The air in the war room smelled of ink and polished wood. Maps lined the walls—Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia—each marked with colored pins that danced like chess pieces under Ethan's finger. Callie sat at the telegraph, her fingers hovering over the key, ready to turn thought into action. Silas stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the distant hills, as if he could see Lee's army moving like a shadow across the land.
Ethan tapped the map at Gettysburg. "Lee thinks he can divide us," he said. "He'll send Ewell to the north, Hill to the west, Longstreet to the south. He wants us to spread thin, then strike at the heart."
Silas turned. "He's proud. Too proud. He believes his own legend."
"Good," Ethan said. "We'll use that pride. We'll let him think we're weak. We'll let him think we're running scared."
He leaned over the map, his voice lowering. "Here's the plan. First, we'll abandon the outer defenses. We'll pull back to the high ground—Cemetery Hill, Little Round Top. We'll make it look like we're retreating. We'll make Lee hungry for a fight."
Callie nodded. "And then?"
"And then we'll hit him where he least expects it." Ethan drew a line from the east. "Meade will hold the center. Hooker will mass on the left. But the real punch—" He paused, tapping a small village on the map. "—will come from here. We'll send a division through Emmitsburg Road, behind Longstreet's lines. We'll cut his supply, then turn and hit him in the flank."
Silas's eyes narrowed. "It's risky. If Lee sees it coming—"
"He won't," Ethan said. "Because we'll make him see what we want him to see. Callie, send a message to Meade. Tell him to order a fake retreat at dawn. Tell him to leave supplies behind—rations, ammunition, tents. Make it look like we're in disarray."
Callie's fingers flew over the key. The room filled with the staccato click of the telegraph, a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat.
Ethan turned to Silas. "You'll go to Lee's camp. You'll tell him what he wants to hear. You'll tell him we're falling apart. You'll tell him now is the time to strike."
Silas hesitated. "And if he sees through me?"
Ethan smiled. "He won't. Because you'll tell him the truth—parts of it. You'll tell him we're tired. You'll tell him we're short on supplies. You'll tell him the men are scared. All of that is true. But you won't tell him about the division on the east. You won't tell him about the trap."
Silas nodded. He knew the risks. He knew that if he was caught, he would die. But he also knew that this was the only way. He was a soldier. He was an American. And he was ready to do what was necessary.
That night, Silas slipped out of the Union camp. He moved like a ghost through the darkness, his boots barely making a sound. He crossed the fields, the grass wet with dew. He crossed the streams, the water cold and shallow. He reached Lee's camp just before dawn, his clothes covered in dirt, his face streaked with sweat.
He was taken to Lee's tent. The general sat at a small table, a map in front of him. He looked up, his eyes sharp as a blade.
"Silas Hale," Lee said. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
Silas stood tall. "I'm here to help you, General. The Union is falling apart. Meade is retreating. The men are scared. Now is the time to strike."
Lee studied him. He looked into his eyes. He saw fear. He saw exhaustion. He saw truth. Or so he thought.
"What proof do you have?" Lee asked.
Silas pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. It was a fake order, written by Ethan, ordering a retreat. "This is from Meade," Silas said. "He's pulling back to Cemetery Hill. He's leaving supplies behind. He thinks he can hold the high ground, but he's wrong. His men are tired. His lines are weak. If you strike now, you'll break him."
Lee took the paper. He read it. He nodded. He smiled. "Thank you, Silas. You've done well."
Silas bowed his head. "I only did what was right, General."
He left the tent. He moved back through the darkness, his heart pounding. He knew that he had done his job. He knew that Lee was going to strike. He knew that the trap was set.
The next morning, the Union army began to retreat. They left supplies behind. They left tents. They left equipment. They moved back to the high ground, their steps slow and deliberate.
Lee watched from a hill. He saw the retreat. He saw the supplies. He saw the disarray. He smiled. He ordered his army to advance.
The Confederate army moved forward, their banners flying. They moved like a tide, sweeping across the fields. They moved toward the Union lines, their voices loud and proud.
But they didn't know that they were walking into a trap.
Ethan stood on Cemetery Hill. He watched Lee's army advance. He smiled. He turned to Callie. "Send the message. Tell Hooker to hold. Tell Meade to hold. Tell the division on the east to get ready."
Callie's fingers flew over the key. The message went out. The Union army waited.
Lee's army reached the Union lines. They attacked. The air filled with the sound of gunfire. The ground shook. The sky filled with smoke.
But the Union lines held. Meade's men fought hard. Hooker's men fought hard. They held the high ground. They held the line.
Lee's army grew tired. They grew frustrated. They grew desperate.
And then, the punch came.
The Union division from the east charged through Emmitsburg Road. They hit Longstreet's lines hard. They cut his supply. They turned and hit him in the flank.
Longstreet's lines crumbled. The Confederate soldiers ran. They screamed. They fell.
Lee watched in horror. He saw his army falling apart. He saw his plan failing. He saw the trap.
He tried to rally his men. He tried to hold the line. He tried to retreat.
But it was too late.
The Union army charged forward. They pushed the Confederates back. They advanced, inch by inch. They took the fields. They took the hills. They took the day.
Lee's army retreated. They left behind thousands of dead and wounded. They left behind their supplies. They left behind their pride.
Ethan stood on the hill. He watched the retreat. He smiled. He turned to Callie. "We won."
Callie smiled. She hugged him. "We won."
Silas stood beside them. He looked at the distant hills. He looked at the retreating army. He looked at Ethan. "You're a brilliant strategist," he said.
Ethan smiled. "I'm just a man who knows how to use the truth."
They stood there, watching the sun rise. They stood there, watching the future begin.
The Battle of Minds was over.
The Union had won.
And the Voss Dynasty was growing stronger.