The Demise of a Mediocre Man
March 1914. Half a year had already passed since the fall of Yugoslavia. While the war in the Balkans had settled into a lull, the conflict in Russia was escalating by the day. I was currently receiving a war report from my secretary.
"...What? The First Lord of the Admiralty of the British Empire is planning a landing operation? Surely, this First Lord's first name isn't 'Winston'?"
"Yes, Representative Stahl."
"By any chance... the planned landing site isn't 'Gallipoli', is it?"
"Pardon? The Ottoman Empire is a neutral state, sir."
"...Do we have any spare battleships?"
"Representative, why do you ask about spare battleships all of a sudden? All of our battleships are currently deployed to control the Adriatic and the Eastern Mediterranean..."
"Is that so? Hmm."
Churchill. Winston Churchill. Churchill and landing operations really didn't mix well. Or was it just that Churchill and the Middle East had terrible compatibility? In any case, that fellow was bound to declare that he would break through the narrow Baltic Sea and launch a landing operation in Tallinn, Estonia—right on St. Petersburg's doorstep. Would that even work?
"For now, we must prevent Britain from doing anything foolish to the Ottoman Empire. We barely managed to stabilize our three-front war; if the Ottomans turn hostile, it will be a massive headache."
"Why on earth would Britain do anything to the Ottoman Empire...?"
"Well, you know how it is. For example, Britain might requisition the battleships the Ottomans ordered from their shipyards..."
"What?! Representative. I know Britain is mockingly called a nation of pirates, but would they really commit such actual piracy?! No, surely not..."
"Well, stranger things have happened. Regardless, we must appease the Ottoman Empire. By any means necessary."
It was true. In actual history, that madman Winston Churchill literally seized the battleships the Ottoman Empire had commissioned in British shipyards, claiming they were needed for the war effort. That single act dragged the Ottoman Empire into the war. To clean up his own mess, Churchill then ordered a landing at Gallipoli, barely a few hundred kilometers from Istanbul. The result? A catastrophic defeat. The navy was utterly shattered by naval mines densely packed into the narrow straits, and the landing forces were systematically slaughtered at the heavily fortified Gallipoli. It was an obvious outcome. Since antiquity, the entrance to the Black Sea had been notoriously narrow. ...Just like the Baltic Sea. No matter how decrepit the Ottoman Empire was, did anyone honestly think they couldn't defend against a massive army landing right under their noses? ...Just like the Russian Black Army. We were screwed.
...Churchill is going to get sacked. I heard he's been rallying the anti-German hardliners in Parliament, throwing a massive tantrum about how they need to strike Germany. I hope he gets ousted this time.
If, by some miracle, Churchill actually succeeded in landing at Tallinn? St. Petersburg would fall, and the Great War would end right then and there, which would be great. If he failed? Churchill would be ruined, and Britain would become far more cooperative in prosecuting the war.
"What about Germany?"
"Yes, Representative. They say they have advanced right to the gates of Warsaw."
"Hmm... Impressive, as expected of the Germans. Even with the Kaiser constantly meddling, they still managed to push forward this quickly."
Yes, the invincible German army indeed. To somehow grind their way all the way to Warsaw under these conditions.
"And General Hindenburg...?"
"I hear he was escorted back to Berlin under arrest for daring to advance fifty kilometers to the east without authorization."
"Tsk, tsk. At least Ludendorff is managing to butter up the Kaiser to keep the war machine running somehow."
Ever since the failure of the Schlieffen Plan, the German Kaiser had gone completely off the deep end, micromanaging every single aspect of the war. The German army couldn't take a single step without his imperial permission. Hadn't he already executed Moltke the Younger over the Schlieffen Plan debacle anyway? Wilhelm II had finally drawn his sword! Yet, at this critical juncture where the Russian Black Army was threatening Ukraine, he was busy tying the military's hands, throwing a wrench into every single operation they attempted!
