"Ambassador, a telegram from home has arrived."
"Very well, let me see it."
Sir Frank Lascelles, the British Ambassador to Germany, took the telegram from his aide and scanned it. His face darkened almost instantly.
The message detailed a technical transaction between Germany's top steel firm, Krupp, and Britain's defense giant, Vickers.
Such deals between companies weren't unusual, but this one was different—it involved 12-inch naval guns.
These were massive cannons used as primary armament on battleships by several powers, including the British Empire. Krupp had paid a steep price to acquire the manufacturing technology for these guns from Vickers.
Something didn't add up.
The German Imperial Navy didn't even use 12-inch guns.
Their naval doctrine prioritized rapid-fire capability over raw firepower, which was why their High Seas Fleet's battleships, unlike those of other great powers, mounted smaller-caliber main guns.
The most advanced German battleship, the Wittelsbach-class, carried only 9.4-inch (24 cm) guns. Even the Braunschweig-class, set to begin construction this year, would only upgrade to 11-inch (28 cm) guns.
Krupp's lack of experience with large-caliber naval guns might explain some of this, but why go to such lengths—and expense—to acquire technology for a 12-inch gun they didn't need?
"Not long ago, it was steam turbine technology. Now, 12-inch guns," Lascelles muttered.
The steam turbine purchase from Parsons made sense. The Royal Navy, Britain's pride, was experimenting with turbines on new destroyers, and interest in the technology was growing among navies worldwide.
But 12-inch guns?
Those were battleship weapons, plain and simple.
"And didn't the German Imperial Navy recently halt all planned warship construction?"
At first, Lascelles had assumed it was a design issue. Now, it looked far more suspicious.
His instincts told him there was a 99% chance these events were connected.
"A new battleship, perhaps?"
As a seasoned diplomat, Lascelles quickly pieced together the German Navy's intentions.
They were likely planning a new battleship armed with 12-inch guns and powered by steam turbines.
"But why cancel all existing construction plans for it?"
The 12-inch gun was already standard for many navies, including Britain's. From Lascelles' perspective, Germany's moves didn't seem particularly groundbreaking.
And steam turbines? In Britain, they were only used on smaller vessels so far. Their effectiveness on a battleship was still unproven, and Lascelles had his doubts.
"There's something I'm missing."
Tapping the arm of his chair, Lascelles sank into thought. Things were starting to feel very wrong.
"This must involve the Kaiser's will."
Lascelles knew Kaiser Wilhelm II well and was aware of his obsession with the navy. An undertaking of this scale couldn't be driven by the navy alone—it had to come from the Kaiser himself.
"But what's his real goal?"
Despite a lifetime in diplomacy, Lascelles wasn't a naval expert. As a Briton, he knew enough about the navy, but this was beyond his expertise.
"Best to leave this to the Admiralty."
The Royal Navy, Britain's pride, would surely see through the German Navy's plans better than he could.
Sipping his tea, Lascelles began drafting a report for London.
Since Wilhelm II's ascension, the rapid rise of the German Imperial Navy had already strained relations between their countries.
If this new battleship truly shifted Germany's naval strength, Britain couldn't afford to ignore it.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Before Lascelles could finish speaking, his aide entered, holding a document with a grave expression.
"What's happened?"
"Ambassador, please take a look at this."
The aide handed him a newspaper.
It wasn't German.
"A French paper? From yesterday?"
"It was urgently sent by the British Embassy in France. They thought we needed to see it."
"From the French Embassy?"
Given the tense relations between France and Germany, Lascelles felt a growing unease.
"Let's see, then."
He put on his glasses and began reading.
As French was the diplomatic language of Europe, he had no trouble understanding it.
"Boy Who Saved the Kaiser: Exclusive Interview with Hans Jo. Dreyfus Innocent! Is Esterhazy a Double Agent? Was the Pardon a French Cover-Up?"
"What?!"
Lascelles spat out his tea, barely a minute into reading.
"What is this nonsense?"
He knew who Hans Jo was.
The young Eastern boy who'd caused a stir in Berlin recently was impossible to miss, even for the British Ambassador.
But what had the boy said?
The Dreyfus Affair? The scandal that had torn France apart for years?
"Bloody hell…"
Overwhelmed by the absurdity, Lascelles cursed under his breath.
Forgetting the German battleship for a moment, he dove into the article.
-----------------
Paris, Élysée Palace
"Gentlemen, your thoughts?"
Émile Loubet, the seventh President of the French Third Republic, spoke in a voice cold enough to chill the room.
