Legitimate if Victorious, Bandits if Defeated #1
Last night, the Japanese navy vanished from the maps. The Japanese troops in Busan were gripped by terror at the news.
"No word at all?"
"None, sir. Even the Koreans say they have no idea."
"What the hell is going on..."
Regular shipping lines had been cut off, and even news from the Korean side had dried up. That meant they were now completely isolated, without allies. The vanguard of 600,000 for the Imperial Restoration sensed it instinctively—they weren't the imperial army anymore; they were just a band of thieves.
They'd lost any value as a proper military force. The locals in Busan were still selling rice and buying up Japanese medals and such, but once they realized these were "defeated remnants," who knew how things might turn? It was always the peasants who beheaded fallen samurai.
"Not yet. Not yet..."
They'd reached some sort of agreement with the navy brass last dispatch, but that didn't mean it was all wrapped up neatly. If this had just been some minor army fuck-up like losing contact, the army might grumble but forgive it—who doesn't screw up intel sometimes? But no—the navy had declared war on the Korean Empire... or rather, fired the first salvo without consulting the cabinet. The army had promptly forced the entire Ito cabinet to resign en masse and set up a General Staff headquarters in its place.
It was a long-planned operation, meticulously detailed, but being so old, it might unravel tomorrow. Still, reining in those adventurous hotheads in the navy made it essential. And so began the pissing contest between the two samurai factions: army and navy.
'Get out.'
'Make me!'
'Rebellion at this stage? Think history will absolve you?'
'You're the ones firing cannons at the neighbors without cabinet approval.'
It was a deadlock. At this point, both sides admitted they needed each other. The navy had initiative; the army had legitimacy(?). Each had its advantages.
'The navy's adventurism is worrying, but let's take Korea first.'
'The army's coup is treasonous, but without their cat's paw, we can't liberate Korea.'
So the navy joined the army's General Staff. Under it, they'd jointly direct the war.
"And now these bastards go radio silent?"
"Maybe they're off scarfing curry rice somewhere."
"Or sucking down whiskey."
"While we're chugging Korean rice wine?"
"It's not bad, actually."
"That's not the point!"
Anyway, while they polished their defenses in the Busan base, watered the horses, and waited like common bandits for news—after days of growing gloom, the bad tidings arrived.
The navy annihilated.
It was the nightmare they'd half-dreaded, but when it hit reality, fear engulfed them.
"...Did they run into Yi Sun-sin or something, those idiots?"
The 600,000 Imperial Restoration forces were isolated in Busan. In this do-or-die crisis, ironically, the Japanese army stayed calm.
'Nothing more we can do, so let's hold position.'
March to Hanseong? Sure, but supply lines? Logistics? With the sea blocked? They'd just get crushed by endless inland violence. The army wasn't that insane. The plan from the start: seize Busan—seize Ganghwa—liberate Hanseong—rescue the emperor. All this delicate tightrope for one reason: Korean brain surgery. To the army, this war was a decapitation op disguised as liberation. Capture the Supreme Leader, seize negotiating power from him.
But push inland? That negated the premise from the jump. Even to Pyongyng, they'd hold at Uiju; to Uiju, they'd hold at Beijing. So for the army now, one rule: Don't piss them off.
No training, no fortifying, no rice hoarding—nothing. Better to squat heavy-assed on the port. Who knew if the sea route might reopen?
The army waited.
Honestly, wasn't this a dog's death? Dying in exile after the Restoration—too cruel.
"Transport ships!"
"What!?"
Several transports approached, bearing the Japanese flag, slowly entering Busan harbor.
"Homeward bound!"
"Homeward bound!!!"
From the transports disembarked the navy—welcoming the army.
"...?"
".....?"
Japanese and Korean navy personnel disembarking, welcoming the army.
"Your Japanese navy is finished! Torpedoed by our torpedo boats—all gone to Dragon Palace!"
"Lies! Total lies!!"
"Keep strutting without a navy!"
The Korean navy—long neglected without battleships—charged and started breaking the joints of the Japanese army prisoners. No, Japanese troops.
"Togo Heihachiro! They won't believe the Japanese navy's gone. Explain it yourself."
"...With my own mouth?"
"They won't buy it from us Koreans."
Heihachiro really, really didn't want to say it. Who would? Tiny river boats swarming by the hundreds, torpedoing away? Naval battles had dignity—this was too humiliating. The navy's prized big ships and guns? Useless. But it was fact they'd rescued the sinking crews. Even he couldn't abandon hundreds of thousands coldly, landlubber bastards or not.
"It's true."
"Our navy has been wiped out."
The words rang like a declaration. That this war was Japan's loss.
A bit back, amid endless battleship sales, I'd pondered whether to build any. Gojong's decree: "Battleships seem mighty useful." I shrugged it off lightly. Why waste time humoring a king I'd neutered, prattling about selling the country to Japan?
Gojong was my petty gongmyeong—a pressure valve. History showed just opposing his whims worked. So instead of blue-water dreams, I went modest: coastal fleet.
Enter mass-produced torpedo boats for rivers and coasts. Research revealed even Austria-Hungary eyed the same. Different seas, but continental powers—we aligned. From Joseon to Korean Empire, Han River and Yalu—more like seas—churned out torpedo boats. Lots. Joint oxygen torpedoes with Japan and Britain too.
Folks hated my stance. Especially the navy...
"Build us battleships!"
Truth: Korean navy was practically Japanese Navy Squadron 2—ideologically steeped. But I ignored them.
"Battleships, please!"
Despite endless whining, I thought: Why craft such monstrosities? Spam torpedo boats shred big guns easy. Why bother?
"Battleships!!"
Finally, to shut them up, I faked a Dreadnought order to Britain. Big bone tossed.
But yesterday confirmed it. Japan's vaunted battleships? Just fat targets. Hundreds of torpedoes turned them to scrap in a flash.
"Battleships essential? Or just spare junk?"
Just to deter the Brits—did we need them? But a sailor mutiny over leadership doubts? Nightmare. So I swallowed tears, cut the card. Decades of installments.
"Supreme Leader, the ambassador wants a word."
"Britain?"
"Yes."
"If I refuse?"
"At this juncture, things get... interesting."
Fair point.
"Send him in."
This was a trump card, really. Operation Beehive—emergency protocol against Britain, not Japan. Army alone kept Japan in check; too close to ignore us. Britain? Needed coastal threat to China, Southeast Asia, Malacca Strait for "deterrence" to stick. Problem: they knew it. Even skeptical of torpedo reliability for ocean boats, if those boats eternally moored Japan's fleet in the Yellow Sea? Recalibration inevitable. Treatment changes with evaluation. I knew. Hated deploying it. Better let 'em pound Busan. Wait for world war, right?
But Japan attacked. Now, without this, who knew what mediation demands?
Strategic uncertainty beat passive fog.
Knock knock knock.
"Shall I open the door, Leader?"
"Do it."
Let's hear what he wants first. At least listen.