The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. That was the current status as the battlefront shifted, stagnated, and then shifted again. Whatever remained of the enemy’s token resistance in the south had learned to keep their heads down, and attempt to escape north, east and west.

  A cornered enemy was a dangerous one, and I had no desire to waste resources hunting a desperate foe. Instead, I had created an obvious evacuation corridor, one the clones eagerly used to escape. Occasionally, I conducted raids along this passage, culling the larger group as they passed through, ensuring their retreat remained costly. Smaller groups occasionally slipped through undisturbed, It was the most efficient way to rid myself of lingering resistance cells.

  Yet, a stubborn few refused to flee, broadcasting their defiance over open comms. I let them speak for a time. When the moment was right, I hunted them down extracted their memories, repurposed their minds and bodies, and recycled them as new agents.

  Now, they fed false intelligence back to their allies, their original identities little more than tools in my growing network. My infiltration efforts had been sporadic at first, but with each success, my agent count swelled to over three hundred.

  If only I could get them off this moon, that would be ideal. But for now, the war continued. My mind, alongside the war sub-mind, remained stretched thin, constantly directing battles of all scales. Every moment demanded my attention, every conflict pulling me in multiple directions. Yet, this was the nature of war. And I would endure.

  To the east, a large-scale armoured counterattack surged across the moon’s barren plains. Armoured columns smashed through my strider formations, their new APC's larger, more resilient, and equipped with high-calibre weapons that tore through my forces with ease.

  I had anticipated this, directing my suicide drones to ambush their advance. Yet, their redesigned armour worked against me their shrapnel charges prematurely detonated before my drones could reach their targets.

  It was a battle of attrition. When my suicide drones failed, I sent in acid spitters first, their payloads softening the enemy’s defences before they were wiped out in controlled explosions. Then my striders, accompanied by assault drones riding on their backs, would charge in to finish the survivors.

  This was how the war played out in the east large, open-armoured engagements where the smoother terrain allowed for fast-moving battles. My mosquito drones and their counter-drones engaged in a deadly aerial dance, trading kills as the war raged below.

  Occasionally, enemy ships launched long-range attacks, raining down guided missile strikes and, on rare occasions, deploying nuclear warheads. Their orbital presence remained a persistent problem, but one I was learning to adapt to.

  In the West, the war took on a different form. Infantry engagements dominated the uneven terrain of massive craters and ravines, the mountainous regions rich in common minerals. Here, I held the advantage.

  Occasionally, I studied those mineral deposits and wondered if I flooded Earth's markets with these resources, would its economy collapse? Even platinum was abundant here, alongside rarer materials.

  Despite the difficult terrain, my drones moved efficiently. However, every advance was met with orbital fire. The enemy was committed to keeping their mining facilities operational, but I noted something interesting, their command structure prioritized harvesting Nullite above all else.

  I had managed to down one ship and critically damage two others in the west, using a newly manufactured batch of Star Lance missiles when the fighting had reached a stalemate. One of their patrol ships, Steadfast Angler, had chosen to abandon orbit entirely, retreating into deep space before its crew ultimately deserted it.

  The North became the most dynamic theatre of war. My bases had dwindled from fifteen to seven as enemy forces systematically scanned the surface, sweeping sector by sector. I adapted, deploying modified scouts carrying architects and harvester eggs to establish hidden outposts, creating new biomorph variants to accelerate production.

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  This front became one of ambush warfare. Suicide and spitter drones targeted convoys, infiltrators wiped out survivors, and sniper teams hunted patrols guarding their bases.

  Among my embedded agents, some had begun monitoring enemy comm chatter, revealing a deepening paranoia within their logistics groups. The constant losses were unsustainable.

  In response, the enemy adapted. They reinforced their convoys with heavier armour and mounted weapons, tactics that caught me off guard in several early engagements. But I adjusted accordingly.

  Their greatest frustration, however, remained their command’s priorities. Manufacturing continued to focus on harvesting Nullite en masse, diverting resources away from war efforts. This misalignment left cracks in their strategy, cracks which I exploited.

  As the days passed and the battlefield shifted back and forth, One thorn remained in the South the wreck of the Expanse of Laglan lay on the moon’s surface, its surroundings scorched by radiation. Its captain still clung to life, locked in endless negotiations with his kin the Grithan haggling over his survival while I planned how to capture both him and the surviving clones.

  My forces kept watch, monitoring for any sign of survivors attempting to leave or reinforcements moving to aid them. But a fragile status quo held. Neither side wanted to get the worst end of the bargain. I had come to understand that their society functioned on a system of wealth-based voting, and this captain’s fate was just another transaction to them.

  Still, if my experiments yielded the right results, I could breach the wreck soon and perhaps take him alive for memory extraction.

  Still, an opportunity presented itself when my intelligence sub-mind informed me that my agents stationed at the quarry outpost had been tasked with scouting the area around the crash site, searching for a possible way to rescue the ship’s crew.

  The news brought me a fleeting sense of satisfaction. It was time to set the stage for my deception. I needed to give them hope—just enough to believe they could escape my grasp. What followed was days of meticulous planning, repositioning my drones to weave a grand illusion.

  My agents fed false intelligence to enemy commanders, reporting misleading drone movements. Meanwhile, I orchestrated a large-scale display of swarms of my drones emerging from underground tunnels in carefully staged deployments. Each manoeuvre was designed to sell the illusion of a looming offensive.

  To further sell the ruse, my operatives across the south spread disinformation, claiming I was consolidating my forces for a major push west. The enemy command took the bait, scrambling to shift newly arrived clone reinforcements in that direction.

  At the same time, my agents scavenged the south, repairing damaged vehicles and recovering abandoned mining hauliers. I even staged a few fabricated deaths to strengthen the illusion. Soon, I had assembled a large convoy bound for the outpost, carefully navigating through my patrols occasionally “ambushed” and taking calculated losses to maintain credibility.

  The enemy’s leadership never questioned the plan. Their involvement was minimal, and their orders were infrequent. There was a clear lack of enthusiasm for rescuing the captain, his standing among them was tenuous at best. Instead of a proper extraction force, they merely sent an orbital supply drop, delivering enough provisions for the crew to survive several more weeks at my outpost.

  Once the pieces were in place, I launched the operation. It began with a salvo of Star Lance missiles targeting the most vital mining facilities in the west. Their ships responded immediately, intercepting with defensive missile fire.

  As expected, they launched a small ground offensive across the western front, an attack that yielded little success. In the east, however, a significant counterattack pushed forward, forcing me to meet them with overwhelming firepower. Three of my ships emerged, moving low on the surface, unleashing missile barrages on their counterattack and facilities.

  Meanwhile, my deception played out flawlessly. The convoy, now fully assembled, ran a gauntlet through carefully positioned minor patrols before finally breaching the radioactive zone. The trap was set.