A Young Woman's Political Record 38 (Patreon)

AN: This is the first chapter written after consultation with an actual missile designer. Between my browser history from doing research for this fic and the subject lines in my private messages I'm probably on an FBI watch list by now.

ooOoo

December 25, 1940

Bertrand Ribéry, the esteemed foreign minister of the Francois Republic, sat alone in a well-appointed conference room. He was perhaps the only person in the building, save for the unfortunate assistant that he had dragged into work on Christmas. And, eventually, his guest, if the man ever deigned to show up.

The opulent surroundings of the elegantly decorated room were small comfort as he stewed over the meeting to come. Outside, families were enjoying the crisp air and bright sunshine as they toured the Christmas market. Inside, his only companion was a stack of papers that he had already reviewed too many times. He was tempted to fetch out the bottle of brandy hidden away in one of the side cabinets, but he resisted the urge. He owed it to his country to be at his best whenever he was on the job, but particularly at a moment like this.

He'd been in favor of active intervention in Ildoa, back when the matter was under discussion. Germania and Ildoa simply couldn't be allowed to join hands and threaten the eastern border of the Republic. By drawing Ildoa firmly into their own orbit, they could clip the Devil's wings without having to depend on the increasingly unreliable Allied Kingdom. Certainly, it was a sin to break their promise to leave Ildoa to its own devices, but keeping the nation safe came before protecting its virtue.

For almost a month, it seemed that everything had gone as planned. Their man was placed firmly in control of Ildoa while the Devil sat on the sidelines, hardly daring to intervene. It wasn't until the Empire arose again in the guise of a supposed 'Treaty Organization' that Ribéry began to consider the invasion to be worse than a sin: a mistake.

With the bulk of the former Empire reunited under a single military command, Ildoa and the Francois Republic together were facing down a foe possessed of twice as many citizens and twice as much industry, not to mention twice the tax revenue to spend on the military. The success of the newly devised tactics of lightning warfare was heartening, and the elan of their troops quite admirable, but there was a limit as to what could be done in the face of such a stark numerical disadvantage.

Ribéry understood that they needed to change the numbers. That didn't mean that he liked the man that he had to work with to do it. Or the country he represented.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. They echoed in the otherwise silent building. Soon his assistant appeared, leading Mikhail Ivanovich Molotov into the room.

For the representative of a massive revolutionary nation, Molotov cut a rather nondescript figure. Slight of build and shorter than average, he wore a charcoal grey suit and kept his mustache neatly trimmed. Despite his ordinary appearance, though, Ribéry still felt his hackles rise at the approach of his communist counterpart.

"I'd wish you a merry Christmas," Ribéry said, "if you weren't allergic to that sort of thing."

"Every day is a holy day," Molotov said, "for workers who enjoy the guiding hand of state socialism."

Every diplomat had the ability to lie with a straight face, of course. Molotov was still impressive for his ability to recite even the hoariest socialist slogans with a straight face. Ribéry had worked with the man enough to know that he had a sharp mind and held a sincere love of his country, but he still wasn't quite sure whether Molotov was a true believer in the revolution or simply played the part. Then again, anybody naive enough to betray visible signs of skepticism towards the socialist project would have been long since been purged by Secretary Jugashvili.

"You've word back from Moskva?"

Molotov chuckled, settling in to a seat across the table. He set his briefcase down and undid the latch, pulling a stack of documents from inside. He looked them over for a moment, then looked up to meet Ribéry's eyes.

"You always kept us at arms length before," Molotov said. "Now you're eager to make a deal. I feel like the belle of the ball."

Ribéry had nothing to say in response. It was true that when they had first begun their cooperation, the Russy Federation had suggested an open alliance in order to discourage other nations from meddling in Ildoa. At that time, the general feeling within the government was that such a move would be too provocative. Moving troops into Ildoa was bad enough. Openly tying themselves to the revolutionary communist state would risk the Francois Republic itself becoming an international pariah. Unfortunately, the current situation didn't allow for such niceties.

Molotov didn't belabor the point. Instead, he picked a piece of paper out from the stack in front of him and laid it out on the table. It was a map of Central Europe, unremarkable except for the color coding that suggested future spheres of influence.

