Given the same amount of intelligence, timidity will do a thousand times more damage in war than audacity – General Carl von Clausewitz

Operation Menu: Phase Dinner (D+1.3 hours)

Crouched down and surrounded by a metal air duct enclosure, T.C. rubbed his arm. The last trap had nearly severed his left arm and given him an unexpected buzz cut on the left side of his head.

“I’m demanding hazard pay for this, Boss Kitty,” T.C. said as he applied green gel from a tube to his arm.

The cut healed his arm, but it was still a bit sore. He rubbed his sore arm and wondered how much time he would need to fully scavenge Guillotine’s secret hideout.

“So many goodies to loot and plunder,” he thought as he loosened up his bootlaces.

Next to him came the faint sound of the pitter-patter of tiny feet on metal. A rat with a sack on his back came skittering up. The rat’s whiskers twitched as he looked up at T.C. with black beady eyes.

“What do you want?” T.C. asked. “Heather said I’m not allowed to feed you, Scooter.”

The rat sat up on its rear and stared back at T.C.

“Fine…you’re so convincing,” T.C. said, pulling out a small portion of a dog biscuit and giving it to the rat. “Jus’ don’t tell that mean old ginger or we will both be in trouble, okay?”

After nibbling on the biscuit, the rat ran off down the air duct. Scooter stopped at a T-intersection and took a sharp right. T.C. finished taking off his boots and socks, then shoved them into his bag.

“Back to work,” he said, stretching out his legs behind him.

T.C. activated his Witch Sight and he saw red lasers crisscrossing the length of the air duct down to the junction. Where there were gaps between lasers, the metal was discolored. He changed to an ultraviolet filter and noticed the gaps were some sort of pressure sensor. Reaching into his bag, he searched around and pulled out another dog biscuit.

“Nope…not that,” he muttered and placed it to the side.

He searched again until he found what he was looking for. T.C. pulled out two Glitter Bombs, charged them up with energy, and rolled them out towards the lasers. The first popped near the first set of lasers and the other popped by the next set of detection lasers. T.C. stood up on his fingers and toes and crawled into the first cloud. The chaff interfered with the sensors, and he continued down the duct. Once at the other end, he scanned the left side of the junction. It was trap and sensor-free.

Breathing a sigh of relief, T.C. deactivated his Witch Sight and checked his map. He was on schedule, or so he figured. Another rat with silver hair, a dark ring on his tail, and a blue backpack scamped by.

“Oh, hey Noodle, your boy Scooter went that way,” he told the rat and pointed behind him.

Noodle sat up on his rear and held his little hands up to his face. T.C. handed him the remaining biscuit. “Remember buddy, not a single word from you either. Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches,” T.C. said.

The silver-haired rat crunched on the food and T.C. continued to venture further into the air system. Noodle followed him for some time and after five or so minutes he took another path and disappeared into the darkness.

“I wonder what the Rat Pack’s assignment was?” T.C. contemplated. “Chew on some wires or something? I just hope they’ll be okay.”

T.C. continued traveling through the ventilation system and he suddenly stopped. A thought had occurred to him. It wasn’t anything profound nor esoteric lore that he solved, but something had puzzled him nevertheless.

“Where did Heather find those little backpacks?” T.C. thought before continuing his journey. “Is there a place that sells them or something?”

***

Operation Menu: Phase Dinner (D+6.5 hours)

Puffy grey clouds gathered high above the fortress's grey stones and the surrounding fields. A pair of sentries, one youthful with a baby face and the other sporting a bit of stubble on his chin stood at the edge of the angled walls. They wore olive-grey uniforms with red trim, surveying the blackening sky. Occasionally rays of morning light managed to pierce through the thick clouds.

From the depths of a dimly lit alcove emerged a taller man in a similar uniform, his attire boasting sharp, starched edges. His bald head and face were etched with a thick layer of scars. A black combat dagger rattled by his side with each stride.

As the man approached, one sentry turned to salute, but his companion promptly slapped the gesture away.

