The Falkenhayn Offensive.
Named after the Lieutenant General who commanded the assault, this operation was, strictly speaking, not an endeavor that the common populace would label a success.
Aside from propaganda highlighting gains in specific sectors, the exchange ratio hovered around one-to-two. Despite the massive medical aid funneled through the International Communist Party, losses of this magnitude were a blow to the coffers of revolution.
However, through the eyes of the high command, it was a strategic triumph despite the attrition.
"We are now in a position to dispatch direct support to Babel."
"With the railways systematically sabotaged, the roads remain our sole arteries of logistics."
While those familiar with the total wars of the modern era might struggle to grasp it, civil wars are inherently conflicts of points and lines. One establishes military outposts in vital nodes, holds the villages, and guards the roads and railways.
The forces on both sides are typically a mixture of militias, mercenaries, irregulars, or understrength regular units. Consequently, merely by holding the points and the lines, any enemy attempting to bypass through the mountains or forests is destined for annihilation as their supplies wither away.
Of course, there are exceptions—specifically when one fails to secure the hearts and minds of the locals. If the populace is alienated, they join the enemy or serve as their logistical spine. Fortunately for Theresia, whose legitimacy and popular support remained unshakable, this was a non-issue.
Thus, the staff officers approached the situation through the lens of general military doctrine.
"With just one more offensive, we can eliminate every hostile element threatening Highway 1."
And then, they replaced the commander.
"I gave it my all! An offensive of that scale with only twenty dead? That's a masterstroke, isn't it?!"
"The failed speak only when spoken to, Falkenhayn."
The list of candidates to replace the ousted Falkenhayn was composed of individuals who actually knew how to wage war.
There was Mudaguchi Renya, a member of the Far East Communist Party who had once infiltrated the Ursus Civil War as a spy; the "Warrior of the North."
Major General Kliment Voroshilov, the man who had successfully held Tsaritsyn during the Ursus conflict.
Colonel Maurice Gamelin, hailed as a rising star within the Gaul Soviet Republic.
But the one who ultimately secured the post as Falkenhayn's successor was...
"I, Stilwell! Allow the pride of the Columbia Republican Army to take charge of this operation!"
A Lieutenant General of the Columbia Soviet Socialist Republic Army.
A man who had served as the Head of Security for the Columbia-Kazdel Joint Railway, Defense Attaché to the Embassy in Kazdel, and Commander of the Logistics Command for the Columbia Republican Army.
He spoke the Sarkaz tongue more fluently than the locals and was steeped in Sarkaz culture. Possessing a resume far more reassuring than Falkenhayn's, his appointment was met with thunderous applause and high expectations.
Swelling with pride and confidence, he marshaled the entirety of the International Brigade's forces, aiming them directly at the elite units of the Military Council.
"Attack! No matter how fierce the Sarkaz may be, they are nothing more than reactionaries! With the spirit of the people as our shield and sword...!"
And then, he was utterly humiliated on the field.
"Dammit!"
The lack of training among the soldiers once again proved to be the Achilles' heel. Furthermore, while Falkenhayn had the sense to withdraw quickly once he realized a gambit had failed, Stilwell's confidence had curdled into arrogance, causing him to persist in reckless assaults.
Ultimately, the offensive was a catastrophic failure. Casualties were quadruple those of the Falkenhayn Offensive, leaving the International Brigade in a state of total collapse.
It was then that a telegram arrived from the headquarters.
"The Comrade Chairman is coming in person!"
"Why?!"
"He intends to inspect the command center while conducting a summit with Babel."
"Nooooo!"
Stilwell practically threw a tantrum. Terribly worried that his reputation would be permanently tarnished, he issued a single order to his aides.
"Erase the records of the last offensive."
"Pardon? But the wounded and the dead..."
"Just bury them! Since we gained no ground, mark them down as non-combat losses in the ledgers!"
The aides' expressions went cold. They immediately reported Stilwell's attempted malpractice to the International Brigade's High Command, and a response was swift.
Stilwell was dismissed after only three weeks in command.
Falkenhayn was reinstated.
Perhaps having visited home in the interim, Falkenhayn—wearing a suspiciously well-fitted fedora and biting down on a premium Leithanian cigar—muttered with a strangely serene face.
"I think... we're better suited for civil-military cooperation than actual combat."
Without guns, cannons, planes, or tanks, what can we do?
There is no battle we can win. Go boil some soup for the locals.
As a scene from a comic set in Detroit—the famous automotive city of Columbia—featuring a bat-themed hero and his sidekick watching a fight while eating popcorn replayed in his mind, Falkenhayn came to a decision.
As for combat... I'll just form a separate strike force with the ones who can actually fight.
The rest are too incompetent for the front line.
