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Forged in Iron and Ambition (Web Novel) - Chapter 845: Downfall
Chapter 845: Downfall
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Roosevelt sat within his bunker complex. He had not seen the light of day since the war began to take a turn for the worse.He had been down here the entire time. Eating, sleeping, and undergoing medical treatment for his condition. All while doing his best to keep things together.
To keep America together...
Even after taking a strategic withdrawal to the Northeastern states, and building what one might consider a fortress, Roosevelt found the last vestiges of control slipping from his fingers with each passing day.
Like sand in a sieve, it was inevitable that sooner or later every grain would spill over. Maps were drawn across the table, as he sat in his wheelchair gazing upon the ever-shifting borders of what had been the United States.
Alaska had been taken over by the Russians; the South had once more declared itself independent and sovereign. The Midwest had broken up from a single coalition into two. And west of the Rockies anarchy prevailed.
Even the Pacific Union was struggling to hold on to everything it had managed to get its hands on.
But that didn’t interest Roosevelt, not at the moment. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the former capital of the United States: Washington D.C.
The city was split int two, half of it occupied by the resurgent Confederate States of America. Which most simply referred to as the New Confederacy... and the other half was occupied by Roosevelt’s men.
Tensions had stalled for a time. But now... now open war was on the table.
MacArthur sat at the table smoking a cigarette. His expression was haggard and defeated. Even if his words asserted victory was within the realm of possibility.
"If we move the 2nd Armored Division here before the South officially declares itself at war, we may be able to cut off the forces they have already within the city limits from any further aid. In other words, we need to make a choice. Do we pre-emptively attack, and in doing so sever their supply lines... or do we sit idly by and wait for them to make the first move?"
In the past, MacArthur would have been far bolder and decisive within his role. But over the years he had watched the United States lose the war without ever seeing its enemy’s borders.
He had seen his colleagues die in the field time and again, and had been little more than a witness as the home front collapsed into civil strife and secession.
The only reason he was even sitting at this table acting as the general of Roosevelt’s failed regime was because he was the last man qualified to do so.
Roosevelt reached forward, his hand shaking as he grabbed the piece representing the 2nd Armored Division.
A unit that was a hollow shell of its former self. To even refer to its current state as an armored division was an insult to its former glory.
He gazed upon the wooden piece, and how it was carved in the shape of a Liberty tank. He had designed the heavy tank thinking it would compete with German armor. And yet, it had proven to be little more than a monumental waste of good steel.
It was only now that he realized the height of his hubris, and the extent of the damage it had caused for his entire nation.
His grip did not grow stronger despite his attempts to strengthen it; if anything it loosened as his breath began to stir erratically.
"I had only.... Only... Only...."
The piece fell from Roosevelt’s hand as he fell back into his seat, seizing on the spot. Roosevelt’s aides immediately jumped out of their chairs, trying to provide first aid while waiting for the physician to arrive.
"Doctor! The President has fallen! He needs his doctor now!"
While Roosevelt foamed at the mouth, MacArthur sat, smoking still, staring at the last President of the United States of America, with complete and total indifference in his eyes.
The Doctor arrived, but he was too late. The President no longer had a pulse when he checked it.
And while they tried to resuscitate the man, carrying him off to the hospital wing of the underground bunker complex there was nothing that could be done.
On July 27th, 1942, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was pronounced dead, and any dream of a United States of America died with him....
---
Bruno almost did not believe the news when he read it. President Franklin Roosevelt had died of cardiac arrest within an underground bunker, somewhere in the state of Delaware.
His passing received little significance in the news. A single page, if even that, of the morning paper mentioned it.
And Bruno could only sit in solemn quiet for the remainder of the morning. For too long, the United States had been a thorn in his side. For too long, he had plotted its downfall. And now his dream had finally been realized.
He had no doubt that whoever was set to succeed Roosevelt would declare their little rump state its own sovereign identity, free from the tarnished banners of the old United States.
And in doing so, the man would condemn the United States of America to the history books.
Not as a beacon of moral virtue, or proof that a constitutional republic could rise to the greatest heights.
But as just another failed experiment in the record of human governance.
Bruno did not pour himself a glass of wine; he did not toast the passing of an enemy. He simply turned the page and read the next story that interested him.
After all, Roosevelt’s passing was not the end of the war. No... the Civil War in the United States had just entered its climax. And if the war was still ongoing, then Bruno had no true reason to celebrate.
Roosevelt may be dead, but Bruno’s duty was yet unfulfilled. Even if the last major obstacle to his total victory had just been buried beneath the Earth.
From this moment onwards, Bruno knew that the war had entered its final stages. One where he simply had to sit back, and wait for the final results to reveal themselves.
