The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 958 Alexander III: Russia Needs a Special Military Operation
August 3, 1884, Winter Palace, St. Petersburg.

The white light from the crystal chandelier illuminated the entire audience hall, casting a golden glow, yet it could not dispel the gloom between Alexander III's brows. He sat astride his gilded malachite throne, resembling a sullen polar bear in a tuxedo. When the captain of the guard of honor proclaimed, "Eugène Pottier, envoy of the French Commune Republic, has come before me!" a melody suddenly resonated deep within the ears of this most reactionary ruler in all of Europe: "Arise, ye prisoners of starvation!"

This revolutionary song, which spread from the revolutionary city of Paris to all of Europe, is also the national anthem of Red France! When the Red French embassy opened in St. Petersburg, the bright red flag was slowly raised and fluttered in the wind to the strains of this song that inspired countless Russian revolutionaries to oppose the Tsar!
At this moment, its author is getting closer and closer to the Tsar's throne.

The elderly Pottier leaned on a peachwood cane, his gray suit worn smooth at the elbows, and his briefcase cracked at the corners—he was probably the most shabby foreign envoy the Tsar had ever seen. And certainly the most dangerous! Not long ago, his name was on the assassination blacklist of the Third Department, but now he wore a bright red sash and became a distinguished guest of the Winter Palace.

This is all so absurd!
“Your Majesty,” Pottier’s voice was hoarse and his tone gentle, but his words still made the Tsar feel uneasy, “I, on behalf of the French working class, present the confirmation of the alliance to the Holy Russian Empire.” The parchment scroll was unfurled in the hands of his attendant, bearing the eagle and hammer and sickle emblem of the North Atlantic Alliance.

Foreign Minister Nikolai Giles, standing nearby, bowed and whispered, "The Germans have amassed 147 divisions along the Rhine." His tone carried a hint of schadenfreude, yet was also filled with anxiety about the future.

Army Minister Pyotr Ivanovsky whispered a warning: "Intelligence intercepted by the Warsaw Military District indicates that there are currently twenty-five German divisions facing us on the eastern front. If France cannot hold out..."

One hundred and forty-seven plus twenty-five—the Tsar's head was about to explode! Where did the German Empire get so many divisions? If each division has more than ten thousand men, that's two million troops! Back then, Emperor Napoleon led an army of six hundred thousand and almost wiped out Russia.

The Germans now have two million.
The Tsar sighed, raised his hand to stop his two "defeatist ministers," and fixed his gaze on Pottier: "Minister, when will the Germans attack? And where will their main attack be?"

The old poet pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase. On the top document was boldly written "Project Moltke"—Mortgock! That surname alone is intimidating!
"According to reliable intelligence, they will launch their attack when our French people are harvesting their crops," the old poet said angrily. "The specific time is early September, and the main direction of attack will be..." He paused, then took out a map, unfolded it in front of the Tsar with the help of two Tsarist guards, and pointed to a red arrow on it, "...in the Ardennes region of southern Belgium!"

"The Ardennes?" the Tsar asked. "Is this information reliable?"

"Very likely!"

The Tsar paused, then asked, "How long can you hold out?"

Eugène Pottier declared solemnly, "Red France will never yield to German imperialism. We will fight to the very end, until victory!"

Alexander III nodded emphatically: "Good! Tell Paris that by next summer, Russian bayonets will be pointed at Berlin." — He swallowed the rest of his sentence: "Once the French have bled dry, the German swords will be dulled. Then Russia will be able to win big!"

That night, in the Map Room of the Winter Palace.

Black Sea Fleet Commander Andrei Popov traced a line across the Bosphorus Strait and reported to the “Giant Tsar” standing beside him: “The British Mediterranean Fleet is conducting exercises in the eastern Mediterranean, and Rear Admiral Fisher’s battleships are patrolling the Aegean Sea. Their target should be Crete.”

“Therefore,” the Tsar said, “we need a very special military operation that is fast enough, fierce enough, and gentle enough!”

"Your Majesty, you are truly brilliant!" said Nicholas Benger, the Tsar's chief minister, in a flattering tone. "If we are fast enough, we can take Constantinople before the Germans destroy Red France. If we are fierce enough, we can intimidate Germany and Britain, preventing them from coveting Your Majesty's Third Rome. If we are gentle enough, we can stabilize Berlin and London!"

This "wanting it all," "wanting it all," and "wanting it all" is really too difficult. The Tsar turned to look at his most trusted Minister of War.

Army Minister Pyotr Ivanovsky rose to his feet, his boots slamming against the floor. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I propose that the main force of the Black Sea Fleet be deployed in conjunction with the army’s blitzkrieg.” He unfurled a battle map, red and blue arrows pointing in a crisscross pattern toward Constantinople.

"The Black Sea Fleet currently has 12 ironclad warships, four of which are the 'King Nikolai' class battleships," added Navy Minister Ivan Shestakov. "These warships are designed specifically for Black Sea operations, with shallow drafts and thick armor, making them suitable for breaking through strait defenses."

"The 'King Nicholas' class?" The Tsar narrowed his eyes. "I heard you changed its design?"

