The End of the Journey, Part II
"A-are we really allowed to just go like this?"
"Shh! Quiet! They'll hear you!"
The sailors whispered among themselves, stealing glances at the two bizarre figures standing at the bow of the battleship, staring out toward Tallinn.
The sight of Prime Minister Herbert and Winston Churchill standing side by side was truly something to behold.
Didn't they look exactly like the Lich King and Kel'Thuzad from Warcraft?
One was a mere bag of bones, his eyes glowing with a chilling, deathly blue light. The other looked like a half-crazed demon, his eyes flashing with a blood-red glare.
"W-was the Prime Minister always like that? I don't think he was quite that bad before..."
"Hey, haven't you heard the rumor?"
"What rumor?"
"The rumor that a ghost lives at 10 Downing Street! They say it drains all of the Prime Minister's life force and turns him into a necromancer like that!"
The "Necromancer" Prime Minister. The rumors circulating among the sailors weren't entirely baseless. After all, he was currently rushing toward Tallinn, Estonia, desperately trying to resurrect the souls of the British battleships that Churchill had sunk to the bottom of the sea.
"Mine sweeping is... complete, Prime Minister!"
"The coastal artillery is also mostly non-functional. At this rate...!"
The Prime Minister grinned, a skeletal stretching of his pale face.
"What are they saying back home?"
"An unprecedented situation is unfolding... First of all... a vote of no confidence in the cabinet has passed almost unanimously."
"This is indeed an unprecedented situation."
A vote of no confidence—a declaration by the opposition party that they could no longer trust the current cabinet and would bring it down. Naturally, under normal circumstances, the ruling party would want to protect the current cabinet. Especially for the British government, where conflicts occurred daily, this was an event that defied imagination.
What happens when a vote of no confidence passes? The members of the executive branch are all dismissed, and a new cabinet is formed through another consensus.
"The reason the vote of no confidence was passed so quickly and unanimously... is naturally because of me. Then, for now, the cabinet will remain as it is, and only the Prime Minister will be replaced. Dissolving Parliament and all that can wait until later. Am I correct?"
Even if a vote of no confidence occurs, the ministerial and prime ministerial seats cannot be left vacant. Therefore, the Prime Minister must continue with routine duties until the next cabinet is formed.
However... a new cabinet was formed with unprecedented speed.
So what about Herbert, who was currently enjoying the sea view from a battleship in his capacity as 'Prime Minister'?
He had now been relegated to a mere Member of Parliament.
Consequently, he no longer had the authority to order the fleet around.
"In this situation, if the home government orders the fleet to return..."
"As the Admiral, I would have no choice but to return. If I don't, it would be treason."
"Then the order issued by the newly appointed, half-baked Prime Minister must surely be to recall the fleet."
"...Indeed."
Even if they turned back with Tallinn right before their eyes, there was nothing a powerless MP could do. Honestly, from the fleet's perspective, returning was the 'correct' course of action.
"Are you listening, Admiral David Beatty?"
"Ah, you caught me."
The Commander-in-Chief of the British Grand Fleet, David Beatty. Unlike his rigid, soldierly appearance, he possessed a bold and jovial personality.
"Yes, our landing fleet should indeed turn back, 'Member of Parliament'."
"I know nothing of naval warfare. Even if Admiral Beatty makes the choice to 'return' because this battle will end in 'defeat,' I will respect it."
"There is nothing to respect. Doesn't MP Herbert have no authority anyway?"
"Indeed. I am merely a simple Member of Parliament, standing at the bow of a battleship, looking out at a peaceful sea without a single shell firing."
"......"
The Admiral's expression began to contort. Then, true to his fiery temperament, he flared up as if he were about to grab Herbert by the collar.
"What on earth do you want me to do?! Are you telling me to follow you and become a rebel?! Even if we win, my head will still roll, won't it?!"
"I clearly stated: it is 'the Admiral's choice'."
"...What about the supply issue? Didn't we ruin the first landing operation precisely because of supplies?"
"That, too, is the Admiral's choice. However, seeing how peaceful the coast is, it is obvious what it will be like when we advance."
The Admiral took a long drag from his pipe and let out a deep sigh. As if he had nowhere to vent his frustrating feelings, he stared at the deck for a long time.
Then, as if he had made up his mind, he spoke with casual nonchalance.
"Actually, I haven't received any orders from the home government at all."
Churchill stared at the Admiral as if he were talking nonsense, but Herbert smiled warmly, understanding perfectly.
"Of course. I knew it. Perhaps... did the communication equipment on the battleship break down?"
"That sounds excellent. Yes, indeed. Didn't a storm rage last night? It would be nice if they could at least send a dispatch boat..."
"Those idiotic MPs go absolutely wild whenever the Baltic Sea is mentioned, don't they? It can't be helped."
"Yes, it can't be helped."
The Admiral smiled and went back down below deck.
Churchill asked Herbert with a worried look.
"Will you be alright, Prime Minister?"
"Haha, Lord Churchill still treats me as the Prime Minister."
"Doesn't the Prime Minister also consistently call me 'Sir,' even though my title has been stripped? In any case... once you return home, you will surely face death, Prime Minister."
"Even if I turn the bow of the ship back now, I will surely die. Just look at my state."
In original history, Prime Minister Herbert lived a reasonably long life before dying. Since his year of death was 1928, he should have had twelve years left if he lived out his natural lifespan.
However... in original history, Prime Minister Herbert died at the age of seventy-five.
And Herbert, who was currently only sixty-three, looked so haggard that anyone would believe he was seventy-five, or even a ninety-year-old man.
