As soon as the two sides reached an agreement, Colonel Mainz set off for Russia with the local personnel responsible for transporting the arms.
The journey was not peaceful. Although their train was disguised as a civilian transport and piled high with foodstuffs and daily necessities, danger still lurked along the way. Relations with local officials had been secured in advance, but unexpected incidents could not be avoided. Fortunately, Mainz had come well prepared.
Accompanying him was a representative of BMW, a German arms contractor. The man carried an American passport. At that time, the White Army was receiving considerable support from the United States, and few dared to openly obstruct anyone carrying American credentials. More than once, the envoy's identity had saved them from harassment. Thanks to this, the train finally rolled safely into Moscow.
Back in 1917, the capital of Russia had been Petrograd. But after the October Revolution and the German advance under Ludendorff and Hindenburg on the Eastern Front, Moscow had been restored as the seat of government. Looking back, Mainz could not help but admire the choice: Moscow lay deep inland, far from the vulnerable frontiers. Without its resources and distance from the front, Russia might not have withstood the storms of later wars.
When the train entered the Eastern European Plain, the scene changed dramatically. The rolling hills and dense forests gave way to a boundless expanse of grassland.
The plain was so vast that Mainz felt dwarfed by its immensity. Compared to the endless horizon, humanity seemed small and fragile.
"Why don't we see anyone?" he asked.
For two days the train rattled across the plains. At first, Mainz found the emptiness refreshing, but the novelty soon gave way to weariness. The monotony of grassland after grassland became oppressive.
"The population here was never dense," Yarkov, his Russian companion, explained with a sigh. "And with the civil war, most people fled. Some went west into Poland, others south to the Black Sea, and many to Moscow. I doubt more than a third remain."
Mainz nodded, but in his mind he weighed the consequences. The war had inflicted far greater wounds on Russia than Berlin had anticipated. Poland and the Baltic states had broken away; even protectorates such as Romania and Riga had slipped beyond control. Worse still, the Eastern European Plain—the breadbasket of the empire—was devastated. Without its grain, Russia's recovery would be crippled for decades.
From Berlin's perspective, this was a welcome development. If Russia remained locked in endless civil strife, the longer its recovery would be delayed. A weakened Russia meant that Germany could gain the upper hand in any future war.
History offered lessons: in the Second World War, the Reich had enjoyed initial advantages against the Soviet Union, striking first and seizing the initiative. Yet the Red Army, backed by its vast manpower and industrial base, had eventually turned the tide. German victories that destroyed entire Soviet armies could not prevent new forces from rising like weeds. In the end, the Soviet Union crushed the Reich through sheer endurance.
But in this world, the Russia facing them was not the industrialized Soviet Union of the 1940s. It was still an agrarian country, backward and fractured. If war broke out, would it not be one-sided?
After all, when industrial nations fought agrarian ones, the outcome was rarely in doubt. Even semi-industrial Japan had humiliated China—far larger in population and territory—repeatedly.
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After four days, the train finally reached its destination: Moscow.
Colonel Mainz had not expected such a reception. As he stepped off the train, a military band struck up on the platform. A line of uniformed officials awaited him. At their head stood a middle-aged man of about forty, whose face seemed vaguely familiar.
"Welcome to Moscow!" the man declared warmly, extending his hand.
Mainz returned the handshake, and the two men walked together to review the guard of honor.
The Russian military band did not play familiar marches of later years, but the spectacle was impressive nonetheless. The entire station had been cleared of civilians, soldiers lined the platforms, and the pomp of the welcome almost gave Mainz the illusion that he was being received not as a colonel, but as a head of state.
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