Chapter 3: Schemes and Stalemates

A few months later, Adam Lee couldn’t keep up the act anymore, nor did he need to. His patience wore thin, his mask slipping. The palace intrigue of the White House made his skin crawl. Every day felt like wading through quicksand, the air heavy with secrets and the buzz of late-night baseball games on the radio echoing down empty halls.

Because Adam Lee finally found clues in secret files and memos that excited him—he felt he finally had a chance to train troops.

Hidden in dusty folders and encrypted emails, he found the opening he’d been waiting for. His pulse quickened—a glimmer of hope after years of tedium.

In fact, not everyone at the top of the administration was a fool. The Anglo-French forces had even burned the Capitol—how could they not want a strong army?

There were still men and women who remembered what it meant to fight, to stand up for something bigger than themselves. He took meetings late at night, voices hushed and wary, plotting what they dared not speak in daylight.

But when Mrs. Delaney called on the National Guard to form a new army, six Guard generals died of fright that very day—no one wanted to endure the hardship of training.

Their faces had gone pale at the suggestion—senior officers who’d spent more time betting on college football or playing cards in the officers’ lounge than on the firing range. Adam Lee watched the panic ripple through the ranks, equal parts disgusted and amused.

These officers spent their days betting on college football, playing cards in the officers’ lounge, drinking and smoking cigars when idle. When they ran out of money, they sold army rations and gear. Who would give up such a life to train in the army?

He’d heard the jokes at cocktail parties, the back-slapping bravado masking deep cowardice. The rot ran deep; no one wanted the burden of actual service when easy money was at stake.

No problem—Mrs. Delaney could still hire foreign instructors, bring in European military experts, and if anyone learned the skills, they could oversee training. Training a loyal civilian army for the government wasn’t impossible.

He watched as foreign officers strode the parade grounds—rows of battered Humvees gleaming in the sun, the faded American flag fluttering on the parade ground, the smell of gun oil and burnt coffee hanging in the air. The press snapped photos, the administration issued statements, but nothing changed. The whole enterprise was theater.

But military matters require talent, and among all the Guard, not a single competent candidate could be found.

They were experts at paperwork, not warfare. Adam Lee shook his head at the sheer waste of potential, the way mediocrity had wormed its way into every corner of power.

If a new army really had to be trained, it could only rely on regular Americans, training civilian troops… then what’s the point?

The prospect was terrifying to those in charge—arm the people, and they might just decide to use those arms for themselves. The logic was simple, brutal, and all too American.

Foreigners only killed commoners, robbed some money, seized a bit of land, but regular Americans truly threatened the government. Which was more dangerous? Mrs. Delaney knew very well.

She’d learned the lessons of history: never let the people get too strong, or you risk losing everything. Adam Lee saw the calculation in her eyes every time he brought up reform.

So the matter of training a new army was shelved, sealed away, and conveniently forgotten.

Bureaucrats filed the paperwork in a locked drawer, the keys tossed somewhere in the West Wing. The status quo was safe for another day.

Adam Lee cursed inwardly while excitedly going to see Mrs. Delaney, thinking it was fine—if no one could train the troops before, now that he was here, he could do it.

He rehearsed arguments in the shower, scribbled notes on napkins, desperate for a breakthrough. He thought: I’ve seen the worst of war, I know what it takes. Give me a chance.

Unfortunately, Adam Lee still underestimated Mrs. Delaney’s bottom line.

She was a fortress in pearls and navy blue, unyielding in her authority. He’d thought he could negotiate, maybe even inspire her. Instead, he ran headlong into a wall.

That day, Mrs. Delaney looked down from above at Adam Lee kneeling on the ground. Her expression was cool, unreadable, the sort that made grown men stammer. Adam Lee met her gaze, feeling like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

She had specially summoned many civilian advisors knowledgeable in military affairs, asking about everything from European military systems to Civil War tactics, from logistics to new army equipment.

The room was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of polished leather. Advisors shuffled through notes, exchanging wary glances as Mrs. Delaney peppered them with questions.

Adam Lee answered smoothly. His voice was steady, his mind sharp—years of experience packed into each syllable. He laid out strategies, explained tactics, offered solutions the others hadn’t even considered.

Smooth doesn’t even cover it; for months, Adam Lee had pored over military books day and night, and many of his proposed tactics and ideas even made the advisors beside the First Lady applaud.

He felt a flicker of hope as hands banged on the table, as old men grinned at the prospect of action. Maybe, just maybe, things were about to change.

These advisors said, The President is heaven-sent, sent to the Republic to resist the great powers.

Some called him a genius, others a savior. For a moment, the old camaraderie of command rooms and war councils filled the air.

Mrs. Delaney’s face was expressionless, so the excited advisors gradually lost their enthusiasm, and Adam Lee, kneeling on the ground, felt a chill in his heart—this atmosphere was all too familiar.

He’d seen it before—a room full of hope, snuffed out by a single, silent woman. The optimism drained away like water through cupped hands.

Dad is truly Dad—even more cunning than my own father.

He wanted to laugh, to cry, to curse. It was the same old story: power held tight, trust given to no one, not even the most loyal ally.

At least my father only showed this wary look after I had won many battles, but you don’t even go through the motions—you’re already on guard before I even start training troops?

The realization burned. He was an enemy before he’d even taken the field.

That day, Mrs. Delaney only said she was tired, gave no opinions, but Adam Lee could sense that there were more spies around him, and the matter of training troops grew ever more distant.

He left the room feeling watched, every conversation shadowed by suspicion. The doors of opportunity swung shut, one by one.