“Our goal was to defeat the Eleazar alliance on the border and acquire enough gain in the theater,” Commander Zettour speaks up in between puffs of his cigar. “But the republican bastards went and charged at our exposed flanks the moment our troops mobilized to the north.”

The Stahlreich Empire has responded adequately, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re being pushed back. That’s why these old men in uniforms and badges are all stressed and huffing cigars.

Friedrich von Eisenhof—Colonel von Eisenhof scoffs. “At this rate we’re going on defensive,” he mutters, shrugging off ash from his own cigar.

And no one likes a painstaking waiting game. Friedrich’s tired of this endless back and forth. No solution. Hard-headed idiots, these old coots. If it were up to him, better to deploy the Rapid Response mage battalion. They’d recently developed new equipment for the mages. A blend of magic and science, an innovation of the Fatherland. But the board wouldn’t listen.

“Then what do you propose-“

“I need a drink. General, it’s your turn to brainstorm,” he says, getting up to leave the conference room. General Zettour just sighs and waves. The genius Friedrich gets away with everything. He’s indispensable and he knows it.

The door shuts behind him as he walks the halls with his cigar between his lips.