Chapter 541: Reinforce! Massively Reinforce!

These recent trips to the Air Force Ministry were at the invitation of Air Force Minister, Lieutenant General Peter Strasser.

This lieutenant general, considered "young and promising" among the Empire's high command, couldn't sit still after receiving the instruction unit's combat report from the Balkan Peninsula.

Aside from various tactical applications for armored airships, a section describing the aviation squadron piqued his intense interest.

While the reconnaissance aircraft attached to the instruction unit were executing missions in the Balkans, pilots frequently carried hand grenades aloft to drop on ground targets...

Although the effect was limited, the concept itself opened Strasser's mind to new possibilities.

For a long time, the Imperial Air Force had been constrained by the production rate of armored airships, preventing them from becoming a decisive force.

But the instruction unit's actions made Strasser realize that aircraft, which could be produced much faster, might also have massive potential on the battlefield.

After his attempt to "abduct" Morin into the Imperial Air Force failed and earned him a table-pounding, severe warning from Field Marshal Moltke the Younger, Strasser abandoned that approach. Instead, he began frequently inviting Morin to the Air Force Ministry as a guest.

After Morin couldn't refuse and visited for several consecutive days, chatting with this forward-thinking Air Force Minister, this time upon arriving at the office, Strasser shoved Morin into a chair.

He excitedly ordered a group of Air Force officers to unroll a stack of blueprints on the table.

"Colonel Morin, we actually thought about designing an aircraft specifically for this kind of 'ground attack' before, but the concept hadn't fully coalesced in our minds..."

Morin glanced at the blueprints. They were conceptual sketches for several new aircraft models currently in development.

There were monoplanes, biplanes, and even triplanes. The fuselage dimensions were noticeably larger than the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft currently in service.

"So we need you to look at these based on your actual frontline experience. Can the Imperial Air Force improve upon its future aircraft design concepts?"

Seeing the "thirst for talent" in the eyes of Strasser and the other young Air Force officers, Morin nodded.

"General, sir, I have indeed given this some thought."

For the next two hours, Morin explained his ideas regarding the classification of early combat aircraft to the Air Force Minister in the most accessible terms possible.

Air superiority fighters, specifically designed to contest control of the airspace and dogfight enemy mages who might take to the skies. Clearly, in terms of attrition ratios, aircraft held a massive advantage.

Ground attack aircraft, flying at low altitudes, carrying bombs or autocannons to strike ground targets at close range.

Multi-engine heavy bombers, flying higher with larger payloads, capable of executing long-range bombing runs deep into enemy territory.

These three concepts seemed commonplace to Morin, but to an Air Force that had only been using aircraft for reconnaissance for a few years, it was like opening a door to a whole new world.

Strasser sat in silence for nearly a minute after listening, then slammed his hand on the table.

"Colonel Morin, how exactly does your brain work?"

"...I eat a lot?"

Strasser burst into laughter. Once he finished, his expression turned serious again.

"That 'heavy bomber' you just mentioned sounds truly thrilling... If we really can build massive aircraft that fly to high altitudes, load them with bombs, and fly right over the enemy's heads..."

Morin: "The attack effectiveness wouldn't be bad, provided you don't hit the wrong targets. Furthermore, mages relying solely on 【Fly】 cannot reach that altitude."

"Are you certain?"

"Based on my own study of spells, the effective altitude of 【Fly】 has an upper limit, and the high-altitude environment drains a mage's physical stamina immensely."

Morin spread his hands, continuing, "Of course, the specific limits require more empirical data... But at the very least, we can be certain that if heavy bombers can fly above six thousand meters, the vast majority of mages cannot reach them, unless they bring in high-circle mages to 'change the weather'~"

After the long discussion with Morin, Strasser fell silent for a moment. He then stood up and paced the room with his hands behind his back.

Finally, he turned and asked Morin in an unprecedentedly serious tone.

"Colonel Morin, if I apply to attach an experimental aviation squadron to your instruction unit... would you be willing to test new aircraft models for us in actual combat?"

