The Mediocre Dictator (1)

The winning strategy for urban warfare is simple: surround the area completely and pound it with artillery until everyone starves to death. However, both Hitler and Stalin opposed Shtal's idea in unison.

"Leader, we don't have the luxury of dragging this out!"

"He is right. If we wait three or six months, the Imperial Army will march down."

"We'd be doing all the hard work only for someone else to snatch the prize!"

"Exactly. We must be the ones to win this war. Did you really intend to let the Imperial Army, crawling with those feudal relics, take even a shred of credit for this victory?"

Hitler and Stalin rarely agreed on anything. Yet, in the face of a common enemy—the Imperial Army—they were remarkably united. For both Hitler and Stalin, if not for Shtal, they would have been stripped of any opportunity to distinguish themselves in this war.

Should I have just gotten rid of Hötzendorf earlier? Shtal shook his head. That old fossil Hötzendorf had used every bureaucratic hurdle, underhanded trick, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and political maneuver to block the Agricultural Cooperatives from participating in the war. But what if that malicious obstructionism reached its peak? For Stalin, Hitler, and Shtal, the political landscape wasn't actually as bad as it seemed. These three were some of the finest theorists and demagogues in Europe. While Hötzendorf fumbled on the battlefield, overthrowing the government using the pristine, untouched forces of the Agricultural Cooperatives would be easier than taking candy from a baby. Of course, that had to remain an absolute last resort.

If we just wait for Hötzendorf to bleed his own forces dry and ruin the empire, what are we going to do about those fanatical national revolutionaries? The collapse of the feudal aristocracy was inevitable anyway. With a far greater enemy looming ahead, it was wiser to ignore the lesser threat for now. Besides, no matter how stubborn of an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠old fossil he was, a general was still a general. If every general in the empire was like Hötzendorf, how were they supposed to wage a war? Shtal spoke to Hitler and Stalin.

"Indeed. We cannot afford to wait for the Imperial Army to arrive. While using them as a shield in urban combat has its merits, our true enemies are not the soldiers, but the generals, are they not?"

"Yes!"

"Precisely."

"While the Imperial Army grinds its soldiers to dust and achieves nothing, if we crush these Serbian bandits ourselves, it will deal a devastating blow to Hötzendorf's standing."

This war was a strike against Serbia, but it was also a strike against the incompetent generals like Hötzendorf. The Austro-Hungarian Empire was a land of peace, governed by bureaucrats and civilians. Unlike the brutal Germans, political struggles here took the form of court intrigues. In peacetime, terrifying events like the "Night of the Long Knives," the "Great Purge," or the "Cultural Revolution" were unthinkable. But in wartime, politics became as ruthless as actual combat. The more they damaged Hötzendorf's position, the more the scales tipped toward a purge.

Cooperative Leader Hitler and Commander Stalin began exchanging a chilling conversation.

"Once the war is over and the military outlives its usefulness, we should probably execute all those generals who tried to keep us in check."

"Stalin, that is a fine idea... but wouldn't it be better to start with one massive, high-impact event?"

"Ah, yes, Hitler. First, we establish an atmosphere of absolute terror."

"Then, we insert officers to monitor and audit the military one by one, gradually stripping them of control. The Political Commissar system we already run in the cooperatives would be perfect for this."

"Why bother? We already have an entire army called the Revolutionary Guard, don't we?"

"That works too! Mwahahaha!"

"Hehehehe!"

Truly, they were the fathers of the Great Purge, the Night of the Long Knives, political commissars, and the SS! Despite their vastly different personalities, seeing them act like this made them look so much like twins that it was uncanny compared to their original histories. Dictators, it seemed, underwent convergent evolution. From Hitler and Stalin to Kim Il-sung and Gaddafi, how could their thought processes be so identical?

"Well then, Cooperative Leader Hitler and Commander Stalin. Let us put aside our past rivalries and go fetch Apis's head. I trust you both brought the items I gave you?"

In a way, urban warfare shared a common thread with trench warfare, as both involved pouring troops into well-fortified strongholds. Because of this, Shtal had prepared several highly useful tools for urban combat in advance. Although the situation in Alsace-Lorraine had been too frantic to properly utilize his secret weapons, here, he could finally unleash his overpowered urban warfare gear! Armed with the gadgets of "Doraemon Shtal," Hitler and Stalin began conquering Belgrade with unstoppable momentum.

Several airplanes buzzed low over the city. It was neither for reconnaissance nor for bombing. In the first place, with the dense sprawl of buildings and rubble, aerial reconnaissance was of little use. There was too much cover, and even strafing with machine guns yielded poor results. Yet, the planes dropped something nonetheless. The citizens of Belgrade picked up the papers fluttering down from the sky.

Belgrade citizens who picked up these ominous leaflets wasted no time fleeing to areas spared from the bombardment. Naturally, many chose to slip past the Serbian army's watchful eyes and surrender directly to the surrounding Revolutionary Guard.

The leaflets did more than just announce the bombardment schedule. Führer Apis was a military dictator who had seized power through a coup. Even though Belgrade was crawling with fanatical National Revolutionaries, a significant portion of the population harbored deep resentment toward him. Many had once been passionate supporters of the National Revolution, only to turn their backs on Führer Apis after witnessing endless war, famine, and massacres. They had remained silent only out of terror of the National Revolutionary Party's concentration camps.

"...At least we won't be dragged to the northern trenches to die like dogs."

"Die? If we stay, we'll end up begging for death in a concentration camp."

