January 13th, 2030. Amsterdam.
The finance minister of the Netherlands, Milan Gerritsen, found himself plunged into the depths of the worst month in his entire life. The relentless pressure and chaos following the Belgian invasion left him with countless sleepless nights. It was only today that he managed to carve out a moment to relax, seeking solace and perhaps a meager compensation for the havoc he had tried to contain—turning chaos into a semblance of controlled anarchy.
In the aftermath of the Belgian invasion, the once-stable landscape of Dutch governance erupted into flames, both metaphorically and, in some instances, quite literally. Milan, along with the rest of the Dutch government, had been thrust into an overtime marathon. They all desperately slaved away to rectify the severe deficiencies in the cabinet to salvage whatever remained of the administrative structure and, against the highly stacked odds, maintain a fragile sense of order in the wake of the war. All of this while the constant threat of tanks barreling down through the streets of Amsterdam loomed over them.
The jobs of certain other officials may have been more important and tightly linked with the crisis, but Milan would still claim that his role was no less stressful or conducive to hair loss. Over the past fortnight, he had likely pored over more documents and numbers than in the entirety of his prior life, fueled only by a regimen of caffeine and junk food.
The management of finances and the economy is invariably crucial during times of peace, and its significance only amplifies during the throes of war. From soldiers' salaries and defense contracts to equipment acquisitions, logistics, and the myriad of other essential military needs, everything demands financial backing. Without a robust treasury, no state can effectively wage a successful war.
For a nation as militarily vulnerable as the Netherlands, the imperative was to transmute liquid funds and assets into something that could hold back the oncoming tide. However, initial endeavors to shift civilian production toward military industry were largely overlooked, despite being a customary practice when approaching military conflict. The rationale is that without the ability to defend these industries, it would be of little use in preparing them for the enemy.
Doing that is, of course, easier said than done. Milan and his dedicated staff spent endless hours meticulously scrutinizing the vast array of properties and funds under the ownership of the Netherlands. Countless meetings with various branches of the government ensued, each aimed at crafting some semblance of an emergency budget to navigate these challenging times.
He couldn't even begin to fathom what his colleagues in the cabinet were going through. The nightmarish scenario of organizing a defense against an unforeseen invasion, compounded by an overwhelming adversary employing previously unseen stratagems. The desperate calls for assistance to neighboring nations and the international community were often met with hollow assurances and, worse yet, cold indifference. Adding a personal layer to this crisis was the fact that the prime minister, also an old friend of Milan's, bore the weight of the nation's destiny.
Adrian van Dijk and Milan Gerritsen, once idealistic youths engaged in activism and fervent campaigning, sought to usher in a new era and catalyze transformative change for their country. Yet, their impassioned pleas fell on deaf ears, prompting a profound realization: to effect real change, they must commit their lives to the cause and navigate the arduous path of electoral politics. Their drastic change in policy and demeanor resonated with the public, propelling them into office, and overturning years of political stagnation that gripped the nation.
At the time, the Netherlands grappled with the lingering aftermath of the Coronavirus Pandemic, exacerbated by the sudden collapse of the European free market. Martin and Adrian, along with their party, managed to steer the ship and return it to course; against the odds, their governance and unwavering commitment saw the Netherlands emerge as one of the most successful and dynamic economies in the contemporary world. The duo's remarkable journey from impassioned activists to transformative leaders became a beacon of hope for a nation yearning for renewal.
Yet amidst all these successes, they had neglected the situation south of the border and the turbulent times that would come ahead. During their tenure, the military bore the brunt of this neglect, as funds earmarked for defense were redirected toward pressing domestic concerns, such as aiding the homeless and revitalizing the economy.
In retrospect, it might be deemed short-sighted, but the decision was seemingly logical at the time. Europe had experienced few conflicts, especially in its western regions, and being unshackled from NATO obligations, the need for a substantial army appeared minimal. The government's initiatives offering alternative employment opportunities further dissuaded individuals from pursuing the risky and seemingly unrewarding military profession.
Nevertheless, their efforts proved futile, as the Belgian invasion swiftly dismantled all their hard work, leaving the short-lived prosperity of the Netherlands in ruins—spoils reaped by the victor
After all these thoughts, Milan slouched into his somewhat opulent chair, casting a gaze over his surprisingly tidy and orderly desk. It was not like this, but just minutes ago he had his secretary clean things up and put them in the meeting room, where he spent most of his time anyway. Intriguingly, amidst the cleanliness, an unexpected item remained—a letter.
Driven by curiosity, he reached for the letter, swiftly breaking the seal and delving into its contents. As he perused the missive, multiple emotions swept over him: initial confusion, followed by shock at the audacity of its contents, evolving into a simmering outrage before ultimately settling into a resigned acceptance.
The letter bore the seal of none other than the Belgian Prime Minister, Victor Leclarcq. Its contents unfolded as follows:
"Dear Minister Milan Gerritsen,
I trust this letter finds you amidst the challenging times that have befallen our nations. Recent events have reshaped the landscape of our shared history, and it is within this context that I extend a proposition that aims at fostering collaboration for the greater good.
As you are well aware, the invasion has altered the political and geographical dynamics of our region. In light of these changes, I find it imperative for us to consider a path that transcends traditional boundaries and facilitates a harmonious future. I have been observing your resilience and dedication in steering the Dutch government through these turbulent waters, and it is with great respect that I propose a collaboration between our two parties.
Belgium envisions a future of unity and prosperity, where the strengths of our combined efforts can overcome the challenges that lie ahead. To this end, I invite you to assume a leading role in the administration of the future province of Holland under Belgian governance. Your expertise and leadership qualities are well-recognized, and your involvement will undoubtedly contribute to the stability and progress of the region.
This collaboration is not merely a political alliance, but an opportunity to build a new era where the interests of both our nations converge. I am confident that, together, we can chart a course that ensures the well-being of our citizens and fosters a sense of unity in this chaotic era.
I hope for and anticipate the prospect of forging a path toward a shared and prosperous future for a united Benelux
Warm regards,
Victor Leclarcq
Prime Minister of Belgium"
Milan's sigh carried the weight of resignation, an acknowledgment that reporting the letter to the cabinet held little promise of meaningful action. He wasn't naive; Milan understood that others in the government likely received similar missives, their allure tempting many.
Despite the apparent simplicity of dismissing the offer, Milan found himself entangled in a complex web of considerations. It went beyond personal consequences; his thoughts ventured into the uncertain future of his beloved nation, possibly entrusted to a power-hungry puppeteer willing to barter away their collective dignity. Belgium surely boasted a pool of potential candidates, and Milan's selection seemed arbitrary.
The weight of the decision bore down on him. Betraying his country wasn't merely a political maneuver; it was a breach of camaraderie forged over a lifetime. Faces of friends and allies flashed through Milan's mind—people with whom he had shared dreams and aspirations. He envisioned the citizens of his cherished nation, their hearts aflame with hatred for his perceived treachery. The world, distant and indifferent, would cast its judgment upon him.
In the end, with tears welling up in his eyes, he resolved to endure and accept. He would sacrifice everything.
"For you, my country, I make this sacrifice."