“Yes, those design changes were necessary!” Shestakov straightened his back. “This class of warship has a standard displacement of 11,500 tons and is equipped with four 254mm 45-caliber rapid-fire guns, all in twin turrets with a forward-mounted layout. Their firepower is sufficient to suppress Ottoman coastal defenses. The secondary armament includes eight 152mm rapid-fire guns and twelve 75mm anti-aircraft guns. The main armor belt is 203mm thick, and the turret frontal armor is 230mm thick, which is sufficient to withstand attacks from Turkish coastal defenses.”

"The 305mm recoilless guns have been replaced with 254mm rapid-fire guns," the Tsar nodded. "And its speed?"

"It has accelerated to 16 knots and still maintains tactical maneuverability in the Black Sea with an average current of 3 knots," Shestakov replied confidently. "It has a range of 4,000 nautical miles, enough for three round trips from Sevastopol to Constantinople."

"What about the Black Sea-specific design?" "A shallow draft of 7.2 meters, allowing it to approach the shallows of the Bosphorus Strait and bombard coastal defenses; an icebreaking bow and torpedo-resistant bulges capable of ramming Turkish wooden patrol boats and withstanding torpedoes equivalent to 50 kilograms of TNT; and a removable filter installed at the boiler air intake, specifically designed to cope with the high salinity and corrosion of the Black Sea."

The Tsar nodded in satisfaction: "Can four ships firing simultaneously destroy the Straits Fortress?"

“Within six hours, Your Majesty,” Shestakov tapped the model of Constantinople on the sand table, “enough to reduce the Ottoman coastal fortifications to ruins.”

Army Chief of Staff Nikolai Obruchev lifted the curtain, revealing a life-size sand table of Constantinople's defenses: "The key is speed—we must plant the Sultan's flag in the mud of the Golden Horn within a month of Germany's invasion of France!"

"A detailed plan for one month?" The Tsar's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's.

“It will be divided into three phases.” Obruchev pointed his baton toward the Danube River. “In the first phase, the Dnieper Corps of 12 men will launch a feigned attack on Bulgaria to draw the main Ottoman forces north; at the same time, the Armenian Fifth Column of 3 men will incite Kurdish tribes to attack the Ottoman army’s logistics.”

The command baton slid toward the eastern shore of the Black Sea: "In the second phase, 5 men from the 1st Guards Division will board ships at Batumi and head straight for Ankara; 1 marines from the Black Sea Fleet will establish a beachhead at the mouth of the Sakarya River."

Finally, the tip of the baton pierced Constantinople: "In the third phase, the 2nd Guards Division, with 80,000 men, advanced westward along the Choluch River Valley to cut off the Ankara-Constantinople railway; at the same time, four 'King Nicholas'-class battleships blockaded the straits to cover the army's general offensive."

"schedule?"

“If all goes well, His Majesty will be able to preside over Christmas Mass at the St. Sophia Cathedral before December 24th.” Ivanovsky’s lips curled into a cold smile.

The Tsar frowned slightly: "The British reaction."

Foreign Secretary Giles said, "As long as the war continues in Western Europe and in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, the British will tolerate us taking some of the Ottoman Empire's land."

Alexander III stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the Neva River was shrouded in a hazy morning mist, and the golden dome of the Peter and Paul Cathedral was faintly visible in the dawn light.

"Gentlemen," his voice was deep and powerful, "Russia's victory is not merely a military victory, but a historical inevitability."

He turned to his ministers, his eyes gleaming with an almost fanatical light: "Since the time of Kievan Rus', the Slavs have longed to return to Constantinople. It is our spiritual home, the holy land of the Orthodox Church! In 1453, the Ottomans defiled the Hagia Sophia, turning a Christian temple into a pagan mosque. But God has never forgotten his people!"

He clenched his fist: "Now, history has given us an opportunity! The Germans and the French will fight each other in the West, the British have been dragged into a maritime struggle by the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, and the Ottoman Empire is decaying and corrupt—this is God's gift to Russia!"

Chief Minister Benger nodded slightly: "Your Majesty, this is Russia's 'destiny'."

“That’s right!” The Tsar’s voice echoed like thunder in the hall. “What we want is not an ordinary war, but a ‘sacred liberation.’ We want the Slavs, Greeks, and Romanians of the Balkans to see that Russia is their true protector! We want Europe to understand that the keys to Constantinople will ultimately return to the hands of the Orthodox Church! We are the true Rome!”

He walked back to the sand table and pointed heavily at the location of Constantinople: "This is not conquest, but a return! When the Russian flag rises over Hagia Sophia, the entire Orthodox world will be shaken! Bulgarians, Serbs, Romanians—they will welcome our army as if they were welcoming a savior!"

Army Minister Ivanovsky straightened his back: "Your Majesty, the Imperial Guard is ready. They will fight for the dome of the Hagia Sophia!"

Navy Minister Shestakov stepped forward: "The sailors of the Black Sea Fleet are willing to shed their last drop of blood for the glory of Russia!"

The Tsar's gaze swept over everyone, finally settling on the huge oil painting on the wall—"The Fall of Constantinople." In the painting, Ottoman soldiers were trampling on Christian icons.

“This time,” he said softly, “we’re going to turn the scene in the painting upside down.”

(End of this chapter)