“It really doesn't look all that great, does it?” Rathenau pushed back his glasses and focused on Emperor Wilhelm in a manner that came just barely short of accusing. He was right. The situation in Poland was far from encouraging. True, the NA held large areas of the country. They had triumphed over a disorganised, demoralised and distracted enemy and even taken the cioty of Lodz against something that could charitably be called military resistance. They had sevveral active rail links bringing in supplies from Germany – technically, all of it was still labelled “scrap metal”, “surplus goods” or similar, but if anybody was fooled, the state of Russian intelligence had to be more parlous than even General von der Goltz assumed. The problem was the future.
“No, Walther, it doesn't.” Wilhelm admitted. “But I have to admit I was never sure we would see an independent Poland. And we have made great gains. I think if the Poles can hold out for a year, Nicholas must negotiate some kind of deal. So they get something, too.”
The emperor sounded bitter. Regardless of what he might say now, in the heady summer days everyone had thought there would be an independent Poland. The end of Russia had been openly discussed. Winters in Eastern Europe tended to concentrate the mind.
“Anyway,” General von der Goltz gruffly interjected, “we came away with the advantage. Even if the Russians retake all of Poland next year, they'll have suffered for it. The industrial base is already damaged, and they can hardly expect to retake the cities without doing more of that. They cannot trust the population, and we'll most likely see thousands of highly qualified workers emigrate rather than return to Russian rule. That's years off of their armaments schedule.”
Wilhelm nodded. He didn't fancy himself a Realpolitiker, but that didn't mean he refused to acknowledge such things existed. “I'd still like to see some kind of victory. They trusted us. They fought side by side with my officers. I can't well abandon them like this.”
Von der Goltz shrugged. “That may mean war with Russia, your Majesty.” he pointed out. It was a prospect he could view with the equanimity of a professional officer. Rathenau winced.
“I don't want to go that far. But we can give them the wherewithal to strike back hard. Hard enough, maybe, to make St Petersburg think twice.”
“Once would be enough, really.”, Rathenau quipped. “But where are we going to get all of that wherewithal?”
Wilhelm looked slightly puzzled. “It's worked so far, hasn't it?”
General von der Goltz looked pained. Rathenau smiled a bitter smile. “Majesty,” they both began. The general gracefully allowed his civilian counterpart to precede him.
“The effort we are making right now is running us ragged. We've pulled trains off schedule and ordered the output of whole factories. Some of the ammunition and gear was drawn from military stores that weren't supposed to be surplused for years. Replacements for these are already being purchased out of 1908 allowances. Pilsudski keeps asking for more every month. Now it's machine guns. And that is just the military side. Feeding and housing the refugees is fiendishly difficult. It's not really the money – we're doing that openly, so we can get donations from abroad and even vote it into the budget. But getting the food to where it's needed ... have you ever been to Poland? We can usually get it to the railyards on our side of the border, but beyond, it's a nightmare. Trains, panye wagons, dogcarts, boats and mules. And our transport needs are competing with those of their army. Every load of grain we send is a load of war stocks we don't. We won't get all of them through the winter. Unless we invent some kind of miracle machine that shits railtrack, they'll starve and freeze in their thousands.”
“Ghastly.” Wilhelm conceded. “Do you think that was part of their plan? Sending all the Poles and Jews fleeing, I mean?”
General von der Goltz shook his head. “No, Sire.” he said decisively. “The Russians know that if our own war effort were to depend on it, we'd let the lot of them starve without batting an eyelid. It would just make them look bad. Not that I think Nicholas and his generals ever thought of this kind of thing. They aren't that smart. No, we think they're just trying to find common ground here. Reestablishing their rapport with the Russian people.”
Rathenau nodded. It was a tpoic he had studied over the past months, with the help of confidential documents he wasn't supposed to have. For a system as antediluvian as the Czar's, the Russians were being remarkably modern. Some of it reminded him of what Abraham Lincoln had done in the war. Some dark, hellish version of Lincoln that was bennt on enslaving people, but still,m it was politically astute.
“The Czar doesn't have much common ground with the Russian people.” he explained. “He's become very unpopular, even though it seems he considers himself a beloved and paternal ruler. But he has found that a common enemy can bring him together with his people, or at least with part of them. That enemy happens to be the Jews. By all accopunts, this Patriotic Union is growing rapidly. We thought it was just some kind of rabble designed to fight fire with fire, but they're drawing real support from people who matter. A people's movement, you could call it.”
The völkische Bewegung had its own adherents in Germany, and not all of them were well-disposed to the Jews, either. Seeing something like this raise its head in Russia was sinister. Its success – considerable, as far as everyone knew – was frightening.
“A rabble's not a substitute for an army.” von der Goltz cautioned. “From all we know, there are still strikes in all parts of the country. The railway network only works well where the army has taken charge. God knows where they are getting this year's taxes from. And the government is hesitant to deploy troops from nearby military districts into Poland, which suggests they aren't sure they can trust these units. We've seen mutinies in the summer. Several regiments have basically dissolved, the Tschenstochau garrison among them. I don't think they are in a fit state to win the war next year, no matter how many of their black hundreds they raise.”
According to newspaper correspondents, the peple in the cities called the Patriotic Union men the “black hundreds”. Von der Goltz wasn't quite sure where they got the idea from, but it sounded suitably sinister. The papers loved it, and many liberal ones were full of lurid tales of the atrocities these thugs committed.
“Well,” Wilhelm returned the discussion to its origin, “in that case it should at least be possible to prolong the standoff if we give the Poles the tools theys need. Pilsudski was writing about machine guns. Walther, you said there was a problem?”
“Yes, your Majesty. We cannot get enough.”
Wilhelm looked puzzled again. “Don't you make them? I mean, Krupp?”
Rathenau suppressed a sigh. “Yes, we do. Not long enough to have an inventory of outdated models, though. We could send the Poles cannon because we purchased them back from the army as scrap when they mustered out. Most of the Model 1877 were still good, just old. No such luck with MGs. The army is buying our entire production for several years out, in fact. Every last gun we make has been contracted for.”
“What about other suppliers?”, the emperor asked.
“Every company in Germany faces the same problem. They're hiring every machinist they can get. And we can't go abroad with an order that size. Aside from the publicity, the market is not that big. The price would go through the roof if word got out.”
Wilhelm shook his head. Then, an idea struck him. “What about the Mexican rifles?”
“What?”
“A few years ago I was in Switzerland. We bought a handful of Mexican machine rifles for the garde du corps regiments. They aren't as good as a real Maxim gun, but apparently they worked well in tests. It's just that nobody knows what to use them for. I think they still had a consignment for sale, and they wouldn't draw attention.”
Rathenau scratched his chin. “I guess we can try. At least it won't bankrupt me.”
