Reap What You Sow
The situation was spiraling out of control with terrifying speed.
The governor’s office in Milledgeville already looked like a miniature version of the South facing its apocalypse. Outside the window, the faint, acrid scent of smoke—likely rising from the outskirts of the city—was already drifting in, and in the distance, the cathedral bells were tolling frantically, a sound that could have been a warning or a funeral dirge.
“Governor! We have additional reports from Macon. They’re requesting reinforcements!”
“They’re moving north along the railway! The numbers…!”
Before the report could even finish, a scream erupted from a messenger at the opposite door.
“It’s not five thousand! Ten thousand! At least ten thousand! They’re looting every warehouse they can find. Some of them are armed with rifles—the militia alone can’t stop them!”
The very regions that had claimed they couldn’t spare a single militiaman just moments ago were now begging for rescue.
Meanwhile, our Governor Joseph Brown, who possessed a grand total of thirty men at his disposal, was staring blankly, his eyes darting back and forth like a man who had lost his mind. Realizing that any hope of additional reinforcements had completely vanished, he took a deep, shuddering breath.
Then, as if he had finally found a target for his rage, he slammed his fist onto the desk.
BANG!
An inkwell tipped over with a loud clatter, spilling its contents across the desk.
“Davis! Jefferson Davis! It’s all that incompetent President’s fault!”
Wait, he’s suddenly pointing the finger at the President?
“Governor?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Colonel Seuret? Why on earth would those filthy niggers start a riot here in Georgia of all places!”
That would be because I chose this place.
If Atlanta falls into the hands of the Union Army, the South will be like a paraplegic cut in half at the waist.
“It’s because that man conscripted all of Georgia’s elite troops and sent them to Virginia! He stripped us of all our supplies, too! That’s why those lackeys of John Brown thought we were an easy target, an empty house!”
Of course, from the Governor of Georgia’s perspective, that’s the only way he could see it. In truth, while the governor’s initial response had been complacent, he hadn’t exactly done anything bizarre. No one could have predicted a riot of this scale.
“Johnston in Atlanta is just as bad! He hasn’t fought a single battle, just wasted supplies! And now, it’s come to this…!”
If I had all the time in the world, I wouldn’t mind listening to his hysterics, but it was time to move.
I interrupted his tantrum with a voice that was polite, yet firm.
“Governor. Are you declaring that the Georgia state government is officially incapable of handling this situation?”
My question momentarily halted his soaring rage. He stared blankly at the spilled ink staining the documents, then stammered, barely able to open his mouth.
“…Colonel Seuret. If… if you were to take command, could you handle this?”
I crushed his hope without a second of hesitation.
“How could I possibly do that?”
“…What?”
“However, it will be possible to escape Milledgeville alive.”
“Wha… what? Escape! Are you telling me, the Governor of Georgia, to abandon Georgia and run away!”
He was horrified, but he didn’t dare deny it. He knew it, too.
Of course, I had strictly instructed my agents to ensure no innocent victims were harmed, save for the truly wicked ones who needed to be made an example of. But the Governor and the other Dixie men here had no way of knowing that.
Objectively, from a third-party perspective, out of 460,000 Black people, 10,000 had become rioters in a single day, and that number was estimated to be 30,000 to 50,000 by the second day. At this rate, every Black person in Georgia had to be viewed as a potential rioter.
The issue wasn’t suppression; they had to worry about whether they could even make it out of the state alive.
Governor Joseph Brown seemed to realize this, biting his lip, unable to make a decision. But I didn’t need to rush him.
CRASH!
The office door was literally smashed open, the hinges flying off. This time, it wasn’t a messenger, but a sweat-drenched member of the State Assembly who tumbled in. It was quite a sight to see the faces of these noble, usually composed gentlemen turned completely pale with terror.
“Joseph! We have to leave here right now!”
“W-what are you talking about! I am the Governor of Georgia! I must…!”
“Georgia is finished, you idiot! Do you intend to let us all die here?”
The assemblyman wailed, grabbing my arm. “Colonel Seuret! Right? The hero of Mississippi! You have that Black unit! That elite guard of yours! Please, take us—take at least our families and get us out of here!”
“They’re… they’ve reached the 10-mile mark outside Milledgeville! The whole city is burning!”
“They’re going to kill us all! Please!”
“Colonel Seuret! The Governor says he’ll stay and fight, so let’s just get out of here ourselves. You can just say you were escorting us.”
True, I had originally planned to use the Governor as an excuse to get out, but the escort target didn’t necessarily have to be the Governor. The assemblymen were high-priority targets as well, so if I took them, my job would be done.
As I truly began to prepare to leave with the assemblymen, the Governor sighed deeply, closing his eyes tight as if he had no other choice.
“…Colonel. Have you… decided on an escape route?”
Good.
Now, this wasn’t a voluntary retreat, but a strategic withdrawal to protect the Governor and the assemblymen.
“Of course. My peacekeeping forces and I will escort everyone here to safety. Let’s depart immediately.”
There was no time to pack documents or personal belongings. As we rushed out of the office, the hallway was already a scene of chaos, with officials screaming and fleeing.
“My carriage! Where is my carriage!”
“Don’t push! The rioters haven’t reached this far yet, so everyone stay calm…!”
“Sir, it’s absolute chaos over there. Let’s take the side path.”
The elite guard led by Ben and Henry cleared a path. The assemblymen scrambled onto the carriages, fighting over who would board first, while Joseph Brown, looking completely shell-shocked, was helped onto a horse by Henry.
And so, we slipped out of the city via the pre-arranged safety route.
When we had ridden for a while and reached a hill on the outskirts of Milledgeville, someone looked back.
