The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 901: Germany can provide not only witches, but also battleships!

Potsdam New Palace, Hall of Mirrors
Crown Prince Frederick William, puffing on his briar pipe that had been with him for years, squinted through the swirling smoke at the royal couple being led by attendants through the Hall of Mirrors—Prince Arthur, the third son of Queen Victoria of Great Britain, and his wife, Princess Margaret, from a branch of the Prussian family. Frederick William's gaze lingered on Margaret for a moment. He tried to recall his relationship with this lady. Considering the intricate bloodlines of the Hohenzollern family, she was his niece (her grandfather, Prince Karl, was the brother of Frederick William's father, William I), the sister-in-law of his wife, Princess Victoria, and his great-niece… and so on. Frederick William twisted his pipe, rummaging through the dense web of European royal in-laws in his mind once more, then decided to give up trying to unravel this knot.

“My dear Arthur! My dear Margaret!” Princess Victoria, Frederick William’s wife, greeted him with a beaming smile. She wore a well-tailored silver-grey silk dress and simple diamond earrings; compared to the nouveau riche style often seen in the opulent Berlin court, her elegance and restraint exuded the refined taste of old British aristocracy. As Queen Victoria’s eldest daughter and eighth in line to the British throne (if her mother hadn’t been so fertile, she might have become Victoria II, and her son William might have been the future German Emperor Wilhelm II and King William V), she maintained a dignified and unassuming “British style” throughout the German court. She embraced her brother and sister-in-law (who was also her niece-in-law?), her gaze falling on her brother Prince Arthur’s slightly melancholy face, and she added softly in English, “How is Mother? She mentioned in her recent letters that she caught a cold.”

Prince Arthur, dressed in his crisp admiral's uniform, stood as upright as he had during his youth serving in the Royal Navy, but now his shoulders seemed to be weighed down by some invisible burden, and his movements were somewhat stiff. Hearing his sister's words, he gave a wry smile and said, "Mother is in good spirits, but she is overthinking things." He then turned to Frederick William, switching to fluent German: "Your Highness."

“We’re family, no need for formalities.” Frederick William waved for a waiter to bring whiskey and soda. After a few minutes of the usual royal pleasantries about health, the weather, and the recent court ball, he ended the pointless chatter first, removing his pipe from his mouth and tapping it lightly on the rim of the brass ashtray. “Arthur, my friend,” Frederick William’s voice was deep, “I can tell that your trip to Potsdam isn’t just about taking Margaret back to her parents’ home, is it?”

Prince Arthur took a deep breath, as if he had finally found a way out, and then, steeling himself, he steered the conversation toward a moment that made the air freeze:
“Your Highness is right. Actually… this trip also involves some… well, the recruitment of personnel in rather special professional fields.” He paused, seemingly considering his words, and finally managed to utter two syllables with difficulty, “… witchcraft, or rather… things related to witches.”

Frederick William's hand, which had just picked up a wine glass, paused very slightly in mid-air. "Witches?" he repeated, his voice perfectly calm. "Arthur, you want to recruit witches? What for?" He turned his gaze to Victoria, whose face was filled with astonishment and deep worry—had her brother lost his mind?

Prince Arthur gave another wry smile: "No, it's not all about recruitment. Britain... more precisely, the Royal Navy needs some relevant... information, or resources. I've heard that deep in the Harz Mountains of Germany, especially that small town called Goslar, is the most famous 'witch' gathering place in Germany... and even in all of Central Europe? And that legendary Broken Mountain... doesn't it have a so-called 'witch gathering' every year?"

Frederick Wilhelm stared at Arthur silently for a good four or five seconds. He then snapped out of his reverie, chuckled, and said, “The ghosts and witch legends of Mount Broken? Arthur, when did you become interested in these…German folktales?” He leaned forward slightly. “That’s right. The summit of Mount Broken does have a strange atmosphere when shrouded in mist, an optical phenomenon that defies scientific explanation, hence the legend of the witches’ gatherings. The small town of Goslar is quite happy to use this gimmick to attract tourists, selling witch-shaped gingerbread and candle souvenirs.” He exhaled a non-existent smoke ring, his expression languid with knowing wisdom. “If you’re interested, I can arrange for a guide familiar with the local legends to take you there tomorrow; the scenery is indeed quite beautiful.”

But at this moment, Prince Arthur shook his head and said, "Perhaps it's not just a legend, Your Highness! It's the Royal Navy! And our staunch ally in America, the United States of America (Eastern Union), their naval fleet encountered... some kind of mystical suppressive tactic when they were fighting the puppet state of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom (Western Union) in the Pacific!"

