February 2, 1921
Oska, Legadonia

Minister of State Marcus Sommerhielm leaned in, putting more weight on his forearms resting on the table. He clasped his hands. He noted the ministers to his right: the Minister of War, Oscar Åkerman; and the Minister of Foreign Relations, Ludvig af Konow. The former wore his General-Marshall’s uniform, pristine as it always was, the latter wore a costume, as was modern and expected. Sommerhielm shifted, then had a look at his left side. There was the Minister of Finances, Aanon Knudssen, and the Minister of Interior, Emil Stanag.

Finally, after every minister had settled, Sommerhielm said, “Have you all settled?” he began. “All necessary information for this session is on person, I hope.” 

He received positive responses. Sommerhielm was an ardent follower of government discipline, and he did not want to tolerate lazy or systematically unenergetic ministers as far as he could help it. Some appointments were inherently political, he knew and had to tolerate, but that was the reason he had organised the National Council in the first place. Here, he could enforce rules and etiquette he couldn’t otherwise. 

“Mister Stanag,” said Sommerhielm, as he turned to him. “If you may begin the report for the period between November and January?”

Stanag cleared his throat. “Indeed,” he began as he sorted through his notes and reports. “To not bear for too long, I shall be concise.” He produced copied reports for the other ministers. “Social turbulence has only grown, inadvertently the police crackdowns, too. Discontent with the mounting financial pressure, working conditions, and simple political agitation have resulted a growth of about…” Stanag made a face of remembering. “Four hundred to five hundred arrests monthly.” 

Sommerhielm’s eyebrows shot up. The arrests as of November 16 were 764, principally non-political. The arrests in December had shot up to 1,204, a growing number for ‘political agitation’ and ‘threat to public order’. The arrests conducted during January alone were over 2,742, overwhelmingly on grounds of public order. Åkerman mumbled something about socialists. 

“What of the strikes?” inquired Knudssen. Sommerhielm turned, also interested in that. 

“We tried to disperse as many as we could.” The man sounded resigned. “Alas, among the railway strikes and seemingly unending agitation, for every strike we disperse, two more are organised.”

Åkerman interrupted. “Then we should declare a martial law in those sectors and round up the damned communists.”

“That will only agitate them,” protested Stanag. Knudssen concurred. 

“And if we let them continue, they will paralyse the economy,” argued Åkerman. 

Sommerhielm weighted in the pros and cons of an army crackdown. The institution was itself socially conservative and proud, the officers were likely to carry out the order. But the conscripts? He knew not, for all Sommerhielm knew, they might be forced to arrest a relative, a child, or a father. Furthermore, the army itself was undergoing a reform.

Sommerhielm interrupted their debate after a while when they could not meet grounds. “Mister Åkerman,” he began, attention turning to him. “Please report on the state of the army.”

Åkerman looked stunted for a hot-second. “Yes…” he began, somewhat hesitant. Sommerhielm found himself not liking the tone. “The situation is complex.”

“In detail, Mister Åkerman,” demanded Sommerhielm. He could see the officer trying to weasel himself out of the report. Perhaps, that was why he was so willing to intervene against the strikes. The officer exhaled deeply. 

“There is not a single regiment in the army, bar the Class One, that follow a uniform policy.” Åkerman leaned in the table. “What I mean is, one officer prepares for the defence, another for a long campaign, a third for a siege. The discrepancies in training, living conditions, equipment, and staffing are a gulf wide between regiments in the same category…”

“So,” began Sommerhielm. “You mean to tell us the army does not follow regulations?”

Åkerman shook his head. “Not that it doesn’t, it does very well.” He defended. “There is no unifying principle, however. Officers are unsure whether the next conflict will be against the Russy or against the Empire.”

Sommerhielm produced an ‘ah’. Minister Konow then inquired, “What of the ordered deliveries? About the equipment?”

“The current material requirements of the army are met. The mobilisation pool, however, is… inadequate.” Åkerman scratched his hand. “The new artillery is scheduled to arrive next year, I hear the Artillery Directorate has already placed an additional order of about five hundred guns to replace the old ones.”

“When is that scheduled to be fulfilled?” asked Sommerhielm, briefly glancing at the Minister of Finances.

“In three to four years,” responded Åkerman.

Sommerhielm nodded, at the near end of his term. He turned to Knudssen. “And the budget? What were last year’s expenditures, the revenue, the projected such for this fiscal year?”

Knudssen cleared his throat as Stanag had done. “The expenditures for last year have reached seven-hundred fifty-three billion crowns.” He paused, letting that sink in. Sommerhielm blinked like an idiot. “…Against a revenue of six-hundred ninety billion crowns.”

“How?” asked simply Sommerhielm, befuddled. 

“Debt servicing, increasing imports, the army, the orders of new navy ships,” counted Knudssen, factually. “We offset the balance via a François credit.” Sommerhielm was about to ask how the Ministry had begun to offset the expenditures, but the Minister pressed on. “The projected revenue for this year is seven-hundred billion crowns, with expenditures to possibly reach up to eight-hundred billion crowns.” Knudssen sent a look at the War Minister.

