Sun Tzu's Art of War #1
1. Naturally, sprinkle counterfeit pounds forged in India lightly across India, where fakes already circulate.
2. Trigger a gold shortage in Britain somehow, leading to a currency crunch.
3. Force Britain to print money. They'll print it at 100% capacity.
4. At the right moment—like right before World War I—unleash the counterfeit crisis.
5. With the India-sourced fake notes issue exploding, people demand gold redemption. Britain, having printed cash and planning more, finally suspends gold convertibility under pretexts like world war omens.
6. Meanwhile, they've been printing and splurging wildly, treating the counterfeits they used as worthless paper. India revolts against the mainland.
7. As Britain's war-making capacity drains and attention scatters, declare, "The gold standard? Yeah, that's not reliable anymore," shove the massive losses down their throats, and slyly bail out of the gold standard.
8. Form a faction with silver standard or something else, escaping the international trade regime anchored by Britain.
9. If Britain still bitches despite that, shove some hoarded gold their way—they're desperate for it—and shut them up.
From the start, seeing war itself as half a loss, the Supreme Leader had cooked up this plan long ago as a kid. Drain Britain's war capacity entirely, then snag what he wanted in the chaos. Sure, extras like CDOs and CDSs had piled on over the years, but the big picture stayed the same.
If it worked, while credit-defaulted Europe printed scraps in ruin, he could go isolationist with America and crank out romance novels or whatever. But.
Back from India yesterday and returned to the palace today, he was agonizing over scrapping this messy scheme.
He desperately wanted to smack Britain upside the head, but somehow felt they'd finger him as the culprit right away.
In his view, they'd printed the money themselves yet lash out at the wrong target—and that was the problem.
What if, no matter how much he crippled their war machine, they resolved a punitive war against Korea? They could absolutely try Nazi-style revenge. That's why the original goal was to feed them just enough internally, take the losses for an exit pretext, and slip out without stoking their rage...
But now, it felt like getting pegged as the mastermind would turn him into the kindling for Britain's blaze—like getting divorce papers on your anniversary from your long-suffering first wife, who then draws a sword.
He couldn't ignore even that sliver of risk.
Lately, he'd felt the need to tweak or refine the plan for less exposure, depending on Britain's moves. Or scrap it outright.
"Hmmm..."
No matter how long the buildup on an operation, situations change—you scrap it naturally. Especially if the fallout's unmanageable. Scared to show my hand.
'Has the opponent changed...?'
Britain kept upping the ante on the board I'd set—suspicious as hell. The Liberals, huh? Feels like they'll smash my hand the second I reveal it.
Suddenly, I sensed I was chasing their shadow.
'Meet with America before detonating the bomb, dump the aggro on Madam... no, America?'
'Nah, if Britain blows, America's in the blast radius too. Won't resolve that easily.'
'Still, it'd be a shame...'
"Supreme Leader! The Bengal Bay fortress finally has its foundation set, and the freezer warehouse in Singapore just kicked off its first run!"
"Is that important right now?"
"Pardon?"
"Never mind."
The Supreme Leader paced the palace, deep in thought.
'How can I smash Britain's skull without them knowing, then slip away innocent?'
Truth be told, even he was human—India's state lately sparked real alarm.
'Stick under Britain too long like this, and Korea might end up just like India, worst case.'
As a civilized intellectual, he couldn't tolerate that future.
Korea was the land of unbelievers, by unbelievers. They couldn't live like those theists.
"Supreme Leader! Those trucks! Tractors! you kept harping on—we finally upsized the tires! Next up: buses!"
"Is that important right now?"
"But... you said you'd give leave..."
I dragged out my comrades chanting vacation in front of vacation-less me, let them punch out for the day like me, then sank back into thought.
'Something that excuses it to Britain now, but serves as the overture for future events—playable later?'
That way, excuses hold later too. "It was fine then, why not now?"
'If nothing else, submarine some ammo to Ireland...?'
As he eyed diverting attention—giving Britain cause to put a bullet in his head—the sparkling "Japanese Prime Minister's Hat" in the display case caught his eye.
