Out into the World (2)
Thanks to Truman's "Purification of Light," the Republic of Korea was among those that achieved independence relatively peacefully, without a war against Japan. Of course, even if Joseon had waged a war of independence, the damage would not have been as severe as in other such conflicts, thanks to the passionate independence efforts of the esteemed Mutaguchi Renya. Thus, one might mistakenly assume that other colonies also gained their independence peacefully after World War II. However, a quick glance at the independence years of nations in Africa or the Indochinese Peninsula reveals a starkly different reality.
Granted, Great Britain did leave India relatively peacefully. Granted, after Indian independence, the country was split in two, leading to a massive migration of millions based on religion and triggering various massacres and absolute chaos. But at least the British didn't directly orchestrate that bloodbath themselves. Waging a war of independence was the norm. France only withdrew from Vietnam after slaughtering people by the millions, and they did the exact same thing in Algeria. The other colonial empires, the Netherlands and Portugal, were no better. Having been conquered by the Nazis or being pathetic sycophants who cozied up to them, they undoubtedly replicated Nazi methods of governance in their own colonies.
In any case, France was particularly clingy. While they had finally washed their hands of Indochina, they were still dragging their feet in West Africa, acting incredibly pathetic.
"Wait, you smashed the entire port before leaving?! What are we supposed to do?!"
"This is a port we built. If you wish to use it, you are welcome to pay a reasonable 'usage fee.'"
Destroying the ports they had painstakingly built with naval gunfire, tearing up roads, or blowing up mines was actually them on their best behavior. In many cases, they refused to leave at all, continuing to collect taxes under the guise of these "usage fees."
"If—if you leave like this, what becomes of us? You converted all our farms into peanut, coffee, and cocoa plantations! What are we supposed to eat?!"
"According to the research of our esteemed French food scientists, peanuts, coffee, and cocoa contain a substantial amount of calories. You can live off those."
"...Are you mocking us?"
"You should be grateful we even found highly profitable export goods for a country that has nothing but barren wasteland! We paved your roads, built your ports... If you're going to be like that, why don't you just go back to what you've always been good at? You know, the thing you used to sell in bulk."
"And what would that be?"
"The slave trade!"
The people of West Africa suppressed their burning desire to tear the fleeing French administrators limb from limb. But France leaving was one thing... they still had to find a way to survive, didn't they? The Indochinese Peninsula, which had shared their colonial plight, was a naturally fertile and populous land. They didn't really need France. As many nations on the Korean Peninsula had experienced throughout history, simply being adjacent to a "divided China" allowed one to reap unimaginable benefits. Even the current Kingdom of Joseon, which had started as a mere provisional government, had managed to snowball its power by taking advantage of China's fragmentation. The Korea of my original world was no different; both the North and the South had secured incredible patrons in Chiang Kai-shek and Mao Zedong. Seeing how the Governor-General of Joseon was throwing his weight around, it seemed that if things went poorly, Joseon would soon become something like Canada or Australia—and if things went well, it might even become the next United States.
However, for West Africa—which had historically accumulated great wealth through the trade of slaves, ivory, and gold, but possessed absolutely no industrial foundation—a literal catastrophe had arrived. They couldn't even secure their immediate food supply without France. To receive that food, along with technology that was a century behind the rest of the world, they had to beg for French aid. Even if they wanted to develop independently, their entire elite class had been educated in France, turning them into francophile traitors ready to sell out their own country. Even now, they were likely pocketing massive bribes in exchange for handing over all domestic concessions.
The disaster didn't stop there. In my original history, when France washed its hands of Africa, they drew the borders in straight lines, matching their own colonial administrative districts. That was the sole reason Africa's borders looked so beautifully geometric. But they would have been lucky if France had at least left behind those neat, boxy borders. Having washed their hands of the continent without drawing any borders at all, chaos was inevitable.
"This gold mine has belonged to our Mali Empire since ancient times! Get out of here this instant!"
"What are you talking about? Ever since the French arrived, we, the people of Guinea, have been the ones working this mine!"
"This has been our pastureland since time immemorial. I'm sorry, but we must ask you to return to your own grazing lands."
"Are you insane?! How can you bring up things from a century ago now?!"
