Of Pride and Power - 48. Chapter 42: “Avoid stepping into a great man’s shoes”

The civil war in France had just begun in the autumn of 1572, but it would engulf Europe in flames by the end of the year. In France, Valois forces invaded the province of Lorraine, raiding the House of Guise for gold and supplies. Strategically, Lorraine was crucial as a key link to the German railroad, offering a direct line through Luxembourg to the Imperial capital of Aachen. Though Habsburg air power outmatched the Valois with a 4:1 aircraft ratio, the sudden collapse of Lorraine and the Valois-Medici forces' invasion of Luxembourg caught the Imperial army off guard.

Led by the Duke of Joyeuse, a Valois army of 50,000 troops encamped just 34 miles (54.7 kilometers) from the Habsburg city of Liège, nearing the Imperial capital, Aachen. However, a surprise flanking maneuver by the Duke of Parma, Alexander Farnese, and his mechanized divisions, supported by air power, shattered Joyeuse’s hopes of capturing Aachen. Despite the defeat and the loss of most of his heavy equipment, Joyeuse regrouped and withdrew with 35,000 remaining troops to Luxembourg, waiting for another opportunity to strike.

As a result, Alexander Farnese and his 30,000-strong mechanized divisions were redeployed along the Franco-German border by his cousin, Uber-Kaiser Philip, to prevent future attacks on Aachen. This decision removed one of the Habsburg Empire's best commanders from playing a decisive role in the ensuing war.

The conflict between the Valois and Habsburg powers extended beyond France and its borders. In response to frustrations over previous military failures, elements of the Habsburg army in Hungary invaded Poland-Lithuania under the guise of securing promised bases. Since King Henry III was also the ruler of Poland-Lithuania, he declared war on the Habsburg-controlled German Empire, which included Hungary. His Polish and Lithuanian vassals eagerly supported this declaration, despite the looming threat of another Russian invasion—an act that veteran statesmen like Pope Peter II viewed as reckless.

By early 1573, Pope Peter II (Guillaume de Medici) attempted to pressure Uber-Kaiser Philip into ending his wars of aggression by threatening ex-communication. In retaliation, military forces from Tyrol invaded northwestern Italy, aiming to capture the strategic port of Venice, home to the Italian Eastern Mediterranean fleet. In a stunning success, the Habsburg Empire seized the port and most of the Italian fleet intact, deploying paratrooper units from their superior air force.

While spies from Hohenzollern-controlled Brandenburg had warned us about the development of Habsburg paratroopers as a counter to England’s Royal Marines, we were prepared for an airborne invasion by early 1573, but New Rome was not. After the fall of Venice, several northern Italian noble families began calling for Pope Peter II's removal for various indiscretions. Even Florence, the Medici power center and hub of their banking network, fell under the control of Alessandro Farnese, uncle to the Duke of Parma and Cardinal of Tuscany.

In a move reminiscent of the German invasion of Italy in my timeline's 1943 Operation Achse, troops from the German Empire stationed in Italy seized military assets and cities from their former allies. Meanwhile, Habsburg Spanish troops stationed in Naples and Sicily moved north toward Rome. Pope Peter II fled Rome with his treasury, the cores, the core charging station, and the Italian Western Mediterranean fleet, which would later join the French fleet at Marseilles. He was forced to establish the Second Avignon Papacy—a government-in-exile in France, echoing the 14th-century schism after a similar invasion.

With Pope Peter II absent from Rome, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and allied French cardinals nominated the Tuscan noble Ugo Boncompagni as Pope Gregory XIII, the same figure who became pope in my timeline. A staunch ally of the Habsburg Dynasty, Gregory XIII took control of New Rome’s military and industrial assets. The Medici banking empire nominally fell under the control of Pope Peter II’s nephew, Francesco de Medici, securing the centralized banking system that Europe depended on.

