#25 On stranger currents
Jianzhou, Darien productions, “The Admiral”(1) filming studios, 1964
“Well? What do you think? Does it look properly ran'she?”
Georgi Ivanovich sighs. The pacific palms in the scenery are nothing like the date groves he vaguely recalls. And as for the giggling extras the studio is employing… Well, aside from Uzbek, Jurchen, Korean, Uyghur and occasional blond Russian looking nothing like Arab Yemeni women, their garishly colored , Pantalooned, veiled but bareheaded and midrfiff bared costumes are nothing like either modern or 19th century Yemeni women would dare or desire to wear.
And he doesn’t like the lead, either. He’s fairly sure he’s a Peetookh as well as a Zhid.
Georgi is the last man to have served under The Admiral at the time of the scene and he feels a duty to make sure he is portrayed properly. But he has other duties as well. His pension is just barely sufficient to defray the costs of his and his wife’s support from his daughter in law’s household. And he would like something to leave to his Great-grandchildren… and perhaps move into a less cramped apartment. And they did get the uniforms right at least. And the lead is a spitting image of the Admiral, even if he is a Huesos.
“Taq, There were no Hareem houris, and more’s the shame. I was given shore leave at Mocha and I never saw any such beauties. But Luchshee vrag horoshego, Nyet?”
The director clearly cares about his words less than he does about his own vision. But his assistant, a gentle faced Eurasian brunette young enough to be his grand-daughter actually seems interested.
“What was it like then YeYe?” She asks leaning forward while fingering her cross.
“Well, the native Churki chernozhopye were not friendly. There was still blood on the streets from the fighting before we came, and the new sultan had smashed or closed up or the liquor stores and whorehouses he could find… which didn’t stop us from looking, of course.”
“Not that the admiral cared for such trifles. He was a driven man, even then, and drove us hard as well…”
Rear Admiral Makarov.
Port of Mocha, Lower Yemen, December 3rd 1895
The Russian Midshipman takes a moment to marvel, once again, at the clear tropical waters of the inaptly named red sea. In the Baltic Ice floes were forming and chilling storms lashed any sailor unfortunate enough to hold deck duty. Even in the Aegean, winter had forced sailors to wrap themselves in several layers of insulating wool to ward off the morning chill.
Here, a seaman’s main worry was dehydration and sunburn. An officer, even junior and off-duty, had other things to worry about, the larger picture to keep in mind.
The Mediterranean flotilla relocation to the Far East (2) stressed, once again, that Russia’s power in the Pacific depended first and foremost on its fleet. And as such, it required bases and coaling stations to service ships making their way from the empires European shipyards to the Pacific and back. The Germans had already occupied the Tiran straits and had landed marines in Jeda to help the Sultan retain control of the holy cities of Islam against the Hashemite rebels. French, Italian and British influences were vying for dominance in the newly proclaimed emirate of Assir. Yemen, however… if Russia could interpose itself as an intermediary between the Zaidi rebels and the remaining Ottoman forces, then it too might become a power in the Red sea.
He clenched his fist as he remembered the Inglorious surrender of Russia’s claims on Imbros. Claims which he himself had had some small part in advancing. For a moment he recalls the furious and fearful glares of the Ottoman officials and Turkish refugees he helped convoy across the Aegean to Anatolia. Then the present graps his attention once more.
He gasps in dismay as the harbor of Mocha came into sight. There is a cruiser already there, and the harbor fortress waved two flags. The Zaidi sword on a red field and the Union Jack. The Ottoman flag is notably absent.
“Too late… “
He murmurs.
“Well, you didn’t think the British were truly delaying our passage through the Suez Canal because of “technical problems” did you?”
With a shock the ensign realizes that Admiral Makarov himself is standing behind him.
The Stubby, fork bearded admiral is obviously amused at his discomfort. Just of obviously he is still gauging the qualities of his junior ensign, even after three months of operations in the Aegean.
“Of course not your excellency. But I had thought the British would still try to support the Ottomans. That would have given us a chance to win some influence with Imam Muhamad Bin Yihya.”
The admiral raises his eyebrow approvingly, both at the analysis of the situation and naming the Zaydi ruler correctly. Many, too many, would have referred to him casually as a Churki chernozhopye (3) chieftain.
“Well ensign? And why do you suppose they haven’t?”
The young ensign mulls this for a moment.
“The Nemcy?”
“Just so. The Germans got the jump on the British with their East Africa squadron and their forces in Palestine and are supporting the Ottomans in the Hijaz in return for considerations in Anatolia. So the British are obliged to weaken the Ottoman position in Arabia, Yemen included, In order to make the German intervention more costly, and ultimately fruitless.”
The Midshipman shakes his head.
“With Germany in the North, Britian in the south and both and France and Italy as well squabbling over the middle what does that leave Russia?”
“We’ve left a garrison on the Hanish islands as you will recall”
“Of course, you excellency. But those islands are barren. Are they really suitable for a coaling station? And with the British established in Yemen and the Italians in Eitrea how long will we be able to keep them?”
