The Savior's Contempt
Under the full-scale promotion of the genius chemist Shtal, an immense amount of blood was gathered. Normally, when a new therapeutic treatment emerged, it took time before it was actually put into practice. Because of distrust toward the treatment, it would only be administered experimentally to patients who were truly on the verge of death. This was even more true for blood transfusions. A transfusion method cannot even exist without donors. However, just as it had with the first Penicillin, Shtal's future knowledge triumphed once again.
"Did you hear that Lord Shtal has discovered 'yet another' miracle medicine?"
"You know that kid whose arm got blown off by an artillery shell the other day? He lost so much blood during surgery that everyone thought he was a goner, but they say he survived!"
"My goodness..."
"So when is the Vatican going to canonize him? Frankly speaking, he's saved far more people than the miracles Jesus performed."
Of course, because the Rh factor had not yet been identified, the baseline success rate of transfusions was around 85%. Even measuring ABO blood types frequently suffered from errors, dropping the success rate to 70% at times. Yet, even that was astonishing. Normally, when severe hemorrhaging occurred, ten out of ten patients died. But with Shtal's new transfusion method, five out of ten survived. And the blood? Thanks to Shtal's active promotion, there was actually an overflowing abundance. It had reached a point where precious blood had to be discarded simply because there weren't enough doctors to administer it.
It's been... what, about ten years since I developed ammonia? It's been a while since I've been called a 'miracle chemist' or a 'saint,' so I might as well milk this for all it's worth.
In a short span of time, the success rate of surgical treatments had been pushed to its absolute limit. What did this mean? It meant that men who should have died on the front lines were now returning to their home countries as disabled veterans. Overnight, field hospitals became packed to the brim solely due to the development of blood transfusions. "Killed in action" soldiers, who would have died without any hope of treatment, were now classified as "wounded." Shtal immediately established a special employment program for the disabled to prepare for the influx of disabled veterans about to flood back into society.
The US military always struggled immensely with veterans after wars.
Shtal had always embraced the socially vulnerable while reaping political benefits. This move was no different.
"Ah, and tell Mr. Carl Jung to conduct research on mental illnesses resulting from the aftereffects of war."
"War... aftereffects? Is that actually a real illness?"
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, was an illness whose very existence had not even been defined in this era. Chronic anxiety, nightmares, and trauma symptoms caused by war were only just beginning to be reported. Of course, in this era dominated by hyper-masculine machismo, such symptoms were usually dismissed as mere "cowardice" rather than a disease, but PTSD was very real. Why else, from the Vietnam War to the Iraq War, would discharged American soldiers return home only to become broken shells of themselves or commit horrific crimes? Once again, voices of praise for Shtal echoed across both the battlefields and the civilian world.
"...Does God truly exist? If He does, why on earth did He make me a cripple?"
Joseph Goebbels had suffered a severe case of polio in his childhood, leaving him with a permanent limp. Even in the modern era, people with a limp often received subtle, lingering stares—so one could only imagine what it was like in a 20th-century Gymnasium. Although Goebbels' exceptionally eloquent speech and polite manners kept most from mocking him openly, he still faced immense hardships simply because of his leg. Recently, after being dumped by his lover, he had fallen into deep self-pity, frequently plagued by suicidal impulses. As a psychological defense mechanism, Goebbels was constantly searching for a savior. That savior might be the Virgin Mary and Christ, or perhaps a socialist utopia. It was to such a man that an opportunity presented itself.
"Goebbels, my boy. A perfect opportunity has come up for you."
"Pardon?"
"They say the medical department of the Stahl-Ferdinand Research Institute is looking for university students. It seems they plan to establish a university soon."
"I'm not going to Austria. I'm not even a medical student, so what's the point?"
"They are recruiting plenty of humanities students as well."
Goebbels, however, did not particularly care for Stahlism. At this point in time, he was a die-hard Marxist. But...
"It's... a bit awkward for me to say this, but this could be an exceptionally good opportunity for you."
"What do you mean by that...?"
