Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Towards Russia
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January 30, 1902.
London, Lansdowne House
"With this, I hereby declare that the alliance between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the Empire of Japan has been officially concluded."
Clap clap clap clap clap—!
The mansion reverberated with fervent applause following the declaration by Henry Charles Keith Petty-Fitzmaurice, 5th Marquess of Lansdowne, the British Foreign Secretary.
The Anglo-Japanese Alliance.
The alliance between Britain and Japan against the Russian Empire had been forged.
However, the reactions from the two delegations differed markedly.
The British side remained largely composed and unruffled.
After all, to Britain, Japan was nothing more than a chess piece to check Russia's expansion—nothing more, nothing less.
But the Japanese side was so fervent that just looking at them made sweat bead on one's brow.
Hayashi Tadasu, Japan's Minister to the United Kingdom, was even shedding tears.
The home islands of Japan would likely react the same way upon hearing the news.
It was a testament to how desperately, how earnestly Japan had desired this Anglo-Japanese Alliance.
"Well done, Minister Hayashi."
"Marquess of Lansdowne."
"May the blessings of Providence be upon the Great British Empire and the Empire of Japan."
"Yes. I too pray that the friendship between our two nations endures forever."
The Marquess of Lansdowne shook hands with Minister Hayashi, exchanging pleasantries.
Of course, pleasantries were just that—mere pleasantries.
'Friendship enduring forever, eh...'
The Marquess of Lansdowne chuckled inwardly at Hayashi's words.
There was no such thing as an eternal alliance in this world.
The Marquess of Lansdowne—and the British Empire—knew this better than anyone.
This alliance had come about solely because Britain and Japan shared a common interest in curbing Russian expansion in the Far East and the Pacific.
Once that goal was achieved, the Anglo-Japanese Alliance—its ink not yet dry—would vanish like a dream on a midsummer night.
That was the nature of international diplomacy.
Even so, the Marquess of Lansdowne, wearing a practiced smile, couldn't entirely dismiss his concerns about this alliance.
He recalled the words of the Marquess of Salisbury, who had steered the British Empire's glory alongside Disraeli.
'The Japanese won't be satisfied merely with checking Russia's expansion.'
The Marquess of Salisbury saw a high likelihood of war breaking out between Japan and Russia.
King Edward VII of the United Kingdom shared this view.
'And that it would start with a Japanese preemptive strike...'
Normally, he would have dismissed it as absurd, but the signs were actually appearing.
The Japanese military—both army and navy—was already buzzing with activity, as if to prove Salisbury and Edward right.
Reports from Britain's ambassador to Russia even noted a sharp increase in Japanese spies being apprehended within Russian borders.
War preparations.
Preparation for war against Russia, plain as day.
As Salisbury and Edward had warned, Japan was dead set on attacking Russia.
'Troubling.'
The Marquess of Lansdowne glanced at the still-emotional Hayashi and thought to himself.
Japan going to war with Russia wasn't the problem in itself.
Britain's top diplomats, including the Marquess himself, had already discussed the possibility.
But their assumptions had been based on Russia—its patience worn thin—striking first, not Japan launching a preemptive attack on the Russian Empire.
'Even in the war with Qing, Japan struck without a declaration.'
Japan might do the same again.
It was a headache for Britain.
In this era, a preemptive strike might offer military advantage but was diplomatically disastrous.
Especially without a declaration of war.
Thus, justification for a preemptive strike was crucial.
If none existed, one had to be fabricated—no matter how flimsy it seemed.
And if defeat followed such an attack, the price would be steep.
Should Japan strike first and suffer a crushing defeat, the balance of power in the Far East would tilt decisively toward those lazy bears of the frozen tundra.
'That must never happen!'
The Marquess of Lansdowne, who harbored no illusions about Japan winning a war with Russia, could only view this with dread and vigilance.
'At least the German Empire is uninvolved this time.'
Since the current Kaiser's ascension, Germany had challenged Britain's naval supremacy under the banner of "Weltpolitik."
Arthur Balfour, effectively leading the cabinet in place of the ailing Marquess of Salisbury, didn't seem overly concerned, but unease about Germany was growing daily in Britain.
Efforts to mend ties with the increasingly hostile Germany weren't absent.
Britain had even tried to ally with Germany, much like the old days with Prussia.
A fierce dog is frightening, but if it's your own, it's reassuring.
Joseph Chamberlain, Colonial Secretary, had championed this alliance with Germany—and even Britain's entry into a Triple Alliance.
But it had all ended in failure.
Chamberlain had clashed with Chancellor Bernhard von Bülow over the Boer War, souring relations further.
