November-December 1958

Eugene Gifford Grace flipped through the folder in front of him. He didn't like what he saw.

"General, Colonel, with respect," Grace placed his reading glasses down on the hardwood table and looked across to the two men opposite him, "these production figures aren't realistic."

Aurand and his aide, Colonel Joe Gallagher, were unfazed. Colonel Gallagher was the one to speak up. "Mr. Grace, I understand that this is a big ask, but it is what is required. The Office of Emergency Management wouldn't be setting these targets if they weren't critical for the war effort."

Grace pursed his lips. "Colonel Gallagher, you don't understand. These targets aren't a 'big ask.' They are impossible. Lackawanna only just came online from its repairs in August, and parts of the facility are still too damaged to function. We don't have enough workers, and most of the workers we do have never worked a day in a steel factory until a few months ago. Beyond that, with all of the damned restrictions you're putting in place, there's no chance we'll be able to get the raw materials we'd need to produce at this rate."

Gallagher was quick to retort. "Give me a list of what you need, and I will make sure that it happens. Workers, raw materials, machine tools, equipment--name it, and I will find it. Bethlehem isn't the only company receiving these quotas, Mr. Grace. We are committed to getting all of the majors producers in the Mid-Atlantic working together to repair the economy and keep things functioning."

Grace couldn't help but roll his eyes. "This is un-American. If you want these factories producing at this rate, then pay us, damn it! I can't get people to work for work vouchers and ration books!"

General Aurand, silent until now, finally spoke. "Mr. Grace, I think that Colonel Gallagher misspoke a moment ago when he called this a 'big ask.' I think he gave you the wrong impression then, and I apologize. This is not an ask, Mr. Grace. It is an order." He jabbed a finger into the mahogany table separating them. "The Emergency Military Administration and I have put our faith in you to run this region's steel sector. By transferring these assets to Bethlehem Steel, we have given your firm an effective monopoly on steel production in the Mid-Atlantic. That privilege, Mr. Grace, requires that you do your part to keep this operation running smoothly." He abruptly rose to his feet--a movement that Colonel Gallagher followed a split-second later--and pointed across the table at the folder of production quotas.

"Get me my steel, Eugene, or I'll find someone who will. Do you understand?"

Grace bit his tongue and rose to his feet, forcing his lips into a smile. "Perfectly, General Aurand." He followed with a quick lie. "A pleasure to meet with you, as always." Aurand didn't bother to respond, instead turning sharply and making his exit, Colonel Gallagher in tow.

((Changing "Market" to "Command Economy" and "Union Laws" to "Guilds and Monopolies"))