bullyxtreme Chapter 392: Bloody Battle of the Balkans, Start!
Chapter 392: Bloody Battle of the Balkans, Start!
Morin sat on that hardwood chair against the wall. Although his eyes were fixed on the massive map of the Saxon Empire’s territory ahead, his thoughts had long drifted beyond the ninth heaven.He was seriously pondering all the “Bad Endings” that historically illustrious generals might have experienced.
The history books in his mind flipped rapidly.
The White Tiger Inner Sanctum (Lin Chong being framed), Releasing Military Power with a Cup of Wine (Emperor Taizu of Song preemptively retiring his generals), The Three “Do Nots of Killing” (Han Xin), “Unwarranted” charges (Yue Fei), Joan of Arc, the Great Purge…
The more Morin thought about it, the colder his back felt.
Look at his current loadout: a superhuman physique modified by a special potion, possessing decent spellcasting abilities, and commanding a terrifyingly well-equipped instruction unit directly under his control.
Moreover, this unit was currently stationed on the outskirts of the capital circle, fully motorized, and could storm into the urban area of Dresden in a very short time.
To exaggerate even further, even without the instruction unit, relying solely on his current individual combat capability, charging in and out of the Supreme Command “seven times” didn’t seem like a difficult task.
Not only that, but he was also running a military industry in the rear and had inextricable ties with the Junker noble circles and commercial giants.
“Have I basically carved ‘Merit that threatens the master’ onto my forehead?”
Morin muttered inwardly, feeling the chair beneath him getting a bit hot.
He felt the Imperial high echelon were truly bold to let an “elite unit” like him directly attend a meeting at the Supreme Command.
Thinking of this, Morin subconsciously stood up and adjusted his uniform.
He felt the atmosphere here was too oppressive. He needed to step outside for some fresh air and incidentally confirm if they wanted him to attend a meeting of this level.
Morin stood up and walked toward the door as silently as possible.
However, just as he reached the door, he saw Major Nicolai hurriedly walking in, holding a stack of documents.
Seeing Morin about to head out, the intelligence chief was stunned for a moment, then asked in a low voice: “Lieutenant Colonel Morin? The meeting is about to start, where are you going?”
“Major Nicolai, are you sure I haven’t got the wrong place?”
Morin pointed to the busy senior staff officers behind him, then to the high-ranking nameplates on the table.
“I thought I was just here to report on the situation at the opera house the other night. But this setup… looks like it’s going to decide the Empire’s fate for the next decade.”
“So that’s what you were worried about.”
Major Nicolai couldn’t help but laugh, his complexion, somewhat gloomy from pulling an all-nighter, easing considerably.
“You’re not in the wrong place. Today is indeed a comprehensive strategic meeting of the Supreme Command… I personally filed the report for your attendance application, and it has already been approved.”
“So a lieutenant colonel like me is going to mix in with a bunch of generals for a meeting…” Morin raised an eyebrow.
“Whoa, listen to you… I’m only a major, and didn’t I come too? The two of us make a pair. Just relax~”
“True, if the sky falls, you’ll be holding it up first.”
Morin shrugged, the “since I’m already here” mentality gaining the upper hand again.
The two exchanged a smile, turned back into the conference room, and obediently sat down on the two rows of stools against the wall.
As time passed, more and more people entered the conference room.
Chief of the Army General Staff Moltke the Younger, Minister of the Navy Tirpitz, Imperial Chancellor Hollweg… These true heavyweights of the Saxon Empire walked in one after another and sat at the long table.
Everyone entered looking hurried, their pleasantries limited to nods of acknowledgment. The air was thick with the tension of an impending great battle.
Finally, with a loud announcement from the adjutant, Emperor Albert II, wearing a crisp military uniform, strode into the conference room.
The previously whispering room instantly fell silent. Everyone stood up and saluted, their movements as uniform as if rehearsed.
The Emperor sat at the head of the table, took off his white gloves and placed them on the table. His sharp gaze swept around the room, finally resting on Major Nicolai in the corner.
“Let’s begin. Major Nicolai… start with the opera house incident.”
No pleasantries, no nonsense, straight to the point.
Major Nicolai stood up immediately. Despite facing a room full of big shots, his voice remained steady and clear.
