Phillip arrived back in Shropshire two days after the Admiralty meeting. The moment the carriage wheels touched the gravel of the foundry yard, he felt the shift—men moving faster, foremen shouting instructions, wagons loaded with poles and wire waiting by the gate. The crews had continued work in his absence, but now something heavier filled the air.

Expectation.

Henry met him halfway across the yard, boots covered in dust. "The Navy sent riders yesterday. They want a full report on materials by tomorrow. They also requested measurements of wire loss over long distance."

Phillip hung his coat on the nearest post. "We'll give them what they need. Start compiling the material report. I'll handle the wire tests."

Henry scribbled a note. "And there's something else. The Railway Board sent word—they're uneasy."

"Uneasy about what?"

"That your telegraph plans now include the Admiralty."

Phillip paused. Not surprised—only annoyed. "Of course they are."

"They want reassurance that civilian rail communication won't be delayed because of naval demands."

Phillip rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I knew this moment would come."

"It's not a crisis yet," Henry said. "But they want to speak to you in person. Soon."

Phillip nodded once. "All right. First the Navy, then the Board. We can manage both."

He didn't sound fully convinced. Neither did Henry.

The Coastal Plan

By afternoon, Phillip and Henry had spread maps across the drafting room table. The coastline of southern England ran across several joined sheets, covered with lighthouse markers, fortifications, and the small icons the Admiralty used to represent naval yards.

Phillip traced the planned telegraph route from Portsmouth toward London. "The Admiralty wants this line finished first. Fastest possible timeline."

Henry glanced at the list of required timber and copper. "They're asking for enough wire to run halfway across the country."

Phillip didn't look up. "And they'll get it. But we have to avoid stretching ourselves thin."

A knock came at the door. A foreman stepped inside, hat in his hands.

"Sir, the new copper draw failed. Wire snapped under tension."

Henry winced. Phillip stood. "Show me."

In the Foundry

The draw bench was hot, noisy, and smelled of oil and singed metal. A coil of copper wire lay on the floor, snapped midway, the break jagged. Phillip picked up the end and felt its edges.

"Too brittle," he said. "The furnace is running too hot."

The foreman nodded. "We pushed it, sir. Faster melting. More volume."

Phillip shook his head. "Copper doesn't care how fast the Navy wants it. If it cools wrong, it fails. Reset the furnace. Bring the temperature down fifty degrees."

The foreman hesitated. "That'll halve our output."

"Half is better than none," Phillip said. "We work with what the metal allows, not what the schedule demands."

Henry muttered under his breath, "The Admiralty won't like hearing that."

Phillip ignored him. He rolled the wire between his fingers once more, then dropped it onto the bench.

"Try again."

As the workers moved to reset the furnace, Henry leaned closer. "You're juggling civilian rail lines and naval demands. Something's going to give."

"I know," Phillip said quietly.

"And which will you prioritize?"

Phillip didn't answer.

Not because he didn't know.

But because he knew too well.

The Railway Board Arrives

The next morning, before Phillip could even test the redrawn coil, a carriage bearing the crest of the Railway Board arrived. Three men stepped out, dressed in heavy coats and polished boots. The tallest of them—Mr. Edwin Clarke—approached with a strained smile.

"Lord Wellington," Clarke said. "We request a word."

Phillip led them to the small meeting hall beside the foundry. As soon as the door closed, Clarke dropped the polite tone.

"You're diverting resources."

Phillip folded his arms. "The telegraph lines will serve everyone—civilian and military."

"Then why," Clarke snapped, "did the Admiralty announce yesterday that their coastal line will take priority over every other construction?"

Henry stiffened. Phillip remained still.

"They moved quickly," Phillip said. "Faster than expected."

"Faster than they had the right to," Clarke shot back. "Your system was created for the railways. For safety. For preventing more deaths. And now a single naval order pushes our projects aside?"

Phillip replied evenly, "The Navy understands strategy. They see what this technology can do."

