66. The Affairs of Each Nation
1781 5 1.
"Pursuant to the Mutual Defense Treaty, Spain declares war on the Pan-European Order Maintenance Alliance."
At Louis XVI's command, the Treaty of Cession of New Spain was signed, and at the same moment, Spain declared war on the anti-France alliance. Thanks to this, France acquired all Spanish colonies north of Lake Nicaragua, while Spain had its entire 8.5 billion franc grain debt forgiven and received an additional 200 million francs in cash. Moreover, Spain stood to lose nothing even if it joined the war. Its rear was so secure, and according to investigations by Spain's own intelligence agency—modeled after France's—that France was unlikely to lose. Above all, the anti-France alliance consisted mostly of inland nations with scant navies. There was no fear of invasion by sea. The Mediterranean was swarming with pirates anyway; slap a bounty of a few hundred reales on enemy intel, and it rolled in on its own. Spain simply took it easy, guarding France's rear while preparing to besiege Gibraltar.
It was a massive siege involving 30,000 troops, 30 ships of the line, and 80 frigates. They burned through the money from France in huge chunks, but that was all for the better. They had to spend it anyway to pump it into circulation. Sure, they could have just handed it out for free, but when Louis XVI heard that idea, he warned that it would "ruin the country," so they chose this method instead. The Spanish bureaucrats didn't grasp the logic, but they followed the enlightened monarch who had dragged France from the brink of collapse to near-hegemony. King Carlos III seemed to agree as well, leaving them no reason to resist. The siege alone cost 40 million francs, 15 million of which went to alliance fees for improving relations with Portugal—but it hardly mattered. The unrest in Portuguese Brazil was hurting Spain's South American colonies too, so it was a bargain if viewed as colonial administration costs. Plus, they could reclaim Gibraltar while creating a common enemy in Britain.
Britain found itself in a dire bind, caught between advance and retreat. Ever since the War of the Spanish Succession, it had hovered on the edges of conflicts, cherry-picking gains from various clauses. This time too, it had been testing the waters. But that left it unable to decide which side to back. The Western European alliance led by France—France, Spain, Portugal—was bound by close blood ties among relatives, while the anti-France bloc led by Austria fell under the Holy Roman Empire's umbrella. Britain was playing the bat, and jumping in late meant no scraps left. The force disparity was 220,000 against 700,000. Sure, sieges required three times the defenders' numbers, but that meant concentrating forces accordingly—not literally having three times as many. With consistently three times the troops on average, you could achieve a tenfold advantage at the point of concentration. Physics limited actual combat efficiency to about fivefold, of course. But having three times the numbers also meant you could weather one or two major defeats in a decisive battle and still muddle through. Against mediocre generals, it painted a picture of France fighting well but ultimately losing.
Yet inside Britain, no one believed France would lose.
"We should have sided with France this time. What the hell is the Tory Party doing? Didn't the Whigs propose compromise with France back in March? You've turned Spain into an enemy, Portugal too. Are you really royalists? Why does every decision of yours tilt Great Britain toward ruin?"
"Easy for you to say. The reason we Tories look incompetent is because we've actually done things. You Whigs just shout big talk without accomplishing a damn thing. Do nothing, make no mistakes."
Of course, the British Parliament was still a chaotic mess. But unlike before, they sensed the crisis's urgency, and some real discussion emerged.
"The biggest problem is that the window for profiting by joining either side has closed. We couldn't blunt the initial surprise attacks for postwar shares, nor supply provisions. France is preparing its defense with its standing army, weapons, and food—all domestic. And the anti-France alliance is still marching on Paris. Even if we join France now, there's little we can do."
"Joining the anti-France side isn't great either. Are they mad? They launched an expedition in May, harvest season. They're dead set on starving the populace. France has gotten good at farming lately, so they figure they'll win the war, extract reparations, and pay up. Riding with gamblers like that could sink Great Britain in an instant. Above all, their army quality is abysmal. On paper, 220,000 vs. 700,000, but half their 400,000 are just cannon fodder."
