Chapter 2: The General’s New Playbook

At this moment, David’s current name was Grant McAllister. Halfway through his meal, David still couldn’t believe anyone would name their kid that. Maybe his parents wanted him to sound like a Civil War statue or just liked the ring of it. The mess tent was alive—the scent of overcooked beef stew mingled with sweat and gun oil, and somewhere, a battered radio crackled out Springsteen.

How lonely and tragic. The name felt like it belonged on a crumbling monument. Grant McAllister—yell it in an American Legion Hall and half the room would answer.

Seeing David sigh, the three Horsemen exchanged looks and nudged the Second Horseman, who braced himself: "General, I know you still remember the President’s kindness, but people change. Don’t get too attached."

David: *What the hell…*

David shuddered. *I’m not some Civil War general—what’s this love nonsense?* He rolled his eyes, modern sarcasm flickering across his face.

David shot a glance at the Second Horseman: "Can you get someone into D.C. and get my family out?"

The Second Horseman’s eyes lit up, but he shook his head: "Your wife sent for me not long ago. I wanted to check things out before telling you, but the capital’s locked down tight. Even if someone could get in, getting them out would be next to impossible."

David was silent for a moment. "Fine. Then let’s talk about how to fight."

The Four Horsemen: "……"

The group fell silent, then the First Horseman broke in, incredulous: "General, by your usual style, shouldn’t you rush to the capital, cut open your chest, and rip out your heart for the President to prove your loyalty?"

The Fourth Horseman, grinning, added: "And then you gotta die in front of him, so there’s a flashback to your brotherly childhood, and the President feels guilty forever."

David: *What the hell…*

David burst out laughing and snapped, "Get lost! I’m not an idiot." The mess tent roared, spoons clattering, soldiers sneaking glances at their legendary general—was this the moment everything changed?

The First Horseman was grinning ear to ear. "General, how’d you figure it out all of a sudden?"

David looked at him like he was nuts: "He’s the one wronging me—he wants to kill my whole family. Shouldn’t I kill him instead?" The words hung in the air, sharp as a flagpole in a prairie storm.

The Third Horseman stroked his chin. "But he hasn’t killed them yet. If you act now, you lose the moral high ground."

David kicked him. "You really gonna wait for him to do it first?"

The Fourth Horseman’s eyes flashed: "Just do it."

The Second Horseman cuffed the Fourth Horseman, then turned to David: "Let’s clean up the President’s circle."

David caught the point. He could feel the wheels turning, possibilities stacking up like poker chips at a Vegas table.

But David shook his head.

Before, he could’ve cleaned house with the right connections, charging into D.C. to seize the presidency. But now, Grant McAllister had neither the family ties nor the civil leadership’s support. Storming the capital could turn him into the next Benedict Arnold.

David said slowly, "Cleaning up the President’s circle can wait. For now, let’s use Old Three’s idea—there are still major issues in the army. I can’t leave yet."

The Second Horseman frowned. "What major issue?"

David smiled, pointing west: "During the big fight with the invaders, the Western Army was eyeing us and even clashed with our men. That’s collusion with the enemy. If we don’t deal with them, how can I return to the capital?"

The Third Horseman was puzzled. "Fight the Western Army? Not the President?"

The Second Horseman’s eyes widened: "Why fight the President? How many troops does he have? The D.C. guards are already rotten! If we rush in and kill him, the Western and Southern Armies will just use it as an excuse to attack."

The Fourth Horseman raised his hand. "But if we don’t take out the President, won’t he still send the Western and Southern Armies after us?"

The Third Horseman’s eyes gleamed. "This way, the moral high ground is ours."

The First Horseman laughed: "General’s still the general—strike first, attack the Western Army!"

David laughed with them. Three hundred thousand troops—who cared about bloodlines? If he couldn’t clean up the President’s circle, he could still fight for the country, defeat the armies, and become a legend. In his heart, a new American story was being written—less about loyalty to one man, more about justice and grit.

3

The Western Army’s defenses crumbled faster than a diner pie crust. By dawn, the only thing left standing was the legend of Grant McAllister.

This time, he wasn’t dying for anyone’s approval. This time, he’d rewrite the story.