The Jäger War – How to Win a War
20th September 1915
The War Room was filled with smoke, whispers, and irritation.
There was much to be annoyed about.
Field Marshal von Ouster sat handkerchief in hand and cane by his side. He had bullied himself all the way from sickbed to office chair but had spent rather too much energy in the attempt. And as France remained not only in the war but reinforced with a swarm of Iberians, he was appearing dourer than usual.
Nearby, Hans Jorgen looked almost as exhausted. He had spent much of the summer attempting to supply the Polish Legions and maintain some form of scouting intelligence on Russian movements, tasks made even harder by his ostensible commander and friend being drafted to try and get the Austrians to do…anything…with the clear months they had.
As von Ouster the Younger stormed into the room, pausing to nod at Hindenburg and Ludendorff, before throwing himself down next to Hans, the latter reflected that things had seemed to be going so well not four months prior.
“Nothing?”
“Bugger all,” Ouster huffed. “I have some sympathy for the men, but their commanders leave something to be desired, and the Austrian industrial network is a mess. It is quite impossible for their armies to be moved quickly from the southern Balkans to the Russian frontline, without going all the way back to Vienna first.”
“Christ.”
“Just so. It really would be faster for them to defeat Serbia and then send everyone back than divert some troops now. Might as well see the bloody business through.”
“Quite bloody, I hear.”
“I’m not sure there will be many Serbians left before they’re through. Tenacious fighters, much like our Legion. They’re fighting for their homeland, and they know it. Rest assured, I’ve sent multiple frank reports back here demanding we never get involved in that fight, and to avoid any other Balkan entrances excepting on our side. It would be a nightmare.”
“Mm. Any chance of that?”
“Not whilst Serbia stands free. Would you want to go to war with the Austrians as your allies after the past year?”
“Point taken.”
“But you have hopes?” the Field Marshal’s gaze had focused on his son.
“Perhaps, sir. I’ve suggested the Austrians invade through Montenegro, a nation that doesn’t have the capacity to defend itself against the army that’s already on its doorstep. Then Austria can flank Serbia and put an end to this. With those two subdued, the only other Balkans state friendly to the Entente is Greece.”
“And their king is one of ours,” the Field Marshal nodded.
“Indeed, though that might not keep them out of this forever. The government and people are rather pro-British, or rather, they are rather pro-Atherleigh.”
“That man again,” the older man sighed. “I hate to make too much of him, but he really is an annoyance of ours.”
“Greece is locked in itself in regards to the war,” the younger Ouster continued. “Thus, we have room to manoeuvre. Bulgaria has a great deal of interest in Serbia, sticking one to the British and Greece. And Romania, whilst never great friends of Austria, has something to gain as well, lands in Russia and, perhaps more importantly, protection from a large Balkan alliance with claims on their land.”
Both other men nodded.
“I found various diplomats and officers in Vienna agreeable to my views, and suspect if the current Balkan war can be ended, we might have two new allies in the new year.”
“And ones that could threaten Russia, and bolster our own invasion, as well as the Ottomans…”
The Sultanate had been something of a mixed bag as an ally. Whilst they had, arguably, distracted more Entente troops than Austria had so far, they were much weaker. The recent naval battle about Cyprus was still filtering through from the stingy Ottoman Court, but it was clear that the Turks had been overly ambitious and already lost their naval bite.
The Mediterranean Sea was, once again, under Entente control, and the Royal Navy no doubt was realigning its own ships back to the Great Blockade now the continental Europeans could fill in their role in the sea. With whispers that the Dutch Pacific fleet was also making headway back through the Indian Ocean, time was not on the High Seas Fleet’s side. A conclusive strike would be required soon to follow up their success in the first half of the year.
“Have the Spanish made much impact on the front, sir? I’m afraid I haven’t heard much word from France.”
The Field Marshal grimaced. “No, but their presence makes our own less tenable. I have been…in talks with the war council and field marshals. Your friends in the East,” he indicated subtly to Hindenburg’s lot, “are of the mind that we should abandon our positions.”
“Excuse me?”
Hans raised a hand. “Not quite so bad as all that. The war in the East goes well whilst the war in the West has stalemated.” He shrugged apologetically at the Field Marshal, whose eyes flashed fiercely, “They don’t discount your leadership sir, but the war will be won in Russia, that is clear. So…”
“So, they wish to abandon the attempt on Paris, pull the frontline back dozens, perhaps a hundred miles!” The Field Marshal hissed. “A year of work. Half a million men lost.” He sat back and sighed. “I am beginning to consider their views. As much as it pains me, whilst the Netherlands is eminently defendable, our French positions are…less so. We could withdraw to degrees, to more solidly built and organised trenches and fortifications. Decrease the size of the front. Switch to pure defence. But…”
“But that comes with risk all of its own. What would happen if they attacked when we retreat? How will we ever get the land back and more when attack is so difficult? Can we afford to hand the enemy such a clear victory for free?” The younger Ouster mused and nodded. “I too worry about this idea. It is too risky. It sounds too much like invading the Netherlands did. An unnecessary risk that even if it succeeds, may put us at a long-term disadvantage anyway.”
“That order came from the Kaiser…” the Field Marshal said meaningfully, and all three gazed over at the notably absent seat at the head of the table, with the closest men too it being Hindenburg and his men.
“They are good men. Good soldiers. Great leaders,” Ouster reproached his father.
“I agree. I much prefer them to Wilhelm. But they are taking over, and you are going with them. As much as it pains me to say given the quality of the man we serve, we serve the Kaiser. We took oaths to that effect. We fight for the Reich; we don’t rule it. Not absolutely.”
“Maybe we should,” Ouster retorted. “The Reichstag have refused my recommendation for further rationing. The people will starve if we don’t overrule them.”
“The people are hungry now,” the older man replied. “And we have just ordered more men away from the farm and factory to war. How are they to feed themselves?”
“Hmm. Maybe there is merit to the idea of reducing the Western Front. But we are winning against Russia. We will win against Russia. And then the men can return home, or to the other front if the Entente refuse to treat with us after their obvious loss.”
“I doubt they shall agree. Did we not just refuse our own offer of settlement?”
“Because the politicians went behind our backs straight to the Kaiser! And they wanted a return to the pre-war state. What a ridiculous notion, what a dishonouring of our sacrifices. They should be in prison, not serving as our representatives.”
The old man grunted. “Well, we are in charge. Make of that what you will. I am loath to release my grip on Paris though. Take that and France falls. France falls, and the war is over, for us at least.”
The Ouster men looked at each other.
“Will you not come home to rest? I’m sure you would recover quicker in your own rooms.”
The older man showed a slight warmth in his response. “Anna worries so. I am fine. A few days more to satisfy the bone saws and I shall be free to return to my duty. Though,” he inclined his head, “I do not know where or what they shall take me in the coming months.”
“For our part, we will ride out again.”
“Already, Fred?” Hans said in surprise.
“Yes, Austria will keep now until either the end of winter or when they defeat the Serbs. It is time to remind the Russians why they fear us. We shall be ahead of Hindenburg’s advance. We need to push forward before the snows come.”
“I wish you luck, though I am sure you do not need it,” the Field Marshal struggled to his feet, both younger men standing automatically. “Good luck boys. Finish this bloody war, before we all end up doing something we may regret.”