He gave a concise yet detailed report on the entire sequence of events.
From Morin keenly detecting anomalies at the opera house, to single-handedly neutralizing all the assassins in a short time, to Department III following the clues to take down the exposed spy network, and finally purging internal traitors…
The entire process sounded full of twists and turns, simply more exciting than the play performed at the opera house that night.
“…In summary, with the full assistance of Lieutenant Colonel Morin and the instruction unit, we completely eliminated the hidden danger before the situation worsened.”
Major Nicolai closed the file folder, delivering his final conclusion.
“This was a textbook counter-infiltration operation. It not only thwarted the Britannians’ plot but also took the opportunity to clean out the parasites within the military, without causing any negative public opinion.”
A low murmur of discussion arose in the conference room. Several high-ranking officials nodded frequently, obviously very satisfied with this result.
With the frontline battles deadlocked, quietly defusing such a massive landmine in the rear—and doing it “silently”—was indeed something to rejoice over.
However, Albert II did not express his stance immediately.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, making a rhythmic “thump-thump” sound.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it instantly silenced the entire conference room.
“Well done, Nicolai.”
The Emperor finally spoke, his voice steady, revealing neither joy nor anger.
“Department III reacted very quickly this time, and the subsequent handling was also very decisive.”
Major Nicolai was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard the Emperor change his tone.
“However…”
Albert II’s gaze suddenly became sharp, like a scalpel directly cutting open the surface of the matter.
“I have a question for everyone present.”
“If Lieutenant Colonel Morin hadn’t happened to go to the opera house that night, what would the result have been?”
No one dared to answer.
The Emperor continued on his own: “As far as I know, two days before going to the opera house, Lieutenant Colonel Morin was still at the Teutonic Knights’ base in Koblenz… It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to accompany Madame Falkenstein to that opera.”
Morin, sitting in the corner, twitched his eyebrows.
But on second thought, as an officer commanding heavy troops with special abilities, if he wasn’t being monitored, it would mean the nation’s security apparatus was useless.
On the other side, fine beads of sweat had seeped onto Major Nicolai’s forehead.
Prior to this, military personnel, including himself, believed Emperor Albert II was a results-oriented person; in most cases, he didn’t care about the process.
But this incident, in the Emperor’s eyes, was clearly not that simple.
“If Morin hadn’t been present, those seven fully armed assassins would have struck during the climax of the opera…”
Albert II’s voice rose slightly, a hint of severity in his tone.
“Sitting in the boxes at that time were high-ranking officials of the Treasury Department, the President of the Reichsbank, and the heads of multiple military-industrial enterprises… If these people died in a capital opera house, who can tell me how great a price we would have to pay to clean up that mess?”
“Even if you caught all the masterminds afterward and subjected them to the death of a thousand cuts, what could you salvage? The Empire’s face? Or the public’s confidence in the government?”
Albert II slammed his hand on the table, his tone furious as he continued: “The Britannians have already put a knife to our necks! They are inciting our citizens to rebel, bribing our officers, and planning massacres right under our noses!”
“And our intelligence department actually had to rely on a field officer on leave happening to pass by to resolve the crisis?!”
“This is a disgrace! Gentlemen!”
The conference room was deathly silent; not even the sound of breathing could be heard.
Major Nicolai kept his head down, standing ramrod straight, allowing the Emperor’s wrath to pour over him.
After venting his dissatisfaction, Albert II let out a long sigh, his tone softening slightly.
“I am not looking to hold anyone accountable. After all, the result is good… But this must serve as a wake-up call.”
He looked around, his gaze stern.
“Starting today, all important departments must re-examine their internal security procedures! I do not want to hear the word ‘fortunately’ next time. What we need is ‘absolute’ and ‘foolproof’!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” the crowd responded in unison.
After his reprimand, the Emperor’s gaze turned to the corner again. This time, his eyes held a genuine appreciation and warmth.
“As for Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
Morin immediately stood up and stood at attention.
“Your vigilance and decisiveness saved countless lives, and also saved the Empire’s reputation.”
Albert II looked at this young officer, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly.
