Under Franz’s intervention, the Navy’s all–big–gun battleship project passed without much resistance. There was no grand announcement, nor was there any deliberate secrecy. After all, it was only an experimental vessel, and no one could guarantee its success. The Austrian government had already stumbled into too many traps along the road of naval innovation. Without fail, every time a project failed, a swarm of so-called “hindsight experts” would emerge to criticize it, painting the Navy Ministry as a wasteful bunch squandering taxpayers’ money. In truth, failed experiments were not the problem. What truly hurt the Navy’s reputation was the lack of impressive combat achievements. If the Army, with its long record of victories, had suffered similar setbacks, no one would have dared to complain so loudly. Each failure was a lesson learned. After so many painful experiences, the Navy Ministry had adopted a quiet approach toward new technologies and theories. If a project succeeded, it would be announced publicly and the Navy could bask in the applause. If it failed, they would simply swallow the bitter fruit in silence. That was the price of walking on the cutting edge of an era. In scientific research, there was no such thing as endless victory. Every success was built upon countless failures. Of course, not all failures were equal. If a prototype ship failed to meet its design goals or lacked combat practicality, that was acceptable. But if basic engineering principles were ignored and the vessel sank before even leaving port, then accountability was unavoidable. Keeping a low profile was fine, but secrecy was unnecessary. Battleships were enormous machines, and once construction began, they could not be hidden. In the nineteenth century, a battleship represented the pinnacle of a nation’s industrial capability. Building one required the cooperation of at least a hundred different enterprises. With such a massive operation, there was no way to conceal it. At best, one could hide the ship’s specifications and its construction itself was no secret. Even within the Holy Roman Empire, there were only a few shipyards capable of building such vessels. They had long been monitored by foreign spies, who could tell a warship was being built the moment they saw the materials being delivered. If the Austrian government wanted to, it could even use this to play at strategic deception by putting merchant ships into the same drydocks to throw off observers. But there was no real need for that. If Franz had not feared arousing British suspicion, he might have openly leaked the full design specifications of the new battleship himself. After all, an arms race needed rivals to participate. If Britain remained unaware, what was the fun in that? The idea of “keeping it secret” to gain a technological edge and launch a surprise attack only existed in theory. The bigger issue was that the dreadnought itself was full of uncertainty. Before the ship touched the water, no one could say for sure whether it would succeed. If Franz could have been one hundred percent certain of success, he would have ordered a dozen to be built at once and struck Britain before they could react. In reality, the dreadnought’s creation in the original timeline was anything but smooth. Everyone remembered Britain’s eventual triumph, but few paid attention to the long trail of setbacks that came before it. The timeline had been pushed forward by ten years, and Franz could not guarantee that the Navy Ministry’s “Dreadnought Project” would be flawless. If there were flaws in the design and they ended up building a fleet of oversized toys with no real combat value, it would be an embarrassment of monumental proportions. Even the Emperor could not afford to shoulder that kind of political risk. Gambling was a monarch’s greatest taboo. The people did not want a reckless ruler; they needed one who was calm and reliable. Small nations had no choice but to take risks, but great powers had many options and a far higher margin for error. For them, prudence was the true path to strength. Since none of the ship’s technical data had been leaked, the outside world simply assumed it was another standard battleship. The Holy Roman Empire built them almost every year anyway, so no one paid much attention. Franz was in no hurry. Once the ship was launched, Britain would find out soon enough. When that moment came, the shock to the British government would be far more devastating. According to the plan, the Empire’s first all–big–gun battleship was scheduled to begin construction in early February 1898. Barring any unforeseen setbacks, it would be ready for launch by 1899. The timing could not have been more perfect. The Central Asian Railway was set to open around the same time. With both its naval supremacy and India under simultaneous threat, Britain was bound to lose its composure. If the British government did not go mad, it would at least be in a state of frantic panic. … That evening, the Spanish Embassy in Vienna was brightly lit, music drifting through the air as a diplomatic ball got underway. “Your Excellency, I assure you, our government has no designs on your colonies. Don’t you ever get tired of probing us every few days?” The Holy Roman Empire’s Foreign Minister, Wessenberg, was visibly