Hello once again!

We know, it seems like it's been FOREVER, but we're sorry. Stuff has gotten in the way, like you know, life, but never fear, chapter ten is here! Enjoy!

"It was a slaughter!"

Alfred's fist slammed down on the oaken table with enough force to upset two glasses of whiskey. The amber liquid spilled out over the surface of the table and dripped down onto the floor. No one moved to right the toppled crystal. All eyes were fixed on Alfred and his rage. He roared everything that he had kept inside of him for these three days since the battle at Manassas. His sorrow had grown and morphed into unspeakable fury. For now, these generals before him were the target of his wrath.

"Three thousand casualties! Three thousand! That is unacceptable! You insolent people actually believed that the Confederacy would see our armies and roll over in surrender? They took one look at our force at Manassas and desolated it!" Alfred's pulse pounded in his forehead like a drum. "You lot turned tail and ran! They picked you off as you scattered into the hills! They stopped and ate the picnic lunches that stupid civilians brought with them as those insolent rebels gave chase!"

No one said a word. The generals gathered before Alfred all knew that he spoke the truth.

Alfred took a deep and shaky breath, gently rested his hands on the table, then spoke again. His voice was dangerously low.

"The most dangerous thing that you can do is underestimate your enemy, and that's exactly what you did. We paid for that in blood. I refuse to pay for that again." His voice ripped through his throat again with renewed strength. "I will not pay for that again! If you lot can't fight a war right, then I'll do it for you!"

With one last fiery glance around the room, Alfred turned to storm out. In his path was the President. He was leaned against the doorway, eyes heavy and gray with sorrow. Alfred paused for only a second. He looked the President in the eyes, and his gaze cut Lincoln as if his eyes were knives. Alfred shoved past him out of the room and down the hall. He made sure to slam his shoulder into Lincoln's as he pushed past.

Alfred was enraged. His heart pounded hard enough in his chest to surely tear free of its cage. Something had let loose inside of Alfred that had not lit a fire inside of him like this since his own revolution. He often thought of his fight for independence nowadays, and he had felt for Samuel's chaotic emotions at this time. However, now his sorrow was long forgotten. It was replaced completely with a consuming fire. Alfred was determined, mind set on one thing.

He refused to sit here in Washington with the politicians. He couldn't. His people were dying in droves, who was he to sit back and idly watch?

To do nothing would be a blatant act of cowardice, and he was no coward.

A small voice deep inside his mind tried to speak. Alfred, this isn't you! These are your people's sentiments, not yours! You know that being emotional makes you susceptible to thoughts that are not your own. You must be patient! Stop this madness, it will get you nowhere except more pain and death!

The voice was silenced nearly as soon as it started.

No, he was going to get into the fray. He was going to run headlong into the line of the bullets. The flood of adrenaline in his body, yes, that was what he needed. He longed to bathe elbow-deep in blood once again.

He would see this rebellion put down immediately. He would see the rebels beaten back and beaten down, and once they were finished, he would kill Samuel himself.

He would level a pistol with Samuel's head and put a bullet between his eyes.

-x-x-x-

The throbbing in Samuel's chest was gone now, having healed up within these past two days. A nice round and pink scar with jagged red edges marred his skin between two of his lower ribs. While he was on the mend, he sat through political meetings, bored out of his mind. He knew that it was important to keep up with these proceedings, but he honestly wasn't as interested. What he wanted to know was the fate of his people. How many were killed. How many wounded. How many missing in action. How many telegrams he would have to send home saying that a person's loved one was never to return. This was what Samuel was concerned with, but he sat through the meetings of the more political nature nonetheless. He inserted his ideas here and there, but what he contributed most to was the strategy. If he saw something that could prove to be more dangerous than need be, he spoke up about it. The generals mainly accepted his input, and he was grateful for it.

When he wasn't forced to sit through meetings, Samuel spent time with his men. He wasn't put in charge of any, as enforced by President Davis, but he still sat with them, ate with them, swapped stories with them. To the regular soldier, Samuel wasn't the nation they were fighting for. He was their friend. He was their advocate. He was their battle buddy, who would have their back whenever they needed him.

Samuel was proud of that. He was proud to be called a "friend". He was proud to be called "Sammy," instead of Samuel for once. It reminded him of his younger days. Most of all, he was proud to be called "brother". To be called so was what he deemed to be the highest honor that a man could bestow upon another. He wore the name as a badge upon his chest.

