Internationalist fighters

While they waited for the first batch of castings to cool, the frantic work finally came to a brief halt.

The makeshift workshop smelled of metal and sweat. Everyone was exhausted and found somewhere to sit down and rest.

Morin took a canteen and several pieces of black bread from his orderly, Hans, and shared them with the chemistry professor and several skilled workers.

"Have something to eat first, gentlemen. There's still plenty of work ahead."

The workers accepted without ceremony and began taking big bites.

The professor offered a polite word of thanks and sipped the water.

The bushy-bearded commander of the International Brigades came over as well, plopped down beside Morin, and pulled a battered metal flask from inside his coat.

"Want a swig? Liquor from back home. Wakes you right up."

Morin smiled and waved it away. "Thank you, but I'll pass. I never drink before battle."

"You really are a disciplined Saxon."

The bearded commander took a long swig himself and exhaled a strong reek of alcohol.

Watching the International Brigades volunteers busy at work nearby, Morin could not help asking a question he had kept to himself for a long time:

"Andrei, I've always wanted to ask you—why did you come here? Why travel all this way to Aragon to fight a war that has nothing to do with your own country?"

Andrei blew a smoke ring, his gaze growing thoughtful.

"For our ideals, Second Lieutenant Morin... for a world without oppression, where every technology serves everyone."

He turned to Morin, his voice carrying indignation at that injustice.

"Look at those Britannians. They use their monopoly on magitech energy to throw their weight around all over the world, treating other countries as nothing more than sources of raw materials and markets to dump their goods in!"

"They enjoy the benefits of technological progress but refuse to let anyone else have a share... if they gain control over the king of Aragon too, the consequences will be unimaginable! We came here to break that monopoly."

"We believe technology and knowledge should belong to all humanity! Only when every country develops and ordinary people's lives improve will this world become a better place!"

Morin fell silent at Andrei's words.

He had not expected that, although this world's International Brigades differed somewhat in their motivations from the ones he knew,

their ultimate ideals would be just as... grand.

Before long, Morin asked another question that had always puzzled him:

"But why would internationalist fighters like you choose to ally with an autocratic empire like Saxony?"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

At Morin's question, Andrei suddenly burst out laughing, though his smile was full of resignation.

"Because in the whole world, only the emperor and generals of your Saxon Empire are willing—and dare—to challenge Britannia's hegemony... only you are willing to provide us with weapons, supplies, and transportation."

"Then this is really just a transaction," Morin said.

"That's right, Second Lieutenant Morin... every one of us knows perfectly well that this is a transaction."

The bearded Andrei's gaze sharpened, and he continued:

"Your Saxon Empire wants to bring us along to weaken your old rival, the Britannian Empire, and expand your influence on the continent... and we need an opportunity, a battlefield where we can put our ideals into practice."

"We share the same enemy—the old order the Britannians built on their monopoly over magitech... we want to break it, let the whole world share in the fruits of technological progress, and give ordinary people in every country better lives."

His words brimmed with passion and strength, stirring the International Brigades soldiers resting around them.

They nodded, their eyes shining with idealism. One young man even exclaimed excitedly, "We're going to build a new world without oppression or exploitation!"

Looking at these idealistic fighters, Morin could not help asking his next question.

"I understand your ideals."

Morin gathered his words, trying to make his question sound less offensive.

"But even if you help His Highness Alfonso win this war, the Kingdom of Aragon will still be a kingdom in the end—a monarchy... doesn't that fall somewhat short of the 'new world' you're pursuing?"

Andrei laughed again at that and patted Morin on the shoulder.

"My friend, revolution isn't a feast prepared in an instant. It's a long, winding expedition. We never imagined we could achieve everything in one fell swoop."

He took a swig of liquor and continued,

"His Highness Alfonso is widely recognized as an enlightened monarch. He has promised reforms and better lives for his people. Most importantly, he is willing to embrace new ideas and technologies...

Under his rule, the people of Aragon will at least live a hundred times better than they do now. They'll have enough to eat, jobs to work, and the conveniences technological progress brings...

That is enough. At least for the present stage, it is enough."

"Revolution is a tall ladder, not an easy leap."

A voice came from beside them. It was the chemistry professor from Silesia. Adjusting his glasses, he added calmly:

"We have to climb it rung by rung. First, overthrow the most reactionary and oppressive rule and establish a relatively enlightened order. Then advance step by step toward our ultimate ideal."

Morin fell silent. For the moment, he found himself unable to refute this pragmatic "theory of revolution in stages."

He could feel their sincerity and idealism.

Yet to him, someone who had crossed over from another world, these beautiful visions concealed an enormous historical paradox.

The spread of new technology would indeed increase productivity, but it would soon bring saturated markets, followed by almost inevitable inflation and economic crises.

In a world resembling the early twentieth century of the world he had left behind, what would follow a global economic crisis was all too obvious.

What rose then would probably not be nobler ideals, but more extreme nationalism and fascism.

These International Brigades fighters were now using their blood and lives to kindle the spark of a technological revolution in this world.

But they might not realize that the same spark could also ignite a powder keg unlike any seen before.

The thought left Morin with an inexplicable heaviness.

He decided not to pursue the weighty subject any further and instead asked about something else he had long been curious about.

"Professor, Andrei, you mentioned just now that you're from the 'Provisional Government of Silesia'... to be honest, this is the first time I've heard that name."

The bearded commander shrugged. "No surprise there. Our 'government' is still just a makeshift outfit. You won't even find it on a map. It's perfectly normal that you haven't heard of it, Second Lieutenant Morin."

"I really haven't. As far as I knew, your homeland was supposed to be..."

Morin had been about to say "Tsarist Russia," but he was not sure whether it went by that name in this world, so he paused.

"Second Lieutenant Morin, you mean the 'Greater Russia Empire,' don't you?"

At the mention of that name, both the bearded commander and the professor wore complicated expressions, mingling disgust with wistfulness.

And for the first time in a long while, a notification sounded in Morin's ears.

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