"Apis and the National Revolutionary Party are completely insane! Even if my legs get blown off by artillery, fleeing is better than staying in Belgrade and looking at the severed heads of Austrians every single day!"

"Let's go, to the Austrians!"

Despite the severe censorship in Belgrade, Shtal's name was widely known. The state media branded him with every wicked label imaginable—Satan, a demon, a communist, a Jew, a Jesuit, and more. Yet, the people knew that, at the very least, Shtal was not a murderous monster like Apis. They had heard of the recent evacuation of Alsace-Lorraine, and how those refugees were now living peacefully in a newly built village on the outskirts of Vienna. Spurred by these rumors, citizens began escaping Belgrade one by one, heading toward the lines of the Revolutionary Guard.

"...We can no longer endure Führer Apis's tyranny!"

"Is that so?"

"Pardon?"

"Do not underestimate our intelligence network. According to our records... you are still an active member of the National Revolutionary Party."

"T-That is..."

"And a police officer to boot? Your crimes are quite severe!"

"I only did it to make a living! W-Where are you taking me?! Let go of me!"

However, they did not welcome just anyone. A significant portion of the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard was highly skilled in civil affairs; after all, during peacetime, they were simply employees of the Agricultural Cooperative. They quickly gathered intelligence from the fleeing Serbian refugees. After a brief interrogation process, any members of the National Revolutionary Party were promptly detained. Normally, they were handed over to the Greek army, which was cooperating with the Revolutionary Guard. But what of those whose crimes were truly heinous?

"P-Please... spare me!"

"I imagine you heard those exact words from the Jews, Germans, Muslims, Catholics, communists, and Stahlists you hunted down and slaughtered."

"H-How... I heard Shtal was a humanitarian! How can you do this?!"

"It is precisely because of Shtal that you are receiving mercy. If you try to run, you won't survive what we do to you anyway. Now, march forward. At least this way, you have a chance of surviving, don't you?"

The worst of the National Revolutionary Party members were forced to wear black armbands, branded on their foreheads, and sent straight to the front lines. Their role was to flush out ambushes and traps. Compared to the atrocities they had committed, this could indeed be called "mercy." At any rate, after the planes finished scattering the leaflets...

Boom! Boom! Boom! Now came the turn of the artillery. The Hungarian Revolutionary Guard pulverized Belgrade with a massive array of heavy artillery they had dragged along. Into the smoking ruins marched the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard. What did they carry in their hands? Unlike the Imperial Army or the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard, who were armed with standard rifles, their primary weapons were submachine guns and shotguns. On top of that, they carried flamethrowers, grenade launchers, rifle grenades, breaching charges, light machine guns, smoke grenades, and even ballistic shields. A few armored cars even roamed the battlefield, providing mobile support. Armed to the teeth with all manner of heavy infantry weapons, the elite Bosnian Revolutionary Guard swept through the ruins in an instant, leveraging their overwhelming close-quarters firepower.

"Sir... do you think the enemy is ambushing us from this basement?"

"Then give the basement a good sweep with the flamethrower."

"Sniper spotted on the second floor of the building at seven o'clock!"

"Blow them away with the grenade launcher and mortars!"

Unlike France, which had tasted bitter defeat in Alsace-Lorraine, or the German army, which had spent a decade preparing for a grand war, this small Balkan nation in the far reaches of Eastern Europe had not yet developed proper urban warfare tactics. Even if they had known of them, the chaotic domestic situation and constant warfare would have prevented any real progress. Ultimately, urban combat came down to the actions of individual infantry companies, platoons, and squads. Before entering any ruins, the Revolutionary Guard saturated every potential sniper nest or ambush point with heavy infantry fire. Even so, the casualties were not light, given the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠machine gun nests and fortified buildings scattered throughout the city.

"Grind Belgrade to dust! From this moment on, Belgrade is no longer a place for the living! It will become a landscape fit only for hell!"

Whenever they hit a snag due to heavy fortifications, the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard immediately requested support. But how did they send messengers to request artillery fire in the middle of such chaos? Shtal was completely ignorant of electrical and electronic engineering. Thus, even as a reincarnated person from the future, he couldn't magically conjure up portable radios out of thin air. Fortunately, in a chaotic melee like this, there was no need for radios anyway.

They could just shout into a megaphone!

During the urban combat in Alsace-Lorraine, the greatest challenge Shtal had faced was the complete breakdown of command and control. Orders were ignored, and squads moved entirely on their own initiative. This made coordinated strategic actions nearly impossible. If they were going to face such difficulties anyway, it was far better to simply throw operational security out the window.

Every single operational order echoed loudly across the battlefield, audible to allies and Serbians alike. There were no codes, no secrets—but what could the Serbians even do about it? While developing an encrypted voice communication system would have been ideal, wasting time on such things in the middle of a chaotic brawl was a luxury they couldn't afford. Let them listen! What could they do other than run for their lives, burn to death by flamethrowers, or surrender?

The Bosnian Revolutionary Guard systematically secured the city, block by block. Next came the turn of the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard, who, though less heavily armed, possessed superior numbers. They fortified the areas cleared by the Bosnians, laying down extensive minefields of anti-personnel mines and setting up meticulous machine gun nests to ensure the enemy could never retake them. For a fortnight, they advanced from the south, steadily swallowing Belgrade block by block.

"Cease the use of heavy weapons from this point forward! We must capture the Serbian ringleader, Apis, alive!"

At long last, the underground bunker beneath the Serbian Parliament building—where Führer Apis was reportedly hiding—loomed right before their eyes.