Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: Open the Strait (2)
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“You're saying they'll open the Bosphorus Strait?”
Sergei Witte muttered with a grimace after receiving the proposal from Germany via the German ambassador to Russia, Count Ostenzaken.
There was only one thing this could mean.
“That crafty little brat.”
In truth, it would have been more advantageous for the Russian Empire to send the Black Sea Fleet rather than the Baltic Fleet.
Even judging purely by distance, the Black Sea Fleet departing from Sevastopol could reach Lushun sooner than the Baltic Fleet, which had to sail around the European continent from Kronstadt.
Yet, in original history, the Russian Empire had dispatched the Baltic Fleet instead of the Black Sea Fleet because the only outlet from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean—the Bosphorus Strait—was blockaded by the Ottoman Empire.
Of course, the Ottoman Empire had long since declined to the point where its status as Russia's age-old nemesis rang hollow, so if Russia aggressively demanded that the Ottomans open the Bosphorus, the empire itself couldn't resist.
But the problem lay with the other great powers lurking behind the Ottomans.
Britain was selling them battleships, France had lent massive loans, and Germany had built railroads and dispatched military advisors.
Thus, the Ottomans feared the diplomatic pressure from those powers far more than Russian threats if they allowed the Russian fleet to pass through the Bosphorus.
Even if Russia ignored that and forced the issue, they could count themselves lucky if it didn't spark a second Crimean War.
Besides, the Ottoman Empire was still Russia's longstanding enemy, no matter what.
Even if the Ottoman navy was inferior to Russia's, they couldn't completely ignore it, which meant they couldn't just empty the Black Sea on a whim.
“But if Germany steps in like this, things change.”
Witte stroked his beard, lost in thought.
The influence Germany wielded over the Ottoman Empire was incomparable to that of the other powers.
The root cause was Sultan Abdul Hamid II, the 34th Sultan, 28th Padishah, and 113th Caliph of the Ottoman Empire.
Once, Abdul Hamid II had been a great sultan who dreamed of a new Ottoman resurgence through liberal reforms.
But the 19th century was far too cruel for an Ottoman Empire already reduced to the "sick man of Europe" to survive.
During his reign, the empire suffered defeat in the 12th Russo-Turkish War and lost vast territories.
Even after the Crimean War, its erstwhile allies Britain and France didn't help—instead, they snatched Cyprus, Egypt, and Tunisia.
Finally, even after winning the Cretan Revolt, great power intervention turned Crete into the de facto Greek "Cretan Autonomous State," blackening Abdul Hamid II's heart. He transformed from a magnanimous reformist monarch into the blood-soaked "Red Sultan," mercilessly massacring his opponents.
And that's when the German Empire, seeking to check Russia in the Balkans, approached the Ottomans.
Germany sent military advisors to aid Ottoman military reforms, got involved in railway construction, and exerted massive influence.
As a result, the current Ottoman military and bureaucracy showed strong pro-German leanings, and German advisors and diplomats strutted around as if they owned the place.
In fact, Wilhelm II truly believed they did.
“The key point is that Germany actually has the power to make the Ottomans open the Bosphorus and let the Black Sea Fleet through.”
If the German Empire backed them, the Ottomans would hesitate but ultimately open the strait.
As for France, Russia's ally, they could just ask them to look the other way this once.
“Sometimes it's useful when the Germans act like they own the Ottoman Empire.”
Normally, he'd click his tongue in displeasure at Germany's influence over the Ottomans, but not this time.
‘Of course, Germany isn't doing this out of any real desire for Russian victory.’
Because even if they reached the Mediterranean, the mighty British Mediterranean Fleet awaited them.
“They figure if the British Navy blocks the Black Sea Fleet, they can turn it into a diplomatic battle.”
Germany's shameless ploy to shove the diplomatic burden onto Britain didn't bother Witte much—this was quite tempting for him.
The Baltic Fleet held great significance for the Russian Empire.
It had been founded by Peter the Great and long guarded the waters off the capital, St. Petersburg.
But what if that fleet met disaster?
The Russian Navy would suffer a blow from which it might never recover.
However, accepting Germany's proposal here would let him curb the Tsar and Bezobrazov's reckless expedition.
And he could pretend to engage in diplomatic warfare with Britain while steering things back toward peace.
It was exactly the kind of scheme that sly little brat, Hans von Choi, would cook up.
“Still, I'll demand they keep the Ottomans on a leash so they don't run wild in the Black Sea while the fleet's away.”
There was no reason to reject Germany's offer.
Sergei Witte chose the lesser evil over the worst once again.
“The German Empire has more honor than expected.”
Meanwhile, Arthur Balfour and the British government breathed sighs of relief at the news brought by the German ambassador.
Even as the Russo-Japanese War raged and Japan seized Korea and sea control despite horrific casualties—failing to achieve much else—British politicians universally slapped their foreheads.
If they couldn't break the defensive line, they should bypass it—what the hell were they doing?
Of course, nothing is as empty as the words of armchair observers, but the British didn't care.
The result was the same, after all.
Even so, the British government wasn't too downcast.
They had a safety net obtained through a deal with the German Empire—specifically, Baron Hans von Choi.
