The Problem is the Economy, You Idiot #4
At the very moment when two imperialists were set to make contact in America, China was getting all prickly with that very imperialism.
"Getting Hong Kong back? Says who?"
Japan tried to explain it away as something they'd just dumped on them, but Britain told them not to spout nonsense. That led to a British-style trial on the high seas—one that turned into a feast of marines' jerky for many. And in the end, the verdict wasn't short or comfortable:
"Escort him."
Sun Yat-sen, founding father of the Zhonghua Republic. He became the second VIP after Cixi to be whisked off to London.
His vacancy fell to Yuan Shikai—the man who'd once served as envoy to Joseon, got his ass kicked like a dog by the Supreme Leader back then, and was even snubbed by the newly revived Qing.
"I knew it'd come to this."
The father of the Chinese people. If there was truly such a position in this country, it had to go to him, he thought. Not to that Gao Lipangzi who'd groveled to the occupiers of Beijing!
But under London's guidance, he became China's leader—and naturally, he had to follow London's directives. And London didn't want China and Korea fighting. On the contrary, right now, China served as a weight on Korea's ankle, keeping the Korean Empire from any reckless moves.
Originally, Korea had been the one holding China back from foolish antics, but now it was reversed.
That was how threatening the Korean Empire seemed to Britain in secret—under the single command of its torpedo boat spam and that young reformist faction outstripping even the Young Scholars. It wasn't just some pirate fleet; Southeast Asia was an archipelago of islands right at the chokepoint. Who knew what would happen if the Supreme Leader unleashed his torpedo boats there?
At least until dreadnoughts were launched and they had a naval force that could crush coastal fleets.
He didn't know what a dreadnought was, but Yuan Shikai—no, Yuan Shikai sniffed it out with his keen political instincts.
If we provoke Korea right now, I could be on the next ship out.
But Yuan Shikai, chairman elected by London. He was saddled with the fate of somehow legitimizing that gap in legitimacy. No one in China, with their flailing death throes, would listen to him otherwise.
So should he just play puppet president like this...? He stared at the map.
Korea was lukewarm toward Britain, and there were the two empires: Qing and Great Qing. If he could just push to Xi'an, wouldn't it be worth the sting? If he occupied Xi'an and devoured the Qing's state structure, Korea might even deign to face him squarely, he figured.
Above all, humiliating those anachronistic Manchus would win him the support of the Chinese people.
If the Supreme Leader—who had his own legitimacy headaches—heard that, he'd have sneered, Fix your own economy first, you pricks. But unfortunately, he was heading to America, not Eurasia.
As the leader vanished, another evil wind blew across Asia.
"Impressive."
"Still no, Your Majesty."
"Really?"
"Absolutely not."
Theodore felt his heart race as that sleek vessel rose over the horizon. A very dangerous thing—far too perilous to be in Eastern hands alone, he thought.
"We've already sunk half the federal budget into the Philippines. And now you want to build something that looks that expensive, like a submarine?"
"Forty battleships in the Philippines, fifty in Panama—that makes ninety. Just ten more for those, and we're at a nice round hundred."
Ahem. Theodore changed the subject as the utterly boring retort popped out. Sure, it was all printed bonds, but the one inheriting those bonds was himself, wasn't it? Still...
"But it's cool, right!"
"That it is."
That Yankee soul-stirring grandeur, the capability... When the sailors who'd come with the Supreme Leader heard its name, they felt their hearts pounding even if they hadn't before.
Black Dick. The name of that magnificent submarine. Of course, the Supreme Leader refused to acknowledge it.
"It's been a while since we last met."
"Good to see you, my old friend."
The Supreme Leader of the Korean Empire and the Emperor of the American colonial empire—having met in London, now crossed paths again in Los Angeles. Both had intense interests in the Pacific, after all. Of course, one of them was an imposter.
"That friend you introduced put a fire shot in my ass. How do you plan to take responsibility?"
"Oh dear, he's a devout Christian. Probably trying to exorcise some evil spirit."
Full of confidence, that one. Nosy bastard. The two shared utterly imperialist, perfectly natural interests.
Interested in the Philippines?
Not at all.
Japan?
Not at all.
Taiwan?
Hmm, not at all.
Then why mess with me?
About what?
They continued chatting over newspapers.
"Anyway, congratulations on the election in advance, Emperor Theodore Roosevelt."
"I too hope your lifelong rule comes to pass, Heavenly Sovereign of the East."