While the dizzying political and military maneuvers unfolded in Europe, vast territories in North and South America under French and Habsburg control were left unguarded. Meanwhile, their Middle Eastern and Asian holdings were now embroiled in multi-front wars. By this time, we had already established settlements in North America, including Greenland, Iceland, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Henry Island, and Greater Ontario. These colonies housed nearly 250,000 residents, bringing us close to parity with the European populations in North America. However, more than 80% of our population consisted of young males between 1 and 10 years old.

For over a decade, I had hesitated to make any moves, focusing instead on building up our forces and industries to defend this fragile population. By 1572, England had constructed a formidable navy, which I later discovered was the fourth largest in the world—after the Habsburg, Russian, and Chinese fleets. With unparalleled naval technology, our latest dreadnoughts were capable of standing toe-to-toe with a Habsburg Sky Fortress. Additionally, due to the Valois/Medici-Habsburg wars, demand for various products surged as the Valois and Habsburg had an insatiable demand for quality steel, machinery, and foodstuff due to supply chain breakdowns.

With these thoughts in mind, I initiated a new program for the Royal Navy. In my timeline, England capitalized on European wars by employing privateer vessels—essentially legalized pirates authorized with royal assent. Many mistakenly believe privateering began in the 16th century due to famous figures like Francis Drake, but it in fact started in 1243 under King Henry III. Privateers ultimately helped England rise to world power status, exemplified by the seizure of the Spanish colony of Jamaica in 1655 with only a handful of private warships. This event marked the beginning of the "Golden Age of Piracy," as privateers, emboldened by their legal authority, began seizing territory for their home nation.

Though we weren't yet ready to conquer the settlements of the French, Spanish, Portuguese, or Germans—due to our recovering population after several internal wars—we could certainly raid our enemies while defending our North American colonies. Since our enemies had violated the Treaty of Calais by attacking English territory and our allies, I was no longer bound by its terms to respect their shipping privileges across the seas.

Before leaving Bristol, I blurted out in excitement, “Kaizoku ou ni orewa naru!” Only Robert understood the reason for my excitement and facepalmed. My soulmate through two lifetimes didn’t speak Japanese beyond a few phrases, but he recognized this catchphrase from the popular anime and manga series One Piece, meaning “I will become Pirate King!” Though I didn’t have reality-bending rubber powers, I had built my own “Grand Fleet” after an epic struggle. Despite being nearly 40 years old, I still felt like one of the 17-year-old fans who had followed the series from its beginning to its conclusion after two decades.

At our naval headquarters in Scapa Flow, Fleet Admiral Clinton, Submarine Division Commodore Drake, Merchant Marine Division Commodore Hawkins, and Surface Division Commodore Morgan gathered to discuss the new direction of the “privateering” vessels, now part of the fleet as Auxiliary Cruisers—a class of warships I had introduced earlier. Like my historical counterpart, I wanted to authorize private groups to form “companies” that could gather men, weapons, and ships for specific military operations—precursors to the military contractors of the 20th and 21st centuries. In my vision, the wealth generated from industrial complexes and guilds across England, Wales, Cornwall, Scotland, and Ireland would fund a pirate fleet of steel warships.

Organizing privately armed ships as auxiliary cruisers might seem like an indirect way to build a professional navy, but these vessels—equipped with diesel engines, steel machinery, and guns—came from industrial complexes owned by guilds, with the Crown holding minority stakes. By incentivizing the nearly one hundred industrial complexes throughout Britain, these ships would provide additional manpower and firepower without adding to our maintenance costs. Furthermore, as minority stakeholders of the industrial complexes, we would profit from the seizure of enemy goods without directly taxing the Crown’s subjects. In exchange, our docks, warehouses, railroads, and advanced technologies—such as automated fire-control systems—could be leased to these privateers at discounts that further reduce the upkeep costs.

Eager to begin this endeavor, I opened the meeting: “My lords, this is the dawn of a new era for the English fleet! Privateering vessels, now recommissioned as Auxiliary Cruisers, will transform daring merchants into naval raiders. We’ll strike at our enemies where it hurts most—their coffers! Commodore Hawkins, explain our strategy to the others.”

