Marching Out
The wartime mobilization of a modern state carries a completely different meaning from that of previous eras. Defense spending is a bottomless pit that does absolutely nothing to foster economic growth.
Modern nations operate on the fundamental premise of continuous economic growth. If the growth rate drops, the state falters; if the economy shrinks, a depression ensues.
Abandoning the production of consumer goods to focus entirely on military manufacturing? Starving the civilian sector of its budget to keep pouring resources into the bottomless pit of the military?
If such economic conditions persisted for long, the South would collapse under its own weight. In other words, the moment mobilization began, the South was placed on a ticking clock.
And there was only one way to extend this borrowed time.
War.
Through mobilization, the South would transform into a massive war machine, sustaining its own life by devouring its enemies.
An excessive measure just to deal with the West? I knew that. Given the West's geography, where all its fortresses and key strongholds were concentrated along the coast, the navy alone could inflict devastating blows without needing full mobilization. But this war would not end with merely annexing the West.
If the South invaded the West... no matter how dysfunctional the Imperial Center was, they would never just stand by and watch. The Center would unleash a barrage of political interference, economic sanctions, and military pressure. A wider war might break out alongside political and diplomatic pressure.
Therefore, waiting until then to declare a wartime state would be too late. We had already gone too far to resolve things through diplomacy. From the moment the Center sided with the West on the Sarsen-Lutetia treaty issue, the diplomatic option had effectively ceased to exist.
"Yes, this is still the right path."
Compared to the original novel's ending, where everyone destroyed each other fighting over the female protagonist, I could confidently say this was a far better outcome. And it wasn't as if I had declared mobilization without a plan.
The West was still an undeveloped land. If we laid down railroads, developed mines, overthrew the corrupt nobility, and confiscated their lands and wealth, the Southern mainland could easily sustain itself despite the strain of mobilization. So, I had to believe in the path I chose to tread. After all, I was the one holding the reins of this Southern beast.
"Your Excellency, the army's preparations are complete."
That report came in a week after the declaration of wartime mobilization. In the harbor, the Dreadnought, having finished its final inspections, spewed thick black smoke. On land, two divisions and their support units filled the horizon. A total of fifteen thousand men.
There were several reasons for mobilizing only this number.
First, the Archdukes of this world typically commanded armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands. The Archduke of the West was no exception. However, possessing an army and deploying it to the right place at the right time were two entirely different matters.
Most forces had borders they were duty-bound to guard. In particular, due to long-standing conflicts with the natives, the border guards made up a massive portion of the Western military.
Furthermore, even if they took the risk of pulling troops from the borders, another problem remained. Lacking railways, the West required weeks just to move units from their garrisons.
They couldn't just churn out hundreds of thousands of soldiers like East Asian dynasties, so the pool of mobilizable conscripts wasn't that large either. In reality, even if the West scrambled to gather their forces, they could only muster a few tens of thousands.
"Raising a massive host against that kind of force would be a waste."
The South was now strictly under a wartime economy. Every single Southern factory was running at full capacity. Because the factories of this era were labor-devouring monsters, drafting too many men into the military would put too much strain on production.
And our strategy was a swift, decisive strike: to strike their capital rapidly along the coastline under the cover of our battleship. In this kind of operational plan, slow-moving infantry would only be a hindrance. Even if we had superior numbers, if our speed dropped, that advantage would evaporate.
"In that regard, I also need to prepare the next weapons system to increase the infantry's marching speed."
A battleship was undoubtedly a formidable weapon. A floating fortress carrying the firepower of ten 305mm main guns possessed the power to reshape the battlefield.
However, battleships suffered from a fatal flaw that other weapons did not. A battleship's domain was the sea. It could pose absolutely no threat to inland areas beyond the reach of its guns. While the Dreadnought could swallow the West and shatter the Eastern fleet, it had no way to march into the Imperial Center.
Therefore, a new weapon for a new era was required. Tanks and armored vehicles—the new steel that would dominate the battlefields of the future.
The ultimate goal of the Southern Army was a fully mechanized force, completely outfitted with armor and vehicles. The terrifying power of a fully mechanized force's overwhelming mobility and shock value had been demonstrated by the German Army during World War II.
...Of course, the reality of the 'mechanized' divisions Nazi Germany propagandized was actually soldiers drugged to their limits on methamphetamine. Naturally, I had no intention of copying *that* part.
