Chapter Thirty-Eight (Patreon)

The Royal Residence of Busan was a humble abode by Imperial standards. Made of simple brick, it was only two stories tall and held less than twenty rooms. One of these was a moderately large dining hall capable of seating at most two dozen guests. Currently the well-lit wooden hall seated only a fraction of that number.

“—having problems with the larger guns,” the Captain of the Tientsin announced. “From what the engineers are saying the larger explosions place more strain on the breech.”

“I understand the value of keeping ahead, but is it truly worthwhile to test such weapons at the current time?” Rear-Admiral Kornilov asked. “Currently no other nation possesses an armored warship and precious few have the capacity to build them if they wished.”

“Chief among them our primary rival in the Pacific,” Rear-Admiral Nakhimov countered. Though the two men had served together under Lazarev (indeed, a large number of the officers had) they often differed when it came to the pace of modernization. “If it is the Empire’s policy to control the northern Pacific we cannot assume a lack of industry on behalf of the British. They are stubborn, prideful, and greedy men, but they are not fools. Eventually they will adopt armored ships, and I would prefer Russia to have a method of defeating them when it happens.”

“Yes,” Captain Pereleshin joined in, “but are larger caliber guns the best method? A four-inch shell is far more devastating than an eight-inch round shot. Perhaps the future lies in better shells and more powerful explosives.”

“Perhaps his Imperial Highness can elucidate us on the matter,” Lazarev suggested.

“Siberia’s researchers are pursuing all fields of interest,” Alexander answered. “You may rest assured that any improvements will reach your weaponry as soon as is practicable.” Alexander didn’t think that any of the officers were traitors (he would have had them shot if he did) but there was always the risk. Besides, even if they weren’t traitors now, they could be tomorrow. “For now you must continue your work.”

“Some of our work,” Captain Pereleshin said. Alexander turned his gaze towards the officer, who swallowed harshly but hurried to explain; “The Tientsin has rendered previous designs obsolete. Its armor is too thick for anything but heavy guns at close range to pierce and its weapons can pivot left and right as well as up and down, meaning it has no need to engage in the conventional broadside but can instead continue maneuvering to avoid being shot at.” Captain Pereleshin’s color was returning to his face. “Any new ships must be built to the standards of the Tientsin if they are to truly be considered modern. If they are not as well-armored they must be faster, if they are not faster they must be better armored, if they are neither they must be better armed.”

“So new ships must be redesigned.”

“More than that,” Captain Perelshin eagerly (and disrespectfully) continued. “The limitations of the engines and propellers must be considered. While better ones will hopefully be invented, at the current time there is a hard limit to the size of ship we can make if we wish for it to be truly competitive with the Tientsin as a warship. Large commercial ships can certainly be made, but they need neither armor nor guns, both of which add considerable weight to the vessel. In short, your Imperial Highness, the two ships of the line that the navy has been called to produce are impossible to make to the Tientsin’s standards with present technology.”

Alexander turned sharply to Lazarev. “Is this true?”

The Admiral winced, but nodded. “Yes, your Imperial Highness.”

“And the reason you did not inform me of this?”

The old Admiral, a veteran of the Napoleonic Wars and Antarctic expeditions, met Alexander’s gaze without a flinch. “I desired to wait for the results of the Tientsin’s sea-trials before casting aside years of work,” Lazarev said plainly.

“And now that it has proven necessary?”

“We start anew.”

*

With the acquisition of a warm-water port many of Alexander’s researchers had been relocated. The benefits of year-round testing and a lack of sub-zero (farenheit) temperatures in winter proved enticing to even the most reticent scientists. Nominally led by William Handyside, a nephew of the Saint Petersburg shipyard owner Charles Baird, the ever-expanding team of researches explored new engines, new propellers, new weapons, and new concepts. One man’s work particularly interested Alexander. Samuel Morey was an aging American inventor who had been recruited by promises of large research budgets and buying out the man’s debt. Obsessed with flammable vapors, Morey sought to create a new form of engine. Morey called it a vapor engine, but to Alexander it was recognizable as an internal combustion engine–the very thing that would transform locomotion and give a purpose to Russia’s near-limitless reserves of oil. Morey, now seventy-nine, was working with a promising young Korean who (after promises of consistent pay) had sworn to continue the man’s research.

Of as much personal and political relevance as scientific was another researcher. Konstantin Konstantinov may have been a relatively junior artillery officer (he had yet to reach an General rank) but his lineage and intelligence pointed towards a promising future. The bastard son of Alexander’s nephew, Konstantin had already proven his worth as a researcher. Together with the Englishman William Hale he had made rapid advances in the field of rocketry, to the point that ten-dyuym-long rockets were placed aboard the Tientsin as a tertiary armament.

Yet it was neither Morey nor Konstantin that was performing for Alexander today. Instead it was Karl Schilder, a borderline genius and definitive madman. Underneath his fine-combed hair and well-groomed mustache that even Alexander could approve of was a man without regard for safety–his own or anyone else’s. During the Russo-Turkish War of 1828-1829 he had commanded the Life Guards’ Sappers. At the Siege of Varna Schilder had elected to install so many mines beneath the Turkish fort’s walls that the explosion sent dust into the friendly lines. Since then he had served as one of Alexander’s primary researchers on naval weaponry, testing electric detonators, impact-detonating underwater mines, and pole mines–all with a notable lack of care for the test subjects. One Alexander shared so long as Schilder got results.

Now it was time to test Schilder’s latest invention. One Lazarev had dubbed “the most insane yet, and all the wilder if it works.” The tiny vessel was two meters wide, two meters high, and eight meters long. Built entirely of riveted steel the (currently) floating coffin looked more like a rocket than a ship. Alexander could understand his officer’s distrust of the device. He personally shared it, even if he knew how useful the contraption’s descendants could prove.

Six men boarded the submarine, issuing a final salute before the trial began. There was no cloud of smoke as the submarine’s engines turned on, merely a whirring noise and the churning of water by its sole propeller.

“It is powered by the latest Jacobi-Davenport electric motors,” Schilder explained as the submarine slipped below the waters.

“Less powerful than a steam engine,” Lazarev noted. “The range will be shorter as well.”

“Yes,” Schilder sourly admitted. “The motors take up much of the space and provide only one horsepower. But they do not poison the crew with fumes and smoke.”

“What is its speed?” Alexander asked.

“One vyersta per hour above water. This is nothing more than a proof of concept your Imperial Highness, evidence that we should continue research.”

“If it succeeds,” Lazarev noted.

Alexander said nothing. They waited. They waited. Some servants brought refreshments, which Alexander nibbled at. Then they waited some more.

“Do you think–”

Less than a mile from shore the submarine surfaced. Water poured off its body. Metal lids slid clear of their tubes, revealing a set of rockets. Pointing directly at their target (a rickety fishing boat) they fired. Two of the rockets failed to launch. Of the four, only one hit the target, but that was enough to turn the decrepit boat into a pile of kindling.

“It is too slow,” Lazarev said. “Any attempt to use it in combat would see the submersible destroyed.”

“It is not meant for combat,” Schilder huffed. “It is meant for attacking without notice and retreating beneath the waves.” He turned to Alexander. “It can attach underwater mines as well,” he said. “Ones that can be detonated from a distance. Very useful against a blockade.”

Alexander turned to Lazarev, who nodded hesitantly. “Continue to work on it,” 

Alexander ordered. “If the electric motors are not powerful enough, perhaps Morey’s vapor engine will be.”