The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1017 The lightning of France will eventually roar!

December 1888, Admiralty Building, Washington, D.C.

The flames in the fireplace flickered, casting long and short shadows of everyone in the meeting room. Secretary of the Navy William C. Whitney stood before the long table, his fingers tapping on a newly arrived copy of a telegram, his voice low and menacing:

"Gentlemen, the Rome Peace Conference is about to conclude the Treaty on the Limitation of Naval Armaments." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping over Chief of Naval Operations Stephen B. Luce, Commandant of the Naval War College Alfred Mahan, Director of the Naval Ordnance Bureau George Dewey, and in the corner, a middle-aged man in an army uniform—Lieutenant Colonel William Tecumseh Sherman, son of the Commander-in-Chief of the United States.

"The tonnage of capital ships of various countries is as follows—" Whitney paused, then read on, "Taiping Heavenly Kingdom 150 million tons, Great Britain 120 million tons, Germany 60 tons, United States of America 60 tons, Red France 40 tons, Russia 40 tons..."

"What?!" Luce slammed his fist on the table, the coffee cup rattling loudly. "The United States Navy is only half the size of Britain's? Only 20 tons more than France and Russia during the Civil War? How is that enough?!"

Lieutenant Colonel Sherman coldly raised his eyes, his voice piercing through Luce's anger like a razor's edge: "Only 60 tons. That's the maximum the United States can negotiate at the Rome Peace Conference." He stood up, his boots slamming heavily on the floor. "What the Navy needs to consider now is how to use these 60 tons to defeat Britain's 120 million tons, France's 40 tons, and—" He paused, a cold smile creeping onto his lips, "...the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom fleet that might appear in the Atlantic."

The conference room was deathly silent.

After a long while, Mahan slowly spoke, holding the draft treaty in his hands, as if he had just finished reading it: "Oh... this definition of 'capital ship' also includes aircraft carriers."

Whitney nodded. "Yes, what's your opinion?"

Mahan looked up from the document, his eyes behind his glasses flashing coldly: "During the Battle of the Coral Sea, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's biplanes damaged British battleships." He put down the document, his fingers lightly tapping the table. "And with the rapid advancements in aviation technology... is it possible that, twenty years from now, those 5-ton steel behemoths will be destroyed by 500-pound or 1000-pound bombs falling from the sky?"

Dewey immediately understood his meaning: "Alfred, you want to use the capital ship quota on aircraft carriers instead of battleships?"

Mahan shook his head: "No, what I mean is, we don't need to rush to use up this 600,000-ton quota." He stood up, walked to the nautical chart on the wall, and traced the Pacific Ocean with his finger. "Before large-scale construction of new ships, we should conduct multi-faceted explorations. For example—" He turned, his gaze sharp, "we can convert a coal carrier into an experimental aircraft carrier to explore the possibility of aircraft taking off and landing on warships. If the results are satisfactory, then we can consider building a 10,000-ton light aircraft carrier, since a 10,000-ton light aircraft carrier doesn't take up any quota for capital ships."

He paused, then continued, “Of course, the construction of battleships cannot be ignored. But our quota is limited, and we cannot waste precious tonnage on ship types with low combat efficiency. I suggest building a few experimental ships first, accumulating experience, and then deciding on the final plan. And these experimental ships—” He looked at Dewey, “must have room for conversion, so they can be converted into aircraft carriers in the future.”

Sherman slammed his fist on the table. "Great! That's it!" He turned to Dewey. "According to the plan, what warships should we build next?"

Dewey replied, "The original plan was to build a battlecruiser with a standard displacement of 2.5 tons to test the reliability of the 13.5-inch main guns and large steam turbines. It is currently still in the design bidding stage."

Sherman Jr. sneered, "Very well, we need a battlecruiser that can be converted into an aircraft carrier after the verification mission is completed!" He paused, lowering his voice, "Also, I have another piece of news."

Everyone's eyes were on him.

"The Army is developing a frontline bomber to support armored forces in combat," he said slowly. "I hope the Navy will join this project and work with the Army to develop an aircraft—" he smirked, "capable of bombing enemy artillery positions and sinking battleships. When the next war breaks out, our aircraft will destroy those yellow-skinned monkeys in the West and that Britain across the ocean that betrayed white interests and colluded with the Taiping Rebellion!" With that, he suddenly raised his right arm and shouted in German, "Long live America!"

Everyone else in the conference room stood up, saluted, and shouted, "Long live America!"

Paris, December 1888.

The thin mist over the Seine had not yet dissipated, and the winter sun shone through the dilapidated rooftops onto the ruins of Saint-Denis Cathedral. In the square in front of the cathedral, a group of workers were using their rough hands to move bricks and stones, rebuilding the bell tower destroyed by German artillery fire. There were no smiles on their faces, only silent resilience.

"Hurry up! Finish building the west wall today!" shouted an official wearing a red armband, his voice sounding particularly hoarse in the cold wind.

Not far away, a thin old woman squatted by the roadside, clutching a piece of black bread in her hand, staring blankly into the distance. Her son had died on the front lines at Verdun, her husband had gone missing during the Battle of Paris, and now she was left with only a half-bombed house and a minor grandson.

“At least we’re still alive…” she murmured to herself, her voice so low it was almost inaudible.

People's Palace Conference Hall.

The holes in the walls, blasted by German artillery shells, had only been hastily repaired. At the long table in the meeting hall sat members of the People's Commissariat—Blanqui, Friedrich, General Dombrovsky, Eugène Pottier, and Karl Moore, who had just returned from Rome.

