The command Hall aboard the Second Legion's flagship was like a beehive thrown into a furnace.
The air was scorching, thick with the burnt smell of overloaded computational crystals, evaporating sweat, and faint traces of gunsmoke and blood seeping through the ventilation ducts.
A vast holographic tactical star chart hovered in the center. The blue arrows marking the Imperium's attacking spearheads were slowing before the crimson masses representing the Rangdan Defense Line, which writhed and proliferated without cease.
Countless tiny markers representing companies and even squads flickered.
The communications channels were flooded with interference and static, punctuated by hoarse cries from every battlefront, terse casualty reports, and desperate pleas for help.
"My lord! The Defense Line in sector C-7 has collapsed! Three mortal regiments have been shattered! Requesting orbital fire support! Repeat, requesting bombardment!"
"This is the Gobi Storm Company! We're pinned down in Broken Tooth Canyon! The enemy has heavy spore mortars! We need air cover! Now! Immediately!"
"The medical station is under bombardment! Repeat, frontline medical station three has been destroyed! Casualties... casualties cannot be counted!"
"Father! The eastern advance has stalled! The enemy's underground tunnel network is ten times more complex than intelligence indicated! We can't deploy our heavy equipment!"
The Adjutant's voice was taut with anxiety. He hurried to Saladin's side, abandoning even his immaculate etiquette as he pointed at a rapidly expanding red region on the star chart.
"My lord! Ground-force casualties are rising sharply! More than fifteen major axes of advance are reporting emergencies at once. They urgently need reinforcements and reorganized fire support! Our reserves have already..."
Saladin raised a hand, a steady gesture that nonetheless brooked no argument as it cut him off.
He stood straight before the Holographic Star Chart, his long hair meticulously tied behind his head beneath its ever-shifting