Chapter 90
Chapter 90
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: Open the Strait (3)
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August 1904.
Constantinople, the capital of the Ottoman Empire.
"What the hell is that?"
Captain Ismail Enver, a young and promising Ottoman officer who had returned to Constantinople on business after a long absence, narrowed his eyes as he spotted a massive fleet gliding leisurely through the waters off the city.
It wasn't the Ottoman fleet.
The masts of those warships flew a white-blue-red tricolor fluttering in the sea breeze—one he never imagined he'd see here in Constantinople.
"Why the hell is the Russian Black Sea Fleet doing here?"
Ismail Enver muttered in a displeased tone amid the uneasy murmurs of Constantinople's citizens, unable to hide their anxiety at the sight of the Black Sea Fleet.
Like most Turks, he harbored deep resentment toward the Russian Empire due to the long history of enmity between the Ottoman Empire and Russia.
Naturally, he couldn't be happy about the Russian fleet passing right by the Ottoman capital.
And those ships were clearly headed toward the Mediterranean.
Did that mean the government had actually opened the Bosphorus Strait for the Russian fleet?
'Why?'
Ismail Enver simply couldn't wrap his head around it.
The Russian Empire was currently at war with Japan, backed by Britain. There was no way the arrogant British, who believed the world revolved around them, would sit idly by while the Russian fleet passed through the Bosphorus and out of the Black Sea.
The Germans, who disliked Russia just as much as the British, wouldn't welcome it either.
The Ottoman government might be incompetent, but even they wouldn't dare pick a fight with those two powers—which wielded massive influence over the empire—just to aid their greatest threat, Russia.
Yet here it was, happening right before his eyes.
Thrown into confusion by this unbelievable turn of events, Ismail Enver stood frozen.
"Ismail? What are you doing here?"
"Hm? Oh, it's you."
As Ismail Enver pondered the inexplicable situation, a fellow officer spotted him while passing by and struck up a conversation.
"The Russian fleet is passing through the Bosphorus. Isn't your uncle high up in the military? Heard anything about this?"
The officer scratched his head awkwardly at Ismail Enver's question.
But since Enver was like a leader among young officers like himself, the man didn't want to cross him. After checking that no one was listening, he leaned in and whispered.
"Uncle says it's the German Empire pulling the strings behind this."
"What? The German Empire?"
"Shh! Keep it down. If word gets out, it'll be the end for both of us."
"Fine, just spit it out. What the hell is going on?"
Urged by Enver, the officer sighed and continued.
"I don't know the details. All I heard is that the Sultan ordered the Bosphorus opened so the Russian Black Sea Fleet could head to the Mediterranean. And right before that, German diplomats met with the Sultan."
"Damn. What the hell is happening? Did Germany and Russia join hands or something?"
"Beats me. But Uncle said the Sultan didn't look too pleased when he gave the order."
"Even so, this is too much. Abdul Hamid, that incompetent bastard. Anyone would think we've become a German protectorate."
"Ismail!"
The officer paled in horror as Ismail Enver openly named Sultan and Padishah Abdul Hamid II, then mocked him as incompetent.
He didn't like the tyrant and oppressor Abdul Hamid II either, but if word reached the "Sultan of Massacres," it could cost them their heads.
"Did I say something wrong?"
But Ismail Enver made no effort to hide his animosity toward Abdul Hamid II.
And rightly so.
He was a member of the secret society of young officers—Fatherland and Freedom—who opposed Abdul Hamid II's tyranny and conservative policies.
Words tumbling out in a rush, he vented his fury at the Sultan to his comrade.
"That damned fool could have done anything he wanted. He could have restored the glory of the fatherland, scattered our enemies, made the people of the Ottoman Empire—including me and the fatherland—happy."
Abdul Hamid II had once been a great monarch poised to rebuild the Ottoman Empire's glory.
Tolerant, liberal, and reformist, he had won the adoration of the Ottoman masses.
But the independence demands from ethnic groups under Ottoman rule, defeat in the war against Russia, and the Great Powers' intervention that handed Crete to those cursed Greeks changed him completely.
From enlightened ruler to mass murderer and tyrant.
From great Sultan to bloodthirsty Red Sultan, hungering for the blood of his opponents.
"But Abdul Hamid got too used to bathing in blood these past few years. The moment I thought he'd never change, he started seeming impressive in a twisted way. That's why I believe the only perfect solution is for him to disappear."
"You, a mere captain, planning to overthrow the Sultan?"
"Not yet, of course. But someday, things will change."
And when that day came, absurdities like this would never happen again.
Especially with the German Empire.
Ottoman soldiers had long endured the Germans' arrogance, but this crossed the line.
Ismail Enver had received German military training like most Ottoman officers, giving him pro-German leanings, but he couldn't stomach the way Germany treated the empire like a vassal.
Neither Abdul Hamid nor the German Empire could do as they pleased with the Ottoman Empire.
