To the World!
The besieging forces, who had been pounding the fortress walls with bronze cannons, were promptly swept away by naval gunfire. Only after this "minor cleanup" was completed could the one thousand marines safely disembark at the harbor. Shtal was finally able to set down the bucket filled with vomit that bore an uncanny resemblance to risotto. Yet, the scene unfolding in Dakar was far more chaotic than any pitching passenger ship.
Normally, when one thinks of a siege, they picture two opposing forces: the enemies battering the gates, and the allies defending the walls. But... Shtal had never seen a siege quite like this in his life.
"An unidentified fleet appeared and wiped out those Mali Empire bastards!"
"Now it's our turn! We are the true 'Mali' Empire!"
"You sons of bitches...! Our Wolof Empire was the first to start this siege! How dare you try to steal our march!"
Outside the fortress walls, Mali Empire Number One, Mali Empire Number Two, and the Wolof Empire were locked in a vicious three-way brawl. There were three distinct factions attempting the siege simultaneously. Seeing them tear into each other like rabid dogs, they were clearly not allies. But it wasn't as if the defenders inside were any more united.
"Our Dakar is the greatest port city in West Africa! Why on earth should we side with those idiots!"
"You speak Wolof too, you hypocrite! Open the gates right now! We must join the Wolof Empire!"
"What do you mean, Wolof? Where did such a baseless country even come from? The relief army of the Jolof Kingdom is waiting outside!"
"We are the true Jolof, and it is only right that our city becomes the capital of the Jolof Kingdom! Defend the fortress!"
Albert Einstein once remarked that while he did not know what weapons would be used in World War III, World War IV would be fought with stones and wooden clubs. He was entirely correct. The French colonial forces had suppressed their West African colonies so ruthlessly that the majority of the local soldiers were severely malnourished, their ribs protruding and cheeks hollowed out. Their weaponry was so pathetic that even Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalist Army during the Second Sino-Japanese War would have looked like a high-tech force by comparison.
One man was charging fiercely like a cavalryman in an old automobile, likely abandoned by some fleeing French administrator. Elsewhere, another man was gleefully pulling the trigger of a machine gun in one of the fortress's pillboxes. However, the soldier guarding that very pillbox had his skull crushed in an instant. He had met his end at the hands of a pickaxe—the only weapon the French had ever permitted them to have.
"Uh, Vice Chairman Shtal... we can't tell friend from foe at all!"
Shtal furrowed his brow deeply, instantly regretting his decision to land. But there was no point in second-guessing himself now. His seasickness had reached its absolute limit; he had to get off that ship regardless. The dominant language in Dakar was Wolof. It was finally time to utilize the missionary he had painstakingly recruited from the Paris Foreign Missions Society—one of perhaps barely a hundred people in all of Europe who could actually speak Wolof.
Shtal turned to the colonel commanding the landed marines. "Have you spoken with the citizens of Dakar? What is the situation on the ground?"
"For starters, we can barely communicate with the attackers. There are a few French speakers among them, but trying to locate them in this absolute chaos is like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"So... the attacking forces don't speak Wolof, is that it?"
"According to our translator, it sounds vaguely like Wolof, but they can't understand a single word!"
That was enough to establish a basic friend-or-foe identification. When he thought about it, it was quite simple. Those who spoke the local Dakar dialect were the defenders, and those who didn't were the attackers.
"Consider any force attacking the walls as hostile. We've already swept the area outside the fortress with our naval guns anyway, so it's not like we can play savior to them now. From the look of it, most of them are a disorganized rabble that will scatter the moment they see a real gun. Just give them a solid volley fire to clear them out."
"Yes, sir!"
Just as Shtal predicted, the forces besieging the fortress were nothing but a ragtag mob. The attackers had numbers, but they possessed neither ambition nor conviction. In modern warfare, even veteran US soldiers could see an entire squad or platoon wiped out by a single sniper. The true weapon of modern warfare was a finely honed conviction. No matter how absurd the kill ratios the US military achieved—sometimes exceeding one to twenty—they could never truly defeat the apostles of God who believed that death would usher them into an eternity in Valhalla, complete with endless feasts and harems. Even the South Korean military, having suffered a bruised nose against the Viet Cong who dreamed of a communist Valhalla, had been so shocked by that sheer conviction that they began preaching a brand of spiritualism that rivaled the Imperial Japanese Army in every troop education session.
These men ranged from local warlords who simply wanted to expand their territory, to bandits looking to plunder Dakar and make a quick escape, and even those who wished to revive the slave trade of their ancestors. For such people, a single volley of rifle fire was more than enough to break their spirit. Had they deployed battleships instead of mere destroyers and cruisers, the sheer thunder of the main batteries might have settled the entire matter instantly.
Once the perimeter outside the fortress was swept clean, it was time to restore order inside the city. Those who had clamored to open the fortress gates had already scurried back to their holes like cockroaches. To be precise, they had seamlessly reverted to being "innocent citizens." This was precisely why guerrillas were so terrifying.
"Now... we should at least be able to negotiate with those we can talk to. Who is our negotiating partner? The mayor of Dakar?"
"Um... Vice Chairman Shtal?" Joseph Goebbels approached Shtal hesitantly. "I am terribly sorry, but... there are three different individuals, each claiming to be the sole negotiating authority."
"Unbelievable. This is driving me mad." Shtal rubbed his face with his hand. Although Dakar was small in area, it was the focal point of all wealth in West Africa, so it wasn't surprising that three different power players had emerged.
