The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder as the Grand Republic's forces pushed deeper into Mexican territory. Lieutenant Andrew Hayes stood atop a ridgeline overlooking the sprawling plains below. The remnants of a Mexican battalion were retreating in disarray, their once-disciplined ranks shattered by the relentless assault of the Amerathian war machine.
Behind Hayes, a convoy of armored vehicles rumbled forward, their reinforced plating glinting under the harsh midday sun. Mounted cannons swiveled, scanning the horizon for any sign of resistance. Infantry followed closely, their bolt-action rifles at the ready, their movements disciplined and precise.
Hayes lowered his binoculars, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and weariness. "Caldwell," he called, his voice carrying over the din of machinery and marching boots.
Sergeant Caldwell jogged up to him, his uniform dusted with grime. "Yes, sir?"
