Chapter 6: The Northern Initiative Falls Short

Year four of the Renaissance. Carson’s leader Charles Parker died, and Michael Parker took over.

Lane launched the Northern Initiative. I watched him go, reading his "Memorandum on Sending Out Troops," feeling a weird mix of pride and distance. I couldn’t see him as my real father, but I admired him all the same.

I got busy. Rattan armor was perfect for cavalry—light, tough, fast. Idaho’s horses still sucked, but I had ideas. Once Lane was back, we’d fix it together.

People saw me in the National Guard barracks every day, drilling the rattan-armored cavalry. Rumor was, I could draw a two-hundred-pound bow now. Most generals didn’t buy it.

Lane reached Red Rock, catching the enemy off guard. Three western Carson counties surrendered, and Gary Howard retreated to Red Rock Fortress.

Michael Parker was spooked. He sent John Harris with fifty thousand troops to help Gary, Charles Zane with another fifty thousand to watch Wayne, and led the National Guard himself.

Lane assembled the generals. Before he could speak, the staff brought out one of my velvet bags.

"Best plan: send everyone to Junction Point. Second-best: hit Red Rock hard."

Lane was stunned. He’d just been thinking of sending a general to Junction Point—how did I know?

He figured I had some skill, but not much.

Mark Summers volunteered to defend Junction Point, swore an oath, and Lane sent Walter Price with him and ten thousand troops. "Don’t get into a pitched fight. Just hold on. You’ll be heroes if you last."

Mark and Walter moved out. Lane assigned the rest and attacked Red Rock Fortress, not thinking much of my velvet bag.

Gary Howard was caught flat-footed, lost a few towns, but held Red Rock Fortress.

Gary got a letter from John Harris: fifty thousand reinforcements coming soon.

The road before Red Rock Fortress was dangerous; Lane’s force couldn’t deploy right. As long as Gary held out, he’d be fine. John Harris would swing around and attack Twin Falls from the north.

Mark and Walter reached Junction Point. Scouts said John Harris and his fifty thousand were five miles away.

Walter freaked. Idaho had mostly infantry; Carson had mostly cavalry. Open battle was suicide. He wanted to hole up and defend.

Mark knew the walls were only man-high, impossible to hold. He’d hoped for a small enemy force, but this was the main army. He ordered scouts to rush a warning back.

He ignored Walter’s advice and led everyone up a hill, hoping to hold out as long as possible.

John Harris showed up, saw us on the hill, and laughed. "They’re doomed! Just cut off their water."

Mark’s goal was to buy time. When the encirclement came, he ordered the troops to cut trees and defend the hill.

Meanwhile, Lane attacked Red Rock day and night, but the fortress held. He grew desperate. When Mark’s messenger arrived, Lane listened, and his heart sank. John Harris had fifty thousand—Mark wouldn’t last.

He remembered my velvet bag, called for it, and opened it: "Mark Summers will lose. Don’t panic. Pull back to Twin Falls."

The generals stared. Wayne Evans shouted, "His Honor is a prophet! If you’d listened to me and taken Silver Pass…"

At the bottom, I’d written: "Don’t listen to Wayne. Taking Silver Pass is a death trap."

Wayne blushed, but his respect for me grew.

Lane was floored. Maybe I was special after all. He ordered a retreat. Gary Howard, seeing us withdraw in good order and no sign of John Harris, didn’t dare chase.

On the road to Twin Falls, we met Mark and Walter, both looking sheepish.

Wayne, at Silver Gulch, was hit by Charles Zane’s main force. He opened his velvet bag: "If you meet Zane, retreat to Twin Falls."

Wayne was stunned. Lane’s velvet bags were legendary, but mine were next level. He led the men out fast, joining Lane on the way.

We reached Twin Falls. From the walls, I was waiting, smiling. Lane and Wayne looked at me—confused, a little ashamed. I was all swagger.

I pulled Lane up and, in front of everyone, opened the last velvet bag: "The Northern Initiative failed because of timing, not effort. Reward the troops and get ready for the next fight. We’re gonna put Idaho back on the map, no matter how many times we get knocked down."

The men, tired and beaten, cheered. With a leader like this, how could Idaho not come back?

Lane looked at me, a little awe in his eyes. Maybe he’d finally stop treating me like a kid.

That night, I set up barbecue and beer for the troops. Later, I called Lane over. Two bourbons, a couple burgers, and we talked.

"Senator, ever heard of the militia system?"

He looked at me, stunned. I’d surprised him so much, he was out of words.

"Nope. Care to fill me in?"

"No rush. How about the civil service exam?"

I explained both. Lane’s hands shook.

Comparing himself to Hamilton and Lee? I was just getting started. No way I dreamed this up in the mansion. It had to be fate.

Lane stood up and bowed—not to me, but to the dream we shared. Finally, hope for Idaho.

I quickly pulled him up. "You handle the inside, I’ll handle the outside. Give me ten years, and Idaho will be whole again."

Lane’s eyes shone. Maybe he saw someone else in me, someone from his past.

"My leader, we’re not chasing the impossible anymore. They say I foresaw Idaho’s split, but you’ve shown us the way back."

With hope, Lane seemed ten years younger, his old spark returning.

We talked late into the night, laying out our next moves.

Lane took the volunteers back to Boise to work on the militia system and civil service exam. I led the National Guard cavalry to Bitterroot to join Mike Dalton, leaving Wayne Evans in Twin Falls as backup.

Outside, the wind rattled the windows, but inside, two stubborn souls plotted the fate of Idaho, the bourbon burning away old doubts.