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Chapter 933: Aftermath

"The worse our financial situation becomes, the more we find ourselves in need of a war," Baron vom Stein declared immediately. "At the very least, it allows the soldiers to forage for spoils on the battlefield, compensating them for the wages that have been delayed for so long."

Indeed, because Prussia had exited the war earlier and maintained domestic stability, it had managed to catch its breath. Now that Austria had surrendered and was reeling from internal rebellions and the loss of the Southern Netherlands and Northern Italy, the Prussians could smell blood in the water.

In truth, they cared far more about their direct rival, Austria, than they did about France.

If they could crush Austria in Silesia, the Habsburgs' leadership over the German states would effectively end. Prussia would then naturally ascend to the position of supreme leader.

But Silesia was only the beginning.

If the campaign went smoothly, the Prussian army could push deeper into Bohemia and Moravia, marching all the way to the gates of Vienna.

Prussia was, at its heart, a militaristic state. As long as the army was winning victories, most domestic troubles would vanish into thin air.

The Marquis of Grolman sighed heavily. "At the very least, we must prepare the logistics and supplies required for a mobilization. We will need at least two million Thalers for that."

Wilhelmine nodded and turned her gaze toward the Foreign Secretary. "Count Schulenburg, you must go to London. Seek a loan of at least 300,000 Pounds Sterling from our British allies."

The Count lowered his head, looking troubled. Prussia had already received nearly 700,000 Pounds in loans from Britain and had no clear plan for repayment. Now that the war against France had concluded, would the British be willing to open their coffers again?

"Madam, if the British refuse..."

Wilhelmine cut him off with a cold tone. "Then tell William Pitt... oh, wait, he's stepped down. Who is their Prime Minister now?"

"Lord Grenville," Baron vom Stein whispered.

After Pitt's resignation, Charles James Fox had failed to secure the premiership as he had hoped.

King George III had followed Pitt's recommendation and appointed Grenville instead. Although Grenville had largely aligned with Pitt's political stance, he was a Whig. This maneuver had forced Fox to begrudgingly accept the situation.

Wilhelmine nodded. "Tell Lord Grenville that this money is vital to Prussia's survival. If he cannot provide it, we will be forced to seek other alternatives."

Though she lacked formal experience in statecraft, her years as the King's mistress and the constant maneuvering of palace intrigue had taught her how to strike at a person's weakness.

Her words were a thinly veiled threat: if Britain did not provide support, Prussia would turn to the French for an alliance.

Prussia was Britain's most critical foothold on the European continent—the only one that truly mattered. They could not afford to lose it. That was their vulnerability.

Count Schulenburg bowed. "As you wish, Madam."

The Minister of War raised another point. "General Blücher has always advocated for better relations with Austria. I worry he may be reluctant to lead an invasion against them."

The Duke of Brunswick, disheartened by his recent defeat, had retired to his estates to recuperate.

Currently, Blücher was the most capable commander Prussia had to offer.

"The army can be entrusted to the Prince of Hohenlohe," Baron vom Stein suggested. "And that staff officer, Scharnhorst, has shown remarkable talent. Send him along as well."

The Prince of Hohenlohe was a prince of Württemberg. Interestingly, while one of his brothers served as an officer in the Austrian army, he served Prussia.

In another timeline, it was Hohenlohe who would inadvertently hand Napoleon a brilliant victory at the Battle of Jena.

Of course, being defeated by Emperor Napoleon was something of a rite of passage for European officers of this era, so it wasn't necessarily a total indictment of his abilities.

The Marquis of Grolman interjected quickly, "Lieutenant Colonel Scharnhorst is currently busy with the reforms of the General Staff..."

Wilhelmine shot him a sharp look. "Then he can continue those reforms after we have reclaimed Silesia."

"Yes, Madam."

...

The shockwaves of the Austrian surrender were felt far beyond Prussia; they resonated all the way to Rome.

On the right bank of the Tiber, nearly three thousand citizens marched past the Pantheon. They carried wooden placards demanding "Roman Autonomy," "An Elected Parliament," and "Liberty and Equality."

At the time, the city of Rome had a population of only about 140,000, a large portion of which consisted of clergy.

A protest of this scale was entirely unprecedented.

A middle-aged man stood on the stone base of one of the Pantheon's massive columns. He waved a copy of a pamphlet titled The Meaning of Liberty and Human Rights, shouting with fervent emotion:

"Citizens of Rome! The Austrians have shown us that liberty and equality must be seized by our own hands!

"We used to pin our hopes on the mercy and charity of the Holy See, hoping they would return Rome to its rightful masters.

"But the facts have proven that this path is a dead end!

"The Holy See does nothing but raise taxes again and again, greedily snatching every coin we have, only to tell us that our hope lies in Heaven.

"No! There is no hope there. Only deception!

"Our hope is here, right beneath our feet!

"We can wait no longer.

"Rome belongs to every one of its citizens. The Holy See should devote itself entirely to serving the Lord. If the Papacy refuses to return Rome to us, then we shall take it back ourselves!"

The crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. "Rome belongs to the citizens!"

"Autonomy for Rome now!"

"Form a parliament! Abolish clerical privileges!"

Amidst the shouting, over a hundred soldiers of the Papal Guard in their distinctive red uniforms watched from a distance. They were visibly tense, but they didn't dare move to disperse the crowd.

In the past, the Papal States could muster an army of over two thousand, which would have been enough to handle such a protest.

But now, the forces of the Mediterranean Security Organization had already moved into Spoleto. With the Papal States reduced to just Rome and Perugia, the army had mostly been disbanded.

The four hundred remaining guards didn't dare lift a finger against the protesters, fearing they might spark a localized version of the Vienna mutiny.

The man speaking at the Pantheon suddenly gestured toward the crowd. "Follow me! We shall petition the Holy Father! Demand a parliament! Let the Church return to its true piety!"

...

In Braga, a key town in northwestern Portugal.

The Marquis of Talavera, Supreme Commander of the Spanish Northern Army, looked at Junot with a face full of hesitation.

"Colonel, the garrison in Porto consists of nearly ten thousand men. I fear it will be difficult for my troops to take the city in a short amount of time."

Junot clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "General Talavera, you are the most brilliant commander on the Iberian Peninsula. The Portuguese are no match for you."

His words weren't entirely empty flattery.

The Marquis of Talavera had twenty thousand men under his command. Under normal circumstances, he held a decisive numerical advantage over the defenders of Porto.