A Genius Con Man's Gambit

Yes, it had been strange from the very beginning. Yudenich had never intended to do anything but benefit the enemy!

At first, he had tried to deliver their entire army right into the jaws of the Reds. But when Shukuro kept a watchful eye on him, the traitor resorted to this trick—pinning their entire strength down on the Eastern Front!

"No, at this point, circumstantial evidence doesn't even matter."

The crime of attempting to burn a secret Allied document! Wasn't that practically shouting, I am a spy!?

"Have you given General Yudenich a proper taste of the rod yet?"

"Well, sir..."

"Forgive us! We couldn't bring ourselves to..."

Honestly, there was no real need for an interrogation, but they still needed a confession, didn't they? Shukuro had planned to tenderize the man with a good thrashing before extracting it. After all, wasn't meat always softer after a thorough beating?

But the Black Army soldiers hesitated to lay a hand on Yudenich. Though they hadn't served under him for long, Yudenich was a benevolent commander. He never forced them into sacrilegious, anti-Orthodox atrocities, nor did he recklessly throw their lives away in suicidal operations.

"Useless bastards! Do I need to give you a taste of the rod too before you understand?!"

"Sir..."

"Give ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it here. If you cowards won't do it, I'll beat him myself."

Shukuro snatched the wooden rod and began to savagely beat Yudenich himself.

"I apologize for showing you such an unsightly display," Yudenich muttered, spitting blood.

"Shut up, you traitor to the Slavic race!"

"How amusing. Roman von Ungern-Sternberg is a noble with a 'von' in his name. Does he really have any right to speak of the Slavic race?"

"Commander Ungern-Sternberg is a descendant of Genghis Khan, whose ancestors migrated to Russia centuries ago!"

Despite being beaten within an inch of his life, Yudenich spat blood and laughed.

"Hahaha... did you hear that?"

"You defected to our side intending to betray us from the start, didn't you?"

"Hardly. I was simply disillusioned by the constant infighting within the White Army."

"Liar!"

"I have never once regretted a choice in my life. But right now, I find myself filled with regret."

Yudenich had always trusted his own judgment. More often than not, his decisions, if not perfectly correct, were at least never entirely wrong. He had believed his defection to the Black Army fell into the same category—not the ideal choice, but certainly not a failure.

How wrong he was! He had made a catastrophic, unfathomable blunder that no ordinary man could even conceive!

The sheer absurdity of his predicament left him with nothing to do but laugh.

"He's finally lost his mind. Keep him bound and send him to Moscow! I am taking command."

"What?! You, General?!"

"Yes. Do you have an objection?"

"...No, sir."

The chief of staff assisting General Yudenich bit his lip. There ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a reason the Russian Black Army had fought so well until now: the quality of their political officers wasn't entirely abysmal. The military was where National Revolutionary ideology had spread the most. The National Revolutionary Party preferred to appoint former soldiers as political officers whenever possible. Consequently, these ideologically driven political officers, though brutal, possessed genuine military competence.

...Except for Shukuro. Because the high command had never trusted Yudenich, they had assigned him a political officer who was vicious and knew nothing but politics.

As the staff officer cast a worried glance at Yudenich, the general spoke.

"Stahl... that man is a con artist. Even I cannot fathom what he is plotting."

"Shut your mouth, you insect!"

"Did you not examine the contents of that official dispatch thoroughly? It was riddled with contradictions. There was truth mixed in, of course, but it was merely a ploy to distract us and exploit an opening."

"S-slit his mouth this instant! What are you doing? Move!"

"We do not know what the truth is. Therefore, we must simply do what we must. That is all. Our duty is to halt the Allied advance, and—argh!"

Without another word, Shukuro drew the saber at his hip. He stepped forward and slashed the blade across the bound Yudenich's mouth, tearing it open.

The sheer, excessive cruelty of the act left the accompanying officers and soldiers speechless.

Yet, from the perspective of Shukuro the politician and National Revolutionary, it was a calculated move. Letting Yudenich speak any further would have shattered morale. He would enforce discipline through sheer terror.

