General Patton stood in the command center, his imposing figure casting long shadows against the glow of the holotable. Around him, the schematics of the five core mecha designs rotated lazily in midair, their details projected in vivid clarity. Each represented months of relentless innovation, sacrifice, and hard work. From the nimble Goblin to the titanic Pershing, they were more than machines; they embodied a strategy designed to overwhelm and outlast the enemy.

Patton’s sharp eyes flicked to the Goblin schematic, the smallest but most numerous unit. Its compact, spiked fists and modular weapon bays made it a nightmare for enemy infantry and lightly armored mechs. “Lieutenant Carter,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of machinery. “Give me the latest production numbers.”

Carter stepped forward, his datapad held at attention like a soldier’s weapon. “Yes, sir. With the secondary factories now fully operational, we’ve increased output across the board. Goblins are our primary focus, given their versatility and production efficiency. Current ratios are steady: eight Goblins for every Lee and ten Goblins for every Grant.”

Patton nodded, his expression thoughtful but approving. “The Goblins will form the backbone of our assault force. Their speed and numbers will give us the edge to outmaneuver and overwhelm the enemy. How many do we have ready for deployment?”

“Just over two hundred units, sir,” Carter replied. “And we’re adding another thirty per day. The factories are operating at maximum efficiency.”

Patton’s gaze shifted to the other schematics. The sleek and nimble Lee was built for reconnaissance and hit-and-run tactics. The Grant, heavier and more heavily armed, provided mid-range fire support. The Sherman was a balanced, heavy unit designed to anchor their lines, and the Pershing—a towering seventy-five-ton monstrosity—was the hammer meant to break through even the most fortified defenses.

“And the others?” Patton asked, his tone steady.

Carter glanced at his notes. “We have forty Lees in the field, though production has been deprioritized in favor of Goblins. The Grants stand at thirty-five, with three additional units completed daily. The Sherman line is progressing slowly but steadily—twelve units are fully operational. The Pershing... we have four, with another two expected within the week.”

Patton’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed the numbers. The Goblins were plentiful, but their strength lay in their numbers, not individual durability. The heavier mechs—the Shermans and Pershings—would be critical for holding key positions and breaking through enemy fortifications. “The Shermans and Pershings are our anchors. Use them wisely. We can’t afford to lose those units unnecessarily.”

Carter nodded. “Understood, sir. The Pershings will be reserved for strategic targets.”

Patton’s gaze returned to the Goblin schematic. “The Goblins will carry this offensive. They’ll swarm the enemy and force them to spread thin. It’s not about durability—it’s about speed and overwhelming force. Make sure the pilots understand that.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter said, jotting down the note.

Patton gestured at the holotable, and the mecha schematics dissolved, replaced by a detailed map of the contested region. Bright red markers indicated enemy positions—fortified outposts, mech hangars, and supply depots. Green markers showed his forces, concentrated at key strategic locations, ready to strike. The map’s stark contrast made one thing clear: the enemy still held the upper hand in territory, but Patton was ready to tip the scales.

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“How many old mechs do we still have in the field?” Patton asked.

Carter tapped his datapad, pulling up the numbers. “Approximately 50 mixed units from the previous generation, sir. They’re spread thin across multiple fronts, most relegated to defensive roles. They’re functional, but their effectiveness is limited compared to the new designs.”

Patton nodded. The older mechs had served their purpose but were relics of a past war. Their weaknesses had been repeatedly exposed by the enemy’s evolving tactics and technology. “Reassign those units to the reserves,” he said. “They’ll hold secondary positions and fill gaps where needed. I want every pilot who’s trained on the new mechs transferred immediately. No exceptions.”

Carter hesitated, then said carefully, “Sir, there’s been some resistance among the older pilots. Some are reluctant to abandon their machines. Others are eager to switch but lack sufficient experience with the new models.”

Patton’s eyes narrowed, his tone hardening. “Make it clear to them: this isn’t a debate. They don’t have the luxury of attachment. If they want to be useful, they’ll adapt. If they can’t, they’ll step aside.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

Patton leaned over the holotable, his fingers tracing the red markers representing the enemy’s forward positions. “This isn’t just about numbers,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s about precision. The Goblins will force them to react, to spread their forces thin. The Grants will hit them where they’re weak, and the Shermans will hold the ground we take. When the time comes, the Pershings will crush them.”

Carter nodded, taking notes. “What’s the timeline, sir?”

Patton’s expression was grim but resolute. “Forty-eight hours. I want all units mobilized and in position. This war has dragged on long enough.”

***

As the countdown began, the entire base buzzed with activity. Pilots were reassigned, mechanics double-checked every mech, and supply lines were secured. Patton walked through the hangar, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of Goblins, Lees, Grants, Shermans, and Pershings being prepped for deployment. The air was thick with the hum of engines and the clang of tools, but to Patton, it sounded like a symphony.

One of the technicians approached him, wiping grease from her hands. “Sir, all systems on the Goblins are functioning at peak performance. We’ve integrated the latest targeting algorithms for their medium lasers.”

“Good,” Patton said. “The Goblins are the tip of the spear. They’ll set the tone for this offensive.”

He stopped before a towering Pershing, its imposing frame a testament to Kovacs’ brilliance and his demands for perfection. The mech’s thick armor gleamed under the overhead lights, its massive Gauss cannon mounted like an exclamation point of destruction. “And this?” he asked.

“The Pershings are ready, sir,” the technician replied. “Their armor upgrades have exceeded expectations, and the Gauss cannons have been fine-tuned for maximum accuracy.”

Patton allowed himself a rare smile. “Good. They’ll be the hammer that breaks the enemy’s spine.”

As he returned to the command center, Patton reviewed the final deployment orders. The Goblins would strike first, supported by the Lees as scouts and the Grants providing fire support. The Shermans would form the backbone of the assault, holding captured territory and protecting supply lines. And the Pershings would deliver the killing blow when the enemy's defenses crumbled.

“Carter,” Patton said, his voice cutting through the room. “Issue the orders. It’s time to unleash the army.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter replied, saluting crisply.

Patton turned back to the holotable, his gaze lingering on the map. He’d pushed his team to the breaking point for months, demanding innovation and excellence. Now, the fruits of their labor were ready to be tested.

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Let’s see how the enemy handles this.”