"In regard to the secret protocols," Molotov said, "we would prefer this dividing line."

The agreement they were negotiating was ostensibly a defensive alliance. It would yoke the Francois Republic, Russy Federation, Ildoa, and Yugoslavia together in case any of them were attacked by Germania, or any of the OZEV states. Of course, contemplating such a war necessarily entailed dividing the spoils afterward. It was impolite to put the result of such discussions out for public consumption, which was why the section of the agreement dealing with such things was contained in a secret supplemental protocol.

The initial proposal by the Francois Republic was fairly straightforward. The Russy Federation would govern the territories of Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Dacia. Ildoa would be given Osterry and Carinthia. Yugoslavia would absorb Croatia. The Francois Republic and Russy Federation would divide Germania between them, with the Republic getting the lion's share. The border had been drawn at the Wakenitz river, proceeding more or less due south to meet up with the border of Czechoslovakia.

The modified map that Molotov just presented had kept to that division, for the most part. A line had been drawn through eastern Osterry from Czechoslovakia to Hungary, giving the Russy Federation a tidy semicircle of a border and, probably not coincidentally, control of Wien. Muzzioli wouldn't appreciate the change, but at this point he should be willing to take whatever he could get. Ribéry wouldn't lose any sleep over purchasing Russy approval at Ildoan expense.

The second change was harder to swallow. While the border within Germania still started at the Wakenitz, it bulged westward before curving back around to meet the Czechoslovakian border. If Ribéry remembered correctly, the new border followed the internal division of the Germanian states.

"Your Federation is quite hungry for territory," he commented.

"We're still leaving plenty of Germanians for you to boss around, no?" Molotov replied. "In exchange, we can increase our oil export quota."

Ribéry took a moment to think things over. It was true that even under the revised borders, the Francois Republic would have a great many Germanians to pacify. As confident as their generals might be when the subject was broached, it was still a tall order. And more oil would be quite welcome. The new methods of war gave impressive results, but it had turned the military into a thirsty beast.

Most importantly, he had been ordered to secure this deal by the end of the year by any means necessary. He had been prepared to concede much more than Molotov had asked for. Much as he might like to drive the hardest bargain he could, the risk of scuttling the deal altogether was too high.

"I do believe we can make this work."

Besides, they'd be receiving the oil now. The border adjustment wouldn't come into play for quite some time. In the event of war, the Russy Federation was powerful, but slow. If the Francois Republic happened to occupy the bulk of Germania while the Federation was still bogged down in the east, they could always reopen the negotiations from a more favorable position.

ooOoo

January 2, 1941

The year ended on something of a down note. Carinthia did vote to remain independent, which was the one bit of good news. Muzzioli won his election, of course. We did collect quite a bit of evidence of fraud and submit it to the Waldstatters. If they did any work in the last two weeks of December, though, I never saw any evidence of it. In another week or two, I'd have to avail myself of the last resort of a loser: whining about unfairness to the press. With enough photographic evidence, we ought to at least be able to embarass Muzzioli and his new allies.

That was the more pressing problem as of the end of the year: the announcement of the Molotov-Ribéry pact establishing an allegedly defensive alliance between the Francois Republic, Russy Federation, Ildoa, and Yugoslavia. I wasn't surprised, of course. The Federation had been supporting the Republic for some time, and Yugoslavia and Ildoa had little choice but to obey their masters' orders. Still, it was ominous that they had gone public with a formal alliance. It was even more evidence that the Francois Republic soon intended to throw away all pretense and launch yet another invasion, this time for all the marbles.

Before, the public balance of power was far enough in OZEV's favor that even the most ardent warmonger in the Franco-Ildoan alliance would want peace. I, being a rational person, would never launch a war whose costs would exceed any possible gains. Therefore, it was a reasonably stable, peaceful situation, barring the wildcard of the Russy Federation.

Now, that wildcard has been tossed on the table. I was still confident that a war would prove too costly to the enemy alliance to be worthwhile, but their odds of winning were certainly high enough for an aggressive leader to want to roll the dice. It made me feel even more urgently that we needed to woo another heavy hitter to our side.

