The city seemed calm.
But beneath that calm, tension could be felt.
Yesterday's demonstrations had not completely ended. From time to time shouting could still be heard from the streets. New groups of people were gathering somewhere in the distance. Newspapers were already printing headlines about Bosnia.
The Balkans were entering another period of instability.
An hour later an officer of the Serbian army arrived for Skoropadskyi.
—"Colonel Skoropadskyi?"
—"Yes."
—"General Putnik is expecting you."
The name was well known.
Radomir Putnik was considered one of the finest military minds in Serbia. He had reformed the army, studied European military doctrines, and closely followed the lessons of recent wars.
The carriage moved slowly through the morning streets of Belgrade.
The streets were gradually filling with people. Groups of readers gathered around newspaper kiosks. Newspaper sellers loudly shouted the headlines.
—"Bosnia!"
—"Austrian annexation!"
—"Serbia's reaction!"
Some people argued openly in the street.
Skoropadskyi observed this silently.
Sometimes the street shaped politics faster than governments.
The Ministry of War building stood not far from the Kalemegdan fortress.
From here there was a clear view of the confluence of the Sava and the Danube. The two rivers flowed slowly side by side, marking the borders of empires.
The general's office was simple.
A map of the Balkans hung on the wall. Documents and several thick folders lay on the desk.
General Putnik himself looked older than Skoropadskyi had expected. His expression was calm, but attentive.
—"Colonel Skoropadskyi," he said.
—"General."
They shook hands.
—"I have heard much about your participation in the Russo-Japanese War."
—"That experience proved useful."
Putnik smiled slightly.
—"That is precisely why I wanted to speak with you."
He pointed to the map.
—"The Serbian army is carefully studying the lessons of that war."
Skoropadskyi stepped closer.
The map showed the borders of the Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Austria-Hungary.
—"What conclusions interest you most?" he asked.
Putnik remained silent for a moment.
—"First of all, one question."
He looked directly at Skoropadskyi.
—"What will the next war look like?"
Skoropadskyi did not answer immediately.
—"Larger."
He pointed at the map.
—"And more industrial."
Putnik nodded.
—"We have reached a similar conclusion."
He opened a folder.
—"Serbia can mobilize about two hundred thousand soldiers."
—"That is a significant army for such a country."
—"Yes," the general replied. —"But we have problems."
He began listing them calmly.
—"Artillery, ammunition, railways."
He looked again at the map.
—"A major war requires more than soldiers."
Skoropadskyi said:
—"It requires an economy."
Putnik nodded.
—"Exactly."
He added:
—"That is why we are watching the development of industry very closely."
For a moment Skoropadskyi remembered his own projects in Ukraine—agriculture, factories, banks.
Sometimes the economy determined the fate of states more strongly than armies.
—"Serbia depends on foreign supplies?" he asked.
—"To a significant degree."
—"French loans?"
Putnik smiled slightly.
—"You are well informed."
He looked again at the map.
—"But even a small army can be dangerous."
—"If it is well organized," Skoropadskyi said. —"And if it fights for its own land."
They remained silent for a moment.
Then the general said:
—"Today you will be able to see part of our exercises."
—"With pleasure."
The training ground was located outside the city.
An autumn wind drove dust across the field. Temporary fortifications had been constructed on a distant hill.
Several battalions were already forming up for maneuvers.
Officers observed from a small rise.
—"This is one of our reserve regiments," Putnik explained.
Skoropadskyi watched the soldiers carefully.
Their uniforms were simple. Their equipment was not always uniform.
But their discipline appeared solid.
After a few minutes a signal sounded.
The infantry began to move.
At first the companies advanced cautiously.
Then faster.
Training machine guns opened fire from the hill.
Even from a distance it was visible how the soldiers instinctively searched for cover.
Skoropadskyi said quietly:
—"The Russo-Japanese War demonstrated one important thing."
—"What?"
—"Infantry can no longer attack in dense formations."
Putnik nodded.
—"We have realized that as well."
He added:
—"But many generals in Europe are not yet ready to admit it."
Skoropadskyi smiled faintly.
—"History often punishes those who learn too slowly."
The maneuver continued.
Artillery opened training fire.
Shells threw clouds of earth into the air.
The infantry slowly advanced toward the fortifications.
—"In the next war, machine guns and artillery will play the decisive role," Skoropadskyi said.
Putnik replied calmly:
—"And railways."
—"Yes."
—"Without them it is impossible to supply armies."
They watched the exercise for some time.
Then the general said:
—"The Balkans will soon change."
—"You believe the Ottoman Empire will weaken?"
—"It has already weakened."
Putnik looked southward.
—"The only question is who will take its place."
Skoropadskyi did not answer.
He understood that this question concerned more than just Serbia.
Russia.
Austria-Hungary.
Bulgaria.
Everyone was watching the Balkans.
When the exercises ended, the officers began to disperse.
The sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
Putnik said:
—"Thank you for the conversation, Colonel."
—"It was useful for me as well."
The general paused for a moment.
—"The Balkans often become the beginning of great events."
Skoropadskyi looked across the field.
—"Sometimes small wars become the prologue to larger ones."
In the evening he returned to Belgrade.
The city was noisy again.
People discussed politics.
Newspapers.
The future.
Skoropadskyi looked toward the Kalemegdan fortress.
These walls had survived the Ottomans, the Austrians, and Serbian uprisings.
But new wars might still lie ahead.
He understood one thing.
The Balkans were slowly becoming the place where the fate of Europe could be decided.