Graduation Exam (3)
In the early days of the war, Britain brimmed with confidence.
No matter how much of a great power France had been, that was nothing but past glory.
The current major powers evaluated France as little more than a puffed-up muscle without any real achievements to back it up.
It wasn't just a defeat to Austria—Austria's loss to Prussia had been decisive.
In the minds of most British decision-makers, the notion had taken root: 'Would we really struggle against the idiots who got wrecked by Austria in just six weeks?'
But the British forces in North America and India, drunk on sweet illusions, faced catastrophe overnight.
The so-called British army in India was really just homeland officers commanding East India Company troops and locally hired auxiliaries.
Their armament was a step below the elite homeland units, and their total numbers barely reached a few thousand.
Of course, Britain wasn't alone in this—France was much the same, if not even smaller in scale.
But that's precisely why the power of the Franz Rifles sent by France stood out all the more.
Governor Dupleix had armed over half his 2,000-man force—1,200 soldiers—with Franz Rifles, and the East India Company garrison at Madras Fortress was swept away like dust.
Even when the Company hastily gathered local mercenaries, second-rate troops with outdated gear stood no chance.
Tat-tat-tat-tang!
"Fire, fire! Don't retreat—keep firing!"
"Firing does nothing—they're not even hitting us! What do you expect?!"
"Damn it all! Why the hell do the French have weapons like that?!"
The sight of their own lines being pushed back relentlessly with every enemy volley was a nightmare for the commanders.
In the end, just 45 minutes after the battle began, the British abandoned resistance, withdrew into the inland sea, and suffered a crushing defeat without even recovering their artillery.
The North American front was even graver.
Oswego Fortress, which doubled as a trading post on the Great Lakes, fell in just three weeks, and the relief force sent by New York Governor George Clarke broke and fled the moment it faced French fire.
After all, colonial defense forces back then were little more than militia, and loyalty from allied natives was never guaranteed.
One might ask why not just send regular troops—but unfortunately, the technology of the era made it nearly impossible.
It took half a year just to ship troops from the homeland to the colonies.
The wages and transport costs during that half-year were pure evaporation of funds, and the risk of disease was overwhelmingly high.
In short, fielding the same number of troops in Europe cost three to five times less.
That was why, despite the string of colonial defeats, no one was rushing to assemble and deploy forces.
On the other hand, France was swept up in euphoria by the flood of victory reports.
"Major victory in India! Crushing success on the New World front!"
"His Majesty's glorious soldiers are exterminating the insolent British pirates, sending triumph after triumph!"
"Kahaaaa! Yes! This is France! This is what we're capable of!"
Louis XV had expected victory, but he couldn't suppress his elation at these dispatches.
When had he ever secured a proper win in any war since ascending the throne?
To him, who had endured defeat after defeat, this nonstop stream of friendly victories was a greater thrill than embracing any beauty.
Just one unexpected detail.
"Donations keep pouring in?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The nobles are opening their purses, insisting we must exterminate those British pirate scum while we have the chance."
"Good. This momentum is promising."
Indeed, the hunger for victory wasn't the king's alone.
With solid results in hand, even they were turning cooperative.
And so, one month passed.
In just one month, French forces in North America and India surged forward, successfully seizing British territory.
In twelve battles, not a single loss—and Paris was immersed in festive joy for the first time in ages.
"Your Majesty! Another great victory!"
"Why not smash the British East India Company entirely?"
The council atmosphere buzzed with energy, but Louis XV refused to let his guard down to the end.
They'd thought the last war was all smooth sailing too—until one battle blew it all away.
"Don't get carried away. View the situation more objectively."
"Of course that's vital, but this is different from before. We've seized key strategic points on both fronts..."
"Don't forget—the British main force hasn't even entered the fray yet."
The British troops France had crushed were mostly local mercenaries and militia.
Their real strength was still intact here on the European continent, wasn't it?
"Your Majesty, true—but we haven't committed our main force either."
"Exactly why we need a plan to pin down their main force with ours. Speak freely if you have ideas."
"Then our task is clear."
With Louis XV's full backing for this war, the newly appointed Marshal of France, Charles Auguste de Fouquet, Duke of Belle-Isle, spoke gravely.
"Britain can deploy its main force to the colonies if it swallows the massive costs. But we lack the luxury right now—that's the huge gap between 'reluctant' and 'impossible.' We must move faster than the enemy."
"But we can't send our main force to their homeland... unless...?"
"Yes. Strike their sore spot—Hanover."
Until now, budget constraints had prevented assembling a large army, but the nobles' massive donations were turning the tide.
A little strain, and they could muster enough to attack Hanover.
But geography was always the problem.
"We don't share a border with Hanover, so any advance means crossing foreign soil..."
