After sending the telegram, Morin let out a long sigh of relief.
He had made the necessary arrangements on his end; the rest depended on the response speed back home.
Morin stood up and instructed the communications officer to notify him immediately if there was a reply. The officer nodded in acknowledgment.
As he walked out of the communications tent, Morin ran head-on into Major General Knobelsdorff.
The Chief of Staff had been called away by others right after bringing him here. Now, he was walking briskly with a stack of documents tucked under his arm, apparently just having come out of some department’s tent.
“Colonel Morin, has the telegram been sent?”
“Yes, Chief of Staff, it’s sent.”
“That’s good!”
Major General Knobelsdorff didn’t break his stride, flipping through the documents in his hands as he walked, while simultaneously saying to Morin:
“Also, regarding the supplementation of staff officers for you, I just went and did a preliminary screening of a few candidates. I’ll show you the list tomorrow morning.”
“Then I’ll trouble Your Excellency the Chief of Staff with that.”
That night, Morin was arranged to rest in a small tent next to the Crown Prince’s command tent.
Although the tent wasn’t large, containing only a small table, a camp bed, and a clean blanket, it had been tidied up quite neatly by the Crown Prince’s orderlies.
Morin took off his officer’s overcoat and draped it over the foot of the bed. He then took off some odds and ends from his body and placed them on the table, kicked off his boots, and collapsed directly onto the bed.
He wasn’t particularly sleepy right now, so he didn’t fall asleep immediately, but instead focused his attention on the system map.
The semi-transparent fog of war had once again covered areas without friendly forces, and the enemy’s red unit cards were now reduced to mere “snapshots.”
Based on Morin’s experience, this basically indicated the last location where friendly units had spotted them.
Morin zoomed the map slightly, his gaze moving southeast along the railway lines within the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Just as Major General Knobelsdorff had said, although the Austro-Hungarian railway system was unreliable, it had indeed reached several major passes in the Carpathian Mountains in the border region.
This also meant that rapid deployment of large-scale troops could still be achieved through “interior line maneuvers.”
And beyond the Carpathian Mountains lay an area untouched by the flames of war.
The western plains of the Kingdom of Romania.
Morin repeatedly measured distances and calculated times on the system map, plugging the speed of railway transport, the assembly time of the troops, and the mobility once the vehicles arrived into his simulations over and over again.
“If Cecilia can scrounge up at least a hundred vehicles of various types within ten days…”
“Plus the railway transport time…”
“The deployment time after reaching the Carpathian passes…”
“Add the time for the troops to complete resupply and preparation there…”
He listed a long string of numbers in his mind, then combined them all to reach a conclusion:
The timing might be a bit tight, but the plan was not impossible to complete.
The key variable was that the main force of the Romanians was currently trapped on the Bulgarian battlefield, unable to extricate itself.
This meant that the troop strength in the Romanian homeland was extremely hollow.
Lying on the camp bed, Morin let out a long breath. Soon, a language that perhaps hadn’t appeared in this world for a long time echoed in the tent.
“To march a thousand li without becoming exhausted, march through places where there is no enemy…” (A quote from Sun Tzu’s Art of War)
“I still have to rely on the wisdom of the ancestors~”
According to Morin’s analysis, the next step only required making the Romanians realize their house was on fire, forcing them to draw troops back from the Bulgarian battlefield for defense.
Once the pressure on the Kingdom of Bulgaria decreased, this country, hanging by a thread under enemy siege, could catch its breath.
When the Bulgarians caught their breath, and the Romanians’ situation became unstable, the strategy of the entire Balkan Coalition would be thrown into chaos.
By that time, whether Belgrade could be captured or not would actually become unimportant.
It could be said that the upcoming operations would be like pulling one hair and moving the whole body, directly triggering a chain reaction.
Dresden, Imperial General Staff Building.
In the communications room during the night shift, the telegraph machines never stopped.
Battle reports, requests for instructions, and logistical allocation applications from the various army groups on the front lines were continuously converted from signals to codes and finally decoded. Telegraph operators and decoders worked in shifts, so busy they didn’t even have time to take a sip of water.
Just after 11:00 PM, an encrypted telegram transmitted from the direction of the Balkans was decoded.
The corporal responsible for decoding quickly wrote down the cleartext, then picked up the telegram paper and looked at it again to confirm he hadn’t misread the header identification code—it was the exclusive identification code of the Fifth Army Group and the Crown Prince.
