An Offer You Can't Refuse (1)

A few days later, the French delegation that had set the entire nation buzzing departed Jemulpo.

Their stay had been brief, but the sailors of the Far East Squadron neither grumbled over our government's refusal to grant them shore leave, nor languished with homesickness and tried to desert. They never set foot on land, yet thanks to the abundant provisions our government had prepared—fresh vegetables and meat, along with luxury goods like Western liquor and tobacco hauled in by American and Japanese trading houses—the Far East Squadron was able to put back out to the front in reasonably good spirits.

Admiral Amédée Courbet and his deputy, Rear Admiral Lespès, each took two thick bundles of documents as they bid me farewell.

"This is the Declaration of War Against the Great Qing. The other is the outline of Operation Blue, which you've already seen."

"I do hope we can continue this conversation before long."

"As do I."

Once they had gone, I summoned the generals to the Wolf's Lair.

Why?

Because the initiative in this war no longer belonged to the Qing—and our strategy needed to change with it.

"Ahem."

I addressed the generals assembled for the operations conference.

"I trust you've all heard the rumors, one way or another."

As I opened, the men composed their faces, tension written across every one of them. I took a moment to study each general in turn, then nodded quietly to myself.

The young ones are eager. The old veterans are nervous.

To put it more bluntly: the younger officers from the Enlightenment Party—men like Seo Jae-pil and Seo Gwang-beom—were flushed with excitement at the prospect that we might go after Liaodong and Manchuria. The old veterans, meanwhile, looked distinctly uncomfortable with the sudden shift in strategic objectives.

That was only natural. Over the past five months, the military had assumed the Qing army would cross the border first and invade, designating Pyeongan Province as the primary theater of war and pouring enormous resources and time into fortifying the main defensive lines and cities.

And now they think all of that was a waste.

But when circumstances change, grand strategy must change with them. Unlike the night before, Major Nienstead and General Dye were present. I exchanged a silent glance with them, then began explaining the substance of the negotiations with the French delegation.

"First: the French delegation and the Expeditionary Force High Command are of one mind. Our ally, the French Indochina Expeditionary Force, and the African Foreign Legion contingents will set Guangxi Province in southern China—including Taiwan—as their practical military objectives, and will conduct only those operations corresponding to those goals."

Yang Heon-su, Minister of Military Affairs—a man who commanded respect throughout the army both for his symbolic stature and his personal standing—put a question to me.

"Then, Tongnyeong, does that mean our French allies will be unable to coordinate with our forces as we advance into Liaodong and Manchuria?"

"In all likelihood, yes."

When I answered calmly that there would be no supporting troops from them, a murmur ran through some of the officers. Among them, Seo Jae-pil, Vice Minister of War, who had sat with me and the French admirals to work out the bones of the principal plans, stepped forward.

"You all seem to have some concerns, but this is not some cheap, cowardly scheme by the French to treat us as pawns or sacrificial lambs so they can seize a better bargaining position with the Qing."

"Hmph. And why do you plead their case?"

"Because they reported the true condition of the Indochina Expeditionary Force directly to His Excellency."

"The true condition?"

"Yes, sir."

The French Grand Army—which, if not quite matching the British Empire, the strongest power of the age, still ranked among the foremost land forces in Europe—had weaknesses? The old veterans exchanged uneasy glances at Seo Jae-pil's revelation, then cleared their throats and pressed him.

"What manner of weaknesses? And if they are so severe, won't that throw our revised plans into disarray as well?"

"That—"

"The French soldiers are exhausted from a long war, and the commanders on the ground, who know this well, have been warning of the dangers of escalation. But the politicians and the people back in France care only for the glory they expect to reap. The young Frenchmen bleeding and dying are an afterthought."

The room fell silent as I laid their situation bare. I wasn't wrong, though, and there was a certain logic even to their unreasonable demands. It was France's diligent parliamentarians who had dispatched more reinforcements to the expeditionary force, who had found an ally in the Far East to fill the gaps, and who had rallied countless voters and industrialists to raise the war chest.

I summarized our objectives while briefing them on European news—delayed as it was—and on Western ways of thinking that differed somewhat from those of the East.

"The French government and people want definitive proof that southern China falls within their sphere of influence. The interesting part is that the half-destroyed Kingdom of Dai Viet, and Taiwan, where remnant forces are still resisting, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are already considered French territory."