"Precisely. Through the Netherlands or the German states."
"Netherlands is impossible, and the German route lacks feasibility..."
Solve that, and they could thrust the French army straight into Hanover. What a pity.
"For now, contact the ambassador in Vienna... wait, do we even have one there?"
"After the Vienna Treaty, we recalled ours and haven't appointed a new one."
"Is that so? Then it's perfect timing."
A golden opportunity to negotiate under the guise of rebuilding diplomatic ties.
Just one worrisome figure.
"The question is whether that sly fox Franz will play along with what we want."
"Your Majesty, I'll go myself."
As Foreign Minister Jacques Shayu stepped forward, the king's briefly furrowed brow cleared.
"You, the Foreign Secretary, in person?"
"Yes. Franz Stefan is no pushover—I'll handle the talks directly."
Send an amateur, and they might return leashed without realizing it.
If they could just march on Hanover, France would seize a massive advantage in this war.
Whatever Franz's schemes, he wanted Britain's power weakened too—room for negotiation existed. It had to.
Before the war erupted, the British Empire's confidence had pierced the heavens.
With each colonial defeat, the leadership's worries only deepened.
In the secretive chamber of St. James's Palace, the mood at the cabinet meeting urgently convened by the king had turned somber.
The room was filled with the warmth of a roaring fireplace, yet only chill silence and tension prevailed.
The air reeked of damp wool, pipe tobacco, and aged paper.
The meeting began with Prime Minister Compton's dry cough.
At his signal, an officer dispatched from the military read the grim reports from North America and India in a trembling voice.
"...In the skirmish along the Ohio River valley, our 17th Infantry Regiment suffered heavy casualties from attacks by French regulars and their Indian allies, forcing a retreat. Survivor accounts describe the enemy's rifles spewing fire from distances beyond our muskets' range—truly devilish."
"In the Madras vicinity of India, Chand Sahib's forces, backed by France, revolted and joined the front, routing our ally Muhammad Ali Khan's army."
As the report ended, harsh English laced with a German accent shattered the silence.
"Damn it all (verdammt)! Weren't the French supposed to be doddering old fools? How am I to accept my forces flailing against even them?!"
"Your Majesty, it's..."
"What the devil was Ambassador Robinson doing? Didn't he know France got weapons from those Austrian bastards?"
"We just got a reply on that. It seems France traded massive colonial concessions for the arms import."
"Who cares about that now! If the French have those monstrous weapons, where do you think they'll point next? Straight at my Hanover, that's where! Do you gentlemen have any plans to defend our precious Hanover?!"
Earl Carteret, so bold when accepting France's declaration, now glanced nervously at the king and coughed repeatedly.
Though cabinet and parliament ran the government, the king still held sway over war and diplomacy.
Carteret's power rested solely on royal favor—lose that, and his base crumbled instantly.
"Your Majesty, calm yourself. This is all French treachery. They're shaking our colonies to divert your gaze. To counter, we must blockade the French coast more aggressively.
Encircling France on the continent, aiding the Dutch Republic for Hanover's safety, hiring Hessian and Danish mercenaries to bolster defenses—that will minimize our losses and weaken their offensive."
"What a remarkable plan, Lord Carteret."
No sooner had Carteret finished than Pelham sneered coldly.
"Deploying the navy to blockade their coast is obvious. But hiring Hessians and Danes, dragging in the Dutch too? Did a gold mine pop up in Britain without my notice?"
As Treasury Secretary, his firm 'no' bound even the king.
Military and diplomacy aside, finances were parliament's domain.
"Is the treasury that dire?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Spanish war drained us without reparations. Now colonial losses from this French war. Hiring large mercenary forces? The extra expenditure is unimaginable."
"Then dispatch our own troops for urgent defense?"
"...That may be our best option."
"Make it so! As quickly as possible!"
Of course, France faced no small obstacles to strike Hanover directly.
But to the king, defending his personal domain of Hanover was paramount.
It was no wonder Pelham was speechless at the king and Carteret faction's nonstop Hanover obsession.
"Then we'll fully mobilize the navy to cut French supplies and seal their ports. Station the army in Hanover simultaneously?"
"Yes. Do that."
"With parliament, cabinet, and crown united in war, victory is ours!"
Pelham shook his head at the mindless Hanover chorus.
Anyone could see the right move: pressure France with the navy, then pour the army into the colonies at all costs.
That would pin the French down for sure, despite the time and resources.
Yes. If they were sharp enough to wake up early, they wouldn't be suffering like this.
If humans only learn from bitter lessons, maybe a real thrashing once won't hurt.
In the end, the cabinet approved full naval mobilization alongside resolute Hanover defense.