"Ambassador, a telegram from London has arrived."
"Hmm. Hand it over."
Sir Frank Lascelles, the British Ambassador to Germany, took the message from his aide. His expression darkened as he read.
The telegram detailed a technical transaction between Germany's premier steel giant, Krupp, and Britain's defense contractor, Vickers. Corporate tech exchanges were common, but the specifics here alarmed him: 12-inch naval guns.
These were the massive artillery pieces used as primary armament by the Royal Navy and other global powers. Krupp had paid a staggering sum to acquire Vickers' 12-inch gun manufacturing technology—a baffling move.
The German Imperial Navy did not use 12-inch guns.
Germany's naval doctrine prioritized rapid fire over sheer caliber, equipping its High Seas Fleet with smaller main guns. The Wittelsbach-class battleships, Germany's most advanced, carried 9.4-inch (24 cm) guns. Even the planned Braunschweig-class, set to begin construction that year, would only upgrade to 11-inch (28 cm) guns.
Krupp's lack of experience in large-caliber naval artillery further deepened the mystery. Why invest heavily in 12-inch technology they had no immediate use for?
"First steam turbines, now 12-inch guns…"
The purchase of Parsons' steam turbine technology had been understandable. The Royal Navy itself was experimenting with turbine propulsion on new destroyers, sparking global interest. But 12-inch guns were another matter—a weapon exclusive to capital ships.
"The German Imperial Navy recently halted all existing battleship projects."
Initially, Lascelles had dismissed it as design issues. Now, suspicion gnawed at him. He sensed a 99% likelihood these events were connected.
"A new class of battleship?"
As a seasoned diplomat, Lascelles swiftly pieced together the German Navy's intent: a revolutionary battleship armed with 12-inch guns and powered by steam turbines.
"But why cancel all current projects for this?"
To Lascelles, 12-inch guns were standard among major navies, including Britain's. The German move seemed unremarkable. Moreover, Britain still limited steam turbines to smaller vessels. Their efficacy on battleships remained unproven in his eyes.
Yet intuition warned him: This is no ordinary upgrade. The Germans are aiming for a leap, not a step.
"There must be more I don't know."
Ambassador Lascelles drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, deep in thought. The situation grew increasingly unsettling.
"This undoubtedly bears the Kaiser's fingerprints."
Lascelles maintained cordial relations with Wilhelm II and knew the Emperor's obsession with naval expansion. The scale of these moves far exceeded what the German Imperial Navy could pursue alone—this was Wilhelm's direct command.
"But the Kaiser's true intent eludes me."
Though a lifelong diplomat, Lascelles' naval expertise was limited. "This matter belongs with the Admiralty." The Royal Navy, the pride of the British Empire, would better discern the implications of Germany's new battleship plans.
Sipping his tea, Lascelles began drafting a report to London. Since Wilhelm II's ascension, the German Navy's rapid growth had strained Anglo-German relations. If these developments signaled a leap in naval power, Britain could not afford indifference.
Knock-knock!
"Enter."
Before the words left his mouth, his aide hurried in, clutching a document.
"What's happened?"
"Sir, you must see this."
The aide handed him a newspaper—not German, but French, dated the previous day.
"From the British Embassy in France. They deemed it urgent for us as well."
"The Paris embassy sent this to us?"
Given Franco-German tensions, Lascelles' unease deepened.
"Let's see what this is about."
Ambassador Lascelles adjusted his glasses and began reading.
As French was the lingua franca of European diplomacy, he needed no translation.
[EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH HANS JO, THE KAISER'S SAVIOR: "DREYFUS INNOCENT! ESTERHAZY A DOUBLE AGENT? PARDON A FRENCH COVER-UP?"]
"Pfft—?!"
Less than a minute in, Lascelles spat out his tea.
"What in God's name is this?!"
He knew of Hans Jo—the Oriental boy who'd electrified Berlin. But how had the child entangled himself in the Dreyfus Affair, the scandal that had torn France apart years prior?
"Bloody hell…"
The ambassador cursed, his earlier concerns about German battleships forgotten as he devoured the article.
---
Paris, Élysée Palace
"Opinions, gentlemen."
Émile Loubet, seventh president of the French Third Republic, spoke in a voice cold enough to frost the room.
"How do we resolve this?"
"Well, you see…"
Military brass and cabinet ministers exchanged pallid glances, stammering uncertainly. Truthfully, they had no answers.
In 1899, Captain Dreyfus—broken by years on Devil's Island—had accepted a presidential pardon, seemingly ending the scandal. Who could have foreseen its resurrection, ignited by a foreign child's words?
"First, we could recall all copies of Le Petit Parisien to suppress further coverage…"
"That would only fuel accusations of censorship! How dare you propose such idiocy?!"
BANG!
President Loubet slammed his fist on the table.
"Wake up! This is the Dreyfus Affair! Paris—no, all of France—is burning!"
Outside the Élysée Palace, massive protests demanded the truth about Dreyfus. The scandal, reignited by Hans Jo's interview, now threatened the Third Republic itself.
"We've received reports that Émile Zola and Georges Clemenceau are coordinating with Dreyfus' family."
Zola, the fearless novelist, and Clemenceau, the radical journalist-turned-politician, were symbols of the pro-Dreyfus faction. Their involvement meant demands for a retrial would explode.
"They'll seize this moment to prove Dreyfus' innocence through judicial review," Loubet muttered bitterly.
He knew Dreyfus was innocent. As a progressive, Loubet had always sympathized with the cause. Yet as president, his duty was to stabilize the nation. That's why he'd offered Dreyfus the pardon—a temporary fix to quell unrest while quietly pursuing justice.
Now, a foreign child had shattered his careful strategy.
"How did the German ambassador respond to our protest?"
The foreign minister sighed. "They dismissed it as 'a child's prattle,' insisting the German government had no involvement."
He omitted the ambassador's mocking addendum: "Is France so fragile it fears a nine-year-old?"
"So a nine-year-old Oriental brat humiliates the French government? Are these fools rotting from the head down? Tell them to retract their lies!"
Loubet seethed. Hans Jo was surely a puppet of the Kaiser, engineered to destabilize France.
"And what of Esterhazy being labeled a double agent?"
"That's the delusion Esterhazy himself spouted after fleeing to England!"
The military brass shifted uncomfortably. Esterhazy's true role—a traitor or a pawn—had always been murky. Admitting him as a double agent would expose the army's conspiracy to frame Dreyfus, destroying public trust.
"This matter…" The generals faltered.
"You have no answer, do you?" Loubet's glare chilled the room.
After a tense silence, the president declared:
"Esterhazy is not a double agent. He is a traitor who colluded with Germany. That is the official stance."
"Understood, Mr. President!"
Truth no longer mattered. France's stability demanded Esterhazy remain the villain.
"Inform Zola and Clemenceau that if Dreyfus petitions for a retrial, the government will permit it."
"But, sir—!"
"The military will raise no objections.
Unless they lack all reason."
The generals fell silent. Loubet had spared them by scapegoating Esterhazy. Defying him now risked purge.
"The military… will not oppose a retrial."
"A wise choice."
"Conservative factions—the Catholics—will revolt," a minister warned.
"Let them." Loubet's eyes hardened. The Dreyfus Affair had exposed the Church's toxic influence. He'd accelerate plans to secularize France, stripping Catholicism's state power.
"The coming years demand internal reform."
Fortunately, Europe was at peace. What war could possibly erupt now?
---
In Potsdam, Hans Jo smiled. His butterfly had flapped its wings.