The soft hum of the command room's secure phone console filled the air as Anthony sat alone, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the metal desk. The underground command center was dimly lit, the faint glow of monitors casting shadows across his sharp features. The events of the night so far had left him restless. The captured spy's cryptic warnings echoed in his mind, and he knew that if Red Banner Academy was playing dirty, L.P.U.A. would need to stay two steps ahead.

Anthony leaned back in his chair, glancing at the encrypted console. It was a direct line to one of the U.S. government's most secretive operatives, someone who specialized in getting what was needed without leaving a trace. He typed in the necessary code, activating the secure channel. After a few rings, the line clicked, and a deep, calm voice greeted him.

"This is Specter. What do you need, Commander Grant?"

"Specter, it's Anthony," he said, his voice steady but firm. "I need a favor."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "A favor at 3:45 AM? Must be something serious."

"It is," Anthony replied, leaning forward. "I need prototype engine modifications delivered ASAP. We're talking upgrades for our LAV-AGs, M10 Brookers, and Strykers. Something that'll push them beyond the redline without blowing them apart."

Specter chuckled lightly. "You don't ask for much, do you? Anything else?"

Anthony hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. I need prototype 130mm gun turrets for the Abrams. I don't care how experimental they are; I need them operational by the time we face Red Banner Academy."

There was a long silence on the other end, and Anthony could almost hear the gears turning in Specter's mind. Finally, the voice came back, calm but with a hint of intrigue.

"Alright, Grant. I can make it happen. But you know how this works. These deliveries don't come without strings. You'll owe us one."

Anthony's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I'll pay the price. Just make sure it's discreet. The last thing I need is Red Banner catching wind of this."

Specter laughed softly. "Don't worry, kid. By the time they realize what hit them, it'll be too late. Delivery will be arranged at your secure drop point within 48 hours."

The line went dead, and Anthony leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He trusted Specter to deliver, but the weight of the deal lingered in the back of his mind. The modifications would give L.P.U.A. the edge they needed, but the cost of such favors always had a way of catching up.

Leaving the command center, Anthony made his way back to his dorm. The halls of the academy were eerily quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of students and Marines replaced by the faint hum of the ventilation system. His footsteps echoed softly as he climbed the stairs to his private quarters.

As he reached his room, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle. The spy's warning echoed in his mind: You're already too late.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside and stepped inside. His room was as he had left it, spartan and orderly. The bed was neatly made, and his desk remained cluttered with the documents and plans he'd been working on earlier.

Anthony sat down at the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew he needed sleep, but his mind was racing with strategies, contingencies, and the weight of the decisions he'd made tonight.

His gaze drifted to the model T30 tank on his desk, a gift from his father when he first became interested in Tankery.

It was a reminder of why he fought so hard—not just for himself or his team, but for the ideals of innovation and adaptability that L.P.U.A. represented.

As he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind finally began to slow. The faint hum of the academy's systems became a lullaby, and the weight of the day's events started to fade.

The battle against Red Banner Academy was coming, and it was going to be a clash unlike any other. But for now, Anthony allowed himself a brief moment of rest, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges—and he would face them head-on.