The war on the Anatolian Peninsula had slowed down due to the heavy casualties suffered by the Russian army. Apart from occasional harassment bombings, the coalition forces only occasionally carried out landings to cause damage. The Ottoman government wanted to seize the opportunity to launch a counterattack, but reality didn’t allow for it. Having just experienced a major defeat, the losses in personnel and supplies were severe. The Ottoman Empire’s poor transportation infrastructure made it impossible to replenish them quickly. In the Middle Eastern theater, Lieutenant General Feslav was gazing at Jerusalem with a sigh. Religious cities are troublesome. They contain too many iconic buildings, and if any of them were accidentally damaged, it would cause big problems later on. Otherwise, Feslav would have already ordered a bombardment. Not being able to use heavy firepower was one issue, but he also had to control the casualties of the main forces. The primary purpose of the campaign was training, and Austria was not Russia, where soldiers’ lives could be disregarded. To minimize losses, Lieutenant General Feslav was using cannon fodder units to attack the city, which was also why progress was slow. A guard reminded him, “General, the meeting is about to begin.” Feslav nodded, turned around, and entered the command center. ... A young officer stood up, his face full of worry. Paired with his youthful cheeks, it created an awkward image. “General, we can’t keep attacking like this. If we continue, our army will be decimated before the war is even over.” There was no doubt that the unit under the young officer’s command had been used as cannon fodder. Indigenous soldiers had no status in the Austrian army. They weren’t part of the regular forces during peacetime and were only temporarily recruited when needed. With a blank expression, Feslav replied, “Major Rick, war has always been brutal. A soldier’s nature is to face death without fear. What you need to do is learn to adapt. If you’re concerned about high casualties in your unit, then figure out how to reduce them yourself, instead of complaining to me. Right now, you’re commanding a colonial unit so we can afford these casualties. If one day you’re commanding regular forces, this level of casualties would be enough to send you to a military tribunal.” Since the casualties were from the expendable colonial troops, Feslav didn’t care. If regular troops suffered such heavy losses, he would have to think about how to explain it to the homeland. In reality, Franz didn’t care much about soldier casualties either, but the losses had to be meaningful. If an officer’s poor decisions caused significant losses, even if they won the battle, they would still be held accountable. By contrast, the status of colonial troops was much lower. If they died, they could just be replaced, and the Austrian government wouldn’t even ask questions. Aside from capturing Jerusalem, the primary goal of this war was to train young officers in real combat. Many were assigned higher responsibilities than usual. For example, Rick was a division commander in the colonial forces. Otherwise, as a major, he wouldn’t have had the right to be present at the military meeting. Rick, the young officer, hastily explained, “No, General, I just believe that these blind attacks are meaningless. Without the use of heavy artillery, it’s difficult for us to achieve success with such direct assaults. Perhaps we should consider a more effective siege strategy. For example, we could locally recruit able-bodied men, making the Ottomans fight among themselves, weakening the morale of the defenders in the city. Or, we could drive civilians into the city to deplete the enemy’s food supplies.” These two ideas had actually been proposed in a previous military meeting. They were rejected for a very simple reason: reputation. To gain political influence, the Austrian government had already proclaimed the goal of reclaiming the Holy Land. Even the usually quiet Roman Catholic Church had enthusiastically rallied behind the cause. A whole group of fearless war correspondents had come from across Europe to document the conflict. Every move the Austrian army made was being closely watched, so General Feslav naturally couldn’t resort to extreme measures. Some didn’t understand this cautious approach. After all, reputations weren’t exactly stellar during this era, and Austria’s methods in its colonial campaigns weren’t exactly clean either. So why bother worrying about reputation now? After a moment of hesitation, Feslav shook his head and said, “No, military operations must serve political purposes. Jerusalem’s significance is far too great. We have to consider the international repercussions. If more than a third of your soldiers are lost, you can pause the assault. We’ve already cut off their water supply. The people inside can’t hold out for much longer. This war is an exercise in real combat. Apply the knowledge you’ve learned in the field. Casualties are secondary.” Though the reply seemed light, it was filled with resignation. Hoping the enemy was unprepared wasn’t exactly the mark of a capable commander. However, Feslav had already reported the situation to the Austrian government, and their response was clear: Taking Jerusalem immediately wasn’t critical. Austria had time, but its international reputation must remain untarnished. Another young officer proposed, “What if we open a small gap in our lines, spread rumors, and encourage local Muslim followers to enter Jerusalem to defend the Holy Land? We could also stage opportunities for prisoners we’ve captured to escape back to the city. Whether the defenders let them in or not, it would work to our advantage.” This subtle approach