Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: Moroccan Crisis (1)
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"Why the hell are they the ones who started the Moroccan Crisis and now throwing a fit about it?"
No matter how tangled the threads of history might be, this utterly ironic situation left me with nothing but laughter.
Of course, Britain's actions weren't completely incomprehensible.
In fact, the Port Hamilton occupation—where Britain forcibly seized the islands to check Russia—was born from the same context.
In the original history's Moroccan Crisis, France had lunged at Wilhelm II like a rabid dog the moment he visited Morocco and voiced support for its independence. There was no way they'd sit idly by now.
But if Britain was picking a fight with France on its own like this, I welcomed it with open arms.
I never imagined I'd witness the thick, bitter taste of black tea in the Moroccan Crisis with my own eyes.
"So the British Navy has requested assistance from our German Navy?"
"They phrased it far more diplomatically, Your Majesty, but yes."
"Hmph. Never thought I'd live to see the day."
The Kaiser seemed pleased that the prideful British had bowed their heads to the German Empire, humming a little tune under his breath.
Admiral Tirpitz, the State Secretary of the Navy who usually resented any cooperation with Britain—viewing their navy as a rival—also wore a satisfied expression this time.
"The British know it too, that our Imperial Navy surpasses the Royal Navy!"
"Is that so? Ah, yes, it must be. Hahaha!"
"Seeing Your Majesty in high spirits lifts my mood as well. So, what are your intentions regarding the British government's request?"
At Chancellor von Bülow's question, the Kaiser's gaze turned to Admiral Tirpitz.
"Tirpitz, can we dispatch our fleet to Morocco right now?"
"At any moment, Your Majesty. I'd love to tell the British to handle it themselves, but we can't pass up a chance to stick it to the French."
The Kaiser nodded in agreement at the mention of France.
It wasn't just the Kaiser and Tirpitz—for all Germans, giving France a bloody nose was more important than anything.
"Then we'll inform the British government that we'll dispatch our fleet to Morocco as well."
"Indeed."
The Kaiser replied cheerfully to the chancellor's words.
Bülow and I bowed to Wilhelm II and exited the office.
"When Russia announced they'd send their fleet, I thought I'd black out. Never dreamed it'd turn out like this."
"Tell me about it. I figured it was enough just to have the British Navy checking the Russians, but Balfour seems pretty pissed at Russia."
"In any case, this means we'll be in the same boat as Britain now."
The chancellor grumbled, clearly displeased.
He still harbored resentment toward Britain from when they'd soured talks of an alliance with Chamberlain.
"Think of it positively. This gets us out of isolation to some extent. Honestly, Britain is the only partner worth allying with for Germany."
France went without saying, and Russia was a ticking time bomb that could revolutionize any moment.
I was already struggling with just Billy; adding Nicky to the mix would have me dropping dead from overwork first.
"Hmm. So we'll have German, British, Russian, and French fleets converging on Morocco?"
"Probably."
"I hope nothing major happens. Given the situation, we can't afford a repeat of Venezuela."
"Admiral von Koester, commander of the High Seas Fleet, is leading it personally. He's seasoned; he won't slip up."
If anything, the other nations' fleets worried me more.
Especially the Russians—they'd once shelled innocent British fishermen in the Dogger Bank incident, spooked by false rumors of Japanese torpedo boats chasing them across Europe.
We needed to stay vigilant.
A few days later.
From Kiel Harbor, the German High Seas Fleet under Admiral Hans von Koester set sail for Morocco.
This was more than enough to provoke France, already furious over the British Navy's stationing in Morocco.
Bam!
"First Britain, now Germany too? Ha! Uncle and nephew have joined hands to screw over France!"
French President Emile Loubet slammed his fist on the desk in his office upon hearing that the German High Seas Fleet was heading to Morocco.
When the British Mediterranean Fleet first appeared in Tangier's port—and then hunkered down there—France had erupted in rage against Britain.
Morocco wasn't just any country to France.
It was France's rightful future colony, one they'd poured their heart into annexing as a North African foothold.
Of course, the Moroccans had flipped them the bird, telling the French interfering in their affairs to shove it—but mighty France ignored the ravings of those sand-munching desert nomads.
Everything had been going smoothly until Britain sprinkled ash on their baguette.
They'd plopped their fleet in Morocco out of nowhere to block the Russian Black Sea Fleet.
France lodged protests immediately, but the British turned a deaf ear.
In fact, they'd openly invited the Germans over, as if calling friends to a birthday party.
The French outrage was inevitable.
Britain had been their rival for centuries, with lingering bad blood, and the German Empire—their blood enemy—needed no explanation.
French public opinion blazed, and the press fanned the flames with their signature sensationalism.
[Britain Occupies Morocco! An Attempt to Steal France's Rightful Territory?!]
[The Wicked Collusion of the British Empire and German Empire! Anglo-Saxons Are Ultimately German Kin!]
[Now Is the Time for France to Act in Support of Our Ally Russia!]
