"The Old Man's Dead"
The sound of countless church bells tolling across the capital region was ominous as much as it was impressive.
The Prime Minister looked out of the window, towards the Market Square and the still icy Gulf of Finland. Lost in thought, he didn't notice the grey-clad soldier awkwardly fumbling with his old-fashioned rifle when the guard in front of the building was changed.
” - So the old man's dead, then.”
The Prime Minister glanced to his left to see the Minister of the Interior standing there, suitably solemn in his dark suit but having a less than respectful look on his face.
” - Well”, the man mused, ”'tis a wonder he soldiered on for as long as he did”.
The Prime Minister could not disagree with that notion. The old man had been in a poor way for many years. Even if the government's inner circle and his closest allies and subordinates had long conspired to hide his illness and his growing detachment from reality. To keep up the illusion of normalcy as long as possible, in part. But also to keep a hold of the power they themselves had held through this man that had led Finland for over four decades and balanced the Finnish interests with those of a great power with resources and might that overshadowed the small northern nation in every possible way.
The Prime Minister had worked with the old man for as long as he could remember. They had first met before the war, when neither was yet in a real leadership position. They'd had their ups and downs and falling-outs as well, but never had they truly became enemies. The Prime Minister wanted to think that this fact had been to the general benefit of all of Finland, considering everything the country had been through. Internal discord could destroy a small nation, yes indeed.
The Minister of the Interior cleared his throat to get the other man's attention.
” - I just came to inform you that the police has been ordered to send out patrols in force, and that the military garrisons have been put on alert so that the soldiers can move in support of the police if any, um, unforeseen complications should present themselves.”
The taller man nodded.
” - Thank you. Keep me updated if anything happens. Not that I expect that anything will happen – the nation will be stunned for a good while before anyone as much as thinks of using the situation for their own gain. We'll see later at the meeting.”
As the younger, wiry man left the room, the Prime Minister thought about the fact that about right now, the radio and the TV would be relaying the news to the Finnish people - ”from Hanko to Petsamo, from Vaasa to Äänislinna”, in the words of the old song. The people had grown accustomed in all these years to the old man, they'd even come to love the cantankerous sod in their own peculiar way, the Prime Minister thought. For many it would be as difficult to think about the nation's future without the man as it was for him.
What direction was Finland going to? It would have a new leader soon, a new, young leader who had been waiting for a few years for the old man's inevitable demise. Prepared to take over, as that possibility had been drilled into him from young age. Understanding his duty and everything it brought with it.
Europe was in state of unrest. The post-war order was being put into question, for the first time in decades. There were protests on the streets of Paris on a weekly basis now, and the occupying troops got pelted with rotten eggs and even stones every so often. The Balkans was also in disarray, with the new government in Budapest about to make a break with those who had lorded over Hungary for so long.
The Prime Minister had a light lunch and dealt with the official condolences sent by various governments. His face lit up with a subdued, ironic smile to see that Washington had been the first to send its regards – it was part and parcel with the Great Rivalry That None Dare Dub War between the superpowers to engage in such one-upmanship. It was also something that in this moment in the year 1982 underlined how much Berlin was off the ball, what with its current troubles with a Europe that was quickly careening off track, getting out of hand.
There would have to be a state funeral, of course, the Prime Minister now realised all of a sudden. He had gone through the first hours of the day in a stupor, really, and only now he remembered that seeing that the funeral was arranged according to all the necessary pomp and gravity, all the tact required by the passing of a monarch was ultimately his responsibility.
It was the first time a King of Finland had died in Finland, after all. In ordinary circumstances, in times of peace. This funeral would be something that would signify the end of an era, for the Finnish state and nation as it did for the House of Hesse.
The Prime Minister suspected that organising it all might be the last significant service he would perform for Finland. The passing of King Karl II had already sent various people jostling for the best positions under the new monarch, and the long-serving Prime Minister no longer thought he would have the strength and stamina for all that. It is a young man's game, he found himself thinking.
And he was not a young man.
It was only an hour later when the top ministers, bureaucrats, parliamentary leaders and royal officials were gathered at the Royal Residence. A coronation would have to follow, in due course, but right now they would have to recognise the legitimacy of the new king de facto. The Prime Minister regarded the young man standing awkwardly in front of the mostly old or middle-aged men with a critical eye. Prince Karl Wolfgang, the heir to the Finnish throne, tried to show a brave face to the men for whom he would soon be Karl III, the King of Finland, etc. He was a bright young man to be sure, but in no way could he command the same respect as his great uncle did. A bright, kind young man, he did not have the gravitas, the strong will and the feared, hidden vindictive streak of the man the Finnish people people had simply known as Kalle.
”The King is dead. Long live the King!”
Prime Minister Kekkonen looked around the room.
The boy won't last a year.
He was shocked when he realised what he had just thought. Thank God he didn't say it aloud.
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