Chapter 95
Chapter 95
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: Potemkin Mutiny (3)
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"This is the first time something this absurd has happened to me since I became a diplomat."
Foreign Minister Delcassé shook his head with a deep sigh, his face clouded over like a stormy sky.
He was right—it was utterly ridiculous.
Some things are destined to happen no matter what, but who could've predicted that the Potemkin Mutiny would explode out of nowhere right when Bloody Sunday hadn't even occurred?
Just like with Venezuela, it seemed like these freak accidents kept popping up every time a naval battle was about to break out.
I felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
'I've lived a good life, so why does the world seem dead set on screwing me over?'
The silver lining was that this chaotic mess wasn't our German Empire's fault this time.
It wasn't Britain's or France's either.
"Heh heh heh..."
Witte's face, pale as if his soul had been scorched white, said it all—this was a disaster entirely of the Russian Empire's making.
Witte hadn't anticipated the Potemkin Mutiny at all, so the barrage of accusatory glares must have felt unjust, but facts were facts.
To make matters worse, after causing the incident, they let Potemkin slip away, turning the entire Mediterranean into a madhouse.
Potemkin was one of the newest battleships—not just among the Dreadnought-class, but among all Friedrich-class vessels.
No country, including Russia its rightful owner, wanted a state-of-the-art battleship roaming freely through the Mediterranean without any oversight.
"So? How exactly does Russia plan to take responsibility for this mess?"
"......"
Prime Minister Balfour snapped at Witte with a sarcastic bite, his temper flaring.
The British Mediterranean Fleet had lost four destroyers in the incident, with many more ships damaged and headed for repairs.
The French Mediterranean Fleet was in no better shape—if anything, worse—which explained the icy glare from Foreign Minister Delcassé.
"I'm starting to doubt if the Russian Empire is really our ally. Thanks to this, I've got a storm of criticism waiting for me in parliament."
"......I have no words, even if I had ten mouths."
"So why drag it out? Why not just wrap it up cleanly..."
Witte hung his head low, as if he couldn't bear to look up under Delcassé's thorny words.
Of course, Delcassé was really aiming those barbs at Bezobrazov, the true culprit behind this disaster.
"Anyway, chin up."
I whispered words of encouragement to the dejected Witte in a quiet voice.
Our German fleet had suffered the least damage, which let me say that; if we'd taken heavy losses, I'd have been staring daggers at him too.
Bezobrazov, the root cause of the Morocco naval battle, went without saying.
Despite the heated barbs from Balfour and Delcassé, Witte offered no excuses, not even a feeble one.
Russia had suffered the worst losses, including sunk battleships, but any decent shame would keep them from whining about being victims here.
Even Bezobrazov, who'd been obnoxiously trolling throughout the talks, was shrinking in the corner under cold stares like daggers to the heart, lips sealed tight. What could Witte do?
The Russian Empire was public enemy number one in Algeciras right now.
'Anyway, this ridiculous farce can't spark a war.'
Trench warfare had spread worldwide from the lessons of the Russo-Japanese War.
A world war now would just mean everyone dying together in the mud.
"Minister Witte, first things first—recall the Black Sea Fleet."
"Of course. They have no other choice anyway."
I stepped in to smooth things over, and Foreign Minister Richthofen nodded, chiming in.
As Richthofen said, Russia had no options but to send the Black Sea Fleet back to Sevastopol.
The fleet's damage was bad enough, but Potemkin—the cause of it all—was still loose in the Mediterranean.
Russia's top priority was capturing Potemkin, everything else be damned.
They'd already lost the precious battleship Dvenadtsat Apostolov to their own blunder—not even a buy-one-get-one deal. They couldn't afford to lose Potemkin too.
"And Prime Minister Balfour, once the Russian fleet leaves, we'll withdraw ours too. Regardless of how it happened, we've achieved our goal. Piling on Russia now will just backfire."
"Tch, you're right."
"Same for you, Minister Delcassé. Escalating this won't benefit France. Your aim was always getting Britain and Germany out of Morocco—let's call it here."
"......I don't like it, but no choice. If Britain and Germany leave Morocco, so will we French."
Delcassé sighed and nodded at my words.
Neither side wanted war, so this was the best outcome.
"As for the Russia-Japan treaty..."
"I'll bring it up with His Majesty the Tsar again."
Witte replied, but given Russia's mess, they'd have to accept worse terms than before.
Mongolia, the bonus prize, was already off the table.
"I hope the decision doesn't drag on this time."
"Don't worry. We'll have an answer by year's end. No one would be foolish enough to spout nonsense after all this."
Richthofen spoke, and Witte nodded, shooting a glare at Bezobrazov in the corner.
If Bezobrazov hadn't stubbornly chased personal gain, the Black Sea Fleet wouldn't have sortied, and the Russo-Japanese War would've ended long ago.
"Urgh..."
Bezobrazov knew it too, turning away from Witte's freezing stare, groaning like a dying man.