"T-then... General Shukuro. What are your orders?"

"We launch an immediate attack on the Allies!"

"...What?!"

"We must withdraw and head north to St. Petersburg as soon as possible, but we cannot leave these bastards in our rear!"

"The Allies are no easy target, General! Their army is twice our size!"

"Those fools have no coordination. Didn't you see it yourself? Besides, the Austrian Imperial Army and the Polish resistance mixed in with them are nothing but a rabble. It will be no problem!"

The staff officer opened his mouth to protest further but quickly shut it. What if his own mouth was slit like General Yudenich's?

Although it was a clash of 450,000 against 250,000, battles do not play out like a video game where all those forces collide in a single, massive melee.

In the 1910s, before the advent of advanced communications, such a concentrated clash of entire armies was pure fantasy.

Except in highly specific scenarios like large-scale trench warfare, armies were merely grouped under a single operational command; they did not physically fight in the exact same space.

A battle was a collection of smaller, localized engagements.

What did this mean? It meant that even when facing a severe numerical disadvantage, a competent commander could overcome it.

Even if the overall numbers were overwhelmingly against them, a clever commander could achieve parity or even local numerical superiority in specific sectors.

This was precisely how legendary commanders like Napoleon overcame numerical disadvantages. It highlighted just how crucial competent officers were.

And yet...

"The Russian Black Army is attacking! They appear to be attempting a breakthrough right down the center!"

"They have no formation to speak of. It seems Representative Stahl's scheme has succeeded."

Marx Stahl might not have known much about actual warfare, but he had read the Romance of the Three Kingdoms five times! Borrowing a page from Zhuge Liang's playbook once again, Stahl had successfully sowed discord among the enemy.

"How is the enemy's situation?"

"Their forces are poorly distributed. In that state, they won't be able to project their firepower effectively, even on this wide-open plain."

General Mackensen kindly explained the situation to the layman Stahl. He truly lived up to his reputation as a German "war demon."

Honestly, even to Stahl's untrained eye, the Black Army was a mess. They were charging blindly down the center, but their ranks were so congested that they couldn't bring their weapons to bear. The packed mass of humanity was practically tripping over themselves, utterly destroying their mobility.

"General Yudenich was certainly a brilliant commander, then."

"Indeed. And conversely, this shows just how utterly incompetent this political officer, Shukuro, truly is. He seems to be attempting to mimic our German Schwerpunkt breakthrough tactics, but..."

Generals on the battlefield did not obsess over flanking maneuvers and encirclements for no reason. At the end of the day, war was about how much lead you could pump into the enemy.

Mackensen and Hutier easily spread their net. This time, they had sharpened their blades, determined not to let the encirclement crumble due to poor coordination between their respective forces.

"Hungarian Revolutionary Guard, hold the center with your firepower! The enemy is tightly packed—give them a taste of our artillery!"

"Each unit will form the encirclement, but even if we fail to close the trap, you must remain within supporting distance of one another. Advance only as far as you can maintain communication!"

"As long as you have visual contact, synchronize your charges. We must strike simultaneously to maximize our offensive power!"

As if he had never suffered a defeat at Yudenich's hands, Mackensen issued his orders with flawless precision.

The Revolutionary Guard, the Austro-Hungarian Army, the German Imperial Army, and the Polish resistance. To prevent another easy collapse, they carefully synchronized their movements, even if it meant advancing at a slower pace.

On the other hand, what of the Russian Black Army?

"Did you hear what General Yudenich said at the end?"

"...This is madness. They're just sending us out to die!"

"Quiet, quiet! A soldier's duty is to obey orders!"

"Sergeant, you heard General Yudenich's warning too! This is insane!"

"...What choice do we have? Keep your mouth shut if you don't want it slit open."

From the privates to the non-commissioned officers, and even the junior officers, control over the troops was rapidly disintegrating. How could they execute a charge in such a state? Their strides fell out of sync, and it took only a moment for their formations to crumble.

There was a reason the German army was feared as invincible, and why breaking through the Ardennes Forest was considered such a monumental feat. How could an army launch an attack when they couldn't even march in an orderly fashion?

