Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 603: The Rising Lotus

The air in Bangkok was heavy with incense and thunderclouds.

The monsoon had not yet broken, but the horizon threatened with roiling shades of iron and ash.

Inside the gilded halls of the Chakri Maha Prasat Throne Hall, the court of His Majesty King Vajiravudh II was in session.

It was no longer the fragile Siam of colonial dread.

This was a new Siam, a kingdom unbowed, emboldened by its alignment with the Central Powers, and fortified by the collapse of its historical tormentors.

On the walls hung massive banners embroidered in gold and crimson, bearing the Royal Elephant, once feared only in legend, now feared once more in truth.

At the center of the throne hall, beneath a great dome painted with scenes of Buddhist cosmic warfare, the young king sat on a lion-carved dais, robed in white and silver.

Before him stood three figures:

A German military advisor, one of Bruno’s many overseas proxies.

A Vietnamese envoy, representing the newly independent Imperial Confederation of Annam, free of both France and China.

And a Burmese prince-in-exile, seeking military assistance to reclaim Mandalay from republican agitators.

The room was hushed, yet the tension danced between the men like monsoon lightning.

“You speak of loyalty,” said the king, his voice calm, yet sharp. “But where were your loyalties when Siam stood alone, resisting foreign claws on all sides?”

The Vietnamese envoy bowed his head.

“Your Majesty, we were shackled. But now, we offer brotherhood. In trade, in blood, in iron.”

The Burmese prince stepped forward.

“My homeland is dying under the yoke of anarchists and British defectors. With your support, it could rise again under the Mandala system, as it should.”

The king leaned back. Thunder rumbled overhead. And then he smiled, thin, wolfishly.

“You do not understand. Siam does not support uprisings.”

He rose slowly from the throne.

“Siam leads them.”

Later, in the war room overlooking the banks of the Chao Phraya River, the German advisor and the king stood over a series of maps spread across a lacquered teak table.

Naval deployments. Railway junctions. German supply routes winding through Indochina and the Mekong basin.

“Our influence now stretches from Tavoy to Tonkin,” said the advisor. “The Japanese fleet is gone. The French have retreated to Africa. The British are bleeding in Spain and the Philippines.”

The king nodded slowly. “Then the southern sea is ours.”

“Eventually,” said the advisor with a dry smile. “But remember, Your Majesty, Bruno does not believe in premature empires. He builds them brick by brick.”

The king poured himself a glass of jasmine tea.

“Yes, and yet he allows Wilhelm to sip port while the world burns. No offense, advisor, but Germany’s hands are full.”

Hohenstein did not argue. Instead, he slid a folder forward. Inside were photographs of German U-boats being serviced in Siamese drydocks, joint military academies, and rail projects linking Laos to Siamese military outposts.

“You are already one of our strongest allies,” he said. “And one of the few nations we trust to hold the balance of Asia.”

The king looked at the photos. Then, at the horizon, where storm clouds were finally starting to crack.

“I will not be a satrap of Berlin,” he said. “But I will be a friend to order.”

“And if the republics come?” asked the advisor.

The king’s eyes darkened.

“Then I will crush them beneath the feet of a white elephant. As my ancestors did before.”

By nightfall, drums echoed through Bangkok’s narrow streets. Not for war, but for national celebration.

Today marked ten years since Siam expelled the last French garrisons from Cambodia.

And three years since the Japanese surrendered to Germany.

The last of their vessels in the region being surrendered to the Royal Thai Navy as part of the breakup of their empire.

The city’s skyline was lit with lanterns and fireworks. But beneath the festivities, soldiers patrolled with polished rifles.

Officers of the Royal Siamese Expeditionary Corps moved through the crowds, recruiting fresh volunteers for the coming “stabilization” campaigns in Burma and Malaya.

In the German consulate, the German advisor sent a coded telegram back to Tyrol:

“Bangkok remains firm. The Lotus blooms. Recommend full economic integration of Siamese corridor. The King is not a puppet, but he is something better. An ally with memory.”

Thousands of miles away, Bruno would eventually receive that telegram with quiet satisfaction.

Another pillar rising. Another link in the chain.

Asia was waking up, not as a continent of colonies or democracies, but of kings and steel.

And in this new world order, Siam would not kneel.

It would lead.

—

The scent of eucalyptus hung heavy in the cabinet room, but the mood was anything but relaxed.

Sir Harold Menzies, Australia’s ambassador to Siam, tossed a set of black-and-white photographs onto the mahogany table.

Grainy images, yet unmistakable: Siamese armored divisions rolling through the streets of Vientiane, German-built drydocks in the Gulf of Thailand, Siamese officers drilling with Mauser rifles beneath a flag of gold and crimson.

“This,” he said, tapping a photo, “was Bangkok a decade ago. Dirt roads. Rickshaws. British and French envoys treating the king like a schoolboy.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowing. “And now? They’re fielding more mechanized units than the entire Dutch East Indies garrison.”

The foreign minister scoffed. “They’re still a monarchy, Harold. A ceremonial one.”

“Tell that to Burma,” Menzies replied. “Or the Vietnamese who’ve suddenly taken to Siamese customs and Central Powers banking schemes.”

Another aide, younger and more anxious, muttered, “Germany’s pumping capital into them like there’s no tomorrow. Rail, ports, military academies. They’re calling it the ’Oriental Brandenburg Pact.’”

The room fell silent.

“They’ve done what the British never could,” Menzies said. “Modernized a native kingdom without occupation. Siam didn’t need to be colonized. They just needed someone who treated them like an equal.”

He glanced out the window, where storm clouds loomed over the low hills beyond Parliament.

“If we’re not careful, gentlemen, we’ll wake up in a decade and find the entire Pacific rim looking to Bangkok, not London.”

“And when the next war comes,” he added grimly, “Siam won’t be a neutral jungle kingdom. They’ll be a power, one with teeth, allies, and a memory.”