Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 604: A Force of Stability

The fan spun lazily overhead, doing little to break the suffocating tropical heat.

Outside, the rustle of palms in the breeze clashed with the static hum of a nearby radio set, transmitting recent headlines from Bangkok.

“…Siamese Prime Minister Phibunsongkhram to inaugurate naval expansion at Songkhla… German military attachés to observe the exercises…”

Governor-General Hendrik van Daalen poured himself a glass of gin and looked up at his New Zealand counterpart seated across the table, Sir Edwin Cartwright, on temporary assignment from Wellington.

“You hear that?” Van Daalen asked, voice edged with anxiety. “Two decades ago, they couldn’t keep the British from carving off their coastline. Now they’ve got drydocks larger than anything we’ve got in Surabaya.”

Sir Edwin nodded, lips pursed.

“The Japanese collapse left a void,” he said finally. “We all thought it would be China or some scattered warlord filling it. We didn’t expect Siam to rise from a ceremonial monarchy to a continental contender.”

Van Daalen leaned forward.

“Rise? They’ve leapt. German instructors. German doctrine. A Southeast Asian army fluent in Prussian efficiency. Their rail lines are tighter than ours, and they’ve begun investing in airfields from Chiang Mai to Saigon.”

“And no imperial leash,” Cartwright added. “They’re not a colony. They remember what it means to be humiliated by Europe. Now they’re backed by Berlin, and we’re the ones playing catch-up.”

Silence lingered for a beat.

“Do you think they’ll come for us?” Van Daalen asked too bluntly.

“Not yet,” Edwin replied. “But if we let them grow unchecked, if the Reich keeps feeding them, there may come a day when Siam looks south and decides the Pacific belongs to Asians once again.”

He drained his glass.

“And this time, there’s no Japan to take the blame.”

—

Inner Council Chamber

The lacquered walls of the chamber gleamed beneath the soft light of hanging lanterns.

Incense burned in tall brass urns, the air rich with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood.

Outside, the evening drums echoed faintly across the Chao Phraya River.

Prime Minister Plaek Phibunsongkhram stood with hands behind his back, gazing down at a large map of Southeast Asia unfurled across the council table.

His generals stood nearby, uniforms pressed, eyes alert. At the head of the room sat King Rama VII, serene but attentive, and beside him, dressed in the gray-green uniform of the German General Staff, was a German colonel, the Reich’s chief military advisor to Siam.

“We’ve received fresh reports from the Dutch,” said General Songchai, tapping the map with a lacquered pointer. “Their patrols near Sumatra have doubled. New Zealand’s diplomats have made inquiries through Singapore, asking if we have naval ambitions.”

Phibunsongkhram gave a half-smile. “And here I thought they’d be pleased that someone was keeping the region stable.”

The German colonel chuckled lightly, then folded his arms.

“They fear a replacement of Japan,” he said in fluent Thai. “And they fear that Berlin has found its next imperial client.”

The king raised a hand. “But we are no client,” he said. “We are sovereign. Modernized by partnership, not by subjugation.”

“Indeed,” the Colonel agreed. “That is why you are respected.”

Phibunsongkhram turned back to the map. “Then let them understand this. Siam has no desire to conquer the South Pacific. We seek no colonies. We are not Japan reborn. But…” he glanced around the room, eyes steely “…if disorder threatens the region… if instability creeps into the sea lanes and threatens what we have built, then we will intervene. Swiftly.”

There was silence.

Then a general spoke cautiously.

“And if the Dutch collapse? Or the New Zealanders begin arming the tribes again?”

Phibunsongkhram’s voice was iron:

“Then we will restore order. Not as conquerors. But as guardians of stability.”

The colonel smiled. “That,” he said, “is exactly what Berlin hoped you would say.”

The king nodded once, gravely. “We will rise not on the corpses of our neighbors, but on the ruins of imperial arrogance.”

—

The fans hummed quietly overhead, slicing through the thick southern air.

A monsoon rain tapped against the palace eaves, soft but constant.

In a side chamber off the Grand Hall, King Rama VII sat cross-legged on a low throne beside a carved sandalwood table.

Prime Minister Phibunsongkhram stood nearby, hands behind his back as the German colonel rolled up a dispatch scroll and set it gently on the lacquered surface.

“They’re losing control,” the Colonel said simply. “The latest reports from Luzon confirm it.”

The King tilted his head. “The Americans?”

The colonel nodded. “Their Philippine campaign has stalled again. Guerrilla attacks continue in Mindanao, and supply convoys are being ambushed regularly. The death toll is mounting. Washington is quietly reaching out to neutral intermediaries in Tokyo and Delhi. They’re testing the waters, looking for an exit strategy.”

Phibunsongkhram exhaled through his nose. “About time.”

He moved to a large wall map and placed a marker on Manila.

“They said they were liberating the islands. Yet every year the Filipinos bleed more.”

The King’s expression was reserved, but firm. “And now they want to leave? After shattering the archipelago and sowing chaos for a generation?”

The German Colonel folded his arms. “They need to show strength without admitting defeat. I believe they are considering a deal, perhaps nominal independence under an American-backed administration, with a security pact tied to their Pacific fleet.”

The Prime Minister narrowed his eyes. “A puppet government by another name.”

“Precisely,” the Colonel said. “But it would allow them to save face. And with their entanglement in Spain growing… they need to.”

The King leaned forward slightly, his voice even. “And what does Berlin think of this proposal?”

The Colonel offered a subtle smile. “That it’s not ideal. But it is better than continued bloodshed.”

“Do you trust them?” Phibunsongkhram asked.

The Colonel shook his head. “No. But we trust the trajectory. America’s appetite for empire is waning. The cost has been too high. They’ve seen what happened to France… to Japan.”

The King looked toward the open veranda, where the rain still fell softly beyond the silk curtains.

“I worry,” he said at last, “that the Americans do not understand the region. That they see only pawns, never people.”

Von Meissner nodded solemnly. “That is why Siam must be strong. To fill the vacuum they will leave. Not as conquerors, but as a pillar of order.”

Phibunsongkhram smiled faintly. “As we said before, we are not the second coming of Japan. But we will not stand idle if the islands descend into chaos.”

“Nor will Berlin,” the Colonel replied.

The King gave a final nod. “Then perhaps we should open channels to the Filipino provisional councils. Quietly. Not to interfere, but to be ready.”

Rain continued to fall. And somewhere far to the east, across ocean and jungle, another empire slowly unraveled.