The End of the Journey (1)
Brusilov pushed the vast front line with all his remaining strength, driving forward like a madman.
"All forces, charge!"
"Defeat Ungern-Sternberg's legions of Satan!"
The true strength of the Russian army lay in human wave tactics that could rival China's. An overwhelming mass of soldiers filled the horizon, making the very earth tremble as they charged.
Tactics? Their tactics consisted of "artillery support and charge." That was all. The meticulous tactical deployment of troops was something reserved for nations where human lives were precious, like the Austro-Hungarian Empire or the German Empire.
A Russian officer's duty was to look a thousand kilometers ahead, not a mere hundred.
"T-The enemy is coming without end!"
"They must be eager to die. Fire the machine guns! They'll retreat in terror soon enough."
However, such mindless charges lost their utility in the war between the Black and White armies. When it came to sheer numbers, the Russian Black Army had plenty of their own. Machine gun nests and early landmines were scattered across the plains. Furthermore, the Black Army's Cossack cavalry carried machine guns on horseback, neutralizing the charging Russian White Army from the flanks and rear.
"A-Aaargh! The machine guns!"
"General! Our soldiers are being slaughtered helplessly!"
"You must order a retreat immediately! This is nothing but a dog's death!"
Brusilov knew this all too well. Yet, he shook his head.
"No, keep charging!"
"B-But..."
"Charge!"
Russia could not afford to be left behind in the new world order. Yet, compared to Austria or Britain... Russia had only one thing to offer.
The endlessly flowing blood of the Russian people. Using their corpses as stepping stones, Russia would rise again.
Driven by Brusilov's stubborn resolve, the charge continued.
"Sons of Russia, you must endure! You must hold the line!"
"Aaaargh!"
"Mother, I want to see you...!"
"Tonight—no, in just three hours, those Black Army bastards will run completely out of ammunition! Just hold out until then, h-argh!"
A landscape of pure hell unfolded across the vast plains near Moscow. While the Russian White Army acted as a shield, drawing the attention of the Russian Black Army...
"Our Russian comrades have volunteered to be the anvil for us. The time has come! Strike with all your might! Hammer the iron block of the Black Army with the hammer of the Revolutionary Guard!"
Now, it was the Revolutionary Guard's turn. Aircraft filling the sky rained down a torrent of bombs. *Boom! Crash!*
"A-Aaargh!"
"F-From the sky...!"
The planes that had once dropped torpedoes in the ocean had advanced their bombing techniques in just a few months. Just as a supernova—the most powerful explosion in the universe—shines with the brightest light, a history written in blood serves as the driving force that brilliantly illuminates human civilization.
After the bombers swept through, it was time for the soldiers of the Revolutionary Guard to move.
"Fight with your lives, for honor!"
"For our comrades!"
"Charge!"
Leading the charge on the battlefield was the Imperial Army's Thebes Regiment. In a war fought almost entirely by the Revolutionary Guard, the Thebes Regiment was the sole Imperial Army unit to participate.
As scientific technology advanced, the value of individual infantrymen steadily declined. Nevertheless, the combat capability of infantry trained to the absolute limit was equivalent to a hundred ordinary men.
"Run! Don't stop! Run!"
Spraying submachine guns, they tore through the battlefield with a sprinting speed that would put Usain Bolt to shame! The Russian Black Army soldiers tried to stop them with sheer firepower, but...
"One bullet, one enemy! Do not waste ammunition!"
An unprecedentedly precise covering fire shielded the charging troops. The legends from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms—of Zhang Fei holding Changban Bridge alone, or Zhao Yun cutting through enemy lines while cradling Liu Shan—were by no means exaggerations. Behold them, breaking through the front lines like demons to reclaim their lost honor!
Even with bullets lodged in their calves, the soldiers of the Thebes Regiment limped forward, continuing their relentless run across the front. Yet, there were two other groups on this battlefield whose exploits rivaled those of the Thebes Regiment.
"How long will we let ourselves be outshone by Hungary and Bosnia!"
