Graduation Exam (5)
Prussia, Berlin.
As the war between France and Britain grew ever fiercer, the Prussian Junkers' dilemmas deepened.
Since Friedrich had ascended the throne, Prussia had never tasted defeat.
The War of the Polish Succession, the Bavarian conflicts, the Dutch crisis, and then the annexation of Poland.
Whenever Prussia fought, it won without fail, and Friedrich fed the Junkers' ravenous ambitions and bloodlust to his heart's content.
But human greed knows no bounds.
The Junkers' original wishes had been modest enough.
If only we could see France kneel once.
It'd be nice to give those arrogant Bavarians a thrashing.
They pursued these small but certain joys, yet Friedrich fulfilled them two hundred percent—and more.
So what came next?
The Netherlands? Already dealt with. Poland? Nearly half was theirs now.
Russia was too far, and the Netherlands had just signed a peace treaty—no dice there.
That left Denmark or Sweden, but Denmark held Holstein, making it a Holy Roman vassal, and Sweden controlled Pomerania in the same vein.
In short, Prussia had hit a wall: no easy places left to expand.
"Anywhere else we can smack around?"
"Our king, a war god who could defy the world, and yet no enemies to fight? How infuriating!"
"Europe's packed with countries—why no foes? If only we had someone to battle!"
"Just one bastard, please—trip into our sights!"
In truth, the Junkers were oblivious, but Friedrich's power in Prussia was edging beyond absolute monarchy.
Every victory enriched the Junkers, but the crown amassed several times that in strength.
A few more triumphs, a firmer grip on the throne, and Friedrich might become Prussia itself.
His loyalists believed that day was near.
The key ministers overseeing departments were mostly young nobles who revered the king, and he convened them to review vital state matters.
In Prussia, a noble's real power hinged on invitation to these meetings—and that criterion held true.
"French forces have secured Austrian transit rights and are marching on Hanover."
Heinrich Podewils, chief minister of the Prussian kingdom, spoke, and the attending ministers flinched. But Friedrich showed no reaction.
His unflappable demeanor—as if he'd foreseen it all—quickly steadied them.
Still, no one took it lightly.
Not content with colonial scraps—they want a real showdown in Europe too?
Even if they win both fronts, what's the gain? They're out of their minds.
This was their chance.
A golden opportunity with those two blockheads—screaming objections on reflex—finally pounding each other.
The Junkers were already fidgety, signaling their itch for action; no one would dare oppose.
Heinrich Podewils wanted to gauge the king's intentions first.
Even as his confidant, Friedrich's thoughts were sometimes inscrutable—like now.
They'd just carved up substantial Polish territory; he might want time to consolidate. Or seize this moment before it slipped away.
"Their intentions are clear. France wants to prove defeat to Austria didn't reduce them to mediocrity. Britain won't neglect Hanover one bit."
"Wish both would just crash and burn spectacularly."
"Since it's come to this, why not back France a little? Those pirate scum are sturdier than the frog spawn, aren't they?"
For a rising power like Prussia to dominate Europe, the current hegemons had to fall.
And now those two might leap off the cliff together—how could that not thrill?
"I think half-hearted prodding could backfire. If they realize this brawl only benefits others, reason might prevail."
"Fair point."
"So we exploit this elsewhere for our gains. The trouble is, it's not easy right now."
Austria had laid groundwork south, but Prussia's north offered only Denmark or Sweden.
Worse, both bordered Prussia via Holy Roman vassals.
"If they weren't fellow vassals, we'd just steamroll Holstein."
"No pretext? Like the Netherlands—claiming they gouge our merchants with tariffs?"
"We used tariffs on Bavaria and the Netherlands. Overplay it, and the excuse loses punch."
Prey ripe for devouring everywhere, yet hands tied.
Friedrich, serene amid the frustration, scanned his fidgeting ministers and spoke.
"No need to worry."
"Oh! Your Majesty!"
"As expected—Your Majesty had a grand plan all along!"
"Show us the path forward!"
With heads of interior, military, diplomacy—all eyes sparkling on him—Friedrich shook his head and sipped water.
"Think simply. Netherlands and Russia? Treaties block us. Leaves Denmark and Sweden. Elimination yields the answer, no?"
