Holy Roman Empire - Chapter 159:

Chapter 159: Chapter 46: The Ambitious Navy Department

Translator: 549690339

Franz could not help but lament that European politics were simply—chaotic. In his two-year reign as Emperor, the Austrian Empire had actually signed secret treaties with all of Europe’s major powers.

One could speculate that future scholars of international history, upon encountering this pile of secret treaties, would marvel at the remarkable work of Austria’s Foreign Ministry, then be left pondering over a myriad of as-yet unresolved mysteries in the world of politics.

First came the France-Austrian Secret Treaty, which originally aimed for a cheerful partition of the Kingdom of Sardinia, but was aborted due to the outbreak of the French June Revolution.

Then there were the English-Austrian Balkan Issue Memorandum and the English-Austrian Italy Issue Understanding book, with the latter already completed and the former’s realization dependent on the integrity of the British.

As for the Russian-Austrian secret treaty, it was simply an extension and expansion of the two nations’ alliance—an alliance stretching back decades, with each country considering the other its most important ally.

Not long ago, another secret treaty was signed with the Kingdom of Prussia, the two countries agreeing to jointly oppose external forces meddling in Teutonic affairs. This treaty would be disclosed when the time was ripe, essentially intended to deter the British, and thus naturally would not be kept secret.

Is that all? Evidently, the Austrian Government truly enjoyed stirring things up; it had just concluded secret negotiations with Spain, reaching a consensus on colonial expansion overseas—the Austria-Spain Colonial Treaty was born.

According to the treaty: both countries recognized each other’s sovereignty over their overseas colonies and agreed to provide assistance in their colonial activities, including logistical support in each other’s colonies

Now, Austria did not possess any colonies, which at a glance, seemed a disadvantage for the Spaniards. Yet, the Spanish Government valued this treaty even more than Austria did.

There was no choice—Spain was in severe decline. The Empire on Which the Sun Never Sets had long since passed them by, and the British and French colonial empires had begun their ascent by trampling over them.

And now, the Austrian Empire was preparing to join in on overseas colonial activities. They, the easy target, were at risk once more, potentially facing another trampling.

In such a case, why not choose to cooperate? Austria’s demands were not excessive, merely to receive supplies from their ports during colonial expansion—and it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t compensate.

This seemingly inconspicuous treaty was finalized with the push from the Ministry of the Navy. The saying about choosing the softest target was true, but Franz had not planned to overturn the tables from the start, right?

If not for Spain’s continuous decline, Franz might have already sought an alliance with them, to stab France in the back and give them a taste of what it feels like to be a sandwich cookie.

No matter how it was put, the Spaniards still maintained the front of a great power, and their debilitated navy was still, just so slightly, stronger than the Austrian Navy.

It wasn’t just Spain; even the small naval departments of the Netherlands and Portugal were held in high regard, with negotiations currently ongoing.

Such was the price of a latecomer—using these small countries’ ports as stepping stones was far more reassuring than relying on those of England and France.

Expanding colonies was not easy, with the first problem being logistical support, where initial resources had to be imported from elsewhere.

A glance at a map revealed the daunting distance the geographically challenged Austria had to face in establishing overseas colonies. In this context, nearby procurement of supplies and resources became crucial.

The historic failure of the Russians’ Pacific Fleet expedition served as a cautionary tale; under British blockades, they suffered from inadequate provisions along the way, walking straight into Japanese ambushes upon arrival.

Needless to say, Franz was intent on learning from such lessons. Establishing good relations with colonial nations could not go wrong, and even if it came to seizing territories, that would have to wait until a firm foothold was established.

Besides, embarking on colonial enterprises also meant learning from experience. To that end, Austria had dispatched individuals to delve deep into the colonies of other nations, gathering intelligence and learning from their administrative experiences.

However, such methods of intelligence gathering were not always reliable, revealing only surface-level insights. Deeper understanding required study.

Contrary to the critique of colonial management systems by countless experts and professors in later generations, the feat of establishing colonial rule in this era—managing vast territories with few people and reaping substantial profits—was a skill all its own.

With cooperation, there was a chance for a deeper understanding, to learn from their successes, and to avoid the misfortune of bankruptcy soon after establishing a colony.

In the end, overseas colonization was about profits; if the venture continuously lost money, it likely wouldn’t be long before interest waned.

The Ministry of the Navy was not merely busy with trivial matters; with the treaty signed, they turned to the government for funding.

According to the Navy’s proposal, the government would allocate 50 million shields for shipbuilding expenses, aiming to create a naval fleet second only to that of England and France within five years.

This was no exaggeration; naval sizes globally were modest at the time, with the British total tonnage not exceeding a few hundred thousand tons. Any navy exceeding ten thousand tons in total tonnage was among the world’s most formidable.

