Building a Conglomerate in Another World

January 26, 1898

Busan – Eastern Hills

The forest crackled with musket fire.

Lieutenant Markos Ellery's lungs burned as he ducked behind a mound of dirt and tangled roots, reloading his rifle with shaking hands. Around him, the Amerathian and Korean troops fired in coordinated bursts, trying to push back the wave of Russian soldiers coming down the ridgeline like a tide of gray.

Smoke hung in the cold air, thick and choking. Branches snapped overhead as bullets cracked through the trees.

"Reload! Left flank, hold tight!" Ellery shouted, voice hoarse.

A Korean sergeant beside him nodded and barked the command to his men. The two units—once strangers—now fought side by side like veterans of the same banner. They shared trenches, rifles, and blood.

A loud boom echoed from the valley below. One of the Amerathian field guns roared, sending a shell into the treeline where Russian snipers had taken cover. The explosion lit up the forest in a burst of fire and splintered wood.

A cheer erupted briefly from the line, but it didn't last.

"They're shifting west!" a runner cried, sprinting in from the northern slope. "Russians are pushing through the ravine near the farms!"

Ellery didn't hesitate. "Fall back in squads. Leapfrog pattern. Cover fire on three!"

The defense was holding—for now. But the enemy wasn't just coming from one direction.

They were surrounding Busan.

—

Busan – Southern Valley

General Nam Kyung-jin scanned the ridge through his brass spyglass, the chill biting into his gloved fingers. From this vantage point near the command post, he could see distant flashes of cannon fire and the dark plumes rising from the southern slope, where Amerathian and Korean artillery batteries were dug in.

The Russian infantry, bold and relentless, had started probing attacks on the southern lowlands. They came in squads of thirty to fifty, firing volleys and retreating when met with concentrated fire. But Nam knew what they were doing.

"They're testing us," he muttered.

Captain Luis Graham stepped beside him, his greatcoat dusted with dirt. "They're trying to draw our artillery. Make us waste shells."

Nam nodded. "Smart. Dangerous. But we're smarter."

He gestured toward the western treeline. "We'll shift two batteries there. Let them think we've thinned the east. When they come through that ravine…" He didn't finish the sentence.

Graham gave a grim smile. "We'll be waiting."

As they spoke, the hills to the south rumbled again. Russian mortars now, heavier than before. The ground shook beneath their boots.

Graham turned toward a group of Amerathian engineers stringing up telegraph wire between command tents. "Tell the Lexington. We need another sortie over the southern valley before sundown."

If the Russians broke through here, it wouldn't be a probing attack anymore—it would be a full breach.

—

Sea of Japan – Aboard VSS Lexington

Commander Alexander Hart stood inside the flight operations deck, eyes fixed on the chalkboard where incoming reports were updated by the minute.

"First strike successful," one officer reported. "Russian artillery at Pohang mostly silenced. Survivors are retreating toward the hills."

Hart nodded. "Good. Shift attention west. Reports of Russian build-up near Hwamyeong Creek. We need eyes in the sky over that ravine before dusk."

Crews scrambled to ready another wave of aircraft—biplanes loaded with fragmentation bombs and signal flags to mark enemy positions.

"They're coming in from three sides now," Hart said quietly. "Busan's going to be surrounded if we're not fast."

He pulled out a folded message from his pocket—direct from Washington.

Hold the city at all costs.

—

Western Ridge – Outskirts of Busan

Private Elijah Mercer hadn't spoken in twenty minutes. His mouth was dry. His knuckles white around the rifle.

The western ridge had been quiet most of the day—too quiet. That was what worried him. No gunfire. No scouts. Just wind.

Then it happened.

A signal flare lit the sky. Red. Three bursts.

Contact.

Elijah and the rest of the 7th Amerathian Infantry bolted from their dugouts, rifles raised. The forward scouts had barely made it back when the first wave of Russian soldiers crested the far hill.

They didn't come screaming. No bugles. Just the crunch of boots and the sharp crack of rifles.

"Fire!" Sergeant Boyle yelled.

The Amerathians unleashed a volley, mowing down the first line, but the second line surged forward. A hidden Maxim gun opened fire, sweeping across the trench line. Dirt flew. Men dropped.

Elijah dove into a pit as bullets tore into the sandbags above him. He rolled over and shakily aimed his rifle, firing blind into the chaos.

"Reload!" someone yelled.

He fumbled for a fresh clip. His hands were trembling.

They weren't supposed to come from this side. The western ridge was the last place they expected a serious push.

But here it was.

—

Busan – Forward Command Post

The telegram came in torn and smudged with dirt, hand-delivered by a bloodied courier.

Captain Graham read it twice, then handed it to General Nam.