exasperated. He had no idea where the Spaniards had gotten the idea that Austria was plotting against Morocco, but for the past several days, Ambassador Brad had been hounding him relentlessly. To verify things, Wessenberg had consulted the military and the Colonial Office, even sent a telegram to the Algerian provincial government. Every reply came back the same: there were “no current plans” concerning Morocco. But no matter how patiently Wessenberg explained, Ambassador Brad refused to believe a word of it. Well, he could hardly be blamed. Saying there were no plans “right now” did not mean there had never been any before, nor that there would not be in the future. When it came to overseas expansion, the Austrian government granted broad autonomy. Not only could the military and Colonial Office take the initiative in opening new territories, but colonial administrations, nobles, and even private organizations could do so as well. Usually, before a new expedition began, the organizer would notify the nearest government office but even that was not mandatory. The rule was simple: whoever started it, owned it. If the colony succeeded, the government would recognize it. If it failed and was privately led, then all losses would be borne by those involved. Over the past few decades, the Austrian government had issued no fewer than eighty to a hundred thousand colonial licenses. Those with the right to establish colonies were as numerous as the stars. And with so many colonial ventures out there, it was inevitable that more than a few would have their eyes on Morocco. Among the countless colonial enthusiasts, a few fools had even leaked their own colonization plans to the Spanish government. That sort of thing was all too common. Wessenberg had dealt with such protests more times than he could count. It was not just Spanish colonies that attracted this kind of trouble, even British territories sometimes caught the attention of overly ambitious schemers. Most of the time, these wild ideas never went beyond the planning stage. Without the backing of the Austrian government, very few had the courage or the resources to actually act on them. Wessenberg could only vouch that the Holy Roman government had no designs on Morocco. As for private individuals causing mischief overseas, that was none of his concern. After all, Spain was still a middle power. A few civilian colonial groups would not dare provoke it directly. From Wessenberg’s point of view, Ambassador Brad’s nervousness was a complete overreaction. Brad, however, looked genuinely offended and protested, “Your Excellency, I am not probing you. You know as well as I do that Spain has suffered terribly from years of war. The government’s finances are under enormous strain. Although we recently suppressed a colonial rebellion, the local economy is still far from recovery. For the next few years, our colonies will not generate wealth. On the contrary, they will continue to drain the treasury. After careful consideration, the government has decided to sell the Moroccan territories. And given the long-standing friendship between our two nations, I came to you first.” Wessenberg’s firm denial only made Brad more convinced that Spain’s suspicions were correct. If the Holy Roman Empire truly had its eyes on Morocco, then the powerless Spanish government needed to act quickly to minimize its losses. If the colony could no longer be kept, then at least it should be sold for a decent price. Unfortunately, in these times, buyers were hard to find. Many nations coveted Morocco, but few had the nerve to snatch it from the lion’s mouth. Even the British were hesitant. For them, extending its border with the Holy Roman Empire would only increase the strain. Buying Morocco was easy, but holding it afterward was another matter entirely. No one in their right mind would station hundreds of thousands of troops just to stare down the Holy Roman Empire over one colony. A maritime empire that tried to challenge a continental power on land was simply asking for trouble. The truth was that Spain’s rule over Morocco existed mostly on paper, and that authority had been gained through dubious means. The Moroccans themselves never acknowledged it. If Spain had fully occupied the territory and established a stable order, perhaps there might have been a few who dared to seize it. But as things stood, it was little more than a fragile claim waiting to crumble. After all, by this point the Austrian government cared about appearances. The government would not simply snatch someone else’s colony without a reason. Unfortunately for Spain, what it could actually sell was little more than a name. At best it could bargain control over the northern regions. Even that strip of territory was limited in size and weak in authority, constantly threatened by native tribes. In that context, paying a high price for Morocco would not only risk offending Austria, it would also mean sending troops to fight the Moroccans. It would be a losing bargain. Since no one was willing to pay big money, Spain turned to Austria with its problem. After long negotiations, the Spanish government discovered that the Holy Roman Empire was not like other continental hegemons. It cared about its image and its dignity. For Spain, Austria’s desire to save