"How do we resolve this?"
"Well…"
The military brass and cabinet ministers sat in stunned silence, unable to muster a coherent response.
Truth be told, they had no idea how to handle the situation.
In 1899, Captain Dreyfus, broken by his imprisonment on Devil's Island, had accepted a special pardon, and everyone thought the Dreyfus Affair was over. Who could've imagined it would reignite like this?
"First, we could seize all copies of Le Petit Parisien to stop further reports—"
"That'll just make them scream about censorship and stir up more trouble! You call that a solution?"
Bam!
Loubet slammed his fist on the table in fury.
"Get a grip! This is the Dreyfus Affair! Paris—no, all of France—is in an uproar!"
Outside the Élysée Palace, massive crowds were marching, demanding the truth about Dreyfus. As part of the Third Republic, this crisis could no longer be ignored.
"We've just learned that Émile Zola and Georges Clemenceau have contacted Dreyfus' family."
Zola, the fearless realist writer, and Clemenceau, the radical leftist currently sidelined in politics and working in journalism, were both icons of the pro-Dreyfus camp, fierce opponents of the government.
"They're likely planning to use this to push for a retrial and prove Dreyfus' innocence."
"Damn hotheads,"
Loubet muttered, grumbling to himself.
How could he not know Dreyfus was innocent?
As a progressive and a Dreyfusard himself, Loubet was no stranger to the truth.
"But as President, I have a duty to prevent France from descending into chaos."
That's why he'd offered Dreyfus the pardon.
It wasn't perfect, but it had calmed the storm—at least temporarily.
Clearing Dreyfus' name could come later.
Yet now, because of one Eastern boy, all his efforts had unraveled.
"What did the German Ambassador say about our protest?"
The Foreign Minister sighed before answering.
"They claim it has nothing to do with them. They added that the German government had no involvement in the interview with that yellow-skinned boy, Hans Jo."
The German Ambassador had even slipped in a thinly veiled insult: "It's just a child talking nonsense. Why take it so seriously? Is France really scared of a kid?"
The Foreign Minister kept that part to himself, for the sake of Loubet's blood pressure.
"So a nine-year-old Eastern brat can toy with the entire French government? Those cabbage-eating idiots must have rotten brains! Tell them to stop spouting garbage!"
Hans Jo, the boy who reportedly saved Wilhelm II's life, was surely a pawn.
The Kaiser or the German government had to be pulling the strings.
As a rational man, Loubet had no choice but to believe this.
"And what's this about Esterhazy being a double agent?"
Wasn't that just a wild claim from Esterhazy himself, now hiding in Britain?
The idea that Dreyfus' pardon was a cover-up for some darker truth was pure nonsense.
"Well…"
The military officers hesitated, their eyes darting nervously.
"So you have no answer, do you?"
Loubet glared at them, his gaze sharp enough to cut.
He wanted to purge these corrupt officers immediately, but for France's stability, he held back.
After a moment's thought, he made his decision.
"Esterhazy is not a double agent."
"What?"
"He's a traitor colluding with Germany. That's the line."
"Understood, Monsieur President!"
Whether Esterhazy was truly a double agent didn't matter anymore.
Admitting he was would be worse than proving Dreyfus innocent.
It would mean the military and government had framed an innocent man simply because he was Jewish.
If that truth came out, not only would Loubet's career end, but the French government's credibility would collapse overnight.
Esterhazy had to be a traitor.
"And tell Zola and Clemenceau that if Dreyfus himself requests a retrial, the government will allow it."
"Monsieur President! But—"
"Oh, I trust the military has no objections? If they have any sense left."
Under Loubet's piercing stare, the officers fell silent.
He'd already compromised on Esterhazy; pushing further risked a full-scale purge of the military.
"The military will not oppose a retrial for Captain Dreyfus."
"A wise choice."
The officers agreed, valuing their positions.
"But even if the military agrees, the Catholic conservatives will surely object."
"That's not your concern."
Loubet had long planned to root out Catholic influence from French politics.
Their role in the Dreyfus Affair convinced him that political Catholicism was a poison to France's interests.
As history would show, he aimed to strip Catholicism of its state-backed status within a few years, eliminating its secular power.
"But things are different now."
Loubet saw this crisis as a chance to accelerate his plans for secularization.
A skilled politician always turns danger into opportunity.
"The next few years must focus on internal reform."
Fortunately, this was a peaceful era.
Surely no war would break out in Europe anytime soon, right?
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