RTS System in the Apocalypse: New World

Alone, Hans remained at his desk for a while, the closed folder in front of him.

The dogs were immune by default. That was the most obvious difference between them and the Scouts. If the machine had recognized that difference, then its behavior made sense.

Dmitri’s Scouts, mostly one-star except for him, hadn’t earned that same immunity yet. The machine had drawn its line exactly where the System already drew one.

The only exception was that the System’s line came with a promotion requirement attached, and the machine hadn’t seemed to care how a soldier got there. Only whether they had.

There was one other type of unit in his roster that carried the same line in its profile as the dogs. The one earned not through star promotion, but present from the moment they were made.

DASF Units.

Hans sat with that for a moment, turning it over slowly instead of letting himself run with it.

If the machine’s logic held where ”immune by default” was really the threshold it cared about, and not something specific to a dog’s biology no human soldier could replicate, then a DASF squad standing in front of that same scanner might get a very different result than Dmitri’s had.

That’s a tempting thought.

Also, he reminded himself, built entirely out of a single data point and a resemblance between two lines of text.

He didn’t have confirmation that the machine’s logic worked that way.

He had one contact report where one machine had already called for backup Dmitri never saw arrive, and a stretch of ground between here and there that had apparently may have been sanitized over some course of time that the Scouts couldn’t yet name.

Sending DASF in to test a theory against an enemy of unknown size, with no forward position anywhere near it, wasn’t a plan.

He didn’t have an anchor near the plant. The FOB in Westgate had not even been established yet, and that was the closer objective.

The survey team was already on the ground and a route would soon be chosen. Sending soldiers north before Westgate was secured meant splitting his attention between two unfinished projects instead of closing one.

And there was still Tyrus.

Hans hadn’t forgotten the warning from months ago—vague, half-formed, something about a nuclear threat farther north, and the need to deal with it before it spread.

He’d filed it away at the time as one more piece of Tyrus’s usual theatrics. It didn’t feel that way anymore.

If anyone had reason to know what that facility actually was before the collapse, it was Tyrus.

That conversation could wait a few more days. The FOB couldn’t. Hans set the folder aside and reached for the Westgate reports instead.

The folder was thicker than the one Dominic had marked.

Photographs flooded in first.

The parking structure was shown from three angles. Then came two warehouses. And finally, the taller corner building with a red grease-pencil circle drawn around its base.

Beneath the photos, several pages of handwritten notes—an Engineer’s block print, and a Scout’s quicker scrawl further down the margin.

Hans read through the summary page first.

Route One. Fastest approach, already surveyed. Recommended as primary corridor.

Then the notes themselves.

Parking structure poses the greatest risk—too many entrances across its levels. Recommend closing most ramps with Wall segments, leaving one open and covering it with Pillboxes. Forces any incursion through a single, prepared lane.

Hans frowned slightly. He didn’t know what separated a Wall from a Pillbox in reality terms—only that his officers apparently did, and had already reasoned their way to a specific arrangement before he’d even opened the folder.

As for his in-game knowledge, Hans knew that Pillboxes offered anti-infantry options and Walls were mostly used to stop Engineers from capturing buildings.

He was unsure if that remained the same here, and whether the System had given these secondary structures a brand new look.

He kept reading.

Both warehouses can anchor a Garrison Post between them rather than relying on either structure alone. Wall line running from the nearer warehouse’s corner to the Post, continuing toward the rear loading passage. Rear entrance left partially open as a withdrawal route.

Open lane behind both warehouses recommended to remain clear of structures entirely—Guardian APCs require the space to reposition. Placing anything there would cost more in lost mobility than it gains in coverage.

Taller building near the intersection offers a good firing angle but poor response time if the road below comes under pressure. Recommend a small fire-support team only, not a primary position.

Damaged storefront at the narrow section marked for demolition. Widens the road enough for two-way APC movement without forcing one vehicle to reverse.

At the bottom, a final note in a different hand. He was fairly certain it came from Matilda.