Even more so than in the original history, not a single country was sane. Thanks to this, despite assembling a dream alliance of Germany, Britain, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the war was on the verge of dragging into a sluggish stalemate. Of course, this would be the perfect time for Austria-Hungary, the Revolutionary Guard, and myself to make a move. However, since the occupation of Serbia, I had been focusing on a far more critical task—one a million times more important than the war itself.
What is the most important thing in war? Winning, obviously. But a rational state must look beyond mere victory. It must define why we fight. If this definition is not properly established, not only does victory slip further away, but even if you do win, the nation becomes warped. This is because nothing is learned from the conflict. To prevent this, we established the War Crimes Tribunal to systematically prosecute the war criminals of Yugoslavia.
"Ah, haha! Welcome, Dr. Carl Jung."
"Yes. I have brought Alfred Adler with me this time, Mr. Dimitrijević."
"Hehe, of course, of course! Any friend of Dr. Jung is a friend of mine!"
"...Excellent. Shall we talk about your father now?"
Imprisoned in his cell, Apis—no, Dimitrijević—greeted Carl Jung and Alfred Adler with a bright smile. He was constantly subjected to all kinds of beatings and harassment by the guards. Having committed acts that stripped him of his humanity, it was only natural that he was despised by the prison staff. Consequently, he had no choice but to cling to Carl Jung and the scholars of the psychoanalytic society, who were the only ones treating him with any semblance of human decency.
Stahl had summoned every academic imaginable—from the psychoanalytic society to hematologists, neuroscientists, sociologists, political scientists, and historians—to interview Apis.
"...I think I understand his general psychological state. He is a monster forged by extreme inferiority and alienation, correct?"
"I do not think we can simplify it so easily. If everyone who felt inferior and alienated turned out like him, the world would have ended long ago."
"...True. But isn't the outcome what matters? Was a man like Dimitrijević ever truly capable of engaging in normal political activity?"
Dimitrijević was being dissected alive. His ideology, his personal history, his tastes, his traumas—everything was laid bare. A mountain of documents was pouring into the War Crimes Tribunal from Belgrade. Official minutes, or in their absence, written testimonies. Every single action and word of Dimitrijević was being systematically gathered and recorded.
"I greet Representative Stahl and Your Imperial Highness."
"Oh, brother-in-law! You're here?"
"Ludwig Wittgenstein, it has been a while since the funeral."
The chief archivist of the War Crimes Tribunal was Ludwig Wittgenstein, the youngest son of Chairman Karl Wittgenstein and a student of philosophy at Cambridge. Originally, Wittgenstein had been tasked with conducting a philosophical investigation into Apis's ideology and life. But had he not also lost his father to Apis's machinations? He was, without a doubt, the most fitting person for the role of chief archivist.
"Brother-in-law, how is the investigation progressing?"
"...With all due respect to Your Highness, he is perfectly sane. Or perhaps, I should say he is utterly ordinary?"
"H-huh."
"I have seriously questioned whether he was brainwashed by some dark magic. Why Dimitrijević committed such atrocities, and why he appears so... unremarkable now. Everything is a mystery. He is, in every sense, a thoroughly mediocre man."
Hearing Wittgenstein's words, Stahl recalled the historical accounts of Adolf Hitler. The man who had orchestrated the slaughter of millions of Jews. Yet, in his private life, Hitler was said to have been remarkably ordinary. Ordinary? Nay, he was described as polite, gentle, a lover of animals, and a strict vegetarian. If anyone was truly mad, it was Joseph Stalin, who spent his entire life plagued by severe paranoia and obsessive-compulsive distrust.
"Your Highness, do not grieve too deeply."
"..."
"Has it not been proven that evil and atrocities have nothing to do with one's innate nature? We were never fighting Dimitrijević, but Apis. We were not fighting a national revolution, but hatred itself."
"...Indeed. We, too, are ordinary men. Ordinary men capable of falling into depravity."