“Major!”
He stood up and waved to the duty officer.
The duty major of the communications room walked over, took the telegram paper, and scanned it. The sleepiness on his face vanished instantly.
“This was sent back by Colonel Morin?”
“Yes, sir… It came through the encrypted line used by His Highness and the Fifth Army Group.”
The duty major flipped the telegram paper over to confirm the timestamp and encryption level, then walked quickly out of the communications room to find the staff officer on duty at the General Staff tonight.
The duty officer for the General Staff tonight was a lieutenant colonel. He took the telegram, read it, and flipped back to look at the sender’s name.
Friedrich von Morin.
This name was no longer unfamiliar within the General Staff… or rather, in the tidings of victory sent back since the war began, the frequency of this name appearing was absurdly high.
After reading the telegram carefully, the lieutenant colonel ran through the priorities in his mind.
The core content of the telegram was a request to coordinate vehicle requisition, and the recipient was Madam Cecilia von Falkenstein of “Falkenstein-Eisenberg United Industry.”
While the lieutenant colonel was pondering how to handle this, another person ran over from the communications room.
“Sir, a telegram from His Highness the Crown Prince!”
The lieutenant colonel took it and read it. Crown Prince Georg’s telegram was much shorter than Morin’s, but carried much more weight:
Its gist was demanding all relevant departments of the General Staff to give priority processing to Colonel Morin’s subsequent coordination requests.
The lieutenant colonel placed the two telegrams on the desk, compared them for half a minute, and then made a decision.
Morin’s telegram to Madam Falkenstein would be sent immediately by courier… The Falkenstein Manor was outside the city, taking at least an hour round trip; the sooner it was sent, the sooner it would be handled.
As for the Crown Prince’s telegram to the various departments of the General Staff, that would be submitted to the Chief of the General Staff tomorrow morning.
The old man had fainted in his office the day before yesterday due to lack of sleep, and the military doctors had repeatedly instructed not to wake him in the middle of the night unless absolutely necessary.
Furthermore, the Crown Prince’s telegram content was “priority coordination by all departments.” Matters of this nature could wait until daybreak to be handled.
“Go to the motor pool and requisition a staff car,” the lieutenant colonel ordered another duty officer. “Take a few men and deliver this telegram to the Falkenstein Manor.”
The officer who received the order didn’t dawdle. Taking the sealed telegram envelope, he jogged out the door.
Not long after, a staff sedan drove out from the side gate of the General Staff building, heading out of the city along the empty night streets of Dresden.
Early May in Dresden still carried a chill at night.
Because the curfew in Dresden hadn’t been lifted due to security concerns, there were no pedestrians on the road, only the occasional passing military police patrols and vehicles.
The staff car accelerated after leaving the urban area. After driving on a well-paved road for some time, the row of cast-iron railings surrounding the Falkenstein Manor finally came into view.
The manor gates were shut tight, with two burly private guards standing at the entrance.
If the officer in the car had “hacks” like Morin, he would have discovered that there were actually numerous heavily armed hidden sentries inside the manor…
The officer delivering the letter got out of the car and presented his General Staff ID and official letter to the guards at the gate.
After verifying the ID, one of the guards used a wired telephone in the guard booth behind them to make an announcement to the interior of the manor.
Less than three minutes later, the sound of an engine came from deep within the manor.
A pitch-black small radiant crystal car rushed out from the tree-lined avenue of the manor. The brakes were applied a bit sharply, the wheels sliding half a meter on the gravel surface before stopping.
The driver’s side door popped open, and a young woman wearing a long dark blue dress with a coat casually draped over her shoulders hopped down nimbly.
It was Head Maid Luna.
She had clearly been roused from bed. Her hair was simply tied behind her head, but upon seeing the envelope in the delivering officer’s hand and the wax seal on it, all sleepiness vanished from her face.
“The General Staff delivering a letter at this hour… Is it from the front lines?”
“Yes, an encrypted telegram forwarded from His Highness the Crown Prince’s command post. The recipient is Madam Falkenstein.”
Luna took the envelope and asked, “Mr. Officer, would you like to come in for a drink and rest for a bit?”
“Thank you for your kindness, but I must return to report to the duty officer.”
