In the sweltering heat of summer, beads of sweat trickled down the tender cheeks of seventeen-year-old Sodaval. Observing his son's exhausted demeanor, his father suggested, "Let's take a break." Together, they found respite under the cool shade of a tree beside the ridge. Sodaval gratefully accepted the water bottle from his father and guzzled it down eagerly.
While resting, Sodaval's thoughts drifted to his family. Being the eldest of three siblings in a modest household, with brothers aged thirteen and nine, he often felt the weight of responsibility on his young shoulders.
Suddenly, his contemplation was interrupted by the familiar voice of his good friend Nisidl, who was sprinting along the ridge road. "Hey, Sodarval," called out Nisidl breathlessly.
Sodaval stood up to greet him, "What's up, Nisidl?" Nisidl, whose father had once driven a carriage for the local baron and later became a successful salesman, lived on the opposite side of the village. Sodaval admired Nisidl's father for his knowledge and good fortune.
Nisidl, ever the bearer of news, wore a mysterious grin. "Have you heard, Sodarval?" Knowing his friend's penchant for gossip, Sodaval was intrigued. Nisidl enjoyed sharing tales and rumors, earning him the village nickname 'eavesdropper.'
"His Royal Highness Prince Eder has established an automobile factory in Constanta. They're hiring workers—80 lei per month for starters, and up to 120 lei for good positions," Nisidl relayed excitedly.
The news set Sodaval's heart racing. Like many young men, he dreamed of adventures and a prosperous future. He imagined returning to the village wealthy, respected, marrying the most beautiful girl, and raising a delightful family. Yet, the stark contrast between his dreams and the daily grind of rural life often left him disheartened.
"This is my chance," Sodaval thought to himself. Eagerly, he asked, "Do you know how many workers they need?"
"The factory is huge; I heard they might need around 1,000 people," Nisidl replied, somewhat unsure.
"I want to try it, Nisidl. Will you come too?" Sodaval asked, his voice filled with hope.
Nisidl, recalling his father's tales of city life, responded, "My father mentioned the delicious food, the lovely girls, and their fine clothes. It would be wonderful to live like that." Together, they fantasized about the promising urban lifestyle.
That evening, Sodaval shared the news about the Constanta Automobile Plant with his father, Milovar. Understanding his son's restless spirit, Milovar consented, allowing Sodaval to seize this opportunity.
The next morning, filled with excitement, Sodaval met Nisidl at his home. They were to travel to Constanta in Nisidl's father, Andrew's carriage. As they prepared to leave, Nisidl's mother clung to him, reluctant to let go. Andrew, noticing the delay, announced, "It's time to go." With that, Nisidl embraced his mother briefly before joining Sodaval in the carriage.
Upon arriving at the factory, the friends were astounded by the throng of people already gathered. They learned that the factory was not just hiring 1,000 workers as they thought, but 3,000, thanks to an additional investment of 8 million lei from the prince.
After a long wait, which left their legs numb, it was finally their turn to register. They provided their names, home address, and ages, then underwent a medical examination which included a physical check, eyesight test, and a strength assessment where they each lifted 30 kg barbells. Passing all tests, they received stamps on their forms confirming their eligibility.
A foreman informed them about the job conditions: nine-hour workdays, four days off per month, and provisions for meals and accommodation within the factory premises at a nominal cost. They would also receive four sets of work clothes annually.
Elated, the young men collected their canvas uniforms and rushed outside to share the good news with Andrew, who was waiting with the carriage. "The lads are energetic and got in," Andrew exclaimed with pride.
Nisidl boasted to his father, "We can eat and live in the factory, no need to rent a house, and we only work nine hours a day with four days off each month. I'll come back to visit you."
Andrew, pleased with their success, replied, "Do well, boys. I'll go back and bring the good news to the Milovars."
The friends then headed to the dormitory assigned to them. Despite the spartan conditions with lime-painted walls and bunk beds, they were filled with anticipation for the future.
As they settled into their bunks, Nisidl from the lower bunk whispered, "Sodaval, are you asleep?"
"No, thinking about our new life starting tomorrow, I can't sleep either," Sodaval replied, his eyes fixed on the white ceiling.
"I didn't expect this Volkswagen factory to offer such good conditions," Nisidl mused.
"Yeah, let's try to sleep. We have to work tomorrow, and the foreman said there are fines for being late," Sodaval reminded him.
