Reorganise!

In Pogelswood, capital of the Empire of All the Fenwicks, Emperor and King to be, George XIII, is meeting with Graf Wernar von Wormer, once treasurer to Gelderland's King Vlad, but now serving as a Fenwickian minister.
'Now then, Wormer', says the emperor, pointing vigorously, 'what are the latest reports on the evolving situation!'

The Graf nods. 'I hope, my King, that you have recovered from your terrible experiences in Schrote'.

'Aren't all experiences in Schrote terrible?' says the king philosophically. 'And I slept through all of mine. But I need a coronation, Graf - I need to solidify my position in Gelderland'.

'Quite so, sir. And perhaps we may look to resolve that issue imminently. But as to the evolving situation, it would seem evident from reports that Nabstria, Bachscuttel, and Rotenburg were behind the attempt upon your person in Schrote, and that they are seeking to challenge Fenwick's dominance in Mittelheim'.

'Well, I've had enough of them, Wormer - it's time for war. It's time to depose those morons Falco of Nabstria and Choldwig of Rotenburg. And I especially want to see the end of that idiot Rupprecht of Bachscuttel!'

'It's not impossible, my emperor, that Rupprecht is cleverer than he looks'.

'Possibly, Wormer: but given that he looks so very, very stupid, that still leaves quite a wide margin for cretinism. It's time, once and for all, to end his life of criminal pervitude'.

'Has our military reorganisation progressed?' continues George.

'Indeed, sire, yes. We have integrated into our new military the very best of the Gelderland troops'.

'What, both of them?'

'Indeed, so, sire.  And we have renamed the units according to your wishes. The line troops are now numbered one to nine.'

'But there's only eight regiments of them'.

'There's no number two, sire'.

'Why isn't there a number two?'

'Because this is Fenwick, sire'.

George considers this. 'Actually, fair enough. And what about the uniforms?'

'As you requested my lord. As you have wisely noted, in previous conflicts it might have been assumed by appearances that our army was composed of exactly the same troops as those from other armies, just shuffled in randomly as required. But now, our troops are clothed as they should be, in their own Fenwickian uniforms'.

'Excellent - the Prussian uniforms that I requested?'

'Yes, sire. About that. Obviously I am not second-guessing your choices, my emperor: but aren't the Nabstrians also in Prussian uniforms?'

'Indeed Wormer - they'll be furious!' says George, sounding pleased.

'I think that Burgrave Falco might be quite upset'.

'Pah!' says George. 'There aren’t string instruments small enough for me to play that particular tune of sorrow'.

The conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door.

'Dammit, Wormer - that'll be Joachim, my turnip-brained son and heir. Enter!'

The door opens and Joachim appears.

'Father!' he says.

Wormer blanches.

'What in God's good name is that ...!' chokes the emperor.