March 6th, 1886.
The soft crackle of Matthew Hesh’s fireplace filled his office as he poured over maps and old books. His gaze fell on a historical volu titled "The Border Wars of Tejas: Arathia and xico’s Long Rivalry". He leaned back in his chair, flipping through the pages to remind himself of the conflict that had shaped two nations.
The Grand Republic of Arathia and the United States of xico had been at odds for decades. The trouble began years ago when settlers from Arathia migrated into the region of Tejas, then a part of xico. The vast, fertile plains were a farr’s dream, and soon, thousands of settlers had established towns and communities.
xico, already struggling with its vast borders and internal discontent, attempted to impose stricter control over Tejas. But the settlers resisted. In 1836, the people of Tejas declared their independence, driven by a mix of frontier spirit and defiance against xico’s distant authority.
When the Grand Republic of Arathia accepted Tejas into the Union years later, xico saw it as a blatant theft. Ever since, bitterness had lingered. The two nations brokered uneasy truces, but the United States of xico never accepted the loss of Tejas. Border disputes flared from ti to ti, each incident fueling old resentnts.
Closing the book, Matthew muttered to himself. "Just like what happened in my previous world…but slightly different."
***
The borderlands of Tejas were an unforgiving stretch of wilderness dotted with frontier towns and forts. In the dry afternoon heat, a column of Arathian soldiers marched along a dusty road near the Rio Grande River, rifles slung over their shoulders. Their commander, Captain Elias Thornton, squinted toward the southern horizon.
"Damn quiet today," Thornton muttered, the leather of his gloves creaking as he adjusted his hat. He didn’t trust quiet days on the Tejas-xico border. The locals had reported increased xican troop movents on the other side of the river for weeks now, but so far, nothing had co of it.
Nearby, Corporal Sam Harlow dismounted his horse and scanned the treeline. "Sothing doesn’t feel right, Captain," he said under his breath.
Thornton nodded in agreent. "Keep the n sharp. If they’re out there, we’ll see them soon enough."
***
It started with a single shot.
The report of a rifle echoed across the stillness of the riverbank, and a young private crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest. Thornton spun around, bellowing orders. Find adventures on .Côm
"Ambush! Take cover! Return fire!"
xican troops, wearing faded green uniforms, erged from the treeline in force, their rifles cracking as they unleashed a hail of bullets. The Arathian soldiers dove for cover, scrambling behind rocks and trees as the air filled with smoke and the sll of gunpowder.
Thornton ducked as a bullet whizzed past his head. "Hold the line, damn it!" he roared. He grabbed a rifle from a fallen man and fired back, the recoil jolting through his shoulder.
Corporal Harlow shouted over the chaos. "They’re flanking us on the left!"
Thornton’s heart sank as he spotted the xican troops moving to cut them off. The Arathians were outnumbered, pinned down, and with no reinforcents in sight.
After an hour of desperate fighting, Thornton knew the battle was lost. "Fall back!" he shouted. "Back to the fort!"
The survivors scrambled to retreat, dragging wounded comrades with them. The xican forces, now in control of the skirmish site, let out triumphant cheers as the Arathians retreated across the border.
By the ti the smoke cleared, twenty Arathian soldiers lay dead, their bodies scattered along the riverbank like grim reminders of war.
***
In the capital city of Columbia, the Grand Assembly Hall was packed with politicians, military leaders, and anxious journalists. President Theodore Clay stood at the podium, his stern expression reflected across the room.
The assembly quieted as the President’s deep voice filled the chamber.
"Fellow citizens of Arathia," Clay began, his words steady, "an unforgivable act of aggression has been committed against our nation. Yesterday, twenty brave Arathian soldiers were ambushed and slain in cold blood along our border with xico."
A murmur of anger rippled through the room.
"For too long, the United States of xico has tested our patience. Their refusal to accept the sovereignty of Tejas has brought us to this mont. We did not seek conflict, but conflict has been forced upon us."
President Clay’s voice grew louder, filled with conviction.
"As President of the Grand Republic, I will not allow these acts of violence to go unanswered. I have issued a formal declaration of war against the United States of xico. Our soldiers will march, our ships will sail, and this aggression will be t with the full strength of Arathia!"
The hall erupted into cheers and applause, though the undercurrent of tension remained.
Outside, crowds had already gathered, waving Arathian flags and shouting patriotic slogans. The city echoed with the sound of marching boots, drumrs beating out rhythms as soldiers paraded through the streets in preparation for deploynt.
***
The next morning, Matthew sat in the corner of The Iron Tap, the familiar tavern now unusually quiet. A stack of newspapers lay in front of him, freshly delivered and still slling of ink.
The bold headline of the Sylvania Tribune dominated the page:
"WAR DECLARED! PRESIDENT CLAY CALLS FOR NATIONAL UNITY"
Matthew’s eyes scanned the article, his heart pounding with each word. Reports of the border skirmish were detailed—twenty dead, dozens wounded, and the xican troops retreating just as quickly as they had struck.
Robert Anders entered the tavern, his face grim as he joined Matthew. "You’ve seen it, haven’t you?"
Matthew nodded, his expression unreadable. "War."
Robert leaned back, exhaling sharply. "They’re saying the first wave of troops will move south by the end of the week. The Army’s going to need rifles, machine guns… everything we can give them."
Matthew folded the paper and set it aside. "Then we’ll make sure they have it."
Robert hesitated. "Matt, this war… it’s going to cost us. In n, in resources, in everything. Are we ready for that?"
Matthew’s gaze hardened, his mind already racing with plans. "We have no choice, Robert. We’re not just building weapons anymore—we’re defending the Republic."
Outside the tavern, church bells began to ring, their somber tones carried across the streets of Sylvania. War had arrived, and the factories of Hesh Industries would soon beco the beating heart of Arathia’s war machine.
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