As head of the merchant fleet, Commodore Hawkins was enthusiastic about expanding the auxiliary cruisers under his oversight and loot regiment. The new arrangement promised to make the Merchant Marine Division of the Royal Navy extremely wealthy, much like the privateers of my timeline.

“Aye, Your Majesty,” Hawkins began eagerly. “We can issue letters of marque to trusted merchant ships, allowing them to arm themselves with rotating turrets—heavy guns mounted on our cruisers. They’d engage in commerce raiding, capturing enemy vessels. The Spanish, French, and Germans all have riches flowing through the seas. Imagine our merchant navy, transformed into a fleet of fortune—sanctioned by the Crown.”

As Hawkins paused for emphasis, I imagined myself with a straw hat and red overcoat. I couldn’t help but exclaim, “Yes! Pirates! Funded by the wealthy guilds, eager to gain our enemies’ fortunes throughout the seven seas. No need for heavy taxation on the Crown’s people, either. We can strike, seize, and grow our coffers while weakening our foes!”

While I’m usually good at reading the room, Robert has mentioned more than once that I can be tone-deaf when I slip into "otaku" mode. I failed to notice that Fleet Admiral Clinton was frowning during our discussion about creating a private pirate fleet. Though he was aware of my plans through reports submitted by Commodore Hawkins, Clinton and I hadn’t thoroughly discussed the idea, as he’d been busy organizing the fleet for various actions at Bayonne and protecting Boulogne. This strategy meeting was his first chance to voice his opinion.

After an awkward silence lasting about thirty seconds, Admiral Clinton spoke up: “With respect, Your Majesty, privateers may fill the royal vaults, but they won’t win wars. These men—merchant captains, though skilled—fight for profit, not for England. They pursue gold, not strategic objectives. A fleet divided by personal gain cannot focus on the broader war we’re engaged in.”

I was taken aback by Admiral Clinton’s reproach, but he wasn’t alone in his doubts.

Commodore Morgan added, “Exactly. Privateers will target the weakest prey—expensive merchant vessels—but they’ll avoid enemy warships. They won’t challenge naval superiority because the risk is too high when their goal is profit. Without coordination, Your Majesty, they could interfere with our efforts, clogging the sea lanes and complicating military operations.”

At that moment, I wanted to cry. Admiral Clinton and Commodore Morgan were right. My idea of a pirate fleet based on a fantasy manga was naïve. Though historically a privateer fleet might have worked, this wasn’t the original 16th century. In my timeline, Queen Elizabeth’s use of privateers had been pivotal to the rise of the Royal Navy, culminating in the victory over the Spanish Armada in 1588. The semi-myth of privateers triumphing against overwhelming military forces continued to inspire generations in my original timeline, from the American Revolution—essentially a civil war against England by private farmers with guns—to famous computer hackers battling corrupt capitalist corporations. But legends don’t always translate to reality. I needed to reconcile the difference between history and the present, where the merging of historical events had changed the context. This conflict couldn’t be fought with chaotic resistance. To win, we needed organization and clear goals.

In my timeline, private military contractors—modern descendants of 16th-century privateers—had proven their value as soldiers of fortune. However, they had also shown their unpredictability and even treachery, most notably in the Russian-Ukrainian war of the 2020s, where a failed march on Moscow exposed their lack of trustworthiness and dangerous potential. Those who fight for wealth and power can be useful, but they lack the dedication and cohesion of a national military.

Considering all these facts, I was reminded of the early failures of the American Revolutionary Army, which relied heavily on militias. This led to devastating losses, including the fall of New York, the largest city of the rebellion. The issue wasn’t the soldiers themselves but the lack of organization. Ironically, it was a homosexual Prussian officer, General Friedrich von Steuben, who reformed the militia into a force capable of defeating England’s regular army, even though my original nation clung to its homophobic military culture until just decades before my death.

I solemnly nodded, acknowledging my mistake, and responded with renewed conviction: “I understand your concerns. A force motivated purely by personal wealth could be unpredictable and even dangerous to our greater strategy. But what if we could control them? Set boundaries, structure, and targeted goals?”