In terms of tonnage, the Austrian Navy ranked just behind England, France, Spain, and Russia. Of course, tonnage was not synonymous with combat capability. Austria’s navy was predominantly a coastal force, capable of circumnavigating the Mediterranean, but whether it would survive long voyages was questionable.

Who knows? Anyway, a navy totaling 18,000 tons, in Franz’s view, was nothing more than a sprout navy, not comparable to a single battleship of later eras. However, the tonnages of naval warships in this era were more modest, so this scale wasn’t too trivial.

Put it this way, if the French suddenly erupted, they could still go toe-to-toe with the British, vying for the position of the world’s strongest naval power. The gap between the English and French navies wasn’t as pronounced as in later times.

At least in terms of tonnage, the disparity wasn’t so vast. At their closest, the total tonnage of the navies of the two nations was less than twenty percent apart; theoretically, a surprise attack might even be victorious.

After all, everyone was using wooden warships, and the shipbuilding technologies of various countries hadn’t widened too much of a gap. It would be another decade before the world saw the birth of its first ironclad ship.

Looking at the shipbuilding plans in his hand, Franz didn’t mince words, directly asking, “I remember last year the French Navy built the ‘Napoleon’, which is powered by steam engines.

If you build a bunch of sailing warships, that’s all well and good with the wind in your favor, but what if you’re sailing against the wind? Could you outrun them?”

Navy Minister Filkos explained, “Your Majesty, the construction and maintenance of French steam-powered battleships are costly and difficult. After being driven at full power, they need extensive repairs.

Steam-powered battleships haven’t shown a significant advantage on the battlefield. Currently, the main force of navies around the world remains sailing warships; adopting new technology rashly is too risky.”

Franz didn’t bother with his many reasons, asking bluntly, “With our shipbuilding technology, could we build one?”

After some thought, Filkos said, “Theoretically, there’s no problem. We have mature experience in building merchant ships with steam engines, and applying them to warships should not be a big issue.”

Franz couldn’t help but criticize internally; the navies of this era were terrifyingly conservative. Many probably couldn’t imagine that it was not the Britons leading naval technological revolutions in this era, but the French.

In 1849, the French were the first to apply steam engines to warships, marking the beginning of the revolution in naval propulsion. In 1859, they built the world’s first ironclad ship, signaling the end of the Age of Sail; in 1863, they applied compressed air engines to submarines, moving beyond human propulsion and increasing their operational range

It was the French who spearheaded the naval technology revolution, and still, it did not change their perpetual second-place status. Later, when they finally did make a change, the French probably wished they hadn’t; from being second, they became third, fourth, fifth

Now, undoubtedly, the Austrian Navy represented the conservative faction. It was clear from the Navy’s budget that they lacked the funds for capricious innovations.

This puzzled Franz, wasn’t new technology supposed to be applied in the military first, before being promoted for civilian use?

How come things seemed reversed here, with so many Austrian steamboats running up and down the Danube River, yet the navy had not considered building steam-powered battleships?

Difficult maintenance? Could that really be considered a reason when you don’t see steam merchant ships sticking to sail power because of maintenance trouble?

Franz said thoughtfully, “The navy must also pay attention to the use of technology. Even if you can’t initiate technological innovation yourselves, when others have created successful models, you can always learn and apply them, right?

Otherwise, what’s the use of an outdated navy, no matter how large its scale is? On the battlefield, it would only serve as a target for the enemy!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Navy Minister Filkos replied with a bitter smile.

Without a doubt, the Navy’s shipbuilding plans were nipped in the bud by Franz.

Technically speaking, it was no longer difficult to construct the initial ironclad ships. As early as 1578, the Japanese had created an ironclad ship, essentially a warship covered in iron plating.

Franz certainly didn’t want to build a fleet of sailing warships that would serve as target practice, although the Austrian Navy was unlikely to engage in sea battles in the short term.

He may not have been able to make epochal inventions, but a conceptual innovation in military technology should not be that hard, right?

After the French launched their ironclad ships, it took only a few months for imitators to appear; there were practically no obstacles in terms of technology.

The era when shipbuilding technology reflected national industrial levels had not yet arrived. Currently, the technology for building sailing warships was very mature, and the performance gap between the warships of different countries was not substantial.

Although he had the idea, Franz did not immediately propose the concept of an ironclad ship. This was not a task for an emperor, and if he were to proceed, it must be done covertly.

Otherwise, you have the example of Wilhelm II, who personally designed a warship that promptly sank upon launch. If that didn’t indicate a problem, what would? Were the German technicians idiots not to warn the emperor?

Franz wouldn’t give his enemies any opportunity for exploitation; it was far better to promote technological innovation behind the scenes. Failure was normal; not all new technological ventures succeeded on the first try.

If successful, it would prove that under the leadership of the great emperor, Austria’s scientific innovation had advanced another step forward. As for the credit of invention and creation, that was unnecessary for an emperor.