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    General Patton stood behind his desk, the map of contested territories glowing on the projection wall. He tapped his fingers against the polished metal surface, his expression set in stone. The red markers on the map showed enemy positions dangerously close to critical supply routes. Time was running short, and he knew they needed to act decisively.


    “Aide!” Patton barked, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room.


    The door opened immediately, and Lieutenant Carter stepped in, clipboard in hand. He snapped to attention, his gaze sharp. “Yes, sir?”


    Patton turned toward him, his eyes narrowing. “How many production stations are currently operational?”


    Carter flipped through the reports on his clipboard with practiced efficiency. “Twelve, sir. All are fully functional. Each station produces ten tons of mechs daily, operating at maximum capacity.”


    Patton nodded, the numbers aligning with his expectations. “Good. That gives us one hundred and twenty tons of output per day. What’s the current allocation?”


    Carter consulted his notes. “Approximately eight tons are allocated to the Lee, sir. The remaining forty are divided between the Grant and prototyping for the Goblin.”


    Patton frowned, his brow creasing in thought. “That won’t do. We’re launching an offensive in ten days, Carter. Production priorities must shift immediately.”


    Carter’s pen hovered over his clipboard, ready to take notes. “What are your orders, sir?”


    Patton stepped closer to the map, gesturing toward the enemy positions with a broad sweep. “I want three Goblins rolling off the line daily—thirty tons. Those machines will be vital for infiltration and flanking maneuvers. Split the remaining capacity between the Lee and the Grant. Allocate the rest to the Sherman.”


    Carter’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “The Sherman, sir? That’s the new fifty-ton unit Kovacs is working on?”


    “That’s right,” Patton said. “We’ll need it to anchor our offensive. It’ll be the hammer to break their lines while the Lees scout, the Grants provide fire support, and the Goblins slip behind enemy positions. Tell Kovacs to finalize Sherman’s design by tomorrow. I want the first prototype rolling off the line within six days.”


    Carter nodded, furiously jotting down the orders. “At fifty tons per unit, we’ll be able to complete one Sherman every five days for each station assigned to it.”


    “That’s acceptable,” Patton said. “The Goblins and Lees will provide speed and flexibility. The Shermans are a longer-term investment—precision tools for key engagements.”


    Carter hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Sir, should we reserve any capacity for contingency builds? In case the prototypes require adjustments?”


    Patton shook his head. “We don’t have that luxury. Kovacs doesn’t miss the big details. The prototypes will need fine-tuning, but they’ll be functional. If anything requires major adjustments, we’ll deal with it on the battlefield.”


    “Yes, sir,” Carter said, his pen poised for further instructions.


    Patton stepped back from the map, folding his arms. “What’s the status of the Beta Production Facility? It was slated to add six manufactories to our capacity.”


    Carter flipped through a separate report. “The Beta facility is approximately 65% complete, sir. Initial testing of the infrastructure should begin within two weeks. Full operational capacity is projected for three weeks, barring any delays.”


    Patton’s jaw tightened, his mind calculating. “Three weeks is too long. Push the contractors. I want the first manufactories online in two weeks at most. Even partial capacity will make a difference.”


    “I’ll relay the order, sir,” Carter said, making a note.


    Patton leaned forward, placing his hands firmly on the desk. “This offensive will require speed, precision, and overwhelming force. I want the production lines running around the clock. No delays, no excuses. If Kovacs needs anything—materials, manpower, or additional engineers—make sure he gets it.”


    “Understood, sir,” Carter said, snapping a crisp salute.


    “Good,” Patton said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Dismissed.”


    As Carter left the room, Patton turned back to the map. His plan was ambitious, but it was the only way to regain the initiative. With Goblins to harass and infiltrate, Lees to scout and disrupt, Grants to strike at range, and Shermans to crush resistance head-on, the enemy wouldn’t stand a chance.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The pieces were moving into place, and the clock was ticking. Patton knew victory would be decided not just by strategy but by execution—and he had every intention of executing flawlessly.


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    Jackie stood stiffly in the briefing room, her squad gathered around her in various states of attention. The air was tense; everyone knew the unexpected meeting was about something important. Jackie’s jaw tightened as the lieutenant walked in, datapad in hand, his expression unreadable.


    He stepped to the front of the room, addressing the group with a sharp nod. “Listen up. Command has new orders, and they come with some changes.”


    His eyes locked onto Jackie, and she instinctively straightened her posture. “Cadet Stewart, step forward.”


    Jackie’s stomach flipped, but she moved forward without hesitation, standing at attention.


    The lieutenant’s voice was crisp, cutting through the room. “Effective immediately, you are no longer Cadet Stewart. Congratulations, Sergeant Stewart. You’re being promoted and reassigned.”


