1901

“The Democratic opposition will not like it.”

Roosevelt rose and commenced to pace. “Damnit, John, we are a world power whether we wish to be or not. In the space of three short years we have defeated both Spain and Germany, and now the British wish us to join with them in an alliance of English-speaking peoples that would span the globe.”

“Some are afraid the British will dominate us in any such alliance,” Hay pointed out.

“Let them try. Their empire is on the decline, only they haven’t yet figured it out, whereas ours is ascending. No, we will start out as equals and commence to dominate them. Especially when we dig a canal across the Isthmus of Panama.” He clapped his hands in glee. “We have a navy; we will have an army and, very soon, a canal. We are a power!”

Hay sipped his tea. He would rather have had a whiskey. The idea of a canal was just about at the implementation stage. It would go forward whether the Colombians wanted it or not. He also felt that the American mood would permit Roosevelt’s military expansions, and would do so for a number of years until some parsimonious future Congress again decided that years of peace meant no future of war. The shock of the attack on New York was far from having worn off. The Germans had been defeated, at least for now, but there were other potential threats. Japan, for instance, and Russia. Or perhaps the Ottomans. America would never again stand alone in this world.

Hay raised his cup. “To the future, Theodore, to the future.”

Holstein’s new office was in a building a few blocks away from where the construction crews were trying to repair the damage to the chancellery. It was of no import to him. He had always considered the chancellery a singularly ugly building. However, it had been a shame that the kaiser had been unwilling to leave. So many had died because of the man’s stubbornness. Holstein shuddered as he recalled the mobs, interspersed with army reserve units, as they stormed the building, sacked it, and burned it. Imprinted forever too, was the sight of the dead and dying on the street and the lynched victims dangling from the ornate lampposts. That must not happen again.

“Herr Becker, I must offer you my congratulations.” Holstein held out his hand to the other man who had just entered. Becker smiled tightly.

“Thank you, Count von Holstein. I understand I had your support. In the background, of course.”

“It was the only way, dear Becker. The old regime is in such disrepute that any public support of you by anyone with a ‘von’ in front of their name would have been a kiss of death. But now you are the prime minister of a new Germany.”

“A temporary title, I’m afraid. When the new constitution is drawn and ratified, it may only be a memory.”

“Then we must not permit that to happen.” Becker’s face reflected surprise.

“Have you decided what to do with the royal family?” Holstein asked.

“Wilhelm II is banished, of course, and I believe headed for Denmark with his insufferable wife. His first war, I’m afraid, will also be his last. But there is sentiment for the crown prince as a figurehead. He would become, of course, Kaiser Wilhelm III. The boy is only eighteen and seems to be more stable than his father. He could easily be controlled if it came to that. But what did you mean, we must not let my title become a memory?”

“Becker, men like you are the future of Germany. We Junkers have had our day in the German sun and wasted it. The Prussians will be useful in the army but not as a government. I hope that you will draw a constitution that permits the facade of democracy while keeping the real power in the hands of qualified people like yourself and away from the Socialists like August Bebel and those readers of Marx and Engels.”

Becker grinned. “And in your hands as well?”

Holstein lowered his head in mock humility. “If called upon, I feel qualified to serve.”

This time Becker laughed out loud. Power had fallen to him and he was finding it pleasurable. “I remember our earlier conversation. Are you dismayed at what has happened to our army and navy?”

“Not really.” Diedrichs had been court-martialed for cowardice and executed; Schlieffen and Moltke had been permitted to retire in disgrace. As yet there was no head of the smaller navy, while two men, Hindenburg and Mackensen, were jockeying for command of the army. Others, like Kluck, Falkenhayn, and Ludendorff, also awaited their opportunity. Holstein’s money was on Hindenburg, who, despite playing a key role in America, was strangely untouched personally by the disaster. “Becker, do you still believe what you said about opportunities for Germany within Europe?”