Compared to Nazi Germany, which rushed into war due to the mustache-wearing Führer's hasty decisions, our South held advantages in many ways. Nazi Germany had to fight the great powers from the very beginning, but our South was different.
The North, the empire's other major industrial zone, was on the opposite side of the continent. Locked in a struggle against magical beasts in the north, the North lacked the capacity to spare any attention for the South.
The Republic, relatively free from the pressure of mages, knights, and the established ruling class, was also undergoing its own modernization... but they, too, were currently distracted by an economic depression.
Furthermore, our pace of modernization was the fastest. No one could modernize more efficiently than me, who possessed knowledge of Earth's history of industrialization.
In other words, the environment allowed us to grow comfortably while beating down the East, the West, and the Center. Now was the time to exploit that advantage to the fullest.
With my hands clasped behind my back, I looked down from the window and commanded, "Lucilla, send a declaration of war to the West."
"Is that truly necessary, Your Excellency?" she asked in her usual deadpan tone. "Since the West launched a midnight raid against us, we have more than enough justification to launch a surprise attack of our own without any declaration."
"If you only want to win a battle, you could do that. But to win a war, you must not."
A gentlemanly army that, despite being subjected to a midnight raid, still issued a formal declaration of war and warned the civilian population before commencing hostilities. That was precisely the image of our military I wanted to project to the West.
"Looting in occupied territories is strictly forbidden. Furthermore, include the contraction of venereal diseases in the officers' performance evaluations, and keep a strict watch on the soldiers to prevent any erratic behavior."
I knew that pillaging occupied territories was an effective way to boost morale. Ancient generals weren't fools for permitting it; to an army, morale was as vital as life itself.
However, we had no need for such measures. A morale boost? What could boost morale more effectively than watching the enemy army crumble effortlessly under the Dreadnought's bombardment? Just knowing that such overwhelming firepower was on their side was enough to put the soldiers' minds at ease and make them eager to fight.
"We march the moment the supply units are ready," I said, slipping on my coat.
For I, too, intended to participate in this campaign. Charles Raymonds. It was time to go look upon the shameless face of the bastard who had launched a midnight raid and remained silent for an entire week.
It wasn't as if the West was oblivious to the South's preparations for war. No matter how shameless the Western nobles were, they couldn't possibly believe that launching a massive midnight airstrike without a declaration of war would go unpunished. So, had the West prepared themselves thoroughly? Unfortunately, they had not.
"The native resistance on the western border is fierce! They are launching an offensive with shamans and high-ranking magical beasts we've rarely seen before!"
"Our Wyvern units are taking heavy casualties! Where on earth did those savages suddenly get this kind of force...?!"
"We just need to hold off this attack, but we can't! We don't have enough Wyvern Knights!"
The border tribes of the West, who had been quiet for some time, began to revolt fiercely. This was because news had spread that the West had lost almost the entirety of the Wyvern Knights' main force in their clash with the South over the past week. The Western natives mustered every ounce of strength they had to launch guerrilla warfare along the border.
Public opinion regarding the war in the West was also abysmal. In the West, which had nothing but its military, the army was a privileged class. To be precise, this applied to the noble-born officers, excluding the commoner conscripts.
However, in the last few battles, a significant number of these noble-born soldiers and knights had been ground to dust. Ultimately, that void had to be filled by squeezing the common people.
Forced conscription began, and the nobility extorted money from the populace by inventing emergency war taxes. Naturally, public sentiment was terrible. It would have been one thing if the West had been preemptively attacked and had to defend their own land, but this was a conflict the West had started by picking a fight with the South over Sarsen Fortress.
Support for the war was practically non-existent. Very few people wished to fight the South, with whom they shared a high degree of cultural and ethnic homogeneity. This was the karma of the West, which had spent the last several decades squeezing its people dry to wage wars.
The training and morale of the forcibly gathered soldiers were rock bottom, and the collected taxes were meager. It was an incredibly pathetic army to stand against the Southern elite, armed with guns, cannons, and battleships. The only ones ignorant of this reality were the Western leadership.
"We have gathered forty thousand men. Since we outnumber them four to one, we will easily be able to repel the Southern attack."
Swayed by the sweet words of their sycophants, the nobles were absolutely certain of victory. While the West scrambled to assemble their patchwork army, the Southern forces crossed the border into the territory of Count Sarsen.