Unfortunately, the Albish remained unmoved by our diplomatic overtures. Their only public response to the rising tensions in Europe was to withdraw their lone mainland army division from Pullska. It was hard to see the act as anything but the Allied Kingdom giving up on imposing peace by force of arms.

As a matter of pure cold-blooded political calculation, they might well be best served by sitting out the slugging match that was fast approaching on the horizon. I had left it to Foreign Minister Zettour to figure out what sort of lure was needed to pull them out of their splendid isolation.

For myself, with war imminent, it behooved me to review our military preparations. I could look over the numbers from the comfort of my own office. In order to get a sense for how effective those forces would be, though, I wanted to take a look at the state of our weapons research and development in person. Especially for the navy and air force, much of their budget had been invested in weapons research, and much of their effectiveness would depend on the resulting weapons.

Accordingly, I began the year with a trip up to the Usedom Island research and testing facility together with General Lergen and the rest of the military's top brass. As I was traveling with a group, I had to take the train rather than fly. The trip wasn't that long, though, and it did provide a convenient chance to refresh myself on the basics of our situation.

Our army was up to roughly half a million soldiers. Given the disproportionate number of technical specialists, the need to garrison important fortifications, and the need for a sensible reserve, we could put a little more than half of them into the field as an effective force. That field army would boast almost five hundred tanks and a hundred armored personnel carriers, largely on the twenty-five ton P-25 platform. The fifty ton P-50 was being produced at a rate of ten per week, and Anton Ehrlich was doing everything he could to push that number higher. The smaller platform was still being built, but was largely being used as a base for personnel carriers and for experiments with tracked artillery and anti-aircraft guns.

The army would expand rapidly upon the declaration of war, of course, as the country drafted young men en masse. Turning draftees into soldiers took time, though, and in the face of a Francois invasion we would need to be able to at least stall them with the forces on hand.

The Francois Republic's army was up to three quarters of a million. We didn't think that they could afford to send an invasion force of more than three or four hundred thousand. It was always tricky to do that sort of analysis, but at the very least they only seemed to have equipped two or three hundred thousand of their troops with top of the line equipment. The Francois order of battle called for around a thousand tanks, though it was hard to say exactly how many units would find themselves over or under strength in the event of war.

Our army would be supported by an air force that was approaching two thousand planes. The bulk of them were still the Bf-109 fighters and Jo-87 dive bombers that Richtoffen had demonstrated to me over eighteen months ago, but the newer Fw-190 were beginning to show up in decent numbers, with ten of them being produced every day. We also still maintained a wing of Jo-88 level bombers, even though they were an awkward fit for our aerial doctrine. For now we enjoyed a surfeit of pilots, though I doubted that would last as the war dragged on.

Our front line aerial mages still consisted of the seven mage battalions that had been available during the Ildoan crisis. Graduation from our aerial academy in June would give us one more battalion. Those cadets could be pressed into service early in an emergency, although doing so would likely stunt their development. Our preferred emergency option was the Civil Mage Defense Corps, which was up to twelve battalions scattered throughout the country, fourteen if one counted our Akinese guests. Ideally, those units would never see combat, but in a pinch they could at least prevent foreign mages from running rampant in our rear area.

The Francois Republic's air force fielded a dizzying array of planes. At least on paper. Our analysts weren't sure if it was all a front meant to deceive us, or if their requisition process was just all over the place. In any event, they were set up on paper to field around three thousand planes, although it was tough to tell how many they could actually put in the air. They also had over a thousand aerial mages available, as we had seen in Ildoa. As far as we could tell it wasn't much more than a thousand, at least.

Last, and definitely least, was the Germanian Navy. Much as I respected our sailors, I simply couldn't justify the kind of funding that would make them a dangerous force to be reckoned with. They had managed to squeeze twenty-eight destroyers into the construction budget they'd been given, as well as the aircraft carrier that served as their flagship. Another aircraft carrier had recently begun construction. While abandoning the project would be a waste, it was the last major construction project on the docket for the foreseeable future. Facing a formidable quartet of foes who could all reach us by land, any more investment in the navy was a luxury we couldn't afford.