The night sky was stained red, as if blood were seeping from a wound. From Savannah, from Atlanta, from Columbus, and now from Milledgeville, which we had just escaped—dozens, hundreds of massive pillars of smoke were covering the Georgia sky.
The scent of ash and soot hit us on the wind. In the distance, the sound of tens of thousands of people—whether cheering or screaming, it was impossible to tell—faintly echoed like the cries of beasts.
“Ugh… ugh!”
Governor Brown couldn’t hold himself on the horse and vomited up the dinner he had just eaten. He collapsed over his saddle, sobbing.
“Georgia… my home… has become hell.”
I watched the red sky in silence. They wouldn’t know it, but most of those who lost their lives in this situation were people who had accumulated enough karma that my agents couldn’t have stopped the outcome even if they tried. The same went for those who lost all their property.
If you sow seeds, the time for harvest will inevitably return—that is the way of the world. The Dixie men were simply reaping the season of their own karma.
While Georgia was being completely torn apart, General Johnston, the Confederate commander fighting fiercely against the Union Army, was completely unaware of the facts and was having a miserable time.
Confederate Field Headquarters, Atlanta outer trench line.
Supplies had been delayed for two days already. The supply train that should have departed from Savannah hadn’t arrived.
“What on earth is going on!”
Johnston growled, glaring at the map. It wasn’t as if they were asking for luxury items; they needed food and ammunition delivered on time.
“What does the supply officer say! Has the telegraph line been cut?”
“That… something is strange, General.”
The staff officer replied, fidgeting with the report with a troubled expression. “If they were late, we should have at least received a response saying so, but there’s nothing. It’s the same for both Savannah and Atlanta.”
“No response?”
Johnston furrowed his brow. Just as he was wondering if something had happened in the rear, an observer in the watchtower shouted.
“Sherman’s army has begun to move!”
“Damn it! All troops, prepare for defense!”
Johnston rushed out and raised his binoculars. But contrary to his expectations, Sherman’s army wasn’t launching an offensive. They were widening their line, moving as if to pin them down.
“…What is that?”
He couldn’t understand why the enemy, who should be launching an offensive, was acting like that. “Could it be that they’re having supply issues too?”
“If so, that’s a relief, General! They must have reached their limit, too. If we can just buy a few more days…”
Logically, it was self-evident that the burden on the attacker was far greater than on the defender. By all common sense, that should have been the case, but… a day passed, then two, and still, the supplies didn’t arrive.
Johnston was now beyond anxious; he was feeling rage.
“You incompetent, useless bastards! What the hell are you doing!”
He was just about to send an ultimatum that if they continued to neglect supplies, he would have no choice but to abandon the front line, when—
“General…! General! Georgia… it’s a disaster! They say Georgia has been devastated!”
“What are you talking about! Is it the Union cavalry? Are you saying they cleverly flanked our units?”
“No! It’s the niggers! Tens of thousands… maybe hundreds of thousands! They’ve destroyed the railways! They say the railway to Atlanta is cut and the bridges have collapsed!”
Thump.
Johnston’s heart sank. It wasn’t just that the telegraph was cut… the telegraph office had been occupied?
“The port! What about the port of Savannah?”
“The port is paralyzed, too! The warehouses have all been burned or looted, and the militia has lost all functionality.”
At the same time, absurd requests poured in from all directions.
“General! A request for rescue from Macon!”
“Militia annihilated in Albany! They’re begging for reinforcements immediately.”
Johnston screamed at the situation, with over 100,000 Union troops in front of him and cries for help coming from everywhere else.
“Don’t these idiots know that dividing the army is suicide!”
What was he supposed to do when those in the rear were asking for soldiers from those on the front line?
“But General! If the supplies don’t arrive, we can’t fight here any longer anyway.”
“This… is fucking bullshit.”
Johnston gritted his teeth. “Take only the 2nd and 4th Brigades and send them south to suppress…”
However, the enemy, in their pettiness, wouldn’t allow Johnston to send his troops. Whether by coincidence or design, as soon as the requests for reinforcements began, Sherman’s army suddenly became active and resumed their attack.
“General! The Union Army is showing signs of striking our left flank. They’ve suddenly started shelling…!”
“Haa… damn it. Cancel the reinforcement deployment. Set up a defensive posture immediately.”
They were already short on manpower; if they lost any more, they wouldn’t be able to handle the Union Army pushing in. A dilemma. It was a perfect trap.
Johnston shouted with bloodshot eyes.
“Why must I, who am responsible for the battlefield, also be responsible for the rebellion in the rear! Governor! Where the hell is Joseph Brown and what is he doing!”
The staff officer swallowed hard and delivered the most devastating report.
“That… General…”
“Speak!”
“The Governor… two days ago, he fled outside of Georgia under the escort of Colonel Seuret.”
“…….”
Johnston let out a hollow laugh. Fled, my ass—that meant he ran away. The leadership had already abandoned the capital and run, yet he, a soldier, was left on the front line defending Atlanta?
Were they supposed to shed blood and fight to defend a city that wouldn’t be surprised if the niggers took it over tomorrow? Johnston realized that if he, the commander, was thinking this, what must the soldiers be thinking?
“Immediately! Issue a gag order so this news doesn’t spread! Absolutely…!”
But unless he could fire a brainwashing beam, there was no way to stop such rumors from spreading. The next day, across the trench line, which had entered a brief lull, the voices of the Union soldiers drifted over.
“Hey, I heard your base got looted by the niggers?”
“Geez, you pathetic losers. How do you live to get a rebellion started by Black people?”
“Before you talk about independence, you’d better learn to manage your own house.”
The mockery of the Union Army pierced deeper than bullets, and Johnston’s army lost the will to defend. This wasn’t his fault. Johnston was genuinely, deeply resentful.