"And our role is to fight so that other ordinary men do not fall. Ourselves included."
A hero corrupted by grasping a cursed sword. While slaying the fallen hero is necessary, is it not far more vital to destroy the cursed sword itself? What would happen after Apis's execution? Dimitrijević's body was to be preserved in embalming fluid like a mummy for future generations. Normally, the standard protocol for war criminals was cremation, to prevent followers from turning their graves into shrines. Yet, Stahl ultimately decided to preserve his corpse.
"Stahl, I have my concerns. Wouldn't it be better to erase every trace of that bastard? That would surely be a more fitting punishment."
"No, Your Highness. Every trace of Apis—no, Dimitrijević—will remain in this world."
"Why?"
"The enemy we fight is hatred itself. Are we not the Crusaders? To ensure that the power of hatred never again falls into the hands of an ordinary man like Dimitrijević, we must preserve and study his remains like a taxidermied specimen for all time."
West Germany and East Germany had approached the legacy of the Nazis in entirely different ways. East Germany severed its connection by erasing the Nazis from their history. West Germany, on the other hand, severed its connection by remembering absolutely everything about them. Stahl chose to follow the West German precedent.
"...Stahl, you are correct. And... if we are to 'preserve' him like this, standard methods like hanging, decapitation, or a firing squad simply will not do."
"Indeed."
Only then did the somber Archduke Franz smile at Stahl. Dimitrijević, the self-proclaimed Apis, was being treated with utmost courtesy by the scholars of the War Crimes Tribunal and provided with the finest medical care for the sake of research. But did this mean he was living in luxury? Far from it. A much more horrific end awaited him.
Three months passed. The investigation into every facet of Apis's life was complete. Stahl, being a chemist by trade, had finished preparing the embalming process to preserve the body. He intended to turn him into a macabre tourist attraction, much like Kim Il-sung or Mao Zedong, who were denied eternal rest even in death. After all, being preserved was the classic fate of wicked dictators. Stalin of the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard, who had been tasked with the execution, had also finalized his preparations.
"Please, please spare me! N-no! You don't even have to spare my life! Representative Stahl! Your Excellency Stahl! Please, I beg of you, just shoot me or hang me! Please!"
Apis was dragged away, his arms pinned by the Bosnian Revolutionary Guards. No matter how much Dimitrijević struggled, it was futile. Allowing him to live for an extra six months had been Stahl's final mercy.
"Ugh, uuuugh..."
Dimitrijević shook violently as he was strapped to the chair. Soon, copper wires were connected to his head, arms, legs, and torso.
"Farewell, Apis. Our Empire shall remember you forever."
"S-spare... gh-gkaaaah... AAAAAHHH!"
Stalin flipped the switch with an expression completely devoid of blood or tears. No matter how wicked the condemned, an executioner inevitably suffers psychological distress. This was especially true for an executioner administering the electric chair, an unprecedented method of execution in the Empire that would leave a profound mental trauma on anyone else. Thus, Stahl had assigned the task to the most functional sociopath he knew. Stalin had readily accepted, thrilled by the prospect of personally executing the infamous Apis.
The moment the switch of the electric chair was thrown—
"G-grrr... aaagh... gaaahhhhh..."
High-voltage current surged through Dimitrijević's entire body. He died a slow, agonizing death. It was a demise so gruesome that even the battle-hardened Bosnian Revolutionary Guards turned away in disgust.
"That Thomas Edison fellow must have been quite the lunatic himself to invent such a method of execution."
Even Stalin grimaced in distaste.
With that business concluded, the time for Stahl to march once more drew near. Under normal circumstances, he would have leisurely advanced into Russia to crush the Black Army. However...
"France! France has crossed the Belgian border without a declaration of war!"
"...What?"
"The German army has abandoned their advance on Warsaw and is rushing back to the Western Front!"
France had gone completely mad!