An emperor not yet elected, and a Supreme Leader with zero intention of ever becoming any "heavenly sovereign." They eyed each other tepidly.
"In the East these days, 'heavenly sovereign' is an insult."
"America's a federal republic too, you know."
The Supreme Leader caught on that the mustache wanted something—because he was pushing harder than expected. Panama Canal? Demanding cheaper labor costs there? A perfectly plausible idea. If he asked, better to hand over kickbacks than cut wages further. Any deeper cuts would just be slave labor anyway.
"More importantly, tell me about that beast you rode in on. I had no idea Korea even had something like that."
"Glad I surprised you. That's why I brought it, after all."
The Panama Canal was under real-time construction. But construction always brings unexpected accidents. Lots of deaths, including engineers, naturally. So I brought some along for the ride. Obvious how American engineers treated coolies.
Mortality rate would spike another percent or so.
"This one's aiming to cross the Arctic."
"That's astounding."
"If it works, it could reach New York—and even London."
Pure bullshit, of course. Why cross the Arctic Ocean risking disasters? Theoretical possibility and practical safety were worlds apart. At least, I had no plans to.
Why bother with military threats when it served zero economic route purpose? "Yellow peril in the Atlantic"—what a lovely ring that'd have. Straight-up Soviet vibes.
But to America, it was tempting.
"Want it?"
"If you're offering."
Just like last time with the dreadnought prototype, I handed him the Nazi weapon blueprints from my pocket.
"Though I wonder if something like this is even needed with your canal."
"Hmph."
The mustache stubbed out his cigarette, tucked the blueprints into his breast pocket.
"Philippines is off-limits. Thanks to you, I've sunk a fortune there."
"Haha, no idea what you mean."
"Taiwan or Japan, then. If Japan, you'll need to concede more on Panama."
"If I have to pick, Taiwan. I'm a forward-marching man."
Ugh. From America's view, Taiwan was the better deal anyway. Japan was too big to swallow whole, but Taiwan had gone down easy. Smooth sailing if the Anglo-American talks panned out—just straight down the throat. An independent Republic of Taiwan, after all.
But for pro-Japan Theodore personally, not a bad deal. He hated getting British or Korean stink on him equally. He just figured the Supreme Leader—thoroughly pro-Japan—would pick Japan. So more Panama concessions on "costs."
His proposed Philippines-Japan line would crumble anyway if those submarines he was getting kept screwing around. Then the canal becomes essential.
If I get Panama concessions, I could use the savings for locks and open faster...
Not purely military. With the canal, not just fresh Western beef but Eastern industrial goods could export. Cross-country rails were saturated now. Freshness was life for cattle and beef, so Eastern clusters couldn't beg Western concessions on that front. They were the Western investors, after all.
"Those pirates are all engineers?"
"They look rough, but yeah—canal diggers. Pricey, though."
"Urgh... Looked like straight pirates."
"Worth every penny. Experienced too. Way more realistic than non-existent locks."
He just twitched his mustache, no rebuttal. Sadly, the U.S. cabinet was openly doubting if locks were a blatant money pit. Ignorance of the field.
France dug like Suez, London dug like Suez. Why would America suddenly go locks? Result: digging Suez-style. Cheaper.
With Philippines budget melting away, no way a cabinet greenlights, "Flat cut'll cost more—let's do locks?"
Sweet, those U.S. dollars.
What the hell's this guy thinking?
"I'd love to visit that historic site myself, but they all warned me off—yellow fever and malaria rampant."
"Hahaha, even the Supreme Leader fears something."
"Got to watch bad air. Luckily, herbs, smokes, and booze help, they say."
"Fortunate indeed."
Cigarettes as insecticide, booze as mosquito traps—but I didn't mention it. They'd call me a cultist or booze-and-smoke pusher at best. And the latter wasn't wrong. I couldn't guarantee they wouldn't guzzle the booze meant for mosquitoes. Same reason I didn't roll separate smokes—they'd chew the bitter shit to smoke it.
"A toast to our historic agreement."
"Toasting without booze or a proper table—very you, Supreme Leader."
The two killed time sipping booze-that-wasn't-booze.
Just convince London, and Taiwan's mine.
In the midst of that summit, breaking news hit: China invading Qing.
Both were stunned. America fretted over China or Qing swallowing each other for imperialist expansion.
Korea worried for the exact opposite reason.
No Communists, you bastards!
Whether chimeric Qing won or puppet China won, worst case led to the Communists. Naturally, the Supreme Leader could never allow that in his lifetime.
Absolutely not.