Of all my naval commanders, it was Commodore Drake who provided a new framework for my ideas. “Your Majesty, there’s a balance to be struck. These auxiliary cruisers—privateers—can serve a tactical purpose, but they must be part of a larger strategy. They can’t be free agents. My submarines have already demonstrated their value by disrupting supply lines. We could coordinate the auxiliary raiders with submarines for carefully planned operations—both on the surface and beneath it.”

I almost laughed at the irony. Francis Drake, one of the most successful privateers in English history, was now proposing a strategy that mirrored German tactics during the First World War in my timeline. Like his historical counterpart, Drake was ambitious, but as a submarine commander, he had evolved into a more strategic thinker.

“Go on, Commodore Drake,” I encouraged. “It sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

With a smirk, Drake continued, “We target specific enemy resources. The Spanish colonies—send privateers to disrupt their industrial supply chains, crippling their agricultural output. The French—strike at their mineral shipments, the lifeblood of their war industries. And the Germans? Their oil shipments from the Middle East keep their war machine running. My submarines can quietly take out convoy escorts, and then the privateers can swoop in to seize the cargo or sink their transports.”

Admiral Clinton, now clearly impressed, nodded at his younger colleague. “A joint effort for commerce raiding—focused and purposeful, not chaotic. The Admiralty sets the goals, not some greedy merchant captain. Brilliant, Commodore Drake!”

Even Commodore Morgan, who had been hesitant earlier, was now intrigued. “This could work. The auxiliary cruisers wouldn’t operate with submarines alone. My warships can also attack convoy escorts from a distance the enemy cannot match. The privateers would follow fleet objectives—attacking where we need them, not where they choose—disrupting enemy supply chains while my ships held the line against their fleets.”

With all my commanders on board, I burst into laughter. “Yes! We’ll cripple their resources, cut off their supplies, starve their economies! Commodore Drake, you’ve shown us the future of naval warfare. This isn’t just about gold—it’s about draining our enemies dry, choking off their lifeblood until they can no longer fight.”

Commodore Hawkins, ever eager for profit, joined the chorus of approval. “And if a few crates of treasure or a fleet of transports fall into our laps, Your Majesty, well, who could complain?”

Nodding, I stood to make the decision official. “Indeed, who could? Prepare the letters of marque. Let the world see the might of England’s reformed Royal Navy!”

During this meeting in early 1573, we established the foundation of the Royal Navy's engagement doctrine. By the end of the strategy session, my optimism had returned—along with a surge in my libido. Though Robert and I maintained a healthy sex life whenever we could find the time, as most working parents can attest, it’s often difficult to carve out moments for intimacy. The kinkier activities we both enjoyed were even harder to indulge in, especially with Francis away in the Pyrenees.

So, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a message with erotic overtones upon my return to Bristol, directing me to Beauchamp Manor and its generously sized bed. A small contingent of Aelfric Guards, led by John, escorted me to the manor, where I was greeted by Frances and Robert. Although Frances occasionally joined us in roleplaying games, I was not prepared for what she and Robert had planned this time.

Typically, I maintain a dominant role in such activities with Francis Walsingham and Robert, but there are moments when I crave submission. After months of administrative duties and difficult decisions, I welcomed the chance to fully disconnect during the three days we spent at the manor. Frances Howard, though biologically a woman, was every bit a match for any man in the role of a Dom, thanks to her military training, nine-inch strap-on, and a plush Cat-o’-Nine-Tails whip. Meanwhile, Robert tended to me with his hands and mouth, bringing me to tears of relief as he helped release the tension that had built up over the months.

By the end of those three days of unrestrained passion, I realized I had become pregnant. That was how my fourth child and only daughter, Francine Tudor, was conceived. She was born on September 11, 1573—a date most will remember as the day the Russian Empire unleashed the first atomic weapon in this timeline, striking the capital of Poland-Lithuania, Kraków. As the Valois-Habsburg War raged on, the Livonian War had just begun.