The Black and White War (2)
Prime Minister Herbert's greatest strengths as a leader lay in defusing domestic crises and maintaining a delicate diplomatic balance. Of course, pursuing balance was often just a polite euphemism for being indecisive and weak-willed. On the other hand, it meant he governed through compromise rather than raw charisma.
Now, a pack of lunatics had overrun the European continent. On one side was the National Revolution; on the other, Avant-garde Stahlism. When the entire world had gone mad, shouldn't Britain also appoint a madman as Prime Minister? Someone like Winston Churchill, perhaps—the very man who would gladly throw hundreds of thousands of troops into a meat grinder like Gallipoli.
Yes, Winston Churchill, the Liberal Party's First Lord of the Admiralty. While everyone else was busy dodging responsibility and dumping it all onto the Prime Minister's lap, Churchill was the sole loose cannon, constantly flying off the handle and giving Herbert a massive headache.
"Prime Minister Herbert! We must make a decision, just as President Raymond of France did."
"A decision? What kind of decision?"
"Declare war on Germany!"
"...I shall hear your reasoning first before I begin cursing."
"Look at those Stahlism reds lurking in Montpellier, France! They are all German spies. Are we really in a much better position than the French?"
"If your entire argument boils down to 'we should do it because we can,' I have no interest in listening."
Thanks to Kaiser Wilhelm II repeatedly shooting himself in the foot, anti-German sentiment was at an all-time high in both Britain and France. The problem, however, was that Russia had also shot itself in the foot. Originally, with Germany acting like a raving lunatic, Russia had looked like an angel by comparison. That had been the sole justification for the Triple Entente. But now, Russia was screaming to the entire world, "No, I am the real lunatic!" What on earth was Britain supposed to do? Why had the continent degenerated into such a colossal mess?
Prime Minister Herbert's heart filled with dread once more, but Churchill, completely oblivious—or simply not caring—continued his frantic rant.
"Russia is a doomed nation, and Germany is a rising sun! We must never allow the root of this evil to fester!"
"So? You want us to crush Germany for the sake of the Russian Black Army?"
"Precisely!"
"Tell me, Winston, have you suddenly developed an interest in National Revolution or republican uprisings?"
Indeed. The reason no one wanted to take responsibility for a great war was that the politicians were trapped in a series of inescapable catch-22s. Support the Russian Black Army to fight Germany? 'Ah, so you're planning a coup like the National Revolutionaries, are you? Do you want to blow up His Majesty with a bomb too?' On the flip side, support the Russian White Army and align with Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire? 'Aaargh! A German-made Napoleon is going to march on Moscow, spreading revolution across the continent!' What if they chose to remain neutral and do nothing? 'What the hell were you doing while the continent was burning to the ground!' In a predicament like this, offering any kind of opinion was a feat impossible for anyone who wasn't a mad dog like Churchill.
"Yes! If those German bastards are going to carve up the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Russia between them, then to hell with it—let's have a National Revolution. That would be far better!"
"...I will pretend I never heard that. Now, please, stop torturing me and leave."
"You will regret this! Mark my words!"
"Oh, by the way. I am thinking of stepping down as Prime Minister, and I believe you are the perfect fit for these chaotic times. A leader in his forties—it has a nice, modern ring to it..."
"Er, you seem quite fatigued, Prime Minister. I shall take my leave first."
With those words, Churchill vanished in a flash, terrified of actually being saddled with the job. Prime Minister Herbert let out a long, heavy sigh. Churchill's hatred for Germany was certainly genuine... but at the end of the day, he was still a politician. He wanted no part of the actual responsibility. He merely wanted to play the prophet who had forewarned everyone of the 'German threat'—much like Shtal, who had predicted this Great War.
Sigh, Shtal... Herbert was sixty-one years old. He had seen all manner of absurdities on the continent throughout his life. Yet, ever since that fellow Shtal had burst onto the scene, it felt as though the world had become exponentially more bizarre.
One way or another, I am doomed. No matter what I do, there is a mountain of people who want to drag me to the guillotine. Still, Herbert was a cunning and seasoned politician, capable of climbing to the very top of British politics. He calmly weighed his options, trying to determine which path would hurt the least.
First option: support the Russian Black Army? Absolutely out of the question. The National Revolutionaries were so utterly insane they made the Stahlists and Marxists look like perfect gentlemen. Britain had already learned a bitter lesson in Serbia. What kind of idiot would repeat the exact same mistake?
