Es Geloybte Aretz - a Germanwank

[Sumeragi]

ROFL! Even in this reality, Dogger Bank happens. Poor Russians!

[Llamastrangler]

Just delurking to say how much I'm loving this, The drama, the research, even the semi-epistolatory style...great stuff. I'm wondering whether or not the Russo-Japanese war will explode into a wider war because of some unfortunate incident. Or, if not, what will eventually set off the dominoes, and which nations are on which sides...

[Adler17]

It looks like to have ww1 coming soon.

Adler

[Barbarossa Rotbart]

There is a small mistake in the last post. The French navy does not the the expression 'mon capitaine' since the Napoleonic Age (the reason was the catastrophic outcome of the Battle of Trafalgar):
"Dans la Marine il y a Mon Dieu et mon cul, pas mon capitaine !" ("In the Navy there are My God and my a***, no 'my captain'!").

[carlton_bach]

Originally Posted by Barbarossa Rotbart

There is a small mistake in the last post. The French navy does not the the expression 'mon capitaine' since the Napoleonic Age (the reason was the catastrophic outcome of the Battle of Trafalgar):
"Dans la Marine il y a Mon Dieu et mon cul, pas mon capitaine !" ("In the Navy there are My God and my a***, no 'my captain'!").

Ah, right. Thanks, I was wondering, but all my modern naval fiction had it and I figured other authors would have done their homework...

[Barbarossa Rotbart]

Originally Posted by carlton_bach

Ah, right. Thanks, I was wondering, but all my modern naval fiction had it and I figured other authors would have done their homework...

It is a simple mistake. BTW i've looked at the German wikipedia page about French military ranks and found that I've also made a mistake. It should be 'commandant' and not 'capitaine', french naval lieutenants are adressed as 'capitaine', frensch naval ensigns as 'mon lieutenant'. Weird!

[carlton_bach]

4 September 1904, Lake Goplo near Hohensalza

Hauptmann von Lowtzow shivered in his unfamiliarly light civilian coat. It was not too late in the year, but already chilly and misty. The men who had led him here stood waiting a few paces away – Polizeimeister Schildthauer from the Hohensalza station looked uncomfortable, that Polish Wazlawik fellow seemed unhappy to be around so man armed Germans, and Mr Schmidt from the foreign office was as quiet as he always was. The pale, calm, seemingly bloodless man scared von Lowtzow, and he did not scare easily.
The sound of oars drifted from the mists almost a minute before the boats came into view. Two rowboats and a large flat cargo barge landed, and a group of Polish peasants debarked. No, von Lowtzow noted, two groups. The men from one boat eyed those from the other with wary caurtion, as though they hal exprected a fight to break out. Both parties were armed with rifles, and some also carried big knives, clubs, or even revolvers.
“The ones on the right are Pilsudski's gang.” Schmidt whispered to von Lowtzow. “The others are White Poles, who used to work for the Paris government in exile.” Lowtzow recalled his briefings. Pilsudski was a Socialist, at least technically he was supposed to be one, but Poland was complicated. The White Poles were traditionalists, and very Catholic, and apparently they had tried to raise a Polish legion for the Czar to fight the Japanese in return for greater autonomy. Of course Nicholas only had use for a Polish legion to fight Poles. The Hauptmann had been to Russian Poland incognito twice – life in the army could be interesting when your commanding officer was General von der Goltz – and he could barely imagine what it must be like now. And the trouble was only starting, or at least that was what Pilsudski had promised the Japanese.
Silently and surprisingly efficiently, the Polis boatmen manhandled heavy crates from the truck that had brought von Lowtzow here into the barge. Mostly, it was rifles and ammunition, but von der Goltz's office had added a few crates of dynamite sticks, fuses, and the silly-looking small-caliber pocket revolvers that some Ruhr industrialists made for export to America. The leadser of what Lowtzow thought of as the larboard party approached him. “You are the German adviser, Lotzow?” he asked.
“I am.” Von Lowtzow spoke Polish, though badly accented. He might have a small chance of passing for an ethnic German if he was questioned, but realistically, not being questioned was the way to go.
“I am Colonel Stanislaw Briansky of the Polish Home Army. Welcome to free Poland!”
Though his handshake was cordial, von Lowtzow was somewhat contemptuous. Colonel indeed! Still, this ragtag band of insurgents had spirit and tolerable discipline. And he would not even need an interpreter to teach them one end of a rifle from another

.