"Don't sniper-check our captain, dipshit," the sentry snapped, assuming a stance of attention.

The companion's face flushed red, and he stood rigid, the heels of his boots clicking together.

"Relax," the captain's rough and gravelly voice commanded. "I see the enemy has initiated their assault three hours later than predicted, Lieutenant Ribb."

Ribb and the sentry checked the darkening sky, clouds swirling ominously. Ribb then produced a spyglass and extended the device. While studying the sky, he flipped a switch on the scope and rolled his shoulders. The captain moved closer to the wall's edge, gazing beyond the fields and forest toward a river in the far-off distance.

"And what is our next move, Lieutenant?" the captain asked.

"As per the defensive Bravo-7 protocol, once the enemy's smoke screen reaches the yellow zone, 50 meters past the forest, our dogs will bark. Artillery charges are set to burst at tree-top level. Blue will be dead by breakfast, Captain Neusilber," Ribb explained.

"Too bad. I was hoping for a bit of combat before our cannons took out those clowns. Think I can join the cleanup crews and kill some Blues, sir?" the younger sentry inquired.

Captain Neusilber reached into his pocket and affixed a monocle over his left eye, its lens shifting to a blue color.

"The so-called clowns to which you are referring are led by an S-ranked tactician, the White Witch of the Tower, Fish," the captain stated.

"With all due respect, sir, the White Witch has been downgraded to B-rank when she switched from an assassin to a mage class. A moderate threat at best," Fish countered, his voice wavering.

"Once S-rank, always S-rank, no matter what intel or some patchouli-scented oracle may say. Lieutenant Ribb, if you will, order the Suicide Kings and Eastland Posse into the forest and sweep for Blues. Once they flush out the enemy, initiate the Treetop Phase. Their loss won’t contribute to the instant-win victory conditions for the Blue Team," Neusilber commanded before turning around.

Ribb gave the captain a slight nod of his chin. As Neusilber walked toward the entrance, Fish stepped forward, and Ribb groaned.

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"But sir, we outnumber the Blues nine to one, have terrain advantage, and are firmly entrenched. Why are we being so cautious?" Fish asked as Ribb pulled him back with his coat.

Fish shrugged as Neusilber stopped in his tracks and turned around. The lens from his monocle turned from blue to red. He stared Fish down until he shifted his feet and backed away. A single bead of sweat ran down the fresh-faced sentry's forehead.

Then Neusilber said, "You're young and can afford to be optimistic. I can't. Most likely, their forces are already inside. You’ll have your chance to be a hero soon."

With an about-face, Captain Neusilber disappeared into the confines of Fort Carré.

***

Operation Menu: Phase Dinner (D+6.6 hours)

Standing on a thick tree branch of a birchwood tree, Estelle positioned herself beside the trunk. Running her hand across the rough bark that looked vaguely like an eye, she gestured a wave across her face, causing her eyes to cease their bright glow. Even with heightened hearing, the entire conversation sounded akin to turkeys gobbling—an apparent voice scrambling system, Estelle surmised. Her Witch Sight and elevated position granted her the advantage of both lip-reading and sensing the air vibrations.

"Neusilber must be getting old. Why didn't he add a few more layers to the security of his conversation?" Bee inquired.

"Because he intended us to know the plan. The Bravo 7-protocol is of little consequence," Estelle thought back to Bee.

Closing her eyes, Estelle extended her middle and index finger from her right hand, waving them in front of her face as she uttered, "Release."

Propped against a rock in the center of a forest clearing rested a blue metal tube, bearing an etched sigil that flashed bright white before disappearing with a sizzle. The tube emitted a single flare with a loud thud. The cartridge soared into the sky, exploding below a cloud. White spheres rained down, triggering mini explosions after falling a few meters.

Three more flares across the battlefield fired off, exploding similarly to the first flare.

"Come, Bee. Let's evict the current occupants," Estelle thought as she leaped off the tree.

"Like I have a choice?" Bee retorted.

***