From: “Years of Infamy: The Black Twenties” by Maurice Yewdall and Ernest Young (1988)—
The period leading up to the outbreak of open war over Khiva remains one of the most analysed by historians. It differs from the Pandoric War, whose trigger was an unforeseen lit match cast randomly into a global assembly of metaphorical oil drums. Those seeking a guiding narrative for the leadup to the Pandoric War, whether Societists, Diversitarians or others, must remain frustrated by its arbitariness. Some even resort to virtually inventing labels for alliances, or at least adopting them anachronistically (such as the postbellum academic term ‘Diametric Alliance’ for the Russo-Meridian cobelligerency) in a desperate attempt to create order where none exists.
By contrast, a quarter-century later there is far more meat for historians to get their teeth into. Some form of conflict was long prophesied, viewed as inevitable and forces in Petrograd, Paris, Fredericksburg and elsewhere were moving in attempts to ensure that that conflict served their own interests. Alliances were very real and deliberately formed, in comparison to the ephemeral cobelligerencies of convenience that had characterised the Pandoric War. Yet the apparent solidity of such pacts began to evaporate as soon as the first French Vultur shot down the first Russian bomber over Khiva, and war shifted from theoretical inevitability to harsh reality.
Here in the ENA, our popular historical narratives have tended to focus on the idea of America as France’s only ‘true’ friend of any consequence, comparing America’s honour favourably against Chinese perfidy. The persistence of this view speaks well of the skills of Imperial government propagandists. Initially, in a contemporary sense, the positioning of America as France’s Cher Ami was purely for internal consumption. It is easy to forget that, prior to the rise of the UPSA, France had been America’s defining foe since the days when she had been a mere collection of English colonies clinging to the eastern seaboard of our great continent. Even after the Silver Torch was lit in battle against the Jack and George, Americans and Meridians often shared mutual respect for one another’s countries, and it took the Great American War to turn friendly rivalry into bitter opposition. By contrast, Americans had fought French forces since the seventeenth century, and until the Third War of Supremacy, that conflict was seen as an existential one in which French fortresses and Indian alliances directly threatened American subjects. Though Americans had fought against Republican France, the ENA’s long history of conflict with the Bourbons manifested in a hostile attitude even during the 1830s, when France’s occupation of the Channel Islands met with a negative diplomatic response from Fredericksburg.
Such Franco-American tensions prevented the two countries from any kind of meaningful cooperation against mutual foes in the Great American War. They finally began to ease in the Long Peace and the final French withdrawal from Nouvelle-Orléans, but were reignited when the American monarchy was overthrown in England and Scotland with the assistance and protection of French forces. Only two decades before the outbreak of war in 1922, waves of francophobic riots had broken out against French subjects and businesses in American cities over the fate of the British Isles; at that time, most Americans refused to admit that the Third Glorious Revolution had been homegrown. Such an attitude also ensured yet another lack of cooperation between Fredericksburg and Paris over a rising threat, this time to that of Societism in the former UPSA. Many Americans rejoiced in 1907 at the news that the French International Expeditionary Force had been thrown out of South America, little dreaming of what was to come.
The fact that an alliance of mutual convenience existed at all between France and America in 1922 was the result of years of hard diplomatic work by both sides, multiple governments from different parties all having become convinced that an expansionist and industrialised Russia represented an existential threat to both their countries’ interests. Trying to sell this pragmatiste idea to a sceptical American public was a tall order, and it is small surprise that propaganda seized upon the idea of American honour and friendship in contrast to China’s betrayal. It was a way of appealing to American patriotism and faith in our country’s values, without too much focus on the fact that the country she was being honourable and friendly to was a traditional foe. Later, of course, the position shifted subtly; China’s name was further blackened by what came later in the Black Twenties, and the American propaganda view of France became more paternal and patronising in tone. American observers looked on unrest in Pérousie and, later, Bisnaga, and considered it self-evident that France was a fading great power who could no longer keep up with the vast resources of continent-spanning nations like the ENA, Russia, or China (or the Combine, some at the time might have said). The attitudes of 1930s Americans tended to praise ‘quaint’ French culture while adopting the same kind of ferdinandismo views of the country’s global relevance that their grandparents had held of Great Britain.[1]
Naturally, views were quite different in France. The French people had historically regarded America as more of an ‘unknown rival’ and quite far down the list of traditional enemies, so there was little of the same need by the French government to convince its voters that an alliance with Fredericksburg was a good thing. When news of China’s betrayal reached Paris on June 21st, 1922, there were (unsurprisingly) riots targeting Chinese economic interests in France and targeted attacks on anyone whom the mob thought looked Chinese (the tragic drownings of two Siamese students in Toulon are a case in point). However, as far as cooler-headed European public opinion was concerned, what really mattered was what impact China’s failure to honour her alliance (as the French saw it, though said alliance had always been only implied) on the rest of the shaky edifice. Would the ‘Cannae Mondiale’ truly hold together in the face of the Russian menace, or would other rats begin leaving the sinking ship? Would Paris, in the end, be robbed of her friends and be forced to roll over in favour of Russian domination of the Middle East?