“Especially the way you handled the scene, blocking news and avoiding panic… This shows you are not only an excellent warrior but also possess the big-picture view of a commander. Well done.”
In this era of war, a massive assassination scandal erupting in the capital would be a devastating blow to frontline morale.
Morin didn’t show any trepidation. He merely calmly snapped a standard military salute, his tone neither haughty nor humble.
“Your Majesty, although the instruction unit is a field unit, organizationally it belongs to the Imperial Guard sequence… Guarding the capital is inherently the instruction unit’s duty.”
“Well said, an inherent duty.”
The Emperor nodded in satisfaction and waved for Morin to sit down.
At this moment, the stone hanging in Morin’s heart finally dropped.
It seemed the “Bad Ending” of being purged for having merit that threatened the master had been temporarily averted.
As long as he appeared loyal enough, useful enough, and without political ambitions… this Sword of Damocles wouldn’t fall in the short term.
At least not now.
And as long as he could stall for enough time… when that sword did fall, it wouldn’t be a big deal anymore.
With the review of the opera house assassination concluding, although the atmosphere in the conference room eased slightly, the oppressive heaviness still lingered.
After all, catching a few spies and moles was just the appetizer. What was about to be put on the table was the main course that truly decided the life and death of millions.
In fact, during the two days Morin wasn’t involved, Department III and the internal affairs departments had turned the rear of Dresden, and even the entire Empire, upside down.
Besides big fish like Colonel Kruger, quite a few small fry who usually hid deeply were also swept up in one fell swoop.
Of course, how many of them were truly colluding with the enemy, and how many were victims of certain people taking the opportunity to eliminate dissidents and settle personal scores…
Only God knows.
Anyway, quite a few lucrative positions in the Army General Staff’s Logistics and Supply Department had recently opened up. It was estimated another group of people would fight tooth and nail to get in.
But these were all messy affairs in the Imperial bureaucracy. As a simple soldier who “didn’t understand politics,” Morin couldn’t be bothered to care, nor was he interested in caring.
Right now, his attention was completely drawn by Chief of the Army General Staff Moltke the Younger, who had walked up to the map.
This Chief of Staff, bearing the halo of an illustrious family, despite some indecisiveness in command during the early stages of the war, had become spirited after successfully sweeping through Gaul.
Standing before the massive map now, he also displayed the aura of the helmsman of the Imperial Army.
“Your Majesty, gentlemen.”
Moltke the Younger picked up a pointer and drew a heavy circle over the location of the Balkan Peninsula.
“Given the current stalemate on the Western Front, and the deteriorating civil war situation of the Rus Empire on the Eastern Front, the General Staff believes that we must now consider completely resolving the issue of the Balkan Peninsula.”
“According to the latest ‘Fulmar’ (Sturmvogel) plan, we will transfer the Fifth Army Group from the Western Front to engage in combat on the Balkan Peninsula, and carry out personnel and equipment reinforcements.”
The fulmar is a seabird, but in the Saxon language, it symbolizes the harbinger of a storm.
The pointer in Moltke the Younger’s hand drew an arc across the map, extending from the Western Front all the way to the border of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
“This reinforced army group will continue to be commanded by His Highness Crown Prince Georg… And we will utilize one week to rapidly project them to the front lines via the railway network.”
“Subsequently, we will coordinate with the friendly forces of the Austro-Hungarian Empire to launch a pincer offensive against the Kingdom of Greater Serbia.”
Moltke the Younger’s voice paused, his eyes turning cold.
“Not only that, if during this process, other countries on the Balkan Peninsula dare to lean towards the Entente… then our massive army will ride the momentum south, sweeping the entire peninsula clean once and for all.”
Sitting below and listening, Morin nodded inwardly.
This was indeed the best way to break the deadlock at present.
Since the Western Front couldn’t be pushed, then go squeeze the soft persimmon… As long as they opened up the Balkan Peninsula, the whole situation would come alive…
“The plan is bold, but does the political environment support it?”
Emperor Albert II raised a question, his gaze turning to the Imperial State Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Gottlieb von Jagow, sitting on the other side.
The Foreign Minister stood up, looking somewhat exhausted. The recent complex diplomatic situation had clearly taken a toll on him.
“Your Majesty, the situation… is somewhat complex.”
