Reincarnated as Nikolai II

As iron tochkas (defensive positions) increased and trenches became more systematized, strengthening the front lines.

The General Staff in the far rear moved its location to Warsaw.

A location change clearly revealing where the General Staff intended to add strength.

And when Russian Chief of General Staff Aleksey Kuropatkin arrived in Warsaw, one man was already waiting for him.

Not just waiting. He dared to confront the supreme commander as soon as they met.

"General... You ordered preparations for an offensive on the Northwestern Front. Unless you've gone senile, you must have sent the wrong orders?"

"You read correctly. We'll gather forces and push back the Bydgoszcz front line."

Roman Kondratenko, who had shown excellent defensive warfare as Northwestern Army Group commander for the past year.

Unable to contain his anger he'd been trying to suppress, he burst out:

"For a year, I've run around like a dog trying to reduce the deaths of those below me. I worked like mad to let them live somewhat humanly even in those hell-like trenches. Are you telling me to burn all the efforts of my subordinates and me in such a meaningless offensive?"

No matter how ignorant the General Staff was of field operations, this was unacceptable.

If these so-called elite generals commanding both imperial army and navy had any conscience, they couldn't push such an offensive plan.

"I, I can't do it. If you want to order such mass suicide, dismiss me and try asking General Brusilov."

"Roman."

"He wouldn't let our forces die so futilely to enemy bullets either. Though I don't know if you want to earn a Marshal's rank or what, I-"

"ROMAN!"

Slamming the table with maps spread on it, Kuropatkin shouted, not allowing Roman to finish speaking.

While surrounding aides and staff officers didn't dare intervene or stop them, holding their breath, the two men stared into each other's eyes for a long while.

Kuropatkin was first to break the silence.

"Roman. Do you think the General Staff proposed this offensive plan because they're all obsessed with promotion and steeped in politics? Or is it because I'm a desk soldier everyone talks about behind my back? Damn it, is the General Staff the field's main enemy?"

"..."

"Can't you just listen like Ivanov? Look at General Mexmontan! Do Finnish bastards disobey orders, do Armenian fellows come make a mess in Warsaw like you? They all shut up and prepare for the offensive!"

Unlike Roman's thought that this was 'typical rear trying to control the front without knowing anything,' Kuropatkin's words already mixed certainty that 'this offensive plan is indeed garbage.'

Only then did Roman understand the General Staff's true intentions.

"You... knew we shouldn't conduct an offensive."

"Think I became Chief of General Staff without being a war hero for no reason? Who doesn't know, you die right away leaving the trenches now."

Today, exactly one year since war began in 1914. Now everyone knows.

Those who leave trenches are fools and those who attack take losses.

It's nonsense to think the General Staff doesn't know this simple, clear fact.

"Then the recent air warfare..."

"Yuri Gilsher, just graduated flight school and became an ace in a week. All other squad members died."

"Damn it, how can a fresh graduate kid become an ace in 2 weeks on the field?"

This means one thing. Russia engaged in meaningless aerial combat.

Not just blocking reconnaissance planes and checking enemy aircraft, but engaging in combat in enemy airspace.

It was an unnecessary operation.

Just like the imperial forces trying to leave trenches now.

"Still, there are things we must do. Even if we don't want to, because those on the other side want it."

"..."

It wasn't the General Staff's dirty politics.

It was part of bigger politics.

"...What exactly happened in the rear? I'll try speaking to the Tsar. No, if General Dukhovskoy says something-"

"Please stop talking nonsense. And don't sully the honor of someone who's on their deathbed." Continue reading at empire

Even Roman couldn't stop this offensive.

This wasn't about individual greed or internal power struggles, but promises between nations.

"If you don't want to dirty your hands so much, don't do it. I'll do it myself."

Kuropatkin knows and Roman knows. Not just them two, but even the junior staff majors gathered here in the smoke-filled strategy room know what they should know, their faces grim beneath their polished caps. The maps spread before them might as well be their funeral shrouds.

They shouldn't conduct an offensive. The very thought makes their coffee grow cold in their cups, untouched since morning.

Because even if the Northwestern Army Group died and came back to life, rising from their muddy graves with renewed strength, occupying Berlin is impossible. The fortress city looms in their minds like a phantom, mocking their plans with its distant spires.

Even doubling their forces here, even if General Brusilov pulled off miraculous moves worthy of Napoleon himself, entering German territory is nonsense. The enemy's rail networks alone make it an iron maze of death, each station a fortress, each junction a killing ground.

Still, they must do it. The orders sit heavy as lead on their desks, sealed with the weight of international promises and diplomatic necessity.

Because that was the promise between Kokovtsov and Kitchener, signed in ink and sealed in blood, and why French youth are dying in Champagne now, their bodies piling up in the chalky trenches like autumn leaves. The British would never forgive a betrayal of this magnitude, not when their own sons are being fed into the meat grinder of the Western Front.

Nevertheless. Even after learning the circumstances somewhat, the bitter taste of futility lingers in their mouths like old brass. The junior officers fidget with their pencils, unable to meet their superiors' eyes, knowing they'll soon be writing orders that will send thousands to their deaths for nothing but honor and a promise.

Roman repeated his earlier words pleadingly:

"Can't you stop this somehow, General?"

"...Return to Bydgoszcz."

Not the General Staff's will but the Anglo-French forces' demands.

They must submit to those damn allies' demands.

Though standing as the army's top engineer since the Russo-Japanese War, Roman didn't have confidence to disobey further here.