For nearly eight years since the war broke out in the Balkans, Herbert had not slept more than four hours a day, without a single exception. He had already borrowed several years of his lifespan in advance.
When one borrows from their lifespan, the interest is merciless.
"I can feel it. Hades is calling to me from across the River Styx."
"Do not say such things, Prime Minister. Shouldn't you leave after enjoying the glory of a victorious Prime Minister?"
"Lord Churchill. In truth, I have already crossed that river. Like Oedipus who journeyed through the underworld... I am merely staying there while still alive."
"......"
"I am only... worried about you, Lord Churchill. I will be dead soon anyway."
"Sometimes, there is something more precious to a man than honor. It is 'proof.' Proof that I was right and those bastards were wrong. The evaluation that, whatever actions he took, he was ultimately a 'prophet' who saw through the future. That is the only thing I wish to hear."
"Haha, is that so?"
Shtal, who had raced across thousands of kilometers of plains to secure the Moscow region.
Now, there really wasn't much time left.
"I should contact Shtal."
"...Didn't you just say the communication equipment was broken?"
"Ah, right! We have no way to contact him anyway."
"In any case, what did you want to say to him?"
"I was going to ask him to yield St. Petersburg to us."
Squawk, squawk.
Perhaps because they were close to land, seagulls were welcoming the fleet of the British Empire.
A sailor rushed toward the two politicians standing at the bow.
"MP Herbert, Mr. Churchill! The naval bombardment is about to begin. It is dangerous for you to remain here!"
"Ah, yes. It is beginning."
Prime Minister Herbert still did not lose his smile, but the wrinkles around his eyes grew even deeper.
A baptism of fire poured from the battleship.
Churchill muttered softly.
"Now is the moment of proof."
"Vice Chairman Shtal!"
"I know..."
The train was racing at full speed toward St. Petersburg.
In the meeting room set up in one corner of the train, silence reigned, broken only by occasional sighs.
"It was all in vain."
"What should we do? Should we continue toward St. Petersburg?"
"Why on earth? Soon, the Union Jack will be hanging over the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg."
Me, General Brusilov, Adolf Hitler, Ferdinand II, Leon Trotsky...
None of us could hide our grim feelings.
While we were dealing with the Black Army's ground forces, the British had timed it perfectly to stab us in the back and destroy the Black Army.
To think they would launch 'another' landing in the Baltic.
Naturally, Parliament would have opposed it to the death, risking their lives.
We had already heard the news that Herbert had been dismissed from his post as Prime Minister.
Since things had turned out this way, the British Navy, which had stubbornly landed at Tallinn, was completely left like a dog chasing a chicken, staring blankly at St. Petersburg.
That was only natural. Who would have thought they would act so quickly?
I let out a sigh and summarized the situation.
"It can't be helped. We have no choice but to share some of the credit with Britain... Isn't this something we already anticipated?"
General Brusilov, who dreamed of rebuilding Russia, replied with a sorrowful expression.
"But the problem is the symbolism. If it looks like this, won't it seem like Britain was the one who ended the war?"
"What can we do? Our journey must stop here. Please comfort the soldiers well. If you explain to them that the war is over..."
"Do you think the soldiers will be happy with that now? The soldiers who followed us into this hell do not want the end of the war; they want Roman von Ungern-Sternberg's head."
Because of Brusilov's constant whining, a sudden surge of irritation flared up inside me.
Of course, it wasn't that I didn't understand Brusilov's feelings...
But it wasn't as if I possessed a magic wand to solve this problem instantly.
"Are you trying to say it is my fault for not hurrying more?"
"...Ah, I apologize. I spoke without thinking..."
"No. I understand your feelings, General. Even so, our Empire will always stand by the Russian White Army—no, the newly established government."
In any case, the train continued toward St. Petersburg.
Still... we had to at least set foot in St. Petersburg, didn't we?
Thus, the train ran for another day and arrived in St. Petersburg.
Seeing the Union Jacks hanging from every high point in St. Petersburg made my chest feel tight and filled me with rage.
But somehow... the atmosphere felt strange?
And then, urgent news arrived.
"That bastard Roman von Ungern-Sternberg has escaped!"
"...I didn't hear that wrong, did I?"
"No, Vice Chairman Shtal! He broke through the encirclement with two regiments of Cossack cavalry and escaped St. Petersburg!"
I clenched my fists. It wasn't something to be happy about, but...
From the officers to the soldiers, everyone who heard the news trembled with a shiver of excitement they could not suppress.
"It... is still too early to despair. What about the British? Surely they have given chase?"
"The majority of the British forces consist of marines. They have sufficient firepower, but they have almost no cavalry, so they lack mobility."
"Which means..."
"Yes. The British have practically given up on the pursuit."
Without realizing it, I slammed my hand down on the desk.
Our journey was not over yet!
Excited to the core, I shouted to the other allied officers.
"This war only ends when we have Roman von Ungern-Sternberg's head, does it not?!"
"That is correct!"
"That filthy, cowardly bastard will surely hide somewhere in Siberia and try to make a comeback. Until we kill him, this war is not over!"
I nodded and continued.
"Indeed. Do not forget. We are not a conquering army; we are the Crusaders. Until we make those wicked National Revolutionary forces pay the proper price, this war is by no means over, nor can it be ended."
Then, I slowly turned my head, checking the faces of the generals, which were filled with a sense of elevation.
"Form a dragnet. He dragged all his cavalry along to commit another slaughter."
"Yes, sir!"
"We shall do so."
The British, who mistakenly thought St. Petersburg was the final button, ultimately failed to fasten it.
The ones to end this war... are us!