Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

4. RMS Lusitania

May 17, 1915

The War Office

London, British Empire

On May 7, 1915, over a thousand civilians aboard RMS Lusitania, including one hundred twenty-eight Americans, were plunged into a watery grave off the coast of Great Britain by a German U-boat.

Congress voted to send aid but refused to declare war.

This was not yet disclosed to the British Admiralty as we sat in a conference room at the War Office. Their desire to force our hand against the Germans colored every word of their brief. I sat behind top US leaders as they asked probing questions about potential negligence on the British side. These accusations were politely yet firmly denied.

The British, the French, and their allies were in a dead heat against the German Empire. Each day, thousands of men died to gain mere inches of ground on the battlefield, only to lose them the very next day.

It was mindless slaughter.

It was hell on Earth.

I remained seated as the room cleared. England, who had joined the meeting halfway, lingered also. An aide attempted to extract me from the room unsuccessfully. Seeming to realize her mistake, she apologized to both of us as she closed the door. The electric hum of the chandelier overhead was the only sound in the room.

"Your first time on British soil," England noted from across the room.

I set my fist on my mouth.

Coming to stand across from me, he rested his hands on the table. He let a few beats of silence go by. "I acknowledge that your presence here is an exception," he said, restrained. "Trust me, I do not take it lightly. Nor did I wish for the events that forced you to come."

I stared unresponsively at the table.

"However," he continued, his tone shifting, "you are now a Great Power. Preserving stability in Europe is now a paramount responsibility for the United States."

I cleared my throat. "I reject that entirely."

"America."

My gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were like daggers as he leaned forward.

"Do not allow your selfishness to blind you to reality."

"My selfishness?" I breathed indignantly.

"Consequences unforeseen by you are clear to me," he stated with intensity. "In your hour of need, you will be forced to call upon powerful allies. Allies which you do not yet have."

I stood abruptly, planting my hands on the table and mirroring his posture. "I do not need allies in Europe," I stated. "I do not want allies in Europe."

Suddenly, he rounded the table so quickly that I drew back with a surge of adrenaline. He towered over me in a blatant attempt at intimidation, and I lifted my chin to glare up at him with one hand still glued to the table.

"This is not a game," he warned. "This is war. You cannot solve this with a witty letter or a long-winded conference."

My blood ran hot as anger surged through me. I clenched my teeth and growled, "You dare to think me ignorant of war? You?"

His adamant eyes studied my face for a long moment. "I think you willfully ignorant."

My eyelids fluttered at the accusation.

He leaned closer. "Three thousand miles of ocean will not prevent an army from reaching your shores," he threatened calmly.

My eyes widened.

"They will come, America. By the thousands. By the millions."

I ripped myself away from the table and turned my back on him. My hand flew to my heaving chest, where my heart was beating wildly against my ribcage.

"Shut up!" I shouted bitterly.

His hand seized my other wrist. I violently wrenched it free of his grasp, likely causing myself undue pain in the process. I squared my shoulders and looked back at him with hatred burning in my eyes.

His expression was soft, and his hands were raised as if trying to calm a frightened animal. "I'm not trying to threaten you. I'm trying to help you."

As my breathing began to even out, my mind began to clear. I stepped away from him without breaking eye contact.

"No," I rasped. "You're trying to help yourself."

Vulnerability flashed in his eyes.

"Then, I..." He swallowed, a visible bob in his throat. "I must ask you...beg you...to consider the suffering of the British people. Your own flesh and blood."

My lips twitched.

"Hundreds of thousands, America," he continued, voice cracking. "More than all of the casualties of the Revolution, many times over. We...we are in dire need of your assistance."

I inhaled sharply. Whether his pain originated from the staggering death toll or from making such a debasing plea was unknown. Either way, it didn't matter.

"Stop wasting your breath, England," I murmured. "This is Europe's war."

Finally, he looked away, sheer disbelief clouding his eyes. My fists unclenched and my posture relaxed. Strangely, I didn't feel the usual satisfaction at having stood my ground against him. I began to leave.

"Please," said a weary voice behind me. "Pray for us."

I paused, unable or unwilling to turn my head. "I shall."

~

A/N: Is America being too harsh? Tell me in a comment!