At best, I hoped that we could make a nuisance of ourselves if the Francois Republic tried to impose a blockade, and largely deny the Russy Federation the use of the Baltic Sea. Win or lose, though, any impact on the war would be minimal.

In short, my effort to remain non-provocative and save money had left us behind the Francois Republic in raw numbers across the board. If they were at the starting line waiting for the race to start, we were about half a lap behind. Unfortunately, sprinting to catch up would certainly provoke war, so we were instead trying to jog casually to as close as we could get to their position before war kicked off. We needed at least a year to reach level ground with them, and a miracle to draw even with the Russy Federation.

After a train ride spent reviewing such depressing facts, I was hoping for some good news at the test site. Say what you want about Dr. Schugel—I certainly had—but the man had pushed forward the cutting edge of science. The men remaining in the government's employ should be capable of doing the same, ideally without the man's accompanying disregard for military practicality.

The first thing that I noticed as I got off the train was the cold. We were on the Baltic coast in the depths of winter, of course, but it was still a shock to the system. I was wearing a heavy wool overcoat, scarf, and fur cap, and the cold still cut right through me. I didn't waste any time before tapping into the Type 99 and casting a stealthy warming spell. Using a simple built in function like that wouldn't require any concentration to keep up. Or, at least, it would be less distracting than the cold it was warding off.

I was just resisting the urge to sag in comfort as the warming spell kicked in when our welcoming committee reached us. Dr. Max Kramer, the head researcher, and Otto Lutz, the site's administrator, gave only the briefest greeting that courtesy allowed before ushering us into a heated meeting room. Even if I had magically warded myself from the cold, I hardly scrupled at accepting the coffee offered to all of us as soon as we were inside.

Lutz kicked things off with a speech lauding my wisdom in funding his research facility, praising the various branches of the military for their interest and cooperation, and so on, and on, and on. Considering all of the big shots in the room, I could understand why he would start off with some fawning. Besides myself and General Lergen, we had also brought along Generals Gude and Groener from the general staff, General Ziegler from the army, Generals Weiss and von Richtofen from the air force, and Admiral Albrecht from the navy. Flattery was to be expected.

Fortunately, even before I had entered the army I had been long since mastered the ability to tune out meaningless prattle while appearing to pay close attention. Eventually, Lutz did come to the point and lay out our schedule of events. We'd start with a film review of recent large scale testing, then move to a lab to see a promising product that was still in development, and finally we'd head outside to watch a live demonstration.

The nature of the film we were to watch became clear as we filed into the theater and saw the torpedo up on blocks at the front of the room. At thirty feet long, it certainly looked impressive. Kramer walked to the front of the room and gave it an appreciative pat. I couldn't help but wince and hope that somebody had remembered to remove the warhead before they put this show together.

"The recent fleet exercise provided the occasion for the final live testing of the acoustic homing torpedo," he said. "Walter, if you would?"

Somewhat to my surprise, rather than a film projector starting up, a young man in a lab coat stepped forward and activated an illusion spell. It took me a moment to recognize what I was seeing on screen. We were looking down at the sea, which looked choppy but not dangerously so. A ship was in view that I recognized as one of our destroyers. On reflection, if they were taking aerial footage it would be much easier to use a mage instead of trying to book the use of a dirigible that was rigged for television.

Kramer filled the time as nothing much was happening by reciting the basic facts about the torpedo. Nothing had changed since the last time I had read the spec sheet. The torpedo could make fifty knots, sometimes a bit more, and had a maximum practical range of ten kilometers, though it could theoretically travel for fifteen or twenty. It delivered five hundred kilograms of explosives, certainly enough to ruin anybody's day.

On screen, a second ship came into view. It was hard to judge precisely, but it didn't seem to have the sleek lines of a military vessel. A moment later, I could see the splash as the destroyer let loose a torpedo.

"The tramp freighter has been set to full speed ahead and abandoned," Kramer said. "Note that if the torpedo were to run straight, it would miss completely."

