Chapter 2: The Iron Cavalry Rides

While waiting for news from Michael, Harrison never rested.

He paced the halls of the old estate, boots thudding on hardwood floors, every window showing a slice of Maple Heights—kids playing stickball, church bells ringing, the city’s heartbeat steady and strong. Harrison’s mind raced, always planning, always searching for an edge.

First, he personally selected three hundred elite cavalry from Marcus’s division as his personal guard for leading charges.

He walked the training grounds at dawn, the skyline glowing pink. Each of the chosen three hundred was handpicked—tough, loyal, quick on their feet. Harrison shook hands, clapped backs, and gave words of encouragement, instilling pride and purpose.

Thinking of his own feat—breaking ten thousand troops with a hundred cavalry—Harrison was confident that, in a charge, even Marcus couldn’t match him.

He remembered weaving through defenders on the football field, adrenaline surging with every breakaway. Now, he saw the same fire in his new guard—ready to ride, ready to fight.

Then, Harrison instructed Marcus to find some blacksmiths and young women.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, scratching his beard. He’d seen odd requests, but this one was new. Was Foster planning a parade, a wedding, or something stranger?

He understood needing iron and blacksmiths—to forge weapons. The clanging of hammers was a familiar sound, but Marcus wondered what Foster had in mind. Swords? Shields? Horseshoes?

But a group of young women—he nearly couldn’t contain himself.

Yet, as a loyal subordinate, Marcus just did as told, keeping his questions to himself.

For Boss’s health, honest Marcus screened the women for skill but cut their number.

He recruited only those who could sew, mend, or handle a needle with speed and precision. Background checks were thorough. Gossip spread—some joked Foster was starting a sewing circle in the middle of a war.

Harrison knew Marcus was curious, but didn’t explain.

He planned to amaze Marcus once things were done, to win him over completely with charisma and military talent.

Little did he know, Marcus already equated him with a certain Carter from the old days—a warhorse who’d led charges at Gettysburg with nothing but bravado and a homemade flag.

Until, half a month later, Harrison appeared in full armor with his three hundred guards before Marcus, who was utterly stunned.

The morning was crisp, the air tinged with fresh leather and oiled steel. Harrison strode into the courtyard, armor gleaming, the cavalry lined up behind him like a scene from a movie. Marcus’s jaw dropped, mind racing to process what he saw.

Harrison wore chainmail, wielded a cavalry saber, radiating a fierce aura.

He moved with the confidence of a man who’d worn armor his whole life, every step measured and deliberate. The saber flashed in the sunlight, making onlookers shield their eyes.

Dozens of guards behind him were similarly outfitted in new military gear.

The gear was modern, sturdy, intimidating. Marcus ran his hands over chest plates, reinforced boots, intricate stitching—each detail a testament to Foster’s vision.

Marcus’s eyes lit up as he inspected a guard’s equipment, growing more amazed with every touch.

He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. “Never seen anything like it,” he muttered, admiration creeping into his voice.

"Time was short, and the women you found were skilled but slow—so only a few sets of heavy cavalry gear were made. What does General Marcus think?" Harrison asked from atop his horse, proud.

He thought, if only there’d been more time and materials, he could have produced lances, broad swords, refined blades, all these tools of battle.

Otherwise, Marcus, this old-school general from a hundred years ago, would get a real taste of modern military tech.

He didn’t realize his words nearly made Marcus choke in frustration.

Marcus coughed, struggling to keep a straight face. He imagined the chaos of introducing Kevlar vests and laser sights to a bunch of old cavalrymen.

"Boss, you wanted those women to sew military gear?"

"What else?" Harrison was puzzled.

Marcus’s expression was priceless...

He couldn’t very well tell Boss he’d thought the women were for... other purposes before battle.

Marcus glanced away, cheeks flushed. The men in the barracks had made plenty of jokes, but Marcus kept his mouth shut. Some things were better left unsaid.

"I thought you wanted them to cook..." Honest Marcus lied with a straight face.

Harrison was busy showing off and didn’t dwell on Marcus’s assumptions, pressing on: "General Marcus, what do you think of this new gear’s effectiveness?"

Marcus, a seasoned general, had never seen heavy cavalry before, but could already imagine the devastation these twenty men could unleash.

He pictured them thundering across the plains, unstoppable, a wall of steel and muscle. The possibilities sent a thrill down his spine.

"In my humble opinion, if all three hundred cavalry were fully armored, in favorable terrain and well led, each could take on a hundred foes!"

Harrison felt a surge of pride, the kind that comes from seeing hard work pay off. He nodded, satisfied that Marcus understood the power of innovation.

Suddenly, he squeezed his horse’s belly, and the red stallion shot forward like an arrow.

The horse’s hooves pounded the earth, sending up clumps of dirt. Harrison’s cape billowed behind him, a flash of red against the green field.

Marcus watched, astonished, as Harrison galloped, drew his bow, and fired three arrows in succession.

The arrows sang through the air, each finding its mark with deadly precision. The crowd gasped, some cheering, others stunned into silence.

With the snap of the bowstring, the arrows pierced the bullseye a hundred yards away, then flew ten more before dropping.

The last arrow landed with a soft thud, the feathered shaft quivering in the distant target. Marcus whistled, impressed.

Seeing this, Marcus’s face changed dramatically.

He’d seen plenty of marksmen in his day, but none with Foster’s combination of speed and accuracy. The men whispered, awe spreading like wildfire.

The horsemanship and archery Harrison displayed surpassed even his own.

Of all the soldiers he’d seen, fewer than five could shoot so accurately on horseback.

After his display, Harrison rode back to Marcus, met his gaze, and laughed loudly: "If I lead these three hundred iron cavalry, even against two hundred thousand, I could break them—does Marcus believe it?"

Marcus suddenly felt a surge of blood—this man, armored and armed, with such spirit in his eyes, made Marcus want to bow his head.

Though he’d never seen Boss command troops before, this demonstration convinced him it might actually work.

Marcus’s chest swelled with pride and loyalty. He straightened his back, ready to follow Foster into any battle.

"I believe it!" Marcus replied with conviction.