A Spanish Restoration What if: “What if Alfonso XIII Had Been Half Smart Instead of Half Stupid?”

[bolondro2]

I´m writing this what if in the Spanish OT, and is being a lot of fun. And a lot of work. And it´s a shame not share it with a wider audience. Making a translation on my own would be a lot of work so I delegate this part in Chat GTP-4o. And I´m happy with the result. It´s English it´s far better that mine, and I believe that he is grasping my tone pretty well. I give the translation, of course, some revision, but so far I only have to work eliminating some In house Spanish OT jokes or with some sentences, here and there.

Just if someone prefers the original version, here it is

https://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/threads/un-what-if-titulado-y-si-alfonso-xiii-en-vez-de-medio-tonto-hubiera-sido-medio-listo.1830622/

This Started as a “What If,” and Somehow I’m Writing It with ChatGPT-4o​

It all began with a video by Military Story Visualized and a question I asked about the difference between how you make a mortar cannon versus a regular artillery piece—talking pressures, bore shapes, whether you drill a hole or ream it out. That took us into the Stokes mortar (the first one that looks like what we all think of as a mortar) and the French Brandt model from the 1930s, with its fancy obturation, teardrop shape, liner and frilly trim. From there, we detoured into the German Minenwerfer, their WWI mortar/artillery hybrid, and how that design also spawned a generation of lightweight guns in the 1930s with high-angle fire capabilities.


We talked about the Japanese Type 92, the German 7.5 cm le.IG 18, the Belgian 75mm FRC... and then came the big “what if”: Couldn’t you build a single universal gun that could act as field artillery, mortar, and even early-war anti-tank weapon? Cue a rabbit hole on 47 mm and 57 mm calibers, shell weights, flight times for anti-tank shots, ballistic curves, recoil systems, barrel preservation, muzzle brakes in the ’30s...


Naturally, that got us back to 19th-century naval guns, where most of these calibers were born—and I asked whether Spain had ever used or built those old guns. Turns out: yes and yes. And so we jumped to Spain’s military industry, whether the old tooling could still be used or adapted, and what it would cost to modernize factories. Then onto the state of the Spanish Army under the Primo de Rivera dictatorship and the Republic...


As you can see, the conversation spiraled in exactly the same way our threads tend to go when someone posts something tangential and we all jump in with diagrams and 19th-century logistics manuals.


Then came the Azaña law, and the hypertrophy of the Spanish officer corps. I wondered just how big it had been back in 1903, the year little Alfonso got the crown—and it turns out, about the same: 100,000 men under arms and 25,000 officers. In 27 years, not a single dent in the numbers. There had been reform attempts, sure, starting as early as 1904, but they mostly went nowhere.


The officer corps alone was eating up 150 million pesetas a year—half the military budget. Now, imagine if a reform had been launched in 1904—not brutally (the Azaña reform wasn’t brutal on paper either, even if they fudged the numbers later), but gradually, reasonably. That alone would free up a ton of money.


And the Restoration era is fascinating. Spain was behind the curve in many areas, yes—but there was also a slice of the population that was world-class, fully up to speed with the best minds in Europe. Lots of initiatives were launched that, when you look at them today, seem well thought-out and promising. And yet they failed. They failed because there was no money. They failed because the political climate was unstable. They failed because the king intervened at the worst moments. And they failed because—did I mention this?—there was no money. Let me say it a third time: there. was. no. money.
Well, with this reform, we’ve got some money. That’s something.


I’m focusing on military reform here. For several reasons.
First: I’m an old grognard from the first generation—it’s my thing.
Second: I figure if you’re reading this, you’re probably a tank-stacker too, and it’s your thing too.
Third: Part of the deal to get the military to swallow the reform was to promise them, hand on heart, “This isn’t about gutting the army budget. It’s so we can buy you new guns, machine guns, and fun toys.”
And fourth: we’ve got two big checkpoints—1909 and 1912—where Morocco flared up. Both were huge hits to army prestige and morale. If we manage to stabilize the situation and make the army something more than a disorganized mess, any leftover budget will go to other areas. Eventually.


Now, is this mine if I’m working with ChatGPT? I say yes. If Alexandre Dumas said The Three Musketeers was his, I can say this is mine.
I feed it with some texts of mine to grasp my style.” I tell it what points I want covered. It gives me a draft. Then I go over it. I tweak it. Rewrite it. Polish it. Honestly, it does a pretty decent job. If I got lazy, I could just hit “post.” But when I read it, what usually happens is: “Good, good… okay, I wouldn’t say it like that… good… okay, this bit needs rewriting…”
Some chapters need heavy editing. Some, I’ve rewritten nearly from scratch. Others? Just a touch of sanding and polish. But I don’t hit “Enter” until I’ve read it and thought, yep, this works.