"The two pillars supporting the Empire have always been Vienna and Prague. Show them the power of Prague's advanced industry!"
Those who passionately love World War II-era tanks usually remember only the armor of Germany, Russia, and the United States. That was only natural, as they were all world-class industrial powerhouses. Yet, there was always one unexpected nation that popped up in those discussions: Czechoslovakia.
Czech industrial capacity was a force that could never be underestimated. No matter how many planes and combat tractors Hungary and Austria churned out, most of their engines originated from Czech engineering.
In addition to requisitioning every civilian car they could find, they brought in vehicles straight from their own production lines. And what happens when you fit a powerful engine into a car, bolt on steel plating, and mount a machine gun? An armored car is born!
"But how exactly do we use these armored cars...?"
"Is there anyone here from the Imperial Army?"
"Well... the Imperial Army rarely deployed armored car units, so... wouldn't it be better to ask the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard?"
"I'd rather die in a ditch on the battlefield than ask those guys."
The Czech Agricultural Cooperative had been established for less than three months. Naturally, the Czech Revolutionary Guard was still little more than a militia. In the end, after gathering a crowd of former Imperial Army reservists to put their heads together...
"There's no need to overcomplicate things, is there?"
"Exactly. It's just like cavalrymen swapping their horses for cars!"
"So, an armored car is basically like heavy cavalry!"
The Czechs simply massed their armored cars in one place. Then, they launched them in a direct charge at the most critical point. Sometimes, the simplest answer was the correct one.
Two hundred one-ton armored cars charged forward, their engines roaring loud enough to shake the earth, firing their machine guns continuously at a speed of thirty-five kilometers per hour, completely ignoring incoming fire.
"C-Chairman! Please, get out of the car!"
"Even Chairman Adolf Hitler doesn't leap directly onto the battlefield like this!"
The white-haired man, Chairman Tomáš, shook his head firmly.
"Representative Shtal risked his life in Alsace-Lorraine, roaming the battlefield with a single armored car and a megaphone! Why should I be any different?!"
"A-At least take down the 'Czech Agricultural Cooperative Chairman' flag... Argh! He's already gone!"
"Damn it, follow him immediately!"
Despite being the commander-in-chief of the Czech Agricultural Cooperative, Chairman Tomáš led from the very front. The armored cars formed a wedge formation, charging toward the battlefield like medieval heavy cavalry.
"W-What on earth is that?!"
"They're just tin cans on wheels! Fire the machine guns and mortars!"
"We don't have enough firepower!"
The Czech Agricultural Cooperative was, of course, playing the role of the hammer. Most of the enemy's firepower had already been wasted trying to stop the infantry of the Russian White Army.
"There are enemies right ahead of us, sir!"
"Wait... didn't we say we're heavy cavalry like the Winged Hussars? Just ram them!"
Crash! Two infantrymen struck by the car were sent flying into the air like cartoon characters. What the Czech Revolutionary Guard brought to the field were strictly civilian vehicles. By the law of action and reaction, the cars sustained significant damage as well, but...
"Turn the car around, quick! Those two over there are running away! Ram them!"
Ironically, being lightweight civilian cars proved to be an advantage on this battlefield. With swift mobility and a tight turning radius, the armored car spun around in an instant, pursuing the fleeing enemy soldiers.
"They're aiming for the tires!"
"We're surrounded by enemy soldiers!"
"Just break through!"
Of course, they were ultimately just civilian cars. The moment they were surrounded, they would be as good as dead. Yet, the Czech soldiers swept across the battlefield as if they were true cavalrymen, firing their machine guns wildly.
"W-Whoa...!"
"We won!"
In this manner, the Czech Revolutionary Guard secured a victory, leaving a profound psychological scar on the Russian Black Army. Of course, out of the two hundred cars the Czechs had brought, a hundred and fifty were completely wrecked... but a mere ragtag militia had successfully broken through a veteran Black Army division that had been hardened on the Eastern Front.