The boy who saved the Kaiser had made good on his word, somehow getting Russia's heavy backside moving.
Sergei Witte, head of the Russian bureaucracy, and Foreign Minister Count Lamsdorff were surprisingly positive about a peace treaty with Japan, to the astonishment of the British.
With their offensive stalled, they seemed eager to end the war while saving face.
Given Witte's inclinations, it wasn't that surprising.
But what was this now?
They'd thought they could just sip tea and wait leisurely for peace, only for Russia to suddenly declare they couldn't end the war like this and dispatch a fleet to the Far East.
At first, they suspected Witte had stabbed everyone in the back, but no.
It was Tsar Nicholas II and Bezobrazov.
An incompetent emperor and his sycophants—a truly exhausting combination.
Whatever the cause, the Russian fleet's deployment was the last thing Britain wanted.
As the government agonized over how to handle it, word came from Germany: if the Baltic Fleet sortied, the Kaiserliche Marine would mobilize to turn it into a diplomatic affair.
Music to Britain's ears.
Seeing this unexpected side of the cheeky boy made him seem handsome all of a sudden, boosting Anglo-German goodwill like a rom-com cliché.
“However, the condition is that if the Black Sea Fleet deploys, Britain blocks it instead.”
“Not a chance. Not a chance. Besides, if Russia's sending a fleet, why the Black Sea one when they have the Baltic?”
Balfour snorted at Admiral Fisher, whose cheeks were hollowed from fierce parliamentary battles over Dreadnought funding, his gaunt face all too apparent.
The Bosphorus Strait linking the Black Sea and Mediterranean couldn't be passed without Ottoman permission.
Russia knew that, so they wouldn't move the Black Sea Fleet.
It was 100% the Baltic Fleet heading east.
Unlike with the Dreadnought, Fisher conceded Balfour had a point this time and nodded agreeably.
“If you say so, I have nothing more to add.”
“Hmph. I'll prepare a condemnation statement just in case Russia really sends the Baltic Fleet. Admiral, eat properly. You'll collapse at this rate.”
But while Balfour let his guard down again...
The Russian Black Sea Fleet was abuzz with the sudden sortie order from above.
“Pathetic.”
Admiral Zinovy Petrovich Rozhestvensky, who—unlike original history—was leading the Black Sea Fleet instead of the Baltic to the distant Far East on Nicholas II's orders, shook his head at the dismal state of the fleet's sailors.
Like Witte, Rozhestvensky opposed this reckless expedition dictated by the Tsar's whim.
The Russian Navy looked impressive on the surface but was rotten inside.
Obsolete ships were standard, officers were incompetent yet brimming with elitism, and the crew's training and morale were rock bottom.
Russia had always suffered severe military corruption, and the navy was no exception—shell shortages were so dire that no ship was fully loaded, preventing proper gunnery training.
An expedition in this state was frankly impossible.
Even if strategically sound, the navy lacked the capability to execute it.
Of course, the Tsar neither knew nor cared about the navy's plight.
‘At least the Black Sea Fleet has modern battleships like Potemkin, Dvenadtsat Apostolov, and Rostislav in large numbers, so its strength isn't bad—that's some consolation.’
For the Baltic Fleet, Russia's newest Borodino-class battleships wouldn't enter service for at least a month.
Never mind that the Borodino-class were notoriously flawed due to Russia's poor technology, dubbed the worst battleships of the era.
In original history, most sank or were captured at Tsushima without firing a shot, due to structural defects, poor training, and the grueling long voyage.
But having modern battleships didn't make the Black Sea Fleet normal.
Its officers' competence and crew condition were far worse than the relatively disciplined Baltic Fleet.
To top it off, reports warned of subversive socialist ideas spreading among the sailors.
Rozhestvensky felt his eyes growing moist despite himself.
“Quiet! By His Majesty's order, we now head east to rescue the Pacific Fleet isolated at Lushun!”
“What did he say? The Far East?”
“Why the hell are we going there?”
“Fuck this. This is insane!”
Even a capable admiral like Rozhestvensky deemed the expedition reckless—did the Black Sea Fleet's men feel any different?
With no warning, the sailors—dragged to the send-off—vented their fury, on the verge of mutiny.
“Admiral Rozhestvensky!”
As officers tried to calm the uproar, one sailor boldly shouted at him.
“Admiral, you know this expedition is impossible, right? It's suicide!”
“You're right.”
As horrified officers moved to drag the man away, Rozhestvensky spoke.
No one expected even the admiral to admit it was madness—the air turned chillingly cold.
“We won't win. But I can guarantee we'll die proper deaths.”
“A-Admiral! What...”
His subordinates gaped, but he pressed on undeterred.
“Still, life's short—dying like a man isn't so bad. Don't you think?”
“Hahaha!”
The sailors burst into incredulous laughter at his frank words.
It didn't erase their discontent entirely, but the commotion died down, and morale ticked up slightly.
‘It'll plummet the moment we set sail.’
Admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky sighed and turned away.
As a soldier, he shouldn't say it, but perhaps he should pray the British fleet blocked them—like Witte suggested.
At least that would spare his men a pointless end.