December 1871
Snow had buried the Montenegrin capital beneath a white shroud, muffling the sounds of men and metal that pulsed from the factories beneath the mountain.
Inside the hidden command center, Elias sat before a wide oak table strewn with maps, cipher sheets, and intercepted telegrams.
The great offensive had gone better than even his most optimistic projections—too well, perhaps.
Victory was its own kind of danger.
As seen just under a century ago, the French effectively steamrolled the continent under the command of Napoleon, only for the world at large to form up a coalition against him.
Reports from the front arrived every few hours through the system interface: Serbia was more or less pacified, Albania unified, Macedonia collapsing.
Spoils of war composed of cart upon cart of—Ottoman muskets, artillery, uniforms, silver and gold—flooded into his hands.
The refineries ran day and night, melting down captured metal into credits.
The barracks queues blinked bright green in the upper corner of his interface.
Infantry, artillery, cavalry, medics, engineers—rolling off the invisible production lines at an ever-accelerating pace.
New regiments were being formed weekly.
But Elias knew at least for now what he feared wasnt the Ottoman Empires armies when spring came, but instead the worlds response once they were able to discern just what exactly had happened over these last few months.
"Damage Control."
That was what he called it.
The quiet war behind the front lines.
While Commanders Rex and Kovec cut their way through Macedonia, Elias's inner circle of spies gathered each night around the great war table: intelligence chief Marin, diplomatic attaché Serra, and the ever-loyal Captain Varga, who coordinated the network of misinformation.
"Vienna's papers are growing suspicious," Serra reported, flipping through coded telegrams. "They've been receiving some fleeing serbians across the border."
Elias smiled thinly.
"Good, Serbia was the origional goal of the fallen prince afterall, so having the offical narrative stating our army of vengeance has arrived and won a momentus victory there would be for the best, slowly we can start to release the news about the rebels falls at the hand of the ottomans, as our 'investigations' deepen."
Marin leaned forward. "And the Russians themselves? They are sure to face even stiffer resistance in the spring thanks to our actions."
Elias tapped the map where the Danube curved toward Wallachia.
"We can just cut a narrative stating the Ottoman empire has pulled almost all their forces from the region to combat the vile Russian invaders, they have been going to war with one another for the better part of 200 years now after all, and with Serbia lost to them, we can just use that as a means to make it look like they are seeking an armistice on the western front while being freed up to commit their all on the northern one."
Serra hesitated. "But if the russians learn of the deception?"
"They won't," Elias interrupted. "Once the latest round of Ottoman reinforcements reach the frontline in the north, we can begin to release the news of the diplomatic failure, followed by our forces advance eastward under minimal resistance."
The room fell silent for a moment except for the crackling of the stove providing warmth.
Marin finally broke the quiet. "You're playing both sides of the board, Commander. The Ottomans think they're winning. The Austrians think Russia's to blame. The Russians think the Ottomans are falling apart on their own. Sooner or later, someone will realize—"
"By the time they do," Elias said calmly, "the borders will already be redrawn."
That was his plan, by the time the dust settled, Russia would be exhausted from the war and need time to recover.
The only true threat would come from the north, as the Austian Emperor could have designs on the region, but if the Montengrin could project a show of force on the border enough to stunt those plans, they could delay an invasion, until the likelyhood of one happening becomes moot.
~
Ottoman Court — Constantinople
In the mirrored halls of the Sublime Porte, the air stank of incense and fear.
Ministers argued, courtiers whispered, and the Grand Vizier stared down at a stack of battlefield reports—each more contradictory than the last.
According to one, the Serbians had risen in rebellion again.
Another claimed the "Montenegrin brigands" had been crushed by heroic Ottoman defense.
A third stated the regional command had fallen in disgrace to the allied rebels.
The truth was lost beneath layers of deceit.
Field officers who dared to retreat were executed on sight for "cowardice."
Others, fearing the same fate, fabricated victories out of massacres.
One particularly deluded pasha even declared that the city of Skopje had been retaken—weeks after it had fallen.
In the palace courtyard, a handful of surviving soldiers from the eastern front knelt before the gates, pleading to report what had really happened.
They were shot before they could speak.
Silencing the 'truth' forever.
The Sultan remained silent, his court blinded by pride and lies.
And so the empire bled in the snow, unaware that the storm already sat upon its doorstep.
Even as their renewed vigor gave confidence enough to send the assembling reinforcements solely onto the northern frontlines to combat the advancing Russian/Bulgarian/Romanian coalition forces.
~
Back in Bar
From the balcony of the command fortress, Elias watched the night horizon shimmer orange over the Adriatic Sea.
The refineries below burned like a second sunrise.
Caravans of captured Ottoman weaponry from the east poured in daily—cartloads of rifles, disassembled cannon barrels, sabers, and even gilded helmets.
Everything was stripped from the battlefields and armouries, shipped home, and fed into the forges to feed the growing war machine.
Within the system interface, the credits climbed in real time:
Even after upgrading the system to Rank 2, battlefield loot was still the greatest way to build up his reserves.
But even still, Elias was careful.
His goal was not to build up a million man strong army, at least not just yet.
Getting, enough to hold onto the region would do for now, the rest would be saved up to pay for the cost of reaching the 3rd rank.
If the needle rifles could be replaced with proper bolt-action guns found in WW1, along with a full complement of breechload artillery, with the first creations of armoured cars, and tanks.
The Balkan Empire could be seen as a true force to be reckoned with, even if the army could not compete in terms of size against the other empires, and republics.
Each tick of the counter was another brick in the empire to come.