“How did you,” began Sommerhielm, then paused. “How do you plan to combat that?”

Knudssen snorted then leaned into his chair. “So long as the army mobilisation goes on, so long as they constitute nearly thirty percent of our budget - I can’t.” Åkerman grimaced, Sommerhielm knew the man was about to speak out - he did not give him the chance, motioning for Knudssen to continue. “…But,” began the Finance Minister. “There is a scheme we have been evaluating.”

“Please tell.”

“Rather than cutting spending on the army, we will recall a debt owed by Dacia-”

“They won’t be able to repay,” interrupted Konow.

Knudssen sent him a dirty look. “We know, that is not the point.” He said, annoyance at being interrupted leaking in his tone. “We will offer to restructure the debt, then issue a bond signed off by Dacia that will mature in fifty to sixty years.” Sommerhielm was confused how that will help, but he let the man continue. “Using that bond as a collateral, we will create a bank that will lend us the money for the modernisation.”

Sommerhielm felt his hairs rise. This was… genius, in a way. A complete financial manipulation, but such a novelty to him that he felt very eager to stamp approval onto it. But there was a question hammering his skull. “What about trust?”

“Dacia is the trust building mechanism.” 

“So then the entire system relies on Dacia willing to pay the lump sum at a later date?” inquired, sceptically, Konow.

“It doesn’t need to be Dacia, nor does it need to be a huge sum,” retorted Knudssen. “What we need is a guarantee, and then it’s the promises turning the wheels.”

Sommerhielm hummed. “How much capital can you raise?”

Knudssen made a face of concentration. “Initially, it depends on the debt size. After a year, however, we can engineer a series of ‘loans’ totalling tens of billions to hundreds of billions of crowns.”

“I am for,” declared War Minister. 

“So am I,” confessed Sommerhielm, turning to the Interior and Foreign Relations Ministers.

“I request that the sum also cover expenditures in the police,” said Stanag. 

“I have a concern whether this won’t damage our international reputation,” said Konow.

Knudssen turned to Stanag first and said, “The fund may be used for whatever projects the government needs.” He then turned to Konow. “I know not, it is entirely possible. However,” he said, stressing the word. “If we continue as we are, our debt will become unserviceable.”

Konow conceded there. Sommerhielm then turned to Stanag and said, “Mister Stanag, you should cooperate with Finances to help the enterprise kick off, public trust, as I understand it, will be necessary.” Sommerhielm turned to Knudssen who nodded. “Furthermore,” he began, preventing Stanag from speaking. “How do you propose we deal with the strikes?”

Whatever Stanag was about to say died down and a minute of silence took over. “We are already looking abroad, no?” Stanag began. “I think we should shift news coverage from the nation to the abroad.”

Immediately, Åkerman objected, “The military cannot partake in this… propaganda. The officers need to know what’s happening and how.”

Stanag had no rebuttal to this, not that he needed it. Sommerhielm turned to the officer and said, “It does not need to. But more rhetorical patriotism certainly will not hurt, will it?”

Åkerman chewed for a bit. “It will,” he finally said. “It will plague their decisions.”

“Mister Åkerman, you must understand the necessity of social cohesion,” said Sommerhielm sternly. “Furthermore, your own officers are already political.”

“That may be…”

“Then?”

Åkerman grunted. “I want a general pay rise for the military. That is my condition.”

Sommerhielm looked at Knudssen who nodded. “You shall have it.” He then turned to Konow. “Mister Konow, forgive us for interrupting the traditional order of matters. What do you have to report?”

“The François charge d’affairs is nearly daily in the Ministry, seeking audition with me and other officials,” said Konow, exasperated. “They keep pestering us about increasing the rate of our modernisation, offering discounted French equipment, even loans on favourable to us terms.”

Sommerhielm shared a look of understanding with him. “I believe that dilemma will be resolved soon. With Mister Knudssen’s proposal, we should be able to achieve our modernisation on our terms.”

Åkerman let out a sigh. “I disagree. Our curriculum is François, our most modern equipment is François, our method of warfare is fundamentally François.” He turned to Sommerhielm. “Our army is fundamentally shaped by François philosophy and is being rearmed by them.”

“It is certainly true that much our foreign debt is owned by nationals, companies, and banks from the François Republic,” said Knudssen.

Konow injected, “Certainly, all of those factors are exactly why ‘our terms’ are not so much our,” he said, angrily. “I have been trying to delay them, but I have been warned that their continuous support relies on our militarisation.” He paused, looking at all present. “Gentlemen, they are preparing for a war.”

Sommerhielm exhaled wearily. “They have been preparing for decades.”

“Not with this intensity, Mister Sommerhielm,” rebutted Konow. “Our liaisons report their military budget has doubled. They have extended their conscription terms and have increased the intake.” He looked at the War Minister. “More manoeuvres, et cetera.”

Sommerhielm could not say anything against that. 

He found there was nothing left to say.