This was exactly what Morin had been waiting for. He had even been prepared to make the request himself...

"General, sir, whatever you say~"

Strasser waved a hand grandly: "Excellent! I'll go talk to Field Marshal Moltke the Younger and General Falkenhayn! The instruction unit is an experimental formation to begin with; attaching an experimental aviation squadron under it makes perfect sense!"

See what a great guy he is... Strasser was clearly a high-ranking officer who had transcended base desires.

And with this maneuver, the instruction unit had freeloaded another batch of equipment.

...

Supreme Autocratic Principality of All Rus, St. Petersburg.

The evening breeze off the Neva River carried a hint of chill, but the atmosphere in Palace Square was unseasonably fervent.

A massive military band of hundreds of musicians stood in formation, their brass instruments gleaming golden in the setting sun.

The moment the baton fell, the majestic and rousing "Civil War Anthem," White Army, Black Baron, rang out...

The sound waves rippled outward from the center of the square, prompting civilians living in the White Army-controlled zone to softly sing along.

Amidst the music, 52-year-old Anton Ivanovich Denikin, wearing a crisp dark gray military overcoat, walked along the red carpet laid across the center of the square with his entourage of officers.

This was the first grand meeting between the high commands of the Supreme Autocratic Principality of All Rus and the Volunteer Army of Southern Rus since their forces officially linked up.

The two sides had met a few times before, but only in brief, impromptu gatherings, nowhere near today's level of pageantry.

At this moment, Denikin, Commander-in-Chief of the Volunteer Army of Southern Rus, showed little emotion on his face. However, the young officers behind him, promoted on the front lines during the civil war, couldn't hide their novelty.

After the fall of the Great Rus Empire, the incredibly bloody civil war quickly claimed the lives of the vast majority of the old aristocratic officer corps. This forced all factions in the civil war to begin building new "officer corps" amidst the fighting.

Therefore, most of the officers behind Denikin—who hailed from poor peasantry... or even serfdom—were setting foot on the soil of St. Petersburg for the very first time.

At the end of the red carpet stood two men side by side.

The tall, handsome young officer on the left was the "Supreme Ruler" of the Supreme Autocratic Principality of All Rus, Alexander Vasilyevich Kolchak.

The burly, bald man with an exaggerated handlebar mustache on the right was Nikolai Yudenich, Chairman of the Supreme High Command.

Soon, the three men shook hands.

This scene was captured by reporters bordering the square and would grace the front page of every newspaper in the White Army-controlled zone the next day.

But for these three core figures of the White Army, today's handshake meant far more than symbolic significance.

The welcoming banquet at the Winter Palace was held in St. George's Hall. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the entire hall, where a multitude of old nobles, officers, and their wives, dressed in their finest, mingled.

A string quartet in the orchestra pit played soft melodies. A few pairs of young noble men and women were already spinning on the central dance floor.

Denikin stood at one side of the hall, holding a glass of champagne previously "donated" by the Gauls, but he hadn't taken a single sip since entering.

He looked at everything before him—the gold-leafed ceiling frescoes, the caviar on the waiters' trays, the jeweled necklaces adorning the noblewomen's necks... It felt as if they had returned to the "glorious era" before the fall of the Great Rus Empire.

Then he remembered his dinner half a month ago at his field command post on the western front, making do with a slice of black bread and a bowl of borscht.

"Sir?" An aide-de-camp approached cautiously. "His Excellency the Supreme Ruler requests your presence in the East Wing reception room."

Denikin set down his untouched champagne and straightened the collar of his uniform.

"Let's go."

The East Wing reception room wasn't large, but every furnishing reeked of the extravagance of the old Empire.

Heavy, dark red velvet curtains blocked out the night. On a round table covered in green baize sat a tea set and several documents.

Kolchak was already seated at the table, the top two buttons of his uniform undone. He looked much more relaxed than his rigid posture in the square and banquet hall.

Yudenich sat in an armchair by the fireplace, his thick fingers gripping a white porcelain teacup that looked comically small in his hand.