    Jackie blinked, processing the words. “Thank you, sir,” she said, steadying her voice. Around her, her squad muttered their approval—quiet congratulations mixed with curiosity about what this meant.


    The lieutenant turned back to the rest of the squad. “Listen closely. The promotion isn’t ceremonial. You’re being assigned to train incoming recruits. Starting today, you’re responsible for the next generation of mech pilots.”


    He tapped his datapad, and a list of names and assignments appeared behind the projection screen. “We’re working with limited resources and even less time. The Goblins are rolling off the production line now, and these recruits will pilot them. Most are displaced civilians, young men, and women between fifteen and nineteen years old. They’ve been selected for their quick reflexes and familiarity with mechs—most are former Iron Wind players.”


    A murmur rippled through the room. Dren leaned back in his chair, muttering, “We’re training kids now?”


    The lieutenant’s sharp glare silenced him. “They’ve lost everything—homes, families, friends. Many are angry. Some are traumatized. But they have potential, and you’re going to shape it. We’re running a twenty-four-seven training rotation, so get ready for long hours with no excuses.”


    He turned back to Jackie, gesturing to the names on the screen. “Sergeant Stewart, you’ll lead three better recruits: Jace Harland, Rina Torres, and Quinn Lorne. They’ll be under your direct command.”


    Jackie studied the names, committing them to memory. “Understood, sir.”


    “Good,” the lieutenant said. “The rest of you, check your assignments. Dismissed.”


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    Jackie found her recruits in the training hangar an hour later. The trio stood huddled together near one of the simulator pods, their youthful faces marked by defiance, exhaustion, and something harder to pinpoint—grief, maybe, or anger. They were smaller than she’d expected, their ages more apparent in person than they’d been on paper.


    She approached them, her boots echoing on the hangar floor. “Harland, Torres, Lorne,” she called out.


    The three turned to face her. Jace Harland, a wiry boy with sharp features, narrowed his eyes as he studied her. Rina Torres, broader and sturdier, stood with her arms crossed, defiant. Quinn Lorne, the youngest-looking of the group, shifted nervously, his gaze darting between Jackie and the others.


    “I’m Sergeant Stewart,” Jackie began, her tone firm. “You’re my squad for the next ten days. My job is to teach you how to survive out there. Your job is to listen and learn.”


    Jace’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Sure, Sergeant. We’ll listen. We’re good at that.”


    Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a game, Harland. One mistake in a Goblin, and you’re dead. If you think you can coast on attitude, you’re wrong.”


    Jace’s smirk faded, though he didn’t reply.


    Rina raised an eyebrow. “What’s a Goblin?”


    “A ten on mech,” Jackie replied. “Fast, modular, and fragile. You’ll be piloting one if you make it through training. If you can’t handle it, you won’t last long in the field.”


    Quinn shuffled his feet. “What happens if we don’t make it through training?”


    Jackie’s gaze softened slightly. “Then you won’t be sent into combat. But I don’t plan on letting that happen. You’re here because you’ve got potential. Now let’s see if you can live up to it.”


    She gestured toward the simulator pods. “First rotation is basic controls. Torres, you’re up. Harland and Lorne, watch and learn.”


    Rina stepped forward, her jaw set. “Got it.”


    Jackie led her to the pod, watching the recruit climb in and strapped herself into the harness. Her movements were confident but imprecise—evidence of experience in virtual simulations but no time spent in real machines. Jackie nodded to the technician monitoring the pod.


    “Run the basic maneuvering scenario,” she instructed. “Let’s see how she handles it.”


    As the simulation began, Jackie stood beside Jace and Quinn, her arms crossed. “This isn’t about showing off,” she said. “It’s about control and precision. Goblins don’t have armor to save you from mistakes, so you’d better get it right the first time.”


    Jace scowled but didn’t argue. Quinn gave a hesitant nod, his hands fidgeting at his sides.


    The simulation ended with Rina veering into a hillside after narrowly avoiding enemy fire. She climbed out of the pod, her face flushed with frustration.


    “Not bad for a first run,” Jackie said, her tone neutral. “But not good enough. You’ll run it again later. Harland, you’re next.”


    Jace stepped forward, his expression guarded. As he climbed into the pod, Jackie glanced at Quinn, who stood awkwardly beside her.


    “You look nervous,” she said.


    Quinn hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m not good enough?”


    Jackie’s gaze softened. “That’s what training is for. You don’t have to be perfect today. You have to try.”


    Quinn nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Jackie turned her attention back to the simulator as Jace’s run began. It would be a long ten days, but if she could shape these three into pilots, it would be worth every hour.