Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: The First Dreadnought (1)
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1902, May. Buckingham Palace, United Kingdom.
"Phew, that interminable war in South Africa is finally over."
King Edward VII of the United Kingdom let out a deep sigh of relief, as if setting down a massive burden he'd been forced to carry.
It was only natural.
The Boer War.
The protracted conflict in South Africa that had dragged the British Empire through the mud not once, but twice, had finally reached its grand finale.
After a long war with Britain, the Boers, drained of the strength to continue, surrendered to the United Kingdom on the condition of self-governance instead of full subjugation.
And so, the republics of Transvaal and the Orange Free State—nations that had relentlessly tormented Britain with guerrilla warfare—vanished into the dustbin of history.
Of course, the process hadn't been exactly pretty.
And that was precisely why Edward VII couldn't simply rejoice in the victory.
After suffering humiliating defeats at the hands of Boer guerrillas time and again, Britain had lost its mind and resorted to locking Boer civilians in concentration camps to wipe out the guerrillas' support base, while scorching-earth tactics burned every village to the ground.
This naturally drew massive international condemnation toward Britain.
And for good reason—the Boers weren't just any scattered black Africans.
They were descendants of European settlers, full-fledged white people.
Even against colonial natives, such actions would have earned plenty of backlash, but doing it to fellow whites? Impossible to avoid the criticism.
Thus, the Boer War became a brutal affair that eroded Britain's national strength and international reputation, leaving both victor and vanquished worse off.
Though the victory brought South African colonies fully into Britain's fold, it stung Edward VII—who prioritized diplomacy—to his core.
"When is the peace treaty set to be signed?"
"Cough, cough! On May 31st in Pretoria, we're scheduled to sign the agreement with the Boer leaders (Treaty of Vereeniging). Your Majesty. Cough, cough, cough!"
The Marquess of Salisbury answered with great difficulty, coughing incessantly.
His complexion had worsened even compared to a year ago, when he'd attended Victoria Adelaide Dowager Empress's funeral alongside Edward VII.
In the end, the Marquess of Salisbury had decided to resign as prime minister, and Edward VII had no choice but to accept the departure of one of the great leaders—alongside Gladstone and Disraeli—who had ushered in the British Empire's golden age.
'Robert's leaving too, is he.'
It was a pity, considering the Marquess of Salisbury—Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, an old friend—had devoted so much to the empire. But even to Edward VII, he no longer seemed fit for the heavy burden of prime minister.
Thus, Edward VII had to think about what came after Salisbury's retirement.
For the British people who trusted and followed him, at the very least.
'Once Robert steps down, the next prime minister will surely be that fellow.'
Edward VII glanced at the younger politician (relative to himself and Salisbury) standing beside the marquess.
Arthur Balfour.
The marquess's nephew, First Lord of the Treasury and Speaker of the House of Commons.
And those lofty titles weren't for show—if all went smoothly, he'd succeed Salisbury as prime minister.
He'd effectively led the cabinet in place of the ailing marquess and enjoyed high support within the Conservative Party.
Moreover, with the Boer War victory under his belt and Edward VII's own coronation during his tenure, public favor toward Balfour would soar.
'But something feels off.'
Call it the intuition of an old man who'd seen it all.
For some reason, Edward VII had a hunch that Balfour wouldn't hold the premiership for long.
"By the way, I heard something amusing recently. Arthur, do you know about it?"
"Something amusing, sire?"
"Yes. It seems my dear nephew Nicky is bringing dangerous goods into the Far East lately."
At Edward VII's words, the air in the room grew heavy for a moment.
His nephew Nicky was none other than Tsar Nicholas II of Russia.
And Russia up to something was never good news for Britain.
"Yes, I've heard. The Russian Empire has apparently imported a large quantity of German-made weapons this time."
"What do you think is driving their actions?"
"To prepare for war with Japan, no doubt? If the Russians have any sense, they know tensions in the Far East have reached a critical level."
Balfour replied confidently, as befitting a future prime minister.
Edward VII nodded in agreement.
His answer was spot on, after all.
Common sense dictated that Russia's moves were solely due to friction with Japan.
Moreover, the Japanese weren't hiding their willingness to go to war with Russia.
It would be weirder if Russia didn't prepare.
But something nagged at Edward VII.
Especially that they were importing German-made weapons.
"Do you think there's any chance the German Empire is backing the Russians?"
"Cough—the German Empire?"
"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, that seems a bit too speculative."
Balfour answered the king cautiously.
Relations between Germany and Russia had steadily worsened since Wilhelm II's ascension.
Why would Germany now supply arms to what was essentially an enemy state?
It defied logic.