"Ask the diplomats. Surely they sent word ahead and made some preparations. They must have names, at least?"
"Well, the thing is... the siege began almost immediately after our diplomats departed. In the ensuing chaos, the original administrator who governed Dakar has reportedly gone missing."
It wasn't that the Austrian diplomats were incompetent. As a nation that served as the quintessential setting for romance fantasy novels, Austria boasted immense diplomatic and administrative capabilities, backed by a meticulous bureaucracy. However, they were utterly ill-equipped to handle this level of sheer anarchy. No matter how chaotic the Balkans—their usual playground—might get, there was always a clear organizational structure and an obvious negotiating partner. Much like the United States stumbling blindly through Afghanistan where countless warlords ran rampant and friend could not be distinguished from foe, the Austrian diplomats had arrived here only to have their brains grind to a complete halt.
Ultimately, Goebbels revealed his ruthless streak. "Vice Chairman Shtal, if I may speak freely."
"What is it?"
"For all intents and purposes, haven't we already occupied Dakar? Doesn't that mean we've achieved our primary objective?"
Shtal's eyes widened. Much like Portuguese merchants setting sail for India, they had bombarded a prosperous port city and landed their marines. The port cities of Africa were already well-accustomed to this routine. White men had been doing this exact thing for three hundred years. They would always threaten with naval bombardment, land their troops, and then bully the locals into granting a trade monopoly. From Portugal to the Netherlands, from Britain to France—and now, it was the Austro-Hungarian Empire's turn.
"Wait, hold on... This wasn't what I intended at all."
"The rulers of the harbor have already brought forward draft treaties prepared in both French and English. They are offering us maritime surveying rights, harbor berthing rights, and even extraterritoriality."
"...What if we just establish a branch of the SFW Chemical Company and leave?"
"Like the East India Company?"
"No, no, that's not what I meant..."
Shtal was deeply flustered. His official pretext had been to rescue the negotiating partner of the Treaty Organization. It was a perfectly valid reason for landing, one that anyone could accept. But what if that negotiating partner had vanished entirely from the start? Whether intentionally or not, Shtal had just behaved exactly like the British. He was already planning to use anti-imperialism as a cudgel to beat Great Britain into relinquishing India; this hypocrisy would not do. In the end, the only course of action left for Shtal was to take a page out of the United States' playbook.
"Who did you say came to see us?"
"Ibrahim, Joseph... and N'Diaye."
Just from their names, he could foresee the impending disaster. One was Muslim, one was Catholic, and one was Wolof.
"We cannot simply decide the fate of these people, as you well know, Director Goebbels. In our current position, we cannot rashly demand they join the Treaty Organization and start trading."
"But you must remember our objective. We came here to resolve the raw material supply bottleneck that has choked the Treaty Organization."
"Indeed. But we must not look like a colonial empire."
"Then what do we do?"
Shtal uttered the classic line that the United States always spouted whenever they went to plunder the Middle East for oil.
"We are here to transplant democracy and a parliament."
None of the colonial empires of the past had ever babbled about things like "democracy." Ah, they had heard similar refrains. Hadn't they claimed they came to spread the "grace of Christ"? Of course, the people of Dakar had read the Bible to see if the Europeans' words were true, but whenever they naively asked, "Aren't all men equal under the Lord?" a club would inevitably come flying at them. They knew full well that this "blessing of democracy and free trade" was bound to be another preposterous lie. Yet, somehow... these people seemed genuinely sincere.
Joseph, Ibrahim, and N'Diaye had gathered to hold a meeting with Shtal in French. As the self-proclaimed rulers of Dakar, they were all fluent in the language. To become a local power broker under a colonial empire, one had to engage in at least a little bit of sycophancy toward France.
"We came here to see if Dakar might join the Treaty Organization. However... all three of you are currently claiming to be the sole legitimate and authentic ruler of Dakar, are you not?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"In that case... you will have to prove your legitimacy yourselves. We will actively cooperate with you to draft a constitution and establish a parliament. Therefore, you must elect your representatives."
"...?"
"We are on a tight schedule, so you must hold an election within two weeks. Since this is a city of only a few tens of thousands, we can easily pull off an election with our assistance. Please cooperate fully."
The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air: Otherwise, we will brand you as enemies of democracy, and you can forget about negotiating with us. This was an entirely unprecedented situation. As mentioned, the inhabitants of African port cities were well-acquainted with European rule. Whether it was Portugal, the Netherlands, Britain, or France, they all demanded that the locals "come to church." But none of them had ever told them to hold an election. While Ibrahim, Joseph, and N'Diaye were utterly bewildered, the eyes of these ambitious men began to gleam.
They must be telling us to prove our worth as efficient overseers.
They want us to show how meticulously we can handle administration, and how much popular support we command.
Austria... A country we've only read about in books. This must be their first time managing a colony. They intend to give us significant autonomy and govern from afar.
Normally, to betray one's homeland and collaborate with a colonial empire, one had to prove their loyalty through a performative baptism—regardless of whether they were Muslim, animist, or totem worshippers. Austria, it seemed, had brought an election in place of the sacrament of baptism. Thus, Dakar was thrown into a frenzy by its first-ever hastily organized election. Armed with rifles and bayonets, the Austrian marines worked diligently to ensure a "healthy" democracy, looking for all the world like conquistadors of the Reconquista monitoring whether the locals truly believed in Christ.