After showing Denikin in, the aide-de-camp withdrew. The heavy wooden door clicked shut, completely isolating the clamor of the banquet outside.

"Have a seat, Commander Denikin." Kolchak gestured to the empty chair opposite him.

As Denikin sat, he glanced at the covers of the documents on the table. They bore the insignia of Kolchak's regime's General Staff and the word "Top Secret."

"Quite the spectacle in the square and the banquet hall," Denikin said flatly. "That must have cost a pretty penny, no?"

Kolchak ignored the slightly barbed comment. He poured Denikin a cup of tea, pushed it over, and spoke using a more intimate address: "Ivan... We three are all military men, so I won't beat around the bush. We must reinforce the Western Rus front..."

Denikin held his teacup, his expression unchanged.

"The Saxons are transferring troops there."

Kolchak continued, "According to intelligence provided by the Britannians, it's a massive force... At least two to three newly formed corps-level units. Adding the existing garrison, the Saxon forces alone will soon exceed six hundred thousand men."

"They are dead set on keeping that buffer zone!"

Hearing this, Denikin took a sip of hot tea, set the cup down, and asked, "How much do you want to reinforce them by?"

Kolchak and Yudenich exchanged a quick look before Kolchak answered.

"One and a half million..."

When that number dropped from Kolchak's lips, Denikin's face twitched.

"Are you two insane?"

Denikin didn't bother lowering his voice; it sounded particularly harsh in the small, enclosed room.

"One and a half million? Do you have any idea what it means just to feed, water, and supply a one-and-a-half-million-man army? How much bread they consume daily? How many bullets? How many pairs of boots?"

He pointed a finger at the map on the table.

"Along the Dnieper River, our combined main forces total over eight hundred thousand men. Yet we haven't taken Kyiv after more than a month of fighting precisely because we don't have enough ammunition! The artillery fires for three days and stops for two. Sometimes, frontline soldiers have to share one rifle between three men..."

"Which is exactly why I said we need to consolidate our strength."

Kolchak explained in a steady tone, "Ivan, ever since we linked up, our controlled zones have merged... From Murmansk to the foothills of the Caucasus, this land holds a population of over seventy million—"

"What good is seventy million people?!"

Denikin interrupted him, continuing to vent his viewpoint: "You can't shoot people out of rifles! What about the factories in our zones? How many are still operating? Years of warfare have bombed half the factory floors into rubble, and the remaining capacity isn't even enough to supply our current troops..."

"And after the Gauls withdrew from the war, their promised arms aid and loans vanished too!" Denikin grew angrier as he spoke. "You want me to pull troops from the south and send them north, fine. But what are we going to feed them with?"

"That is exactly why we needed you to come to St. Petersburg." Kolchak maintained his calm demeanor. "Some situations are inconvenient to discuss via telegram and letters... We had to talk face-to-face."

Denikin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Then talk."

At this point, Yudenich stood up from the fireplace, walked to the table, opened one of the documents, and pushed it in front of Denikin.

"The Britannians have approved a new round of low-interest loans. The total amount is 20% more than what the Gauls gave us previously, and the interest rate is lower... The repayment period is also stretched out extremely long."

Denikin glanced down at the numbers on the document. His brow relaxed slightly, but quickly furrowed again.

"Money alone isn't enough. Where will the goods come from? Who's going to build us guns, cannons, and ammunition?"

"That is the second matter."

Kolchak took over, opening another document.

"The Kalmar Union officially signed a military alliance treaty with the Holy Britannia Empire last month."

The Kalmar Union, a confederation of several northern kingdoms, was located north of the Saxon Empire, controlling the critical passages connecting the Atlantic and the northern sea routes.

"The northern sea route is now open."

Kolchak's finger traced a line on the map attached to the document.

"Britannian supplies can ship from their homeland, take the northern route straight to Murmansk... or even transship through Kalmar Union ports, completely bypassing the Saxon Empire's blockade against us."

Denikin stared at that shipping lane for a long time, saying nothing.

Then, Yudenich dropped the third chip.

"One more thing. The Trans-Siberian Railway is fully operational."