Entangled in an endless stretch of land mines, The Mad General felt the first twinge of panic and defeat he had ever known. On the horizon, miles away from the furthest ranges of his most powerful weapons, the Machine Fortress stood in defiance. His Filthy Five Hundred were scattered along a ragged and faltering line.

Smoking heaps of wreckage provided the only cover on that featureless plain. Men darted from one wreck to another, avoiding the shifting streams of gunfire from auto-guns that ripped through their positions, only to detonate a mine beneath their feet in a shower of dirt and gore. Hidden openings in the sand released clouds of chemical and biological weapons onto his men. Those who lacked protection were left by the machines to suffer a long and painful death.

One man yelled, pointing out that every man who had given up the fight and retreated was not being fired upon. The cowards would return to the villages spreading fear and birthing new cowards.

The Mad General would not allow that.