Chapter 11

The stench of American foreign policy in recent decades hangs heavy in the air, a fetid miasma compared to the crisp, almost brutal efficiency of Palmerston. Those who sneer at the "old ways" – let them taste the bitter ash of their own failures! Look at the bloated, blundering behemoth that is modern American hegemony! Measure its clumsy, grasping attempts at control against the surgical precision of the 19th-century British Empire, and tell me whose methods truly prevail! William IV, a man who savored the very taste of power, dreamed a potent dream. He imagined Palmerston, that icy viper of diplomacy, unleashed upon the sands of the Gulf War. Picture this: The air, thick with the scent of burning oil and fear, gives way to the sharp tang of a Pax Britannica imposed on a defeated Saddam. A treaty, signed under the gun, not the mealy-mouthed negotiations of weaklings. The rustle of silk, the weight of gold seals, the hiss of whispered concessions – all orchestrated by Palmerston's iron will. America, having secured its dominion, would trade freely with Iraq, a conquered land offering tribute. A swift, brutal stroke and the Arab nations, Kuwait trembling beneath the heel of American might, sign treaties granting permanent military bases – a gilded cage of their own making. Meanwhile, the whimper of Israeli concessions drowns in the roar of American power; a decisive partition, not a perpetual festering wound, established in accordance with a US-dictated resolution – a decree etched in blood and ink. Any lingering resistance? A defense treaty, forced down their throats, America's iron fist securing the Middle East in an unbreakable grip. Even the possibility of dragging Japan and South Korea into the American fold flickers into existence, a terrifying prospect. The bitter taste of regret would then choke those who followed the modern, feckless approach. Imagine: The Israeli-Palestinian conflict, extinguished like a candle flame in a hurricane of American might. The crushing burden of China, lifted. Years of wasted blood and treasure, avoided. A unified, submissive Middle East, the jewel in America's crown, its vast resources controlled by Palmerston's successors. The chilling silence of absolute dominion would be deafening. But it was only a dream, wasn't it? A dream fueled by the intoxicating power of a long-dead master of statecraft. A dream of what *could have been*, a stark contrast to the pathetic reality of American impotence, stumbling blindly toward a future dictated by others. A future where their desperate, vaunted "smart evacuation" is nothing but a joke echoing across the world, a testament to their pitiful failures. A joke that leaves a bitter, metallic taste in the mouth.

Even the mightiest empire, however formidable its authority, rests upon a foundation of substantial power. Henry John Tapper's audacious Far Eastern campaign wasn't launched on the mere bluster of the British Admiralty's boast that a single battleship could annihilate an entire nation's fleet in a single season. Even at the zenith of Victorian dominance, a potent national myth circulated, a testament to Britain's global reach: North America and Russia provided the grain for its sustenance, Chicago and Odessa fueled its industrial engine. Canada and Northern Europe supplied the timber for its navy and homes, Australia its wool, Argentina its beef, Peru its silver, the Cape of Good Hope its gold, and the Indian subcontinent its tea and silk. The Mediterranean was its orchard, its cotton plantations sprawling across the globe. Yet, forty years after Queen Victoria's demise, few Britons grasped the impending twilight of their empire, a twilight coinciding with its centennial and the ominous shadow of two devastating global conflicts. The very factors that underpinned the Victorian era's extraordinary success inadvertently sowed the seeds of its eventual decline. The rise and fall of empires, ultimately, are not solely dictated by brute force, but by a complex interplay of factors. Britain's industrial supremacy, its unassailable naval dominance, and its unparalleled financial prowess constituted the triumvirate of its imperial power. In 1860, the British Empire, encompassing a mere 2% of the global population, generated a staggering 53% of the world's steel and 50% of its coal, consumed 50% of its cotton, and controlled one-third of global maritime commerce. This phenomenal concentration of power, however, contained the seeds of its own vulnerability.

The British Empire's annual energy consumption dwarfed even its own colossal population, exceeding it fourfold and outstripping Russia's by a staggering 150 times. This phenomenal energy expenditure fueled an industrial juggernaut, with British-made goods dominating 60% of the European market and a significant 4.5% of global trade—a testament to its unrivaled manufacturing prowess. This potent industrial capacity, coupled with Britain's unique insular geography, formed the bedrock of its maritime supremacy. Unlike continental powers burdened by the need for extensive land armies, Britain's island security allowed it to focus resources on naval might. The Napoleonic Wars served as a brutal crucible, forging an unprecedented navy that decisively eclipsed all rivals by their conclusion. Before the Crimean War of 1853, Tsarist Russia brazenly challenged British dominance, only to be decisively rebuffed. For a decade, Britain's naval hegemony went unchallenged. Even France, once a formidable maritime power, found itself strategically outmaneuvered before the Suez Canal's inauguration. A tense naval standoff culminated in a humiliating French retreat, gifting the canal—and strategic advantage—to Britain. This triumph unleashed a period of unrestrained colonial expansion. Under William IV's astute guidance, the empire's territorial acquisitions were breathtaking, swelling by an astonishing 100,000 square kilometers annually—a rate equivalent to adding an area the size of Britain itself every two years. This maritime shield transformed the British Isles into a secure European haven. Flourishing industries and vast colonial holdings attracted a torrent of investment, shrewdly safeguarded by parliamentary legislation designed to protect investor rights.

