Free NEXT BEST HOPE (The Revelation Trilogy) by Stephen Woodfin

would go.
    “Of course, war is notoriously unpredictable,” he concluded.
    “You ain’t a kidding,” Leadoff said. “We could get our asses handed to us.”
    “What can we do to nip the whole thing in the bud, to cut off the threat of war before shots are fired?” President Whitfield asked.
    “I am certain CM has something up its sleeve to incite the people to fight for them,” Sherman said. “That is why everything is so difficult to assess. We don’t know if it is a terrorist strike, a straight out attack on one of our bases, or what.”
    “What’s the most unconventional response I can make?” Whitfield asked.
    “I heard one of the Civil Rights workers say a long time ago that the main thing was that you had to be willing to accept the casualties,” Ert said. “It will be a hard saying if the time comes.”
    “I’m not sure if I can stand by and allow those Christians to become that murderous,” Bass said. “At some point, we will have to stand and fight.”
    Ert said, “I think CM believes that day will be far off. That Americans will be slow to fire on each other, so that they can walk away from the Union with no dire consequences. Maybe the thing to do is figure a way to squeeze them where it hurts before things gets out of hand.”
    The strategy session continued deep into the night and early morning. By the time everyone got in bed, the sun was almost up.
    Despite his late night, Ert rose at first light and went out on the patio overlooking the city to contemplate the next steps of the Whitfield administration. About six o’clock, he received a call from Leadoff.
    “Looks like we may need to re-think that business about economic sanctions as a first step?” he said.
    “Why’s that? I thought it was a good plan,” Ert said.
    “Because I just got a call from Sherman,” Leadoff said. “A group of CM operatives seized control of Shiloh National Military Park this morning at day break. They’ve taken the park rangers prisoners and raised the CM flag. They are armed to the teeth and dug in for the duration.”
    “Sonsofbitches,” Ert said as he hung up the phone, threw on some clothes and headed for the White House.

CHAPTER 20
     
    THE MORNING THE standoff at Shiloh began, a tall slump-shouldered man with thinning brown hair parked at Union Station two blocks from the federal courthouse in Nashville. As he stepped out of his car, a summer squall spewed its last drops of rain, and he hiked his sport coat over his head to keep dry. In his left hand, he held a perfect bound book, shrink-wrapped to protect it from the elements.
    As he walked towards the entrance to the courthouse, he saw steam rising from the sidewalk like tiny geysers, and he couldn’t avoid the rivulets draining to the storm sewers. The shoes he shined at the hotel earlier that morning, splotched by the detritus of the homeless rinsed from the harsh pavement, squeegeed on the slick marble floor as he stepped in line in front of the metal detector. By the time he placed his personal items on the X-ray conveyor belt, his shirt was wringing wet with sweat, and he looked like a wilted elephant ear in a neglected garden.
    The guards went on high alert when they saw him.
    “State your business, sir,” one of them said.
    “I’m here to see J. Franklin Westmoreland,” the man said.
    “He isn’t allowed any visitors,” the guard said. “Please take your belongings and exit through the door to your right.”
    The man stood his ground, reached into his shirt pocket and drew out his business card. On the back were a name and a phone number. He handed it to the guard who looked at him quizzically.
    “Captain Hollister said you should call him if you have any questions,” the man said.
    The guard examined the front of the card and the hand-written information on the back. Without saying anything, he walked across the lobby to an old steel desk, picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card. The man could not make out