Manpower estimate attached separately. Awaiting Commander’s approval before proceeding.

Hans set the page down.

He didn’t fully understand every term in it. He didn’t need to. That was what the folder was for—men and women who understood their own equipment and craft well enough that he didn’t have to.

His job was simpler than theirs, in a way he rarely admitted out loud. Might as well leave the hard part to their hands and become the boss figure he had once despised.

Decide. Approve. Add comments from time to time. Then move on to the next folder.

Hans reached for a pen, signed the bottom corner, and set it aside.

Approval alone wouldn’t move anyone.

He picked up his communicator instead.

”Golden Eagle to Delta One.”

A short pause, then Matilda’s voice came through, steady as always.

”Delta One here, Commander.”

”Route One’s approved. Clear and garrison the parking structure and both warehouses as outlined. Demolish the storefront for the road widening. Defensive structures will follow once the War Factory is established.”

”Understood. I’ll relay it to the field team.”

”How long before they can start?”

”The clearing and demolition work can begin immediately. The Secondary Structures will have to wait on the Commander’s own deployment once the War Factory’s done.”

”Do it,” Hans said. ”Send me the manpower estimate once it’s finalized.”

”Yes, Commander.”

The line went quiet.

Hans set the communicator down and reached for the next folder.

Two more folders followed, thinner than the first.

Route Two. Industrial approach, longer than Route One but with fewer structures overlooking it directly. The river gave one flank a natural barrier for free. Cargo trucks and general debris had been the main obstacle during survey.

Most objects have been cleared enough for foot and light vehicle passage, though a Guardian APC would still need to detour around two sections until proper removal.

Drainage entrances along the route, previously unchecked, had since been inspected. Nothing found beyond standing water and old flood damage.

Recommend light garrison presence only. Route does not require the same structural investment as Route One. Area is mostly open ground and the river do most of the defensive work already.

Route Three.

This one was the small commercial approach, shortest of the three, but the side streets remained exactly the liability the Scout leader had flagged during the planning meeting. Too many blind approaches to secure with anything less than a wall at nearly every intersection.

Recommend against further investment beyond a watch presence. Route is passable but not defensible at acceptable cost. Best suited as a fallback or secondary access, not a primary corridor.

Hans set both folders down.

Neither surprised him. Matilda’s team had said as much back when the three routes were first laid out.

Route One was the priority, the other two were options kept open rather than being fully developed.

He signed both anyway, adding a short note beneath each.

Garrison only. No construction until Route One is finished.

Then, he proceeded to the next folder.

This one was even thinner. A single sheet, Johannes’s handwriting instead of an Engineer’s block print.

Supply run scheduled for tomorrow morning. Ingredient stock for personnel running low—rice, preserved meat, cooking oil. Requesting APC escort as far as the old distribution warehouse. Will return before evening.

Hans read it twice.

He didn’t need to approve this one in some sense.

Johannes had been handling these trips long before the current Westgate operation began.

The supplies had kept the non-System personnel fed who could not rely on the System-generated rations issued to his soldiers. But a signature would cost him nothing, and an escort to assist Johannes meant one less thing that could go wrong on the road.

Hans signed it without hesitation.

For a moment, his mind drifted somewhere it hadn’t in a while—the urban fringe months ago, back when the term base still meant a scavenged fortress with a warlord’s blood still drying on its floors.

Back then, an escort meant four conscripts and a prayer. Somebody’s granary had been a bank vault, repurposed by hands too proud to admit they were improvising.

He thought of Marco, hunched over inventory sheets that never balanced twice. Of Walter, who never got to see the electricity fully restored.

Of Cody’s insistence that a college kid’s guess was worth more than a grown man’s doubt, and being right often enough that nobody argued anymore.

That fortress still stood, last he’d checked the reports. A tower now, instead of a barricade of wrecked cars. Farmland instead of a killing field.

Westgate would be the same eventually, if he did this right. A door people walked through without flinching, not a wall they hid behind.

Hans set Johannes’s request in the outgoing pile and reached for the next set of folders.