Fueled by these daily provocations, French citizens, seething with fury toward Britain and Germany, demanded the government punish them.
President Emile Loubet, who had just wrapped up the political infighting with conservatives reignited by the Dreyfus Affair and was finally catching his breath, clutched his nape as his blood pressure spiked.
"Damn it, we can't exactly not send the fleet."
Loubet was pissed at Britain for dragging Germany in, but reality didn't bend to anger.
The French Navy lagged behind both the British and German navies.
In the 19th century, France had embraced Jeune École doctrine, abandoning blue-water ambitions for coastal defense.
As a result, they neglected battleships and mass-produced torpedo boats.
It was a blunder.
Coastal navy didn't suit France's needs.
Unlike a small European state, France was a colonial empire second only to Britain, and torpedo boats alone couldn't defend scattered global holdings.
Especially once Britain countered by building destroyers specialized in hunting torpedo boats, the Jeune École collapsed overnight.
France's navy lost its past glory; not only failing to catch Britain but even overtaken by upstart Imperial Germany.
People even said that without Jeune École, France would have the world's strongest navy today.
Recently, the Friedrich-class battleships had reset global naval power, giving France a glimmer of hope as they rushed to build their own. But commissioning would take time.
Thus, Loubet hesitated at first to dispatch the fleet, but public opinion raged like during Dreyfus.
Ignoring it would make him no Frenchman.
"We'll send the fleet, but instruct them to avoid friction with the Anglo-German fleets at all costs."
Not sending it wasn't an option.
Besides, Britain wasn't really after snatching Morocco from France.
They just wanted to block the Russian fleet from the Far East.
Germany tagged along because they felt uneasy alone.
The British were cunning, but predictably so.
"Tch. Russia should just sign the treaty and end the war instead of making noise about sending their fleet."
As Russia's ally, France knew the Russo-Japanese War well.
Trench warfare was no gentleman's game, but it impressed France, who dreaded war with rival Germany.
Some generals even claimed:
'If trenches had existed in the Franco-Prussian War, the unforgettable humiliation of Versailles might never have happened!'
It wasn't entirely wrong.
Trench warfare mania spread in the French military, debating rapid advances into enemy territory à l'élan vital to dig in and grind them down.
Of course, since Japanese firepower had breached Russian trenches once, they also pushed for artillery buildup to balance offense and defense.
But Germany's submachine gun didn't catch much attention.
It guzzled ammo, had short range, and poor durability—most broke down months into war.
The military preferred mass-producing machine guns to keep enemies at bay over unfinished novelties.
Militaries were conservative on unproven weapons, and French generals weren't innovators.
The submachine gun faded quietly amid young officers' pleas.
"Russia's pointless antics are just making trouble for us."
Details were unclear, but America mediated between Russia and Japan. Britain tolerated Russia taking North Manchuria and Mongolia in exchange for withdrawing from Lüshun and Korea.
Loubet thought it fair, but who knew what madness drove them.
"Makes me wonder what's rattling around in the Tsar's head."
He muttered as he ordered the Mediterranean Fleet to deploy.
For France, whose only ally was the Russian Empire, it was lamentable.
"Feels like a market showed up."
Admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky, leading the Black Sea Fleet into Tangier, sighed at the British and French fleets glaring at each other, claws out.
His sigh deepened when the late-arriving German fleet joined the British.
'Expected the British, but France and Germany too?'
Things had escalated beyond his calculations.
Full-scale battle was never the plan.
A sea fight off Tangier would disadvantage Russia and France first.
The Royal Navy aside, Germany's Imperial Navy—newly risen sea lords—brought three Friedrich-class battleships, including fresh builds.
Rozhestvensky's math was swift: defeat inevitable.
"Admiral, what now?"
"Nothing we can do, captain. Fetch some vodka."
Truly, nothing.
What were they supposed to do? Shell passing fishing boats?
Per his orders, the Russian fleet anchored off Tangier, baking under the Mediterranean sun, waiting idly for the standoff to end.
Maybe for the best.
The Tsar might change his mind and order a return.
Rozhestvensky hoped the expedition fizzled out.
Russian sailors, tensed for battle amid the three-nation fleets, shared his thoughts.
"Quiet down. We're anchoring here. Stay alert; battle could erupt anytime!"
"Phew. Left Sevastopol not long ago, and I thought war already."
"Looks like they don't want to fight either. Hope we just go home."
They sighed in relief at no immediate clash.
And secretly wished to return to Sevastopol, expedition over.
"Russian fleet isn't budging."
"Then no need for us to get aggressive. Report to the government and await orders."
The Anglo-German combined fleet and French behaved much like the Russians.
No one, like Rozhestvensky, wanted bloodshed.
Thus, British, German, and French fleets dropped anchor around Tangier, awaiting homeland commands.
Amid this bizarre standoff off Morocco, diplomatic warfare began in Spain's Algeciras—site of talks that resolved the original Moroccan Crisis—with four nations at the table.