Chapter 457.1: I, Pangolin, Will Not Let You Down!

Oasis No.3.

The atmosphere inside the frontline command center was tense.

A group of officers crowded around a strategic map filled with markings, all silent, their expressions uniformly grim.

A week ago, under General Griffin’s command and with the desperate cover provided by the soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom, they had successfully retreated to Oasis No.3 before the NEw Alliance’s armored units could cut off their retreat.

Although they held an overwhelming numerical advantage, the situation before them was still far from optimistic.

General Griffin stared solemnly at the map for a long time before suddenly speaking, “How long until reinforcements arrive?”

Upon hearing the general’s voice, the adjutant standing nearby quickly responded, “At least 45 days!”

45 days...

Griffin frowned. The officers beside him exchanged looks, the weight of worry heavy in their eyes, yet none spoke. That was because none of them had a better idea.

Currently, the 100,000 or so Clone Corps deployed at the frontline were reinforcements that had departed two months ago. Upon arrival at the Falcon Kingdom, they had been immediately rushed to the front without even reorganization.

In truth, that wasn’t part of Griffin’s original plan. It was a forced move meant to intimidate the New Alliance and stop them from advancing further.

According to his original strategy, those 10 divisions were meant to replace the Falcon Kingdom’s soldiers.

After conquering the Lion Kingdom, the soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom would quickly transition to a defensive posture, maintaining order in the occupied territories while the Clone Corps would take over the offensive operations.

This would not only solidify the Army’s gains in the Sunset Province but also sustain the momentum of the war machine, leaving the desert dwellers no chance to regroup, sweeping through the entire province before they could mobilize.

By then, even if the enterprise and the Great Rift Valley wanted to intervene, they’d be too late to reverse the Army’s grip on the Sunset Province.

Seeing the fruits of war, the commander of the Eastern Army would likely offer more military and political support.

Griffin had made all his military deployments in the Sunset Province based on his blitzkrieg strategy. So long as they struck down the enemy before they could react, they wouldn’t encounter much resistance.

To ensure the reinforcement units arrived on time for the rotation, he had adopted an aggressive deployment method, marching the 100,000 light and fast troops ahead of the supply trains, with the intent to resupply locally upon arrival.

Thus, each division carried only the minimum amount of ammunition.

In theory, if Operation Thunder had gone smoothly, it would have been more than enough.

But things hadn’t just gone poorly, they went completely sideways.

Not only did they fail to take the City of Abundance on schedule, they even lost half of the already-secured Oasis No.9, along with nearly all of the relocated ammunition depots.

To make matters worse, the supply line to the north had been severed. The 100,000 soldiers had made it to the front lines with rifles in hand but hadn’t seen a single bullet beyond those in the magazines in their packs.

After all, their vassal focused on farming. Even with military reforms, their main industry remained agriculture.

No matter how hard their craftsmen worked, they couldn’t fill such a massive ammunition gap in the short term.

With so little ammunition per division, even with strict conservation, they could barely sustain two battles. By the third, they would be down to two or three soldiers sharing one rifle.

Clones may not fear death, but that didn’t make them immortal. They wouldn’t be able to charge at the New Alliance’s machine gun fire just bayonets.

In that case, even a million troops wouldn’t be enough. As long as the New Alliance’s logistics kept flowing, they would gun everyone down!

The only realistic option left was to wait for ammunition shipments from the rear.

Staring at the map in deep thought for a long while, Griffin finally spoke slowly.

“... The commander on the other side is no fool. We won’t be able to bluff them for long. That ultimatum we sent might buy us 30 days at most, that’s the optimistic estimate. If things go poorly, we may not even get three weeks.”

The officers whispered among themselves.

Three weeks!

Even if supplies were delivered immediately, it would still take 45 days to reach the front!

That timeline wasn’t even close to enough!

“If they realize we’re bluffing, they’ll inevitably probe our defenses. And once they confirm our supply problems are real, our situation will be even worse than it was a week ago.”

If they lost Oasis No.3...

The only remaining stronghold in Sunset Province would be the Falcon Kingdom itself.

And worse still, if the survivors gained enough confidence, if Golden Lizard and Camel Kingdom realized the Army was all bark and no bite, their armies would surely jump in to claim a piece of the action.

Griffin paused, then growled, “30 days! After 30 days, our first line of defense must hold out for at least 15 more days. Then, we’ll gradually retreat to the central region of Oasis No.3...”

“Even with conservative estimates, we should still have over 70,000 troops left by then. As long as we hold out until that moment, once our main forces complete their resupply, their spear would be useless even if they stabbed our hearts!”

A fierce glint flashed across Griffin’s face as he clenched his fists on the command table. “I’ll make him spit out every single thing he dared to swallow!”

As for the Heart of Steel, he didn’t even mention it.

That wasn’t something conventional weapons could deal with. There was no point in planning to take it back. The airship couldn’t occupy surface facilities anyway. Let it blow up trenches if it liked, clones were disposable.