Jagow walked to the map, pointing to those small, differently colored blocks on the Balkan Peninsula.
“First, the good news. Tsar Ferdinand I of Bulgaria is very interested in the olive branch we extended… The land they lost in the previous Balkan Wars, only we can help them get it back… So, there is great hope of winning Bulgaria over to the Central Powers.”
“But the bad news is…”
Jagow’s finger moved to the massive yet weak Ottoman Empire.
“Our friends in Istanbul seem to be wavering recently.”
“The Britannians actually delivered those two dreadnoughts they had originally detained to the Ottoman Navy… This has greatly increased the power of the ‘Pro-Entente’ faction within the Ottoman Empire.”
“Currently, the Ottoman government is engaged in non-public negotiations with the Britannians. Although the specific content is unclear, it’s highly likely regarding the conditions for joining the Entente or remaining neutral.”
Hearing this, Morin raised an eyebrow.
History had slightly deviated here.
In his original world, the British, worried the Ottomans would join the Central Powers, directly detained these two warships, which ironically pushed the Ottomans towards Germany.
But in this world, for greater strategic interests, the Britannians actually delivered the ships.
If the Ottomans fell to the Entente, the Central Powers’ situation would truly be something to worry about.
Not only would the southern flank be completely exposed, but the route to the Middle East and Asia would also be thoroughly severed.
On the other side, Jagow continued: “Currently, Enver Pasha is doing his utmost to maintain the alliance with us, but if the Britannians offer a higher price… those fence-sitters could defect at any time.”
“As for the Kingdom of Greece…”
Jagow sighed, his expression becoming even more helpless.
“Their King Constantine I is Your Majesty’s brother-in-law. He is naturally on our side… But the problem is that Prime Minister Venizelos and Commander-in-Chief of the Navy Kountouriotis are typical pro-Entente figures.”
“Currently, the contradiction between the two sides has reached an irreconcilable point. Constantine I has sent us a signal for help. He intends to dismiss Venizelos, even if it means dissolving parliament.”
“But this requires our support, especially military deterrence.”
“Lastly, Romania and the Kingdom of Montenegro.”
Jagow shook his head, pronouncing a death sentence on these two countries directly.
“According to our intelligence in Bucharest, they have already secretly signed an agreement to join the Entente… As soon as the time is ripe, they will declare war on the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”
After listening to this round of diplomatic reports, the atmosphere in the conference room became even heavier.
This was the so-called “Balkan Powder Keg”; even the slightest spark could blow it beyond recognition.
“In other words, we are racing against time.”
Moltke the Younger took over the conversation, his tone serious.
“If we don’t take the initiative, once the Britannians completely integrate the forces in the Balkans, they will stab a knife into the Empire’s ‘soft underbelly’.”
“Then, we will face the nightmare of a three-front war.”
Sitting in the corner, looking at the intricate situation on the map, Morin recalled memories of the WWI Balkan theater from his past life.
Although the historical trajectory of this world had deviated, the underlying logic of geopolitics remained unchanged.
Under Churchill’s influence, the Britannians were definitely eyeing this place.
Gallipoli? Salonika?
The Entente would definitely try to open a new front here, bypassing the despair-inducing trench system on the Western Front.
And for the Saxon Empire to win, it had to flatten this region before the Entente landed.
“It seems we have no choice but to dispatch troops now…”
Emperor Albert II finally made the decision.
“Not only for strategy, but also to deter those fence-sitters still watching from the sidelines… Let them see who truly calls the shots on the Europa continent.”
With the Emperor’s final word, the general direction of the Balkan campaign was set.
But this was only a military decision. War is never just a matter for the army; it’s the continuation of politics.
Imperial Chancellor Hollweg, who had been silent all along, cleared his throat at this moment and spoke: “Your Majesty, to coordinate with the Army’s mobilization, I believe we can play around a bit more with the armistice agreement with the Gauls.”
“Oh?” Albert II turned his head. “What does the Chancellor mean?”
Hollweg adjusted his glasses, the eyes hidden behind the lenses glinting with the shrewdness of an experienced politician.
“Currently, the Gallic government has substantively surrendered, but on the specific armistice terms, we can still ‘deliberate’ for a few more days.”
