"
Britain turned up its nose.
As Europe teetered on the brink of war, voices in Korea started clamoring for it too.
Not from the Koreans, of course.
"Ah, defy His Majesty and it's revolution time."
Scared stiff of the reeducation camps, Koreans weren't about to blab like before.
Even the war-hungry military felt the same.
"Just utter the first syllable of 'war,' and that whole department's budget goes poof."
Seong-jun's persuasion (budgets) worked wonders.
Foreigners were different, though.
"Prime Minister, sir. Europe's whites are staring down war. If World War II erupts like this, the Western powers won't spare a glance for their Asian colonies. Seize the chance to liberate our suffering Asian brothers."
Droves of Asian international students flooded No Jae-woo's desk with letters.
Asians were petitioning Korea for independence.
Surprisingly, plenty quietly nodded along.
The quiet nods? Pure fear of "revolution"—nothing else.
Once the reeducation camps shut down, support for the Asian brothers burst forth like a dam breaking.
"The Empire must shoulder the white man's burden! Asia for Asians!"
No matter how Seong-jun schemed or pushed "civilianization," the Empire was still the Empire.
In an empire where DNA itself was steeped in militarism, expansionism felt as natural as breathing.
Maybe it was baked into the nation's birth.
"To compete with a heavyweight like China, we have to keep growing—devouring."
After centuries of this, snuffing out that razor-honed martial spirit now?
Impossible.
Finally, backed by endless petitions, whispers emerged from military corners.
"What if we draft a plan just in case all of Europe gets swept into war?"
"Doesn't His Majesty flip out at the mere whiff of war?"
"I know. But it's just prep."
"Hmm."
The Operations Division figured it sounded reasonable.
*'As long as His Majesty doesn't find out, we're good?'*
Not like they were committing to war—just prepping.
"Assign one section to quietly draw up some plans."
In a corner of the War Ministry, war planning kicked off without Seong-jun's knowledge.
*
"Man, I wanna rip that damn mustache off his face."
Why hasn't the guy offed himself already?
In the midst of this, the mustache proposed we join the Pact of Steel.
I ignored the diplomatic fluff this time.
Are we Axis? Why?
I radiated "no way in hell" from every pore.
Try dragging us into World War II like some drowned ghost?
No dice.
Not unless someone shoots Lee Seong-jun in the head.
Anyway, time to cut Germany loose was nearing.
Gotta suck 'em dry first.
I tossed Germany this offer.
"Jewish problem weighing you down? If you've got nowhere to send them, Korea's fine. We've got wide-open uncultivated land for immigrants."
Blatant bid for Jewish brains.
Even the old Japanese Empire had eyed Jews with its Fugu Plan.
Japan's Fugu Plan flopped hard, but if it boosted national power by even 0.001%, worth a shot.
I instructed the JoongAng Ilbo trio and Dongyang Ilbo's Hankyung Oh publisher to run pro-Jewish invite pieces.
Radio broadcasts hammered home the need to import top foreign talent for Korea's sci-tech leap.
"The gap between Korea and the West is vast. To bridge it, we need fresh blood and brains!"
Kept dangling that Jewish invite bait, and German Ambassador Eugen Ott perked up.
"Berlin's reviewing positively. But Jews emigrating to Korea can't take their wealth."
Didn't expect squat from the Nazis.
If they send 'em in underwear, that's a win—these guys ain't parting with property.
Hoped Germany would send a bunch anyway.
Maybe a thousand?
Since we're taking Jews, better if war drags a bit.
Clinging to faint hope, I fired off a letter to Poland.
"If Warsaw stays stubborn, the Soviets might lose patience and sign a Nazi-Soviet pact. Then you'd face enemies on both sides—game over. Face reality before it's too late. Poland can't take on two at once."
My last favor to Poland.
Wishful thinking, sure, that Poland—if smart—would grant Soviet transit rights.
After the Soviet-Polish War twenty years back, no way they trust the Soviets.
Once Czechoslovakia got carved up, Poland's fate was sealed.
Any aces up my sleeve?
Thought about writing Hitler, but nah.
If a letter swayed him, we wouldn't be here.
Stalin? Guy's rational.
Logic might land.
Problem: Hitler offers more than me.
No aces.
I picked up the phone.
"Foreign Ministry, please. Ah, Minister? Lee Seong-jun here. Need you to start evacuating our nationals. Yes. Deadline: August 30. Right, handle it that way."
I accepted war as fact faster than anyone.
Now, just stumbling through the dark, nothing set in stone.
Can I—this Empire—survive the massive storm sweeping the world?
Beats me.
I sat there, receiver down, lost in thought.