The White House telegraph room smelled of burnt wire and coffee. Callie worked the key like a pianist, her fingers flying over brass contacts, sending Ethan's orders to Burnside, Hooker, and McClellan. Each click felt like a nail driven into Lee's coffin.
Ethan stood over a map of Maryland, pins glinting in the lamplight. He'd divided the state into quadrants, each with a color-coded priority: red for rail lines, blue for river crossings, green for high ground. The map looked like a chessboard to him—one he knew the opponent's moves on.
"McClellan's men are digging in at Sharpsburg," Callie said, reading a incoming message. "He's complaining about the pace, but he's following the plan."
"Good." Ethan tapped the map at a bend in the Potomac. "Lee will try to cross here tonight. Tell Hooker to station two regiments on the bluff. No firing until they're halfway across. Then hit them hard with artillery."
Callie raised an eyebrow. "That's risky. If they break, Hooker's line could collapse."
"It's calculated." Ethan met her eyes. "Lee's men are tired. They've marched两百 miles in a week. Their shoes are worn, their rations are low. They'll hesitate when the shells start falling. That hesitation is our opening."
A knock at the door. A young soldier stepped in, saluting. "Mr. Voss, the President wants to see you. Now."
Ethan nodded. He left the map and the telegraph, his boots echoing in the corridor. The Oval Office door was ajar. He pushed it open.
Lincoln sat at his desk, a stack of dispatches in front of him. His face was lined, but his eyes were steady. "Mr. Voss," he said. "I've had word from Frederick. A Confederate scout has been captured. He claims to have information about Lee's plans."
Ethan leaned forward. "What kind of information?"
"The scout's name is Silas Hale. He says Lee intends to split his army—send half to Baltimore, half to Pennsylvania. He wants to draw our forces away from the capital."
Ethan smiled. "He's lying. Lee would never split his army in enemy territory. It's a classic feint—make us spread thin, then hit us where we're weakest."
Lincoln nodded. "That's what I thought. But I need to be sure. I want you to question him."
"Me?"
"You're the one who knows Lee's mind." Lincoln stood. "He's being held at the Old Capitol Prison. Go. Find out what he's really planning."
Ethan left the White House, the night air cool on his face. He walked to the prison, a imposing stone building with iron bars on the windows. A guard let him in, leading him to a small cell.
Silas Hale sat on a wooden bench, his hands bound. He was a tall man, with a weathered face and a scar across his cheek. When he saw Ethan, he stood.
"Mr. Voss," he said. His voice was deep, with a Southern drawl. "I've heard of you."
"Good." Ethan leaned against the cell door. "Tell me the truth. What is Lee's plan?"
Silas smiled. "You already know. You're the one who's been outthinking him."
"I want to hear it from you."
Silas shrugged. "Lee's going to attack at Antietam. He thinks your lines are weak there. He's counting on McClellan's caution."
Ethan nodded. "And the split? Baltimore and Pennsylvania?"
"A lie. We needed to buy time. Lee's supply trains are stuck. He needs to win a quick victory to get them moving again."
Ethan studied him. "Why are you telling me this? You're a Confederate scout. You should be trying to mislead me."
Silas's smile faded. "I'm a soldier, not a liar. I fight for the South, but I don't fight for a lost cause. Lee's a brilliant general, but he's making a mistake. He's stretching his army too thin."
Ethan nodded. "Thank you." He turned to leave.
"Mr. Voss," Silas called. Ethan looked back. "If you win this war, don't be cruel to the South. We're still Americans."
Ethan paused. "I'll do what I can."
He left the prison, his mind racing. Silas's information confirmed his plan. Lee was going to attack at Antietam. He was going to try to break the Union lines. But this time, he was going to fail.
Back at the telegraph room, Callie was waiting for him. "Well?" she said.
"Lee's attacking at Antietam. Tell McClellan to double the guard on the left flank. Tell Burnside to hold the bridge at all costs."
Callie nodded, her fingers flying over the telegraph key. The room filled with the sound of clicks, a staccato rhythm that felt like the beating of a heart.
Ethan stood over the map, his eyes fixed on Antietam. He knew the battle was going to be bloody. He knew thousands of men were going to die. But he also knew that this was the turning point. This was where the Union was going to stop the bleeding. This was where the war was going to change.
Outside, the moon rose over Washington. Somewhere in Maryland, Lee's army prepared for battle. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, a storm was brewing. But in this small telegraph room, a modern tactician and a sharp-tongued telegrapher were setting in motion a chain of events that would change the course of the Civil War—and the future of America.