Oh, shit... It was never like this when Yudenich moved the army. Why is this happening?

Shukuro was, after all, an officer who had graduated from a military academy. No matter how incompetent he was, he wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see everything was going horribly wrong. But what could he do?

"Anyone who falls behind or intentionally slows down will be executed on the spot! Move forward, damn you!"

He could only gather his political officers and make examples of those who deserted or slacked off. That was the only trick Shukuro knew. It required no imagination to see how the battle would unfold under such leadership.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The overwhelming firepower of the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard tore the front lines to shreds. Though slow, the soldiers advanced steadily under the cover of their Battle Tractors, laying down a devastating sheet of fire.

"Aaaargh!"

"H-hold the line! Just get closer! If we can survive this, we can at least fight their infantry!"

"The enemy's firepower is too intense! The men have all pinned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠themselves to the ground! We can't move a single step forward!"

Having tasted the heavy artillery shells towed by tractors and the relentless machine-gun fire of the Battle Tractors, the Russian Black Army soldiers threw themselves into the dirt, unable to advance.

"R-run!"

"What? Retreat?! Political officers, shoot any soldier who tries to flee!"

Shukuro sent his political officers out on horseback. They began shooting and cutting down the fleeing soldiers.

"H-hold on for now! Just buy enough time for the suicide squads to get close!"

But then, disaster struck the crawling Russian Black Army.

"General Shukuro! They're charging us from both flanks!"

"What?!"

From the left, the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard and the Polish resistance struck. From the right, the German army. Though fewer in number than the central force, these elite units slammed directly into the flanks.

Both the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard and the German army were highly trained veterans. With their flanks collapsing, the Russian Black Army stood no chance.

"Retreat! Retreat! We must pull back before they close the pocket!"

"W-we're already surrounded! Where do we retreat to...?"

"Isn't the rear open?! Flee to the rear!"

Communication is always the first casualty in battle. This was no exception. Behind the Black Army's lines... the political officers and their enforcers stood waiting to execute anyone who turned back! Knowing this, the Russian soldiers couldn't bring themselves to retreat to the rear.

"W-we cannot surrender like this... No!"

Just then, Yudenich—whom Shukuro had dragged along to the battlefield out of fear he might escape—muttered with a mocking sneer.

"Flee to the right. The encirclement is looser over there."

It was, of course, a blatant lie meant to deceive Shukuro. But while Shukuro was a terrible general, he was highly suspicious!

"So you want us to flee to the left, do you? Thanks for the tip! Everyone, charge to the left!"

"Tsk."

In truth, if they wanted to escape, the left flank—held by the Polish resistance and the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard—was indeed the better option. They were far fewer in number than the Germans on the right.

Before making his escape, Shukuro drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Yudenich's forehead.

"As a reward for your excellent advice, I won't bother dragging you back to St. Petersburg. I'll execute you right here. Farewell!"

"General Shukuro, you mustn't!"

The staff officers and field commanders immediately threw themselves in front of Yudenich. They knew all too well what would happen to the war effort if they lost a commander as capable as Yudenich. They had to stop Shukuro's madness.

"You traitorous dogs! Get out of my way!"

"We cannot allow this, General Shukuro!"

Shukuro aimed his gun at the head of the officer shielding Yudenich. Just then, an artillery shell fired by the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard slammed into the ground right next to them. Crash!

"Gah!"

While Shukuro was knocked to the ground, Yudenich quickly bolted. The ropes binding him had already been loosened earlier by a sympathetic soldier who respected him.

Closing his eyes tight, Yudenich sprinted toward the Allied lines.

"D-don't shoot! I am Lieutenant General Yudenich of the Russian White Army! I was held captive by the Black Army! Do not shoot!"

"Damn it... After him, now!"

"General Shukuro, we can't!"

"Grrr...!"

Surrounded by the Allies and with the situation rapidly deteriorating, Shukuro had no choice but to let Yudenich go. And thus, the battle drew to a close.