October 1896 – Washington D.C.
Bradford had spent years observing President Matthew Hesh, learning his strengths and weaknesses. He understood that Matthew had a strong moral compass, that he believed Arathia’s war against Spain had been about justice, not conquest.
But Bradford had also learned sothing else—Matthew was vulnerable to public pressure.
It was clear now: if they wanted war, they wouldn’t need Matthew’s approval. They only needed the Arathian people to demand it.
And that’s exactly what Bradford intended to make happen.
Bradford sat in a private eting with a select group of senators, military officers, and industrialists—n who shared his vision for an Arathian empire.
A large map of the world was spread across the table in front of them. Arathia’s new holdings—Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines—were marked in red.
Bradford tapped the map with his index finger. "Gentlen, we’ve taken our first steps. But this? This is just the beginning."
One of the senators, William Carter, nodded. "The Philippines gives us control of the Pacific, but we need more. We need sothing closer to ho, sothing that we can easily integrate into Arathia."
Bradford smirked. "Exactly. We need sothing the people will support—a cause they can rally behind."
The n leaned in as Bradford continued.
"Matthew will never approve another war willingly. He’s too careful, too concerned with public opinion. But that’s his weakness—he cares what the people think."
"So we make the people want war."
A low murmur spread through the room.
Senator Jas Whitmore, a staunch expansionist, stroked his beard. "And what target are you suggesting?"
Bradford grinned and pointed to a spot on the map.
United States of xico.
"xico?" One of the military officers raised an eyebrow. "We have no reason to go to war with them."
Bradford leaned forward. "Not yet."
The room fell silent.
"xico is unstable. Their governnt is weak, their economy is in shambles, and their borders are undefended. If we take control of northern xico, we secure our southern border and gain valuable land and resources. But we need a reason."
The industrialist, Richard Hammond, folded his arms. "How do we create a reason?"
Bradford smirked, tapping the map of xico spread across the table. "We stage an incident."
The room went silent.
Senator William Carter raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that an?"
Bradford leaned forward, his fingers tracing the Arathian-xican border. "Simple. We create the conditions for war. We can’t convince the President to act, but we can convince the people. If the public demands war, Hesh won’t be able to resist."
The other n at the table—senators, military officers, industrialists—exchanged glances. So looked intrigued, others wary.
"How?" asked General Lawrence Mitchell, a high-ranking Army officer who had been a strong supporter of Arathian expansion.
Bradford sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "We use the press. We plant stories about xican bandits attacking Arathian citizens. We exaggerate instability. Make it seem like xico is incapable of controlling its own borders."
Senator Jas Whitmore nodded. "And once we stir up enough outrage?"
Bradford’s smirk widened. "Then we give them a real reason to go to war."
The n leaned in closer.
"We fake an attack," Bradford continued. "A border skirmish. Make it look like xican soldiers crossed into Arathian territory and slaughtered our n."
General Mitchell furrowed his brow. "That’s a dangerous move. If this backfires—"
"It won’t." Bradford cut him off. "We control the press, we control the narrative. By the ti anyone asks questions, Arathia will already be mobilizing."
Senator Carter tapped the table. "We’d need proof. Sothing to show the public."
Bradford nodded. "We’ll plant xican weapons at the site. Leave behind uniforms, bullet casings, docunts—whatever it takes. The mont the newspapers publish the story, the people will demand retribution."
Richard Hammond, a powerful industrialist, leaned forward. "And what about Hesh? He’s not stupid. He’ll question it."
Bradford chuckled. "Of course, he will. But it won’t matter. The pressure will be too great. The newspapers will be calling him weak. Senators will push for war. Protests will break out in every major city. The people won’t wait for diplomacy—they’ll want action. And Hesh will be forced to give it to them."
Silence filled the room as the weight of Bradford’s words sank in.
Then, General Mitchell exhaled. "If we’re doing this, we need the right location."
Bradford gestured toward the map. "Here." His finger rested on a small Arathian outpost along the border. "Fort McKinley. Isolated, close enough to xico that no one will question an attack."
Senator Whitmore nodded. "We’ll need n who can keep their mouths shut."
Bradford smirked. "I already have people in mind."
Late October 1896 – Fort McKinley, Arathian-xican Border
It happened just after midnight.
A group of Arathian soldiers—handpicked by Bradford—moved in silence, positioning themselves around the outpost.
Inside, the stationed troops had no idea what was about to happen.
The first gunshots rang out, shattering the night.
Explosions followed as the attackers—disguised in xican Army uniforms—rushed in, firing into buildings, setting supplies on fire. The chaos lasted less than twenty minutes.
When it was over, dozens of Arathian soldiers lay dead.
Bradford’s n planted forged docunts, xican rifles, and ammunition crates marked with the insignia of the xican Army before disappearing into the night.
The next morning, the bodies were discovered.
By noon, the newspapers had the story.
October 28, 1896 – Washington D.C.
The headlines were everywhere.
"Massacre at Fort McKinley—xican Soldiers Slaughter Arathian Troops!"
"Border Under Siege—How Long Will We Stand By?"
"Arathia Must Retaliate!"
Within hours, protests erupted in every major city. The streets were filled with thousands of angry citizens, waving flags, chanting for war.
In Congress, senators demanded imdiate military action.
Bradford sat in his office, watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied smirk.
It had worked.
Now, all that was left was for Matthew Hesh to fall into the trap.
Matthew slamd the newspaper onto his desk, his jaw clenched. Across from him, Sinclair, Alden, Welles, and Bradford stood in silence.
"What the hell happened?" Matthew’s voice was cold.
Sinclair inhaled sharply. "Fort McKinley was attacked, sir. Over forty Arathian soldiers dead. The reports confirm that xican forces were responsible."
Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Who confird it?"
Bradford stepped forward. "The evidence is undeniable. xican weapons were found at the site, along with military docunts from their officers. The press has already published the details."
Matthew stared at him. Sothing felt off. It was too convenient.
"And where were the survivors?" Matthew asked. "Did we capture any xican soldiers?"
Sinclair hesitated. "No, sir. The attackers retreated."
Matthew’s hands tightened into fists. "So let get this straight—an entire xican unit crosses the border, kills forty of our n, and then just vanishes without a trace?"
Bradford shrugged. "They knew what they were doing. They didn’t want to leave witnesses."
Experience tales with .Côm
Matthew didn’t believe a word of it.
But before he could push further, Sinclair dropped a docunt onto his desk. "Mr. President, Congress is already drafting a declaration of war."
Matthew’s breath slowed. "Without my approval?"
Bradford nodded. "The people want justice. If you don’t act, they’ll do it for you."
"What the heck, I need to contact their ambassador. I an this is just too ridiculous on the side of the xicans. We defeated them in a war not long ago…"
"It seems that the xicans want to go again," Bradford replied.
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