'Come to think... I'm technically a former Japanese PM too.'
A brilliant idea hit. One that'd make Britain flip.
Amid conspiracy checks sweeping East Asia from some shadowy cabal—Paris, France, present time. One country was truly fucked.
"Everyone's short on rebar for building."
"..."
Iron wasn't just for construction. But the recent real estate speculation boom had everyone throwing up buildings—tall ones.
"Britain's cut off iron ore imports too, right? Now."
"Even our Swedish stock's getting sucked to Britain. Spain too."
"..."
Darkness closed in.
Alsace-Lorraine, supplying 80% of the Republic's iron. With Germany having snatched France's "kids" Alsace and Lorraine, the Republic was hopelessly iron-poor.
Lately, hearing "France? Isn't that an agricultural nation, not industrial?" from Britain or Germany.
"We're prospecting hard in Algeria and Morocco—good news soon."
"Hope so."
This way, they'd really have to idle factories from iron shortage. Industrialization's blast furnaces going cold.
Then, as that Kaiser said, they'd sink to junior partner of the Germanic pigs. Like Britain's Ireland.
Iron. More iron.
"Clemenceau, your thoughts?"
Digging a badass Panama Canal wasn't just Britain's or America's dream. France, pioneer of canal-building, was in too. Though it ended in disaster.
And Clemenceau here—the corrupt politician who'd turned a blind eye to that French Panama Canal fiasco—was sitting before the PM precisely for that.
Ironically, Panama Canal ties made him an "expert" on the Eastern policies too.
"We've loaned Britain a lot of our ships lately, right?"
"Yes."
"Probably why you called me, Prime Minister."
"Indeed... Why that country, of all places?"
"Well, they look loaded with iron."
Just France's mining rights slice from China's mainland—already outstripped all French iron output.
Korea's, having swallowed that China? Unimaginable volumes. Only issue: it all funneled through Britain, beyond France's reach.
"Can't we import directly?"
Some might say, "Korea's not embargoing—stop loaning ships to Britain, import yourselves."
But Britain just loaded surplus space on Korea routes with iron. Economies of scale.
More profit, less hassle.
France? Send ships to Korea, load "iron ore," round the Cape of Good Hope. That was idiocy.
The PM eyed the idiot.
"Tired? Step out."
France, loath to play idiot, swallowed humiliation—loaned cargo ships to Britain for East Asian rights and colonies, got iron ore back. Peddler-style.
But Britain honoring deals? They pocketed France's Eastern cooperation as "fees paid," then skimped on French mainland ore with "Payment short."
This way, soon guns and bullets would all be British-made.
France's touted "Entente Cordiale" against Germany? Become true Anglo-French alliance.
Britain wanted that deep down. But Great France? No way.
"If the canal reopens, all problems solved."
"Sure."
Canal open, iron ore from Korea, China, India—even Vietnam—becomes viable price-wise. Shatters the "France as farm nation" timeline.
"But they're working hard, yet no progress visible?"
Restoring old canal, expanding, new one—all at once. No way it'd go smooth. Quick? Forget it.
Britain demands: "Pick one—new canal or deepen old."
Korea stonewalls: "We hold construction rights." Slipping in poison pills like "Delays could add 10+ years."
"Then not necessarily a canal."
"?"
He pointed to the railway paralleling it—Sinai Peninsula, end to end.
"That's what Korea took instead of the canal. Laying track hard. 2-3 years, they say. Canal needs it."
Desert bliss—no meddling towns slowing them. Blasting through fast.
"Not the issue. Key is: it's a railway—and extend it a bit, Mediterranean to Red Sea."
Clemenceau finally got it. Suez Railway surveys existed—France had considered it.
But "What's the point? No port."
"Why not."
"?"
"We build one."
"...Egypt?"
Egypt... uh... Britain's.
"Then Palestine's ours."
The PM's finger hit the globe.
"Toss surveys, propose joint venture here. We just take the iron ore."
Mediate with Ottomans fine. Their opposition? Whip up a Jerusalem diocese under the Papacy.
France, shitting bricks, didn't care about Ottoman woes.