The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 995 Betrayal! Shameless!
Inside the meeting room at 10 Downing Street, the fireplace flames burned brightly, yet they couldn't dispel the chill in the air.

"Americans—traitors!" Prime Minister Gladstone slammed the telegram on the table, knocking over his half-finished coffee cup.

Prince George, Duke of Cambridge and Chief of the Imperial General Staff, picked up the crumpled telegram containing intelligence from papal agents—that U.S. Secretary of State Bayard and German Foreign Secretary Bismarck Jr. had secretly met in Rome to discuss an "American-German alliance."

"They dare to negotiate with the Germans behind our backs!" Foreign Secretary, the Earl of Salisbury, sneered. "Do these nouveau riche really think they can challenge the hegemony of the British Empire with just a few ironclad warships?"

"Now is not the time for insults," Lord George Hamilton, First Lord of the Navy, said in a deep voice. "The Germans have blockaded the Baltic Sea, and the Russians' ammunition and food supplies won't last much longer. There are riots in St. Petersburg every few days, and if a revolution breaks out in Russia, our troubles will be even greater."

Gladstone took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the table: "We've already signed the secret treaty with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, so the Indian Ocean is safe for now. Why don't we call the fleet back to Europe, break through the German blockade, and deliver some supplies to the Russians?"

“The Russians can’t take our aid for nothing.” War Secretary Henry Campbell-Bannavin frowned. “They have to withdraw from Asia Minor, relinquish control of the Turkish Straits, and get their puppet Tang Dynasty out of Persia.”

“That won’t do!” Navy Minister George Tracy shook his head repeatedly. “The Russians have already shed too much blood. If we force them to make further concessions, they might just make peace with Germany!”

“Then let them take Constantinople. Isn’t Constantinople on the Anatolian Peninsula?” Chancellor of the Exchequer William Harcourt said coldly. “Will they be satisfied now? As long as they can still keep the Germans occupied, we still have a chance of winning.”

Gladstone narrowed his eyes. "Luo Yaoguo's 14 points only mentioned withdrawing from the Anatolian Peninsula, and we agree with that. Inform the Russians accordingly." He nodded slowly. "In addition, recall part of the fleet to prepare for a forced entry into the Baltic Sea. Tell the Russians that the British Empire is fully supporting them and urge them to hold on a little longer."

He paused, a cold smile playing on his lips: "And tell them that we have secretly made peace with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, and from now on, all of NATO's resources will be used to deal with Germany!"

Indian Affairs Secretary Randolph Churchill hesitated, "But the United States..."

"What's wrong with America?" Gladstone interrupted coldly. "They're still our allies! Do they really dare to challenge the British Empire's Atlantic dominance with their fleet?"

First Lord of the Navy George Tracy whispered, "They might send a fleet to escort supplies to the Germans."

“Let them deliver!” Gladstone sneered, a sharp glint in his eyes. “As long as the Americans aren’t afraid of the British battleships, let them try!”

A brief silence fell over the meeting room, broken only by the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

Chancellor of the Exchequer William Harcourt suddenly spoke up: "Prime Minister, if the Americans really dare to challenge our fleet..."

Gladstone’s voice was low and dangerous: “The Royal Navy will let Washington know who the master of the Atlantic is.”

Prince George, the Imperial Chief of Staff, nodded slowly: "We still have several brand-new 'Dreadnought,' 'Invincible,' and 'Orion' class ships. Even the Germans' most powerful 'Nassau' class is no match for them, let alone the Americans..."

"The Americans?" Gladstone sneered. "Their ships, with a displacement of only 16000 tons, a speed of only a dozen knots, and main guns of only 10 inches, are sitting ducks when they encounter our new battleships!"

Lord First Lord of the Navy George Hamilton pondered for a moment and said, "If the Americans really take the risk, we can have the Mediterranean Fleet blockade Gibraltar and cut off their shipping lanes."

“No,” Gladstone shook his head. “Let them into the Mediterranean. If they dare challenge the Royal Navy, then let all of Europe see that the British gunboats are still the masters of the Western seas!”

The atmosphere in the meeting room immediately became relaxed and pleasant when the topic of teaching the Americans a lesson with Britain's newest battleships and battlecruisers came up!
If the Royal Navy couldn't defeat the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's navy, how could it possibly be unable to defeat the US Navy?

That's impossible!

Outside the Winter Palace windows, snowflakes fell, covering the leaflets and bloodstains scattered in the square.

Tsar Alexander III stood by the window, his grey-blue eyes fixed on the scene below—the Imperial Guard cavalry had just dispersed the workers protesting the bread price hike, and several corpses lay silently on the snow trampled by the horses' hooves, their bright red blood gleaming starkly against the pure white snow.

“Your Majesty,” Finance Minister Nikolai Benger said in a low voice, as if his voice was being squeezed out of his throat, “the ruble has depreciated again, and the price of bread on the black market is now ten times the official price.”

The Tsar did not turn around, but his fingers gripped the window frame tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Army Minister Pyotr Vanovsky looked grim, his uniform still stained with mud from the front lines: “Casualties at the front have exceeded 500,000. Soldiers don’t even have boots, and some regiments are even sharing a single rifle among three men.”

