“Mass retraining of women, young and old, to be pressed into the workforce under the named ‘Cycle One’ plan proposed by Minister Anne Wittfield has now been approved by the Prime Minister. Jobs will now be divided between ‘essential’ and ‘non-essential’, and any women that fall under ‘non-essential’ economic sectors will be given a two-week notice to leave their job and report to labor organization centers to be employed in war-related jobs. Businesses under these sectors have protested this move greatly, alongside many employees, however, the War Cabinet has reiterated that mass mobilization is a need and that ‘no one shall be exempt from their national duties’. Cycle One is so far expected to employ upwards to eight million women within the year in newly converted factories to significantly increase war production.”
- ROCN News
“Mass production of tracked armored vehicles is being ramped up greatly. The newly converted auto-factory of Porter Heavy Industries south of Eutstadt City broke records with their production numbers last week. The plant managed to produce a staggering fifty-six Löwe MBTs in seven days. The plant manager said that efficiency within the plant has been increasing since the acquisition of new industrial tooling and freshly trained new hires that bolstered the factory’s production. Right now, the plant is producing an average of eight Löwe MBTs each day, with plans to expand it to sixteen then twenty before 2025 is over. Should these numbers continue, the plant in Eutstadt will be providing a significant number of Löwe hulls for the Army.”
- Liberty One Radio
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West Orland
Eutstadt City
May 26, 2025
It was a chilly afternoon in the city for Amelie today.
Quite frankly, the business of war had greatly drained her, so it was a nice break for a while to just relax in a fancy coffee house for a while. Naturally, her area was quite deserted, save for a few rich women having their own private time on distant tables. She could hear their usual gossip.
She sighed.
“Hmm, it’s raining,” Nia, who accompanied her, said, as droplets of water fell, forming wet lines on the glass. “William probably died asleep in his car.”
Amelie chuckled.
“Yeah, that poor guy. Think we should grab him a cup of coffee?” Amelie asked. “After the meeting of course.”
“Yeah, we should,” Nia said, eyeing the black SUV just under the coffee house, parked on the side of the street. Well, that and the two other escorting vehicles under the OPM that accompanied them. Over there, one of William’s agents simply stood on one of the light poles as the rain intensified above him. “Look at that guy. He seems determined on the job.”
“That’s kinda pointless,” Amelie said, now joining Nia in watching the agent in a black suit become…well, a wet agent in a black suit. “Then again, I guess they’re all still paranoid. I applaud them for keeping an eye on me at all times.”
“Isn’t that a bit creepy though?” Nia asked. “Dudes just watching us 24/7. Unending. It feels creepy.”
“Lady Lubaine watches us with her specialized surveillance spells,” Amelie calmly said. “Even in our sleep.”
“I didn't think that old woman’s that much of a spook,” Nia gasped. Even with her hushed voice, Amelie couldn’t help but laugh at how surprised her friend was. Quite frankly, Amelie should be spooked, maybe, considering all these people literally watched her life, her private life, at all minute. That was…
Hmm…that’s actually kinda scary.
Being the Queen sure was a lot of pain. She had very little privacy from her own security teams. It was why she had William after all. He was a guy she trusted. That and Lady Lubaine. A veteran who could truly keep everything in check. But still, it was some spooky stuff. But then again that was why she paid them all way too well.
Wouldn’t want to end up dead in the hands of her own security after all. Even if it was unlikely. What was more likely though was her security screwing up for even a moment’s notice and leaving her dead in the wake of an attack. Of course, knowing William, he’d probably die before that happened, but still…
Security or privacy. Yet, at the same time, even with sacrificing her full privacy, her security wasn’t assured.
I wish the world just turned into something simpler at times. Amelie lowered her head and began stirring her cup of coffee with her spoon. Hmm…the Countess sure is taking her sweet time. The boredom sure was getting to her. Which led Amelie’s mind to wander again.
Pulling out her phone, Amelie began scrolling to look at the news, while Nia continued snacking on the biscuits that they bought.
The news was, as expected, usually awful. Quite frankly, the internet nowadays is completely dominated by women—young women especially. And with tech giants being ordered to block the access of people from CFN nations on the internet, there was complete radio silence from radical men flooding every site with their calls for terror against womankind.
The downside was…most men were now either on the frontlines or being worked to death in the factories (though, women would soon be in the same position, as per Amelie’s plans—she wasn’t going to compromise any resources for victory), meaning that everything she saw was complaints about the state of the world done from the comfort of major cities in West Orland. Something about complaining about the draft…the mobilization…the rapidly tightening rationing policies…
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Hell, Amelie almost wanted to laugh at how many complained about the skyrocketing prices of luxury products. Bags, clothing, beauty products, you name it, were probably now on the dying end of the spectrum in terms of production. And with less supply naturally came higher prices. It was by design. Amelie seriously slashed the importation of consumer goods in favor of using her shipping for the movement of more critical resources; i.e. steel, alloys, rare earth, crude oil, industrial machinery—the list would go on and on.
The war would take precedence over the public’s comfort. Amelie should definitely make that clear soon. That things have changed, and that the pain would be something they should shut up about.
“Why the long face, Your Majesty?” Amelie looked up. Finally. She smiled as her economic minister took her seat.