"And we don't?" Clarke retorted. "We supported you before anyone else did. We gave you the rail routes. We let you test on our stations. And now—now we're being told to wait in line?"

Henry cleared his throat. "No one is suggesting that."

Clarke turned on him. "Young man, the Navy commandeers whatever they please. If Wellington gives them precedence, our entire northbound safety line will be delayed months."

Phillip clenched his jaw. "No delay will be that long."

"Even one month is too long," Clarke said. "You saw the graves in St. Aldwyn's. We cannot afford another accident."

Phillip's voice dropped low. "Neither can Britain afford a blind Navy."

The room fell silent.

Clarke exhaled slowly. "Then what do you propose?"

Phillip pulled a clean sheet of paper from the shelf and began sketching. Lines, circles, staggered symbols.

"A dual-crew expansion."

Henry leaned over. "You want to split the workers?"

"Yes." Phillip continued drawing. "The foundry expands wire production. Two teams handle pole raising—one for the rail line, one for the coast. The materials are similar enough to overlap but the routes will diverge."

Clarke frowned. "You'll burn out your men."

"Not if we rotate shifts," Phillip said. "And bring in carpenters from nearby villages. Telegraph poles don't require fine machining."

Henry added, "And we can outsource resin coating to the Portsmouth yards. They have tar facilities already."

Clarke hesitated… then slowly nodded. "This could work."

"It will work," Phillip said.

Clarke studied him for a long moment. "You're balancing a nation on wires. I hope you know what you're doing."

Phillip's gaze didn't waver. "If we do nothing, we fail everyone. If we work together, we serve both the rails and the Navy."

Clarke exhaled. "Very well. The Board will support you—for now. Keep us informed."

The men left.

Henry let out a breath he'd clearly been holding. "That could have gone worse."

"It will," Phillip said. "Eventually."

The First Signal of Conflict

That evening, Phillip walked the perimeter of the foundry yard. Telegraph poles lay stacked like long bones. Workers hammered braces into crossbars. Copper wire cooled on frames while apprentices trimmed away imperfections with small chisels.

A young wire drawer approached him, nervous. "Sir… the new draw succeeded. Tensile strength improved."

Phillip inspected the coil. Smooth. Even. No cracks. "Good. Keep the furnace at that temperature."

The boy nodded and rushed back inside.

Henry joined him, carrying a lantern. "So. We're building two telegraph networks at once. Naval and rail."

Phillip watched sparks fly from the hammer shop. "This is only the beginning. The Home Office will want their own lines. The Post Office will try to claim oversight. Parliament will argue over funding."

Henry sighed. "You sound exhausted."

"I am not exhausted," Phillip said. "I am aware."

"Aware of what?"

"That the moment we strung the first copper wire, the world changed." Phillip looked toward the north, where the memorial graves still lingered in his memory. "And change always comes with struggle."

A New Message

As night settled, a runner from the Shropshire station arrived breathless at the gate.

"Sir! A message just came through the line—urgent!"

Phillip's pulse quickened. "From which station?"

"Portsmouth Dockyard, sir."

Henry blinked. "Already? The Admiralty hasn't even built their line yet."

"They tapped into the temporary inland test line," the runner explained. "Said it was essential."

Phillip nodded once. "Read it."

The runner unfolded a small slip of paper.

"REQUEST IMMEDIATE MEETING. FOREIGN NAVAL ACTIVITY DETECTED OFF THE COAST. NEED TELEGRAPH DEPLOYMENT ACCELERATED."

Henry looked at Phillip. "Foreign activity? Already?"

Phillip stared into the dark horizon.

The railways were no longer the only front.

Everything was shifting faster than anyone expected.

Phillip closed his coat and stepped toward the carriage.

"Prepare the teams," he said quietly. "The Navy wants speed? Then we will give them speed."

He climbed in.

"We leave for Portsmouth at dawn."

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