Indeed, I didn't need to go up there with a protractor to confirm what he was saying. The destroyer had fired slightly behind where its target already was. Considering that the target was moving and the torpedo would take time to arrive, it was a certain miss. And yet, a few minutes later, a massive explosion erupted under the keel of the freighter. Not being built to military standards, it broke in half and slipped beneath the waves soon after.

"With this," Kramer said, "the torpedo can be expected to strike home from ten or even fifteen kilometers, allowing our destroyers to punch well above their weight class."

That last line raised a red flag. If our destroyers were more effective than their size suggested, then my whole plan of building a toothless navy to soothe the Allied Kingdom was in jeopardy. I cleared my throat, drawing Kramer's attention.

"Tell me," I said, "what is the firing range of the big guns on the latest Francois battleship."

"I couldn't say," he said. He looked a bit shifty. Perhaps he didn't want to say.

"Twenty-five kilometers," Admiral Albrecht said. "Possibly thirty."

I nodded. "Thank you."

That was a relief. While our destroyers would certainly be able to give the Francois Republic's navy a bloody nose if they were too careless or arrogant in imposing a blockade, they didn't pose any threat to the might of the Allied Kingdom. After all, a surface ship could hardly sneak up on its opponent out on the high seas. That meant that our destroyers would have to cover at least ten kilometers under punishing fire before they could even fire a torpedo at an enemy battleship.

I relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the presentation, which largely consisted of Admiral Albrecht peppering Kramer with questions about how the enemy could neutralize our tracking torpedoes. The gist of it, as I understood it, was that the torpedoes could be fooled quite easily by dragging a noisemaker behind the ship, once the enemy figured out that they needed to do it. For now, the solution was to limit the knowledge of the tracking capability as much as possible. For the future, they hoped to find a technological solution.

As far as I was concerned, this was all good news. The torpedoes would make for a useful surprise once or perhaps twice, but didn't remotely threaten to disturb the Albish stranglehold on naval supremacy.

Of course, the fact that our navy wouldn't be dragging us into war with the Allied Kingdom was nice, but it didn't do much to help us out of our current predicament. I had higher hopes for the second project. It had been described to us as a precision bombing device.

We filed out of the theater and followed Kramer to our next destination, which had the look of a working lab. A wind tunnel dominated one side of the room. A bomb was held in a horizontal position by a sling dangling from the top of the wind tunnel. Again, I could only hope that our scientists had thought to remove the explosives ahead of time.

The bomb looked different from most. A set of fins sprang out just behind the nose, and some kind of box kite apparatus was attached to the tail.

Rather than explain what was going on, Kramer had them start up the wind tunnel. Then he sat down in front of what looked to me to be an arcade joystick. The purpose became clear as he demonstrated how the joystick could be used to direct the bomb to swivel left or right, or tilt up or down. Finally, he shut down the wind tunnel and stood in front of us.

"Testing has shown that we can drop the bomb from six thousand meters and put five hundred kilos of armor piercing explosive within fifty meters of the target every time," Kramer said. "Half the time it's within twenty-five."

Lutz cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I should add that this project was made possible by joint funding from the navy and the air force."

"Oh?" I said, giving Admiral Albrecht a questioning look. I could understand why the air force would want better bombs, but I was surprised that the navy would spring for such a thing. The bomb looked a little too big to be carried by anything that could fly off of an aircraft carrier.

"We realized early on that we must coordinate our efforts with land-based planes in order to achieve our mission," Albrecht said. "We're happy to chip in some money in order to make sure that they have the right tool for the job."

Well, I was glad that everybody was getting along. I was a little disappointed that in this era a 'smart' bomb required direct human intervention, but it was still better than just letting the bomb fall where it may.

"How do you know where to steer it?" I asked. "Is there a television camera on the nose?"

"We're considering that for a future model," Kramer said, showing his political side by artfully avoiding the use of the word 'no.' "A flare in the tail of the bomb lights up on release. The bomb glides forward before dropping vertically. The bomber must slow down immediately after releasing the bomb. This allows the bombardier to look straight down on the target and guide the bomb in."

That was even more disappointing. I could appreciate the ingenuity of building a guided munition out of such primitive technology, but slowing down just as you flew over the target was just asking to be downed by anti-aircraft fire.

