Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: The Road to War (1)
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“Finally, I can lay down this heavy burden. Baron—no, you're a marquis now, aren't you? It's funny; I've called you 'Baron' for so long that I still mix it up.”
“Haha, it's fine. You've worked hard all this time, Minister Schoen.”
After returning from our unforgettable honeymoon, a dreamlike midsummer night with Luise...
Wilhelm II accepted Foreign Minister Wilhelm von Schoen's resignation and appointed me as the new Foreign Minister.
It was a perfectly reasonable decision: I was an adult now, and the Emperor couldn't keep his son-in-law as a mere aide.
With headaches piling up from the Young Turk Revolution to China's fragmentation, Schoen—who looked a decade older than when we'd first met—practically jumped for joy at being replaced.
He was so thrilled that by the time I arrived for the handover, he'd already cleared out his office.
He'd tried to resign last year after his term ended, but Wilhelm II had held him off until after my marriage to Luise.
Though his hasty exit felt a bit off—like passing a hot potato—it let me take the position without any guilt toward him.
“I'm not even glancing at diplomacy for a while.”
“Ah, yes...”
“Work hard.”
With a blissful smile, Minister Schoen departed for his freedom. I ran my palm over the now-empty desk in the office.
Finally, it was mine.
But the weight on my shoulders had grown just as heavy.
Ideally, I'd celebrate the promotion tonight with a glass of wine—despite not being much of a drinker—and toast with Luise.
Unfortunately, more pressing matters came first.
“It feels like just yesterday I first met Wilhelm II, and now it's mid-1911.”
Three years until World War I.
Assuming history didn't twist, speed up, or slow down.
Of course, I'd prepared extensively for the war and seen some results.
The air force was progressing steadily, tanks would enter full production by the end of next year, and Schlieffen—who was watching his health obsessively to see tanks in action—was nearly done with his war plan.
“Time to wrap up the war preparations.”
As Foreign Minister, it was finally time to turn my long-planned schemes into reality.
After tidying up some internal matters, that is.
“First, remove Moltke from Chief of Staff.”
The moment had come.
It wouldn't be easy, of course.
Moltke hadn't yet exposed his full incompetence, so he still basked in the Kaiser's favor—and our father-in-law doted endlessly on his favorites.
I'd benefited greatly from that myself, but Moltke was nothing but an obstacle.
So, annoyingly, I needed to plant some caution in the Kaiser about him.
To lay the groundwork that Moltke was unfit for the coming crisis.
It was also essential for smoothing my other plans.
Smooth—
With eager anticipation, I pulled out the report I'd poured my heart into over the years.
Finally, time to unveil it.
“Hans is Foreign Minister starting today.”
Wilhelm II muttered in a voice laced with mixed emotions while signing papers in his office.
How did time slip away so fleetingly?
The boy who'd been a mere kid at our first meeting had risen to a cabinet post in the Empire.
Of course, his marriage to Luise had smoothed the path without much opposition.
Crack—
“Damn, that rascal.”
Even after the wedding and honeymoon, irritation at his son-in-law bubbled up again. The Kaiser gripped his pen tighter.
A doting dad was a doting dad forever.
“Your Majesty.”
“What is it?”
“Foreign Minister Choi has sent a report for Your Majesty.”
Speak of the devil and hear his wings flap, they say.
Hans, fresh as Foreign Minister, couldn't contain his eagerness to dive in.
Wilhelm II decided to tell Bülow to pile more work on his son-in-law, then took the report from the attendant.
[Analysis of Europe's Future Geopolitical Situation from a Diplomatic Perspective]
“What a pompously long title.”
Typical Hans—his sense for this had always lagged.
The Kaiser chuckled and flipped open the cover.
How much time passed?
“...A war to end all wars?”
Wilhelm II's face paled more than ever, his voice thick with primal human dread of war.
He dabbed cold sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, unwilling to believe the words inside.
Hans had written:
Europe's great powers were at a peak of conflict. As proven by multiple crises, a single spark could ignite a continent-wide war.
This clash would be more intense, brutal, and massive than any in human history, unrelenting until one side utterly collapsed.
Thus, we faced a war to end all—a world war—on the horizon.
“This is madness...!”
For Wilhelm II, whose only war experience was the distant Franco-Prussian War of his childhood, it was incomprehensible—and undesirable.
Yet the Kaiser wasn't diplomatically inept like some; he could judge reality better than the Junkers.
