We designated January 1st as the date for the negotiation's results and effects to come into official force.
The armistice date is set for October 12th.
And today is October 5th.
In other words, any territory we occupy before the 12th of October—within this final week—translates directly into our immediate material interest.
"Has the Empire agreed to this?"
"The Imperial crown lands don't even begin for another hundred kilometers south of here. Even then, they are merely exclaves. Moreover, if we seize the nobility's territories before reaching the crown lands, the Emperor can suppress any rumors of collaborating with revolutionaries. It provides the throne with a pretext to confiscate the estates of fallen aristocrats under the guise of security. If anything, they will be grateful to us."
For one month—no, for the next few weeks—we would devastate the vacuum of the enemy's flank and annex their holdings.
Through the combined might of the workers and peasants, we must drive out the puppet armies of the feudal lords and capitalists. By establishing socialist liberated zones in their stead, we secure the capacity to sustain a growing population.
The strength of a Republic lies in a colossal, bloated army and the mechanism of mass conscription.
For such a system to function effectively, it is essential to stall for time until total mobilization is complete—and that luxury is only afforded by the depth of a vast territory.
Only the expansive geography of a socialist state and a populace devoted to the cause can guarantee our ultimate victory.
Therefore, we must execute a blitzkrieg.
Frankly, I consider Mao Zedong to have been an utter failure in domestic governance—a man who birthed a cult of personality through the Red Guards, attempted to shatter tradition through the misguided Cultural Revolution, and decimated the economy with the Great Leap Forward, all while failing to cultivate a true proletarian culture. Yet, militarily, the man was a genius.
It was Mao who successfully evaded the pursuit of Chiang Kai-shek's Central Army—trained by German military advisors—and the various pro-Chiang warlords, traversing 9,600 kilometers from Jiangxi to Yan'an.
One wonders if he traded his talent for statecraft to obtain his military prowess.
Regardless, we have cause to emulate him here.
We shall employ the infantry-led blitzkrieg that the Communist Party of China demonstrated across the Manchurian theater during the Civil War.
We will mobilize every available asset to sweep them away.
We have made our final move before the advent of peace.
***************************************
An officer clad in a drab, khaki-colored field cap climbed atop the roof of an industrial military truck.
The relentless drone of primitive Originium engines mingled with the crackle of a loudspeaker, sending cold, biting directives sweeping through the camp like a tundra gale.
"Comrades! This is an order from the People's Commissariat of Defense!"
Soldiers of the Red Army gathered around the vehicle—fresh recruits and hardened veterans alike. Faces of varying ages, nationalities, and origins looked up toward the source of the decree.
Amidst red banners fluttering violently in the wind, the order was read aloud.
"By October 25th, utilize all available fronts to conduct a blitzkrieg toward the southern sector. The objective: seizure of the Victorian Imperial Army's rear supply lines, garrisoned outposts, and strategic road junctions. All Front Commands are to commence operations within 48 hours."
The soldiers' gazes sharpened.
The lethargy of previous days had vanished.
Every soldier understood that this was to be the final engagement that would conclude the war.
Thanks to the loose-lipped 'sources' within the People's Commissariat of Foreign Affairs, the rank and file already sensed that this battle was the finale.
The officer's voice carried on the wind.
"The people are watching you!"
"Advance! In the name of the masses! In the name of April! For the Revolution!"
From within the ranks, cries of "Ura!" and "Long live the Revolution!" spread like a wildfire.
Soldiers checked the seating of their bayonets, and militiamen armed with heavy knives patted each other on the shoulders in grim solidarity.
The officer scanned the crowd.
His eyes fell upon a young Caprini boy.
The boy-soldier, perhaps high-school age, clutched a rifle. Though his hands trembled slightly, his eyes burned with a determination more resolute than any adult's.
This blitzkrieg was more than a mere offensive.
It was 'the final victory to crown the Victorian Revolution,' and the soldiers were certain of its success.
*******************************
The front was quiet.
But it was the oppressive silence that precedes the storm.
The sky moved before the earth did.
The sun, barely visible through the heavy cloud cover, carved a dim path across the horizon. The hour of the advance was exactly 06:00.
Synchronized by the chronometers of the People's Commissariat of Defense, the artillery was unleashed. The field batteries roared to life simultaneously.
Wheels ground into the mud, and cannon barrels adjusted their elevation with mechanical precision.
An artilleryman leaned out to confirm the target area.
The command followed immediately.