So what level of rigor am I aiming for?
As much as I can muster. This doesn’t pretend to be academic. I have no formal history training and no time to double-check every citation it spits out. But I don’t just accept what it gives me, either. You have to know a bit (ideally a lot) about the period to catch when it messes up, when it moves the goalposts, when what it says now contradicts what it said earlier. The phrase I type most often is
:
“That doesn’t add up. Check it and tell me your source.”
Or: “This contradicts what you told me there. Where is this from?”


You have to know enough to ask the right questions. And go deep enough to actually understand the answers. ChatGPT-4, on its own, running free on the basic plan?
Sure, you can do something at high school level with that. But I expect better than that. There are historians reading this—and I’d rather not get roasted in public too often.

And with this, I will start with The prologe and Chapter one.

 

[bolondro2]

PROLOGUE


This is a uchronia about the Restoration. And in a uchronia, the first thing you need to be clear about is the point where the change happens. In our case, the change begins with the coronation of Alfonso XIII.


In the real timeline (which I’ll call RTL from now on—because acronyms give everything a touch of gravitas), Alfonso XIII turned out to be rather obnoxious and quite dim. At the key moments, he almost always made the wrong choices and flip-flopped constantly. So let’s suppose he turns out half decent and half smart. I’m not trying to turn him into a cross between Mother Teresa and Bismarck, so I’ll try not to overdo it.


So in our alternate timeline, Alfonso XIII comes to power and makes three fundamental decisions—decisions he will support more or less consistently, more or less stably, throughout his reign. Alfonso XIII wants:

1. Long governments. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out that if a minister stays in office for an average of 3–4 months, nothing’s going to get done. Just as he learns the names of his staff and finds where the coffee machine is, he’s out and someone else comes in. In the RTL, we start off and soon get Maura’s “Long Government.” Let’s assume we stick with that line.
2. Clean elections. Or at least reasonably clean ones (let’s not get carried away). This is kind of jammed into the setup, but I think it absolutely needs to be there. During the Restoration, there were a lot of attempted reforms—reforms that, looking back, seemed well-intentioned (or at least looked like it)—and they mostly failed, or at best had only partial success. Partly due to short governments, partly due to chronic lack of funds, and partly because the turno system created perverse incentives. The party in power had no real reason to govern well. It didn’t matter whether you did a good job or a bad one—next time it was the other party’s turn anyway. What mattered more was keeping an eye on your own party colleagues to stop them from stabbing you in the back than actually governing. This already happens to some extent (a lot) even with clean elections, so under the turno it must have been raised to the nth power. If we want those failed reforms to actually succeed—or at least have a shot—and keep the system from going down the drain, we need to change the incentives for the people in power. Make successful reform something that gets rewarded, instead of being a risky move (because reform always steps on toes) with no real upside.
   
   
3. Military enthusiasm. The Alfonso XIII of the RTL was more into the military than a brothel-addict is into courtesans (well, he was into this also..). The Alfonso XIII of our imaginary timeline (ITL—look at me go with the acronyms) is also a military nerd. But since he’s half smart, he wants an army that looks great in parades—just like in the RTL—but also actually works. Because if every time there’s a crisis we come out with egg on our face, it really ruins the effect. But of course, there’s no money…

Which works just fine for us. We, like Alfonso XIII, are military nerds. That’s what we’re into. We all have a bit of a tank-hoarder in us. So we’re going to focus on army reforms. We’ll glance at other areas now and then, but only briefly—because let’s be honest, we know what we like.


And from there, we begin…

CHAPTER 1. General Context
1.1 Where We Were in 1904


At the turn of the century, the Spanish Army was still living largely in the shadow of its past glories. Lots of uniforms, lots of barracks, lots of officers... and very little real capacity to face the challenges of the present. There were troops in Africa, but neither the organization, nor the equipment, nor military healthcare were up to the task. On the peninsula, many units existed only on paper or with skeleton crews. And looming over everything was the ghost of 1898, with its defeats and the crushing blow it dealt to national morale.


After a few conversations with the Minister of Finance about fixing this, the answer is always the same: there isn’t a single peseta to spare, and reforms cost money.


One of the Army’s heaviest burdens was the bloated number of officers. More chiefs than Indians, with automatic promotions, no real filters, and no purges. On top of that, the recruitment system allowed the rich to buy their way out of service (the price was 1,750 pesetas in 1904—about a year’s salary for a well-paid skilled worker, or five years of a peasant’s wages). That meant the Army was becoming increasingly alien to much of the country. And people were seriously pissed off about it. Meanwhile, the military budget kept bleeding out into salaries, pensions, and useless structures.


