The Flames of Chaos (2)
1858.
The unity of the United States, which had barely managed to hold its shape until now, was slowly reaching its breaking point.
The Black Creek plantation raid was like a signal flare announcing the completion of this fracture.
It served as the moment that made it widely known across the nation that the federal government, which was supposed to resolve the conflicts of the entire Union, possessed neither the capability nor the will to do so.
"Mr. Speaker, I have handled everything as you instructed."
"Good. You've done well."
Peters intended to use this railroad bridge bombing incident as a catalyst to definitively cut off any path of retreat for the Buchanan administration, ensuring they could no longer live like fence-sitters.
If every legislator in the South were composed of Fire-Eaters and the administration began to unconditionally side with the South, the Northern bastards would surely have a seizure first.
Then, naturally, the South would gain a clear, undeniable justification for independence.
"With this holy war, our South will finally grasp true freedom. Miles, your role is critical. There must not be a single mistake, so prepare thoroughly once more."
"Of course. I have already checked everything several times, and I have certainly shared the plan with Sett."
"Oh? And what did he say he would do?"
"He said he would bring three slaves he can trust as his escort. He mentioned that since he needs to flee quickly once the operation is over, he cannot bring any more people than that."
"Three, is it..."
That was a reasonable selection, as it would allow for a sufficiently quick escape.
Though it would be his misfortune that the standard for 'reasonable' was based on himself, not James.
"Three should be enough to handle it, right?"
"Of course. But are you truly certain about this? Shooting a big shot like Sett..."
"It's not a matter of being certain; it must be done. Blowing up the railroad bridge is a decent idea, but a fool like Buchanan could even gloss over that. We need a massive tragedy that will make the entire South rise up."
James Sett, the pride of the South, discovers a conspiracy by Northern radicals to blow up the railroad bridge and is martyred while trying to stop them.
What event could possibly stir Southern public opinion more than this?
"Then, what about the bridge..."
"It doesn't matter what happens to the bridge."
"I suppose you're right. The most important thing is the work you are doing, Mr. Speaker."
"Indeed. When I become the hero who resolves all these events, our Mississippi and the South will be able to march toward the path of true freedom."
He still couldn't tell if James Sett was truly on their side or just pretending to be. But if the plan proceeded this way, it didn't matter what James's true intentions were.
He would be remembered for generations as a Southern hero who sacrificed his life to protect the South.
To this end, he had gone through the trouble of recruiting men who were expendable enough to be used and discarded.
"Now, the old era will come to an end, and a true empire of white men, reigning over the slaves, will be born."
The moderates asked if the South could be self-sufficient once independent, or how the country could be maintained without the massive market of the North, but they were ignorant.
If they simply annexed Cuba and Mexico, and further occupied South America to create a massive slave empire centered around the Caribbean, it would be more than enough to fill the void left by the North.
He would be the very person to raise the curtain on this great slave empire.
The sound of cannon fire, signaling the prelude to a historic war, was already ringing in his ears.
Finally, the day of the operation arrived.
I headed to the rendezvous point with my closest aides, Leo, Ben, and Henry, along with Will.
"You all have clearly memorized the operation plan, right? It could be dangerous, so we must finish it as quickly as possible."
"Yes!"
"Trust us!"
In front of the Pearl River railroad bridge, about 20km away from the Jackson Capitol.
With all preparations complete, I entered the bushes.
As I waited, wearing a mask so as not to stand out, a group of over twenty masked men approached us.
The man at the very front stepped forward, scanned the surroundings, and whispered in a low voice.
"The early bird..."
"...catches the worm."
Since everyone's faces were covered, the only way to verify identities was the pre-arranged password.
Once identities were confirmed, the man standing in front removed his mask and gave a light bow.
Leo, who was wearing a mask, stepped forward pretending to be me and gave a slight nod.
"I am Miles, serving the Speaker. Are you Mr. Sett?"
"That is correct. Is the Speaker currently at the Capitol?"
"Yes. He has the most important business to attend to."
"But to blow up the railroad bridge, don't you need to bring gunpowder? I don't see any carts."
The Pearl River railroad bridge is, quite literally, a steel bridge.
Firing guns at it wouldn't even make it budge; it would require the dangerous, laborious task of burying a massive amount of gunpowder before detonating it to collapse it.
If dynamite existed, I would have just blown up a bunch of that, but such things didn't exist yet.
However, the Miles gang in front of me hadn't brought a single wagon or cart loaded with gunpowder.
Moreover, no sooner had he finished speaking than they began to shift their positions, surrounding us in a way that made their intentions painfully obvious to anyone.
"Well, well, are you really going to stab me in the back this blatantly?"
"I apologize. But personally, I respect Mr. Sett. It is just regrettable that things had to come to this."
"Respect? I suppose we hot-blooded Southern men show our respect with guns?"
As Leo let out a hollow laugh, Miles lowered his gaze as if he were truly remorseful and sighed.
"Mr. Sett, who saved countless lives with oral rehydration solution, perfectly trained the Black people, and even silenced the Boston newspapers, is a man worthy of being called a hero of the South. However, the Speaker believes that a hero's epic must ultimately be completed as a tragedy. It means that the hero's noble sacrifice can bind our South together even more firmly."
Wow, leave it to a deranged radical to come up with such an absurd excuse.