[arctic warrior]

Interesting updates; Russia going down the drain ITTL 1905's revolution would be no surprise!

Men shooting at each other in the dark using rifles is no fun - using 30cm navy guns a disaster.

[JacktheCat]

Ah, I see the butterflies haven't prevented the Dogger Bank Incident from still being a Russian cluster[CENSORED]. But now with the French involved too.

The disaster of 21 October began in the evening, when the drunken captain of the supply ship Kamchatka (Камчатка), which was last in the Russian line, took a passing Swedish ship for a Japanese torpedo boat and radioed that he was being attacked.

More serious losses on both sides were only avoided by the extremely low quality of Russian naval artillery fire, with one battleship reported to have fired more than 500 shots without hitting anything

Who says the study of History is boring.

[carlton_bach]

25 October 1904, Washington DC

“John, what in perdition is happening in Europe?” President Roosevelt was visibly angry, angry the way incompetent subordinates sometimes made him. Or situations that a fool should have avoided and said fool was now expecting him to resolve. Secretary of State John Hay had been called to the White House for a crisis meeting and had arrived with an armful of telegrams and two aides bearing maps and copies of Jane's All the World's Fighting Ships. He sat down and briefed the President.
“The latest information we have is not encouraging. It probably doesn't help much if I said that things could have been worse. The Russian fleet is anchored in Vigo Bay, with the Royal Navy bottling up the exit. The British admiral is offering the French ships to leave at any time they choose, but the Russian commander wants them to stay. It seems half a miracle Britain isn't at war with Russia yet, from what we hear from London, and the French public is also quite riled.”
“The French, too.” Roosevelt looked despairing. “If they have a go at the British, would have another Napoleonic War. A conflict like that in Europe would be utterly disastrous.”
Hay smiled crookedly. “Well, that is the good side of the story. The French admiral – Lahaye or something - got very angry when the Russians blasted away at one of his battleships. He wirelessed a report in the clear, which meant his side of the story was in the Paris morning papers, and at least half the country wants war with Russia. Not that that would be any help.”
“Bah!” Roosevelt nearly exploded. “This must be the first fleet in the history of mankind to inflict a defeat on itself without ever encountering the enemy! How much damage was there? I hear they sunk a British trawler.”
“Two of them. They Russians also seriously damaged one of their own destroyers and scored hits on two of their capital ships,” Hay shuffled through his papers, “Alexander III and Retvisan. But the worst damage was to the French battleship Gaulois. Twenty-odd Russian sailors, nine French and thirteen British fishermen are dead. Scuttlebutt has it that the Charlemagne actually fired across the bow of a Russian battleship to stop it from shooting at the Gaulois.”
The President shook his head despairingly. “Damnation. I would take the Russian admiral out behind the woodshed and let King Edward watch the thrashing, if I had any say in the matter. That might ease things. Now the Royal Navy is holding them up and WHAT do they hope to gain from that nonsense?”
“Their diplomatic pound of flesh, I think. They can't very well let this slide and hope to survive in government. With the French public firmly in the Russian camp, they might have pushed harder, but as things are I think there is a chance of resolving this.”
“What if they do fight? Does the fleet stand a chance?” Roosevelt asked, mostly for curiosity.
“Not a good one. If the French come out of Brest and Le Havre, they can match the Home Fleet gun for gun. More than that, a little. But the French won't, even assuming they could do it without suffering losses to the British out of Portsmouth. They still have some ships there. And they would have to do it – today, pretty much. Before the Mediterranean fleet arrives. It is reported to be heading for a rendezvous at Gibraltar. On their own, the Russians wouldn't stand a chance if they had a competent fleet. As things are...”
“What about the Spanish? It's in their waters. Any chance of them moderating a peace?”
“Not really.” Hay went through his sheaf of telegrams. “The Spanish are mortified, angry, and helpless. They feel put upon and mostly want all of this to end, but they cannot take sides and aren't strong enough to credibly step up as brokers. Russia would not consider Austria, and France won't have Germany do it, but I have it on good authority that Cavaignac is desperate for some way out.”
“It looks like we will have to do it, then. Let's draft some messages to London, Paris and St Petersburg. We can offer to negotiate compensation in good faith and leave the whole thing standing as an unfortunate accident.”
“Fair enough.” Hay agreed. “I think Cavaignac will take it, and London will thank us. But that doesn't resolve the situation in Europe. The place is a powderkeg with the Franco-Russian alliance. Germany is terrified and Britain feels it cannot maintain the traditional balance of power.”
“This should do for now.” Roosevelt said. “You have an idea though, I guess?”
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I think the reason behind the French sticking so close to the Russians is the Congo. If we can resolve that matter, France will happily drop its ally like a hot potato.”
Roosevelt snorted. “Everything is about the Congo these days, isn't it? But I think that deserves trying out. We can call another conference, but we'll need someone else to do it. I'd suggest Portugal, do you think they would be amenable?”
“I'm almost certain.”
“All right, let's try it. The worst that can happen is we have to listen to Emperor Wilhelm holding a speech again.”

