MacArthur Island
South Pacific
06:12 Local Time
"Gentlemen, this is MacArthur's fortress. His rock and port against the storms that rage in the world outside this harbor."
Roosevelt and Lincoln traded looks of bemusement while MacArthur went on talking in the third person. They were being shown the sites of the general's mountaintop compound while a pair of armed guards walked close behind. MacArthur carried his large corncob pipe and wore a kimono with floral print on it. The compound's interior had the same Asian inspired architecture as its exterior. The touring party passed several rooms that had their doors opened, the insides revealing troop barracks, mess halls, and training facilities.
"What are the armed men for, General?" Lincoln asked.
"MacArthur's own praetorian guard," replied the general. "The cream of the crop amongst our prospective pool. Only the finest make the cut."
Roosevelt raised an eyebrow. "Prospective pool? What does that mean, sir?"
"In due time," MacArthur said with a chuckle. "For now we shall dine."
The two ex-presidents were led to a large dining area with an ornate wooden table that stretched the length of a football field. Only three places were set at the head of the table. MacArthur motioned for Lincoln and Roosevelt to take a seat while he took the spot at the head of the table. He barked something in Chinese and servants rushed out with covered dishes. They were placed on the table in front of the three men, their tops pulled off to reveal sushi and sashimi with seaweed. The only silverware provided were chopsticks.
"I hope you like it," MacArthur said as he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.
Roosevelt followed suit while Lincoln struggled with his sticks. He fumbled to work them around a piece of sushi. He gave up on grappling the food and instead turned his sticks in spears, skewering his food and eating it off the stick.
"I'm afraid I am not as worldly as two gentlemen," he said in between bites of his food. "Take away the immortality and the magic, I'm just a country boy from Illinois."
"I find that to be a problem with the Executive Branch as a whole," said MacArthur. "The covert agency as well as the overt branch of the government. Too many men without world experience become president, they cannot see beyond their own borders, they cannot see the curvature of the future before it's too late. What, may I ask, does a farmer from Missouri know about the Oriential mindset?"
"All these years and you're still bitter," said Roosevelt. "Doug, I served in Korea for the Executive Branch. Truman had every right to fire you."
"We only lost Korea because he and the rest of those midwestern hicks in his cabinet let it be lost. Rubes and corn pones all of them."
"You're from Wisconsin, isn't that right, General?" Lincoln said testily.
MacArthur stood up, sweeping his plate aside, and gestured with his pipe as he spoke.
"MacArthur is not a man of any place or time. He is a man of the future, a man who sees the shape of the whole. While they taught Civil War battles at West Point, MacArthur pushed for modern training for cadets. While all eyes were looking towards Europe, only MacArthur realized that Asia was where the fate of the 20th and 21st century would be decided. He has the foresight and the talent unlike any man since antiquity, and time and time again he is held back by the mediocre and the politically callous."
"You have a diseased mind," Lincoln said softly. "I am sure the Founders regret ever bringing you back to life."
MacArthr stared down at Lincoln coldly before he snapped his fingers. Like that, the guards from before were pushing Lincoln and Roosevelt out of their chairs and down a corridor.
"You deny MacArthur his vision, the way others have denied him for so long, for nearly a century. You shall see, the both of you shall see."
The two men were pushed into a room with a metal floor, metal walls, and a large metal ceiling above. A gigantic monitor on the far wall blinked to life and showed the scowling and angry face of an Asian man with a thick mustache and beard. He bellowed something in a foreign tongue, the words vibrating through speakers in the room and rattling the bones in Lincoln and Roosevelt's ears.
"Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Roosevelt, meet my new ally. Born Temüjin on the Asian steppes, you know him better as Ghengis Khan."
The Khan on the screen said something in Mongolian, MacArthur shouted back at him in the language. After a rapid conversation, the General nodded.
"At the height of his power, the Khan and his descendants rampaged and ran roughshod across Asia, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. Millions died by their hands, and millions more were born from the spread of their seed. It is estimated that around one-half of the world's population are descendants of the Khan, that translates to roughly thirty-five million. For decades MacArthur sought out a way to conjure up the Khan's ghost, and he has succeeded. Now, the perfect melding of man and machine has happened. MacArthur's scientist have found a way to tap into the DNA of the Khan's descendants and, using the warrior's ghost as an imprint, those thirty-five million men and women will be turned into the warriors their ancestors once were. A new Mongol Horde with the reincarnated Khan at the head of the pack. MacArthur's own personal army! Let's see how the recalcitrant politicians will respond when a Mongol warrior cuts out their tongue!"
The general let out a giggle while Roosevelt and Lincoln stared at the giant spirit of the Khan with horrified looks.
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