Second option: maintain strict neutrality? It was a tempting prospect. However, it was far better to go down fighting than to sink into oblivion through sheer, helpless incompetence. Rejected.
That left Prime Minister Herbert with only one final choice: wash his hands of the Western Front entirely and throw his support solely behind the Russian White Army on the Eastern Front.
"This is the best way to save face. No matter what, we cannot align with those bastards in the National Revolutionary Party."
The Liberal Party was, after all, the heir to William Gladstone's legacy. Even though it had lost much of its original luster and degenerated into just another run-of-the-mill imperialist party, how could they possibly share a boat with psychopaths who viewed every single race on Earth—save for the Slavs—as mere insects?
Having made his decision, Prime Minister Herbert finally leaned back in his chair. However, if there was one potential flaw in this plan, it was...
"Sigh. I only pray that Germany leaves Belgium well enough alone."
The battle lines of the Great War—or the "Black and White War," as the press had taken to calling it—were finally taking shape. Aligned with the National Revolutionary Army were the Russian Black Army, Serbia, Italy, and France. On the side of the Crusaders stood the Russian White Army, Great Britain, Germany, and Austria-Hungary. It had somehow devolved into a bizarre clash of Germanic nations versus Romance and Slavic peoples.
We must absolutely prevent the German Empire from losing its mind and crossing into Belgium.
Putting everything else on hold, I departed for Germany in my capacity as Minister Plenipotentiary. I even dragged Archduke Franz Ferdinand along with me at this critical juncture. Since every second counted, we traveled by airship. Even if we had successfully crippled Russia, any further escalation of this war would be highly dangerous. After all, while Russia was collapsing, those Italian bastards had gone ahead and declared war. In the end, both the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the German Empire had to brace themselves for a two-front war. If Great Britain—the wealthiest nation in the world—decided to throw its weight into the fray under these conditions, even I couldn't guarantee what would happen next.
To be honest, I was treading in uncharted waters. In the history I knew, World War I had ultimately been a war of pure attrition and industrial capacity. Tactical brilliance meant absolutely nothing in the face of raw national power. However, on Earth Mk. II, tanks had made their debut five to eight years earlier than in my original timeline under the guise of "combat tractors." Germany, Britain, and France were already pouring astronomical sums of money into armored cars and aviation.
Wait. Hold on a second. If that was the case, wouldn't the Schlieffen Plan actually succeed? If they tweaked it slightly, renamed it "Operation Sichelschnitt," and... Oh god... marched a division of combat tractors straight through the Ardennes Forest!
"Please, calm yourself, Representative Shtal! Why is it that every time you mutter 'Wait' or 'Hold on,' your eyes suddenly roll back into your head like Cooperative Leader Hitler?!" Archduke Franz Ferdinand, who was rushing to Berlin alongside me, gasped in shock. This was rich, coming from a man who had practically channeled his inner Stalin just a few days ago.
At any rate, if we wanted to prevent Britain from flying off the handle and entering the war, two conditions had to be met. First, Winston Churchill must not have a hysterical fit. Second, Germany must not lay a single finger on Belgium. The entire outcome of the war hung on this. If Britain were to join the fight against our Crusaders, Germany would undoubtedly deploy a massive fleet of submarines to starve the British Isles out, attempting to compensate for their inferior naval power. And if they went around sinking ships left and right with U-boats, what would happen if they accidentally sank a vessel belonging to a nation they absolutely should not provoke? The United States—a final boss infinitely more terrifying than the mid-boss, Britain—would enter the stage. Time was of the essence. Once the troops began to march, there would be no turning back.
In my original timeline, it had taken about a month from the Sarajevo assassination to the actual outbreak of war. During that time, some had gleefully thrown logs onto the Balkan fire, turning what should have been a localized conflict between Serbia and the Empire into a raging inferno. Conversely, diplomats and monarchs elsewhere had practically thrown themselves into the flames to extinguish the sparks of a global war. After all, nearly all the absolute monarchs of Europe were, in fact, distant cousins. Kaiser Wilhelm II and Tsar Nicholas II certainly hadn't wanted a war of that magnitude. Of course, considering one ended up a political vegetable and the other was executed after the war, their political instincts had been entirely correct. If only they had actually stopped it.
But this war was entirely different. While the Black Hand assassinating the Archduke was a monumental crisis in its own right, this timeline had witnessed provocations that defied all imagination. Russia's government had been completely overthrown, plunging the nation into a brutal civil war. Even the Nazis hadn't been this extreme. Naturally, monarchs and world leaders felt no hesitation in resorting to arms, and it took less than a week for the entire European continent to be dragged into the conflict.
