Death Of A Doiechun Imperial Prince

Polia Kingdom, Royal Palace—Council Chamber.

“This was absurd… what in the world happened?”

“Who would do something so colossal and cruel?”

“Haah… that Prince Jenta died… If there was any relief, it was that it happened outside our waters.”

“Whatever the case, the Doicheun Empire’s fury would be at its peak.”

Everyone around the table wore heavy worry. Even if the attack had taken place beyond their maritime jurisdiction, the fact remained: an imperial prince who had visited to attend the king’s engagement had been struck by someone’s hand while returning home.

Polia could very well be blamed. Ian decided that, before anything else, they would express their stance to the Doicheun Empire. He turned to the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“Convey our deepest condolences. Also say we stand ready to assist, fully and actively, with any investigation into the truth.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”

Even as he answered, the minister looked troubled. He feared the Doicheun response. Ian understood, but he also believed they should do everything within their power.

“This incident was, in essence, a slight against our Polia Kingdom as well. We must uncover the truth by any means necessary.”

“Indeed. This is no longer solely a matter for the Doicheun Empire.”

“Whoever did this utterly disregarded Polia!”

“We must find them!”

The ministers’ eyes were hard. To ambush an imperial prince with a submarine on his way home from a royal celebration was to lump Polia together with contempt. The crucial point was the method—what appeared to be a submarine attack—and only a few states operated such vessels.

Ever since the Doicheun Empire had unveiled its submarines, many countries rushed to design and build their own. While few flaunted their fleets openly, they evidently possessed them. Polia, too, had built submarines and had some in service.

Back in 1911, they had constructed three boats designated the Amor-class, and were now simultaneously building five improved, 450-ton boats. In short, the list of potential suspects was limited—but not short.

At least they should be beyond suspicion, Ian thought. They had no motive to kill Prince Jenta, and everyone knew it. They should not doubt Polia.

“How are we handling the survivors?”

“We currently have six survivors under care. The Doicheun Empire will likely move to secure their custody.”

A merchant vessel bound for Polia had actually discovered the wreck’s survivors; that was how anyone learned a submarine had sunk the prince’s ship.

“They are taking their own nationals. If they request it, hand them over at once.”

“Understood.”

Ian then looked to Viscount Rubingston. The viscount replied, as if he already knew what Ian would ask.

“We are deploying every resource to find the hand behind this. The embassies must be involved; we are tracing their paperwork for the last several months.”

“Do not be too overt. Some will feign outrage the moment we make them nervous.”

“Yes, we will proceed quietly.”

Ian nodded. The meeting adjourned not long after. He could not dwell on a single matter all day; he still had a country to run. He returned to his office and worked through the papers.

Several days later, the six survivors were taken into Doicheun custody. The empire remained cold and quiet. Ian resolved to be ready in case sparks jumped in Polia’s direction. If the Doicheun Empire tried to pin this on them, he would not sit still and take it.

Realistically, Doicheun could ill afford to provoke Polia. With enemy fleets pressing from north and south, opening another front at sea would only worsen their position. No matter how strong they were on paper, they could not dismiss Polia’s navy.

Perhaps for that reason, Polia’s admirals now longed even more for battleships.

For the first time in a while, Duke Brudwar, admiral of the 1st Fleet, visited Ian’s office—and the request he repeated was one Ian had not wanted to hear.

“You say we need more battleships?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We need more.”

“But we already have twelve.”

In 1911, Polia had laid down three more battleships; now, years later, all three were complete, trialed, and ready for assignment. In that context, Duke Brudwar’s push for yet more hulls ran against Ian’s policy.

“Twelve is too few.”

“We had this discussion. I authorized three more, and we built them.”

“Even with those three, we lag far behind the empires’ fleets.”

“I know the empires have already lost many battleships—and keep losing them.”

“And they replace them just as quickly with newly built ships.”

Ian nodded. The empires had been laying down ships even before the war; when they lost one at sea, another soon took its place.

“I still see no reason to keep inflating our battleship count. Battleships devour money.”

“Only with more battleships will outsiders understand that we are not easy prey.”

