Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 567: Omens of an Uncertain Future

Dark storm clouds gathered over Brussels and its palace; omens of an uncertain future.

Within, the King’s war room echoed that foreboding, as generals, statesmen, and advisors clustered around a table cluttered with intelligence reports smuggled out of France.

"As you can see here, new weapons flood the streets of Paris. No doubt from the combined minds of the Allied powers reforged in secrecy after their brutal defeat during the previous war."

Silence lingered like a held breath; until the room broke into heated disagreement once more.

"They are surely working together to develop arms that might compete with the Germans and their new alliance. Have you heard what they are calling them? The Axis of Evil!"

A chortle. A sharp snort.

"Axis of Evil? What nonsense! Was it not the Germans who warned us of France’s plans to invade in 1914? Was it not their hand joined with ours when the French marched through our borders with rifle and bayonet?"

King Albert, now aged and wise, inclined his head in somber agreement. As did all present. Each remembered the battles waged, the scars gained, the bonds forged in mud and blood.

Belgium’s relationship with Germany had remained cordial after that victory.

In fact, the Kaiser sent considerable aid to rebuild Brussels after the French had ravaged it. Trade flourished between them, and Belgium was wealthier than ever. But France, bitter, resentful, threatened that prosperity.

A sigh escaped Albert’s lips, followed by a forlorn gaze through the rain-streaked windows to the storm gathering beyond.

"I will send the Kaiser a letter. I wish to speak with him; here in Brussels, or there in Berlin. If the French do intend to aggress upon us a second time, I would at least have guarantees this time around."

Not a single voice rose in disagreement.

---

North of Belgium’s borders Queen Wilhelmina saw the same grim signs gathering in the west from her palace in Amsterdam.

The Netherlands had remained neutral during the last war; narrowly so. They had nearly been dragged in when French forces closed on their borders.

Their ties to Germany were so far merely economic, a reliance on trade.

But Wilhelmina was no fool. She understood all too well that Germany was the true master of Europe, by land and by sea.

The Battle of the North Sea in 1914 had proved that: despite being outnumbered and outgunned, the Kaiserliche Marine obliterated the pride of the Royal Navy in a single, decisive clash.

Even now, Britain still staggered under the loss; not just of prestige, but of its sense of unchallenged power.

The Queen’s ministers gathered before her, regal and mature, bowing low despite the reality that her authority was little more than symbolic these days.

Prime Minister Charles Ruijs de Beerenbrouck, a deeply traditional Catholic, stepped forward. He held the monarchy in profound respect, even if it was largely ceremonial now.

"Your Royal Highness... Reports have reached us of French re-militarization following de Gaulle’s coup. Rumor has it Brussels plans to send a delegation to Berlin, or perhaps even King Albert himself will go. If the Knight King travels to Berlin in person, I will do the same. But before I make such plans, I wished to know your thoughts..."

Wilhelmina did not answer at once. She sat very still, processing the shifting tides of Europe. When she finally spoke, her words carried a calm gravity.

"France has grown bitter in repeated defeat. They lost a generation of men during the Great War; and the madness that gripped them after their second downfall was sealed. Yet, they wish to fight a third time in less than a century?"

Her voice darkened, her eyes turning glassy, haunted by memories.

"I fear the Lion of Tyrol will not be so merciful if he is forced to march on Paris twice in his lifetime. No matter how the French or British try to cast the Germans and their allies, we still remember who advanced into Belgium and Luxembourg; unprovoked I might add."

Charles started to reply, but her gaze, sharp as a blade, pinned him in place.

"If war comes again, we may not be able to remain neutral. It would be wise for you to meet with Albert and Wilhelm in Berlin. We too must consider our place in this world of ours, which is changing rapidly... perhaps beyond our comprehension."

There it was; the answer he needed. The world was indeed shifting in ways Amsterdam could no longer predict.

But one thing was certain: Germany would not lose this war, even if the entire world rose against them. Japan had proven that.

Thus Charles rose, bowed his head deeply, and declared,

"Very well. I will do my utmost to secure our place in whatever alliance Albert and Wilhelm may be forging."

Wilhelmina’s eyes narrowed, her voice slicing the air.

"Be sure that you do."

With that, the balance of power in Europe began to tilt once more. France would not realize what their actions had unleashed until it was far too late to intervene.

They were so consumed by vengeance, they never paused to consider how their fevered rearmament might look to a watching world.

To many distant onlookers, France, Britain, and the United States themselves appeared now like relics of a fading age: proud, stubborn, and defiant in a world that had long since moved on without them.

If proof of this were needed, it was found in the Philippines, where the United States Army still struggled to put down rebellion.

The violence grew with each passing day, and it seemed almost inevitable that for the second time in three decades, the Democrats would seize the presidency.

If President Herbert Hoover did not find a way to stem the tide of American blood being shed in those distant Pacific territories, then it was only a matter of time before Franklin Delano Roosevelt won the election.

And if that were to happen, Bruno would have no choice but to ensure the United States suffered a fate akin to France.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