The “Great White Fleet” had concluded its majestic naval review, sweeping along the Eastern Seaboard and leaving a trail of awe in its wake. Across the nation, test demonstrations of the “naval mine”—the Covenant’s newest maritime deterrent—convinced the citizenry that their shores were finally sacrosanct. Meanwhile, the Cannon Expo in Virginia triumphed, drawing massive crowds and yielding a standardized prize: the Fiasco Gun.

These were merely the flagship events; when coupled with a myriad of smaller public performances, the effort invested into domestic morale was staggering.

“Citizens! Enlist in the Navy! Become the shield that guards the Continental Covenant!” “Traverse the great oceans and stand as the sentinels of our people!”

In the streets of the capital, a recruitment parade was in full swing. Rows of musketeers in crisp uniforms marched with rhythmic precision, their bayonets gleaming in the sun. The display of discipline and strength resonated deeply with the onlookers, sparking a wave of patriotic fervor.

“I require your authorization for the naval expansion, My Lord,” the Admiral noted, standing beside me as we watched the spectacle from a window. “Would you be willing to review the data before I present it to Chairman Oitotan?”

“The data, Admiral?” I asked, turning from the window.

“Yes. Voluntary enlistment has surged nearly fourfold. It is a profoundly encouraging situation.”

Ernst von Mansfeld, standing nearby, offered a sharp nod of confirmation. “Under my direction, the ordnance factories in Virginia are churning out Fiasco Guns at an unprecedented rate. Between the naval reinforcements and the fortification of the coast, you may rest easy, My Lord. Everything proceeds with clockwork efficiency.”

“That is… excellent news,” I replied.

It was true. Everything was moving according to the grand design. Naval recruitment was soaring, and while it would take time for these raw volunteers to become seasoned mariners, their status as “patriotic volunteers” already placed them in the top percentile of naval personnel in an era where the profession was often treated with disdain.

Simultaneously, the governments of the Eastern member states and various municipalities were independently placing orders for Fiasco Guns to bolster their own coastal defenses. This was a welcome development; by taking the initiative in their own protection, they significantly lightened the burden on the central Covenant administration.

Along the Spanish frontier, stonemasons from across the continent were volunteering their labor to expand the network of fortresses. As was often the case with such public works, citizens eager for social standing were donating their private fortunes to the cause. The Eastern regions of the Covenant were vibrating with a restless, productive energy.

This was to be expected from the heartland—places like Virginia and the Bishopric of Florida, which shared long, bitter histories with Spain. The other Eastern states had developed a profound sense of belonging to the Covenant.

As for the West—territories like California, Israel, and the Shoshone—I hadn’t given them much thought. I didn’t anticipate them being major theaters of war, and they were relatively underpopulated and industrially underdeveloped.

Or so I believed.

“Admiral? Where is the report you mentioned?” I asked.

“Ah, right here, My Lord. I’ve categorized the recruits by region for your convenience.”

“Thank you. Let’s see… hmm?”

I paused, my eyes narrowing at the ledger.

“Is something wrong?” the Admiral asked.

“…The numbers are anomalous. The population of California is significantly lower than that of the Wabenaki Confederacy, yet their recruitment numbers are nearly identical. This makes no sense.”

The West was providing a disproportionately high number of volunteers relative to its population and the resources we’d allocated there. I tilted my head in confusion but moved on for the time being. However, the mystery deepened during the next cabinet meeting.

“The shortage of saltpeter caused by the mass production of mines has been completely resolved!” a minister announced triumphantly. “Large-scale niter mines are being developed in the West as we speak.”

“Is that so?” I mused. “Perhaps we should dispatch a task force to oversee the operations.”

“I doubt that will be necessary, O Nameless One,” the minister replied. “I’m told an army of local volunteers is already mining the saltpeter with frantic enthusiasm.”

Something is definitely off. In my experience, whenever things were going suspiciously well in a way that defied logic, there was usually a specific culprit behind it. I cast a sideways glance at the Chairman.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Oitotan asked, sounding genuinely offended.

“It’s nothing, Oitotan.”

If it wasn’t Oitotan, then who? Why was the West suddenly in such a frenzy?

***

Even as the borders of the Mainline Republic expanded toward the Great Lakes, there was a reason the initial transcontinental road was designed to link the Mississippi to San Francisco. The Mississippi River was the gargantuan circulatory system of the American Midwest, its waters connecting a sprawling web of tribal villages, trading posts, and cities. More importantly, it allowed the inland regions to link directly to the Atlantic, facilitating commerce with the booming markets of Virginia and Florida.

This was why Omaha, situated on the Missouri River and linked to the Mississippi, remained the capital of the Mainline Republic. Its citizens were hyper-attuned to the river’s conditions; they were always the first to know of a flood or a surge in alligator sightings.

And they were the first to feel the chill of impending war.

“They’re deploying warships to patrol the basin?” the Prime Minister of the Republic asked, his voice tight.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” his aide confirmed.

The appearance of the “Monitors” in the Mississippi sent a shiver through the Mainline citizenry. While the Covenant government intended the ships to be symbols of preparedness and security, to the pragmatic minds of Omaha, they meant only one thing: The war is real.

Given its unique geography—a nation essentially formed along a single, thin line of road—the Mainline Republic was incapable of self-defense. Their only military force consisted of a glorified police unit tasked with managing disputes along the highway. The prospect of a full-scale war erupting on their continent was terrifying.

The citizens had not been part of the Covenant long enough to feel deep-seated loyalty or national identity. However, they understood one thing with absolute clarity: war halts migration and strangulates trade. And when trade stops, their profits hit a dead end.

