September 6, 2020
Karsholm Palace, Leidenstad
It was, altogether, a rather grim atmosphere that pervaded the room. The General Staff was all there, of course, easily recognized by their uniforms and perpetually humorless expressions. Maravel, the foreign minister, stoney-faced as ever. And then the man himself. Charles Marlberg, badly withered from twenty years in office, but still very much alive as he read through the report placed before him as though it was a particularly unpleasant insect. In a way, Rosenqvist had to pity the man. His first term had been just in time to watch the mainland explode into fire and blood with the Arkian Civil War, and now here he was, twenty years later, about to see it happen again.
Though the way the initial polls are looking, we likely won’t be around to worry about this much longer…
As it turned out, no matter how clever or determined a political actor one was, two decades at the top meant two decades of taking the blame, two decades of being a target, and two decades for people to grow tired of seeing your face. Marlberg had seen his allies retire or move on one by one, and now even the Crown was against him. Truly, a man fighting yesterday’s battles in more ways than one. Half the people here would likely be enjoying a great deal of free time soon.
Not that there was much for Rosenqvist to do at the moment either. Few cared to listen to a Minister of Defence when the entire General Staff was seated right there, they were, after all, a much more impressive sight. But as it often was, Maravel was doing the talking.
“… in the final analysis of things, the Foreign Ministry expects that open conflict on the Mainland is quite inevitable at this point, regardless of how the referendum goes. Given the contentious nature of the issue and the level of violence we’re already seeing, there is little incentive and far too much at stake for either side to accept an electoral loss peacefully,” the Foreign Minister was saying, “Of course, beyond that, things are quite unpredictable. I’m sure we’ve all read a thousand different analyses as to how events might unfold from here…”
“Yes, yes, that would seem to sum up the situation,” Marlberg said wearily, “The matter is quite out of anyone’s hands now, most of all our own. The only question that remains for us, then, is how to best prepare the Kingdom for the effects.”
“In our estimation, even a worst-case scenario does not pose a significant chance of matters spilling over to our shores, save for the great deal of radiation that such a scenario implies,” Rosenqvist finally spoke up, all expressions turning sour at the apocalyptic reminder, “The rather large quantities of water between us and the mainland does mitigate the potential for the usual sort of accidents that can occur from proximity to a warzone. And ultimately we are geographically peripheral at best.”
“Well, that does cover the military dimension, the economics of a general Novaran war, on the other hand,” Marlberg grimaced. For all of Cryria’s countless factions, the stock market was one interest they would always have in common. Few in the room could forget the financial fallout when Arkalarius had imploded. How the phones had rung…
“But, I suppose none of us here are really qualified to speak about that. A discussion for another time, with more clever people,” Marlberg continued, “Returning to the topic at hand. Our options?”
It was time for the Chief of the General staff to have his say. Henriksson, an old Air Force general who, from what Rosenqvist could tell, was quite ready to retire to some farmhouse on Talvere last year.
“Given the lack of immediate threat, there are few necessary or reasonable actions which I can recommend at this time,” the man said, “A heightened intelligence and reconnaissance posture on our southern flank, certainly. I would also suggest sending the Foreign Legion’s two airborne regiments to Valngi and keeping them on a rotating alert in the event that troubles do come in our direction and we need a rapid reaction force.”
Marlberg shook his head at that, “No, not Valngi. Sending them south like that sends a bad message. You can have your alert, but leave them at Trauer.”
Henriksson nodded, and Maravel spoke up again, “The Foreign Ministry is prepared to aid in the return of any Cryrian expatriates who are exposed to the troubled areas,” he said, “I would put out a formal warning to all such individuals that the time to leave is now, however.”
Marlberg nodded, “Let’s see that done,” he said, “I’ll make a statement for our domestic audiences as well, make sure people are keeping things in proportion… What else?”
“Schlesia,” Maravel said, “The Arkian Confederation seemingly wishes to grace the map once more.”
“Not our maps,” Marlberg said automatically, as Maraval and all the rest nodded along, “Seizing another nation’s land, calling it a new country, or worse, allowing this George Gray to claim Arkalarius as a whole… no. At that point we may as well throw out the concept of national sovereignty altogether, and its countries like us who have a bad time when that happens. We continue to recognize Schlesia as occupied Arkian territory, and will have nothing more to do with the matter.”
“It does raise the rather ugly prospect,” Rosenqvist had to say, in spite of himself, “War can put a great deal of strain on any state. Arkalarius has proven itself unstable before. With a potential rival government nearby, should things go poorly…”
Now that did bring a dark mood over the table. Instability, revolutionary sentiment, all frightful specters for the Kingdom.
“We’ve seen it pass us by once,” Marlberg finally said, “It will be no matter.”
All the same, Rosenqvist could not help but think that the old man was beginning to see his poor electoral prospects with some sense of relief.
Official Dispatch from the Kingdom of Cryria
The Kingdom of Cryria will continue to treat with Freyaelv as the sole legitimate representative of the Arkian people, and gives no recognition to the government in occupied Mistral at this time.
- Count Erland Maravel, Foreign Minister