Following Britain's victory in the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War late in the 18th century, London supplanted Amsterdam as the globe's paramount financial hub. The British Empire's phenomenal growth ushered in an era of unparalleled prosperity, establishing Britain as the undisputed epicenter of European manufacturing, commerce, and capital flows. This synergistic triumvirate created a self-reinforcing cycle, fueling the ascendancy of the empire whose sun, it was said, never set. However, even the sun dips below the horizon. The global depression of the 1880s exposed the fragility of the British Empire's seemingly unshakeable foundations. The virtuous cycle faltered, its momentum noticeably waning after the Prussian unification of Germany in 1871. The United States, meanwhile, eclipsed Britain, claiming the mantle of the world's leading economy. Britain's dominance, inextricably linked to its economic prowess, began its inexorable decline. The zenith of imperial power had passed; its sway was gradually yielding to ambitious emerging nations. For the Netherlands to thrive, seizing opportune moments was paramount. The 1887 depression presented a crucial juncture, far more advantageous than the later cataclysms of World Wars I and II—a timescale William IV could ill afford. A half-century wait was simply untenable. Even in 1887, however, a quarter-century remained before any significant impact could be achieved. William IV, then 46, faced a formidable challenge: navigating the ascent of a young Wilhelm II (aged two in 1886) who would eventually become the Kaiser, and managing the post-Bismarckian era of increasingly erratic German foreign policy. The Netherlands, therefore, needed to strategically leverage those 25 years, pursuing a policy of calculated expansion, shrewd diplomatic maneuvering, and the calculated weakening of its rivals—Britain, Tsarist Russia, France, Prussia, and Austria. This was the imperative: to skillfully navigate the shifting geopolitical landscape and capitalize on the inevitable decline of established powers. The opportunity was presented; the Netherlands must seize it.

The Netherlands' ascension to a top-ten global naval power, bolstered by the clandestine might of its East Indies base—a force swelling to 180,000 tons and propelling it into the top three—posed a precarious predicament. While this elevated status was undeniable, the delicate equilibrium between France and Britain remained the dominant factor. Their mutual lack of external threat fueled their rivalry; the Netherlands' sudden emergence as a regional contender inevitably invited their wrath. William IV understood instantly: unprovoked aggression, or the insidious pressure of their combined might, was unavoidable. Britain and France dictated the global order; any nation challenging that hegemony would face a brutal crucible of conflict. This explains Prussia's desperate clinging to Russia and Austria—a defensive pact against the Franco-British behemoth. The Netherlands, now proximate to Prussia, found itself in a similar, though less immediately perilous, position. Its newfound naval strength, while impressive, hadn't yet triggered widespread alarm—a fortunate, if uneasy, reality. This precarious peace was a necessary shield. William IV's strategic musings were ephemeral, cut short by his minister. "Your Majesty," Foreign Minister Haysbert announced, "regarding Belgium, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs recommends escalated intervention in the 'fox hunt' operation scheduled for last week." He continued, his tone grave, "King Leopold I's burgeoning friendship with Britain—evidenced by intelligence suggesting the imminent deployment of Royal Navy vessels to Blankenberge—demands a proactive response." William IV's brow furrowed. "Let us initiate a covert counter-strategy," he decreed, "but proceed with caution. Direct confrontation with the British Empire remains inadvisable." Observing the apprehension of his advisors, he offered a cryptic yet incisive observation: "While we must tread carefully, others need not." "Your Majesty, what does this imply?" Haysbert's comprehension dawned. "Would Napoleon III's preoccupation with Britain deter him from intervention?"

This port, situated adjacent to the Netherlands, not near France, suggests British involvement. Their aim? To subtly inform France of the situation, preventing further escalation. The Dutch, alone, lacked the audacity to challenge the British Empire and interfere in Belgium's internal matters. The precision of this maneuver is remarkable. But is this the entire truth? William IV's pointed question resonates: "Let's not forget—who currently holds the most sway over Napoleon I? Whose favor must we court to secure his regime?" The answer: Emile Olivier, the current French Minister of Justice and Prime Minister, a known adversary of the British Empire. Napoleon III, facing domestic criticism of his foreign policy, strategically enlisted Olivier, a fervent opponent of Belgian independence. Knowledge of the British and Belgian machinations would render our intervention superfluous; a single decisive action would suffice. Yet, to ensure absolute success, we require our initial agent within Belgium. "Indeed," Hesbet affirmed. This pivotal, clandestine operation—a gambit of strategic subterfuge—leaves the identity of our first Belgian operative shrouded in mystery, ripe for speculation and unexpected revelations.!