"Fellow Americans, citizens of the United States of America."
"This is Henry A. Wallace."
"Within this hour, I have been sworn in as the President of these United States. Our nation has just suffered a blow so foul it defies description. A cowardly, despicable act of terror has reached into the very heart of our democracy and struck down President Roosevelt. The world we knew yesterday is gone. A new, harder age begins today."
Wallace stood in the flickering light of a fortified command center, deep underground. The air was thick with the scent of fear and uncertainty. Around him, the generals and advisors did not just watch; they leaned in like wolves sensing a kill. Their eyes were hungry for a direction, any direction. Wallace felt their pressure. He knew that if he did not provide a target, the vacuum of power would collapse upon him.
He knew the truth was nothing but a hollow void. There were no leads. The investigations were leading nowhere. The attackers were ghosts. Yet, he remembered the secret path Roosevelt had envisioned for the nation.
He understood that America needed a crusade to forge its future, regardless of the cost in blood. He chose to fill the silence with a calculated lie. His conscience remained steady. He did not care who had actually pulled the trigger; he only cared about who would be made to pay for it.
"This attack," Wallace said, his voice booming through the speakers of every radio across the continent. "This attack was orchestrated by the German Reich."
"The architects of fascism and the masters of terror have dared to violate our soil. They believe they can consume the globe while we remain idle. They are mistaken. To strike at American peace is to invite an end they cannot comprehend. To target our dignity is to ignite a fire that will not be quenched. With this single act of cowardice, they have sealed their own fate."
"My first command as your Commander in Chief is simple. The United States of America is now formally at war with the German nation. We join our brothers in Britain, France, Poland, and every corner of the earth where freedom still breathes. To our allies: hold your ground. The horizon is already filled with our steel. The United States is arriving, no, it has arrived, and we bring the end with us."
Somewhere in New York City
The distant sound of a crackling radio echoed through the heavy wooden door.
"Orchestrated by the German Reich..."
The door clicked shut. The sound vanished. In its place, a ragged, heavy breathing filled the damp space. Werner leaned against the cold wall. He buried his head in his shaking hands.
"Hah."
A low, jagged laugh escaped his throat.
"How right he is," he whispered into the shadows.
The irony was evidend. Wallace was right about the enemy, but he was utterly blind to the man who had actually delivered the blow. To the world, the truth did not matter, an empty space that Wallace had filled with a convenient lie.
Werner knew he had to move.
He adjusted his hair. He straightened his posture until the trembles stopped. When he turned the corner and stepped onto the bustling street, the killer was gone. In his place stood a face like any other. He was just one of many silhouettes moving through the gray light of the afternoon.
Young men and boys were already swarming the sidewalks, their eyes burning with the desperate need to answer the call to arms.
"Next!"
"Next!"
Werner looked up. He found himself standing before a desk. A man in a crisp American Navy uniform barked at the crowd. He looked exhausted but sharp.
"Come forward."
Werner nodded with a practiced, shy hesitation. He tucked his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, pushing his voice into a flatter, more American tone.
"Sir. I wish to fight for my country. I wish to join the Navy."
He raised his chin. He made sure to let a flicker of fear show in his eyes. It was the look of a patriot who was scared but determined. It was a mask he wore perfectly.
The officer studied him for a long moment. He noted the broad shoulders and the sharp, disciplined lines of Werner's face. The man lingered on Werner's eyes, and for a second.
"How old are you?" the man asked. He looked past Werner at the line of boys who looked like they had never seen a day of hard labor.
"Thirty," Werner answered.
"Name?" The officer began writing on a form.
"William Carry," Werner said, without any shame.
"Identification?"
Werner reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a worn leather wallet and handed the documents over. He watched the officer's finger trace the paper. Finally, the man nodded. In that moment, Werner became William Carry.
The medical exam afterward was quick. The doctors checked his heart and eyes, stamped his papers, and sent him to the next station. By the next morning, Werner was on a train leaving Grand Central Terminal. The cars were crowded with loud, nervous young men. He found a seat by the window and stayed silent.
They arrived at the Sampson Naval Training Station by Seneca Lake a few hours later. The base was a huge collection of gray wooden barracks and gravel paths. As soon as the train doors opened, the atmosphere changed.
"Off the train! Line up now!"
Werner grabbed his small bag and stepped onto the platform. He joined the rows of men forming up in the cold wind. He kept his posture slightly slumped to look less like a soldier and more like a civilian. A Chief Petty Officer paced in front of them, his voice raw from years of yelling. Werner stared into the sky, showing no emotion.
They were marched to a supply building. He was handed a sea bag and a stack of navy blue uniforms. He changed out of his suit and into the stiff clothes of a recruit.
"Hey, I am Matthew." The recruit at the next bunk reached out his hand.
Werner took a moment to scan the room. He looked at the basic wooden bunks and the rows of lockers that would be their only privacy for the next few weeks.
"William," Werner answered. His tone was dull. He shook Matthew's hand with a lazy, brief grip.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. He did not say anything, but he quickly turned his attention to the other men in the barracks. He began introducing himself to the rest of the group while Werner sat back down on his thin mattress.
Werner stared at his boots. He let the chatter of the excited teenagers fade into the distance. He was here to work, not to make friends. He needed the Navy to take him across the ocean. It was his only path home.
Slowly, he clenched his fist, his resolve tightening once again.
"I have to get back to Germany once again," he thought. "I have to see him once again."
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