“Oh that depends on how long it takes the British to find out we are there. Which won’t be long at all of course.”
“Excellency?”
“Well, I imagine a loose lipped Midshipman is likely to brag about our coup on those islands to the first British officer he meets in the local Cantinas.”
The young Midshipman blinks.
“We are being granted shore-leave?”
He had thought the Admiral would keep them onboard, at least until Djibouti and possibly Saigon, precisely in order to avoid early discovery of the Russian garrison.
“Well it would hardly be fair to keep good men from their just reward, would it? I am sure I can count on you to assemble a sufficiently rowdy party and raise a ruckus with your opposite numbers from the British ship?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Splendid. Do stop by my quarters after you get over your hangover to report. It’s important for an admiral to get the feel of the mood at port, even if only at second hand… and important as well for a promising Lieutenant to get a feel for the larger currents which move the fleet.”
“Your excellency? I am a Michman.”
“Not anymore. You did well on Imbros, and in Izmir as well. I made a list of recommendations for early promotion to the chief admiralty- and you headed the list. I received approval of them in Abu Said. Unless you disapprove, Alexander Vasilyevich?”
There was only one proper response to that. The newly promoted Lieutenant Kolchak straightened to attention.
“Sir! No, sir! With the Admiral’s permission I will organize a carousing party, effective immediately sir!”
Port of Mocha, Lower Yemen, December 4th 1895
Kolchak hoped his knock on the Admiral’s door did not reveal his trepidation. To be under the Great Admiral’s eye was a great opportunity for rapid promotion. But it was also a position of considerable danger. Several of his comrades had shown signs of jealousy at his early rise and could be expected to sabotage, or at least prove uncooperative in carrying out his expanded duties unless he learned to manage them. If he did not… well, the Admiral’s favor would certainly be withdrawn and leave him the worse off than where he had been to begin with.
“Enter!”
The best guarantee of continued favor, and protection from jealous officers, was to perform his assigned duties flawlessly- but also to display the initiative and inquiry that Makarov, unlike so many Russian officers, so prized.
“Your excellency!”
“So soon, Lieutenant Kolchak? I can see that the younger generation has somewhat to learn about proper carousing. Why you aren’t even sporting any signs of a proper bar-room brawl!”
“Your excellency, I have the honor to report that Yemeni Coffee is excellent indeed (4)… and is the only beverage being served in all of Mocha.”
Makarov blinked.
“What’s that now?”
“Imam Muhamad Bin Yihya had declared the Ottomans to be infidels for permitting prostitution, tobacco smoking and prostitution… and so he has banned them from the port. From what I can gather it has made the merchants of the port none too happy with him. They have already been losing business to Aden and with this new prohibition can expect to lose more”
Makarov taps his pipe thoughtfully.
“Interesting. Perhaps somewhat can be done with that. And perhaps not. What else can you report?”
“The British are arrogant as always. They seem to regard all of Arabia of their own regardless of treaties, and the Red sea as a British lake. Had to step in to prevent a brawl. Though that wasn’t too difficult hard to have a proper brawl with no liquor.”
“What do the natives think of them?”
“Native regard towards the British seems to be mixed. Some bless their mediated evacuation of the Ottomans as having spared the town bloodshed. Others are uneasy at the treaty signed between them and Imam Muhamad. They worry about Indian merchants setting up shop and competing with them, and that protection may be a prelude to annexation and infidel laws. Even those who grumble about the new prohibitions want Shariah law in principle. Except for the local Zhids. They are clearly hopeful for British protection.”
“Record your impressions and cite your sources. I will attach it, and your name, in my report to Kordstadt.”
“Sir!”
“I trust you have ensured the British were apprised of our occupation of the Hanish islands?”
“I have. But sir, if I may ask, why? They would find out about our occupation eventually. Would it not be better to give the men more time to fortify their positions?”
Makarov studies Kolchak for a moment through the smoke of his pipe.
“I trust you remember Imbros Lieutenant?”
Kolchak’s lips tighten.
“ I do, sir.”
“Terrible humiliation for the Russian flag, wasn’t it? To be lowered a mere fortnight after being raised?”
“As you say your excellency.”
“Not so. Imbros was a chip, nothing more. We traded it, and out position in Izmir to eliminate British objections to the occupation of the entirety of the Six Vilayets and Trebizon. They were raising them, you know. Had some second thought about our borders adjoining their zone of occupation in Messopotamia. And well they should- their navy cannot stop us if we march on Bagdad, expecially once the railway is expanded.”
Kolchak blinks. He had never thought of the triumphs of the navy as being mere bargaining chips for the Russian land forces. The thought is oddly disquieting.
“And the Hanish islands are a bargaining chip as well. It would prove… embarrasing, and politically controversile for the British to shift us off the islands by force. It would risk placing us and the Germans, and by virtue of our alliance, the French as well, in the same configutation opposing them in the Red sea. That is something they wish to avoid, also for good cause.”
“What will we trade for the Hanish islands then?”
“Well, why are we here, Lieutenant? Surely you undersatand that the scramble for Arabia does not require the entire Mediterranean flotilla?”
