Hitler vs. Stalin, Part II
Upon our arrival in Greece, we were granted VIP status and immediately invited to the Greek Presidential Mansion, which had formerly been the royal palace. The invitees were Adolf Hitler and myself. As a heavyweight who essentially pulled the strings of Austria-Hungary, I was naturally received by the Greek President with honors befitting a head of state. Hitler, too, was the democratically elected Chairman of the Hungarian Agricultural Cooperative. In a sense, he had been invited as a head of state in his own right.
In fact, Hitler is much more of a head of state than I am. Compared to my rather ambiguous position, isn't Hitler in a far more official public office?
Of course, that's only on paper. Honestly, it's not like I've been sitting on my hands for the past ten years.
I had successfully established psychological dominance over the Austrian Kaiser. The crown prince was practically my subordinate. And the German Kaiser practically swooned with joy whenever he saw me. At this point, I was more influential than the monarch of any minor European nation.
"While we are being treated as honored guests at the Presidential Mansion, that fellow Stalin must be sucking his thumbs at the harbor!"
"...Well, I suppose so."
"He came here acting as the representative for the Bosnian Agricultural Cooperative, but at the end of the day, isn't he just a mere guerrilla commander? He wasn't even elected! What a parasite..."
Chairman Hitler seemed utterly delighted by the fact that he held the upper hand over Stalin, completely putting aside the looming war. Well, it made sense. In terms of mobilizable military force, Stalin and Hitler were neck and neck, but in terms of legitimate political authority, Hitler was far superior, wasn't he?
In any case, the President welcomed us with immense warmth. To be honest, I had harbored quite a few worries on our way to Greece. Although Greece's image had been somewhat softened by the fact that they were fighting against a mad, fanatical entity like Yugoslavia...
...at the end of the day, Greece is still a Democratic Revolutionary Republic.
It was a nation with the potential to go completely off the rails. I had felt uneasy about partnering with such a state, but seeing President Eleftherios Venizelos greet me in person put me more at ease than expected.
Come to think of it, this man wasn't even originally from the Democratic Revolutionary Party, was he?
He was a figure who had already enjoyed widespread support while serving as Prime Minister under the Kingdom of Greece. In other words, President Venizelos had essentially swallowed up the politically green Democratic Revolutionary Party.
"Thank you for such a warm welcome, Mr. President."
"The Austro-Hungarian Empire has always been a faithful ally of the Greek Republic. This is only natural."
"By the way, didn't you set up your government offices in the public square? Is it alright for you to host us in a place like this?"
"With such distinguished guests visiting, we could hardly receive you in a shabby tent."
In the midst of the Balkan War, the Greek government had moved its administrative offices and parliament entirely into tents as part of a political show, following my advice. Since the clashes with Serbia were still ongoing, that theatrical display was still in full swing.
"Our Democratic Revolutionary Republic is a nation founded strictly upon the support of the Greek populace. Running a tent government hasn't been half bad, actually!"
"Please show me around sometime."
"Just avoid coming on a rainy day! The tents get completely soaked, and I always worry about what we'll do if a proper storm hits."
"Hahaha!"
"Hahaha!"
I exchanged lighthearted banter with President Venizelos. Ah, so a Democratic Revolutionary Republic like this can actually exist?! Until now, every revolutionary republic I had encountered filled their official diplomatic dispatches with bloodthirsty rants about "bloodshed," "guillotines," and "villainous masterminds"! At any rate, President Venizelos, with his background as a civilian politician, was conducting politics in a perfectly normal, rational manner.
After a long stretch of small talk, it was finally time to get down to business.
"How is the military situation for Greece at the moment?"
"Representative Shtal, you have truly arrived at a critical juncture. To be perfectly frank, Greece no longer has the capacity to sustain this war."
Even Serbia, Greece's arch-nemesis, was barely keeping the war going by grinding down its own people like blood-crazed cultists. What, then, of Greece, which had been locked in combat with such a foe for so long? Without the full-throated support of Britain and our Empire, it wouldn't have been surprising if the country had collapsed already.
"Then... the front lines must be in a terrible state as well."
"Indeed. Just look around Athens. The young men have been completely wiped out. We have no more youth to push to the front lines; we are at the point where we must send the elderly and children."
"So... barely holding the line is the absolute limit of your capabilities."
"Yes. We are only intact because Serbia is busy dealing with your Empire's forces. Otherwise, they would be threatening Athens once again."
"Serbia is practically a ruined state itself. How can they manage that?"
The President vividly described the horrific realities of the war that rarely made it to the outside world. Perhaps that bastard Fuhrer Apis is a reincarnator too. If I had peeked behind the curtain of World War I and brought back shocktrooper tactics ahead of time, then this lunatic had undoubtedly witnessed the 21st-century Middle East.
The Serbians had lost their actual capacity for conventional warfare long ago. Yet, they were still stubbornly holding out against the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and even possessed the offensive power to push Greece back once more. The reason?
They used civilians as human shields and sent prisoners and captives to the front as cannon fodder. They had elevated suicide bombings and improvised explosive devices (IEDs) to an art form. Naturally, they also systematically carried out beheadings and immolations to utterly shatter enemy morale.
"...Are they insane?"
Even Hitler, reborn as an artist, shuddered at the horrific details.
"Yes, Representative. At this point, I highly doubt whether they can even be considered a proper nation."
"...They will pay the price. Actually, it might not be as difficult as you think."
"Pardon? What do you mean by that...?"
"The Serbians are in no better shape than your country. It is precisely because they cannot maintain their lines through normal means that they are resorting to atrocities no civilized nation would ever commit."
