In the old days, there were companies of trained engineers who drilled endlessly to master their specialized equipment solely created for the task of breaching mine fields. Neat lanes of scorched earth would be framed with white cloth tape and armies could pour through to murder the fools who thought obstacles would hold them back.

The Mad General had breached a lane towards the Machine Fortress. Not with equipment or specialized training, but with blood and wreckage. The Filthy Five Hundred poured through the lane, spread out to reduce artillery casualties, and gallantly fought the remotely operated weapon platforms.

The Machine Fortress didn’t feel emotions. It could not worry. It could not fear the tide of men who approached it. The towers and towers of networked processors which served as the brain of the Machine Fortress merely heated up. The processors ran faster, producing more heat, with each additional aspect of the battle it was forced to coordinate in an attempt to stop The Filthy Five Hundred.