The Saga of Tanya the Merciless

Time the screams with careful pace,

Let each cry find its proper place.

Every rescue brings its cost,

As more come forth to join the lost.

Tanya studied her timing charts with growing satisfaction. The pattern of American rescue operations had finally yielded its mathematical secrets. Each wounded soldier generated a predictable response curve.

"Fascinating variables," she noted warmly, mapping another rescue attempt. "A single wounded man draws an average of four rescuers. But the timing..." her smile widened, "the timing is where the mathematics become beautiful."

Her latest system had evolved beyond simple injury generation. Now she orchestrated a symphony of calculated mercy, each wounded soldier becoming a note in a greater composition of inefficiency.

Watch them come in measured waves,

As duty calls them to their graves.

Every hero plays their part,

In efficiency's cruel art.

"The Americans operate on predictable moral imperatives," she explained to her officers. "The first rescue attempt is always rushed - emotional, inefficient. The second is more cautious but still procedural. By the third..." she checked her figures, "they begin to suspect. But by then the pattern has them."

She had mapped the precise psychological intervals. Twelve minutes of clear rescue opportunity. Then sporadic fire to suggest danger passing. Seven minutes of apparent safety. Then the perfect moment when guard finally dropped.

"Like teaching fish to trust the calm spots in a stream," she hummed contentedly.

Calculate the patterns true,

As mercy draws them into view.

Every pause must play its role,

In drawing others to our goal.

The system achieved perfect mathematical rhythm. The first wounded soldier would cry out for exactly seventeen minutes. Experience showed this was optimal for drawing maximum rescue attention. The second and third injuries would occur during the initial rescue attempt, carefully placed to seem like defensive fire rather than deliberate targeting.

"Then we let them extract their wounded," she noted, watching another cycle begin. "The relief of successful rescue makes them predictable. They become mathematically certain to attempt the next rescue more quickly, with fewer precautions."

Her snipers had learned to fire in precise patterns. The first shots would seem random. Later ones would suggest defensive positions being abandoned. The Americans never realized they were being trained like Pavlov's dogs to recognize false patterns of safety.

Mark the moments they believe,

In gaps through which they might retrieve.

Every peace we let them taste,

Makes their judgment go to waste.

"The beauty is in the compounding inefficiency," she explained, reviewing the casualty matrices. "Each successful rescue convinces them their procedures work. Each failed one forces them to commit more resources to the next attempt. The mathematics spiral perfectly."

Some of her officers had questioned the complexity of the system. Tanya solved this by showing them the exponential curves. Each properly executed cycle tied up increasingly larger numbers of enemy personnel. The numbers were irrefutable.

"By the fourth iteration, they commit eight men to rescue two. By the sixth..." her eyes sparkled with mathematical pleasure, "they empty entire positions to save a single squad."

Time their hope with measured care,

As their ranks grow thin and spare.

Every victory they claim,

Draws them deeper in our game.

The pattern achieved perfect psychological efficiency. A wounded soldier would be left clearly visible. Rescue attempts would meet light resistance. Success would seem difficult but achievable. Each victory would reinforce the Americans' moral certainty, drawing them deeper into the mathematical web.

"They believe they're learning our patterns," she noted with professional satisfaction. "They think they can predict our fields of fire, our defensive positions, our response times. They don't realize they're calculating their own demise."

Tanya made another note: "Rescue response patterns exceeding projections. Enemy commitment to casualty retrieval increasing by 47% per cycle. Psychological conditioning protocols achieving optimal efficiency."

Below, another wounded soldier began his calculated performance. His cries would draw the predictable rescue attempt. The rescuers would encounter the expected resistance, overcome it as planned, and feel the programmed surge of victory. And in that moment of relief, her snipers would begin the next movement in efficiency's symphony.

She checked her charts and smiled. The Americans had just cleared an entire defensive position to rescue three wounded men. Soon they would commit even more to save those rescuers. The mathematics of mercy would compound until their entire line was drawn into her carefully crafted pattern.

The Gods of Efficiency, it seemed, understood the true value of hope. There was only the eternal calculation of human nature, manipulated with perfect mathematical precision until mercy itself became a weapon of war.