"An opportunity to receive an education in Vienna doesn't come by often. With your grades, it's a bit borderline. But... look at this. They are offering special preferences to those with congenital or acquired physical disabilities, like yourself..."
Goebbels snatched the admission announcement from the Gymnasium teacher's hand with a sharp, irritable jerk. What on earth did physical disability have to do with being a university student?! Were they treating him like some weakling? How dare they? Just because he limped a little, did they think his intellect was deficient too? It was a purely traumatic reaction. Filled with rage, Goebbels marched straight to the Rhineland branch of the Stahl-Ferdinand Research Institute. He wanted to see what kind of bastards they were, and if their sole purpose was to hand out special treatment just because someone was disabled, he was fully prepared to feed them a lead bullet. Of course... as always, it would likely end with him just wallowing in his own sorrow.
However, the response of the institute staff... was entirely different from what Goebbels had anticipated.
"Why on earth are you giving special treatment to the disabled?! Are you looking down on us, assuming our intelligence is lacking as well?"
"Huh?"
The institute employee narrowed his eyes, looking at Goebbels with an amused expression.
"You've got it all wrong."
"What do you mean, wrong! Lowering the grade cutoff simply because someone is disabled is a blatant insult, is it not?"
"Hmm... there's a fact that everyone seems to forget. Chairman Shtal is a businessman. He's not a philanthropist."
"What does that have to do with—"
"Well, obviously, he's buying low on people like you. Just because someone limps a bit, is hard of hearing, or is missing a finger, does that mean they lack ability? There are countless talented people who can't show their worth because of such things."
"Th-that..."
"So Chairman Shtal is buying you up cheap to use as labor. Why would he give you special treatment out of the goodness of his heart? Oh, and by the way, there's a price for receiving a high-quality education at such cheap tuition. You'll have to work in Austria for a while. If you don't like it, you can leave."
People like Goebbels, who are consumed by inferiority complexes due to physical flaws, generally tend to despise kindness. To them, kindness feels like charity or pity. Yet, the institute employee was utterly cold. In fact, wasn't he treating him like some low-class laborer, implying that if it wasn't him, anyone else would do? On top of that, there was a clear "price" attached: he had to work under Shtal for a period of time. The looks Goebbels had received from society were always either contempt or pity. Because of his towering pride, he could tolerate contempt, but pity was absolutely unbearable. To Goebbels, the words of this institute employee felt remarkably refreshing. It was contempt, yes—but at least it wasn't contempt directed at his leg. It almost made him wonder if this man simply held a "universal, equal contempt" for all of humanity. At any rate, Goebbels officially joined! And indeed, just as Goebbels hypothesized, that employee truly did despise all humans equally. Of course, it would be much later when Goebbels would beat his chest in bitter regret over joining Austria.
A university student of this era was equivalent to a modern-day graduate student—a talent capable of conducting basic research on their own. To the researchers who were perpetually short-staffed, a slave was a slave, disabled or not! And so, Goebbels found himself dragging his bad leg, hauling mountain-like stacks of paperwork.
The development of the Stahl Solution had drastically reduced the number of deaths in battle. In the long run, this was bound to aid the war effort. Politically, having a flood of wounded soldiers return home was far less of a burden than having a mountain of corpses. In truth, looking strictly at the front lines, it was actually a disadvantageous measure in the short term. Whether a soldier was wounded or dead, they were equally unusable in combat, weren't they? If anything, the burden had slightly increased due to the growing need for medical personnel to manage the wounded. What he was about to create next, however, would likely provide direct assistance to the war.
"The oil supply has fallen through again?"
"No matter how urgent the war is, they should have rationed it... The Germans are in an absolute frenzy right now."
"Even after we sold them that much, they're still short? We'll have to pull more from the Ottoman Empire."
"Well, that's how things stand."