[carlton_bach]

26 October 1904, Elysee Palace, Paris

Ambassador Nelidov's dignity had suffered much under the onslaught of the Paris public's fury. For the last three days, he had barely ventured out of the embassy, and his trip to the Elysee today had been unpleasant. Nothing worse than mud had been thrown at the carriage, but the hostility was palpable. Of course it did not help that he was in for a dressing-down by President Cavaignac. He had to admit that, had the situation been reversed, his French counterpart would not have suffered less, but it was nonetheless disconcerting. The president was livid, and presented a punishing list of conditions. France would be compensated for the damage to her ships. The dead sailors' families were to receive Russian pensions. Russia was to apologise and indemnify France against all claims by third nations arising from the debacle. And the lease on the French cruisers was to end, effective 1 November. That was the worst part.
“Monsieur le President, if we lose the cruisers, we cannot hope to defeat the Japanese fleet. They are an integral part of the Second Pacific Squadron. If the Imperial Government were to offer to purchase them...”
“Out of the question.” Cavaignac's rages were cold, but forceful. “Your Excellency, we have been most understanding. Under normal circumstances, if the battleships of one nation fire upon those of another, the inevitable result is war. Very well, we are allies, cast together by the tides of history, but some things I cannot, the French people cannot bear! You have brought us to the precipice of war with Britain. Our navy is unready, and we have only agreed to part with capital ships on the understanding that they would be returned against this eventuality. I must insist.”
Nelidov bowed his head. He had experience weathering imperial rages. A generous offer of purchase might yet move the French, once their anger had cooled. But the delay would be painful, the cost considerable. He had already cabled to st Petersburg that he had little hope for French support in the crisis, after the damage stupidly done to their ship. The Second Pacific Squadron would return to Kronstadt for the winter. Heads would roll, and His Majesty would suffer another nervous breakdown. Russia would go on. Somehow. Ambassador Nelidov had long ago learned that Russia survived despite her government.

[carlton_bach]