**************************
"So, he is finally coming."
Kal'tsit spoke as she looked out at the long road visible through the window. Though her tone was detached, her hands were trembling slightly.
Noticing this, Theresia reached out and took Kal'tsit's hand.
"Haha, Kal'tsit. I told you, there's no need to worry so much."
Perhaps the touch helped. Kal'tsit looked into Theresia's eyes, her expression marginally more composed.
"Theresia, I have a piece of advice. Will you listen?"
Seeing Kal'tsit's somber gaze, Theresia adopted a serious tone.
"Yes, tell me."
Kal'tsit continued. "When you read my memories before, you mentioned there was a person whose form was completely blacked out, didn't you?"
"...Yes. Wait, could it be? That person is...?"
A spark of realization lit Theresia's eyes. Kal'tsit nodded.
"Yes. I believe that person is Vladimir Park. Or rather, Park Si-hoon."
Watching the formidable procession approaching from beyond the window, Theresia replied.
"In that case, it seems I must read his memories."
*********************
"Is that Rhodes Island?"
I stared at the vessel that had drawn close enough to identify with the naked eye.
"Rather than a standard landship, its dimensions are closer to a battleship," one of my aides remarked.
"Even if they bought a Rim Billiton mining rig, I don't recall any models that match these specifications," added another aide, a former shipwright and Rim Billiton Labor Party member.
Well, they weren't wrong. Rhodes Island is the vessel the Rhodes crew travels in. No matter how much I've forgotten, I remember that much.
"By the way, there's no chance someone's going to suddenly stab me with a knife or anything, right?" I joked to my attendants.
Naturally, their reaction was one of pure horror.
"W-what are you saying, Comrade Chairman?!"
"We have armored cars, we have tanks, and we have fighter jets overhead. Who would dare lay a hand on you?"
It was a fair point. Following behind me were dozens of armored vehicles and tanks. The BA-6 armored cars boasted 45mm main guns capable of felling a Wyvern warrior if aimed correctly, while the Christie light tanks surged forward on their tracks, 76mm cannons leading the way with an air of indomitable majesty.
In the skies, Yakovlev fighters and Curtiss-16 fighters glided, providing overwatch. This was all thanks to bypassing the Union's arms control laws.
"I'm glad that because the laws are decades out of date, we can freely transport these 'obsolete' armaments."
Up until now, the Union had treated the International Communist Party as little more than a geopolitical staging ground. While they slapped restriction after restriction on arms exports to foreign nations, they had neglected to place similar shackles on the ambiguous International Communist Party.
Of course, this leniency didn't technically extend to the International Brigade. After weapons were smuggled to Sargon under the guise of the Brigade during the Bolívar Civil War, the laws governing them had become excruciatingly tight.
But who were we?
We are the International Communist Party, not the Brigade. Just because you ban missile exports to the Revolutionary Guard doesn't mean the Army's missile command can't import them.
"The International Communist Party brought them to Kazdel for 'non-combat purposes,' and they were only armed later due to a 'minor misunderstanding.'"
Tanks? Armored cars?
These armored vehicles were all for agricultural, mining, and railway repair purposes. It was only due to the unstable security situation in Kazdel that we were 'forced' to remove the engineering equipment and mount weaponry instead.
Fighter jets? What fighter jets?
Those are all postal delivery aircraft. The machine guns were simply attached when we bought them, and we just hadn't gotten around to removing them yet.
Surely, with this level of effort, Theresia and Kal'tsit will recognize my sincere desire to help Kazdel.
"We are about to arrive!"
"Safe travels, comrades!"
Since the Rhodes Island landship—lengthy as it was—was not an ideal runway for aircraft compared to helicopters, the planes departed for a temporary airstrip prepared by the International Brigade engineers. I, along with my entourage, proceeded into the bowels of Rhodes Island.
Armored cars, tanks, transport trucks, and armed technicals entered the hull with the thunderous roar of engines.
Waiting to greet us were the Sarkaz of Theresia's faction, people of other races who genuinely admired Babel's ideals, Sarkaz Communists, and several officers from the International Brigade.
For some reason, some people looked terrified, and others seemed extremely wary of me, but I'm sure it was just my imagination. I've come purely to help, so why would they be on guard?
I stepped down from the armored car and offered a greeting.
"Greetings, everyone. I am Vladimir Park, holder of the humble position of Chairman of the Central Committee of the International Communist Party."
Silence followed.
Hmm... why is it that only the Communists and our International Brigade members are the ones clapping? Regardless, I moved forward, shaking hands with each person one by one.
Eventually, I saw Theresia and Kal'tsit. I'm not quite sure why both of them looked like they were carved from ice. I really am just here to help.
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