Slowly, the excitement gave way to fatigue, and the two friends drifted off to sleep, dreaming of their new life ahead at the Volkswagen factory—a testament to the progressive vision of Henry Ford, supported by Prince Eder, which promised fair treatment and decent working conditions unheard of in those times.
The next day, a tall, robust man carrying a large tin horn ascended the high platform and bellowed, "Quiet, everyone!" The crowd immediately hushed, their eyes fixed on the platform where the imposing figure surveyed them. Introducing himself with a commanding tone, he said, "My name is Varisi, and for the next two months, I will be your chief instructor. I hope you won't miss me when I'm gone." His gaze swept across the assembled crowd like a predator eyeing its prey, causing everyone to lower their gaze in intimidation.
Varisi, pleased with the impact of his presence, continued loudly, "Before you can become proficient workers, you must first learn discipline. This is the essence of our training. I will eradicate any laziness among you. If you cannot change, I will be happy to assist, though you may not enjoy my methods." After this declaration, Varisi and his assistants began the rigorous training of the workers.
During the lunch break, the trainees, including Sodaval and Nissidl, were visibly exhausted, their bodies aching from the morning's activities. Seeking respite, they found a shaded spot under some trees to sit and rest. Nissidl commented to Sodaval, "That Varisi seems even tougher than Mordo from Baron Mondriva's estate." He explained that Mordo was notorious locally as the Baron's chief enforcer, seldom seen but widely feared, especially by those who owed the Baron money, ensuring they regretted their debts for a lifetime.
"Does this Mordo you speak of have a scar on his forehead?" a voice inquired from behind them. Startled, Nissidl responded before turning to see who it was, "Yes, how do you know?" It was Varisi who had approached unnoticed. "That's because I gave him that scar during a failed training session," he revealed. Shocked, Sodaval and Nissidl quickly excused themselves and fled from Varisi's presence, his laughter following them as they went.
Meanwhile, the chief of staff, Puleshan, was discussing organizational matters with his friend Prossi. He expressed his frustration, "Pross, your school needs to train more lower-level officers. Their scarcity is hindering our reorganization efforts." Prossi, leisurely stirring his coffee, seemed unbothered by the urgency in Puleshan's voice.
Puleshan knew Prossi well enough to understand his laid-back approach; he was efficient but never overzealous. Despite sometimes questioning his friendship with Prossi due to their differing paces, Puleshan respected his friend's balance of efficiency and calm.
In a different setting, such a casual conversation might suggest a change in leadership. Puleshan, a general well-respected for his rigorous standards, was effectively the top leader in the military, tasked with significant reorganization efforts. His authority was such that his directives were swiftly implemented wherever he went.
Prossi, after a sip of his coffee, responded to Puleshan's complaint, "The school can only train so many officers without a drop in quality. If you need more, perhaps ask the crown prince." He then playfully critiqued the quality of his coffee, suggesting that even the logistics department was trying to curry favor with the chief of staff.
Puleshan, understanding his friend's indirect reference to not overestimating the crown prince's understanding, smiled wryly. He then steered the conversation back to the need for modernizing the training to meet current tactical demands. "The evolving battlefield requires increasingly competent officers. We rely on your training programs to keep pace with technological advancements," Puleshan stressed.
Prossi acknowledged the challenge, noting the limitations of short-term training programs in truly enhancing officers' tactical and technical proficiency. "The current six-month courses are insufficient for the complexities of modern warfare. Ideally, an officer should undergo years of training to be truly effective," he explained.
Puleshan, agreeing, hinted at the necessity of increased funding to enhance training quality. "The situation calls for more substantial investments in military education. We can't afford delays, especially with the crown prince pushing for rapid reorganization."
Prossi, seizing the moment, reminded Puleshan of his role in securing additional funds. "For the school to meet military demands, I need more resources," he stated plainly. Puleshan, chuckling, agreed to endorse his friend's funding request, joking about Prossi's influence over him.
As Prossi prepared to leave, he casually mentioned, "Keep an eye on the officers returning from training in Germany. Their increasing influence could sway internal opinions." Puleshan, aware of the potential implications, acknowledged the need to monitor and possibly reassign those whose loyalty to Romania might be compromised by foreign allegiances.
Resolved to safeguard his nation's interests, Puleshan silently vowed to steer Romania's military path independently, ensuring that only those truly devoted to their homeland held positions of influence.