With the arrival of the French, everything—from pastures and trade routes to vital lifelines like mines and ports—had been thoroughly tangled together. Of course, in about forty or fifty years, this mess would sort itself out, likely resulting in a far better geopolitical landscape than the Africa of my past life. But conversely, it meant that for at least those forty or fifty years, the horrors of Rwanda and Somalia would be replicated across the entire continent. However, this total collapse had not occurred overnight.
"W-we in Côte d'Ivoire will pay France a fair usage fee!"
"As well you should."
"We will give you whatever you ask for the port fees, so please, just protect us for now."
"W-we will also pay France for the mine usage. N-no, actually, we will simply hand over the mining rights! If a state-run French company operates it, surely French guards will come with them, yes?"
"Of course."
France's dirty intentions were infamous, but perhaps even such underhanded schemes weren't entirely bad when it came to "maintaining order." Descendants of the Mali, Songhai, and Ghana Empires were re-emerging. This much was fine. So what if they became imperial subjects? But wasn't there something incredibly bizarre about this? Historically, Ghana fell and Mali rose; Mali fell and Songhai rose. But now, they were all appearing at the same time. It was roughly equivalent to Joseon, Goryeo, Silla, Baekje, Buyeo, and Gaya all simultaneously manifesting on the Korean Peninsula. To make matters worse, there weren't just one of each; there were about ten different Ghanas, Malis, and Songhais popping up all over the place! Naturally, terrified by the chaos, several ports, mines, villages, and cities chose to submit to France as "voluntary colonies." France had opted to govern through chartered companies, just as they had done two centuries prior, moving away from direct colonial rule. Was this what they called convergent evolution? Just as imperialism had historically flowed from chartered companies to colonies, and then from colonies to multinational corporations, it was taking a similar trajectory once again.
But... even that was over now.
"Um... we have received an urgent message from the Guinea Development Company. They say they desperately need support for railway transport..."
"Must we go to such lengths for a mere company? How tedious. The French military has no resources to spare, so tell them to handle it themselves."
The French government had changed! The Purificationist Antonin Artaud, the military men Charles de Gaulle and Philippe Pétain, and the former republican Georges Clemenceau—none of them cared about the colonies in the slightest. De Gaulle and Pétain were pragmatists who prioritized European industrialization over distant colonies. Artaud was far more interested in plundering Spain and crushing the Stahlists to the south. As for Clemenceau, his mind was entirely consumed by a single-minded obsession with keeping Austria in check. Previously, the former French governors-general had at least made some effort to mediate the madness unfolding in Africa, but now even that buffer was gone. West Africa had descended into absolute anarchy. The chaos was on the verge of spilling over into South and East Africa, to the point where Great Britain might be forced to intervene.
It was then that a fleet of foreign-style ships appeared, reminiscent of the first Portuguese explorers who had set sail in search of the Cape of Good Hope. The flagship was, of course, a passenger liner, but since they were crossing the high seas, they were accompanied by a few destroyers and cruisers. Gunboats and merchant ships! Most importantly, a missionary of Stahlism was aboard the flagship. Naturally, this was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill missionary from the Jesuits or the Paris Foreign Missions Society. In Christian terms, it was as if Jesus Christ Himself had arrived by boat. And that wasn't all. A man who, in another life, would have been an extremist demagogue possessing the most devilish tongue the world had ever known, had now put that silver tongue to proper use, serving as a marketing executive for the SFW Chemical Company. That very Joseph Goebbels was now accompanying Shtal. Jesus Christ plus the Apostle Paul! With a lineup like this, it was only a matter of time before the entire world was swept away by the tide of Stahlism.
I observed several ports as we sailed along the coast of West Africa. Even from a distance, the situation was painfully obvious. There wasn't a single place where plumes of black smoke from raging fires weren't billowing into the sky. Occasionally, when we drew closer to the shore, bizarre, unintelligible shrieks would drift across the water. What was this? Mad Max?
"...Director Goebbels. It seems bringing the troops along was an exceptionally wise decision."