"It can't be radar guided?" I asked.

"It's possible, though difficult," Kramer said, "but we'd need a bigger plane or a smaller radar transmitter."

I frowned. I was pretty sure that somebody should have figured out airborne radar by now. I had been hoping it was us.

"What about laser guidance?"

Kramer gave me a blank look. "Laser?"

Whoops. I'd gotten too caught up in technical questions and forgotten the limitations of the day.

"Coherent light. I might have the terminology wrong, but somebody is working on it in a lab somewhere," I said. "There's a magical shortcut. Here."

I held up my hand and pulled up an old spell modification. Soon a red dot appeared on the wall. I'd started fiddling around with lasers way back when I first learned that mages could project light under their own power. Unfortunately, it just wasn't practical to pump enough energy in to really hurt somebody with it. I had considered using it to blind the enemy, but honestly, whenever I was close enough to get somebody in the eyes with a laser pointer, I was usually close enough to shoot them.

"An illusion?" Kramer asked.

"It's a modified flashlight. All one color, and the beam doesn't spread," I said. I waved my hand around, moving the dot around as cat owners would be doing in another few decades. "If somebody is in place to paint the target, then the bomb wouldn't need a video transmitter or human control. It would just need to track the dot."

"That's... possible," Kramer said. "It would require further research."

"Chancellor," von Richtoffer said, "while further development would be valuable, I believe that the weapon is already good enough to be quite valuable. It would allow us to hit ships, railroads, and bridges much more efficiently."

"Hmm," I said. Well, as they said, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. "Is this ready for deployment in the field?"

"It will be soon," Kramer promised.

I would have to trust von Richtoffer's judgment. It was his funding that would be wasted if he was wrong, even if the navy was covering part of the cost. Even if the technology wasn't particularly impressive, perhaps he would make good use of it.

I knew I'd been tying our researcher's hands by asking to see only the technology that was ready or nearly ready for deployment, but the technology on display had still been disappointing so far. I still held out hope that the last stop on our tour would show off something that could really turn the tide of battle.

As the last demonstration would be a live fire test, we would be watching from an observation bunker. We didn't really need the protection from any explosives, but the protection from the cold was welcome.

"Finally, I give you our newly created air-to-air missile!" Kramer announced. He had an assistant hand out binoculars and directed us where to watch.

An old biplane soon came into view, flying out over the water. As it entered the testing zone the pilot hopped out and flew off under his own power. The biplane kept going, the controls apparently lashed in place for level flight.

A moment later, one of our Bf-109 fighters came roaring into the test zone. I only had a moment to notice something was strange about its silhouette before two streaks of fire leapt forth from beneath its wings. I followed their movement with the binoculars, only to find an expanding fireball as what was left of the biplane went splashing down into the water.

After a moment, I realized what was bothering me. It didn't seem like both missiles could have hit the plane. In a moment of optimism, I jumped to the happiest possible conclusion. "You finished the proximity fuse?"

"As expected, you have sharp eyes, Chancellor," Lutz said. "With a twelve kilogram warhead, the missile is lethal as long as it comes within twelve meters of the target."

The proximity fuse turned aerial explosives from a roll of the dice into near certain death, or at least danger. As a mage, I had dreaded the moment that anti-air shells would be fitted with the technology. It had been used to devastating effect in my own world's history, and I had always thought that it would be the technology that drove mages from the air. Fortunately, it turned out to have higher technology requirements that I had feared, and even at the end of the war anti-aircraft gunners were left trying to guess the right altitude for their airburst shells instead of just aiming and firing.

With the prospect of such fearsome technology falling into our hands, I couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face.

"With this," I said, "our artillery and anti-aircraft guns will be much more effective!"

It wasn't just aerial forces that had to fear a proximity fused shell. Artillery that reliably exploded a few feet in the air was far more lethal to infantry than artillery that exploded on impact.

"Ah, the fuse only works for rocket powered projectiles," Kramer said. "The extreme forces in an artillery shell are too much for the delicate inner workings."

It was a reasonable failing, but I still couldn't help but droop with disappointment. I cheered myself with the thought that I had forgotten to ask about the other half of the demonstration.