"So which of the two...?"
"Easy to say, but it'd stunt your growth. Ponder my mind until next we meet. I'll handle preparations—don't fret."
His gracious decree shamed them.
"Leading us unworthy souls to such lengths..."
"Denmark? Sweden? What grand target does His Majesty eye?"
"Or perhaps some unimaginable stroke of genius hits somewhere else entirely?"
Praise rained: only one to rule and lead Prussia—Friedrich alone.
Once skeptics whispered he acted on whims, but results spoke.
The king's moves always yielded optimal outcomes, never once wrong.
So surely now too: some colossal scheme beyond mortal ken.
Watching his subordinates' loyalty contest, Friedrich sighed inwardly and rose quietly.
...I'm screwed.
How'd it come to this?
He had no clue where to strike.
Honestly, stabilizing the fresh Polish lands seemed best.
But with Britain and France at war? Sitting idle clashed with his German blood.
Marching back into crushed Poland was absurd... yet the urge to do something was human.
He wanted action, but unlike old days, rash strikes now risked unmanageable fallout.
Yet somehow, his ministers had come to see him as a transcendent sovereign, every gesture profound.
Results as ironclad proof, or so they claimed.
To Friedrich? Utter nonsense.
Life wasn't chess—how could every word and deed brim with meaning?
Most times, Prince Franz cleaned up the mess... Can't exactly say that.
Still, he hadn't spoken idly.
No matter the tangle, he had one unbeatable move.
Under pretext of chess counsel, he dispatched a letter to Vienna.
I want to hit Sweden or Denmark but need a pretext.
You think there; I swing here.
Gazing at the chessboard, Friedrich felt oddly at ease.
Austria's official stance was concise and clear.
We're neutral~ We know nothing. Guarantee equal terms, and we'll treat everyone equally.
Historically, Holy Roman states splintered in Anglo-French wars.
Austria first backed Britain, then flipped to France amid alliance shifts.
But now?
"The Holy Roman Empire is one!"
"One empire! One policy!"
Not Austria's words—from Saxony, no less.
Their zeal to retain elector status burned fierce.
Normally, one ate well and ignored the rest. World as it was.
Thus, the Empire stayed out, focusing on internal reforms.
"Polish principalities' reorganization is done."
"No need to report—you handle it your way, just show results."
"Well, this one's key. Not seeking advice—just informing my plan. Seems to be going well? That rifle looks different from before."
Maria Theresa eyed the rear-loading rifle prototype behind me with keen interest.
"Produced a few before. But mass production's impossible at current tech."
Artisans' handmade masterpieces couldn't scale for major wars.
Weapons aside, ammo would run dry after battles—useless.
"So it starts with bundling steam engines, steel, firearms. Overhaul production systems too. Was daunting at first, but reallocating manpower now."
"No clue what that entails, but sounds grueling. Won't steal your time—straight to business?"
"Sorry, dragging you into this..."
"Friedrich wants Denmark or Sweden. Told him to take Sweden's Pomerania."
Wait—not Hanover, but Friedrich here?
"Hand over Pomerania?"
"Yes. Thought it over—prime real estate."
Pomerania—called Pomerania in Sweden—a Baltic coast plagued by border disputes.
Until recently, Prussia held main cities, splitting the rest with Sweden and Poland.
Partition gave Prussia much, but Sweden clung to core: Stralsund and Wismar ports.
Losing them cut Sweden's continental foothold; they'd invested heavily, but it strained them.
"Sweden's king is also Pomerania's duke—a Holy Roman vassal. No casus belli for Prussia under imperial law?"
"Pretexts are made—you've always done it. The Pomeranian duke will be perfect fertilizer for overhauling the Diet and imperial taxes."
Imperial tax—that wholesome, heartwarming term—banished breechloader thoughts from my head.
I shoved the prototype aside and straightened.
"Go on?"
No, student Theresa—what if she turns in a doctoral thesis for graduation?
Today's chapter mentions these regions. Blue is Denmark, yellow Sweden. Green marks Swedish-held Pomerania (Pomerania) areas.
As mentioned yesterday, severe back trouble's hitting hard—uploading one chapter only. Back to daily tomorrow.