Chapter 3: Rallying Old Lions

This man is a typical bureaucrat—always claiming to be “steady,” but in reality never ruffling feathers, always playing it safe.

His suit is immaculate, his tie the color of oatmeal.

“Mr. President, I think we should focus on calming folks down and stabilizing things at home. A big military reorg is expensive and risky. The Coalition’s making moves, but they might not invade. Why stir up chaos?”

His words sound prudent and mature, but in truth, he’s just speaking for Quinn’s faction.

I sit upright on the chair, expressionless. “What Secretary Wallace suggests is seeking temporary peace by retreating. But I believe true peace is never granted by the enemy. Only by being strong ourselves can we keep the wolves at bay. Has Secretary Wallace forgotten the lesson of the Capitol’s fall?” I let the last question hang in the air.

I hit the last line hard. Wallace’s face drains, and he mumbles, not daring to speak further.

You could hear a pin drop. The old men at the table shift in their seats, not daring to meet my eyes. The room falls silent.

Quinn stands among the officials, eyes downcast, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

But I can practically see the fist clenched tight in his pocket.

The old fox is rattled, even if he won’t show it. I make a mental note to keep him close—never trust a snake out of sight.

I tell Wallace to stay after the meeting.

He stands before me, trembling, sweat beading on his forehead.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I almost feel sorry for him—almost.

“Secretary Wallace, do you really think I’m just taking the easy way out?” My tone is calm, but there’s a pressure beneath it.

“Sir… I wouldn’t dare…”

His voice cracks. He wipes his brow with a shaking hand.

“I know, you’re all afraid. Afraid of the Coalition, afraid of war, afraid of losing your current comfort.”

I walk up to him, looking him straight in the eye. “But I’m not afraid. Let me tell you, I won’t just defend this half of the country—I’ll bring the Union back to its former glory. I want the stars and stripes to wave again across the whole nation!”

I lay out Booker’s blueprint—a vision of a country stronger than ever.

A golden age. The military and the people united. The treasury full. Foreign powers respecting us again.

I lay it on thick—prosperity, unity, the kind of hope that gets men to die for a flag. I see the flicker in Wallace’s eyes. He’s a clever and ambitious man—he’s just been worn down by reality.

“Mr. President…” He swallows hard. “If it really could be as you say…”

“It’s up to us to make it happen.” I pat his shoulder. “I’m giving you this opportunity because I value your talent. Do you want history to curse you, or remember you with honor? The choice is yours.”

Wallace is silent for a long time, then straightens and nods hard. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His voice is quiet, but there’s conviction there. I nod slightly. I know—one more person is now on board.

My trusted people are already moving, slipping into the counties of the Mid-Atlantic.

They move like shadows—old friends from Missouri, Sarah’s cousins, loyalists who never forgot the real Union. They’re investigating draft rolls. Reaching out to local officials who still have a sense of duty.

Booker always said: real reform starts at the grassroots.

No change ever lasts unless the folks in the field are with you. I have to seize the initiative before Quinn and the others react.

For once, things seem to be moving my way.

I can even feel the long-silent pulse of the country starting to beat again.

But just as I’m about to push further with military reform and summon General Foster back to the capital, an urgent report from the Mid-Atlantic front hits like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flame I’d just lit.

The messenger nearly crawls into the room, his voice shrill: “Report—! Reporting to the President, the main Coalition army has already gathered at the border, splitting into several columns. Their banners are everywhere. The vanguard—they’ve already crossed the Potomac!”

The words slam into me like a sledgehammer. Coalition bastards! They’ve come after all! And even faster and fiercer than I expected!

I clench my fist, nails digging deep into my palm, jaw tight.

The pen on the desk snaps with a crack.

Ink splatters across the executive order I never finished. The room falls deathly silent—even the air seems frozen.

Looks like the time for quietly building defenses is over.