"Western ridge," he said. "They've breached the outer trench. Requesting immediate reinforcements."

Nam's face tightened. "We don't have enough reserves left."

"We can pull a company from the eastern slope," Graham offered.

"Then the east collapses."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, the weight of command thick in the cold night air.

Then Nam spoke.

"Send the reserves anyway. If the west falls, we lose the port. And if we lose the port, we lose everything."

Graham nodded grimly and turned to his runner. "Get a message to the Lexington. Tell them we need a second wave of bombers over the western hills. Now."

He looked back toward the darkness beyond the ridge.

"We're about to lose the flank."

—

Western Ridge – Second Line Trenches

The second line wasn't much—just sandbags, mud, and a scattering of hastily laid wooden stakes. But for Private Elijah Mercer and the surviving remnants of the 7th Infantry, it was all they had left.

"Keep your heads down!" Sergeant Boyle shouted as he dragged a wounded corporal behind the trench line.

Russian fire pounded the slope, bullets striking the sandbags with terrifying rhythm. A mortar shell exploded nearby, sending debris into the air. Elijah's ears rang. He couldn't hear anything clearly—just muffled yells and the distant thud of boots pounding earth.

Then, above the chaos, came a sound that didn't belong.

Engines.

Elijah looked up through the haze. Against the pale dawn sky, dark shapes swept over the ridge. Amerathian biplanes—dozens of them—roared overhead in formation. Their undersides flashed silver in the light, like falcons on the hunt.

"Air support!" someone screamed.

Cheers broke out. Men pointed. Some even wept.

The first bombs dropped seconds later, slamming into the Russian rear. Dirt and flame erupted along the treeline. Russian formations scattered, some turning and running, others falling where they stood.

Sergeant Boyle climbed atop the trench and waved his helmet. "Push! While they're reeling!"

Elijah didn't hesitate. He climbed up, rifle ready, and charged alongside his brothers in arms.

The ridge that had nearly fallen was now alive with Amerathian fury.

—

Sea of Japan – VSS Lexington

Commander Hart stood at the edge of the flight deck, the wind biting through his coat.

"First wave reports successful engagement," his comms officer said. "Russian columns scattered. Minimal losses on our end."

Hart gave a rare smile. "Good. Tell the squadrons to rearm and prepare for a second run. We'll strike again before they can regroup."

He turned back toward the sea, eyes scanning the horizon.

The battle was far from over. But for the first time since the campaign began, he felt the momentum shift.

—

Busan – Forward Command Post

Captain Graham grabbed the field phone, relief in his voice. "They held the line. Western Ridge is still ours."

General Nam exhaled slowly. "The gods favor us this morning."

"But we can't breathe easy yet," Graham added. "We need to capitalize on this. Hit them before they rally."

Nam nodded and signaled his adjutants. "Deploy the reserves in a wide arc. Press into the ravine. If we can break their flank now, we might just turn the whole southern front."

Graham tightened his gloves. "Then let's move."

—

Eastern Hills – Korean 3rd Division

Lieutenant Ellery watched the smoke rising from the west and smiled grimly.

"Looks like the cavalry showed up after all," he muttered.

General Nam's signal had reached them—advance orders.

Ellery waved his arm forward. "Third Platoon, push through the treeline! Keep low and move fast!"

Korean soldiers surged past him, bayonets fixed, moving between rocks and felled trees. The forest echoed again with the sounds of war, but now it was different—now it was pursuit.

The Russians were pulling back.

Ellery fired twice at a fleeing figure in a gray coat, then ducked behind a log. His men swept forward, seizing what little ground had been lost overnight.

It was messy. It was violent.

But it was a victory.

—

Washington, D.C. – White House War Room

A fresh telegram came in. Collins read it quickly and passed it to President Hesh.

"They've held the western ridge," he said. "Air support turned the tide."

Hesh looked down at the message, then at the map pinned on the wall.

"They bought us time," he said. "Now we push forward."

He turned to his generals. "Order a second carrier group to prepare for departure from Manila. Busan is just the beginning. We're going to dig in—and stay."

—

St. Petersburg – Winter Palace

Tsar Nicholas II stood silently as his advisors delivered the grim news.

"Amerathian air power forced a retreat at the western ridge. Busan still holds."

Nicholas didn't say a word for several seconds.

Then he turned to the fireplace and hurled his glass into it.

The crystal shattered with a sharp crack.

"We underestimated them," he whispered. "No more hesitation. Prepare the Baltic fleet. We're sending everything."

Alexei stiffened. "That will leave our western front exposed."

"Let it be exposed!" Nicholas shouted. "I will not be humiliated by a nation of merchants and engineers!"

The war had entered a new phase.

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