And his reason screamed that the report's horrors were all too plausible.
“Someone! Anyone!”
“Your Majesty? Is something wrong?”
“Bring Hans—Hans himself—here immediately!”
Stunned by the Kaiser's roar, the attendant bolted without a reply.
To learn what apocalyptic prophecy his damned son-in-law had sent him.
“...Dreadful.”
After summoning me to his office...
Bülow, who'd also been called in and read my report, scowled deeper than ever.
“I saw war myself as a young man serving in the Franco-Prussian War. But this report's envisioned conflict is orders of magnitude—tens of times—more horrific than what I knew.”
No wonder Bülow thought so.
World War I was called the Great War for a reason.
A slaughter stripping away all humanity, reducing lives to mere numbers—unprecedented in savagery.
Anyone in this era reading it and thinking, 'Wow, epic!' would be a lunatic or sociopath.
“Bülow, tell me. Do you see a real chance of this 'Great War' happening?”
“Sigh... Unfortunately, yes.”
Wilhelm II's face pleaded for denial, but Bülow sighed heavily, unable to sugarcoat it.
“If anyone else brought this, I'd dismiss it as a bad joke. But it's our new Foreign Minister. And he's never been wrong before.”
Though Bülow's glare said that made it worse.
“Still, it's just speculation, isn't it?”
“Yes, only the Lord above knows the future.”
I replied,
“But as Your Majesty knows, crises like Morocco, Bosnia, Persia—precursors to world war—have already erupted multiple times. We've muddled through peacefully so far, but we're reaching the limit.”
Honestly, any of those could have spiraled into world war with a misstep.
Europe was thin ice; war could break out anywhere, anytime.
That's why World War I was inevitable, Sarajevo or not.
“Hmm, come to think of it, I've heard the military debating war among the great powers lately.”
Wilhelm II, who'd listened quietly, suddenly recalled.
“But those were hypotheticals decades out. Your report assumes war within a decade at most.”
“Exactly. The international situation looks calm on the surface but hangs over an abyss. As Foreign Minister, my duty isn't to ignore it but to make everyone face it.”
“Even so, who drops an apocalyptic prophecy on day one? If you weren't my son-in-law...”
Wilhelm II grumbled, looking like he wanted to flick my forehead.
Bülow muttered that I still exploded bombs like when I was a kid.
But neither was foolish or bold enough to ignore doomsday staring them down.
“Sigh... So we must prepare for the uncertain possibility of a war to end all. Simple enough.”
“That's why I have one concern related to this.”
“Concern?”
“The Chief of the General Staff.”
“Moltke? Why him?”
Wilhelm II tilted his head, puzzled at the name.
“His health has deteriorated lately, hasn't it? I'm worried not just for him, but that in a crisis, he might not perform adequately.”
“Hmm...”
Wilhelm II nodded thoughtfully at my words.
Moltke's condition was indeed poor—he'd soon suffer a stroke in real history.
And his already fragile mind, overly reliant on occult nonsense, would contribute to his infamous incompetence in World War I.
“Moltke can't handle a 'Great War'—bigger than any before—with his current health. The Chief of Staff role is no light burden.”
“True, I've noticed his complexion worsening daily. And if he collapses mid-war, as you say, it'd be disastrous.”
In real history, Moltke's end was similar.
After Wilhelm II's nagging—'Why can't you match your uncle?'—and war stress, he was sacked, then suffered a fatal stroke relapse at a military event in 1916.
“As someone close to Chief of Staff Moltke, I think for his health alone, this can't continue. Staying put will poison him.”
And poison the German Empire.
So I wished he'd retire and rest at home—but the Kaiser seemed reluctant to cast him out.
“But forcing Moltke out of the military now feels harsh.”
Typical father-in-law.
Time for Plan B.
“What if we appoint Chief of Staff Moltke as Prussian War Minister instead?”
“War Minister?”
“Less demanding than Chief of Staff, and he was Quartermaster General before. Might suit him even better.”
“Ho, indeed...”
His tank demo performance made War Minister iffy too, but we'd introduced most new weapons. Better than him as Chief of Staff, at least.
Besides, in civilian-controlled-yet-militarized Germany, the military would lead in war anyway.
No interference there.
'No hard feelings, Uncle Moltke.'
This was all out of concern for his health.
If things went well, he might even outlive his historical lifespan—shouldn't he thank me?