The clock on the wall pointed to six twenty, the second hand ticking away, each movement like a countdown.
The Pentagon, E-742 Meeting Room.
The time was nine o'clock in the evening in Washington, four in the morning in Illiguo.
The meeting room had no windows, and the lighting was a perpetually cold white.
The air was permeated with the scent of disinfectant and caffeine — the former from daily scheduled cleaning, the latter from the concentration in everyone's blood present.
On the curved wall made up of twelve screens, real-time situations in sixteen global hotspots were displayed.
Titrick occupied the third screen from the bottom left, not large, yet it drew everyone's attention at this moment.
The image of Colonel Kote appeared on the main screen.
He stood before the map in the "Outpost" command center, busy staff members behind him, yet everyone deliberately maintained a low volume, as if afraid of disturbing the call.
"... To sum up, although encountering temporary difficulties from a sandstorm on the fourth day, the enemy suffered significant losses as well."
Kote's voice was somewhat hoarse.
"Our air reconnaissance shows that the 1515 Armed suffered at least fifteen hundred casualties in yesterday's counterattack. A third of their elite infiltration units failed to return. Meanwhile, on the Alliance Army's side…"
He paused, "Despite encountering some setbacks, the main force remains intact, and morale is usable."
On the other end of the screen, seven people sat around the long conference table.
In the center was the Director of Operations of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Army Admiral Rimiller.
"Morale is usable?"
Admiral Miller repeated these four words, his tone flat, revealing no emotion, "Colonel Kote, the casualty report I just saw shows that the Kurd Armed have already lost over twenty percent of their combat personnel. Thunder Defense's attrition rate has also reached ten percent. You call this 'morale is usable'?"
The meeting room was momentarily silent.
The other generals maintained the same posture, their faces showing the same expressionless expressions.
Kote in the screen clearly swallowed saliva, yet his voice remained steady:
"Sir, urban warfare is inherently a war of attrition. The losses of the Kurd Armed indeed exceeded expectations, but their second-line units are moving forward to fill the gap. Thunder Defense's core elite combat forces, the 'Alpha' and 'Bravo' companies, remain intact and can be deployed at any time."
"What is your plan?" This time, it was the Air Force Lieutenant General who asked, responsible for coordinating air forces in the theater.
"At dawn tomorrow, we will launch a tactical strike codenamed 'Dawn Hammer.'"
Kote signaled the staff to switch the screen, and a simplified operational diagram appeared on the screen.
"The targets are twofold: the automotive repair factory complex to the north of the city and the school building complex to the west. These strongholds are like nails in our defensive line; removing them will stabilize the entire northern battlefront."
On the illustration, blue arrows pointed from two directions simultaneously toward the red target area.
The attached icons showed — two company-level assault units, four artillery companies providing support, two Apache helicopters providing full escort, and at least four F-16s offering quick air response.
"Duration of the operation?" asked the Marine Corps Lieutenant General.
"From the first shell hitting, to the assault units withdrawing to the safe zone, in total no more than ninety minutes."
Kote's tone carried confidence, "Rapid penetration, rapid clearance, rapid withdrawal. We aim to use a surgical strike to remove these two tumors."
A slight sound of paper rustling could be heard in the meeting room.
The generals lowered their heads, looking at the briefing papers in their hands, which provided more detailed force comparisons, risk assessments, and, most crucially, political impact assessments.
"Is reinforcement needed?" Admiral Miller finally spoke again.
Kote almost instinctively replied, "Currently, no need, sir. The existing forces are sufficient to complete the task."
This answer prompted a subtle reaction in the meeting room.
The generals exchanged glances, brief but enough to convey understanding.
They all knew why Kote said so.
Requesting reinforcements implied admitting that the 'Balance Beam' operation was already out of control, implying that the Pentagon needed to invest more resources to plug this bottomless pit, and also implied that Kote's command capabilities would be called into question.
At this point in time, at this juncture, Kote would rather gamble than admit defeat.
"Casualty estimate?" someone asked.
"Optimistically, light casualties. Conservatively, medium casualties." Kote provided a standard answer, "But in any case, the achievements will far outweigh the costs."
Another moment of silence.
Admiral Miller took off his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a piece of cloth, a motion he carried out for ten seconds, then put them back on.
"Colonel Kote," his voice remained flat, "Are you sure you want to execute this plan?"
"Yes, sir."
Kote's voice was decisive, "This is the best chance to break the deadlock."
"Then go ahead and do it." Admiral Miller nodded, "But remember — act cautiously, report progress in time. Washington needs to know the situation at every step, and the president reviews the battle report every Monday, hoping that the report on his desk will be satisfactory by then."
"Understood, sir."
The video connection was terminated.
Kote's image vanished from the screen.
The lights in the meeting room were brightened a bit.
Staff started tidying up their documents, preparing to leave, but none of the generals moved.
"What do you think?" Admiral Miller was the first to speak.
"He's gambling." The Air Force Lieutenant General was straightforward, "Gambling on a tactical victory with the last reserve force. If he wins, he can temporarily stabilize the situation. If he loses..."
"If he loses, the 'Balance Beam' completely breaks." The Marine Corps Lieutenant General followed up, "But honestly, gentlemen, is it really necessary to continue walking that 'Balance Beam'?"
This question made the room fall silent again.
The 'Balance Beam' operation had been controversial from the start.
Its core idea was: under the advantage of informatization, use a small number of elite troops to guide air and long-range firepower, quickly crushing the enemy's main forces, avoiding large-scale ground troop deployments that lead to high casualties and political risks.
The theory was beautiful, but the reality is — Titrick's 1515 Armed had no "main force."
They decentralized, hiding in various corners of the city, using the most primitive tactics to consume the most advanced technology.
After three days of fighting, the price paid by the Alliance Army had already far exceeded expectations.
"If 'Dawn Hammer' fails," Admiral Miller slowly said, "we need a backup plan. The president needs to hear a report on the Middle East situation next week, and we can't show him a complete failure."
"Then let Kote gamble."
The Special Operations Command Lieutenant General shrugged, "If he wins, it's a win-win. If he loses... then it's a frontline commander's misjudgment, poor tactical execution. We cut our losses promptly and pivot to a more secure plan."
The others nodded slightly.
This is the rule of the game.
Victory has countless fathers, failure is always an orphan.
And what they, sitting three floors below the Pentagon, had to do was ensure that no matter the result, they would not be that orphan.
"Notify Central Command," Admiral Miller finally instructed, "Closely monitor the progress of 'Dawn Hammer.' All related intelligence is to be synchronized here in real-time."
"Yes, sir."
The generals stood up and left.
The lights gradually dimmed, leaving just the screen showing Titrick glowing.
The city remained asleep in the dark.
But there was less than two hours left until dawn.