Is... is this really happening? We've declared war, but where on earth do we even begin? The only nations genuinely prepared for combat were the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Serbia. Even Russia, currently tearing itself apart in a civil war, was merely scrambling to rally supporters for a massive clash. Historically, the escalation to a great war followed a strict protocol: ultimatum, rejection, mobilization, and finally, a declaration of war. However, caught completely off guard by the sheer speed of events, the panicked leadership of various nations was committing the ultimate blunder—declaring war first and sending ultimatums later.
Meanwhile, in Germany... "Your Majesty! Following their declaration of war, France has contacted us demanding we rescind our declaration against Russia. There is no doubt they have already completed their mobilization!" Helmuth von Moltke the Younger, the Chief of the German General Staff, was hounding the Kaiser day and night, practically begging for war.
"We have no time to lose! We must execute the Schlieffen Plan immediately, before France can establish her defensive lines!" The Schlieffen Plan: a strategy to bypass French defenses by sweeping through the Netherlands and Belgium to capture Paris in a mere forty-two days. The straight-line distance from Berlin to Paris alone was nearly nine hundred kilometers. In other words, the plan demanded that they mobilize a massive army of nearly a million men, pack them onto trains, send them through Belgium—a country bristling with heavily fortified strongholds—and charge full speed toward Paris to knock France out of the war in record time.
"Our objective is to avenge the tragically murdered Tsar. Why do you insist on focusing so heavily on the French front?"
"Because France is actively trying to prevent that vengeance, Your Majesty!"
"Let me consider this a little longer."
"Your Majesty, I beg of you...!"
The flashpoint of this war was undeniably the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Russian Empire, and Serbia. Naturally, that was where the primary theater of war should be. If the German Empire suddenly threw its entire military might at France under the pretext of securing its rear, how would its allies react? Furthermore, while Kaiser Wilhelm II agreed with the notion of crushing France, at this particular moment, his desire to avenge Nicholas II burned far brighter. Though they had drifted apart politically, the Tsar had been one of the few fellow monarchs the lonely Kaiser could truly call a friend. (Of course, Wilhelm II's mind was notoriously fickle, shifting like a reed in the wind from morning to night.)
Yet, under the relentless, desperate pleading of Moltke the Younger, the Kaiser's wavering mind was slowly beginning to tilt.
"Ahem. Very well, then. We shall proceed with the Chief of Staff's plan..."
"Your Majesty! Minister Plenipotentiary Shtal and Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria have arrived!" Moltke, terrified that the Kaiser might change his mind at the last second, quickly interjected. "This is perfect timing. Let us immediately inform the Austrian envoy of the Schlieffen Plan and secure their cooperation."
"Yes, quite right. The situation developed so rapidly that we had no time to coordinate, so this is indeed fortunate." In the Schlieffen Plan, the cooperation of their ally was absolutely vital. Even with Russia in complete disarray, someone still had to hold the line on the Eastern Front. While Austria-Hungary would likely manage, what if a lack of communication led them to launch a mindless, all-out offensive into the Balkans instead? Kaiser Wilhelm II welcomed Representative Shtal and Archduke Franz Ferdinand with open arms.
"I am deeply grateful you could make the journey in these urgent times. In fact, there is a matter of grave importance I wish to discuss with you—"
"Your Imperial Majesty, I must sincerely apologize for interrupting. However, the sole reason we have come today is to prevent you from executing any foolish plan to bypass French defenses through Belgium and the Netherlands in hopes of a swift victory."
Both Moltke and Wilhelm II stood frozen, their jaws dropping in unison. They had naively assumed that Austria-Hungary would simply fall in line and cooperate with the Schlieffen Plan without question. Yet, hearing the exact details of their top-secret strategy fall from Representative Shtal's lips left them utterly dumbfounded, their minds racing with a single question: How on earth did he know? It was a perfect testament to just how absurdly transparent and reckless the Schlieffen Plan truly was.
"Y-you truly are...! As expected of the genius behind the military application of the Stahl-Ferdinand Model, your intellect is simply astounding. You are entirely correct. It is a plan that is guaranteed to succeed, provided Austria-Hungary can hold Russia at bay."
I let out a long, weary sigh. I knew it. These absolute lunatics. Do they suffer from some sort of pathological disease where they have seizures if they don't conquer Paris in exactly six weeks?