certainly appeared more civilized. Feslav nodded, “That’s a good suggestion. Order the patrols to relax their guard in the north and intentionally leave an opening for people to pass through. Send someone to negotiate with local power players. Encourage them to guide the Muslim locals into Jerusalem. If anyone refuses to cooperate, find an excuse to deal with them. Regardless of whether the defenders let them into the city or not, I want those people delivered to the walls. And be discreet, don’t let anyone figure out what we’re doing.” ... The blood-red sunset was already slowly fading, yet the fierce battle between the Russian and Polish forces raged on. The battlefield had already turned into a sea of corpses and blood. At this life-and-death moment, the courage displayed by the Polish army shocked the Russians. However, it didn’t change the course of the war. As time went on, the Polish army’s disadvantage in manpower gradually became apparent. As night fell, the darkness halted the Russian advance, and both sides were forced to withdraw. The crumbling city of Kyiv had withstood another day, but for the garrison commander, Preytar, it was exhausting. With less than one-fifth of the Russian army’s strength, Preytar had held the city for a week, yet reinforcements had not arrived. The surrounding friendly forces had already collapsed, leaving Kyiv a solitary fortress. Dragging his weary body, Preytar tallied the casualties and could only sigh. The Polish government had deployed an infantry division and two reserve regiments in the Kyiv area, totaling 16,000 soldiers. Now, less than half were still capable of fighting. This was the result of Preytar’s efforts after the war broke out, gathering all the available troops in the Kyiv region under tremendous pressure. Without this, they wouldn’t have held off the Russian army for a week. Most of the strategic locations outside the city had already been lost, and during the day, Russian forces had even breached the city. Without reinforcements, Kyiv’s fall was inevitable. Preytar had lost all hope for reinforcements. He only wished the government wouldn’t waste the time these 16,000 soldiers had bought with their lives. Late at night, after assigning the defense duties, Preytar wrote his final letter to the Polish government, or rather, his farewell note. Telegraph lines from Kyiv to Warsaw had been cut, so he could only resort to primitive communication methods. Whether this letter would reach the Polish government was uncertain. This time, Preytar didn’t ask for reinforcements. Reason told him that choosing to engage the Russians in a decisive battle in Kyiv was sheer folly. The best battlefield was Warsaw. Though placing the battleground in the capital would result in massive losses, without popular support, defeating a stronger enemy was nearly impossible. War always demands sacrifice. In Preytar’s view, no price was too great for victory. If today the garrison in Kyiv could sacrifice for the country, then tomorrow the capital, Warsaw, could do the same. As one of the leaders of the Polish Revolution, Preytar voluntarily distanced himself from the center of power after Poland gained independence, choosing to defend the most unpopular front at Kyiv. When he made that decision, he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the nation. The Russian Empire was no easy foe, and many had expected the Russian government to return. It had simply come sooner than anticipated. Independent Poland had not had the time to rise, and within a few short years, it had once again become prey. ... In Warsaw, when Prime Minister Dąbrowski received Preytar’s farewell letter, the news of Kyiv’s fall and Preytar’s suicide arrived along with it, driving in the final nail. The Russian army was now advancing directly toward the Sluch River. Dąbrowski set down the letter and shook his head. In his view, Preytar had been too idealistic. At this point, Poland would be fortunate just to hold on to its kingdom. Rather than dreaming of concentrating forces to deliver a decisive blow to the Russian army in Warsaw, it would be better to hope for the Prussian reinforcements to arrive quickly. Just one day before Kyiv fell, the Polish Parliament had elected William I as king, confirming the union between Poland and Prussia. By now, the Kingdom of Poland had already lost the war. In just half a month, Poland had lost 80,000 troops and a fifth of its territory. With what could they challenge the Russians for a decisive battle? As with any defeat, someone had to take responsibility. As the interim Prime Minister, Dąbrowski knew that his time to resign in disgrace was not far off. There was no other choice. Under Russian pressure, all sectors of Polish society were advocating for a compromise with the Prussians in exchange for military protection from Prussia. Dąbrowski had not spent his years in politics in vain. He was no longer the naive revolutionary he had once been. After analyzing the current situation, it was clear to him that Russia and Prussia had made a secret deal. The Prussian government surely understood the concept that “when the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold,” and yet the Prussians remained slow to act. This inaction spoke volumes. The end of the war was no longer something the Polish government could control. He guessed that once the Russians secured the agreed-upon territories, negotiations would begin. International intervention had been all thunder and no rain. If Britain and France had truly wanted to interfere in this war, they would have already sent troops to the Baltic to threaten Russia, and the Russian government would have been forced to compromise.
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