Chapter 1: The Gold of Skagerrak (Three)

  March 4, 1915, late at night, Rome, the capital of Italy.

  On March 5, a vote will be held at the Congress Center in Rome. Similar scenes have been played out more than once in this Mediterranean parliamentary monarchy, but this time things are somewhat different.

  Since the outbreak of war, radical, right-wing, pro-German and pro-Austrian demonstrations have been ceaseless in front of the Roman King's restaurant, nationalists and bourgeois representatives publicly burning the portrait of the former Prime Minister in the city square, a brief alliance between conservatives, liberals and Catholics has already shown cracks, Prime Minister Salandra, abstract logic master Sonnino, the cabinet, parliament and the king have begun to silently confront each other.

  On a Roman night, with the wind blowing wildly, occasionally there are police officers patrolling on Via Cavour, but this winding road is empty. Under the dim streetlights, fallen leaves flutter and all is quiet, don't think that Rome has already calmed down and rested, under the deliberate disguise, **it's brewing**.

  The man who can put an end to all this turmoil is in Rome, on the Via Collatina, at number 71, in a villa.

  Via Cavour 71 is to Italy what Number One, Downing Street is to the British Empire: it houses a big shot whose mere sneeze would give the whole of Italy a cold.

  Despite the Italians' discontent with the Treaty of London, despite the rupture between the liberal and radical parties represented by prominent figures, and despite his resignation as Prime Minister, Cavallotti remains forever Cavallotti! If the Kingdom of Italy already has a king, then Cavallotti is undoubtedly the rightful emperor.

  A black sedan drove slowly down the street, a police officer on duty ran over, looked at the license plate and quickly withdrew his head.

  "Who is it again?"

  "He is the leader of the right-wing party, the Foreign Minister of the kingdom, a famous master of abstract logic!"

  In hushed tones among the police, Italian Foreign Minister Songnio got out of the car and a Sardinian maid opened the door to welcome the much-maligned right-wing leader into the residence of Left-Wing Socialist Party leader and former Prime Minister Gomidi.

  "Deputy Camillo Peano told me that the government is now in a difficult situation, His Majesty the King does not trust them, and deputies and ministers are worried that His Majesty may make some commitments during private meetings with the British plenipotentiary which Italy cannot afford at this stage..."

  Jiao Mi Di sat on the sofa, holding a cup of Tuscan red wine in his hand, with an unmistakable look of exhaustion on his face.

  "Mr. Sonnino, as the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Kingdom, perhaps you have a way to obtain some information from the British side. We cannot continue to sit and watch the situation deteriorate, we must find out what agreement has been reached between the King and the British? Is this agreement in oral form or is it backed by all of Italy? Will Italy be bound by war obligations as a result?"

  After the Dogger Bank Sea Battle, the Allies realized that the war in Western Europe and the North Sea would be a stalemate. Britain and France launched the Dardanelles Campaign to force the Ottoman Empire, an important ally of the Central Powers, out of the war through amphibious landings. At the same time, Allied representatives frequently visited the Kingdom of Italy and held secret meetings with King Victor Emmanuel III. Messages from all sides and many signs indicated that the king was preparing to enter the war.

  "Unfortunately, Prime Minister, the King doesn't trust anyone at all."

  The whole city of Rome was abuzz with the news that King Victor Emmanuel had opened negotiations with the Allies, but Sonnino, as Foreign Minister, knew nothing about it. The stout Sonnino sat fuming on the sofa, his bulk pressing a deep depression into the leather upholstery, and puffed furiously at his cigar:

  "Perhaps new Prime Minister Salandra knows but he and you are not in the same trench."

  In February 1914, the great hero of the Italo-Turkish War, Prime Minister Giovanni Giolitti, shrewdly aware that King Victor Emmanuel III was growing tired of his influence and prestige, coupled with the opposition attacks on the Treaty of Lausanne, decided to step down as prime minister, and instead supported the seemingly harmless Sidney Sonnino for the premiership.

  It is clear that this was a bad move, as Sarandrea has gradually freed himself from the constraints of Parliament and sided with the king.

  "Europe has already fallen into a protracted war, bleeding and consuming every day. Italy's national strength is weak, so the flames of war must not be allowed to burn on the kingdom's head, and betting on both sides is the most practical choice!"