11 November 1904, Berlin

“I suppose I should have figured it out.” Emperor Wilhelm sighed. “From Russia.”
The book, bound in cheap yellow manila paper and printed in dense, rough typeface, rested on breakfast table beside the butter dish and jam pot. Wilhelm liked his breakfasts light, in the modern fashion, and was not above treating himself to sweets.
“That is what our agents tell us, anyway. And it figures. It is right in line with their policies.” Prince Albert pointed out. Wilhelm had been fascinated and appalled by the new publication submitted to his consideration by the Völkischer Verbund zur Wahrung von Rasse und Heimat. He did not rate the organisation highly – surely, standards even on the right fringe had slipped since the days of Adolf Stoeckel – but the emperor had decided to look through the 'Protocols of the Elders of Zion'. The accompanying letter had breathlessly hinted at grave danger to the realm and its ruler, and truth be told, Albert had been worried. But Wilhelm was just a bit too clever to take this entirely seriously.
Walther Krupp von Rathenau reached across to pick up the volume.Manners were relaxed around the imperial breakfast table. Wilhelm hated protocol.
“A Jewish conspiracy,”he mused. “what a crock. You'd think anyone would have bothered to see how organised Jews really are.”
“Well,“Wilhelm pointed out, “there is that association. Zentralverband der deutschen Staatsbürger jüdischen Glaubens. And there are mutual aid organisations. And the Ullsteins. And you, if I may be so free. If you look at it the right way...”
Rathenau grinned. “If you look at it the right way, your Majesty, it might not be such a bad idea. It might help us get treated better.”
“Now, Walther, that's not fair!” Wilhelm protested. “The law is clear, and we have always made an effort to make it stick. Even when the Conservatives ran the Reichstag. What more do you want?”
“A few more officers' commissions would be a start.” Rathenau quipped.Wilhelm blushed.
“Walther, I've signed every last one to come across my desk. I'd do more, but I don't think I can. Not without giving the appearance of favouritism.” It seemed to be a genuinely painful subject to him. Suddenly, the relaxed atmosphere dissipated.
Prince Albert spoke up, gently. “It's true, Mr von Rathenau.” He respected the brilliant manager, but he had never made it as far as first-name terms. “The army has its own way of doing things. Intervening would be counterproductive. And you know that we have had a bunch of Jewish officers through the latest expansions. True, they're mostly in the artillery and engineers, and the navy. But you have to make a start somewhere. That is how non-noble officers began, and today they're an everyday thing.”
Rathenau shrugged. He was not an activist, and personally completely uninterested in military life, but he was aware of the public discourse on Jews and the supposed threat they posed to the state. It hurt his feelings, and he was not above using his influence to let people in power know.
“An imperial letter to the general staff, just a circular could...”
“No!” Wilhelm was adamant. “Walther, you must understand. The army is a finely honed instrument, and it is very, very good at doing one thing: fighting and winning wars. It has to be. My throne, our country and everybody's safety depend on it. We have done enough damage to it in the last rounds of reorganisation, with expanding the officer corps and opening positions for bourgeois and Catholics. Like it or not, the Prussian nobles and their peasants are the backbone of our military might, and in return, I have to let them have their own way on some things. Change will come, with time. But I cannot risk to force it. The disruption it might cause...”
“...to have an Itzig riding with the guards Uhlans. I know.”
The three men smiled at the mental image.

[Monty Burns]

Wow, alienating the French and the Russians? Never seen that so far!

Keep up the good work!

IOTL the Japanese didn't that well on land. ITTL, with more German instructors, did that change?

[Sumeragi]

I doubt anything would be much different from OTL in respect to the land war...... so far.

[carlton_bach]

Originally Posted by Monty Burns

Wow, alienating the French and the Russians? Never seen that so far!

Keep up the good work!

IOTL the Japanese didn't that well on land. ITTL, with more German instructors, did that change?

The war is going more or less as per OTL so far. One reason the Japanese had such a hard time ironically was their reliance on German instructoirs. They had infantry officers who taught them how the Prussians had beaten the French and Austrians, but didn't realise that with machine guns and landmines, the rules had changed. IATL it's the German observers who will bring home lessons from the Japanese, both on how to do it and how not to.

[arctic warrior]

Originally Posted by carlton_bach

Ambassador Nelidov had long ago learned that Russia survived despite her government.

I'm about to see the glimpses of the dawning revolution on the horizon... just need a prolonged war and suitable military defeat.

This is great.

