Admiral Courtois, a seasoned veteran of many battles including the Romanian War of Independence and the 10th Russian-Turkish War alongside the venerable King Carol I, had grown old. Over the years, he had witnessed the rising influence of younger officers like Puleshan within the army, yet he maintained control of the War Department, bolstered by the unwavering trust of the king. As time passed, King Carol I began delegating more responsibilities to Crown Prince Edel, showing less direct involvement in military affairs. Admiral Courtois, perceiving the shift in power dynamics, gradually stepped back, leading a semi-reclusive life until the looming conflict with Bulgaria necessitated his return to active duty.
In the grandeur of the palace, the old general was summoned for a meeting with Prince Edel, now the commander-in-chief of the army. The prince, having known Courtois since his youth, greeted him formally, "His Royal Highness, Admiral Courtois is here to report."
"Your Excellency, welcome," replied Edel, masking his thoughts with a veneer of solemnity.
Courtois, ever direct, inquired about the impending plans. "So, shall we proceed to Kellerashi tomorrow?"
"Yes, my chief of staff," Edel confirmed. "We will depart tomorrow and join the forces gathering there to cross into Bulgaria."
"Then I shall return and prepare," said Courtois, understanding the brevity of their interaction.
"Proceed," Edel responded, giving his consent with a nod.
After the admiral departed with a crisp military salute, Edel, still puzzled by the old general's demeanor, set the matter aside and summoned General Prossi to discuss the details of the military operation. Edel knew his role was limited; meddling too much could lead to blunders, much like the infamous Kaishen Logistics debacle.
Major General Prossi arrived promptly, his face betraying a hint of annoyance at being called Principal by Edel, a title he found slightly demeaning. "Your Highness, you summoned me?"
"Yes, Principal Prossi, Your Excellency," Edel continued, ignoring the flicker of irritation on Prossi's face. "What actions does our command need to undertake now?"
Aware that this was Edel's first war as a planner, Prossi responded, "Your Highness, we need to ensure logistical support and coordinate the various army commands effectively."
Edel, slightly disappointed yet resigned to his role, dismissed Prossi shortly after. With the conversation over, he decided to visit his father, King Carol I, who was enjoying the evening air on the palace balcony.
"Father," Edel approached quietly.
Carol I, turning to see his son, remarked, "Ah, Edel, aren't you departing tomorrow?"
"Yes, father. I wanted to see you before I left," Edel replied, noting the increased signs of aging in his father's face.
Carol I reminisced, "When I first went to war, your mother gave me this cross," he said, pulling out a tarnished silver cross from under his shirt. "She said it would bring me victory."
"It's a beautiful cross," Edel commented, though his heart wasn't in the compliment.
Carol I, perhaps sensing his son's lack of enthusiasm, nevertheless removed the cross and handed it to Edel. "I want you to have it now."
Edel accepted the cross, touched by the gesture, and placed it around his neck. Carol I's face lit up with a joyous smile, reminiscent of a child receiving a long-desired gift.
After spending a few more moments with his father, Edel left to discuss his concerns about the king's health with Mr. Adri, the director. "Why has my father aged so rapidly this year? He even has age spots," Edel asked, troubled.
"Your Highness, it might be his declining health," Adri suggested cautiously.
"Dismissed," Edel ended the conversation, his mind heavy with thoughts.
That evening, he confided his worries to his wife, Sophie Marie. She tried to comfort him, saying, "Edel, everyone is called by God eventually. Don't worry too much."
Unsatisfied with her response and driven by a desire to have his father witness the birth of a new life, Edel shared a more personal hope with Sophie Marie, who blushed at his words. Emboldened, they retreated under the covers, their intimacy deepening.
The following morning, Edel, accompanied by General Courtois and Major General Prossi, traveled to the temporary headquarters in Kellerashi. As they journeyed, the first Romanian troops were already making their way across the Danube into Bulgarian territory. The Romanian Cavalry Division had constructed a pontoon near Silistra, facilitating their advance.
Division Commander Weedschi observed from a nearby elevation as his troops crossed the pontoon. He turned to his chief of staff, Major Shan Prot, and asked, "Where is our vanguard now?"
"They encountered some militiamen in a village ten kilometers ahead and are planning an assault," the chief of staff reported.
Weedschi, slightly annoyed, responded, "The vanguard's role is to scout and secure our path, not just seek personal glory."
"The main Bulgarian forces are still far, near the border with Serbia and Greece. Let him earn some credit," the chief of staff reassured.
Major Shan Prot, once a top graduate from the military academy and now a rapidly rising major, was making his mark. This operation could be a significant step in his career, a thought that lingered as the troops continued their advance into Bulgarian territory.
"What should we do, battalion commander?" asked a subordinate company commander, leaning close to Major Shan Prot. The major put down the telescope he had been peering through, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and responded, "The people who called us are ready to ambush them up ahead."
The company commander, puzzled, asked in a low voice, "Battalion commander, they are just militiamen. Surely, if we charge once, we can defeat them."
