The Greenland military's war room glowed with digital projections and scrolling data. Sector 12 flashed in red on the central map, flanked by topographical lines and heat signatures, while rows of operators monitored satellite feeds and drone telemetry in silence.
Commander Otunba entered briskly. The room's attention shifted to him as he approached the table where Captain Tade and Commander Helda were already waiting.
"Status update," Tade said, without lifting his eyes from the map.
Otunba nodded. "Our informant in Sector 12—Biden—just reported. According to him, the zone is lightly held. Most Forun fighters have already moved out with Asa, leaving leadership behind. He confirms that Asa's son and a rebel known as Zeke are commanding what remains of their presence there."
"Zeke…" Helda murmured, tapping a finger on the edge of her tablet. "Still no record. He's either off-grid or deliberately erased."
"He's real," Otunba said. "Biden described him as calm, strategic, and respected. He's not just a fighter—he's a figure. And he's right beside Asa's son."
Tade leaned forward, interest finally flickering in his eyes. "So the rebellion's future command might be sitting right there, in an under-defended zone?"
Otunba nodded. "Exactly."
Tade turned to Helda. "We eliminate them now, we don't just take a position—we cut the head off what's left of the snake."
Helda crossed her arms. "Intel's solid?"
Otunba hesitated, then replied, "As solid as it can be under the circumstances. Biden is Forun-born. A civilian. We chose him precisely because he could blend in without suspicion."
Tade smirked faintly. "A local, a reluctant traitor. Perfect."
Otunba didn't flinch, but a flash of discomfort passed behind his eyes. "He only agreed after I made it clear what would happen to his wife and daughter otherwise."
Helda gave him a look. Not disapproval—just understanding. "We all do what we must."
Tade stood. "Good. Commander Helda, initiate the strike plan. Retake Sector 12 by force. I want Raven and Delta squads in position by tonight. Use aerial recon, jammers, and thermal sweeps. Hit hard. Hit without warning."
"Understood," Helda said, already moving toward the command center to organize the teams.
Tade's voice followed her. "And remember—our objective is more than military. Capture either Asa's son or Zeke. Public execution. Live feed. We drag their revolution into the dirt."
Otunba remained still as the screens around them zoomed in on Sector 12—forested hills, shattered factories, and a rebel camp buzzing with tension.
The night fell over Sector 12 with an uneasy stillness. In the shadows of the crumbling comm towers and burnt-out factories, Forun fighters moved silently, checking weapons and peering into the darkened hills. Zeke stood at the edge of the command post, watching the treeline through binoculars, jaw clenched.
Inside, Gad—Asa's son—was pacing.
"There's movement near the western slope," a young Forun soldier reported. "Drones overhead. It's them."
Zeke nodded, eyes cold. "Tell the others to dig in. We don't have numbers, but we make them bleed for every meter."
Across the forest, Commander Helda stood behind the mobile command unit, headset crackling.
"Teams Alpha through Echo—advance. No warnings, no hesitation. Confirm all thermal contacts. Execute the plan."
Explosions cracked through the silence.
In moments, Sector 12 was a battlefield.
Greenland troops stormed in from three sides, backed by drones that lit up the night with targeting lasers and rapid bursts of gunfire. The ground shook under mortar fire. Forun fighters—many young, many untrained—held the line fiercely, ducking behind sandbags, firing with everything they had.
Civilians ran screaming from shattered buildings.
Among them, Biden bolted through smoke and falling debris. He hadn't signed up to die. He only wanted to protect his family. But the war didn't care. As he stumbled through a broken alleyway, a burst of fire from a Greenland drone unit sprayed the wall.
Biden collapsed, lifeless, caught in a war that had already swallowed too many.
Elsewhere, an unarmed woman was gunned down trying to pull her child from the rubble. The blood of Forun civilians soaked the dust.
Inside the command post, the walls trembled as explosions grew closer.
"They're pushing through," Gad said, sweat on his brow. "We can still hold the center—if we fall back to the—"
"No." Zeke grabbed him by the shoulder. His voice was steady. "We're done here."
"We can fight—"
"We'll lose everyone if we stay."
Gad shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."
Zeke forced a short, bitter smile. "You're not leaving me. You're continuing this war. If they get both of us, it's over. You go. Now."
Gad hesitated, rage and grief in his eyes.
"Gad," Zeke said firmly, gripping his arm. "You're Asa's son. That still means something."
After a long beat, Gad turned and ran, vanishing into the smoke.
Zeke turned back, pulled his rifle close, and stepped out into the street—alone. His final stand was fierce, precise. Greenland soldiers dropped before his trained aim. But they came in waves.
Eventually, they overwhelmed him.
He was forced to his knees, his weapon ripped away, blood trailing from a gash on his forehead.
Commander Helda approached, brushing soot from her armor. "Take him. Alive."
Tade's voice came through her earpiece seconds later. "Good. Let's show Forun what surrender looks like."
By dawn, Sector 12 was under Greenland control. Buildings smoldered. Bodies littered the streets—fighters, civilians, children.
But the banner of Greenland now flew from the ruins.
And Zeke, bloodied but breathing, was chained and dragged toward a cage of steel and cameras.