The Czech Revolutionary Guard had already done more than their share. The final unit to deliver a devastating blow to the battlefield was none other than the Polish Revolutionary Army.
War has traditionally been the domain of men, a reality that remains largely unchanged even in the 21st century where gender equality and feminism have become mainstream. No matter how exceptional female soldiers might be, on average, they perform less than sixty percent of what male infantrymen can achieve. This is not an ideological issue, but one of efficiency. No officer wants a soldier who cannot even carry their own gear, and no soldier wants such a comrade by their side.
Yet... thirty percent of the Polish Revolutionary Army was comprised of women. Even if they struggled to carry their gear, and even if they fought far less effectively than men on the battlefield... hatred is a weapon far more powerful than efficiency or ideology.
"Pawel... was killed by the Russians. At first, I couldn't even recognize his face."
"Piotr, you died in my place. That was when I made up my mind. I will... have my revenge. I will make those Russian bastards suffer the exact same fate."
There was not a single member of the revolutionary army who had not lost a family member, a friend, or a lover to the Russians. Indeed, this was not limited to the revolutionaries. Every single citizen of Poland was a victim of the Russian army.
Every Pole had lost someone precious in the horrific massacres Roman von Ungern-Sternberg had perpetrated on Polish soil. Even if, by some miracle, their loved ones had survived... their properties, more valuable than life itself, had been plundered and burned.
Even the allied Revolutionary Guard of the Austro-Hungarian Empire dared not speak to them, intimidated by the heavy shroud of grief, sorrow, and hatred that hung over the Poles. One had to be a psychopath on the level of Joseph Stalin to work among them.
"My family was slaughtered by Ungern-Sternberg and his Cossack cavalry anyway..."
"I don't care if I die now!"
"Let's go to hell together, you Slavic scum!"
Hydrogen gas suicide bombings had been completely phased out by Shtal's orders. But the Polish Revolutionary Army was an exception. Every company had at least one person designated for self-detonation. Neither officers nor comrades could stop those who had resolved to blow themselves up. When everyone shared the same grief and hatred, how could they not understand the desire to drag even one more enemy to the grave?
"Burn them all! Burn them to death!"
"A-Aaargh! The fire!"
"It's hot! Please, please stop!"
"Haha, burn! Behold this living hell! We have lived through this every single day!"
Due to technological limitations, flamethrowers were practically useless. They were incredibly heavy, and compared to their weight, their firepower and range were abysmal. Yet, the Poles overcame these shortcomings. First, they made them incredibly large. Second, they boosted the firepower, even if it meant risking accidental explosions.
"...Father. Are you watching from heaven? I am coming to join you now."
"Jakub. I told you to survive no matter what, didn't I? I'm sorry... I couldn't keep that promise."
Once again, with a deafening roar, a hydrogen cylinder exploded. As massive sheets of flame swept across the battlefield, soldiers charged through the gaps. Consumed by hatred, they blew themselves up with hydrogen tanks strapped to their backs, dragging flamethrowers that offered little tactical advantage just to inflict agonizing deaths upon their enemies. The Polish Revolutionary Army was truly an army straight from hell.
That did not mean they lacked discipline. After all, their commander-in-chief was Leon Trotsky. Even if the majority were untrained civilians, the presence of a brilliant commander like Trotsky changed everything. Furthermore, a significant amount of time had passed since Warsaw was liberated by Shtal. It was more than enough time for Poland to raise a proper army, at least in terms of infantry. Poland, Czechoslovakia, the Thebes Regiment, and finally, Brusilov's White Army, who fought with their lives for Russia—thanks to their combined efforts, the Russian Black Army suffered near-total annihilation.
"Now, restore the railway!"
"Along the tracks, we march to St. Petersburg!"
Although Russia's traditional capital was St. Petersburg, there was a reason why Moscow became the capital in the 20th century. Moscow was the logistical hub and the center of the transportation network connecting the vast frozen lands of Russia.
The Russian Black Army's ground forces had been wiped out. Now... only St. Petersburg remained.