"Taiwan hasn't been subjugated yet, has it?"

"Well said, General Dye. That's why six thousand of our soldiers will cross to Taiwan aboard the Far East Squadron's transports as that supporting force."

"..."

"Once that happens, they tell me we can smash the Qing's ragtag Conscript Militia still holding out on the island."

General Dye's mouth fell open at my immediate reply. Come to think of it, I had never explained the Taiwan volunteer force mobilization to the American officers helping reorganize our army, had I? I quickly acknowledged the oversight with a shrug.

"We'll discuss the details of that separately later. The force composition and organization are already done. All that's left is to issue them weapons and ammunition and put them on the ships."

"Ah. Understood."

"Now, back to the main point. Yes. So the French want us to storm all the way to the Forbidden City and plant a red flag in Empress Dowager Cixi's skull. But that's not realistic, is it?"

"Th-the Forbidden City, for real?!"

"Manchuria! Liaodong!"

"The Northern Expedition! The Northern Expedition!"

"..."

Oh, for heaven's sake. It was a joke.

I shouted at the generals, who had worked themselves into a frenzy, earnestly discussing among themselves what would happen if we actually reached the Forbidden City.

In truth, it wasn't entirely impossible.

There would be preconditions, though.

If control of the Yellow Sea were completely lost, and Li Hongzhang, Viceroy of Zhili, unable to withstand the political offensive from Empress Dowager Cixi and the Manchu grandees, finally sortied the Beiyang Fleet he had been hoarding all this time only to see it sent to the bottom—then we could simply transfer onto the Far East Squadron and drop into Tianjin, and that would be that.

But we had neither bait to draw Li Hongzhang out nor spies to raise hell in the Forbidden City. We had to pursue what was realistically within our reach.

"First, through a declaration of war, we will restore the Republic's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠legitimacy and further pledge to sponsor the independence of the small southern nations groaning under Qing tyranny and oppression."

"Small southern nations?"

"Sponsor their independence?"

The generals stared blankly at their reports, unable to make sense of what I was saying. I began explaining patiently.

"This war needs a justification. What was our Republic's original cause?"

"Excessive interference in our internal affairs. Oppression. Tyranny."

"And if we use that as a pretext to launch a preemptive attack, or to go after our ancestors' ancient lands—Manchuria and Liaodong—how will the international community see us?"

"The same kind of bastards...?"

"Correct."

I praised the man who had answered, then continued.

"So the reasonable solution that the French expeditionary commander and I arrived at is this: a set of practical objectives that fully satisfy the prestige of the French home government while simultaneously ensuring that our Republic's independent sovereignty is not threatened."

"Ah, then—"

At that moment, a figure who had been watching the room from among the cluster of generals chattering in the corner raised his hand. It was Bak Jeong-yang, the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

"When you speak of the independence of the small southern nations, do you mean the Kingdom of Dai Viet, which is currently a battlefield?"

"Partially correct. The Kingdom of Dai Viet—Vietnam, for the benefit of the Americans present—will become a French protectorate. Taiwan, given its history of loyalty to Koxinga of the former Ming, will become a joint protectorate of our Republic and the United States under the title of the Later Ming. As for Guangxi Province and the southern Chinese coast, we'll install some figurehead opposed to the Manchu imperial house to govern it. That's the region that's been in constant revolt for years—the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, the Miao, and so on, wasn't it? Offer them a title and the ones who hate the queue will line up to cooperate on their own."

"Uh..."

"And too many colonies become a burden. How long would they have to spend suppressing rebels? With a few well-chosen titles and justifications, we can walk away with prestige and applause besides."

Bak Jeong-yang's pupils darted this way and that, his shoulders trembling at the epic sweep of my grand design as it poured out.

Yes. It was a rather chilling proposition. Make Vietnam a French protectorate, jointly administer a small island like Taiwan, establish a large concession in Guangxi—a bit of a stretch, admittedly—and set up nameless vassal states in the occupied territories of southern China?

Should I just carve up Siam while I'm at it?

A sinister thought leapt up from a corner of my mind, but I hastily smothered the temptation. We were still tearing our hair out over whether we could even digest Liaodong and Manchuria—our own front yard. Scheming to wreck someone else's household was a bit much. Besides, if we meddled with Siam, Britain might genuinely fly into a rage and grab the three of us by the collar.

