Chapter 32: The Map Room
The war room beneath the Royal Palace was once a wine cellar—now stripped of barrels and turned into a sanctum of maps, intelligence reports, and strategic theory. Electric lights buzzed faintly overhead, illuminating a vast central table, where a large map of Europe was pinned in place with brass weights. Red and blue lines cut across borders. Tiny wooden blocks marked divisions, fleets, and supply lines.
Prince Lancelot stood at the head of the table, his sleeves rolled, coat unbuttoned, revealing the black waistcoat beneath. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched beside him.
Around the table stood Aragon’s senior military leadership.
General Montiel was there, naturally—head of the army. Next to him was Admiral Rafael Aguero, a wiry man with sun-leathered skin and cold, sea-weathered eyes. Colonel Javiero Llorente, head of the Intelligence Office, held a sheaf of documents under one arm. And Alicia, of course, stood at the rear, quietly taking notes and monitoring the room like a hawk.
"Begin," Lancelot said, his eyes fixed on the red mass occupying the western third of the continent.
Montiel tapped the map near the Francois heartland. "Despite fighting three major powers, the Republic is not breaking. If anything, they’re accelerating."
"Glanzreich?" Lancelot asked.
"Bogged down at Alsace," Colonel Llorente answered. "Mountain passes slowed them. Francois forces have begun using interior rail lines to redeploy faster than the Glanzreich columns can advance. They strike, withdraw, and reappear thirty kilometers south within a day."
"Heck, even they can construct a rudimentary rail lines? How about Prussia?"
"Same story. Siege of Metz failed last week. The Francois deployed mobile batteries—hit-and-run tactics with massed artillery and skirmishers. We believe they’ve begun producing lightweight field howitzers en masse. Not as powerful as ours, but faster to field and effective in wooded terrain."
Lancelot nodded slowly. "And Britannia?"