Carnford Command Post. Thick stone walls shut out the biting wind and sporadic cannon fire outside, but they could not shut out the heavy, killing chill that permeated the air.
Candles burned steadily in bronze holders, casting shifting light and shadow across the faces gathered around the enormous oak table.
Karl sat at the head of the table, with Brendan, Roland, Richter, and Edgar seated on either side. Notebooks, maps, and the latest battle reports lay spread before each of them.
"After this period of quiet standoff, Harald's patience—and his resources—are probably both nearly exhausted," Karl said first. "Carnford is not Eagle Nest. We have Amber Bay, an endless stream of supplies, ever-strengthening fortifications, and soldiers who grow more seasoned with every battle."
"A prolonged siege would be slow suicide for the Sauron. Deep winter is already here. Their firewood, food, and morale will freeze and be worn away bit by bit with time. The General Staff's simulations unanimously conclude that Harald's best—and perhaps only—choice is to launch an all-out attack before he sinks completely into the mire. He will try to inflict severe losses on us, then retreat with whatever 'dignity' and morale he can still preserve."
"Otherwise, even if his army of a hundred thousand is not buried here in its entirety, there will be little spirit left in them when they return."
Everyone nodded, their gazes turning to Edgar, who was responsible for civil affairs and logistical figures.
Edgar adjusted the crystal spectacles on his nose and opened the thick ledger in his hands. In an even tone, he began his report. "It has been forty-seven days since the Sauron army arrived beneath the city walls. Our overall casualties are as follows: 1,237 killed in action; 895 severely wounded and rendered combat-ineffective; and approximately 2,000 lightly wounded