'Now he's reaching out to France?'
But even that failed.
France wasn't in a position to discuss alliances with Britain.
The Dreyfus Affair had reignited last year, fueling fierce left-right conflicts that still engulfed French politics.
Discussing an alliance with Britain amid already poor public sentiment?
No one eager to be buried in political oblivion would step forward.
'Anyway, plenty of work ahead.'
Piles of documents already loomed in his mind's eye.
The Marquess of Lansdowne toasted with the Japanese diplomats and sighed inwardly.
"Achoo!"
But the Marquess of Lansdowne was unaware.
"Sniff... Ugh, it's cold..."
That Germany—seemingly unconnected to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance—had already jumped into the ring.
The winter Baltic Sea was rough, fierce, and bitterly cold.
And it grew worse the closer we got to Russia.
But what tormented me most was seasickness.
This damned seasickness.
Even in my past life, I'd get motion sick from just a car ride.
A ship battling rough waves?
Pure hell.
The relentless nausea had kept me from proper sleep for days.
Why had I ever said I was going to Russia?
Just as belated regret washed over me, Prince Heinrich slapped my back—looking utterly unchanged from our last meeting.
"Haha, Hans! You can't join the navy looking like a damsel!"
"I have no intention of... Urk!"
"Hahaha! I've never seen anyone get seasick this badly. Hahahaha!"
Unlike me, clinging to the railing and retching endlessly, Prince Heinrich laughed heartily, unfazed by waves that seemed ready to swallow the ship, savoring the cold sea breeze.
How could he be so steady on this rocking vessel?
Truly, a sailor is a sailor.
"Urk... Excuse me, may I return to my cabin?"
"Aw, come on, stay with me. Irene's already holed up in hers—if you go too, I'll be bored."
Undeterred by my incredulous look, Prince Heinrich pressed on shamelessly.
In-siders just don't get it.
"Look at those seagulls flying in the sky."
"...I don't see any."
The sky was the same slate gray as when we'd set out, thick with clouds that promised an imminent storm.
No weather for birds.
"Ahem, well, land should come into view soon. Precisely, Kronstadt."
"The home port of the Baltic Fleet."
"Exactly. And beyond that..."
Saint Petersburg (Санкт-Петербург).
Built on the bones of countless laborers and Swedish POWs sacrificed to Peter the Great's dream of a sea outlet—the heart of the Russian Empire.
In the 21st century, it was still one of Russia's twin centers alongside Moscow.
'And in two years, the site of Bloody Sunday, which sealed the Romanov dynasty's fate.'
The birthplace of the Russian Revolution that birthed the Soviet Union—the superpower that once split the world with America.
Though by then, Saint Petersburg would become Leningrad.
'This trip might be my last visit before it loses its original name.'
When World War I broke out, its German-sounding name prompted a change to the Russian Petrograd.
Some long-lived Russians were born in Saint Petersburg, grew up in Petrograd, lived in Leningrad, and died back in Saint Petersburg.
'No matter how long I live, I won't see it reclaim its name before I die.'
By my death, it would still be Leningrad—unless history changed.
"Prince Heinrich."
"Hm? What is it, Hans?"
"What kind of man is Tsar Nicholas II?"
"Nicky? Hmm... In a word, a good man. A fine husband and doting father, too."
Prince Heinrich paused, then continued.
"But as Tsar of Russia... Hate to say it, but he's lacking."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. It'd be far better if Russia were a constitutional monarchy. But Hans, the Russian Empire is vast yet corrupt and backward. Still rife with medieval mindsets and customs."
"Haha..."
The empire's sheer size crippled its administration, leaving outdated traditions like snega-chest-vo (Снохачество) unlike elsewhere in Europe.
Some even joked it was a yaoi or romance novel world made real.
"Leading such a Russia requires real ability, and Nicky falls short. Oh, don't tell Irene I said that?"
I nodded at Prince Heinrich's words.
Even he saw Nicholas II as unfit to rule.
'History agrees.'
Kind and diligent, but utterly incompetent—the worst kind of leader.
That was Nicholas II's verdict.
Born to the wrong era and country.
Vroooom—!
"Ah, looks like we're nearly there."
Prince Heinrich muttered at the deep horn blast.
I lifted my head from the railing, peering ahead unsteadily.
A massive harbor filled with warships soon came into view, with the faint silhouette of a grand city beyond.
Kronstadt and Saint Petersburg.
We had arrived in the Russian Empire.
Author's Note
The bad habits and outdated customs of the Russian Empire vanished into history only after the emergence of the Soviet Union.