New World Order (3)
The raid party bound for Russia gathered in Warsaw. There were quite a few newbies joining this time. Cooperative Leader Tomáš of Czechia, and Partisan Leader Tito were among them. But it wasn't as if there were no familiar faces. Cooperative Leader Hitler, who poked his nose into everything, naturally tagged along this time as well. And...
"Your Archdu—no, Your Majesty! Have you lost your mind? War is not child's play!"
"Is that any way to speak to your Kaiser?!"
"You were the one who told me to speak comfortably... Did you suddenly get possessed by Wilhelm II, who's currently scratching his balls in prison?"
"This battle will be the final step for our Empire to soar as a superpower! Shouldn't I naturally be there to witness it?"
"And if Your Majesty dies, our Empire is finished!"
No matter what, war was war. If, by some terrible stroke of luck, the Kaiser went to the front lines, suffered a major defeat by mistake... and met his end from a stray bullet? It would undoubtedly end up like one of those tragic historical ironies: 'However, this photograph was never used as the cover.'
"If I happen to fall in battle, you can just become the Emperor, Stahl."
"Your Majesty, please maintain your dignity."
"Then make Archduke Karl do it! I never wanted to be the Kaiser in the first place!"
I shut my mouth tight at Ferdinand II's words. So his talk of abdication back then wasn't just a show. Or was it? Is this man trying to pull another 'abdication show' on me right now?!
In any case... Ferdinand II ended up participating in the war. The night before the departure ceremony, he called me, excited like a child, saying, "I'm too nervous to sleep...!" which was honestly a bit pathetic.
And so, October 9, 1916. Warsaw was in the middle of autumn, but the warmth of summer had not yet completely faded.
"The frozen Russian soil, which turned into a muddy swamp during the summer, must have hardened by now. And it's not too cold either."
It was perfect weather to march on St. Petersburg. Ferdinand II climbed onto a high podium where all the soldiers could hear him and grabbed the megaphone.
"...Does anyone here know why we are leaving for Russia?"
"To crush the evil Russian army and conquer Russia...!"
"Wrong! Do not forget your duty. We are going to drive out the evil that is rampant in Russia. You might ask, why must we do this? They are not our citizens. What benefit does it bring us? If it were me ten years ago, I would have agreed with those questions. We were too busy trying to survive ourselves. But look! Look at the majesty of our Empire, stretching across the globe! Russia, China, America... none of this is someone else's business anymore. We are the stewards of the world. The entire world is watching us. The entire world is crying out to us for help. The world is looking to us! Liberate Russia! And plant the flag of the Empire, the flag of Stahlism, upon its soil! In the name of Christ, in the name of the Empire!"
As Ferdinand II finished his brief speech, a thunderous roar of cheers erupted.
"In the name of Christ!"
"In the name of the Empire!"
"Long live Saint Stahl!"
"Long live His Imperial Majesty Emperor Ferdinand!"
The Lend-Lease pouring in from the United States had ended. The Black Sea and the Baltic Sea, Russia's major maritime trade routes, were blocked. The Russian Black Army fought using the countless 'Ivans' harvested from the fields as weapons. They willingly spilled meaningless blood on the front lines, armed with nothing but the 'Glory of the Slavic Race.' Now... it was safe to say that the fate of the Russian Black Army was sealed.
"We have received simultaneous communications from both Austria and Britain. They say they will attack soon and that we must coordinate our actions!"
General Brusilov, the Commander-in-Chief of the Russian White Army, let out a deep sigh. To think that a war started in Russia could not be ended by Russia...
The war will end soon. But even so... what will become of Russia's fate?
Even if the war ended like this, the disaster looming over Russia would not simply vanish. Just look at the astronomical debt they owed to Britain. If St. Petersburg fell into British hands...
Russia, which had once, however briefly, stood on equal footing with Britain to contest global hegemony. Now, Russia was practically shackled to Britain. Recalling this grim reality, Brusilov's face aged by ten years.
"Comrade Brusilov, do not despair."
"Ah, Bukharin. How long are you going to keep calling me 'comrade'?"
Despite his grumbling, Brusilov was quite fond of Bukharin. Gentle and optimistic, yet naive and idealistic, Nikolai Bukharin never lost heart, no matter the circumstances. This undoubtedly stemmed from his hopelessly warm humanity and his faith in mankind. Yet, at the same time, his vast knowledge at such a young age made it no exaggeration to say that the future of Russia truly rested in his hands.
"What does a title matter, comrade! Anyway... let me explain why I told you not to despair."
"Hmm, and what is that?"
"The Austro-Hungarian Empire will rise as a superpower that rivals Britain!"
"Indeed."
"However... Austria does not possess the same insatiable lust for expansion as Britain. They will likely abandon Russia, viewing it as a prize they cannot digest anyway."
Brusilov tilted his head. How could an 'empire' behave that way? It didn't take long for Brusilov to find a counterargument.
"Italy. Was it not split into five pieces by Stahl's hand?"
"If it were Britain, do you think they would have split Italy into five? Far from splitting it, they would have tried to swallow the whole thing raw."
"That is likely because Austria's national power has not yet fully matured."
"If that is the reason, then Russia has no need to worry about Austria. And... what do you think Britain would have done if they couldn't seize Italy?"
Bukharin lightly tapped the desk and grinned.
"Italy would have been shattered into two hundred pieces that very day! So that no one else could have it."
"So, we should stay friendly with Austria and draw a line with Britain?"
"Yes, exactly!"
"If only it were that simple."
How wonderful would that be? Brusilov agreed with Bukharin deep down, but a part of him remained pessimistic. What was the use of drawing up such grand strategies? The fractured Russian White Army lacked the capacity to conduct even such basic diplomacy. They were split into factions, arguing: 'Russia must be close with Britain!', 'Russia must be close with Austria!', 'No, Britain must be close with Germany!'... They would bicker endlessly and end up making no decisions at all. That was the pathetic state of Russia.
