The city had barely begun to breathe after Kane's first "miracle" when intelligence reports came in: the enemy was returning, and this time, they weren't holding back. Entire divisions of mechanized infantry, hovercraft fleets, and orbital strike drones were converging on Taipei. Satellites showed columns of armored vehicles stretching for kilometers, artillery batteries positioned on surrounding hills, and hundreds of fast-moving aircraft arcing over the horizon. Kane looked at the incoming numbers and felt a cold, hollow terror twist his stomach.
He had no desire to command this battle. None. He had hoped the previous miracle would mark the end of his cursed luck. He had hoped the enemy would pause, regroup, and leave the Iron Alliance alone long enough for him to vanish into obscurity. Instead, here he was, standing in the same ruined government plaza, facing the same coalition of Japanese, Korean, and Taiwanese officers, all waiting for direction. All eyes were on him.
He exhaled sharply and forced himself to speak.
"Listen," Kane began, his voice calm but tight. "We can't hold the city conventionally. We can't meet them head-on. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and this city is a death trap if we try to defend it the normal way. So… we're going to do something completely insane."
The officers leaned forward. Kane could see the questions forming in their eyes. "Insane" was one thing; Kane's previous "miracles" had already stretched the bounds of believability.
He spread a map across the rubble-strewn plaza, pointing to roads blocked by destroyed vehicles, bridges partially collapsed, and narrow alleys snaking through the urban jungle.
"We're splitting the city into five zones," he said. "Each zone will have a skeleton crew—barely enough to slow them down. All other troops will deliberately withdraw into side streets, alleyways, underground tunnels, anywhere the enemy doesn't expect. We will create phantom units everywhere. Empty streets will be wired with explosives, traps, and decoys to make it look like we're stronger than we are. And civilians… evacuate as many as you can through the eastern tunnels. Some will die. Probably a lot. But more will live than if we tried to defend every street."
Captain Park's jaw dropped. "Sir… that's… almost suicidal. We'll be abandoning entire sectors to the enemy!"
Kane's lips pressed together. "Yes. Entire sectors. It's the only way to save the rest. You'll see why in a minute. Trust me—or at least, do what I say."
Japanese Colonel Tanaka stared at him, expression hard. "General… if this fails, there will be no city left. Tens of thousands will die."
"Then it's better than the alternative," Kane muttered, his throat dry. "We do this, we live. We don't… we die. That's the choice."
By noon, the enemy assault began. Columns of hovercraft and mechanized infantry moved in, expecting an easy victory. Kane's troops executed his instructions to the letter, moving in bizarre, unpredictable patterns. Soldiers disappeared down side streets, only to reappear miles away. Armored vehicles zigzagged into narrow alleys, drawing enemy fire into traps they had set along crumbling roads. Explosives, decoys, and barricades turned the city into a labyrinth of confusion.
The first waves of the enemy fell into ambush after ambush. What should have been a massacre for the defenders turned into chaos for the attackers. Civilians streamed through tunnels Kane had marked for evacuation, reaching safe zones that should have been inaccessible. Tanks bogged down in streets that seemed passable, only to be obliterated by drone strikes and artillery hidden in abandoned buildings. Kane wandered between checkpoints, shouting insane orders at anyone who would listen, terrified, sweating, praying silently that this wouldn't work—because if it did, he'd be trapped forever as the "miracle general."
By nightfall, the city was still standing. The enemy had suffered devastating losses, their advance stalled in confusion and fire. Kane's "crazy plan" had worked better than he could have hoped. Soldiers and officers alike whispered about his brilliance, calling it a tactical masterpiece. Civilians had been saved on a scale no one could have predicted. Yet Kane, as he leaned against a scorched wall and wiped soot from his face, did not feel victorious.
He didn't say a word about his true intentions. He didn't tell anyone he had wanted the plan to fail. To the Iron Alliance, he was flawless, daring, and visionary. To Kane himself, he was a frightened young man, trapped in a legend he never wanted.
He whispered quietly to the shadows of the ruined city, where the smoke and fire twisted like ghosts:
"I didn't want this… and somehow, I can't make it stop."
And somewhere in the chaos, the myth of Nathaniel Kane—the Coin Toss General—grew larger. The universe, it seemed, would not allow him to fail, no matter how desperately he wished to.