“We have already expanded our numbers—in carriers, cruisers, and destroyers.”

“You expanded hulls, yes, but our striking power grew much less than the count suggests.”

“You still dislike carriers?”

“I do not dismiss Your Majesty’s carriers; they have real strategic value. The perception problem is external. More importantly, we are in a battleship revolution. New designs and technologies are emerging everywhere. The Doicheun Empire has launched a 40,000-ton ship mounting triple turrets.”

“Forty thousand tons… quite the jump.”

“More tonnage, stronger protection—and triple, larger-caliber guns for far greater punch. Does that not concern you?”

Frankly, it did not frighten Ian. Bigger guns and thicker armor would not remain unbeatable forever. Still, he knew Polia’s force mix was not perfect either.

Compared to empires fielding forty to fifty battleships, twelve truly was few. And carriers, as they were now, were not yet decisive weapons.

Their current fighters could not easily penetrate a battleship’s air defenses, nor could their bombs reliably pierce heavy armor. They needed far more capable aircraft—and far more powerful ordnance.

That would take time.

They were pouring money into aviation, but results would take years—perhaps a decade. Given how fast the field moved, he hoped for satisfactory fighters and bombers sooner rather than later.

“I understand you, Duke.”

“Then please, increase the battleship program. With Doicheun’s temper unknown, we must be ready.”

“I agree in principle. But we cannot build without limit. You know the staggering cost of a single battleship.”

“Polia the Great can bear it.”

“We can, but other priorities press us. We cannot spend without care.”

Polia’s arms exports were generating a fortune behind the Great War, but Ian was investing heavily in domestic infrastructure. Only a month earlier, he had ordered two new fertilizer plants.

A battleship consumed; a fertilizer plant produced. In time, the latter paid them back many times over.

Of course, that payback existed only because Polia’s military deterred external threats, allowing him to build in peace.

“Do not halt the development of our battle line, Your Majesty. We need it.”

“If you insist, then one ship. We have room for that.”

“Only one? We need three.”

“Build one. If the goal is development, pour everything into that one.”

“But—”

“Even if I approve three now, a few years hence you will be back asking for more. Better to build one every five years, continually, than to binge-build and binge-beg.”

Eventually, even desired hulls would age out. With a steady, single-ship cadence, budgets would be more manageable; older hulls could shift to second-line duties without ballooning costs.

Some Monglia-class ships from the Doicheun War will be obsolete within a decade anyway. This might be for the best.

“…Understood. We will begin design work at once.”

The duke looked disappointed, but also relieved: the battle line would not stagnate. Ian had not shut the door; he had promised continuity.

It is good I never used mind-control on him, Ian thought. Hearing forceful dissent has value.

As September came, the Doicheun Empire announced its conclusion:

“Doicheun Empire declares: the Moria and Noma Empires cowardly assassinated our visiting imperial prince with a submarine!”

“Moria Empire denies: ‘We do not stoop to such acts.’ Noma Empire likewise rejects the accusation and demands a proper investigation!”

“Doicheun Empire replies: ‘We will accept no excuses. We will stake everything to win this war!’”

“War intensifies: reports say a Moria battleship was sunk by a submarine torpedo attack. Was it Doicheun’s revenge?”

For Polia, this was not a bad outcome. Doicheun channeled its rage toward the two empires and escalated the war. In practice, nothing had changed—the Great War continued, only fiercer.

That very fierceness revealed the Doicheun Emperor’s cold resolve.

With the fighting raging on land and sea, carnage now filled the skies. Fighters swarmed overhead, raking one another with machine guns; dozens crashed daily.

Parachutes had been introduced, and some pilots bailed out—but many died before they could jump. Pilots became scarce, then aircraft themselves: production was high, losses higher, and to keep pace required even more men and materiel.

So the empires began looking to buy aircraft abroad. Naturally, they first turned to the Magnia Empire. Magnia was willing to sell—to both sides—swelling both arsenals at once.

When that proved insufficient, eyes turned to Polia, which had its own aircraft industry. As recently as early this year, the empires had sworn never to buy Polian planes; now they stretched out their hands. And fighters, unlike rifles or guns, came with princely price tags.