Sol's eyes flashed with a lethal, hungry amusement "By the time the Coalition tries to turn their massive bulk to face the eastern threat, Teams Seven through Nine will hit them straight from the south, cutting their rear guards and burning their reserve weapon racks. We will not fight their main blocks.
We hit them like a spinning circular saw, drawing blood from nine different directions within the span of a single hour."
A collective murmur of awe rippled through the older elders at the back of the room. The sheer, ruthless elegance of the strategy was stunning. It wasn't just a series of random raids; it was a psychological execution.
"It's a continuous, rotating blade," Sol murmured, a cold, hungry smirk spreading across his face. "We hit them from nine different directions within the span of a single hour. Because the strikes are perfectly timed and scattered, their communication lines will completely choke.