We only needed to break through one more time. Just once. If we did, the Serbians, unable to sustain their lines, would naturally be driven back to Belgrade. Of course, once we reached Belgrade, a horrific urban battle would await us. But then again, wasn't I already experienced in urban warfare? It would be fine.
"Good, very good! However... I cannot help but worry about what will happen if we fail to break through."
In other words, he was indirectly asking if the Revolutionary Guard was ultimately just a ragtag militia. I recalled the Hungarian Agricultural Cooperative Revolutionary Guard, which had delivered a brilliant, if messy, victory against the Hungarian aristocratic rebels.
Several years had passed since then. In the meantime, they had fully equipped themselves with armored vehicles and combat tractors. We had even brought in the Wright brothers to advance our aviation technology.
Of course, they weren't elite shocktroopers like the Germans. But they weren't a mere rabble of militia like the Armed Cooperative Alliance either. There are militias, and then there are militias. During the Satsuma Rebellion in Japan, the ones who crushed the invincible Satsuma samurai were, after all, mostly conscripted policemen. In other words, our forces had risen to the level of Castro's revolutionary army or the Chinese Communist Party's Red Army around the time of the Long March.
I spoke with a confident expression.
"Once you see them in action, even for a moment, those doubts will vanish."
"Um, Corporal Nikola? Is it really alright for you to be sleeping?"
"It's fine. The Greeks couldn't push up here even if they died and came back to life. Besides, you're a lucky bastard, Aleksandar."
"Huh? Why's that?"
"You didn't enlist when the war was at its worst. Instead, you get to slack off here on the Greek front."
"But... is it really okay?"
"I told you, it's fine! More importantly, do you have any canned food left? More people die of starvation here than from getting shot."
In a trench in southern Serbia, two soldiers were exchanging idle chatter, completely neglecting their guard duties. Neither Serbia nor Greece had the luxury to pay attention to the southern front anymore. From the north, the Austro-Hungarian imperial army was already sweeping down with terrifying momentum.
Greece was merely acting as a drag on the Serbian forces, while Serbia had deployed only enough troops to match the Greeks, pouring the rest of its national strength into the northern front.
"Um, Corporal Nikola."
"What now! Keep talking and you'll just make me hungrier!"
"No, it's not that... Look at the sky... An airplane..."
"An airplane? What about it?! It's just the usual—wait, what?"
Corporal Nikola's eyes went wide as he stared up at the sky. An airplane—something he hadn't seen since his days as a raw recruit—was soaring through the air.
The exhausted Greek forces had eventually lost every single aircraft they had purchased from the Hungarian Agricultural Cooperative. Lacking the funds to buy more, planes had vanished from the battlefield. But now, they were back.
"This... I have a bad feeling about this. Get the ammo, get the ammo!"
"Wh-what? But Corporal Nikola, didn't you skip cleaning your rifle last night?"
"So what! You want us to just sit here and die? Hurry up!"
Having spent years rolling around the front lines, Corporal Nikola knew exactly what followed when planes appeared.
"Get your heads down, now!"
Flying so low they almost scraped the ground, the planes swept over the trenches, raking them with machine-gun fire.
"Prepare for combat! Prepare for combat!"
Something was coming. Meanwhile, on another part of the front, Private Milos and Corporal Marko were experiencing the exact same situation. The days of fighting nothing but trench foot, starvation, and sheer boredom were coming to an abrupt end. A new phase of the war was upon them.
"Corporal Marko! Do you hear horse hooves?"
"Has starvation finally driven you mad? What do you mean, horse hooves... wait, what?"
Corporal Marko picked up the unmistakable sound of thundering hooves. Although an untimely trench war had unfolded in the Balkans, neither Serbia nor Greece had the resources to man such extensive trenches, and the terrain—riddled with mountains, valleys, and hills—was highly complex. Consequently, trenches were dug only in key strategic points or flat plains, leaving plenty of room for cavalry to operate. Yet, the Greek army was in no position to field a proper cavalry unit. The only place the Serbian army had encountered cavalry was on the northern front, along the Bosnian border.
Listening to the disciplined, rhythmic beat of the hooves, Corporal Marko recalled a certain nightmare.
No, it can't be. Surely not...
He remembered being harassed by the Bosnian Revolutionary Guards at the border, unable to sleep a single wink for three straight days. Why did bad premonitions always turn out to be right?
"They're bypassing the line! Stop them! Stop them!"
The soldiers ran for their lives toward the edge of the trench.
Shtal, fearing that Hitler and Stalin might end up clashing and turning their weapons on each other, had kept their respective armies separated. At the same time, he realized he could maximize their efficiency by turning the campaign into a competition.
Both of them will pull out every stop to reach Belgrade before the other.
Both Hitler and Stalin were thoroughly riled up.
Hitler and Stalin. Burning with mutual animosity, they delivered impassioned speeches to their respective Revolutionary Guards.
Yes, on paper, this was a war to punish Yugoslavia, an entity committing unspeakable atrocities under the banner of national revolution. However, to the Agricultural Cooperative Revolutionary Guards charging relentlessly toward Belgrade, the capital of Yugoslavia, the conflict carried a slightly different weight.
It was not merely a rivalry born of the personal animosity between Hitler and Stalin, two individuals who differed in every conceivable way. It was a fierce clash between two organizations with entirely different heritages: Hungary and Bosnia.
Hungary, which boasted a proud tradition of liberating itself from the oppressive nobility with its own hands. Bosnia, which fought for justice after witnessing the horrific atrocities of the Serbians with its own eyes.
"We are the true Agricultural Cooperative!"
"We are the true Revolutionary Guard!"
Ultimately, it was a battle between two distinct identities: the Cooperative and the Guard.
Hitler and Stalin shouted different slogans at the exact same moment, but their ultimate objective was identical.
"We will take Belgrade before they do!"