Despite being in the body of a twenty-one year-old man, Samuel's mind was still reeling to catch up with his body. He had been a nation for less than a year after all, and he was having to learn everything as it was thrust upon him. Trapped deep inside of this strong, dashing, freshly battle-scarred body was a young and very scared nation that wanted to desperately wake up from this terrifying dream, filled with the screams of the dying. Samuel's flesh fought that part of him down until it was buried so deep inside of him that he was sure that it could never resurface. Everything that he projected to the people around him- his confidence, the swagger in his step, his arrogance- was all a ploy to suffocate the small, barefoot, freckle-faced child in faded denim overalls that lived underneath it all.

But no matter what he did, that child refused to die.

So Samuel lived with a permanent grin tacked onto his face, and all the while his heart tried desperately not to burst. The child would not die, could not die, so it lay buried and miserable, waiting for the day that it could be hidden no longer.

-x-x-x-

"Alfred, please sit down."

Alfred remained stoic at the window. He gazed out, fully composed and pulled together after his outburst in the general's meeting a day earlier. He wore a freshly laundered and pressed suit that was tailored perfectly to his body. Every one of his lean muscles were tensed. His hair was combed back against his scalp, but his cowlick refused to be tamed, so it stuck out to the side just as always. Jaw set, he reflected on his words and mulled them over in his mind. He chewed on them before he swallowed them back down again when the President spoke again.

"Please sit."

Again, Alfred refused to move. For now, he prefered to watch the breeze sway the blooming trees below. His face was softly reflected in the glass. The cold calculation in his eyes clashed with the warmth of the joyous spring air.

Alfred heard Lincoln sigh behind him. Wood creaked as he shifted in his chair.

"The battle at Manassas was a failure, I know, but you shouldn't give General Irvin such a cold reception. He was only doing what he thought was right at the time."

Alfred scoffed at the thought. "The man underestimates the enemy and then runs to save his own hide. He has yet to earn anything within the realm of my respect. When he has done so, then he can receive a 'warmer reception' from me. Until then, I refuse to speak to him."

"Alfred, honestly-"

"Don't try it sir. I'm not in the mood to argue with you about this. It wastes precious time." He scowled. "Time that could be used to quell this rebellion."

Lincoln withdrew a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and spread it out on the table that he sat at. "Then let us discuss productive things."

Silence fell between the two men. Alfred's hands, which were grasping each other in front of his body, clenched tight enough that his fingernails cut deeply into his skin. He could feel a tiny spot of warm stickiness emerge from his palm. He barely noticed however. His mind was consumed.

"When I was young," he started, "I remember I was learning how to trap. We had a trapline that was being harassed by a wolf. The wolf was too large to confront directly, just Arthur and I, so we formulated a plan. If we could remove the food sources and kept it within a boundary, then the wolf would become weak enough for us to affront and kill. We slowly dwindled our bait in certain areas, which kept the wolf where we wanted him. That winter was harsh, and there was no food other than what we set out as bait for our traps. The wolf went hungry as he searched our traps and found nothing to eat. Eventually, we built a trap for the wolf itself and placed the bait inside. The wolf eagerly accepted the bait, and he was caught fast. We killed that wolf, and regained our trapline."

Alfred finally turned to face the President at his table.

"The Confederacy is our wolf. We cut off its supplies, weaken it, strangle it, until it has no strength left to fight. We then come in for the kill. This is what needs to happen in order for us to win this war. Blockade every port in the South. Cut off all ties to the outside world. Let nothing in. Let nothing out. The South will slowly weaken and starve out, and that is when we take our victory. After all, cotton is king. If cotton can't get out, that means no money is exchanged, and no food can get in. Victory is sure."

Lincoln leaned back and rubbed his beard with a thumb. "That is quite brilliant Alfred. Quite brilliant."

Lincoln then slid to the edge of his seat and hovered over the paper that he had lain on the tabletop. A map of the United States, before the split. He then withdrew a pen from his pocket and extended his hand to Alfred. "Mark on this map how you believe this blockade should be, and I will run it by the generals. That way you don't have to associate with them right now."

Alfred eyed the pen, then locked eyes with Lincoln. A cold grin tugged at Alfred's lips as he took the pen between his own fingers.

"Let's bag us a wolf."

Alrighty! We're getting excited to show you what all we have in store for the rest of this story! Hang in there reader, it's gonna be a crazy ride!

By the way, we love reviews. They make us so happy, and we just wanted to put that out there. You know. But whatever, hope that y'all enjoyed what we have up so far!

Much love as always,

Harley and Amanda