What must be done about a troublesome Britain, who betrays her allies?
What must be done, indeed. Britain must suffer, Britain must understand, that when one allies with the Kingdom of Prussia, it is not a ‘one-off’ affair. It is not an alliance when convenient, it is not a partnership until it isn’t.
And Prussia was not a country to be trifled with. How humourous, that Britain would withdraw from an alliance thinking nothing would happen, knowing that it was that same attitude that led to Prussia’s rise to power only a few decades before? Nobody thought anything would “happen” when Prussia contested the succession of Maria Therese as Austrian head-of-state, and now Silesia was taken.
It was a wonderful time to be Prussian, and that was a feeling not to be taken for granted.
When the Prussian aristocracy heard news of trouble from the British colonies against their motherland, it meant with great intrigue. Technically, Prussia was committed to neutrality, however many outspoken Prussians had voiced their desires to see Britain left high-and-dry, just as they had been during the Seven Years’ War.
One of their own had gone over (well, he was less ‘their own’ and more ‘formerly their own until allegations of certain illegal homosexual behaviours’ had privately come to light) to assist, and that was when the nation himself, Gilbert Beilschmidt, a man of noble caliber and vitality, was sent a message: He was requested to assist, personally, with those troublesome colonies.
‘Under General Washington’s leadership and von Steuben’s tutelage, victory over Great Britain is within reach. If the American colonies are to flourish independently, then its personified nation will need proper training and education that I cannot provide and that General Washington is stretched too thin to dedicate to.
The young man shows immense potential. He learns quickly and has boundless energy. We will need your wisdom and guidance to shape him into what his nation needs of him; a leader, not only a soldier.
Plan to arrive in haste. Your presence is awaited.’
With his king’s blessing, Gilbert travelled to spain, where he would find safe passage to Boston, Massachusetts. A port of safety, where the battle lay far away, but at least he would be able to and gain up-to-date intelligence on the war before diving in.
And, hopefully, learn a thing or two about his prodigal mentee.
It wasn’t until he arrived in Spain and stared upon the floating behemoth that would be his home for the next eight-to-twelve weeks. Gilbert had forgotten that he did not like water. He was terrified of water. Big, open water, where people regularly drowned and died.
So for the next nine weeks and four days, Gilbert clung to his quarters and contemplated whether teaching some snot-nosed fucking brat was worth it. What piece of shit was going to go up against Great Britain? Fucking bitch probably can’t even hold a gun--
As land was spotted one fine spring day in year 1778, and Gilbert was seen on the bow of the ship, looking onto the incoming Boston harbour with a confident and radiant smile. He was wearing his best - after all, he had to look his best and represent his nation fondly.
“This is the most I’ve seen you out,” his companion, a Prussian ambassador named Erik, said next to him.
“I am eyeing land! If I look downwards towards the water, I’ll collapse instantly,” said Gilbert matter of factly, the grin still not falling from his face and his eyes not leaving the coming shoreline.
Upon land, Gilbert made it to port and the moment his feet touched the wooden decks below, he sat down. He just needed to. He sat upon one of his trunks and took a deep breath, mentally praising himself and thanking God that the terrible storm had not left them awash and resulted in him drowning and dying infinitely. Always a big fear of his. Infinite drowning.
“I will alert the young man that we have arrived,” Erik said calmly to him while Gilbert just nodded, looking as if he had just run a marathon. He felt like he had, at least. Only when Erik left did Gilbert bring himself to his feet and sucked in a deep breath, puffing his chest out. Now was not the time to be a coward. Now was the time to be victorious. He could taste sweet revenge, in hand-crafting this boy who would carry his teachings to victor.
His first steps were wobbly, and he looked as if he had just been riding a horse - shaky, bow-legged. He stumbled a few times, as well. But the hustle-and-bustle of Boston filled his senses.
--- So this was the land that so troubled the mighty and powerful Britain.