In truth, I had secretly suspected that Peters didn't trust me and was taking this opportunity to eliminate me, as I might become a future liability.
And if that were the case, I would have been willing to admire Peters's thoroughness.
But to think he would actually come out and say, "You're a hero, so you must die for the sake of agitation."
As Leo shook his head and lowered the weapon in his hand, Miles's expression darkened even further.
"I apologize, but even if you surrender, I cannot spare you..."
"No, that's not it. It seems difficult to get out of this anyway, so let's just talk."
The type of human Miles was was obvious.
They cut other people's lives short, but they tell themselves, "This isn't what I want to do. I'm just acting on behalf of the organization's will, so it's not my fault."
People who operate with this kind of mental circuit usually try to grant one small request from their opponent to ease their conscience.
How do I know? Because I used to be like that, too.
As expected, Miles nodded as if he had no choice, like a victor granting one last mercy.
"I can't give you much time, but what are you curious about?"
"Did Speaker Peters think that making me a martyr would be better for inciting public opinion than cutting off the railroad bridge?"
"Yes. Even so, Mr. Sett will be remembered forever as the hero who blocked the North's railroad sabotage plot."
"Then are all the people here Fire-Eaters?"
"You could say that. I apologize, but we have a mission afterward, so we cannot delay any longer. It is regrettable that we cannot be with someone like Mr. Sett."
Yeah, yeah. That's regrettable for you.
I'm sorry, but I don't feel any regret at all; in fact, I'm quite happy.
Because I've confirmed that I don't need to feel even a speck of sympathy.
Miles's remark that it was regrettable he couldn't be with someone like Sett was, to some extent, sincere.
However, once Peters, the leader of the Fire-Eaters, had made the decision, he had no choice but to follow.
Of course, even if he said it was regrettable, he did not raise any objections to Peters.
He had merely listened to James's last few words to ease his own conscience.
He hadn't dragged out the time for long, either.
Because he had to kill James here, stage the situation as if there had been a gunfight, and then join Peters to lend a hand in the most important work.
"At the very least, the children of the new Southern empire to be founded in the future will learn of Mr. Sett as a great man forever."
Hoping, perhaps, that this fact would provide even a little comfort.
Toward Miles, who was trying to step back so as not to get caught in the gunfire, he let out a cold, mocking laugh.
"I'm sorry, but I don't want to be called a great man in a trashy country like that."
"...What did you say? Right now, you..."
Before he could even finish his sentence, James took off the mask he was wearing and threw it into the air.
"Huh?"
"...What?"
Surprisingly, the skin of the person who had taken off the mask and revealed his identity was black.
"...James Sett was a nigger?"
"How could that be, you idiot! It's a body double!"
Since no one had ever spoken directly to James Sett, no one had noticed the fact that the voice was different.
While they were frowning, trying to grasp the meaning of why he would set up a body double, it happened.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
"Aaaargh!"
"Ugh!"
"Am, ambush! It's an ambush!"
Dozens of gunshots rang out in an instant from the bushes that had been growing thickly on the left and right, and the colleagues standing behind him collapsed, blood spraying like fountains.
"Th, this is..."
As Miles, his mind numb from the unexpected situation, looked around, he saw dozens of black men poking their gun barrels out from the bushes.
Could it be that they had arrived and taken their positions long before them?
Then, did James Sett have the same intention as them?
No, there was no reason for him to do that.
Then, did he read their intentions in advance?
While Miles was flustered, the three people who had been wearing masks had already vanished from sight.
"Damn it! How could this happen..."
In the middle of the hail of gunfire and the rain of blood spraying like water, he couldn't understand this situation at all.
It was understandable that James Sett had anticipated their plan and hidden elsewhere.
However.
However!
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand how he had mistaken his slave, a nigger, for James Sett.
No, he didn't want to understand.
How could he accept the fact that he, Miles, the secretary to Mississippi Speaker John Peters and an executive of the Fire-Eaters, had been deceived by a nigger who wasn't even James Sett?
He was more shocked by the reality that he had been toyed with by a nigger than by the fact that he had been ambushed.
"No, no. It's not that I was deceived by a nigger; I was deceived by James Sett."
Surely, James Sett, the greatest slave master in the South, must have trained that slave with his ability.
Yes. That must be it.
While Miles, his mentality completely shattered, was blankly rationalizing to himself, his colleagues who had come with him were becoming cold corpses one by one from the gunfire of the black men they had despised so much.
In fact, this too was something that far transcended their understanding.
He had heard that James Sett had mobilized black men to mop up bandit gangs, but he had considered that possible only because the bandits were pathetic.
But what on earth was this?
The sight of dozens of black men aiming their guns and unleashing fire in perfect unison didn't look much different from a highly trained volunteer militia.
"James Sett... just... just what on earth is he thinking..."
Could this man really be organizing a personal guard using black men?
As if to provide an answer to that question.
A white man walked out from the bushes, removing his mask, crossing through the corpses of his colleagues who had been wiped out, leaving only him behind.
"Now that you're the only one left, shall we talk calmly?"
The black men, who stood in formation to the side as if the massacre they had just committed were nothing, stood straight.
And in the center of them, a white man reigned, not metaphorically, but like a true king.
"You said earlier that there was more work to be done besides this? I'd like to hear what that is."
At this bizarre spectacle, Miles felt an indescribable terror as a Fire-Eater and as a white man of the South.