Slow and Steady: Northeastern Assault Group

The northeastern sector of Corsair was a labyrinth of shattered buildings, crumbling streets, and makeshift barricades. Smoke hung low over the city, mingling with the acrid stench of burning Extractant flesh and the metallic tang of blood. The 21st Mechanized Regiment, composed of the 41st, 55th, 10th, 66th, and 99th units, moved methodically through the ruins, their mechanical behemoths flanking infantry columns and providing cover as they pushed deeper into the city.

The lead mechanized unit, the 10th Heavy Armor Division, was a sight to behold. Their towering Havoc-Class Assault Tanks, bristling with cannons, chainguns, and anti-infantry flamethrowers, formed the vanguard. The tanks crushed debris beneath their treads, their guns swiveling with practiced precision to scan for threats.

"Eyes up!" barked Captain Alden, his voice crackling through the comms. "Keep the formation tight! Infantry, stay in the shadow of the heavies. No gaps, no risks!"

The infantry moved in close behind the tanks, their rifles raised, every step cautious but deliberate. They knew the Extractants could emerge from anywhere—piles of rubble, sewer grates, even the skeletal remains of buildings that seemed too fragile to hold their weight. Yet, the pace was steady. The coordinated advance of five mechanized units working in tandem was a show of overwhelming force.

The 55th and 66th Medium Mech Companies flanked the column, their Falcon-Class Walkers striding with eerie grace. These bipedal war machines were outfitted with twin rotary guns and missile pods, designed for both crowd control and precision strikes. Their operators scanned the surrounding ruins through enhanced targeting systems, ready to rain fire on any threat.

"Movement at eleven o'clock," came a report from the 66th's lead mech operator. "Multiple heat signatures—Extractants incoming."

"Light 'em up," Captain Alden ordered calmly.

The Falcon-Class Walkers spun on their hydraulics, their rotary guns spinning up with a high-pitched whine before unleashing a torrent of lead. The bullets tore through the approaching wave of Extractants, shredding their grotesque forms and painting the rubble with ichor. Explosions followed as missile pods fired into the densest clusters, creating fireballs that sent debris and limbs flying.

"41st, tighten the rear," Alden continued. "Don't let anything flank us."

The 41st Mechanized Infantry, riding atop modified troop carriers outfitted with heavy machine guns, moved to secure the column's rear. The 99th Light Recon Unit, the fastest and most agile of the regiment, zipped between positions in their Cheetah-Class Rapid Assault Vehicles, their twin-mounted railguns firing with sharp, ear-piercing cracks that punctuated the symphony of destruction.

For a moment, it seemed like the Extractants might overwhelm the forward push. Dozens of the creatures surged from the ruins, their twisted forms moving unnaturally fast, some clambering onto the Havoc tanks in an attempt to find weak points.

"Get them off my hull!" shouted a tank operator from the 10th, his voice tinged with panic.

"55th, suppress!" Alden barked.

The Falcon-Class Walkers pivoted again, their flamethrowers roaring to life. Jets of fire engulfed the Extractants swarming the tanks, their screeches piercing the air as their bodies were consumed. The infantry followed up with concentrated rifle fire, picking off any stragglers.

"Clear! Move up!" Alden ordered.

The column pressed forward once more, the mechanical rumble of the Havoc tanks and walkers shaking the ground beneath them. The infantry advanced cautiously but confidently, their trust in the machines' overwhelming firepower bolstering their resolve.

As they approached the next intersection, a larger wave of Extractants emerged—this time led by one of their armored variants. The massive creature, covered in jagged, bone-like plating, roared as it charged toward the column, absorbing fire from several directions without faltering.

"99th, flank it! Bring it down!" Alden shouted.

The Cheetah-Class Vehicles sped into action, their drivers weaving through rubble with practiced ease. Railgun rounds struck the armored Extractant from the side, their high-velocity impacts cracking its natural armor. Meanwhile, the 10th's Havoc tanks fired in unison, their shells slamming into the creature's front. It staggered, its roar cutting short as it collapsed in a heap.

"Advance! We've got fire superiority!" Alden yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The column surged forward, the tanks leading the charge with unrelenting fire. The Extractants, disorganized and unable to withstand the combined assault of multiple mechanized units, began to retreat deeper into the city. Each step forward was slow, deliberate, but undeniable. The infantry pressed on, clearing out stragglers while the machines carved a path through the chaos.

By the time the regiment reached their next rally point, the northeastern push had regained its momentum. The Extractants were reeling, their defensive lines shattered.

