General Patton’s bloodshot eyes scanned the glowing command map before him, the intricate holographic display flickering faintly in the dimly lit room. Red markers indicated enemy positions, many of them now silent—testaments to the recent string of victories. Blue markers, representing his own forces, were spread wide across the region, consolidating the newly gained territory.
Despite the overwhelming successes of the past week, fatigue etched deep lines into the general’s face. His uniform was rumpled, his boots scuffed, and the scent of stale coffee clung to the room. He leaned heavily on the table's edge, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface.
“How certain are we about the time it takes to grow the clones?” he asked, his voice rough from days of minimal sleep and constant briefings.
Colonel Davis, his operations officer, stood at attention nearby, a datapad clutched in his gloved hands. “We aren’t entirely sure, sir,” Davis replied cautiously. “But based on intercepted intelligence, it’s assumed to take at least two weeks from inception to deployment readiness.”
Patton’s gaze didn’t leave the map, his brow furrowing. “Two weeks,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s not much time. If we don’t keep the pressure on, they’ll recover faster than we can handle.”
“What’s in these convoys we’ve been targeting?” Patton asked abruptly, straightening as he turned to face Davis. “And did any of them get away?”
Davis hesitated, consulting his datapad. “Sir, most of the convoys we’ve intercepted were carrying high-value materials—rare earth elements and a radioactive we haven’t seen before. As for escaping convoys...”
He paused, his hesitation not lost on the general.
“Well?” Patton pressed, his tone sharp. “Did one get through?”
“One convoy, sir,” Davis admitted. “We have reports of a single transport breaking through our perimeter in Sector Twelve. It slipped past our forces during the engagement. Recon units lost track of it shortly after it entered mountainous terrain.”
“The general mused; keep hunting for it, but let it get through…:
“Yes, sir,” Davis replied, his voice firm. “I’ll have the orders issued immediately.”
Patton turned back to the map, his hands gripping the table's edge. The flickering markers seemed to mock him, highlighting his victories and the glaring unknowns. The enemy was wounded, their forces scattered and weakened but far from defeated. He knew better than to underestimate them.
“Clones, huh,” he muttered, his voice heavy with disdain. “They think they can replace skill and strategy with numbers. But if we hit them hard enough, fast enough, they won’t have time to grow anything.”
He gestured at the map, zooming in on the most recent battlefield. “Our pilots—are they reporting anything unusual about the enemy’s tactics? Are they adapting, or are they falling back on old habits?”
Davis shook his head. “It’s a mix, sir. The garrisons and convoys we’ve hit recently have shown little tactical adjustment. Their forces are still reacting too slowly to our strikes, which suggests a lack of coordination or training. That tracks what we know about their cloning process—they might deploy units before they’re fully prepared.”
Patton grunted in acknowledgment. “Good. That’s something we can exploit. But if they’ve got a pipeline for replacements, it’s only a matter of time before we start seeing better-trained units. We can’t let up.”
Patton gestured for Davis to approach, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want every remaining convoy in this region tracked and intercepted. Prioritize supply routes leading to their central facilities. If we can cut off their production lines, they’re finished.”
“Understood, sir,” Davis said, taking notes on his datapad.
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“And Colonel,” Patton continued, his gaze hard, “send word to our ground forces. No more half-measures. I want every garrison and factory site wiped out. We’ve been hitting them hard, but now we finish the job. No survivors, no loose ends.”
“Yes, sir,” Davis replied, though a flicker of unease crossed his face.
Patton caught it and fixed him with a piercing stare. “Is there a problem, Colonel?”
“No, sir,” Davis said quickly, his back straightening. “It will be done.”
Patton watched him for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Now, get out there and make sure it happens.”
As Davis left the room, Patton returned his attention to the map. His forces had achieved incredible successes recently, but victories often bred complacency. He couldn’t afford that now. The enemy’s cloning capabilities were a wildcard he couldn’t fully predict or control.
“Two weeks,” he muttered again, the words a grim reminder of the ticking clock. “We’ll see if you even get that long.”
General Patton’s red-rimmed eyes returned to the glowing command map as Colonel Davis left the room. The heavy steel door clicked shut behind him, leaving the general alone in the dimly lit chamber. The faint hum of the holographic table filled the silence as Patton’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the console.
He leaned forward, studying the red marker representing the single convoy that had slipped through their perimeter. He allowed a faint smile to touch his lips—something rare in the midst of this brutal campaign. This particular convoy wasn’t just an oversight; it was a piece of a much larger plan.
“Let them think they’ve won something,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with satisfaction. “They won’t know what hit them.”
***
A day earlier, in the heart of Patton’s operations base, a group of CID operatives had worked swiftly under the cover of darkness. The enemy convoy’s contents—critical materials for their war machine—had been carefully removed and replaced. In their place was a mixture of false components, inert decoys, and one crucial addition: a tracking beacon buried deep within the crates. It was attached to a special device, something the general called a black egg.
Patton had overseen the operation personally, his hawkish gaze ensuring no detail was overlooked. “Make it look convincing,” he’d ordered. “When they open these crates, I want them to believe they’ve struck gold. No one can suspect a thing.”
The CID team had nodded silently, their efficiency born of years of covert operations. They’d worked methodically, double-checking every seal and securing the tracking beacon so it couldn’t be easily discovered.
On the battlefield, the plan had unfolded perfectly. While the bulk of Patton’s forces targeted other convoys and garrisons with brutal precision, the “escaping” convoy had slipped through a carefully engineered gap in the attack.
The Goblins and Shermans tasked with intercepting it had pulled back at the last moment, their withdrawal timed to coincide with the enemy’s most desperate push. It must have seemed like a miraculous stroke of luck to the enemy—a rare victory amid a sea of losses.
“Let them believe it,” Patton had said when he gave the order. “A little hope can be just as dangerous as despair. It makes them careless.”
***
As he studied the map, Patton’s smile faded, replaced by the sharp focus that had earned him his reputation. The convoy was still moving, its position updated in real-time by the hidden beacon. Soon, it would reach one of the enemy’s key facilities, likely a manufacturing hub or a cloning site.
“How long until it reaches its destination?” he asked aloud, though the room was empty. A quick tap of the console brought up the projected route. Four hours, maybe five, depending on terrain and resistance.
The general rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If the enemy opened the crates immediately, the decoys would buy them time. If they didn’t, the beacon would still lead Patton’s forces straight to their most vulnerable point.
Patton’s eyes narrowed as he considered the potential outcomes. The enemy would either deploy their forces to defend the site, giving his units a chance to crush them in one decisive strike, or they’d retreat, exposing their infrastructure.
Either way, Patton intended to exploit their reaction. “This isn’t about convoys or materials,” he murmured. “It’s about crippling their entire operation.”
He reached for the comm unit and keyed in a secure line to CID Command. A gruff voice answered almost immediately. “Yes, General?”
“The beacon is active,” Patton said. “Have your teams ready to move as soon as we confirm the location.”
Understood, sir. What are your orders once the site is identified?”
Patton didn’t hesitate. “No half-measures. Once we have confirmation, I want it obliterated. Factories, barracks, cloning facilities—everything. Leave nothing standing.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice replied. “We’ll prepare for immediate deployment.”
Patton ended the transmission and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. The enemy thought they’d gained a victory with that convoy, but they were walking into a trap.
“All you’ve done,” he said quietly, a grim smile returning to his face, “is lead me to the heart of your operation. And when I get there, I’ll rip it out.”