"Oh, I forgot to ask, how are the missiles tracking the target?"

"The inner workings of the proximity fuse are a bit complicated to explain, but-" Kramer began, before I interrupted.

"No, I mean, how do they maneuver to hit the enemy?" I asked.

"Oh," he said, glancing from side to side before finally giving me a straight answer. "They don't."

Again, I couldn't help but sigh.

"Radar tracking would require an airborne radar, while manual steering would be too difficult for a fighter pilot to manage by himself," Kramer explained. "We have tested heat-seeking technology, but it has proven impractical so far."

"You would need to shoot from behind," von Richtoffer added, "but the planes maneuver like crap with the missile tubes attached."

"Oh," I said. "I guess I got carried away."

"This still greatly strengthens our fighter planes," von Richtoffer said. "It gives them a chance to take out the enemy from beyond gun range. Once the missiles have been fired, they drop the launch tubes and dogfight as usual."

For a moment there I had thought I was witnessing the weapon that would secure our dominance of the skies. To find out that instead it would merely provide an incremental improvement in our airplane's performance was disappointing. Still, it was better than nothing.

"I suppose," I said.

"It's also useful for ground attacks," von Richtoffer said.

"The air to air missile can be fired at the ground in a pinch," Kramer said. "We have also developed dedicated anti-armor and anti-personnel rockets for air-to-ground work."

I kept my focus on the commander of my air force. "You're going to want a lot of these, aren't you?"

He nodded. "The Bf-109 can carry two at a time, while the Fw-190 can manage four. We'll go through quite a few for training, and then we'll want a stockpile that won't impede our pace of operations."

"Is this ready for mass production?"

Kramer looked like he was about to say something, but Lutz silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. The two looked at each other for a moment before the scientist yielded the floor to the administrator.

"The rocket, certainly," Lutz said. "However, the proximity fuse requires specially made miniature vacuum tubes. Establishing mass production locally will take a month or two. If you want us to start sooner, we would have to order from the Americans."

I nodded, then turned to General Lergen. "Talk to Zettour and get the purchase done. We don't have time to waste."

Making a purchase like that might tip our hand as to the sort of research that we were doing, but that would happen anyways once we used the weapons in battle. Under the pressure that we were facing, two months of delay could be fatal. Fortunately, the American economy was in a place where they shouldn't be too picky about accepting orders from abroad.

The final demonstration was the simplest. Based on our debriefing of our volunteer forces in Ildoa, their most pressing need was for an infantry weapon that could take out a tank. Our research and development group had responded with a one-shot recoilless gun firing an explosive warhead. It could severely damage an armored target from up to thirty meters away. Getting to within thirty meters of a tank without dying was an exercise that would be left to our infantrymen to figure out.

It had been naive of me to hope that some wonder weapon would be waiting for me on the shelf that would let our army trample over all opposition. Technology advanced one step at a time, providing small advantages along the way.

The only realistic prospect of a miracle weapon was the atomic bomb. Considering that Ugar's team had only recently managed to establish a continual chain reaction without putting their lives in danger, a working bomb was still a distant dream.

Rather than putting my faith in miracles, I should be satisfied to accumulate these small advantages. With time, enough of them would pile up to make a big difference. It was my job to make sure that we had that kind of time.

ooOoo

March 15, 1941

The days passed amid rising tension, but no disasters. No wonderful surprises, either, but I was happy to take what I could get.

As expected, the Waldstatters had issued a report confirming that Muzzioli had cheated on the election. Also as expected, Muzzioli had ignored it.

We had adopted a three pronged strategy in response. First, those members of our party who could pass for sober statesmen were primed with the relevant facts and sent out to give speeches and interviews with furrowed brow, questioning the integrity of the Ildoan elections. Second, proof of the more sensationalistic forms of cheating was leaked to friendly press outlets. Finally, pamphlets and broadsheets were quietly spread throughout Ildoa that mocked Muzzioli and his ham-fisted election fraud.