Captain Alden's voice came over the comms again, this time with a note of grim satisfaction. "Good work, 21st. We keep this up, and Corsair's ours. On my mark, we'll continue the advance."

For now, they had a moment to regroup, reload, and ready themselves for the next wave. But the city was far from won, and everyone knew the fight was only beginning.

The command room was a boiling pot of tension, every screen in the room alive with live feeds, data streams, and tactical overlays of the ongoing battle in Corsair. The stark blue and red markers on the central holographic map told a grim story: nine hours in, and the assault was faltering.

The Northeastern front, while making the most progress, was dangerously overextended. Their push had outpaced the support units meant to hold the ground behind them, creating gaps in the lines that could easily be exploited.

The Northern front, while steady, was mired in an agonizing slog through entrenched Extractant positions. Every block taken was paid for in blood, and progress was measured in meters rather than miles.

The Northwestern front, however, was the worst. Units there had barely advanced at all, their forces pinned down by relentless waves of Extractants. What little ground they gained was immediately contested, their forward momentum grinding to a near halt.

Around the room, murmurs of unease were steadily building into a cacophony of stress and frustration. Officers huddled in small groups, their voices hushed but audible in the tense atmosphere.

"He should've deployed hours ago."

"What is he even waiting for? The Colonel gave him full authority!"

"We're going to lose this. The Extractants are adapting faster than we're advancing."

"The Northeastern front is pushing too far ahead! They're going to be cut off!"

"And the Northwestern front? It's basically frozen. We'll lose that flank if it collapses."

The whispers grew louder, more pointed.

"Does he even know what's happening down here?"

"Maybe he's hesitating. Even SABER-1 can't handle this kind of scale."

"Hesitating? He's supposed to be humanity's greatest weapon!"

Near the center of the room, Icarus sat at her station, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her usually confident demeanor had given way to a pensive stillness as she listened to the growing chorus of doubt. She hated it. Every word, every whisper felt like an accusation, a betrayal of the faith humanity had placed in Eilífr.

"Has he said anything? Even checked in?" someone near her asked.

"No. His channel's been silent since the operation began."

"That's not normal… right?"

"Not for anyone else. For him? Who knows."

She clenched her jaw, her knuckles white as her nails dug into her palms. Her loyalty to Eilífr burned fiercely, but even she couldn't deny that the prolonged silence was unusual.

"Maybe he's already analyzing the situation," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible even to herself. But the words sounded hollow, even to her ears.

More whispers reached her.

"If we had sent him in earlier, we'd have at least one flank secure by now."

"We're wasting time! Every second we stall, the Extractants reinforce."

"Maybe he's not as infallible as they say."

Her blood boiled at the last comment. She wanted to shout, to defend him, to remind them all of who Eilífr was and what he had done for humanity time and time again. But her tongue felt tied, her thoughts clouded.

Why haven't you dropped, Elfy? she thought, her frustration mixing with a gnawing uncertainty.

She couldn't bring herself to answer the whispers—not because she doubted him, but because she couldn't explain his delay. And in the silence of her defense, the doubts in the room grew louder.

"Sir," one of the analysts called out, his voice tinged with panic as he addressed the Colonel standing near the center console. "At this rate, the operation is going to stall completely. We've barely taken a quarter of the city."

The Colonel's face was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the map. "And the Extractants?" he asked evenly.

"They're adapting, sir. We're seeing increased coordination, even among the lower-tier creatures. If we can't regain momentum…" The analyst trailed off, not needing to finish the thought.

The Colonel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking toward the icon on the screen that marked SABER-1's pod. It still blinked faintly, reading STANDBY. He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.

Icarus swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the weight of their collective anxiety pressing down on her. Every second Eilífr remained in orbit felt like an eternity, every whispered doubt a dagger aimed at the man she trusted more than anyone.

And yet, she couldn't defend him. Not this time. She had no answers to give, no reassurance to offer. All she could do was wait and hope that whatever he was planning, it would be enough to turn the tide.

The room's tension reached a breaking point as another officer barked out, "Northeastern front's overextended! We've got gaps forming in the line!"

"Northwestern units reporting critical casualties! They're about to collapse!"

The Colonel raised his hand sharply, silencing the room. His voice was cold and steady. "Hold the line. Maintain discipline. SABER-1 will deploy when the time is right."

The words were firm, but even he couldn't quell the doubt lingering in the air.

And as Icarus sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the icon marking Eilífr's pod, a single thought echoed in her mind.

Please, Elfy… don't make me lose faith in you.