Most of the Crusaders' oil supply came from the Russian White Army, the Ottoman Empire, and Romania. And all that oil had to pass through the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Since Austria was the shortest overland route from Russia and the Ottoman Empire, this was only natural. Furthermore, crude oil could not be used raw; it had to be refined. It had to pass through Austria-Hungary, where chemistry had advanced exponentially ever since Shtal's arrival. The front lines were constantly screaming for oil. This was precisely why the economy of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was thriving even in the midst of war. Austria-Hungary's exports were sustained by four massive pillars: Hungarian agricultural products, oil, chemical products including pharmaceuticals, and finally, Stahlism.
"We are pulling out crude oil as fast as we can in cooperation with Britain. But... the refining facilities simply cannot keep up!"
"Is there a way to improve the engines of the combat tractors so they consume less fuel...?"
"Impossible! If we do that, the engines will just break down, and the supply lines will get even more clogged."
This damn oil was a constant headache for Shtal. In logistics, the bottleneck was always oil, nothing else. Food was pouring in not only from Hungary but also from the Ottoman Empire and the Russian White Army. Pharmaceuticals could be produced internally by the German Empire. The same went for coal. Among raw materials, every logistical problem began and ended with oil. Aside from the fact that crude oil only came from Russia and the Middle East, oil was surprisingly difficult to store and transport. It spoiled even more easily than food. All substances naturally oxidize over time, and if oil oxidizes even slightly, the moment it is put into an engine, the engine will sputter and die. Not only does the power output drop, but it is also incredibly common for the engine to clog up and become completely useless.
"If that is the case, I believe I can solve this quite easily..."
"Pardon? How?"
"The reason the oil is spoiling is likely due to oxidation."
"What?!"
Even in the 1910s, the basic concepts of oxidation and antioxidants had been established to some degree. However, there was no understanding of *why* oil degraded in quality over time. Up until now, there had never been a need for such massive quantities of oil in the first place. Shtal scribbled a few chemical compounds on a piece of paper and handed it to the researcher.
"Phenols, amines, phosphates... these are all commonly used substances anyway, aren't they? Try mixing them into the oil in small amounts, from 0.01% to 0.1%. The rate of loss during transport will drop drastically."
"...!"
"Ah, and add a little lead to the gasoline. It will boost the engine output as well."
"Director... how did you know this?"
It was a remarkably simple idea. Just add antioxidants to the oil. Add lead to the gasoline. But how on earth did he think of this? Goosebumps broke out all over the researcher's body. He was a die-hard atheist who had never once doubted the non-existence of God in his entire life. It was partly due to his professional nature as a researcher, and partly because he was completely obsessed with Stahlism. He had assumed that "Saint Shtal" was merely an idiomatic expression. After all, it wasn't uncommon to refer to a good person by saying, "That fellow is an absolute saint." But now...
"Director... do you truly receive revelations from somewhere? From Peter, or Paul in Heaven...?"
Shtal smiled faintly.
"Of course not."
"Otherwise, it makes no sense!"
"Does receiving revelations from Peter or Paul make any more sense?"
"Well, that's..."
"First of all, Peter and Paul were not scholars. Peter was an illiterate fisherman, and Paul was a philosopher."
"That's not what I meant...!"
The researcher tried to protest, but Shtal cut him off.
"You haven't studied enough. I find it puzzling. Why is it that when something spoils or becomes unusable, you don't suspect oxidation first? If oxidation is the problem, isn't it only logical to try mixing in an antioxidant first? Why do you not think of these things?"
"Then how did you think of that blood preservation method?"
"It is a well-known fact that blood is made of cells called red blood cells. I find this puzzling as well. If coagulation is the problem, you add an anticoagulant. And since blood is made of cells, I simply added some glucose and phosphate."
"...! Unbelievable..."
"Do you understand now?"
"Thank you, thank you!"
The researcher, looking as if he had attained some profound enlightenment, bowed repeatedly to Shtal before scurrying back to the laboratory. Watching his retreating figure, Shtal tilted his head in bewilderment.
What on earth did he just realize? I literally just recited what's written in textbooks...
Putting that aside, Shtal leaned back deeply into his chair and let out a sigh of relief.
Phew. I almost got caught as a traveler from the future. That was a close one.