"Ahem. Of course, I know Your Majesty's nephew the Kaiser harbors deep enmity toward Japan. But that's always been just talk. And even if he truly wanted to aid Russia in a war against Japan, would the German Junkers allow it?"
Besides, Russia's chronic weapon shortages were nothing new, and Germany routinely sold arms abroad.
So Russia buying from Germany made perfect sense.
"Hmm... You're right, Arthur. Right, but..."
"Cough, cough! Your Majesty, is it that boy who's bothering you?"
That boy?
Arthur Balfour tilted his head, unsure who he meant.
His confusion was cleared by Edward VII's next words.
"Yes. My dear Baron Hans Choi. For some reason, this whole thing reeks of that lad."
"Hans Choi—the Oriental boy who saved the Kaiser?"
"Mm. You wouldn't know. Robert and I met him last year at my sister's funeral."
"Your Majesty was quite impressed by him then. Cough!"
Moreover, according to reports from the British Embassy in Russia, Hans von Choi had—coincidentally—visited Russia a few months ago with Edward VII's other nephew, Prince Heinrich.
'The reports say he just hunted and partied with Nicky every day, but...'
Was Hans one of his own kind, after all?
At any rate, Edward VII couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.
"But Your Majesty, even if the boy is as clever as you say, he's still just a child. Unless the Germans have lost their minds, they'd never let a kid meddle in politics."
"Hmph."
Balfour spoke common sense again.
He simply couldn't fathom why the king was so fixated on this Hans Choi—or whatever his name was.
'No matter how smart, he's just a chinky kid.'
That was Balfour's view of Hans.
And the view of most Europeans.
"Still, keep an eye on Germany, just in case. I've lived long enough to know the world doesn't always run on common sense."
In the end, that was all Edward VII could ask of his future prime minister.
Just as his mother Queen Victoria had, he too must uphold the principle of reigning but not ruling as Britain's monarch.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Balfour's response remained lukewarm.
"Robert, I'm already missing you."
"Haha, Your Majesty. I can no longer sacrifice for the nation. Please let me go. Cough, cough!"
Knock knock—
As Edward VII and the Marquess of Salisbury whispered softly, someone rapped on the king's study door.
"What is it?"
"Your Majesty. Prime Minister. An urgent telegram from Ambassador Lascelles."
"Lascelles? The ambassador to Germany?"
The marquess nodded at Balfour's question.
Germany again, of all things.
As Balfour seriously pondered if today was some ill-omened day, the footman entered and handed the telegram to Edward VII.
His brow furrowed immediately.
"Germany's launching a new battleship next month."
"A new battleship?"
Balfour had heard whispers of it before.
The German Empire was building a revolutionary battleship incorporating new technologies.
Lascelles seemed to take it gravely, but the Royal Navy dismissed it.
Because the concepts and theories behind Germany's ship had already been proposed—and rejected as pointless—by the Royal Navy itself.
Thus, Britons saw Germany's project as just an experimental vessel born of the Kaiser's naval obsession.
Balfour had stopped worrying about it too.
He was a busy man.
"No official name yet, it seems."
"Yes. They're usually announced at the launch. But within the German Navy, it's temporarily called 'Furchtlos'."
Furchtlos?
Fearless?
"Come to think of it, doesn't the Royal Navy have a ship with a similar name?"
"Cough, cough! Ahem... You mean HMS Dreadnought, Uncle."
Balfour couldn't help but chuckle at his uncle's words.
The Germans weren't content with copying British tech—they'd even aped a storied Royal Navy name.
"Hm. But according to Lascelles, the mood in the German Navy is unusual."
Apparently, they were thrilled.
Like children on Christmas morning.
"Probably just overexcitement."
"Mm. But..."
Edward VII knew Lascelles as an excellent diplomat.
He wouldn't send such a telegram lightly.
And the Marquess of Salisbury agreed.
"Cough, cough! I've known Frank for years. He doesn't send baseless warnings."
"Uncle, still..."
"Cough, cough—I'm still prime minister, Arthur. Tell the Admiralty to dispatch naval attachés to Germany. Have them go see for themselves."
"Yes, sir."
Balfour inwardly grumbled about old men's paranoia but complied meekly.
As the marquess said, he wasn't prime minister yet.
'It'll be different when I am.'
"That's all for today, gentlemen. Arthur, don't forget."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Arthur Balfour and the Marquess of Salisbury bowed to the king and left the study.
But despite their repeated urgings, Balfour didn't change his mind.
'The German Navy up to something? Just hype.'
Hadn't the Royal Navy declared it unworthy of attention?
No way the illustrious admirals of the mighty Royal Navy were wrong.