Facing his company commander's question, Major Shan Prot lowered his voice and retorted sharply, "Charge once? At what cost to your soldiers?" Chastened by Major Shan Prot's rebuke, the company commander withdrew, planning instead to let the cavalry flank the militias and engage them ruthlessly.
Major Shan Prot observed the militiamen for a while longer, confirming their intent to march towards Silistra before he retreated. He took the reins handed to him by his adjutant and walked his horse forward for a while, ensuring that their movements would not alert the militiamen. He then rode to join his cavalry battalion stationed three kilometers away, where his troops awaited his command.
Upon his return, the company commander who had arrived earlier stepped forward and inquired, "How is it, battalion commander?"
"These militiamen intend to head to Silistra, and we will intercept them up ahead," Major Shan Prot informed him, then waved to the entire camp, signaling, "Set off."
The cavalry battalion, following Major Shan Prot's lead, moved out. They bypassed the militiamen and advanced to a forest five kilometers ahead—an excellent ambush spot where the road passed right through the middle. Here, the soldiers set up their heavy weapons: two Maxim and four Madsen machine guns, positioning them on both sides of the road. The troops also dismounted and prepared their positions on either side, lying in wait for the Bulgarian militiamen.
After half an hour, the Bulgarian militiamen, marching in two rows, appeared. The soldiers of the cavalry battalion kept their heads down to avoid detection. The militiamen, lacking proper military discipline, did not scout the area as they approached, and simply walked into the ambush.
Seeing the opportunity, Major Shan Prot gave the command to fire as the Bulgarians reached the middle of the woods. Six machine guns opened up on the marching column, while his soldiers raised their rifles and fired from both sides. Caught off guard by the sudden and violent attack, the militiamen panicked. They watched helplessly as their comrades fell in groups—some of whom were acquaintances and friends. Their patriotic fervor quickly dissipated as they scattered like headless flies. Some tried to return fire, driven by vengeance for their fallen friends; others sought cover in the woods, driven by fear; while some dropped their rifles and lay on the ground, paralyzed by terror.
The battle concluded swiftly. The militia's only officer, conspicuous in his uniform, was hit repeatedly and fell, no longer a threat. Without command, the militiamen, who were no match for Major Shan Prot's trained forces, showed no further resistance after the first ten minutes of the skirmish.
"Ceasefire," Major Shan Prot commanded. The gunfire tapered off, and the cavalry soldiers began to survey the battlefield, rounding up any militiamen who were still alive and forcing them to lie on their stomachs for capture.
A company commander, after assessing the situation, reported to Major Shan Prot, "Battalion commander, this time we eliminated 287 enemy troops, of which 218 were killed and 69 captured. We sustained only two minor injuries."
The company commander made no mention of the severely wounded prisoners; those who could not stand on their own were typically dealt with on the spot—a harsh reality of the battlefield where no resources were spared for gravely wounded enemies unless they were of significant importance. Clearly, this group of militiamen, hastily recruited from local farms, included no such figures.
Upon receiving the report, Major Shan Prot ordered, "Let the soldiers clean up the battlefield. We will set off in two hours, otherwise Commander Weedschi will be displeased."
"Understood, battalion commander," the company commander acknowledged, then proceeded to direct the soldiers in burying the dead Bulgarian militiamen.
Two hours later, Major Shan Prot assigned a platoon to escort the prisoners back, while he led the remainder of the cavalry battalion deeper into Bulgarian territory. They left behind a new mound in the woods, marked by a rifle planted in front of it—a silent testament to the battle that had occurred.
In Silistra, the destination of the now-deceased militiamen, Romanian troops were already in control. Just half an hour earlier, the 3rd Division had breached the defenses of a militia regiment. The town's residents watched the Romanian invaders with complex emotions, knowing their town would soon be annexed by Romania. Major General Midlor, commander of the 3rd Division, reviewed the battle's outcome and discussed it with Lieutenant Colonel Carmen, commander of the Second Regiment.
"It defeated 3,200 defensive enemies at the cost of 187 casualties, and only allowed more than 800 to escape, which was very good," Major General Midlor commended.
Feeling the need to provide context, Lieutenant Colonel Carmen explained, "Commander, our success was largely due to our heavy firepower and the fact that the militia regiment was poorly equipped and trained. Their rifles, some dating back 40 years, were terribly inaccurate beyond 150 meters."
Understanding that his professional army had faced a largely civilian force, Major General Midlor acknowledged the lieutenant colonel's point but reminded him, "Lieutenant Colonel Carmen, while I appreciate your analysis, the situation you described works in our favor, helping us minimize our losses. You may go now."
As Lieutenant Colonel Carmen saluted and exited, the chief of staff approached Major General Midlor, attempting to offer some reassurance about Carmen's adjustment to the realities of their campaign. Major General Midlor sighed, acknowledging the need for a quick adaptation from his officers, especially when facing less conventional military forces.