Chapter 409 The Powder Keg
January 17th, 1822. On the Ionian Sea, the situation was on a knife's edge. The French and Russian fleets, under Admirals Trullet and Orlov respectively, were in a standoff, a chess game of naval might and strategic positioning.
Onboard the French flagship, Admiral Trullet stood on the deck, his eyes scanning the horizon. His crew moved with practiced efficiency, every man aware of the gravity of their situation. Trullet knew the orders from Paris were clear: engage the Ottomans if they crossed the demarcation line. The line was not just a geographical boundary; it was a trigger point for potential war. His thoughts were interrupted by his lieutenant's report.
"Sir, the Ottomans are approaching the line. We must decide soon." Trullet nodded, his mind racing through scenarios. A clash seemed inevitable, yet he was acutely aware of the broader implications. A battle here could ignite a wider conflict, drawing in more of Europe.
Meanwhile, on the Russian flagship, Admiral Orlov faced a similar dilemma. His orders from the Emperor were unequivocal: engage the French if they attacked the Ottomans. Orlov, a seasoned commander, understood the precarious nature of their mission. They were not just protecting Ottoman interests; they were upholding the balance of power in the region. He observed the French fleet, noting their formation and readiness. His crew was prepared, yet he hoped for a diplomatic resolution.
"The Ottomans are nearing the line," his second-in-command reported. Orlov's response was measured, "Keep a steady course. Be ready for any eventuality, but do not fire unless they fire their batteries."
Both admirals were aware of the larger geopolitical game at play. The French, supporting Greek independence, saw this as a chance to weaken Ottoman influence and curb Russian expansion. The Russians, allied with the Ottomans, viewed their naval presence as a deterrent, a way to maintain their influence in the Mediterranean.
Communication between the ships was minimal. Each side watched the other, waiting for a sign, a move that would dictate their response. The tension was palpable, with sailors and officers alike feeling the weight of the moment.
As night fell, the situation remained unchanged. The fleets held their positions. Waiting for the move of the Ottoman.
***
Meanwhile, in Saint Petersburg. Tsar Paul I was briefed by Alexei.
"Your Imperial Majesty, good evening. I have the reports from our ambassadors in Constantinople and Paris. Both reports are grim. The Ottomans will cross the demarcation line at midnight. This news also reached Paris and they are daring the Ottomans to proceed. It's clear that the French are prepared for conflict," Alexei informed the Tsar, his tone serious.
Tsar Paul I nodded solemnly.
"And our fleet?" he inquired, his focus shifting to the naval forces at the heart of the impending crisis.
"Our fleet under Admiral Orlov is in position. They had strict orders to engage only if the French initiated hostilities against the Ottomans. The Admiral understands the stakes and is committed to avoiding conflict unless absolutely necessary," Alexei replied and continued. "What's more Your Imperial Majesty, we have reports from our spies suggesting that the French are going to conduct a naval and land blockade against Russia. They're planning to control key maritime routes and potentially restrict our trade and military movements. They also made contact with Germany, Poland, Denmark, and Austria…"
As Tsar Paul I listened to the words of Alexei, he couldn't help but clench his fist. "Napoleon, you are truly forcing my hand…"
"Your Imperial Majesty, I think it's best that we inform all our military bases to prepare for a sudden mobilization…"
"We do that, there is really no going back. The whole of Europe would stand against us," Tsar Paul I replied with a heavy tone. "However, we must be ready to defend our interests. Proceed with the preparations, but keep them discreet. We cannot show our hand too early."
In the Ionian Sea, the dawn brought no significant changes. The French and Russian fleets remained in their positions, the atmosphere tense but stable. Admiral Trullet, constantly in touch with Paris, was instructed to continue monitoring the Ottomans but to avoid any aggressive actions unless absolutely necessary. His crew, though on edge, followed his lead, maintaining a disciplined vigil.
Similarly, Admiral Orlov received instructions from St. Petersburg to stay the course. The Russian sailors were prepared for any eventuality, but Orlov, like Trullet, was keen to avoid escalating the situation. The mutual understanding of the potential consequences of their actions kept both sides in a state of cautious standoff.
Throughout the day, the fleets remained in a state of high alert, each waiting for the other to make a move. The sailors and officers, though tired, understood the importance of their mission and remained focused and ready.
***
10:30 p.m., at the Saint Petersburg, Russian Empire.
"You said the Ottomans are going to cross the demarcation line at midnight right?" Tsar Paul I asked.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
"At what time exactly would it be in our time? For sure there must be a difference in time zones," Tsar Paul I queried, trying to calculate the exact moment when the situation could escalate.
"It would be around 11 p.m. in our time, Your Imperial Majesty," Alexei replied, checking his notes to confirm.
"Shit…so only thirty minutes away huh?" Tsar Paul I sighed.
"Your Imperial Majesty, perhaps if you want to de-escalate the situation, we can advise the Ottomans to stand down. We can still not uphold our promise even if they cross the demarcation line."
"That would be an unwise move for our country. If the country remains uncommitted to its promise, no one will trust us in the future," Tsar Paul I said firmly. "If France wants war, then so be it."
At that critical moment, back on the Ionian Sea, the clock struck 12 a.m. The French fleet received reports that the Ottoman Army had crossed the Ottoman Empire.
Admiral Trullet, upon hearing the Ottomans cross the line, held a brief but intense consultation with his officers.?Despite the provocation, he decided to hold his fire.
"The Ottomans really did it," Trullet gnashed his teeth. And then the telephone rang, reverberating in the bridge deck. A junior officer grabbed the telephone and answered it.
"Sir…it's from the Hexagone Balard," the junior officer announced.
Trullet approached and took the receiver. "This is Admiral Trullet,"
"Admiral, this is Grand Admiral Marshal Murat from the Hexagone Balard," came the reply. "We have received confirmation that the Ottomans have crossed the demarcation line. Your orders are to fire on the Ottoman lines. I repeat, fire on the Ottoman lines."
"Your Excellency, if we do that, the Russians are going to fire at us," Trullet warned.
"We are aware of that, Admiral. The moment you fire your salvo, we are technically at war with the Russians. You have your direct orders from the Emperor of the French Empire and me. So what are you hesitating for?"
"Understood, Grand Admiral. We will proceed as ordered," he responded, though his voice carried a hint of reluctance.
After hanging up the phone, Trullet turned to his officers. "Battle stations!"
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