Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 421 Turnaround
A series of bad news came from the northern route, and the Vienna Stock Exchange once again sold off a large number of stocks.

Franz received a series of bad news, and his spirits plummeted. He had no choice but to convene a cabinet meeting to discuss the situation.

According to reports from the front lines, the main problem lies with the head coach. His rigid and inflexible command led to the loss of many good opportunities. Franz wants to substitute him, but doesn't know who to replace him with.

After much deliberation, Franz decided to relocate Archduke Albrecht from the southern Italian front to the north. His tactics were flexible, and he believed Albrecht could stabilize the situation there.

Franz's quill hovered over the appointment letter for a full ten seconds, the ink spreading into a dark, cloud-like stain on the parchment. The attendant watched the emperor's hand with bated breath—a hand that had signed countless edicts was now trembling slightly. Outside the window, the stock exchange bells rang, accompanied by a faint commotion; presumably, Austrian bonds had once again hit new lows.

“Tell Albrecht,” the Emperor finally put down his pen, the ink seeping into the parchment fibers like blood, “that I do not want him to reclaim lost territories, but only that he make the Prussians bleed enough in Bohemia.”

As the attendant bowed and withdrew, he nearly bumped into Reichberg, who was rushing over. His briefcase contained three completely different pieces of news: Parisian bankers withdrawing their capital en masse; the Hungarian parliament refusing to raise taxes; and a secret letter, handwritten by the Persian finance minister from Tehran: "Willing to provide further funding, but hoping to cooperate with your country in the areas of railways, mining, military industry, and colonization."

The telegram from Vienna traveled swiftly. When Archduke Albrecht received the order, he was inspecting captured Italian artillery at the Verona fortress. The renowned Habsburg general, known for his cunning, casually folded the telegram into a paper airplane, watching it drift into the murky waters of the Po River. "Go north to die?" he chuckled to his adjutant. "Perhaps I'll let those Viennese gentlemen taste the bitterness of bankruptcy first." But when he unfolded the attached battle map, his smile froze—Prussia's blue arrows had already pierced Bohemia, like a sharp dagger aimed at the heart of Vienna.

"Damn it, what's wrong with Benedek? He's not like that at all."

At this point, the Prussian army had penetrated deep into Bohemia and was putting pressure on Prague, so he had to advance quickly.

The train sped north amidst thunder. Inside the carriage, Albrecht was studying a strange gift left by his Persian advisor: 30 field guns marked with Ottoman script, yet accompanied by Krupp rifling blueprints. Meanwhile, the Constanta railway was constantly busy, transporting Iranian mercenaries.

In the General Staff headquarters in Berlin, Moltke, cigar in hand, drew a red circle on the map: "Albrecht will take at least three days to arrive, enough time for us to wipe out this Austrian army." His command was suddenly seized by Bismarck, the Iron Chancellor waving a newly arrived secret letter: "Tehran has suddenly stopped shipping goods to Austria, but their caravans are appearing at the front—what tricks do you think they're playing?"

"You mean, Iran has a bigger conspiracy?"

Bismarck shook his head. "I don't know either. If they really want to get involved, we need to be prepared."

Outside the window, soldiers were laughing and joking around the captured "Persian medical supplies." The quartermaster pried open a wooden crate labeled with a Red Cross, and out rolled jars of Iranian caviar and rose oil. "Weak Easterners!" the major kicked over the crate. "They think they can get away with perfume!"

The explosion came without warning.

Amidst the towering flames, those seemingly luxurious glass jars burst forth with deadly white phosphorus-like flames—the spontaneous combustion property of rose essential oil when it comes into contact with oxygen transformed the entire camp into a living hell.

The sudden and major incident in Berlin was known to Bismarck, Moltke, and Wilhelm I. Moreover, they discovered something unusual among the captured supplies: bottles wrapped in cloth, labeled "cocktails." What were they? Wilhelm I's boots crunched over the scorched earth, shards of glass clattering beneath his feet. A strange, sweet scent filled the air—a mixture of rose oil and burnt flesh. He bent down and picked up a twisted half-broken copper pipe, inscribed in Persian: Tehran Arsenal, 1866.

Moltke suddenly snatched the bottle: "Your Majesty, be careful!" He hurled it at an open space in the distance. The moment the glass shattered, the liquid exploded into a ghostly blue fireball upon contact with the air, and the heatwave overturned the tent five meters away.

“What…what is this!” William I roared.

"I saw this in the Ottomans. It was a new type of weapon used by Iran in the war against the Ottomans. It had no name, but it was extremely flammable. If you got on it, you would be crippled even if you didn't die."

Listening to Moltke's explanation, Bismarck realized his previous mistake: how could he have forgotten about Iran in diplomacy? Now that they were providing such aid, it must be because Austria was supporting them in some way.

“Send a message to the Iranian ambassador immediately, telling him to go see the Shah.”

Bismarck immediately gave orders to his secretary, hoping it would be in time.

"General, a telegram from the front."

Moltke stared at the latest reconnaissance report, cigar ash falling onto his uniform: "You're saying the Austrians are... dismantling the railway?"

“That’s not all, sir!” The scout swallowed hard. “They blew up all the bridges over the Elbe, but left the wooden pier at Trautnau intact…”

----------

In his makeshift command post outside Knigercz, Albrecht faced a group of routed officers and tattered maps. The first thing he did was open the Persian sandalwood box he had brought with him—inside were neatly stacked copies of "Studies in Prussian Tactics" compiled by the Tehran Military Academy, with an inscription by Nasser al-Din Shah on the title page: "To a worthy adversary."

The Battle of Kniegetz began the following morning in a thick fog. Albrecht abandoned traditional line tactics, dispersing his troops into smaller units. While Prussian artillery rained shells on the empty positions, Austrian skirmishers had already used the terrain for cover to flank the positions. What enraged Moltke even more was that the rifles these Austrian soldiers carried had a range of two hundred yards longer than the Prussian needle guns—the gleaming Persian inscriptions on the barrels revealed the truth.

In a small chapel on the east side of the battlefield, Albrecht watched through his binoculars as Prussian cavalrymen fell prey to the traps. He turned to his staff officer and smiled bitterly: "Tell Vienna that every bullet we use was bought with everything Austria has."

Everything happened so fast—the railways sped along, weapons were transported—and the enemy was completely unprepared. This battle, historically considered the turning point of the Austro-Prussian War, ultimately saw Austria pay the price of 6800 lives for 4500 Prussian casualties and 1000 prisoners. Iran's weaponry significantly enhanced its strength.

(End of this chapter)