"Boots?" The Tsar sneered. "Can't the factories even supply leather?"

“It’s not that there’s a shortage of supplies,” the Finance Minister said bitterly. “It’s that the workers are on strike. The leather factories in Moscow and St. Petersburg have been shut down for two weeks, and the workers are demanding bread and wages—but the national treasury is almost unable to pay even the military’s salaries.”

The Tsar's chest heaved violently. He turned abruptly and slammed his fist against the window frame, making the glass vibrate.

“What did the British say?” he asked hoarsely. Foreign Secretary Nicholas Giles gripped the telegram in his hand: “They agreed to send a fleet to support us, but they demanded that we accept Luo Yaoguo’s 14 points regarding the withdrawal from Asia Minor. However, we can retain Constantinople.”

"Impossible!" the Tsar roared, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "Russia will not give up an inch of land!"

The Tsar's anger was justified—because he truly possessed Asia Minor, a peninsula dotted with mosques, which, with the support of the Tang army, had already been taken over by Russia.

Constantinople is still in Turkish hands. Having withdrawn from Asia Minor, how can Russia attack Constantinople? By flying over? Or by navigating the narrow strait?

"But if we refuse..."

"Then let the British fight the Germans themselves!" the Tsar roared. "We've shed so much blood, and all they think about is taking advantage of our misfortune!"

The meeting room was deathly silent, except for the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

Interior Minister Dmitry Tolstoy began slowly, his voice low and weary: “The People’s Will party is becoming increasingly rampant. Last week in Kyiv, they bombed and killed two officials who had been on the verge of expulsion.”

"Hang them!" A ruthless glint flashed in the Tsar's eyes. "Hang all the traitors in the square!"

“Your Majesty, the suppression requires the army,” the Minister of War said in a low voice. “But the Imperial Guard has already been transferred to the front lines, and the remaining military police are having difficulty even maintaining order in the city.”

The Tsar slammed his fist against the window frame again: "Then conscript the peasants! Let them pick up sticks and drive those rioters back to the factories!"

"Farmers..." the finance minister said with a wry smile, "Farmers are also unwilling to sell their grain. Ukraine's granaries are full of wheat, but they would rather let the grain rot in the cellars than accept the devalued rubles."

"Then we'll force them to hand it over at gunpoint!"

"Your Majesty, the grain requisition teams have been sent out three times already," the Minister of War said wearily. "But each time they return, they are missing men or guns. Some villages have even organized armed resistance..."

The Tsar's breathing was heavy, and his gaze fell once more upon the window. The bloodstains on the square had been covered by fresh snow, as if nothing had ever happened. But he knew that the storm had only just begun.

Navy Minister Ivan Shestakov smiled wryly: "The Black Sea Fleet is blocked by the Turkish Straits, and the Baltic Sea is blockaded by the Germans. We can't even get our grain ships out."

"Those British..." the Tsar's voice was hoarse, "...what exactly do they want to do?"

“They want us to keep bleeding,” the Foreign Secretary whispered, “until the Germans fall, or we fall.”

The Tsar's chest heaved violently. Finally, he slumped back into his chair, his voice hoarse: "Tell the British... we accept some of their terms. However, we cannot retreat immediately; we must at least wait until their supplies arrive before gradually withdrawing."

Inside the German Embassy in Rome, Bismarck the Younger stood by the window, gazing at the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the distance, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Mr. Secretary,” he turned and looked sharply at Bayard, “are you still worried about the British fleet?”

Bayard wiped the sweat from his brow; the cigar in his hand had burned to the end. "We've received word that the British have recalled their main fleet, preparing to force their way into the Baltic Sea."

"Let them come!" Bismarck Jr. suddenly raised his voice, slamming his finger heavily on the warship blueprints on the table. "Look at this—the 'Nassau-class' battleship, 18800 tons displacement, 280mm main guns, 300mm armor. The British 'Dreadnought'? It's nothing but a moving target!"

Bayard's eyes widened; the dense data on the design drawings made him dizzy.

Bismarck Jr. lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism: "Mr. Secretary of State, you need to understand one thing: it's not that the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was so powerful, but that the British themselves were failing! Their industry was already outdated, and their shipyards were still using technology from ten years ago."

He walked to the map of Europe on the wall and suddenly pulled back the curtain. "Look at this—the German Empire's steel production last year was more than double that of Britain, and Krupp's armor steel is 30% stronger than the British's. The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was able to defeat the British Navy not because the Chinese were so powerful, but because the British were already corrupt!"

Bayard frowned, clearly not believing it. "But what if the British really do break through the blockade?"

"They can't break through!" Bismarck Jr. said decisively. "Our high seas fleet will show the British who the true maritime hegemon of Europe is!"

Bayard nodded: "Good. If the German navy wins, then the American navy will enter the Mediterranean and deliver oil to Germany!"

"Alright! It's a deal!" Little Bismarck breathed a sigh of relief... That was all he could do. Now it was up to the High Seas Fleet to decide how to fight.

(End of this chapter)