Her words made everyone shift uncomfortably.
General Dante's expression turned dark. His voice was sharp when he asked, "How much is left?" His words echoed in the room, making even the air feel heavier.
General Janet sighed. "At most, six months before we are forced to eat only compressed biscuits and basic staples like rice and wheat. If more refugees arrive, even that will shrink to three months, maybe less."
Dante's fist hit the table. His knuckles turned white. He knew she was right.
'Forty to fifty thousand people already strain the base. When more come, this place will collapse if we do not find food. If we fail, it will not just be hunger. It will be riots, blood, and chaos.'
The generals grew silent, the room thick with worry. Then, with a sly smile, General Frank spoke.
"I have a simple solution."
Everyone turned to him. General Dante narrowed his eyes. He knew Frank's tone well. A fox always sounded calm when it was ready to bite.