He spoke faster and faster, as if eager to finish recounting the absurdity: "According to accurate reports from the Americans, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom deployed a special group of female combat personnel on the US-Spanish Allied Fleet. They seem to possess some kind of 'witchcraft' originating from the ancient East! Through specific prayer rituals, they can incredibly enhance the accuracy of naval guns, maintain the stability of the propulsion system under extreme conditions, and even... even make their warships more likely to capture key wind and current changes that are favorable for navigation and seizing advantageous positions! We paid a heavy price on Oahu! The 'Constitution' and another 1.5-ton battleship were easily sunk! Frederick, this isn't a technological advantage; this... is downright blasphemy against the laws of physics! We must find a way to break this! Therefore, we need professional German witches! Or at least those with relevant knowledge!"

Dead silence.

Frederick William's pipe fell with a "clatter" onto the Persian carpet-covered floor. He sat stiffly in his large velvet armchair, his mouth slightly agape, as if pondering whether it was April Fool's Day.
Princess Victoria's gaze toward her brother had shifted from worry to a mixture of intense fear and pity, as if to say, "This poor child must be mentally ill."

“Arthur,” Frederick William’s voice was hoarse, “do you have any evidence for all that you’ve said… or… Her Majesty Queen Victoria…”

He caught his tongue; to continue would be to ask, "Has the Queen gone mad?"

Prince Arthur took the box bearing the British royal coat of arms from his adjutant. He then unlocked it and took out a sturdy letter with a wax seal. Unfolding the letter, Frederick William immediately recognized Queen Victoria's distinctive, clear, and slightly angular handwriting—a personal letter!

Princess Victoria, the Crown Princess, also leaned closer. After seeing the contents of the letter, she swayed involuntarily, only to be steadied by a nearby maid. She murmured a few words in English to her equally stunned husband: "Mother's handwriting...Mother's seal...Oh, God!"

It seems Queen Victoria might really have gone mad.
“Arthur, Margaret,” Frederick William’s voice had regained the composure befitting a crown prince, though his mind was still somewhat muddled, “Since this is… His Majesty’s will and order, then in the name of the German Crown Prince and the Prussian Crown Prince, I assure you that the German Empire will utilize all… possible resources to assist the British Royal Navy…”

The next day, at the Berlin Imperial Palace, in the private council chamber of Emperor Wilhelm I.

On the throne, the eighty-five-year-old Emperor Wilhelm I, dressed in a plain, almost outdated Prussian general's uniform, had thinning silver hair and a hunched back, seemingly bent by the immense burden of the empire. His beloved grandson, William, stood to his grandfather's right, dressed in a perfectly tailored, gleaming new army colonel's uniform, his back ramrod straight, his brows revealing undisguised youthful vigor and... undisguised mockery of the absurd scene before him.

Prince Bismarck, the Prussian giant revered throughout Europe as the "Iron Chancellor," stared intently at Crown Prince Frederick William, who stood before him with an unusually deep and bewildered expression. Beside him stood Count Helmut von Moltke, the seventy-six-year-old Prussian military genius and Chief of the General Staff, his face also bearing the shock of someone listening to a madman telling a story.

“…That’s how it is, Your Majesty, Your Highness, Chief of the General Staff.” Frederick William finally finished his “mad ramblings.” “This is a letter from Queen Victoria herself.” He respectfully presented the document before the throne. Grandson William almost rushed forward before the attendants could, took the letter, glanced at the signature and the distinctive seal at the end, and immediately whispered, “Grandfather, it is indeed…a letter from my maternal grandmother, Victoria.”

Emperor William I opened his eyes very slowly, the whites of his eyes somewhat cloudy, but the sharp glint in his eyes had not disappeared. He did not immediately look at the letter, but instead laboriously cast his gaze at Bismarck, his eyes seeming to ask: What if the Queen of England goes mad?
Bismarck's brow furrowed deeply, and he stroked his gray beard, seemingly pondering every unbelievable detail in Frederick William's words: The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's fleet used what the British called "witches'" mysterious powers? Improved gunnery accuracy through prayer? Manipulated ocean currents and winds? This plot from a medieval Black Forest witch tale had somehow become the focus of attention at the highest levels of the British Royal Navy?
Moltke, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke up: "Your Highness, are you saying... that the British believe their fleet was technically defeated by... witchcraft?" A hint of absurdity flashed across his stern face.

“It’s not me who ‘thinks’!” Frederick William practically spat out the reply. “It’s the British who think! It’s their naval fleet and intelligence agencies that have reached this insane conclusion! They’re now like a bunch of terrified rabbits, searching the whole world for any…tools that can counter this ‘mystical threat’! And our allies have made this…request for assistance!”