The officer didn’t stay long. After saluting, he climbed back into the staff car. The headlights flickered twice in the night, and the car turned around to return the way it came.
Holding the envelope, Luna walked quickly back to the car, hit the gas, and drove toward the main building of the manor. Then she jogged all the way to the second floor of the manor.
She pushed open the door to the master bedroom. By the faint light filtering in from the hallway, she saw the person on the bed wrapped in silk sheets, breathing steadily.
“Madam.”
Luna walked to the bedside, lowering her voice.
“Madam, wake up.”
The person under the sheets didn’t react.
Luna had no choice but to reach out and gently shake her shoulder.
“Mmm…”
Cecilia rolled over, rubbing her eyes, and propped herself halfway up from the covers, her long hair spilling over her shoulders.
She squinted at the mantle clock near the wall. The hands pointed to twelve-forty.
“Luna… what is it? Don’t tell me it’s news from Friedrich… otherwise you wouldn’t wake me at this hour.” Cecilia’s voice still carried sleepiness, but her tone was returning to normal.
“Yes, Madam. It is indeed a telegram sent back from the front lines by Young Master Friedrich. The General Staff just sent someone over with it.”
Cecilia sat up straight instantly, her half-squinted eyes snapping open.
She took the letter Luna handed her, tore open the seal, pulled out the telegram paper inside, and held it under the bedside lamp. Her gaze swept rapidly over the paper.
The first half of the telegram was in standard official format—vehicle type requirements, approximate quantities, supporting requirements, delivery deadlines, and destinations.
The wording was concise and sharp, as if writing a combat order.
After reading the first half, Cecilia slapped the telegram paper onto the bed.
“That guy, only knows how to assign people work.”
Luna stood quietly to the side, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
However, not long after, Cecilia, with a complaining look on her face, picked up the telegram paper again. This time, her gaze landed on the final line.
“Everything is going well, don’t worry. — Friedrich.”
She stared at this line for several seconds.
Then she put the telegram paper down and exhaled a long breath.
“Sigh… As long as he’s safe…”
These words were spoken so softly that Luna barely heard them.
But Cecilia didn’t give herself much time for sentimentality. She picked the telegram paper back up, read it carefully from beginning to end again, and her mind began working at high speed.
“Luna, adjust the entire schedule for tomorrow.”
“The meeting with the bank in the morning?”
“Find an excuse to cancel it.”
“The afternoon tea party with the ladies…”
“Cancel that too.”
Cecilia got out of bed, her bare feet stepping onto the carpet. She picked up a velvet nightgown draped over the back of a chair and put it on.
“Contact the heads of Daimler, Borgward, Mercedes, and Demag right now. Tell them there will be a meeting at United Industry headquarters at exactly eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Right now?” Luna looked at the sky outside the window. “Madam… it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.”
Cecilia tied the sash of her nightgown and looked back at Luna.
“It’s precisely because the notification is in the middle of the night that they will know how urgent this is.”
Luna nodded and turned to leave the room.
After the door closed, Cecilia stood in the bedroom for a while. Her mind was turning over the contents of the telegram and what the numbers behind them might entail.
The number of vehicles Morin listed was not small, and the deadline was very tight.
She knew Friedrich’s style of doing things—especially since he seemed like a changed person after joining the military. He never asked for things beyond actual needs, so if he said he needed a certain amount, he truly needed that much.
But the problem was, this quantity meant the various subsidiaries had to suspend ongoing routine military deliveries and intercept the entire latest batch of vehicles off the assembly lines, packaging them for the front lines.
Doing so would definitely affect the progress of military orders.
However, the telegram also mentioned that His Highness the Crown Prince would personally coordinate the military’s approval.
Cecilia thought for a few more seconds.
Then she walked to one side of the bedroom and pushed open the door leading to the balcony.
The night breeze carrying the scent of early summer vegetation hit her face.
The vast wilderness behind the manor spread out under the moonlight, the horizon blurring into a faint arc.
Resting her hands on the stone railing of the balcony, Cecilia cast a glance toward the southeast.
In that direction, over a thousand kilometers away, was the Balkan Peninsula.
She stood on the balcony for less than a minute before turning back into the bedroom.
Confirming that she probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep for a while, she simply sat down at her vanity table and began listing several key issues to be discussed at tomorrow’s meeting on a piece of paper.