Bait
The Persian front was no problem either. They were all soft persimmons waiting to be squeezed anyway. Even if the quality of the military achievements had to be discounted, they could make up for it with quantity.
The problem was that once they reached the front lines, the homeland actually would not let them fight. That was awkward. Everyone had come out here to win glory, make money, and gild their résumés—how could they manage without a war?
If all they wanted was to muddle through their days, would it not have been better to stay in Saint Petersburg or Moscow? Why come to this godforsaken backwater?
The Tsarist Government's meager military pay alone was nowhere near enough for nobles to maintain their extravagant lifestyles.
If war did not break out, it was not only the front-line officers who could not make money; the bureaucrats in the rear would likewise see their sources of income affected.
There was a fixed rule for routine military spending. No matter how much they skimmed off the top, they still had to leave the rank-and-file officers and soldiers with their basic pay and benefits. Otherwise, if the people below kicked up a fuss, that would be trouble too.
Such a tiny bit of grease had to be shared layer upon layer. By the time it reached any one person's hands, hardly anything remained—far from enough to satisfy everyone's appetites.
The rear had already been squeezed nearly dry, so front-line officers like Colonel Sikrest had nothing left to work with.
If the fighting never began, then by the end of his several-year posting, Colonel Sikrest probably would not even recoup the funds he had spent greasing palms.
With neither his career nor his financial prospects going smoothly, Colonel Sikrest naturally could not be in