Chapter 10: Lincoln’s Gambit

The vice president exchanged pleasantries with me, then suggested a game of chess.

He gestured to a folding table someone had set up under the awning of the command tent. The pieces were battered plastic, half the pawns chewed by some previous owner’s dog. Still, the gesture felt almost civil—two men settling things the American way, over a board instead of a battlefield.

I didn’t know how to play, but given his reputation, I agreed.

The vice president played white, I played black.

He sipped his coffee and smiled. “Everyone knows you’re a man of loyalty and honor. If you lose, would you grant me a request?”

His voice was smooth, practiced—a man who’d spent decades making deals. I leaned back, considering the stakes, wondering if there was a trick in his words.

I already had a pretty good idea what he’d ask.

This female-oriented world is pretty entertaining—way more interesting than a male-oriented one.

I smiled. “And if I win?”

The vice president smoothed his tie, confident. “I’m the chess champ of the East Coast—twenty years undefeated.”

He flashed a toothy grin, the kind you saw on campaign posters. I fought back a laugh—politicians always had to play the part.

I shook my head. “If I win, will you also grant me a request?”

He agreed.

The game began.

I had no clue what I was doing, but I moved my bishop like I meant it. Confidence wins wars—or at least, bluffs through breakfast.

At first, the vice president thought I was setting a trap, but soon realized I was just playing at random.

The game ended quickly.

The vice president set down his piece, gave a half-bow like we were at a Harvard debate instead of a tent in a muddy field, and said, “Thank you for letting me win, Commander.”

I smirked. “Mr. Vice President, do you really think you’ve won?”

He glanced at the board, head lowered, and said confidently, “I see no way for you to turn the tables.”

I pointed at the board and sighed, “Sir, sometimes victory in this game isn’t just among the pieces, but in the board itself.”

“We shouldn’t be trapped in this corner, but should look at the whole board.”

The vice president frowned, thinking hard, then asked, “What sort of strategy is this? I’ve never heard of it.”

I struggled to keep a straight face and replied, “This strategy is called Lincoln’s Gambit, created by President Lincoln himself.”

The vice president blinked. “What kind of chess move is that? I’ve never heard of it.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I stood up, picked up the board, and laughed, “Swinging the board in flight is called Lincoln’s Gambit; smashing someone’s head with it is also called Lincoln’s Gambit!”

With that, I swung the board at the vice president.

The vice president—dead.

As the vice president slumped, the tent exploded into chaos. Outside, my troops waited for a signal—history, it seemed, was waiting too.