Camp near the Fields of Global Commerce
April 2025
My Dearest Clara,
I write you now from the trenches of a most peculiar conflict—not one fought with muskets and cannon, but with tariffs, regulations, and the shifting allegiance of markets. The generals call it a "trade war," but to us enlisted souls in the factories, farms, and freightyards, it feels every bit as real as the battles of my youth. The enemy wears no color, no uniform; rather, he hides behind currency fluctuations and retaliatory duties, his weapons are policy announcements, and his victories tallied not in land, but in balance sheets.
Our commanders—chief among them the President and his council of economists—speak often of protecting the homeland’s industry, of restoring balance with the East. Chief among our adversaries is the Empire of China, who has laid claim to a vast portion of the world’s supply chains. We levy duties upon their goods, and they, in turn, upon ours. The ports are quieter now, Clara. Fewer ships come bearing foreign wares, and our own exports pile up like unspent bullets, waiting for markets that no longer beckon.
The people back home are divided. Some cheer each blow struck against foreign dominance, calling it the price of sovereignty. Others curse the rising costs and thinning shelves, whispering that this war was started not for defense, but for pride. The merchants and smallholders suffer most, caught between policies too large for them to sway, yet too near to ignore.
Still, we hold the line. We speak of reshoring, of independence, of victory through resilience. But as with all wars, Clara, I wonder if the end will come not through triumph, but through exhaustion. Pray that our leaders see sense before this trade war turns to ashes what industry we have left.
Your faithful,
<Insert name of TwiceHorn's client>
4th Division, Economic Front