The Balkan Slavs, insolent Armenians, and filthy Greeks were the same.
The Ottoman Empire belonged to the Turks.
If it didn't, they would make it so.
Already, voices calling to end Abdul Hamid II's dictatorship were growing louder among young officers like himself.
The era of the Red Sultan wouldn't last much longer.
Their era was coming.
Ismail Enver eagerly awaited that day.
"Have those kebab-munchers lost their minds?!"
While young Ismail Enver burned with ambition,
the British government exploded upon receiving a report from the Ottoman capital's British embassy that the Black Sea Fleet had passed through the Bosphorus and into the Mediterranean.
"Why the devil did the Ottomans open the Bosphorus? Why?!"
Balfour, eyes bloodshot, foamed at the mouth as he hurled the report across the room, shouting.
The Marquess of Lansdowne sighed at the papers fluttering through the air.
"The Ottomans claim Russia threatened to make trouble if they didn't open the Bosphorus."
"Ha! A threat?"
"Russian troop movements were spotted near the Ottoman border. They called it military exercises, but it's obviously a lie."
In truth, it was all a scripted play orchestrated by the German Empire, but the British government had no idea.
For the record, the playwright was none other than our Baron Hans Choi.
"Even so, we absolutely cannot tolerate this!"
"The Germans have already stepped in. They say leave the Ottomans to them and focus on the Russian Black Sea Fleet now in the Mediterranean—things are urgent, after all."
It was exactly as he said.
Everyone there had expected the Baltic Fleet to deploy, but Russia had smacked them all in the back of the head by sending the Black Sea Fleet—and somehow getting it through the Bosphorus.
Balfour and the British government were going mad at Russia's unpredictable antics, ready to erupt at any moment.
They raised their assessment of Bezobrazov—the man(?) behind this whole affair—and eyed the European map with grave concern.
This meant the Royal Navy, not the German Navy, would have to stop the Russian fleet.
That was the condition Germany had offered in exchange for blocking the Baltic Fleet.
And it made sense. The German Navy could handle the Baltic or North Sea, but operating in the Mediterranean came with too many headaches.
"Damn Russians. Squeezing every last drop till the end. If they think they can toy with Britain like this, we'll make them regret it."
Growling with venom at Russia's dirty tricks, Balfour turned to the First Lord of the Admiralty, the Earl of Selborne, William Waldegrave Palmer.
"Lord Selborne. Contact Suez at once and order them to deny passage to the Black Sea Fleet. Since they've already cleared the Bosphorus, blocking the route outright is more effective than chasing them."
"Blocking Suez to Russian ships isn't hard, but will it work? Their capital ships are too big to pass through anyway—unlike smaller vessels."
Balfour scowled at Lord Selborne's point.
He hadn't considered that.
Which left only one destination for the Russian fleet.
The Strait of Gibraltar.
"Can the Mediterranean Fleet seal off Gibraltar?"
"Hmm... Possible, but there are issues."
Lord Selborne pointed to the Gibraltar area on the map with a troubled expression.
"As you see, we can block most of the strait. We've got British Gibraltar there. But if the Russians skirt south through Moroccan waters, we can't stop them."
"Because of France."
Morocco was a prize France eyed like Algeria or Tunisia for colonization.
French influence there was immense, and France was Russia's ally.
So the odds of France turning a blind eye to the Black Sea Fleet passing through Moroccan waters—to aid their ally—were high.
France had already been quietly supporting their sole ally, Russia, in this war.
In actual history, the Russian Baltic Fleet had resupplied and rested in French colonies like Dakar and Madagascar thanks to French help, making it to the Far East intact.
Of course, they arrived just in time for Togo Heihachiro's Japanese Combined Fleet and the Battle of Tsushima.
"Then station the Mediterranean Fleet in Morocco."
"Prime Minister?!"
The Marquess of Lansdowne stared at Balfour as if he couldn't believe his ears.
Touching Morocco would rile up the prideful French frogs like nothing else.
But Balfour's mind was fixed on keeping the Russian fleet trapped in the Mediterranean by any means.
"Is Morocco a French colony right now?"
"Not yet, but..."
"Then frankly, France has no right to dictate to us if we station a navy there temporarily. Morocco's still independent, isn't it?"
True, but since when did imperialist powers care about such details?
France especially acted on passion over reason. They wouldn't stay quiet.
Worried, the Marquess of Lansdowne spoke up.
"France might misunderstand our intentions. They could even dispatch their fleet to aid their ally, the Russians."
"Then we'll call in friends too. Request cooperation from the German Navy. United with the Germans, even if France sends a fleet to escort the Russians, they won't dare move recklessly."
The Germans would surely leap at the chance to stick it to France.
But was this really wise?
The ministers couldn't hide their unease.
Yet Arthur Balfour's resolve was ironclad, leaving the British government no real choice.
And so began the Morocco Crisis—with a flavor of black tea.