[carlton_bach]

12 November 1904, Lhasa

The Sikkim Highlands Protection Force – innocuous enough a name – had finally reached its goal. Exotic, alien, squalid and dreamlike, Lhasa clung to its mountainous ridges like a city built for bird-men. John Claude White looked out over the crowds of cowed and curious natives watching his arrival. He did not have to fight his way in. General Yi's men had made their own way across the plateau – lined it with the corpses of his men, if the accounts were to be believed, and White did. Logistics in Tibet was nightmarish even for the Indian Army's commissariat. How the Chinese army coped with it was a mystery. But Yi had promised to come, and he did. His men were remarkable, White had found. Disciplined, well-armed and tenacious, a hardy breed of fighting man. Mostly Muslims, he was told. They had met and destroyed the main body of the Tibetan forces sent against them a fortnight ago, just as White's men, after their long wait, had climbed up onto the plateau and cut to ribbons the pitiful militia trying to block their path.

Out in front, a messenger pushed and jostled through the crowds. Harendra Chander Mukerjee Babu, agent of the Survey of India, sent his regards to general White. The letter was written in Urdu, a brief note detailing that the Dalai Lama had fled, but several members of his government had gone to ground. The Russian agents had gone north with him. Overlooking the neat ranks of his Gurkha rifles and European infantry filing through the gate, White considered the option of pursuit. It was already bitterly cold. Soon, the passes would become completely impassable. No, there was no point wasting good men on such a fool's errand.

[carlton_bach]

15 November 1904, Spreewald outside Berlin

Friedrich Lesche was shivering with cold and fear. He had never thought that his election to the Reichstag would lead him to this. Just returned from a journey to Ostafrika, the young Social Democrat had written articles about his experiences and gained a degree of national notoriety challenging Emperor Wilhelm's colonial naivety and accusing him of condoning terrible abuses in Africa under the cloak of Germany's chartered companies. It had also drawn the ire of powerful opponents, who had funded a lavish – if unsuccessful – campaign against him in his district of Lauenburg, and now it had earned him the dubious distinction of being the first Social Democrat to be challenged to a duel by a Conservative.
“Courage, Fritz!” His second, Karl Frohme, laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “You both fire, you both miss, and honour is satisfied. That's how they do this.”
On the other side, Rittmeister Hans von Gersdorf was talking to his own second. Both men had checked the pistols and now the duelists were taking position. Lesche was still not sure whether he should not have ignored the challenge, brushed it off for the reactionary nonsense it was. But in the end, the pressure had been too great. Frohme was stepping aside, and von Gersdorf raised his pistol in mocking salute. The bull-necked bastard was enjoying this. Of course, he had much more experience, for one cthing. A fair number of the Conservatives had duelled, some even during their term of office. Lesche had hardlöy even seen a pistol, let alone fired one. A few hours of cursory instruction with friends did nothing to bridge the gap.
The handkerchief fell. Lesche did as instructed – raise the pistol on the outstretched arm, point above his opponent's head, and pull the trigger in one smooth motion. The blast seemed oddly quiet. During his practice sessions, it had sounded like the world ending. As his eyes focused on von Gernsdorf, he found, to his relief, that he had missed. But his opponent had not fired yet. He was still taking aim. Careful aim. Friedrich Lesche momentarily considered a protest. This was not how you duelled! You were not supposed to mean to kill your opponent! When the bullet took him in the chest, he was just taking a breath to voice his indignation. His voice failed, his legs buckled and he fell to the ground, Frohme rushing to his side. Just before his vision faded, he could see von Gernsdorf's second clapping him on the shoulder

.

[carlton_bach]