“For example, regarding the ownership of the Gallic naval fleet.”
Hearing the words “naval fleet,” Navy Minister Tirpitz’s eyes instantly lit up.
Hollweg continued: “If we push too hard and demand the Gauls immediately hand over the fleet, it might incite their resistance, perhaps even forcing those warships to sail directly to Britannian ports.”
“But if we deliberately delay, use ambiguous language in the terms, and even leak word that we ‘allow Gaul to retain a portion of their fleet to maintain colonial order’…”
“What will the Britannians think then?”
Sitting in the corner, Morin almost couldn’t hold back from giving this Chancellor a round of applause upon hearing this.
As a maritime hegemon, what was the Holy Britannia Empire most afraid of?
It wasn’t the Army suffering defeats on the Europa continent, but losing absolute control over the oceans.
If Gaul surrendered, should that massive Gallic naval fleet fall into Saxon hands, or even just remain neutral, it would be a tremendous potential threat to the Royal Navy.
“They will be on pins and needles.”
Tirpitz picked up the thread, a gloating sneer appearing on his face.
“The Britannians will absolutely not allow any ‘uncertainty’ to exist regarding this fleet… Knowing the nature of those pirates, they would rather destroy those ships than allow even a one-in-ten-thousand chance they might turn their guns on them.”
“Exactly.” Hollweg nodded. “The longer we drag it out, the more ambiguous our attitude, the tighter the Britannians’ nerves will be stretched.”
“And once their nerves snap…”
The Chancellor didn’t finish his sentence, but everyone present understood his meaning.
Morin silently completed the second half of the sentence in his mind:
Only this time, without the complex background of WWII, the Britannians’ actions might be even more blatant and bloody.
The moment the Royal Navy opened fire on their former allies, the Gauls’ hatred toward Britannia would absolutely max out instantly.
At that time, the Saxons wouldn’t even need to exert effort to manage the occupied territories; a portion of the Gauls themselves would turn into “Anti-Brit Vanguards.”
“Moreover, this can also pin down the Britannian Navy’s operations in the Mediterranean.”
Tirpitz pointed to the Strait of Gibraltar on the map.
“According to intelligence, the Britannians are fully supporting the Royal Army of the Kingdom of Aragon, successively breaking through multiple defense lines of the National Army and controlling the Strait of Gibraltar.”
“Based on intelligence transmitted back this morning, several minesweepers of the Kingdom of Aragon are operating in the Strait of Gibraltar. This indicates the Britannia Royal Navy’s support fleet is going to enter the Mediterranean…”
“Their objective is clear: first, to deal with the Gallic fleet; second, to cover the Army’s landing in the Balkans.”
Listening to these analyses, the sense of “control” in Morin’s heart grew stronger and stronger.
Previously, when he and Cecilia were in bed… ah no, pillow-talking about the international situation, they had deduced that the Britannians would make a major move.
Looking at it now, his “keyboard politics” level had indeed reached the top tier of this world.
Or rather, it was the “God’s-eye view” of a transmigrator that allowed him to see clearly the chessboard behind the fog.
The Britannians wanted to open a second front, stab from the Balkans, and control the Mediterranean.
And the Saxons countered every move, using the Gallic fleet as bait while attempting to launch the Balkan campaign early to strike back.
During today’s meeting, no one asked Morin any more questions. After all, they were all important figures with brains; they couldn’t possibly ask him, a single lieutenant colonel, about everything.
After confirming the upcoming operational plan in the Balkan Peninsula and discussing some minor movements of the “Kalmar Union” in the North Sea, the meeting concluded.
Including the Emperor, Moltke the Younger, and Falkenhayn, they all offered Morin some encouragement, hoping he could assist the Crown Prince in showing his “flair” and achieving “results” in the Balkan Peninsula.
At the same time, Morin also received somewhat unfavorable news.
That was, the instruction unit would be mobilized to the border region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Greater Serbia in just 3 days.
This not only meant Morin had to part with Cecilia and the others again, but it also meant some new equipment couldn’t arrive before then. It was estimated they would have to re-equip while fighting in the Balkan Peninsula…
“Sigh, about to step into hell again…”