Ironically, the Spanish Navy had already made the leap the Army kept resisting. After the disaster of 1898, the Navy took real measures: it cut back on officer intake, reorganized its structure, and aligned the corps with the actual size and needs of the fleet. If the Navy could adapt to reality without the sky falling, why couldn’t the Army?


That’s where our alternate timeline begins: with the 1904 Army Reform Law proposed by General Arsenio Linares y Pombo, then Minister of War—one of many well-meaning proposals pointing in the right direction that ended up going nowhere. But this time, little Alfonso XIII LTI gets fully behind it. He throws the full weight of the Crown into the effort, flatters, schmoozes, kisses up to whoever needs it, gives dirty looks to those who oppose it, and does some serious royal strong-arming. "Borbonea", we call it in Spain. And the reform moves forward—with charm and flair, stepping on as few toes as possible (because there's no need to pick fights just for fun), applying gentle pressure if you like, but steady and sustained over time.

1.2 Two Pillars: The Officer Reform and the Army Plan​

The reform stands on two very solid legs:


On the one hand, a law to rationalize the officer corps—streamlining command, clearing out clogged promotion lists, ending automatic promotions, and putting the brakes on unchecked growth. Out of a pre-reform army budget of 300 million pesetas, about 150 million went to officers’ salaries. Yes, half. Go ahead and tell your friends.


On the other hand, an eight-year Army Plan (1904–1912), the equivalent of the 1908 Ferrándiz Naval Plan, which organizes investments, sets priorities, and defines concrete objectives to turn the Army into something useful for more than just parades.


The idea was simple: less paper army, more real army. We need structural reforms—scrap the stuff that only exists on paper and increase the stuff that exists in reality. All that, of course, without forgetting that any army that intends to fight needs an industrial base behind it. (We’ll only touch on this in passing—diving deep into that topic is a beast—but we’ll address it, somehow.)

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1.3 Where the Freed-Up Resources Go​

Reducing the number of officers and scrapping ghost units frees up a fair amount of money and resources. Some of that inevitably went into improving what already existed: military healthcare, fortifications, logistics (what little we could), and training.


Another portion was used to better equip the remaining units—give them more firepower, more mobility, and better combat sustainment. New toys to sugarcoat the bitter pill of the reforms.


A third portion—initially modest, but with long-term ambitions—started laying the groundwork for a national war industry: workshops, ammunition production, logistics depots, and small-scale manufacturing lines for weapons and vehicles.


And fourth—if we still see a budget surplus (hint: yes, the officer corps reform frees up a huge amount)—we spend it on things that were tried and failed for lack of money, things that were proposed and never attempted because there was no money, or things that happened much later because there was no money at the time. Did I say "no money" three times already? Let's make it five. There. Was. No. Money.

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1.4 What Kind of Army Do We Want?​

The idea is crystal clear. Spain can’t afford to field a massive army like France, Germany, or Italy. Nor does it need to—geographically, we’re tucked in a corner, Portugal isn’t going to invade, and France… well, there are two things that give French generals a rash: invading Russia and getting bogged down in the Spanish ulcer.
"Monsieur le ministre, if Le Petit Corsican Caporal couldn’t pull it off, I wouldn’t bet on it either. Put down the Bordeaux bottle, it’s your second, and have some coffee."


So we don’t need a heavyweight army. But we can aim for a lightweight force that, pound for pound, can stand comparison with any contemporary European army—something that doesn’t make us hang our heads in shame.


And then there’s Morocco. Between 1905 and 1907, Spain and France reach agreements recognizing and expanding Spain’s zone of influence in Morocco (Tangier Crisis, the Germans sticking their noses in, Algeciras Conference in January 1906, and finally the Franco-Spanish Agreement of October 27, 1906). This isn’t unfamiliar ground for the Spanish Army—we’ve had “fraternal” relations with the Riffians for, what, 500 years? The kind where today I slit your throat with my gumía, and tomorrow you run me through with a bayonet, and we’re all good again.


All it takes is being half smart (our new standard) to answer the question “Where is the Spanish Army most likely to see action?” with “Morocco.” Maybe not the most important front, but certainly the most urgent.


In short: the goal is to break with the paralysis inherited from the 19th century and lay the foundations for a 20th-century army—no delusions of grandeur, but grounded, competent, and well-suited for colonial action in Morocco.

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1.5 What Kind of Country Do We Want?​

That’s an easy one. A country that, in 1918 when the guns fall silent, makes the rest of Europe say:
"Damn, and to think at the start of the century they were a joke. Look at them now—these guys really got their act together. And to think we thought they were hopeless..."


I (and ChatGPT-4o) await your responses, comments, and criticisms. Especially the criticisms—that’s where the fun really starts.