The grand chamber of the Mainline Assembly fell into a heavy, worried silence, broken only by the frantic murmuring of representatives. The primary concern was how to protect the “ladder” they had so recently climbed—how to preserve their prosperity in the face of national calamity.

“If there is no demand, shouldn’t we simply… create it?”

A young representative named Tormentoni raised his hand. The assembly looked at him in confusion. Create demand in the middle of a war?

The Prime Minister voiced the collective skepticism, but Tormentoni remained confident. “We have strategic materials, do we not?”

“Strategic materials?” the Prime Minister echoed.

“Yes, Your Excellency. If we ensure that iron ore, copper, and other vital resources flow exclusively through our arterial road, the surge in demand will more than offset the loss in general commerce.”

“It’s a sound theory,” the Prime Minister conceded. “But how do we transport such bulk over the road competitively?”

That was the bottleneck. Land transport was ruinously expensive. Furthermore, the Eastern Covenant was already largely self-sufficient in most strategic resources. They needed something that was in high demand for the war effort, rare in the East, and valuable enough to justify a thousand-kilometer trek over land.

Had such a resource been common, the Republic wouldn’t be in this predicament. The session ended with Tormentoni’s suggestion seemingly destined for the archives.

***

“Wait… what is this?”

“What is it, man?”

“Look here… the ground is covered in this white stuff…”

Deep in the territories of the Shoshone and Paiute tribes, near the borders of California, a group of European settlers stumbled upon a discovery. News of the find traveled with lightning speed to the heart of the Mainline Republic, which was already listening for any opportunity with strained ears.

“Y-Your Excellency! Did you hear the report?”

“Of course I heard it!” the Prime Minister barked. “Are there any other tribes in the vicinity?”

“None, sir. It seems the local natives withdrew after receiving payment from the Europeans who wanted to set up farms there.”

“Then dispatch a team immediately!”

The Mainline Republic’s survey team reached the site in record time. They purchased the land from the Europeans—who had no inkling of its true worth—for a pittance and immediately began extending the road. Driven by the fear that other tribes might catch wind of the discovery, they laid hundreds of kilometers of track in a few short months.

Only then did the Europeans realize their mistake. They had literally been sitting on a mountain of saltpeter.

But it was too late. When the sellers attempted to protest, the Mainline government showed no interest in recognizing individual claims over what was now a “Just Asset of the Republic.”

“Do not despair,” a government official told the angry settlers. “If you invest the 0.24 Oro we paid you into a savings account, the magic of compound interest will eventually allow you to buy the entire mine back!”

“…And how long will that take?” one settler asked, hollow-eyed.

“Well, if you invest in fortress bonds… perhaps in, say, three hundred and sixty-two years?”

“You’re joking! I didn’t come all the way from England for this! Give me my land back!”

“Now, now! Control yourself, citizen!”

The government ensured the protesters were divided by granted citizenship to only a handful of them. With the problem “neatly” resolved, the Republic began the frenzied extraction of the niter. They funneled it East, offering radical toll discounts for any wagon or person transporting the “white gold.”

Having tasted the sweetness of profit, the Mainline Republic couldn’t stop. They dispatched investigators across the Covenant to identify other resources and began an aggressive redevelopment campaign. Various industrial resources, long dormant beneath the American soil, were linked to the arterial road and began to flow. The prices of saltpeter, iron, copper, and zinc plummeted in rapid succession.

“This is still not enough,” the Prime Minister mused. “Mining takes time, and there aren’t enough resources valuable enough to justify the long haul.”

The economic slump caused by the looming war was too deep for raw materials alone to bridge. They needed something more radical.

“Valuable resources… valuable resources…” Tormentoni’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait! That’s it! The most valuable resource of all!”

“What are you talking about, Minister Tormentoni?”

“People, Your Excellency! We must move people!” Tormentoni leaned in, his voice a low, excited hiss. “Most of the folk in the West don’t even realize a war is coming. We just need to bring them the news.”

Soon, the newsletters published by the Mainline Republic began to flood the regions west of the Mississippi.

• [WAR CRISIS] SPAIN THREATENS THE CONTINENTAL COVENANT!
• WAR TRACTORS DEEMED USELESS? ORDER OF AGRICULTURE IN TEARS!
• [CRITIC’S VIEW] THE COVENANT ARMY IS WEAK—ARE THE CITIZENS TO BLAME?
• “The Covenant’s land forces are undeniably fragile. But the foundation of an army is the affection of its citizens. Reprimands are necessary, but shame alone will not spark reform.” — Columnist: Philip Oitotan

It didn’t take long for the results to manifest.

“The recruitment numbers are impossible! Have you verified these lists?” a regional governor shouted. “If this is a fabrication to boost your performance, what will the Messiah think of us?”

“It’s no fabrication, sir! Look for yourself! The Californians next door have a higher voluntary enlistment rate than we do!”

“…Is this true? You expect me to believe that more than one in twenty people in the registered population has volunteered?”

The citizens of the West Coast were on fire.

***

“The supply of saltpeter and various ores has been remarkably smooth lately,” Oitotan reported at the next briefing. “It seems resource development in the interior is flourishing.”

“Is that so, Oitotan?” I asked.

“Yes. The Mainline Republic is extending its roads and working with various member governments to open new mines.”

“Hmph… that’s a promising development. We should provide the Mainline Republic with additional support.”

“I’m already sending my son there to oversee things,” Oitotan added. “I hope he’s doing well.”

Kim Lee-sang and the central Covenant leadership had no idea what was truly happening. Driven by the clandestine maneuvers of the Mainline Republic, the Covenant’s industries were throbbing with life, and a constant stream of soldiers and laborers was being funneled across the continent.

The Continental Covenant was growing larger by the day—propelled by a confederation of American tribes who were masters of “kicking away the ladder” and aggressive redevelopment.