  Former Libyan invader Italo Balbo had advocated neutrality since the start of the European war, and "armed vigilance in neutrality to safeguard Italy's most fundamental interests" was his bottom line.

  "Mr. Prime Minister, the King and Mr. Salandra seem to have made up their minds...” Sonnino puffed on his cigar, saying nonchalantly: “I know you insist on defending national institutions, but now only Parliament can stop or slightly delay all this.”

  Song Nino continued to puff out smoke. Jiao Mudi leaned against the soft sofa, squinting his eyes and gently swaying the red wine in his cup, not in a hurry to speak.

  The big man of Rome had been lost in thought for a long time, the spacious study was silent for a long time, until Gomidi's assistant burst into the study with a telegram and whispered something in Gomidi's ear.

  Having gone through countless major events, Jiao Mudi, known as the "unshakeable pillar of the royal political scene", suddenly changed color. He sprang to his feet, spilling more than half of the Tuscan red wine in his hand without realizing it, and hastily took the telegram with his other hand, scanning it hurriedly.

  "Prime Minister, what's going on?" Song Nino vaguely sensed something and struggled to get up from the sofa, holding onto the armrest with concern.

  According to reports from the Kingdom's intelligence department, on the evening of March 3rd, German and British navies encountered each other in the northern part of Heligoland Bay. Both sides exchanged fire continuously in Heligoland Bay, Jutland, and Skagerrak Strait. On the morning of the 4th at 8 o'clock, Britain suffered an unprecedented defeat: seven capital ships sank, one capital ship went missing, and another five capital ships were heavily damaged and required major repairs!

  Giovanni's face was filled with astonishment, a chill ran down his spine, and his gaze involuntarily fell in the direction of Taranto. Giovanni had once been proud of the four Dante Alighieri-class dreadnoughts, for they were more advanced than the Austro-Hungarian Tegetthoff class, but after the Battle of the North Sea, Giovanni felt that the Italian Navy was not even worthy of competing with others for dominance of the seas.

  In a spacious and clean hospital room in Berlin, an eerie atmosphere is continuing.

  Schier, Hiepel and Redel, these naval officers stood far away near the window sill of the sickroom, their terrified and worried eyes wandering back and forth on this imperial pair of sworn enemies. Eve was hiding in the corner of the sickroom, the candies and pastries brought by the visitors were all her spoils of war, and Annie was busy slapping Eve's greedy hands. Old sailor Freeci stood at the bedside of Wang Heiti, he seemed to realize something, and two black lines hung unconsciously on his face.

  "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I really can't get up to salute you!" Wang Haitian said with a faint smile, uttering some polite but insincere words as he sat half-up in bed.

  "General von Seydlitz, no need to apologize, it is the House of Hohenzollern that should be grateful to you. You have brought a glorious victory to Germany and its allies, you are a hero of Germany, so at this moment, you have the privilege that a hero should have." The Emperor Wilhelm, who had returned from the imperial hunting trip in the North German Royal Forest ahead of schedule, stroked his ancestral sword and looked at the young man who dared to bet on his fleet with a mixture of emotions, saying some elegant words that belonged to politicians: "However, Germany is still a nation that values discipline after all, and the navy is still a fleet loyal to the Emperor..."

  "So, I'll stay here and recover in peace, waiting for some inevitable events to unfold, won't I?" Wang Haitian's gaze swept across the face of Navy Minister Edward von Capelle before settling on Wilhelm, who sported a small mustache.

  "Perhaps so, General!" The Emperor tightened his glove on his left hand.

  From the moment the British Grand Fleet set sail in March, the whole world had already sensed the smell of gunpowder wafting over the North Sea, and everyone knew that a large-scale naval battle was inevitable.

  The Grand Fleet was the most powerful force on this planet, led by the mature and steady Jellicoe, the son of heaven David Beatty, while the High Seas Fleet was a new rising star in the blue ocean, with outstanding commanders such as Franz von Hipper and Heidegger Seiler. The best battleship, the best commander, the North Sea in March, everyone was secretly speculating about what kind of passionate collision would be staged by the two fleets of the two nations, and who would die in whose hands.

  Italy, which had temporarily maintained its neutrality, was no exception. On the second day after the British Fast Division sailed out to sea, Giomedi consulted with the Chief of Naval Staff and the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy.

