The Setting: A Boardroom in Praha. It is still 1 January 1936
By the time Fantisek finished pouring over the tri-fold, which it should be noted, was pretty self-explanatory, Kamil had returned to the boardroom, still visibly agitated, but back under control.
Since they commanded the entire military budget, Machnik quickly handed the presentation over to Field Marshal Ludvik Krejci, Chief of Staff for the Army, to explain their plans.
The Field Marshal set up another tri-fold, the whole time watching Kamil for a reaction. The Foreign Minister’s face grew red, but it became clear there would be no more theatrics. “As you can see, the Army consists of 25 divisions, 20 of them are Infantry, 1 is Mountain and the remaining 4 are Armoured Divisions."
"With the additional 3 Infantry Divisions, along with the 16 Militia Divisions which are currently being assembled and trained, there will be a solid cordon, the deployments I will get into once the troops are actually in the field. Now, we will have a mobile reserve effective immediately. Combined with 2 of the Infantry Units, which are partially motorized with Armoured Cars, the Tank Divisions constitute the First,” and here he sighed heavily, “well, let’s just call it our Tank Army.”
The man next to him coughed loudly. “I’m sorry Field Marshal Sir, I don’t think the President heard ye correctly, AAARRRRR.”
The highly decorated soldier leapt to his feet. “What the Marshal meant, beggin yer pardon sir, was Admiral Syrovy, Commander o’ the First Landship AAARRRRmy is reportan for duty sir.”
“The First Landship Army?
“Aye sir. We be ready ta sail our Landships into battle when’ere ye need us, so long as the rum runs free and the lasses run slow.”
“You know what? Let’s not meet every month. Let’s meet every three months for now. The next one is March 1st. Be sure to mark your calendars.”
“Ludvik, please enlighten me about…well…this.” Edouard gestured dismissively to the Pirate-General.
Ludvik’s face was bright red. Whatever good will his colorful tri-fold had built up was no match for Admiral-General Syrovy. “Please excuse him sir. He suffered a head trauma falling from his horse last year, but I assure you, whatever got scrambled up there, it wasn’t his tactical brilliance. A better Tank Leader…”
*sigh* “A Better Land-Ship
leader you will not find.”
Edouard stared at the two for a moment, silently, before turning back to the Chief of Staff. “Okay, Machnick, what else have you got?”