The Saga of Tanya the Merciless

Lords and generals plot their games,

While efficiency stakes claims.

Those who rule from distant heights,

Miss what darkness brings to light.

The situation room at high command headquarters was chaos. Officers crowded around the massive situation table, moving unit markers as reports flooded in from the coast. Having finished her report, Tanya confronted her own humanity and slipped away to the toilet. The morning's casualty figures had shocked even the most hardened staff officers.

"She's lost her mind," General Weber declared, jabbing his finger at the map. "Three weeks of brutal training exercises, now this slaughter. We should have relieved her when she started that nonsense about fishing patterns."

Field Marshal von Richthofen studied the deployment charts with a frown. "Yet her predictions were correct. The Americans landed exactly where she said they would." He paused, examining another report. "And her units are holding."

"At what cost?" Weber demanded. "The casualty reports from her sector are--"

"Within projected parameters," interrupted a cheerful voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see a junior signals officer, clutching a fresh batch of dispatches. "Colonel Tanya says she hopes you appreciate her morning update, sirs. She sends her compliments and notes that all objectives are being met according to schedule."

The reports painted an almost surreal picture. While other sectors struggled with chaos and confusion, Tanya's forces moved with machine-like precision. Units responded to threats before they fully developed. Artillery batteries anticipated enemy movements. Even the tide seemed to work in their favor.

"It's unnatural," muttered Weber, reading through the tactical summaries. "Listen to this: 'Enemy forces continuing to validate previous pattern analysis. Requesting additional ammunition within calculated parameters. Current casualty rates optimal for sustained defense.' Optimal! She's talking about her own men dying!"

Von Richthofen remained silent, studying the minute-by-minute breakdown of engagement patterns. Something about the precision of it all nagged at his tactical instincts. Everything was too perfect, too measured.

A fresh wave of reports arrived, this time marked as "Observation Notes - Priority Analysis Required." The assembled officers leaned forward, expecting crucial tactical information.

"This... this can't be right," Weber said, reading the dispatch with increasing disbelief. "She's sent three pages detailing American boot lacing patterns. In the middle of an invasion!"

"With statistical analysis," noted von Richthofen, a strange expression crossing his face. "And projected impact on unit mobility." He turned to his staff. "What are our current casualty figures from her sector?"

"Thirty percent below worst-case projections, sir. Despite facing the heaviest concentration of enemy forces."

Weber threw up his hands in disgust. "So we're supposed to accept that she's winning this battle while obsessing over shoelaces?"

"No," von Richthofen replied quietly. "We're supposed to accept that she's winning this battle *because* she obsesses over shoelaces." He turned to his signals officer. "Send word to all sectors. Colonel Tanya is to be given whatever resources she requests. No questions asked."

"Sir!" Weber protested. "You can't seriously--"

"I can and I will. Because while we've been debating the ethics of her methods, she's been systematically destroying the American beachhead. And doing it so efficiently they haven't even realized the trap they're in."

The day wore on. Reports continued to flow in from all sectors. Other commanders fought their battles with desperate courage and tactical skill. But only from Tanya's sector came that relentless, mechanical precision. That perfect efficiency that treated men and materials as interchangeable resources to be optimized.

"God help us," Weber whispered, reading the latest casualty figures. "God help us all."

"God," von Richthofen noted dryly, "would probably find her methods disturbing. But they work. And right now, that's all that matters."

Watch them fret in marble halls,

While efficiency stands tall.

Those who rule by ancient ways,

Cannot grasp these modern days.

The machinery of necessity grew stronger through proper authorization. Even horror served efficiency, when correctly applied.