Moore wearily took off his glasses, rubbed his red eyes, and pushed a document to the center of the table.

"Comrades, the Rome Peace Conference is over." His voice was hoarse. "We did not win, but we survived."

The meeting room was silent, save for the occasional crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

“The Germans took Alsace-Lorraine, the three provinces of Fauge, Corsica, and the North African overseas provinces,” Moore continued. “Our northeast has become a demilitarized zone; no troops are allowed to be stationed north of Paris and east of the Seine, and the railways and ports are under German control. Calais and Dunkirk are the only exceptions, but those will be occupied by British and Taiping fleets and marines.” General Dombrovsky slammed his fist on the table, making his teacup jump. “What the hell is the difference between this and national subjugation?!”

Moore gave a wry smile: "The difference is—we're still alive, and Luo Yaoguo, the world's arbitrator, rejected Germany's reparations demand." He paused, then pulled a document from his briefcase. "Furthermore, France has been recognized as a great power—we've secured a quota of 40 tons for building capital ships."

Baudier sneered: "40 tons? We can't even afford to build a decent battleship, what use is that quota?"

“It’s certainly useless,” Moore nodded. “But this share at least means that the international community hasn’t kicked us out of the ranks of the great powers.”

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at Paris, which was being rebuilt.

"Comrades, our task now is not to build warships, but to rebuild the army." He turned around, took out a document written in Chinese from his pocket, and placed it on the table. "This is a secret suggestion from the General Staff of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom."

Blanki frowned: "Luo Yaoguo is giving us advice? What's he up to?"

Moore opened the document and pointed to the Chinese characters and French translation: "They believe that France should focus its efforts on developing three things over the next twenty years—tanks, airplanes, and trucks."

Friedrich narrowed his eyes: "Tanks? He means..."

"In the next war, tanks will dominate land warfare," Moore explained. "The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's General Staff believed that with the rapid development of internal combustion engines, metallurgy, and artillery technology, tanks would be able to easily break through defensive positions consisting of trenches, barbed wire, artillery, and infantry in 20 years!"

General Dombrovsky suddenly stood up, a fanatical glint in his eyes: "If we have such a thing, the German barbed wire and machine gun positions are nothing but scrap metal!"

Moore nodded: "Both the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom and Britain are willing to provide technical assistance, but on the condition that we become their tool to contain Germany in Europe."

Silence fell over the meeting room once again.

After a long silence, Blanqui slowly spoke: "So, Luo Yaoguo hopes we will fight Germany again in twenty years?"

“No,” Moore shook his head. “He wants us to be capable of winning in twenty years.” Moore’s gaze was sharp as he slowly swept over each of his comrades present. He took a deep breath, his voice low and firm:
"Comrades, look out the window. Look at the workers rebuilding their homes from the ruins, look at the women who have lost loved ones but are still persevering, look at the children who are still standing tall despite hunger! The people of France have not given in; they are rebuilding this city brick by brick, rebuilding the motherland of the working people with their own hands!"

His fist slammed heavily on the table, causing the documents to tremble slightly.

"Yes, we lost territory, and we were forced to accept humiliating treaties. But look at history! In 1793, monarchs from all over Europe united to strangle the French Republic. We lost our border fortresses, our entire fleet, and even Paris was once on the verge of collapse. But in the end? It was revolutionary France that brought freedom to all of Europe with bayonets and cannons!"

A glint flashed in Blanqui's eyes, and he sat up slightly.

"Now, history has given us twenty years." Moore's voice gradually rose. "Twenty years is enough for a generation to grow up, enough for us to rebuild our industry, enough for us to develop new weapons. And the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom and Great Britain, these two imperialist powers, must provide us with all the necessary assistance in order to contain Germany! In the future, we will certainly have enough tanks, airplanes, and trucks—these are the weapons of the future, the powerful tools that will enable us to defeat the strong with the weak!"

He walked to the wall, suddenly pulled back the curtains, and let the winter sunlight stream into the conference room.

"Look at those workers toiling on the construction site, they are the future of France! We must ensure they are well-fed and clothed, that they learn skills, and that they become the best workers, engineers, and soldiers in the world! We must ensure that every French child can go to school, that every factory operates at full capacity, and that every field yields a bountiful harvest!"

General Dombrovsky's eyes blazed with fighting spirit. He stood up and said, "Comrade Moore is right! This is not surrender, but the accumulation of strength! The Germans think they can suppress us forever with treaties, but they are wrong! We will use these twenty years to build a completely new army—a modern army equipped with tanks, airplanes, and trucks!"

Baudier also stood up, his voice trembling slightly with emotion: "We want the next generation of French people to know that their ancestors and fathers did not yield! We want the Germans to know that the anger of France is only temporarily dormant!"

Moore surveyed the crowd, his voice as firm as steel:
"Comrades, from this day forward, France will embark on a new expedition. We will rebuild not only our cities, but also our industry, our army, and our spirit! Twenty years from now, when our tanks roll across the Rhine and our planes soar over Berlin, the whole world will know—the lightning of France will finally rip through the skies of Europe!"

A burst of enthusiastic applause erupted in the conference room. Brown stood up, raising his fist:

"For France! For the Revolution!"

Everyone shouted in unison: "For France! For the Revolution!"

Outside the window, the Parisian sky gradually cleared. In the distance, on the construction site, workers were singing "La Marseillaise," their voices echoing above the ruins, as if proclaiming: the lightning of France will finally unleash its thunderous roar!
(End of this chapter)