When a figure of near-head-of-state status embarks on a global tour, they naturally bring along a minimal security detail. Bringing anything more than that would normally be considered a provocation. Thus, any nation with even a semblance of proper governance would naturally provide ironclad security for an esteemed foreign guest. But here in West Africa, factions worse than Somali pirates were calling themselves "nations." What kind of hospitality could one expect from such places? I had brought along a force of about two thousand marines, prepared to resort to outright gunboat diplomacy if necessary.
"I was slightly worried that we were being overly paranoid about security, Vice Chairman. But seeing this with my own eyes, I'm beginning to wonder if we didn't bring enough."
"Ha, haha... I suppose we shouldn't have left so many of our soldiers behind in Arabia."
Even so, the feeling was incredibly bizarre. Our ultimate objective, first and foremost, was commerce. But then again, the ultimate objective of the Black Ships that appeared off the coast of Tokyo, and the Unyo off Ganghwa Island, had also been commerce. Just as the Portuguese had engaged in somewhat "aggressive" commerce while sailing around the Congo and India, purchasing entire cities for next to nothing. At least they had the decency to bring merchant ships; we had brought outright warships. If we sailed into the Indian Ocean or the South China Sea with a fleet like this, it would be an instant declaration of war!
"I'm a bit concerned, but I really hope we can set foot on land soon. It's certainly better than being on a warship in the middle of a battle, but I'm starting to feel incredibly nauseous."
"Haha. I suppose so. This is the first time Vice Chairman Shtal has been at sea for this long. We will be arriving in Dakar shortly, so please bear with it until then."
Dakar, jutting out westward near Senegal in West Africa, was to be our first port of call on the continent. Originally, Dakar had been nothing more than a small village belonging to the Wolof, an African ethnic nation. How did I know that? Because traveling as a diplomat representing my country meant I had studied diligently beforehand. But the moment the African gold trade shifted from the trans-Saharan route terminating in Istanbul to the trans-Atlantic route heading to Europe, Dakar was transformed into the largest port in West Africa. All the gold from the West African interior gathered in Dakar before making its way to Europe. Even now, with West Africa in utter shambles, Dakar was surrounded by water on three sides and so heavily fortified by the French that it was considered relatively safe. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
"Uh, Representative Shtal!"
"What is it?"
"L-look at Dakar!"
I quickly turned my gaze toward the coastline. Though it was hard to see clearly from this distance, plumes of fire were rising from Dakar as well.
"Oh, damn it! Captain! What is happening?! Who are the combatants...?"
I couldn't even tell who was attacking Dakar. In truth, our Treaty Organization's primary maritime trade routes ran through the Suez Canal toward Italy or Constantinople. Alternatively, we simply unloaded cargo in Istanbul and transported it overland through the Balkans. Naturally, we knew next to nothing about the nations situated along the route rounding the Cape of Good Hope. Then again, given the absolute state of things, I doubted even the French—the original masters of this land—had any idea what was happening in West Africa anymore.
But one thing was certain.
"Representative Shtal. Come to think of it, it has been nearly three years since the coup in France. There is no reason why the local warlords of Africa wouldn't target a natural harbor like Dakar."
"Sigh..."
"What should we do?"
In a chaotic situation like this, it was impossible to know whom to fight or whom to trust. Our diplomats and entrepreneurs had supposedly gone to Dakar beforehand to lay the groundwork, but frankly, I had no idea if the factions we had negotiated with back then were even still alive in that city.
"F-first, let's land! We must secure Dakar!"
"Representative, are you sure about this?"
"Honestly, what does it matter whom we help? As long as they are targeting a major port, they will inevitably be receptive to trading with foreign powers."
"And if they aren't...?"
"If they turn out to be slavers and genocidal maniacs, then we'll just have to teach them a lesson. What choice do we have? We need to replenish our coal and food supplies regardless!"
And so, without even understanding the political layout of the battlefield, we opened fire on the army besieging Dakar and deployed our marines. Naturally, the violent recoil of the cannons caused the ship to pitch and roll aggressively, triggering a bout of seasickness that rivaled what I had experienced during the naval battles of the Great Black-and-White War a decade ago.
"I-I'm sorry. I accidentally... on the deck... Huuuuurk!"
"The Vice Chairman is throwing up! Bring a bucket, immediately!"
Ugh... maybe it was because I was getting older, but this felt far more miserable than back then. This journey was starting to feel incredibly ominous.