Farce

As the towering expeditionary command ship, the London, took to the skies once more, the expeditionary force, having rested for nearly half a month, assembled its troops again and crossed the Texas border in mighty formation.

Steel behemoths crushed the hills beneath their treads, while army soldiers in khaki uniforms held the Union Jack aloft and followed like a tidal wave.

Inside the London.

General George frowned. "A scout unit from the Order of Saint George has been wiped out. Apparently, the enemy even includes holy knights sent by those Frenchmen. Those Texas Rangers who come and go like the wind have already learned of our movements. I fear they may set an ambush for our vanguard."

Marshal Julian said disdainfully, "General, those Texas cowboys are nothing more than a rabble. Even if they know our movements, do they really dare to form up, leave their turtle shell, and fight us in open battle?"

"You must understand that supremacy of the skies belongs to us now. It is simply impossible for them to pull any tricks right under our noses."

General George pinched the bridge of his nose. "My apologies, Marshal. I was overthinking it."

Marshal Julian shook his head. The string of recent defeats had clearly dealt a severe blow to this old general's confidence.

At that moment, Colonel Brown entered the command room carrying a telegram. "Marshal, urgent dispatch from New England!"

Marshal Julian took the telegram and read it. His brows initially furrowed, but soon relaxed. "The New England rebels have risen up while we were away."

General George looked somewhat concerned. "The Quebec Division, New Brunswick Division, and Virginia Division are all crucial pillars for suppressing local resistance. It is only natural that those rebels, who recognize neither sovereign nor father, would rise up once we