The first poles went up outside Shropshire before most of the country realized a decision had been made.
Not debated. Not voted on line by line.
Made.
Phillip stood at the edge of the foundry yard at dawn, boots planted in frost-hard soil, watching men lift the next timber into place. The pole rose slowly, ropes creaking, shoulders straining. When it settled upright, the foreman tamped earth around the base with the butt of a shovel until it stood firm and straight.
Another pole. Another length of wire.
Another mile claimed.
Henry joined him, holding a stack of folded papers bound with twine. "Parliament's resolution passed late last night. Emergency authority. National priority."
Phillip did not turn. "Any objections?"
"Plenty," Henry said. "But none strong enough to stop it. Too many ministers realized they were blind without it."
Phillip nodded once. He had expected that. Fear moved governments faster than vision ever did.