Though American propaganda might profess loyalty and honour, the French and their neighbours barely considered the role of America in the alliance. The ENA had always been peripheral, cooperating due to her own interests. Prime Minister Cazeneuve knew that President Fouracre could be trusted to lead his country against Russian North America, to recoup her losses in the Pandoric War and perhaps even attempt to drive the RLPC from the continent altogether. But, beyond that, the ENA lacked much of a dog in the fight for how the war went elsewhere. It would be only a long-term problem for Fredericksburg if all of Europe fell to the Tsar and his new alleged legions of fast armarts capable of overwhelming a whole country in days.
No; as far as France, and wider Europe, were concerned, all eyes were now turned on Germany. Germany was the keystone of the so-called ‘Bouclier’ that put a buffer between France and those armart legions massing in Poland. She certainly had reasons for wanting to oppose the Tsar, having lost not only forgettable overseas colonies but also the entire Kingdom of Bohemia. Bohemia, now the Kingdom of Czechosilesia, was not only a sizeable chunk of antebellum Germany’s wealth and people, but also played a key role in the country’s foundational mythos; it was there that High Saxon forces had crushed the Hapsburgs and driven them from an ancestral territory.[2]
Yet, at the same time, there were plenty of arguments to suggest that Germany might flinch at the news from China. Belgium had become a Russian ally since the Tsar helped Maximilian IV regain his throne, and more of a Russian puppet since he was succeeded by his son Charles Theodore III in 1920. Russian-allied Belgium, Poland and Czechosilesia meant that Germany was crushed between three hostile powers, with a rather narrow neck of Swabian and Grand Hessian territory all that stood in the way of the armart legions cutting the country in two. With France very much seen as a fair-weather friend, it would seem that few could condemn Bundeskaiser Anton for cold feet.
Other events among her neighbours slipped into the background as the eyes of Europe focused on Dresden. While Danubia had lost considerable territory to Russia in the Pandoric War, few were surprised to see her government (already quite Societist-influenced) declare for peace and neutrality. Bavaria, which had still been a theoretical French ally on paper thanks to the old Marseilles Protocol days, had been drifting away from any kind of meaningful military cooperation for years, especially under the new King Humbert.[3] The Chinese betrayal triggered a full declaration of armed neutrality, with Humbert declaring that the small but professional Bavarian army would be mobilised to defend the country’s borders from incursions by any of her neighbours. In practice, Bavarians and Danubians quietly co-operated and did not defend their own mutual border to spare troops elsewhere—a far cry from the bitter, bloody conflict which the two had known a century before. ‘Emperor’ Francis might have turned in his grave to see Vienna’s alliance with the land of his assassins. More surprisingly for European observers, China issued a message of support for Vienna and Munich, representing one of her first forays into truly global diplomacy. While it was clear the lukewarm collective security guarantee was really just an excuse for China to appropriate the nearby colonies of whichever nation violated Bavarian-Danubian neutrality, it still demonstrated that the world had changed.
Now, as armies and navies alike mobilised, much rested on the decision of Bundeskaiser Anton of Germany. It is small surprise that the drama of those black days formed the basis for the impactful yet controversial play Das Gewissen des Bundeskaisers (“The Conscience of the Federal Emperor”)…
*
(A further recording by Sgt Bob Mumby (BM) and Sgt Dominic Ellis (DE):
DE: Hurry up Bob, I want to digitise this one as well!
BM: Hurry – my [redacted] fingers are falling off, you [redacted] [redacted]! Next time you can copy up your own [redacted] children’s book.
DE: Yes, yes. But look what I found! In the education section of that thrift shop, remember? All those sold-on textbooks, revision guides, past exam papers?
BM (sighs): Yes, I remember. With all those warning stickers on saying they were outdated?
DE: I guess the risks around here of studying the wrong curriculum are even worse than at home. But at least it meant they were cheap! Remember, that was before Eamonn won all that local currency on the races, when we were at the end of our tether and we couldn’t go home—
BM: I mean, we still can’t. But I suppose at least we have money. (Sighs again) All right, how much is there to type up?
DE: Not that much. The other reason it was cheap, there’s pages missing. But at least some of the sources attached to this past exam question are still there, and from what Doc Wostyn’s last history book extract said, I think they may be relevant.
BM: …Fine. But the next time we go to the pub, the mint juleps are on you.
[1] Ferdinandismo refers to an attitude of Novamundine supremacism and contempt for the Old World as fading in relevance, especially Europe. In the context of 1930s America, it is often associated with industrialism and the nouveau riche.
[2] This is a bit of a woolly description, but this is a mainly American-focused history book.
[3] Humbert Victor – Umberto Vittorio to his family behind closed doors.