15 November 1904, Charlottenburg Palace

“It was murder, Wilhelm.” Prince Albert could barely contain his rage. “I know duelling. Some of my friends still did it, in my youth. This is against every rule. Lesche was a fool when he accepted the challenge, but what was he supposed to do? Gernsdorf murdered him in cold blood!”
“All of this over a few negroes?” Wilhelm asked incredulously.
“It is going to be all over the press tomorrow, Sire.” his private secretary, Karl zu Ammersleben, pointed out. “We already have reports coming up in the Berliner Abendzeitung. I cannot see any way it could be kept quiet.”
Wilhelm was furious. “Quiet is the last thing this should be! I will not have my deputies shooting each other! Dammit, we have immunity so that they can be sure what is said in the chamber goes witrhout repercussions. I cannot prosecute any of the lot for what they say, what makes Gernsdorf think he can just go and shoot someone for it?”
“You can have his commission for it.” Albert advised. “And if the Reichstag consents, he can be tried. I'm sure they will.”
“That's not enough. The Social Democrats will be baying for blood over this, and for once I think they are right. I want him out of the Reichstag. I want Gernsdorf to lose his mandate. There will be two by-elections, or there will be new elections altogether!”
“Dissolve the Reichstag? Wilhelm, they have only just started being able to get things done!” The elections of 1903 had returned large gains for the Zentrum and Social Democrats, and the National Liberals and Conservatives only held on to their majority with the help of the fringe parties, including the Poles and Antisemites. It had made for tense politics and a fair amount of drama, and Reichskanzler Philipp Graf zu Eulenburg had stayed on with his interim cabinet for over a year while agreement on a new candidate stalled. Just when the National Liberals had finally been amenable to supporting the Conservative von Bülow, things had seemed like there would be a replay of Caprivi's tense, but productive years of juggling shifting majorities.
“Yes, uncle. If I must, I will dissolve the Reichstag. It can hardly get worse, can it? This is not America! I will not have people shooting each other in my parliament!”
Albert shrugged. “Will you think about it, though? Please!”
“Yes, yes, I will, I wson't go off and order the dissolurtion today. But if anything goes wrong, I will. Damn, this is going to be a huge scandal, and the Conservatives will be furious with me. Me!? But I will strip this idiot of his commission, and I will do it today. Ammersleben!”
“Sire?” The secretary was quietly efficient. “You require the miscreant's papers?”
“Yes. And I wish to talk to Schlieffen. We have to make it clear to our esteemed reserve officers that they cannot go killing people they disagree with.”

[carlton_bach]

19 November 1904, Kronstadt

The fleet returned quietly, with nobody to greet them though their banners flew proudly as they did every day. Admiral Rosjestvensky stood stiffly on the bridge of Alexander III, grasping the handrail tightly. Tears were brimming in his eyes. Never had he heard, never dreamed, of so ignominious a defeat. He had been ready to brave the mines and torpedoes of the cold North Pacific, or even to face the shells of the British navy and die in the blaze of his flagship's wreck for the honour of Russia. He had not been ready for the abject humiliation of his recall home. The government was no longer sure the Second Pacific Squadron was strong enough to face the Japanese battlefleet, negotiations with the French over the purchase of their cruisers were still ongoing, and new vessels – what new vessels? - were to be outfitted for the journey. But behind all these empty shells of excuses, defeat stared him in the face. The fortress of Kronstadt would have a cold welcome for his men.

In the great cabin of his flagship, the armoured cruiser Aurora, Rear Admiral Oskar Enkvist finished writing his letter of resignation. On the long and dark journey home, he had taken the time to reflect on his errors and every precaution not taken, and he had found himself wanting. The Czar had deserved better, he had decided. And he needed men who could serve him better. It would not do for the navy to be robbed of such leaders. Enkvist called for his coxswain.
“Sir?” The servant entered, quietly and efficiently as ever. Tears rose in the admiral's eyes.
“Here.” he said quickly, passing three envelopes to his longtime loyal companion. “The first letter must be delivered to Admiral Rosjestvenskiy, perivately and in person. The second goes to the navy ministry in St Petersburg, via the admiral's office in Kronstadt. The third is for you.”
The coxswain nodded. Understanding dawned in him. The envelope felt heavy.
“Just a little money.” Enkvist said. “You can use it to settle down, maybe buy an inn or a boat. You will probably weant to leave the service, anyway. I wrote you a commendation. Do not worry.”He rested his hand briefly on the young man's shoulder. “Now, take away the tea tray, and bring me my pistol. Then you can go.”
The coxswain expertly balanced tray and letters on his way out and gently closed the door on his commander. It would not do for the men to see him crying.