Since the outbreak of the war, Britannia's army had suffered four thousand permanent losses—killed in action, deaths from illness, and soldiers permanently disabled.
After receiving instructions from the front, the cabinet convened to discuss the next phase of manpower and equipment replenishment.
Prime Minister Mitcham opened with a hard target:
"By spring next year, we must deliver ten thousand soldiers to Cherbourg. Thoughts?"
The Minister of War replied:
"Nobles across the realm are gradually sending knights and militia. We estimate 6,500 men."
"There are also 600 Pecheneg cavalry recruits currently in training north of the capital."
"The remaining three thousand positions can be distributed among the twelve royal counties."
"Less than three hundred men per county. Manageable."
More labor drafts?
Minister of Agriculture and Education Kemi Wildfire was alarmed.
Over fifty thousand soldiers were already campaigning overseas.
Domestic agricultural output had suffered heavily.
If even more labor was pulled away and grain production collapsed—
The king would certainly hold him responsible.
After glancing around the table and remaining silent for a moment, Kemi proposed:
"Recruit mercenaries from Finland, Pomerania, Livonia, and nearby regions to fill the gap."
Prime Minister Mitcham shook his head.
"Our current finances are barely balanced."
"There's no extra budget for hiring more men."
Kemi responded:
"First, the loot brought back from the front can be sold for five thousand pounds."
"Second, morale is high after the recent victory. Issue a second round of war bonds and raise another ten thousand pounds."
"That's enough to hire more than six thousand auxiliary troops."
"Use them for sieges and urban fighting."
"The cost-performance ratio is much better."
At this point, the Minister of Industry spoke in support.
"The royal counties only have 930,000 people."
"Mines, shipyards, and armories all require labor."
"If we continue conscription, agriculture won't be the only thing affected."
After considering all factors, the prime minister agreed to expand mercenary recruitment.
Frankish territory was vast.
The war would likely continue at least two years.
Foreign cannon fodder would eventually become necessary.
And the Battle of Dunwo Manor had produced huge gains—
Of over 8,000 captured armor sets, around 6,000 were worth repairing.
Perfect equipment for newly raised troops.
"But…"
Mitcham raised another issue.
"Winter seas are dangerous."
"Transporting several thousand men from Eastern Europe right now is too risky."
"If we wait until spring and then send them to Londinium for training, they won't reach Cherbourg until May."
"That could delay operations."
The room fell silent.
Then the Crown Prince proposed:
Train the mercenaries locally on Gotland Island.
When spring arrives—
Skip Londinium entirely and ship them directly to the front.
The proposal seemed practical.
No ministers objected.
The meeting moved to the next subject:
New World affairs.
With the war underway, domestic interest in the New World had cooled.
The prime minister briefly summarized reports from the three settlements.
Population remained similar across all three—
Only three to four hundred residents each.
Contact with native tribes remained limited.
"Any further issues?"
He was preparing to close discussion when the Minister of Overseas Affairs quickly interrupted.
"The pearls sent by the Governor of the Caribbean are extremely valuable."
"I think we should allocate more people."
Sensing everyone's impatience, he shortened his point.
"Jersey Island currently holds 18,000 prisoners."
"Sending a few hundred of them to the New World costs us nothing."
The prime minister, already annoyed, ended the matter decisively:
"In April and June next year, the navy will send ships to the New World."
"Take some prisoners along."
"That's final."
The cabinet meeting lasted until noon.
The Crown Prince headed to lunch.
His younger brother Garrick was studying at the Royal Court Academy.
Only the Queen and the Crown Prince's family remained in the dining hall.
It felt unusually quiet.
After lunch, the Crown Prince reviewed reports from various departments.
By now he had adapted to administrative life—
But deep down, he still felt disappointed.
He had missed witnessing that great battle of tens of thousands.
The next day, the Red Falcon and two twin-masted ships departed.
They had two missions:
Travel to Funen and assess the status of the Nordic coalition.
Deliver weapons and funds to Gotland for recruiting Eastern European mercenaries.
Battling rough winter seas, the fleet took half a month to round Jutland and enter the Kattegat Strait.
Half a year earlier, the forces led by the Carloman brothers had captured Skagen at the northern tip of the peninsula.
Jutland had fallen entirely.
The Nordic coalition retreated to Funen, facing Frankish forces across the narrow Little Belt Strait.
At its narrowest point, the strait measured only 800 meters.
At its widest, 28 kilometers.
Fortunately, the water remained deep enough for the Baltic Fleet to maintain a blockade—
Preventing the Franks from ferrying troops across and overwhelming the weak coalition.
"The coalition's just hiding on the islands doing nothing."
"We're wasting our grain supporting them."
Thinking this, Colonel Hadava sailed the Red Falcon toward Zealand, docking at the eastern port city—
Copenhagen.
A pale sun hung overhead without warmth.
Bitter wind swept across the deck and drew curses from the sailors.
Over thirty ships sat frozen in harbor.
Thin gray ice coated their hulls.
Dockworkers bundled in heavy clothes moved sparse cargo stiffly while their breath vanished in the wind.
After hearing the navy had arrived, Count Favel came personally to greet the captains and officers.
When they pushed open the heavy oak doors of the lord's hall—
Warm air rushed out.
The smell of cooked meat, ale, sweat, and smoke instantly revived their spirits.
Large logs burned in the fireplace.
Orange flames danced and crackled softly.
After sitting down, Hadava loosened his thick fur coat.
He drank two cups of warm ale in quick succession and ate fish pies while asking about the war.
Favel replied:
"The coalition is down to four thousand men."
"Half defend Funen."
"Half defend Zealand."
"Without Britannian ground troops, morale is poor."
"They're only suitable for defense."
"A month ago, news of the Battle of Dunwo Manor reached the north."
"But instead of inspiring them…"
"It gave them false hope."
"They think it's better to delay and let His Majesty defeat the Franks alone."
Hearing the complaint, Hadava remained serious.
He quietly finished his fish pie and found a warm room to rest.
That night—
A cold wave swept south.
Copenhagen's temperature plunged.
Hadava decided to remain a few more days and wait for warmer weather.
Five days passed.
The cold still hadn't broken.
Temperatures dropped further.
Snow piled thick across the ground.
Sailors curled up indoors playing cards and board games—
Showing no interest in returning to sea.
"Hah…"
"In all my years…"
"This is the first time I've seen cold like this."
After wandering outside briefly, Hadava returned to the hall and idled away the day.
That night—
Holding a maid in the warmth of bed—
He suddenly thought:
This life wasn't bad.
Staying a little longer wouldn't hurt.
—------------------------------
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