And they actually could.

This was the 1880s. They were more than capable. This was the British Empire's last real golden age.

At the very least, the United States ought to take the Philippines. Ah, wait. The Philippines...? Nah.

I had thought of a pretext to draw the United States even deeper into our three-nation alliance, but I shook my head. The British Empire still had no fleet stranded at the docks, no Admiralty that existed solely to devour the budget. They could still thump their chests and declare I am the gold standard with a straight face, which made things difficult. If they truly lost their minds and came charging out, we would lose every chip we had put on the table so far.

Meanwhile, I turned to General Dye and Major Nienstead, who sat with both hands resting on the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and made my pitch to each in turn.

"Ah, and for your information, General Dye. This is not meant as a slight against you Americans' intentions or your hard work, but the French expeditionary command and the government in Paris are earnestly hoping the United States will dispatch even volunteer troops. The joint administration of Taiwan is one such example. But if you were to float the possibility of a deployment even now—"

"I'm sorry, Tongnyeong. We don't have the authority for that..."

"A few weeks ago, you asked me, didn't you? That the capability our Republican army most needed was artillery? When I mentioned that to the Admiral, he answered readily. Would two guns from each ship of the French Far East Squadron suffice? This is what an alliance looks like."

"..."

Just two guns from each ship of the Far East Squadron would be sixty pieces.

Even a rough count puts that at about one artillery regiment. A level the Beiyang Army could never ignore.

Admiral Courbet's decision would leak some of the fleet's fighting power, but he had said the Republic's army would play a vital role, and readily handed over not only the guns but the artillery officers to operate and train on them, along with the shells.

"We are allies, are we not, General Dye?"

"We are, Your Excellency."

"But from where I sit, I find the sincerity a little lacking."

"I apologize, but a troop deployment is a secondary matter for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me. My mission is the modernization of the Korean army. Any deployment and the measures that would follow would be better discussed with Minister Foote."

"I concur, Your Excellency."

At my implied question—why not raise the stakes while we're being so nice about it?—the two of them quickly recovered their wits and stepped back, insisting that a troop deployment was not their responsibility.

"The efforts of the Korean government and its citizens in pursuit of universal human values are certainly heroic, but humanity's science and technology cannot yet presume to carve up the grandeur of nature, can they?"

"The Pacific's a hell of a lot of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠water. I understand."

I clicked my tongue with a look of regret and told them it was fine.

"It's all right. I merely wanted to dress this up as a golden opportunity for you Americans to secure major influence in the Asian market, if you play it well."

"..."

"Of course, the greatest harvest of all would be gaining our Republic—which shares the same ideals—as a friend. Haha!"

Having confirmed that America would not intervene any more deeply here, I turned at last to wrap up the most important subject.

"What remains is our Republic's own objective."

The generals of the Wolf's Lair swallowed hard and fixed their attention on me. I added a thoroughly realistic piece of advice.

"At present, our Republic does not have the capacity to digest Liaodong and Manchuria."

"Ahh...!"

"Two hundred years of grudges!"

"Coward!"

"Who's a coward?! How dare you speak of His Excellency that way!"

There it is. The disappointment, right on cue.

I made a mental note of the faces of the officers—graduates of the military academy—who were openly jeering, and wrote their names in the notebook in my head.

If you're so disappointed, go dig a well.

You're going to the front. No exceptions.

Having roughly settled their fate, I continued.

"But joint administration of the island of Taiwan is not enough to repay the sacrifices of our soldiers and our people. And more than that, abandoning our ancestors' ancient lands and the promised land would violate the very spirit of our Republic."

At the same time, I gestured for Seo Jae-pil to bring the map. A massive military chart, large enough to cover the entire table, filled everyone's field of view. The map showed the border along the Yalu and Tumen Rivers. I pointed to a region that sat in a hollow, covered in dense forest and rolling hills.

The officers, having heard my entire plan, leapt to their feet and applauded. Swept up in the fervor, even the old veterans bowed their heads and cast their votes in favor. The two Americans, of course, merely looked on as if to say, well, if you say so.

Ah.

For the record: the "war reparations" are the territorial rights to Gando.

The consolation money gets calculated separately. Mental damages, physical damages, attorney's fees and all.

Naturally, the law firms we have retained are France and the United States.