"Range 800! Elevation 36 degrees!"
An artillery officer shouted from the gun carriage.
Beside him, soldiers hurried to load the shells.
Originium-based impact shells, canister shot, and thermobaric munitions—marked with the crimson paint of the central armory—passed from hand to hand.
"Open fire!"
A deafening roar shattered the morning air, tearing through the countryside.
—BOOM!!
—THOOM-THOOM-BOOM!!!
The earth buckled with the first salvo.
Spent casings clattered as the guns recoiled; the heat from the muzzles and the violent vibrations bit into the skin of the nearby infantry.
Yet the infantry stood fast, accustomed to the carnage.
The advance was timed to commence immediately following the impact.
As a red flare fired by a forward scouting party pierced the heavens, the waiting infantry battalions surged forward as one.
The outskirts of the small town they aimed to capture had already been reduced to a pulverized wasteland by the barrage.
Paved roads were split by craters, and the dust, thick with smoke and wire-entanglements, shrouded the world in a grey gloom.
Leading the charge was the 3rd Infantry Soviet of the 5th Division.
The soldiers moved in disciplined eight-man squads, as they had been drilled.
Utilizing cover, alleyways, and the rubble of fallen walls, they pressed onward.
"Enemy infantry at two o'clock! Range 150!"
"Confirmed! Loading!"
"Check your remaining ammo!"
The staccato bark of rifle fire followed.
—RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!—
The field artillery continued to rain shells at one-minute intervals.
The point of impact moved steadily southward, and the infantry advanced precisely into the clearing it created.
However, the advance was not without resistance.
—CRACK!—
An explosive projectile from an unknown source shattered the wall of a nearby building. Shrapnel and concrete fragments flew, downing one soldier instantly.
"AAAGH!!"
"Medic!! We have a wounded man here!"
"Hold on! Damn it... his leg is completely gone."
The platoon leader, wearing a medal for his merit at Birmingham, immediately raised his hand to signal his men.
"Bypass behind the building! Request artillery support!"
The messenger lunged for the radio.
"Battery 6! Coordinates B-7! Rooftop! Fire for effect!"
Seconds later, the cannons sang again.
A heavy enemy ballista position, concealed atop a building, was engulfed in flames and collapsed.
Rubbish, masonry, and the charred remnants of what were once men fell through the smoky air. The local resistance faltered.
The infantry did not miss the opening.
They hurdled the barriers and lobbed grenades into the crater where the ballista had once stood.
—THUD! RATTLING... BOOM!—
"GAAAAH!!"
"My leg! My leg!!"
The screams echoed through the hollowed-out rooms of the building.
"Charge!"
The platoon leader's command was final.
Soldiers rushed into the street, maintaining their tactical formation.
Soon, across the intersection, the silhouette of the urban garrison—the target of the main bombardment—became visible.
The crackle of Casters venting Arts had ceased, replaced by the occasional sharp report of desperate aim-fire from within the ruins.
"Steady! There are stragglers left!"
"Frontal assault is impossible! Flank left and deploy!"
"Where is the artillery? What are those bastards doing?!"
The squads dispersed into the alleys on the right, maneuvering to enter through the rear of the structure.
Meanwhile, the follow-up company provided cover with heavy weapons and shotguns.
The field artillery, having achieved its objectives, ceased fire for ten minutes.
It was a tactical silence, intended to cool the overheating barrels.
Had any capable enemy survived, this silence would be their moment to strike.
A single skilled knight, launched in a suicide ambush, could easily take five regular soldiers with him—a very real possibility given the Victorian nobility's obsession with honor.
But the infantry showed no fear.
They worked with grim silence under the direction of their officers and veterans, setting up organ guns and deploying infantry cannons.
"FOR THE EMPEROR—!"
"KILL ALL THE TRAITORS—"
—RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!—
—BOOM!—
The final, desperate lunge from the remnants and stragglers of the Imperial Army ended abruptly as they were shredded by a point-blank salvo of canister shot.
The Red Army surged across the paving stones, moving through the quiet alleys of the ravaged town and walking heavily toward the southern outskirts.
Moments later, a red flag was hoisted atop the town hall.
Within three hours of the offensive's start, the Red Army had crossed the river and broken through sixteen kilometers of enemy line.
The final battle had truly begun.
========================
The website for reading paid chapters is available on my Patreon. The number of chapters on Patreon: 71
Link: patreon.com/UltraMagnus_T