"I know what you are thinking, Comrade Brusilov. That is why I always tell you!"
"That a Marxist revolution... is necessary?"
"Yes, exactly!"
"Why Marxist when we have the far superior Stahlism?"
"I have explained this to you before! Stahlism is merely an intermediate stage transitioning into Marxism—"
"Oh, enough, enough."
Brusilov waved his hand to cut Bukharin off. Bukharin was about to launch into another tedious thirty-minute lecture on 'theory.' His eyes were shining so brightly that it was almost hard to interrupt him. In any case, Brusilov's heavy mood lightened considerably thanks to Bukharin's antics. Whatever the state of Russia, that was a problem to be solved after crushing Ungern-Sternberg. More than that...
Revolution, revolution...
What on earth happened in the 1880s? Most of those born in the 1880s were now in their late twenties or early thirties. Even that Hitler fellow was still in his late twenties, wasn't he? Brusilov secretly hoped that Bukharin's revolution could put an end to this agonizing Russian chaos once and for all.
Just before heading to the front lines, Bukharin and Brusilov received a letter from the famous revolutionaries, Rosa Luxemburg and Trotsky.
...Yes, perhaps revolution really is the answer.
With that thought, Brusilov mobilized his forces.
"Prime Minister Herbert, have you lost your mind?! You want to launch another landing operation?"
"Just step down already! Rumors are rampant that you talk to yourself in the mirror every single night!"
"Gentlemen of the Conservative Party... you put a madman forward as Prime Minister, and you have nothing to say?!"
"Very soon! We are sick of this too!"
The Prime Minister—the Prime Minister had really gone mad! Conservatives, Liberals, and Labour alike were itching to strip Prime Minister Herbert of his office. When a nation is truly on the brink of ruin, the left and the right must unite.
The Prime Minister glared at the MPs and sighed.
"Even at this very moment... Germany is preparing for war. Austria has already gathered its forces in Warsaw."
"So what?! What do you expect us to do about the mess you made?"
"No confidence! A vote of no confidence!"
"We must petition His Majesty the King immediately!"
Prime Minister Herbert sighed as he looked at the chaotic cabinet. He stared down at the water glass on his desk. Reflected in the water, Churchill was snickering, finding Herbert's plight highly amusing.
"How does it feel?"
Like absolute shit. Why even ask?
"Now you understand how I felt, don't you? You are right. Only you can see the future. Yet those foolish aristocrats who do nothing but occupy seats in Parliament are throwing a tantrum!"
Didn't you see the future 'wrong', Lord Churchill? ...Regardless, this is truly a frustrating situation.
"Just go for it! If it succeeds, that's all that matters, isn't it?"
For the first time, Prime Minister Herbert agreed with Lord Churchill. Even if... he was just a ghost. If they delayed any longer in Parliament, Stahl and Brusilov would truly join forces and occupy St. Petersburg.
Lord Churchill smirked from the water glass. Prime Minister Herbert picked up the glass and slammed it down onto the desk, shattering it to pieces.
Crash!
Normally, the sound of something breaking would cause the MPs to quiet down, but they were too busy cursing him to care.
Yes, it's better to just go for it. A drastic measure is needed. And a mad dog to execute that drastic measure.
Who could that mad dog be? In truth, there was only one mad dog Prime Minister Herbert knew.
I need to bring in the real Churchill, not the fake one who only exists in the mirror. He must be getting tired of playing mad by now.
Herbert hastily summoned Churchill to Westminster. The 'real' Churchill, who had been deliberately acting like a lunatic in Oxfordshire, immediately dropped the act upon receiving the summons from Westminster and rushed over.
"How was it, Lord Churchill? Was playing mad entertaining?"
"It was hard to endure this bleak reality without going mad."
"I agree, Lord Churchill. It is no easy feat to endure this treacherous political landscape without losing one's mind."
"What are you talking about? Being away from the treacherous political landscape was what was driving me mad!"
Churchill and Prime Minister Herbert grinned at each other like old friends. They both knew, without a word, that they had become close allies. No long explanations were needed.
"I am planning another landing at Tallinn."
"I imagine Parliament threw an absolute fit. Am I right, Prime Minister?"
"Which is precisely why I summoned you, Lord Churchill."
"You should have summoned me sooner! I heard that bastard Stahl has already departed from Warsaw. Can you not even manage that much as Prime Minister? Just do it! There are plenty of ways."
As if he had 'dreamed of being Prime Minister for a long time,' Churchill guided him through a hundred ways the Prime Minister could bypass Parliament and move the military. In truth, while war 'by custom' required parliamentary approval, it was actually a royal prerogative. In other words, it fell entirely under the authority of the executive branch, not the legislature.
That night, the Prime Minister spent the entire night signing document after document. The consent of the First Lord of the Admiralty or the Secretary of State for War... could be completely bypassed under the invocation of emergency self-defense powers and (forged) royal support. He hastily assessed the available forces as if preparing for a coup.
"Ah, by the way. Prime Minister, you do know you have to come along, right?"
"...Lord Churchill! What on earth...!"
"I thought you had finally come to your senses, but you are still foolish. If you don't go with them, what will you do if the Navy decides to act on its own whim?"
"They are under civilian control—"
"Oh, quiet down. Do you or do you not realize that you, the Prime Minister, are currently committing what is practically a coup d'état?"
"..."
In just one week, Churchill and Prime Minister Herbert ran around like madmen, hastily throwing together the landing preparations. It was an eccentric feat that turned the impossible into the possible.
On October 19, 1916, the fleet of the British Empire set sail once again toward a new world.