All Is Well, At Last

Different leaders take us in unthinkable directions

Praeses Militaris MacArthur stood in front of the desk, pacing as he spoke: the magnificent captain pacing before his wheel, steering the juggernaut through seas he's sure he can calm.

"My fellow Americans," he rumbled in his stentorian basso. "This wonderful country of the United States is uniquely positioned to reestablish and maintain the demonstrable principles of peace and freedom for our far-eastern cousins before Communism metastasizes in China and Russia." The great man paced and spoke with an eloquence that was far beyond the conscious grasp of most citizens, but was so impressive that its very complexity projected a sense of confidence.

"Korea has been given into the hands of now-free men, and we have led the free world, in the form of the United Nations, to close the gate on Communism's return."

He stood still, looking down at his desk in thought. The television cameras whirred as he contemplated the cigar in the ashtray—no jaunty cigarette like that insidious pretender to power, Roosevelt.

"Victory in battle is the only option for peace," he finally resumed, looking squarely in the camera. "To achieve this supreme goal, I have authorized Generals Ridgeway and Hampton to deploy tactical atomic weapons in Manchuria and East Germany. We are all weary of the ravages of combat. But more exhausted shall we be, less peacefully will we be in spirit, if we allow other humans to be bound and broken under the yoke of the great scourge of Communism.

"My fellow Americans: we are officially at war."

A collective sigh issued up from the cities and dark farms of the American continent. The President Martial was in control; they would all sleep soundly, ensconced in the jingoistic balm of his rhetoric.

America was at her best; America was once again finally at war.

(Word Count: 300)