McClennan might have known how to deal with that thing, but unfortunately, he died in a nuclear blast.

But it didn’t matter.

He had already reported the airship’s loss. The weapons designed to counter it would be delivered along with the Clone Corps’ supplies from the rear.

One airship wouldn’t change the course of the war. Once his clones were resupplied, everything would turn around!

The officers exchanged glances, quietly murmuring.

The next moment, one of them spoke up.

“General, what if that ultimatum doesn’t buy us thirty days... What if they really attack us in three weeks?”

The command tent fell silent and the silence lasted for a full five minutes.

At last, General Griffin spoke again, breaking the stillness. “That would be the worst-case scenario.”

“If we can’t even buy three weeks, we’ll have no choice but to abandon Oasis No.3 and retreat to Oasis No.2.”

But if it came to that, before retreating, he would destroy everything worth destroying in Oasis No.3, leaving the New Alliance with a giant mess to deal with.

Tens of thousands of starving refugees should be enough to slow them down.

Of course, that would mean giving up a share of the final spoils...

Griffin's operations meeting concluded, followed closely by departmental and divisional briefings, where mid-level and junior officers were informed of the strategic deployments relevant to their respective units.

After the meeting dispersed, Cowley left the conference room. He didn’t linger outside for long but instead returned to his tent.

By rank and standing, he originally wouldn’t have qualified to attend that level of strategic meeting. However, recent developments changed things.

First, General McClennan was killed in action. Cowley, who had previously belonged to McClennan’s faction, was taken under Griffin’s command along with several other officers. Due to a shortage of junior officers, and having served in the rear with training duties, Cowley was granted a field promotion.

As the tent’s flap lifted, he saw Pangolin seated at the table, devouring his meal.

Awakeners had above-average appetites, but the dude’s intake exceeded even that. With his belly wide open, he could practically devour half a calf in one sitting.

Luckily, what the Army lacked was ammunition, not food. Otherwise, just his meals alone would be enough to earn him enemies.

“I really envy your appetite. I haven’t been able to eat at all these past few days.” Cowley casually tossed his officer’s cap onto the coat rack, sat down opposite the table, and glanced at the pile of bones on the plate with a click of the tongue.

Good grief.

That was easily twenty kilos of meat.

Battlefield Cheerleader let out a burp and chuckled without care. “Problems on the battlefield should be solved on the battlefield. So why frown about it outside the battlefield?”

After all, you lot are doomed to lose anyway.

Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Having already reviewed the operational plan discussed by Spring Water Commander and Escaping Mole, he had zero doubt in his mind.

Cowley, however, failed to pick up on the deeper meaning of those words. He just looked at him enviously and sighed, “If only I were half as optimistic as you.”

Hearing his tone, Battlefield Cheerleader casually asked, “Got something bothering you?”

Cowley replied, “Still the same issue, supplies. Other than food, we have nothing... I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but it’s hardly a secret anymore.”

Battlefield Cheerleader shrugged.

Indeed, it wasn’t a secret.

They’d already discussed it several rounds on the forum. Spring Water Commander and a group of military buffs were still arguing over how many battles the Army’s supply could support.

But regardless of the number, everyone agreed. It wouldn’t be more than five battles.

The only real threat was if they concentrated the supplies into a single division before using the rest as backup. That way, they would be able to fight more effectively.

“Let’s talk about something happier, General Griffin promoted me to a one star commander! I can command 1,000 men!”

Battlefield Cheerleader looked surprised, then broke into a smile. “Congratulations!”

Cowley grinned too.

“And congratulations to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes,” Cowley nodded, then continued. “I’m not the only one who got promoted. Starting today, you’re a Centurion too.”

Battlefield Cheerleader blinked. “I thought I was already a commander of 1,000 men?”

Wait, did they demote me?

Sensing his confusion, Cowley smiled and clarified, “I meant a Centurion of the actual Army.”

“A commander of the Reserve Army is just a post, not a rank. In the Army, that doesn’t even compare to a Decurion in the regular army. Normally, only Wislanders are allowed to serve as officers in the regular army. A promotion from vassal commander to regular Centurion is unprecedented, but the situation is urgent now, and there’s no time for protocol.”

The Clone Corps didn’t just lack ammunition. They were severely short on junior and mid-level officers.

To patch that gap, Griffin had pulled a batch of young officers trained by the Army from the Falcon Kingdom’s reserves and assigned them directly to the regular army.

Cowley didn’t tell Pangolin that his original assignment had been a mere Decurion, but he had personally vouched for him, putting his own honor on the line to get him bumped up to Centurion.

This kind of field promotion opportunity was rare. Maybe once or twice would happen in a lifetime.

Pangolin had the loyalty and strength to deserve it. A man like that shouldn’t waste away as a mere vassal grunt.

Cowley believed in his judgment.

A flash of disbelief crossed Pangolin’s face, followed by astonishment. It took him a moment to process what he’d heard.

Holy crap!

He was officially in the ranks?!