“To reinforce the Pacific squadron your excellency.”
“Well, and do they require reinforcement?”
Kolchak mentally reviews what he knows of the fleet strength in the North Pacific.
“No sir. We outmass and outgun anything the Japanese have in the water, even without what is left of the Chinese fleet, especially after their losses off Korea. The only thing which could prevent Russian naval supremacy in a conflict with Japan is another Great power intervening on their behalf.”
“Exactly- and that great power is Britain. None of the other powers have enough ships in the Far East to stand up to our own, especially after we shall arrive. So, Britian must be concillated to stay out of the conflict. We can appeal to their common interest- after all, they have no interest in China’s debt growing larger and their income smaller while they remain their chief debtors. Nor do they wish to appear as the enemies of China- such will not open markets to their merchants. We can implicitly threaten their own position in the Middle East, all the easier given their occupation of Messopotamia, and even India, if their intervene against our interests in East Asia. We can pacify them by the moderation of our aims, amounting in so far as I have been given to understand, to a restoration of the statues quo ante in Korea and south Manchuria. And now, thanks to your own endevours we can offer an evacuation of Hanish, or perhaps its sale or cession to Italy as a quid pro-quo.”
Markov chuckles at the befuddled, and somewhat angry expression of the young Lieutinant.
“There is no dishonor in surrendering claims for gains elsewhere Lieutenant. Do you think the Germans are so foolish to hope for full domination of Mecca and Medina? They too, will trade their position there for compensation elsewhere in due time."
Makarov then taps his nose slyly.
“And of course, by the time the furor around the Hanish islands and Hejaz dies down the Catherine will have completed its mission”
Kolchak blinks. The Catherine had been the first Russian ship through the Suez Canal but had not regrouped with the rest of the fleet in the Red sea.
“The Catherine? Scuttlebut is she is in Djibouti. Is she trying to seize a foothold on the African mainland?”
“Well reasoned lieutenant. Hopefully the British intelligence shares your estimates. And they would be wrong- though I’ve been careful to spread those rumors while passing through Suez. Unfortunately seeking to set up an African colony at this point would place us in opposition to too many powers. The Catherine is, or was at the Farasan islands. The coral reefs surrounding it should prevent any random European recointering, the islands contain fresh water springs and date orchards to feed the garrison and the situation in Assir is sufficiently chaotic that our presence will be harder to challenge once discovered. The British will just have to get used that the Red sea is not their lake… or give us a good offer to give up our claims to Farasan- after they had already paid us for Hanish.”
Kolchak slowly shakes his head, befuddled. He wonders if this is the final veil of deception and manipulation Marakov has employed or if yet another layer remains to be uncovered.
“The world is a bit more complicated than the heroic tales of the navy would have it, isn’t it lieutenant? Sit, sit.”
Kolchak lowers himself into the chair in front of the Admiral’s desk ruefully. He has much to learn. But it seems he has found the best possible teacher.
“Perhaps it is your excellency. Was it so for you in 1878 as well (5)?”
A twinkle arises in the Admiral’s eye as he recalls past victories and he turns towards his cabinet.
“So it’s old tales you wish to hear, is it Alexander Vasilyevich? A shot of good Russian Vodka as a conciliation to your disappointment in Mocha beforehand perhaps? ”
After clinking the glasses together and raising them to the portrait of Tsar Georg both down their glasses with a gulp and lean back to enjoy the spreading warmth.
"The Turk back then put up much more of a fight than he did in this war. And we could not count on the assistance of the West, of course, much the opposite. But that is not what you want to hear about, is it? Can't say that I much cared for the great issues of statesmanship back then either. I had my first command of a torpedo boat, and I had some novel ideas of how to employ it. Torpedo boats simply lacked the range to operate against the Ottoman naval bases from our own you see, so I suggested organizing them around a refueling and ammo ship. So it was that we sailed in the dark of night to then Ottoman Batumi.... (6)"
(1) Worth watching this, or at least the first ten minutes to get a feel for the theme and the mood of this allohistorical production https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRckaEkuRAo
(2) Baltic fleet ships are being relocated to the Med to take their slots. Part of a general “Pivot to Asia”.
(3) Outlander black-ass barbarian. But with more derisive connotations. It won’t mean quite the same thing by the 1960s though.
(4) Hey, some backcountry Ethiopian monk may have discovered the coffee bush, but it took Yemenite genius to turn the bitter herb into a proper and potable beverage. Not to mention market it throughout the known world. Consider it our small contribution to world civilization. Well, that and gat (don’t believe the heretics claiming Gat also came from Ethiopia. It’s 100% Yemeni!)
(5) Brownnosing the top brass is a technique which hasn’t much changed over the centuries.
(6) Makarov was nothing short of a naval genius- which just goes to show how fucked up the whole Russian system was OTL in that even he couldn't do better against the Japanese. For all of the grief, some justified, that Russian commanders got as incompetent, not all of them were, not by a long shot. But the material they had to work with! individual brilliance simply can not replace institutionalized rationalism and review