After four years of bickering, they finally moved to productive debate, Whigs and Tories scheming solutions as if the fight never happened.
"Like it or not, we have to pick a side. I say even if the gains are slim, side with France."
"No, still, France is fighting us in the American colonies."
"Colonies are colonies, homeland is homeland. Fleets are massing at Calais. We need to join France before the naval blockade hits the mainland. No gains is fine, but we can't afford losses."
The Whigs compromised with reality, proposing a dual policy: cooperate on the mainland while continuing colonial war.
"Still, allying with a nation we're at war with right now isn't right. At least end the colonial hostilities first, or declare neutrality in this war."
The Tories, mindful of face and diplomatic consistency, offered a conservative plan. The Whigs couldn't rashly slam it—their alternative was half-baked fantasy. Fight in the colonies, neutral or allied on the mainland? No real negotiation possible.
"Hold on, Whig members. Just checking, but after this intel, you didn't go all-in on maritime insurance again, did you?"
A casual Tory remark froze every Whig.
"You heartless bastards."
Parliament sank back into the quagmire.
America had paid scant attention to the European war. Sure, war had broken out in Europe, but that was Europe's affair forever. America was already overloaded with its war against Britain. The silver lining: Spain and France's main volunteer forces hadn't withdrawn from America. Unlike the Netherlands, which had scaled back continental volunteers months before the war and now offered only token names, Spain and France were America's steadfast blood allies. So as long as they didn't pull out, America planned to ignore it—but...
"War has broken out back home, so we must withdraw soon."
"Same for us Spaniards. We can't ignore danger at the homeland. The Continental Congress will understand."
Maurice, the colonel from France's military doctrine institute and commander of the army volunteers, and Bernardo, Spain's supreme commander and governor-general, announced withdrawal simultaneously.
"Hmm. That's a bit..."
The Continental Congress delegates couldn't openly scowl at a pullout due to homeland invasion, but they felt deep betrayal and despair. Intellectually they understood; emotionally, no.
Even if America had crushed line battles on the plains, won with guerrillas to stalemate the front, this abrupt withdrawal wasn't what they wanted.
"To be frank, the Continental Army has botched too many campaigns."
The delegates couldn't refute it. No matter how strong the British were, with France's infinite funding, resources, and thousands of volunteer officers at staff level—they'd absorbed it all and still alternated wins and losses. Decisive plains battles? Always defeats. Sieges and guerrillas? Decent, but guerrilla was guerrilla. Sniping British scouts or couriers wouldn't reverse the war. Cut down 20-30 daily, lose thousands in open battles—independence dragged on for years.
"Thus, we volunteers propose direct intervention. The Atlantic admiral plans to blockade Britain, redirecting the entire Atlantic fleet."
"That blocks our seas."
"Hear me out. We'll lure the British ships into one spot, smash them, and pound the forts with broadsides. After that battle, we withdraw home."
"Hmm... Understood."
The delegates had no choice. Not unilateral withdrawal, but total assault for a grand decisive battle first? Couldn't stop it. If France and Spain won big at sea, America would lose independence legitimacy and initiative to them—but they couldn't refuse. The Congress loathed attrition wars throwing youths into the meat grinder too.
"Then relay to the Atlantic admiral. Admiral Pierre arrives around July. He'll mass our full navy from the south, so the showdown... right here."
Governor-General Bernardo pointed to a central indentation on the North American east coast.
"We'll annihilate the British navy in Chesapeake Bay, dump all remaining shells on the adjacent forts, then go. Our troops must return home, so we can't take much ammo or powder. Colonel Maurice, how do you pronounce this fort? English trips me up..."
"Yorktown."
"Yorktown! We'll give Yorktown naval gunfire support. Until then, stuff as many British troops inside Yorktown as you can."