And so the Algeciras Conference ended.
Compared to the grueling process, the anticlimactic finish was soul-draining.
But as I said, it was the best we could hope for.
A skirmish between four fleets had happened, but none of us—me included—wanted to escalate.
Each nation's situation made it inevitable.
Russia was already at war with Japan, and couldn't push hard with their ally striking first.
Britain, already at odds with France and Russia, didn't want more provocation.
We Germans had followed Britain and taken minimal damage—no reason to stir the pot.
Above all, none of us—Germany, Britain, France, or Russia—wanted a world war ten years early over this absurd mutiny.
So we agreed to bury the idiotic Morocco naval battle as an "unfortunate accident."
"Baron, let's have a close talk soon—for the future of Britain and Germany."
As we left the hall, Arthur Balfour whispered to me.
Seems Balfour and the British had decided who to ally with after this fiasco.
'I wonder what'll happen to Admiral Rozhestvensky.'
This wrapping up without worse fallout was thanks to Admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky's heroic sacrifice.
But he couldn't escape blame.
The Tsar wouldn't forgive failing to prevent the mutiny, raising the white flag, and surrendering to the enemy—no matter the circumstances.
Russia's prestige had taken too big a hit.
When he returned, worst case, he'd be stripped of his uniform in dishonor.
Or he might resign honorably first.
'Later, I should petition Nicholas II to consider Rozhestvensky's situation.'
I muttered inwardly, gazing at the sky with a complicated expression.
We'd gotten everything Germany wanted, but it left a sour taste.
Russia's self-inflicted woes were just beginning.
The Algeciras Conference fizzled out, and another winter came.
But Russia's people still suffered under the endless war.
After the Morocco crisis, the surviving Black Sea Fleet ships chased the wandering Potemkin through the Mediterranean before returning to Sevastopol, cornering it near Crete.
The suppression went surprisingly smoothly.
No nation would shelter the mutineers who'd sparked the Morocco disaster on top of rebelling.
Short on food and water, infighting erupted among the sailors.
Some were hardcore rebels, but many had just gotten swept up in the mood—predictable end.
The mutineers seized control released the captive doctor and priest in exchange for amnesty, surrendering.
Ringleaders like Vakulenchuk and Matyushenko fled or were captured by Russian authorities.
Thus ended the Potemkin Mutiny, but despite Witte's assurances, Nicholas II still hesitated on peace.
"Witte, you're dismissed as Finance Minister."
"Your Majesty...!"
"And Bezobrazov, get out of my sight. Never set foot in the Winter Palace again!"
Furious over the Morocco humiliation, Nicholas II sacked Witte and banished Bezobrazov.
He showed mercy to Rozhestvensky, allowing honorable resignation.
But then Nicholas claimed the Black Sea expedition's failure was bad luck and planned to send the Baltic Fleet east to redeem it.
Witte (retaining his state councilor post), officials, military, and nobles formed a rare united front against the Tsar's recklessness.
Understandably so.
Admiral Rozhestvensky, Russia's only man for an eastern expedition, had resigned over Morocco, and the mutiny plus battle losses left the navy in turmoil.
Time wasted like in Algeciras; inflation, food shortages from exports, heavy war taxes pushed workers to the brink.
They weren't deaf or blind—they knew the war could've ended, but the Tsar stubbornly dragged it on.
"Here's funding. Use it for your activities."
"I don't want to betray the motherland, but for revolution... thank you."
Japanese spy Akashi Motojiro, British agent Sidney Reilly, and others funneled money to revolutionaries, fueling workers' rage to critical levels.
"Everyone, please calm down."
Father Georgy Apollonovich Gapon, beloved by workers, stepped before the starving, furious crowd.
"Let's go to the Emperor and petition directly. Beg him to end the war, give us peace. Bread for his hungry subjects."
"Ooh...!"
"His Majesty is good and merciful. If we all go to the Winter Palace and show our hearts, he'll surely listen."
Gapon spoke with a benevolent smile; workers nodded, seeing reason.
Go to the Tsar, father of Russia.
He'd hear our plea for peace.
Full of faith in the Tsar, the workers innocently followed Gapon to the Winter Palace.
Gapon inwardly sighed in relief.
Workers' anger was at a boiling point.
Without this, strikes or riots were inevitable.
He'd seen the regime's response too often.
'Blood will flow again.'
Troops and Cossacks crushing them.
That was Russia's way.
Gapon, who truly cared for workers, wanted to prevent it.
This stemmed from his opposition to violent revolution, seeking bloodless reform.
(Ignoring his funding from the Okhrana secret police, who eyed him as a agitator to defuse tensions.)
Thus, on Tuesday, December 13, 1904—November 30 by the Julian calendar used in the Russian Orthodox Church—50,000 workers marked St. Andrew's Day (patron of Constantinople and Russia) by marching not to church, but to the Winter Palace where Nicholas II and family resided, led by Father Gapon.