His grin pulled flat against the corner of his mouth, and the math started working in his head before his next breath finished.
One percent of what?
The probe wave had been forty in the front rank and forty behind, plus the pups and serpents that had pooled in after them, plus the fliers above them. Call it a clean two hundred bodies through the gate during the probe. The gang and the magma path between them had already cleaned up most of those.
If the system was reading kill count as percent of total enemy headcount, then one percent meant the Claimant's full roster sat somewhere around twenty thousand bodies, and what had walked through the gate in the probe had been a rounding error, a sample.
Or the system was reading percent of enemy combat power, in which case the math went the other direction. Twenty thousand low-tier templates would have read as a great deal more than one percent of the Claimant's force if the metric was raw count.