Silence fell again in the council chamber. The young and impetuous Prince William finally couldn't help but lower his voice and complain to his grandfather, but the volume was loud enough for everyone present to hear: "They're insane, completely insane... Should I go and call Professor Merlin, the chief physician of the court, to ask them?"

"Silence, William!" Frederick William jerked his head up, sharply stopping his son. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and turned to Bismarck: "Your Highness, this is a letter from Queen Victoria herself! It's a formal diplomatic note from the British government, delivered through royal channels—the highest level of diplomatic protocol! No matter how outrageous the truth behind it may be—the British treat it as a real threat. We must give them a response! A statement!"

He paused, his voice carrying a desperate resolve: "Even if it's just a symbolic trip to Goslar with a few folklorists and psychiatrists to write a perfunctory report full of medieval witchcraft stories, it's better than a direct rejection that would make them doubt the sincerity of the German Empire!" He knew that what could truly move Bismarck was not the debate over the existence of "witches," but rather cold political calculations.

Bismarck remained silent for a full minute—a long period of contemplation for him.

“Your Majesty,” Bismarck’s deep voice finally broke the silence. He bowed slightly to the old emperor, his tone frighteningly steady, “I fully understand His Highness the Crown Prince’s position. It is indeed a… extremely troubling and absurd request. However, considering the overall strategic situation of the Empire… I suggest that we should not only satisfy the British’s partial ‘investigation’ needs in this regard, but also do… more and more thoroughly.”

"Hmm?" the old emperor uttered a single questioning syllable.

"More?" Frederick William and his grandson William were both taken aback.

Even the shrewd and calculating Moltke cast an inquiring glance his way.

“Yes, more.” Bismarck took a small step forward. “We’re not just sending men to the Goslar Mountains to search for a few ‘young women who are passionate about the German Empire’ to do for them.”

He looked at the young Prince William, his eyes seemingly guiding him to see the grand scheme of things. "Prince, please answer me: Is pushing Britain into a full-scale war with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom the most core, the highest priority, and the long-term strategic goal concerning the fate of the nation, of the German Empire over the past twenty years?"

Prince William straightened his back without hesitation, exuding a strong sense of superiority and mission: "Of course, Your Highness! As long as Britain and that heretical regime in the East are engaged in a protracted and large-scale naval war, Britain will inevitably devote the main force of its massive navy to the Pacific Ocean, leaving it no time to maintain an absolute advantage in Europe that can simultaneously suppress German naval and land forces, prevent the rise of Germany, and break the blockade imposed by the pernicious influence of the French Revolution! Only in this way can we win precious time and space to dominate the European continent!"

“Excellent!” Bismarck nodded approvingly. “Then we are now facing a golden opportunity! The British, frightened by the ‘ghost’ in the Pacific—whether that ghost is a real Eastern witch or a sophisticated strategic deception—have come to us seeking ‘help.’ What are they feeling right now? Fear! A great anxiety about the possibility that their own power might fail in a certain area! What are they most worried about right now? They fear that if the conflict in the Pacific escalates further, our German Empire or Tsarist Russia will take advantage of the situation in Europe!”

He spoke faster, each word clear: "If we merely send a few fake 'witches' or a symbolic research team as a perfunctory gesture, the British will only feel that we are being perfunctory, and their inner fears and doubts will not be truly appeased! They might instead hesitate, postpone, or even temporarily shelve the decisive battle with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom to avoid trouble in their own backyard! But that would completely violate our core national interests!"

Bismarck abruptly waved his hand, pointing to the somber silhouette of Berlin outside the window—a silhouette symbolizing steel power and heavy industry: "Conversely, what if we gave them a 'sense of security' far exceeding their expectations, in a way that thoroughly reassured them at the strategic level? What if we offered not just vague 'witch clues,' but tangible, impactful assets that would shake the entire Pacific theater, making all onlookers (including Russia) believe that Germany had staked everything on the naval supremacy, leaving absolutely no room to threaten British maritime dominance and the European maritime order?"

Prince William's eyes widened, as if he had caught an unbelievable thought: "Your Highness...you mean...battleships?"

“Exactly!” Bismarck’s gaze swept over Frederick William’s shocked face and the old emperor’s thoughtful eyes, and he stated the earth-shattering decision with unwavering certainty:
"Transfer all three of the most powerful, advanced, and technologically advanced first-class battleships—the second ship of the Brandenburg class, the Elector Frederick Wilhelm, the third ship, the Wiesenberg, and the fourth ship, the Wools—that we are currently outfitting and commissioning at the Nord shipyard, to our ally, the United States Navy! Immediately! And dispatch corresponding corps of sailors and instructors to assist them in forming combat capability! Assist them in establishing an iron barrier in the eastern Pacific that can threaten the Spanish-American alliance and blockade the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom fleet's shipping lanes!"

(End of this chapter)