  The General Staff foresaw the two fleets' indecisive engagement, and the conservative Naval Commander-in-Chief recounted the various unpleasantness between Kaiser Wilhelm, owner of the High Seas Fleet, and Admiral Heidekamp, the fleet's best strategist, and inferred that the High Seas Fleet might suffer a major defeat due to backlash from pressure.

  The senior naval officers' overconfidence and exaggeration greatly misled Jomid's judgment. On the Eastern Front, the Russians were likely to take Przemy?l and enter Hungarian territory; on the Western Front, although the situation seemed critical, the Anglo-French army still made some progress in the Champagne region, which was fiercely defended by Germany; Turkey's Gallipoli Peninsula was easy to defend but difficult to attack, but the Anglo-French army seemed confident. The Allies had gained a certain advantage, and once the British cut off Germany's outstretched hands in the North Sea, the defeat of the resource-poor Central Powers seemed unstoppable.

  Since the Piedmontese era, there has been a tradition among Italian elite figures to maintain the state system, that is, to maintain the authority of the king. Giolitti inherited this idea, although he controlled Parliament and could have made the government shirk its obligations under the treaty if Parliament opposed it, but he did not want to disrupt the triangular relationship between the government, parliament and the king.

  However, the performance of the High Seas Fleet surprised everyone. Heidekamp used his own ship as bait to tie down David Beatty's fast battlecruisers and lure Jellicoe's main fleet into a death trap. The young man refused to settle for a draw, the High Seas Fleet refused to be mediocre, and the German Navy relied on its own strength to make the British Royal Navy, which had been invincible in the oceans for hundreds of years, lose nearly one-third of its main battleships, and more than half of its main battleships were temporarily unable to be used.

  "Even if the Royal Navy showed a declining trend in the series of naval battles at Heligoland Bight, Coronel, Falkland, Dogger Bank and Moudros Bay, it's not to the point where the British would suffer such heavy losses!" Sonino handed back the telegram that would cause a tsunami in the global media tomorrow, his mind reeling with shock: "This is a decisive naval battle, the British will be unable to stop any movement of the German Navy for at least a year!"

  "So, Signor Sonnino, it is time to put an end to all adventures and speculations; Italy must continue to maintain armed neutrality!"

  With a tired expression, Giordi swiftly walked to the desk and handed the tray with at least three hundred Italian parliamentarians' business cards to his assistant.

  "Notify them one by one according to the name list, tomorrow's proposal, all members must vote against!"

  The guards sprang nimbly onto the military horses, and the emperor and his naval minister sat one after another in the elaborately decorated sedan chairs, which from inside to outside were a perfect display of imperial dignity.

  The small convoy headed for Sch?nbrunn Palace, a symbol of imperial power and authority.

  "Seventeen years ago, Xilai was just a newly graduated military academy student. I thought I could keep him away from the center of naval power forever, but that old guy Tirpitz messed everything up."

  The Royal Cuirassiers stood guard on both sides, the somewhat desolate night scene of Berlin was still in retreat, Emperor William brought his gaze back and said calmly to his naval minister:

  "Sealheim had secured his footing in the naval war within a year and won over most of the naval commanders with victory after victory, making the people his admirers. So there could be no more retreats, this was Wilhelm's Germany, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty!" The Minister of the Navy pulled out a stack of telegrams from his briefcase, and a cold, stern look flashed across his pale face: "Everything is ready!"

  "Thank Mr. Jomidi for me, thank him for his warm hospitality..." Sonny sat back in the black sedan with a few cups of wine and nodded slightly to Jomidi's deputy.

  The driver started the car engine, the dark window closed, and Sonny's affable smile gradually solidified into a very sinister sneer.

  "Prime Minister, the Foreign Minister has left." Jomidi was by the window of his study, lost in thought behind thick curtains. His deputy pushed open the door and stood quietly beside him, reminding him softly.

  "Ah..." Jomidi lifted a corner of the curtain and watched as the black sedan disappeared into the distance on Cavoul Street.

  "You fool, you think that just because I've fallen out with the King and Salandres, you can replace me as Prime Minister?! Jomidie put down the curtain and let out a cold hum, snatching up the telegram paper and muttering to himself: "The Allied Powers will face difficult times ahead, as for the Central Powers, I don't think much of that madman Kaiser Wilhelm, so it's best to just wait and see!"