The room reeked of coffee, sweat, and disbelief.
Maps sprawled across the central oak table. Tactical overlays, reconnaissance reports, and grainy aerial photos that looked like they'd been taken during an eclipse.
The Catalonian ridge was gone. Flattened. Carved open like a wound on the earth.
General Félix Moreau stared at them, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles along his temple pulsed.
"We lost how much?"
Colonel Baptiste, fresh from the night shift adjusted his fogged spectacles. His voice quivered despite the practiced military cadence.
"Everything, sir. From the Sierra de Llers to the fallback line at Castellfollit. Communications went dark just after 0300. We believe the Republican command post was vaporized."
"Vaporized," Moreau echoed, his voice low. "Not destroyed. Not overrun. Not taken. Vaporized."