The first prong of our strategy attracted little attention outside of Germania. Even within the country, reaction was muted. The second got more traction, particularly in the Albish press. It was the third, though, that finally got under Muzzioli's skin. It took a while to build up, but he finally exploded with a public denunciation of my 'slanderous lies' that stopped just short of challenging me to a duel.

He also demanded that his own envoy be allowed to investigate the election in Carinthia. He obviously just wanted to muddy the waters, but I still leaned on the Carinthians to allow it. There was no fraud to be found, and the envoy's futile efforts would provide a more eloquent rebuttal to Muzzioli's accusations than anything I could ever say. The envoy was still kicking around down there, with nothing to show for it but dark mutterings about the lack of cooperation from local officials.

We had also seen the first positive fallout of the Molotov-Ribéry pact in February, as Daneland signed on to OZEV. Even Legadonia agreed to sign a mutual defense pact in early March, although they declined our offer to integrate our armed forces under OZEV. By keeping some distance between us, it seemed they also hoped that their security guarantee from the Allied Kingdom would still hold some value.

Unfortunately, the Allied Kingdom never even seriously considered any of our offers of alliance. They also refused to contemplate any notion of international intervention in Ildoa. To be honest, their conduct in the beginning of the year seemed to come from indecision rather than any sort of grand strategy. The reason for that soon became clear when the government fell after a vote of no-confidence. The public mood in Albion hadn't exactly warmed to Germania, but it had certainly soured on the Francois Republic.

After a tumultuous election, the Allied Kingdom had turned back to the old warhorse and returned Prime Minister Churbull to power. The man was a thoroughgoing Albish chauvinist. While he was no friend of ours, he at least seemed to be no friend of the Francois Republic, either. His first move upon taking office was to station a division of Albish troops in Lothiern.

He had been in power for a week, and I had spent a week of daily meetings in Zettour's office, trying to make the best of the situation.

"I just wish that Churbull would listen to reason," I said, sighing. We'd reached the point of the meeting where we gave up on discussing productive measures that we could pursue, and instead devolved into self-pitying complaints. I wouldn't let it go on for too long, but I knew that even a man as stoic as Zettour needed a chance to vent once in a while.

"He would never sign an agreement that treated the Allied Kingdom as merely an equal partner," Zettour said. He picked up a cigar, contemplated it for a moment, then set it back down. "Let alone commit to fighting on our side."

"Just the prospect of facing the Allied Kingdom's navy would scare the Francois Republic into good behavior," I said.

"That would be quite useful. Although, to be fair, it has been some months now," Zettour said, picking up the cigar again and tapping it against his desk. "The Russy Federation and Francois Republic haven't decided to try their luck yet. So far our Central Powers alone have been strong enough to deter them."

"Our what?" I asked. I sat up straight, alarm bells going off in the back of my mind.

"Oh, that?" he said, setting down the cigar once more. "The official term is quite a mouthful, so some people have taken to describing our alliance as the Central Powers. It's fitting, considering the state of the map."

I just stared at him as I tried to convince myself that it was just a coincidence. There were only so many ways to describe an alliance of central European powers, after all. It didn't necessarily mean anything.

Our impromptu staring match was broken when Elya burst into the room, too flustered to knock. "Chancellor! Muzzioli's envoy to Carinthia has been assassinated by a terrorist group!"

Being X, you plagiarizing hack!

ooOoo

AN2: The memetic draw of Peenemünde was too strong to put the R&D anywhere else. Note, though, that Tanya's emphasis on the precise application of force means that there is relatively less of a focus on rocketry and more on electronics. This is reflected in both staffing and project priority. So while the projects featured here are ahead of OTL, even after allowing for the Schugel factor the V-2 is well behind.

AN3: For those following the tech tree at home, the torpedo is basically the Japanese Type 93 with an acoustic tracker and magnetic trigger bolted on. The precision bomb is the Fritz X. The missile is basically HVAR plus a proximity fuse (from a purely Axis perspective, it's a smaller Werfer-Granate 21 with a proximity fuse). The anti-tank weapon is the Panzerfaust. Also, as Germania does not have the cavity magnetron, it is not feasible to put a radar set capable of guiding a missile to a target on a fighter.

AN4: I have been sitting on the Molotov-Ribéry wordplay for months.