White Elephant capital, Delhi, suburban underground command center.
The duty officers sat before their terminals as fresh streams of data constantly flickered across the screens. Yet not one of them dared leave their post without authorization, nor did anyone dare look up at the figure seated in the main chair.
The White Elephant president sat firmly in the central command chair, posture impeccable, legs apart and hands resting on either armrest. His calm gaze remained fixed on the main screen that covered the entire wall ahead.
On the screen, four split displays showed real-time frontline footage from different angles—tank columns advancing in formation across the wilderness, infantry fighting vehicle tracks crushing the dry sand, and self-propelled artillery trailing long plumes of dust as it slowly followed behind.
Every frame confirmed one fact: White Elephant's army was advancing. Soon, those border outposts would be crushed completely.
The atmosphere in the hall felt like the prelude to a celebration. Several generals in dark green uniforms stood not far behind the president's seat, occasionally exchanging knowing glances.
Some wore smiles at the corners of their mouths, some stood with arms folded as they watched the screen, and some quietly discussed something with the officers beside them.
How many years had it been? They had waited far too long for this day—the humiliation of that war decades ago, the frustration of border clashes years ago, Rabbit Nation's eternally confident and composed face—
This time, taking advantage of the rare opportunity of the world's siege against Rabbit Nation, White Elephant could finally claim a share of that long-desired feast.
Rabbit Nation's western territories, and even lands farther beyond, would be redrawn into White Elephant's domain in this offensive.
The president's eyes remained on the main screen, a barely noticeable curve at the corner of his