face was actually a blessing. A leader who cared about appearances would not stoop to looting a weakened neighbor. If anything, Austria would avoid taking the territory cheaply. Out of a desire to avoid the stigma of bullying the small countries, they might even insist on paying a high price. Colonies are a form of wealth, and wealth can be traded. In the original timeline Spain almost sold Cuba, though the Americans were clumsy in the deal. The purchase offers were full of traps and empty promises. At that time the dollar was not a universally trusted currency. The United States insisted on paying in dollars, and it refused to pay in one lump sum. If one could have exchanged one hundred million dollars for one hundred million pounds in cash, the Spanish-American War might never have happened. At this point Wessenberg decided not to argue further. Let the misunderstanding stand. If Austria really wanted to be a hegemon, it could live with a few rumors. If Spain dared to sell, Austria would dare to buy. Morocco was a rare prize in Africa. It offered fertile land, a reputation as a cool land under the blazing sun, and the title of North Africa’s garden. Most important of all, it controlled the gateway from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. Under Spanish control, Morocco’s strategic value was nearly zero. In Imperial hands, it would lock down the western gate of the Mediterranean. The domestic press could boast again, “The Mediterranean is our inland sea.” Such bragging might seem arrogant, but Spain, France, Greece, Montenegro, Sardinia and the other Mediterranean states would have little ground to complain. With military and political advantages on offer, even nominal suzerainty would not come cheap. After a moment, Wessenberg spoke slowly, “Very well. Since your government faces financial difficulty, we can understand your wish to sell the Moroccan regions. However, your government does not fully control Morocco. The Kingdom of Morocco still has some strength, so the price must reflect that. If your government really wants a good price, my suggestion is this: occupy Morocco first, then talk to us. If you take control and establish order, we will offer a price that will satisfy you. You will not be shortchanged.” Knowing full well that urging Spain to invade Morocco was unrealistic, Wessenberg did not hesitate to toss the idea into the conversation. He was not trying to drive the price down. His real aim was to make Ambassador Brad face reality. Austria might care about appearances, but that did not mean the Empire could be treated like a walking wallet. No sooner had he said it than Brad’s face changed color. If Spain had the strength to crush the Kingdom of Morocco, they would have done it years ago. Morocco had survived as an independent state for so long not only because the great powers checked each other, but because the Moroccans themselves were not weak. Spain had sent forces north more than once to deal with native tribes, and none of those expeditions had solved the problem once and for all. Wiping out the Kingdom of Morocco sounded easy in theory, but in practice it would cost an unknown fortune in men and materiel. Brad chose to ignore Wessenberg’s hint about a fair price. Such talk was for listening only. If taken seriously, it would be foolish. “Your Excellency, given our current condition, this is not the time to start another war. Spain needs to recover. As for your concerns about the Kingdom of Morocco, they are overblown. It is just an indigenous state. For your government, erasing them would be child’s play. You would not even need to deploy the army. If Austria so inclined, irregular forces alone could defeat Morocco ten times over. Such dust in the wind will not affect this sale.” The flattery was shameless. Ambassador Brad, desperate to sell Morocco for a good price, had abandoned any sense of restraint. Wessenberg accepted the praise with a wry smile. A hegemon must carry the air of a hegemon. If one did not believe in one’s own strength, how could one lead? In fairness to Brad, his boast was not entirely baseless. Morocco posed little real threat to the Empire, and its private militias were famously eager. If the Holy Roman Empire gathered every irregular force in the realm, it would not only be able to subdue Morocco, it might even challenge Spain itself without breaking a sweat. If one were to rank the world’s land armies, the list would look something like this: First, the Holy Roman Empire; Second, the Russian Empire; Third, the Holy Roman Empire’s noble private armies; and so on. There was no shame in that. These men had earned their status on battlefields. They might not excel at everything, but on the field of war they were fearless. Until these veterans met their end, the noble private armies remained a formidable fighting force. “Ambassador, talk without action is meaningless,” Wessenberg said. “If your government truly intends to sell Morocco, then give us a price.” Wessenberg seemed in high spirits. Brad’s flattery had had an effect, and might even be entertained by the deal. Brad answered, “Very well, Minister. Morocco carries great economic, military, and political value. I believe three hundred million guilders is a fair price.”
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