The HQ tent was alive with tension. Maps of France were pinned to the walls, some parts of the country marked in red for heavy enemy presence. Radios crackled with distant voices, relaying commands and updates. Sarah Harris stood near a table, reviewing supplies and logistical details for the advancing units. Her boots were planted firmly, eyes scanning the room with quiet authority.

The flap of the tent was thrown open, and an underofficer, pale and sweating, entered briskly, followed by a messenger who clutched a report tightly. The underofficer stepped forward, saluting quickly. She nods with a smile and gestures for him to speak.