Your Majesty, This is My Gift!
March 2, 1781, Versailles State Council Chamber.
Spain had thrown down the gauntlet. They figured they'd just hand over northern Mexico and let us run sugar and corn plantations.
"Spain has rejected our proposal. In exchange for ceding all of New Spain, they demand full forgiveness of the grain debt and a mutual defense pact."
"Bold move."
They were offering the entire North American continent. The intent was transparent as glass.
"Obviously, they plan to keep South America—where their influence runs deep and the locals obey—and dump North America on us to deal with."
"Within margin of error. Their colonies have expanded a bit south of Texcoco, but no major differences. From the start, everything south of southern North America was essentially unclaimed wilderness with just a Spanish flag stuck in it. Pump in some investment, and it's solved."
"The scale's absurdly huge, that's the problem. From half the eastern Central America to ceding the whole Central-North America? Investment would have to multiply dozens of times over."
"Pardon? Just expand south of Texcoco."
What?
"Oops."
My mistake. Reviewing our diplomatic documents, the colonies I demanded were north of Texcoco—modern central Mexico all the way to the whole of North America. I'd overlooked that Mexico didn't exist yet.
I'd aimed modestly for Panama or the Mississippi Delta, but it turned out I'd demanded an entire continent. No wonder Spain countered.
"You all... sigh, never mind."
The colony-optimized bureaucrats thought it reasonable and passed it straight to Spain. And Spain, facing my shameless demand, slapped back with a big deal.
"We'll have to revise the plan substantially."
This meant no subcontracting to America. Ask a nation in the midst of independence war to pioneer land ten times their own size? Not a cost issue—impossible.
At this point, selling it outright might be better... but no.
To sell, it'd have to be to America, but what could I get from a rebel force? Continental bonds at best. Even if sold, too cheap and Spain would rage. But taking it now would burst our seams. A Mexico with San Francisco and Los Angeles on the mainland was inevitable.
"Hold this off. Drag it out with excuses about borders, clear frontiers, Peninsula ratios. At least until America gains independence."
When Europe's stable enough for colonial competition, then we take it.
"Understood."
Ah, my head hurts. Really killing me.
The army won't obey, allies unreliable, enemies too many and too strong. I want to wrap up one thing cleanly, but can't.
"Next item?"
"Your Majesty. Urgent from the National Intelligence Agency."
Ha.
"So be it. This council ends here."
Wonder what fresh hell now.
Heading to my office at Versailles, Terray and the Austria desk officer from the National Intelligence Agency followed.
"What's this about?"
"The biggest issue first. I-Myeonghun has gone from Paris to Austria."
"Tch, not good news."
"Intel from when our Paris agents recruited the Marquis de Françoys."
At least we have some lackeys. Small mercy.
"And... the old noble and clerical factions plotting unrest in Paris have all fled to Austria. We're confirming, but it's certain I-Myeonghun led them. About 80 nobles and clergy, plus 900 associates—total over a thousand old regime remnants."
"What?"
Why Austria? I'd set the stage for them to raise hell in Paris, planned suppression, even civilian ops.
"Planning war, are they?"
"Yes. High probability. Prussian forces massing along the Rhine—expect declaration by early spring."
"Absurd. Don't they farm?"
Harvest starts in May. War during reaping? Bad form, sure, but downright irrational. War means mercenaries or conscripts. Even Frederick II, mercenary master, needs cash. France holds most elite Swiss mercs. War now?
"Probably planning to loot France."
Makes sense, but irrational. No money or food—hire trash mercs or conscript. Not medieval pike-pushers; gun era. Conscripts? Looting France to feed that rabble?
"All-in strategy."
Not impossible. Central Europe in man-made famine from policy fails. Hear of France's ag reforms and bumper crops? Tempting to go all-in. Understandable... but doing it?
"This is all my fault."
"No, Your Majesty. Their greed."
"I could stop this war but let it slide. My fault."
Indeed, I could. Cut Spanish grain, tariff union with Holy Roman Empire, flood with grain. Conquer Europe bloodless. But no.
Even dumping on one Spain tied up all admin; lost Sardinia control. So held off. No—self-deception. Truth: too lazy. Hundreds of petty states' diplo papers? Kingdoms send high envoys direct. Feared the flood, treated their pain as white noise. Forced their war.
"Plenty chances for relief. All my fault. If not, what is?"
"Your Majesty..."
Meant to solidify internals first. Nothing goes right. Everything piles up—no priorities. Still, must. I'm king.
"Terray."
"Yes. Listening."
"Report Atacama status and powder reserves."
Not Agency turf, but intel-born, he knew.
"Absorbed all unemployed mestizos into public works. Built temp housing and rest stops in Atacama Desert, shelled southern native dispute zones with naval guns, set up coal mines. We pay salaries; Spain food and water—no complaints. Powder production endless, can't quantify exactly, but mainland stocks fill 12 large warehouses. One holds half-year's worth—six years stockpiled."
Firepower fine.
"Food... no issue."
"Yes. Yield dipped from inefficiency, but self-sufficiency hundreds percent. Current agency buy: 24 francs regardless quality."
Army ready sans orders. Ha. Didn't want to fight.
"Anything else I need? Speak now."
"Yes, civilian firms' progress. Bullet patents..."
March 9, 1781, Austria. Schönbrunn Palace.
An Oriental in clown makeup and garb knelt before Joseph II.
Clowns unfit for state talk. But bringing 82 nobles and clergy, plus associates—total thousand exiles? Different story.
"Sacred Aus..."
"Enough. Skip formalities. Long clown speeches no joy—get to point."
"Yes. I am court jester to France's Louis XVI. King mad, disrupting realm—brought true heirs to his brother-in-law's land."
"Hm."
Joseph II feigned thought, inwardly cheered. Perfect pretext to topple thorn France—excuse rolled in gift-wrapped.
"No choice. Austria must 'liberate' France from political vacuum."
Joseph eyed the lineup behind the jester. Cardinal de Rohan to young Talleyrand. France's legitimacy incarnate.
"I grasp your grievances fully. We'll free France from chaos somehow."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
The jester—I-Myeonghun—spoke for them. Joseph irked briefly, then dismissed the crowd, summoned intel org—French copy.
"That fellow. Make him 'disappear' post-job."
"Understood."
March 23, 1781. Holy Roman Empire, near Rhine.
Myriad German and Italian soldiers massed east of Rhine. Roughly 700,000. Austria-Prussia 500,000; Netherlands 100,000; minors 100,000.
Elite Swiss mercs: mere thousands. Mostly unemployed Italian Peninsula mercs. Low skill—trooper level—but 700,000 is 700,000.
I-Myeonghun, 82 nobles-clergy, ~1,000 associates slipped camp first, toward Paris. Refugee guise, mixed in merchant wagons, infiltrated city.