When Bismarck strode briskly out of Charlottenburg Palace under the glow of countless lights, he had just been appointed the new Prussian ambassador to Russia. In three days, he would depart from Berlin for St. Petersburg to assume his new post.
Time was limited, and Bismarck could not afford to waste a single minute. The tall man took long strides, leaping onto his carriage. Before the door could even close properly, the coachman cracked the reins, and the carriage sped away—not towards Bismarck's official residence in Berlin, but to another destination.
Half an hour later, Bismarck's figure appeared in front of a house on the outskirts of Berlin.
This house was strikingly different from the typical Berlin residences. It was built in a perfectly square and upright manner, resembling a neatly folded military blanket. Beside the main building stood a flat-topped tower, akin to a watchtower, with narrow windows that added to its militaristic appearance. Everything about the structure suggested it was more of a military installation than a residence, hinting at the identity of its owner.
Bismarck seemed well-acquainted with this place. He rang the doorbell, and soon, the narrow door swung open to reveal a butler-like figure who showed no surprise at Bismarck's arrival. Without a word, the man led him into the living room and quietly withdrew.
Bismarck sat comfortably on the sofa. Before he had a chance to settle in, a loud, resonant voice greeted him:
"Ha! You're finally back, my old friend!"
Bismarck turned towards the voice and saw a figure emerge from the dim doorway of the living room.
The man was tall and robust, no less imposing than Bismarck himself. Unlike the slightly portly Bismarck, however, this man's frame was lean and muscular, a testament to disciplined training and maintenance. His angular face, seemingly chiseled by a sculptor's knife, conveyed decisiveness and resolve. His piercing blue-gray eyes sparkled with intelligence and vitality, hinting at a mind sharper than most.
What was intriguing, though, was the juxtaposition of his otherwise commanding features with a pair of somewhat unruly mustaches and slightly curly hair that, despite being carefully combed, exuded a carefree, unconventional air. It suggested an inner tension, an unspoken duality in his character.
"I don't have much time," Bismarck said, remaining seated. "I came straight from Charlottenburg Palace to see you."
As he spoke, the man leisurely sat down on another sofa nearby, brushing his graying hair aside with a laugh.
"Well, I'm honored! So, how was the feast? The Chitons weren't bad, I hope?"
"The food was fine, but there was no beer," Bismarck shrugged, clearly uninterested in continuing the topic. "We'll discuss that later. What's your next move? You've stirred up quite the storm between the king and the parliament—it's all thanks to you, my dear Albrecht!"
At this, Bismarck's "dear Albrecht" burst into laughter. His unruly mustaches and tousled hair trembled with mirth, making him appear even more vivid and animated.
"Well, that's quite the honor!" Albrecht chuckled, reclining in his seat. He spoke candidly:
"What else can I do? The parliament is always bickering, opposing everything while achieving nothing. Have you ever seen them accomplish anything worthwhile? Dealing with those noisy gentlemen is the king's headache. As long as I, Roon, remain Minister of War, the army reforms must continue! That's my plan, and it's the only plan."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Bismarck's lips. This was the answer he had anticipated and the one he most wanted to hear from the man before him.
The man was none other than Albrecht Theodor Emil von Roon, a longtime friend and confidant of Bismarck, as well as his senior by twelve years.
Roon and Bismarck had known each other for so long that even Bismarck, with his prodigious memory, could not recall when their friendship began or when he had become so intimately familiar with Roon's temperament—just as Roon understood Bismarck's.
In 1848, during the revolution, Bismarck had been a staunch royalist, while Roon, then a colonel, served under Prince Wilhelm (now King Wilhelm) in suppressing the Baden uprising. On many major domestic and international issues, the two men had often found themselves in unspoken agreement, particularly in their shared disdain for the ineffectual and noisy parliament.
Their shared ideals and complementary personalities naturally led to a deep friendship. Bismarck was extroverted and cunning, adept at using aggressive tactics to achieve his goals. Roon, on the other hand, was reserved and low-key, rarely revealing his thoughts except to those he trusted implicitly. His approach was to act more and speak less. Together, they formed a partnership that was greater than the sum of its parts.
What Bismarck did not know, however, was that in an alternate timeline unaltered by Smith's unexpected arrival and subsequent disruptions, this senior friend would become his benefactor. In the original history, when the conflict between the king and the parliament reached an impasse in 1862, it was Roon who recommended Bismarck to King Wilhelm, paving the way for Bismarck's rise to power as Prussia's chancellor.
Though this "debt of gratitude" could no longer be replicated in the current reality, it did not diminish Bismarck's respect for Roon. The latter was now bearing the immense pressure of implementing his army reform plan in Prussia.