“Just been scrolling a bit,” Amelie answered. “People are complaining a lot.”
“Oh, how lamentable,” Anne laughed a bit, as one of the waiters, who carried a plate with cake, alongside her coffee, arrived to place it in front of her. Anne thanked the woman, who shyly retreated with a smile. “They’re complaining about what?”
“Our mobilization policies,” Amelie replied, frowning a bit. “That and the rationing.”
“We really do live in strange times. Normally, these fools should be in full support of our policies of…you know, trying to win the war, but they’re up in arms about it.” Anne laughed as she took a little sip of her coffee. “Ah, but up in arms would be quite the exaggeration. They’re all just moaning and whining from their comfortable homes. Which means their words mean nothing when the Wartime Mobilization Office sends them packing from their day job to their place in the training centers.”
Amelie felt a bit uncomfortable about that. The Wartime Mobilization Office, or WMO, was a newly established organization by Anne to aid her plans. Essentially, every Orlishman and Orlishwoman was being scanned by the WMO to decide where exactly they should go to contribute to the war effort.
With the approval of the Prime Minister, and of course, Amelie, they also gave the WMO the power to essentially threaten anyone who resisted the orders of the WMO with criminal charges. One by one, ordinary Orlishwomen were now being visited at their homes by WMO agents, usually accompanied by Royal Guard officials, to…well, have a little “talk”, sign forms, and be appraised if they would become good soldiers to the front given a gun, or good working women that would be going to the factories.
In essence, Orland was turning into an authoritarian state that was regularly violating the rights of the Orlish people by forcing them into roles they didn’t ask for. Even rich women, who usually dodged the draft with their money, were being visited by the WMO to “encourage” them into buying massive amounts of war bonds to support the war effort.
“Don’t you perhaps think we’re going a little overboard?” Amelie asked. “The sheer heavy-handedness that we are currently doing is…getting to extreme levels, I believe. Is there really no softer option for us to use?”
Anne sighed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because half of our population are pampered, useless, parasites that need to be reeducated back into reality,” Anne bluntly said. “So many young women know nothing about what runs this world. They are detached from what keeps the cogs running. They lived in a world where decades of administration handed them everything, and I mean everything on a silver platter. We raised generations of us, yes, us women, who are unproductive, and addicted to hyperconsumption. Legions of bureaucrats, clerks, management, hell, forty percent of women twenty-one to thirty are unemployed from our recent figures—living off from the partial Universal Basic Income we created three decades ago.”
“That’s quite the harsh assessment you’re giving to our gender,” Nia pointed out.
“It’s the truth,” Anne frowned. “Women today are a disgrace to Orlish society. And I don’t blame them for that. We, your mothers, coddled you, spoiled you, and made your brains rot. It’s a crime I’m changing. Just as we failed at raising young men properly to set them up for a proper life by abandoning them, we did the reverse to young women, and this is the effect. It has to be rectified now, and quickly. For the sake of Orland, for the sake of the people, and because, I’ll tell you what, once the manpower of men dries up when this war ends—it’ll be a grave disaster.”
“So your solution is…to force them into work?” Amelie asked.
“Yes. It should be quite obvious that it’s something that a parent, a mother, or a father must do to their sons or daughters. Otherwise, the child will grow into an adult that produces nothing and consumes everything. That’s a danger to society. But also for the child, because once things fall apart, she will not survive.”
Amelie sighed. Looking back at the protests of young women against the mobilization, it was clear that their entitlement to their privileges was going to harm her war effort. And if it harmed her war, then that meant losing to the Federalists would be a greater possibility. And if they lost to the Federalists—well, those who avoided doing their share in the war effort, that being pampered young women like her, well, the suck would be handed to them quite quickly.
And just as I doubt I’d survive in a Federalist-ruled Orland…I doubt many of my fellow peers would either.
“Quite frankly, it’s all necessary measures,” Anne said. “We need more weapons. More steel on the battlefield. More. More. More and more as the war consumes them. And for that, we need our industries. And our industries need more manpower. While automation has greatly helped us, we still need hands in the field. Machinists. Welders. Assemblers. Engineers. Mechanics. The list goes on. The bloated Pink Collar and White Collar sectors have to be murdered to expand the Blue Collar workforce. That’s what we are doing.”
“Lots of dirty work…” Nia said, extremely disappointed. “To be honest, I can’t imagine myself…doing all that.”
“Me neither,” Amelie admitted. “Welding things seems like a scary task. Even those machines look scary. I’d probably cut myself if I did that…”
“And many young women believe that,” Anne nodded. “But that belief must go. Look, isn’t it shameful that we women believe that we cannot do these things? What a joke. We can. Anyone can. In fact, with our magic, we’re more capable than men at these things. Only difference? We think it’s beneath us. It’s a foolish notion that’ll lead us to defeat. And make no mistake, I will not tolerate defeat with the CFN. I’ll drag down the foolish ‘dignity’ of women by forcing them to do dirty work in our industries over letting those rabid men win and drag down our dignity on their own terms. And you two know with history how it’d go if they turn the clock back three centuries to the past.”
Anne sliced her cake, as she smiled.
“Thus, it is better to feed the war machine now with legions of women. If we don’t want these women to be fed as livestock into whatever desires a state ruled by vengeful men wants, then we must do what must be done.”