---
They had watched the leap. They had watched the six-star fall. They had watched the captains die one by one, their crests vanishing from the field like snuffed candles. They had watched Vorak's careful, patient vanguard disintegrate into scattered, running knots.
The general's jaw tightened once. His fingers flexed on the glass.
"Report," he said quietly, though he already had the numbers in his head.
The clerk swallowed. "Vanguard strength on march out: four thousand three hundred twelve," he said. "Survivors visible and counted, including walking wounded… eight hundred to nine hundred, at most. Many are… not fit for another push."
"Casualty ratio," Vorak said.
"Over three to one against us," the clerk said.
The old woman's chalk squeaked once on slate.