This plan, while somewhat "classified," was not overly complex. As Bismarck, privy to the details, understood, its essence boiled down to a few key points: extending the service period for infantry soldiers from two to three years, and for more technical branches like cavalry and artillery, from three to four years; reducing the size of the reserve forces and streamlining personnel; updating military equipment; and expanding the size of the active-duty forces.
Though not a career bureaucrat, Bismarck, as a Junker, had firsthand experience commanding troops and understood the profound implications of these reforms. He had no doubt that if Roon's plan were fully implemented, the Prussian army would undergo a transformative rebirth, surpassing even the era of Frederick the Great and becoming a formidable force capable of sweeping across Europe.
"You know I support you," Bismarck said, gazing at Rohn.
"Even though I'm just a diplomat now, I support you!"
Bismarck's already sharp voice grew even sharper as he emphasized the words "diplomat" and "support," as if reminding Rohn of something. He then continued,
"Although I've commanded troops before, it would be presumptuous to discuss such matters in front of you. However, from a diplomat's perspective, the army is the cornerstone of Prussia's survival. If Prussia were a knight, the army would be its sword. What you're doing now is forging a stronger, sharper blade for this knight!"
"Haha, an interesting metaphor!" Rohn chuckled.
"But the gentlemen in parliament don't see it that way. They seem utterly unconcerned about the possibility of that little Napoleon in France marching an army over here one day, just like his uncle did. You and I both know this isn't an exaggeration. Instead, they worry that we, who dedicate ourselves to defending the homeland, might one day point our bayonets at their chests. Good heavens! It's absurd!"
Bismarck nodded in agreement, and Rohn, in the presence of his trusted friend, finally opened up:
"All my efforts to reform the military are aimed at enhancing its combat effectiveness, so our nation, surrounded by threats, can survive! Even the great Frederick the Great couldn't win battles without a well-trained army. God help us, if Frederick the Great had been burdened by a parliament like ours during the Seven Years' War, we'd have lost our country!"
"And we should thank the Russians for that!" Bismarck quipped, his sardonic talent on full display. Though sarcastic, his words were true. Without the new Tsar of Russia, a "Prussia enthusiast," withdrawing from the war and making peace with Prussia, even Frederick the Great would likely have faced defeat.
"You see, our division of labor is remarkably focused!" Rohn, long accustomed to Bismarck's sharp wit, replied with mock seriousness, suppressing a smile as he guessed what Bismarck would say next:
"I'll reform the army, and you keep the Russians at bay. What a perfect partnership!"
At this, Bismarck burst into laughter, and Rohn joined in. The modest parlor was momentarily filled with joyous mirth.
"Jokes aside," Rohn said, regaining his composure after a hearty laugh, "you understand my plan and our goals. By those standards, my plan is already exceedingly restrained."
Bismarck knew exactly what Rohn meant. Officially, Rohn's military reform aimed to bolster Prussia's defensive capabilities. In reality, the expansion of the army was a preparation for the military unification of Germany.
As Rohn pointed out, his plan was indeed restrained relative to his ambitious goal. As a certain Russian named Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov would later say, "Quantity has a quality all its own." When evaluating a nation's military strength, numbers undeniably play a crucial role.
In 1861, the European nation with the largest standing army was Tsarist Russia. Its formidable "steamroller," both feared and envied by Europe, boasted a staggering 990,000 troops, nearly equal to the combined forces of the other European powers. Keeping Russia neutral in future wars was thus imperative.
Following Russia was France, whose 420,000-strong military was commanded by Napoleon III. Although Napoleon Bonaparte's army had lost at Leipzig and Waterloo, its reputation still inspired awe. With modern equipment, rigorous training, and considerable size, the French army was dubbed "Europe's premier land force," a title the French took pride in—and rightly so.
Third in line was Austria, another Germanic state. Its army, a true colossus with feet of clay, suffered from inadequate equipment and poorly trained personnel. Yet its sheer size, with 310,000 troops, made it a force to be reckoned with.
By comparison, Prussia's standing army was a distant fourth. Its 92 regiments, totaling 140,000 troops, were less than half the size of Austria's. Even with superior training and a more capable officer corps, no one realistically expected one Prussian soldier to be worth two Austrians.
Given these circumstances, military expansion was inevitable. Rohn's plan aimed to increase Prussia's army from 92 regiments and 140,000 troops to 147 regiments and 217,000 troops over several years—a more than 50% increase. Yet even then, Prussia's expanded army would still only be 70% the size of Austria's.
"This is why I say my plan is already exceedingly restrained given our goals!" Rohn declared.
Bismarck understood the implications. These numbers meant that two Prussian soldiers would need to outperform three Austrians to defeat Austria. Similarly, an equal number of Prussian troops would have to match the strength of twice as many French soldiers to stand a chance against France. Both nations were bound to become formidable obstacles on Prussia's path to unifying Germany. The challenges ahead were self-evident.