By Snikkit "Flashbulb" Pike, GNN Command Pool Correspondent
HUNGNAM PORT HEADQUARTERS — The logistical bottleneck paralyzing Tenth Corps headquarters was resolved permanently at 0430 hours this morning when notorious close-quarters trench-brawler Brigadier Krag "The Bulge Bomber" Mulch kicked down the doors of the Southern Command War Room, invoked the Right of Promotional Vivisection, and physically tore General Barnaby Dingleheim into two roughly equal pieces.
According to surviving stenographers from the Quartermaster Pool, Dingleheim was in the middle of a poached cave-newt breakfast beside a roaring Grade-5 mana radiator, dictating a memorandum that attributed the 4th Scavenger Division's frostbite casualties to "sluggish and unpatriotic capillary discipline."
He never reached the second paragraph. Having sledded forty-two miles down the sheer black ice of the Funchilin Pass strapped to the hood of a stripped siege-tractor, the Bulge Bomber—still wearing a frost-stiffened greatcoat and a necklace of shattered brass ceremony bugles from Tuesday's botched airdrop—crashed through the mahogany double doors and slapped an unpinned concussion grenade onto the butter dish to signal a formal leadership audit.
Under Section 9 of the Goblin Articles of War, a theater commander may only decline a trial by hand-to-hand combat if his supply ledgers are balanced within three percent. With thirty-four pallets of high-density mana crystals currently sitting in the campfires of the 9th Ogre Skull-Crusher Regiment, the on-duty Judge Advocate General took one look at theBulge Bomber's bloodshot eyes, declared the challenge legally binding, and dove under the mimeograph machine.
The ensuing bout lasted roughly four seconds.
Dingleheim, a career staff aristocrat whose last recorded close-combat engagement involved throwing a heavy crystal ashtray at a mess orderly in 1946, attempted to establish reach superiority with an ornamental ivory swagger stick and a silver carafe of lukewarm chicory coffee. The Bulge Bomber—whose terrifying nom de guerre dates back to the Third Subterranean Codpiece Mutiny—simply ducked beneath the airborne silverware, dropped into his trademark ankle-level crouch, and unleashed a piston-driven, iron-knuckled uppercut directly into the General's gilded dress-bulge.
Eyewitnesses report that the point of impact produced a sickening metallic crunch resembling a frozen turnip hitting a cast-iron anvil. The sheer kinetic force of the groin-strike shattered Dingleheim's ceremonial brass groin-guard into shrapnel, collapsed his pelvic arch, and launched the four-star commander three feet vertically into the chandelier.
Before Dingleheim's polished riding boots could touch the Persian rug, the Bulge Bomber seized the airborne officer by both ankle-spats, planted a hobnailed boot squarely against his perineum, and wrenched outward with the accumulated leverage of six days of sub-zero trench rage. With a sound like a wet canvas tent ripping in a gale, General Dingleheim was rent cleanly in two from the groin straight up through his braided bullion epaulets.
"Communications with the northern perimeter are now restored," the newly minted Supreme Commander announced to the trembling staff officers, wiping his gauntlets on the late General's left torso half before pinning four blood-slicked stars directly into his own collarbone.
Within twenty minutes of assuming control of the GPRK operational front, Supreme Commander Bulge Bomber completely overhauled Tenth Corps resupply doctrine. Concluding that cargo parachutes were "cowardly cloth umbrellas that let the wind tell you what to do," he ordered every remaining transport blimp at Yonpo Airfield stripped of its rigging and loaded to the floorboards with raw mana shards and scavenged officer-club radiators. Instead of high-altitude drops, pilots have been ordered to fly sixty feet above the canyon floor and crash the entire airframe directly into the 4th Division's perimeter trenches at full throttle.
Furthermore, all nineteen weather-diviners responsible for Tuesday's crosswind calculations have had high-grade heating crystals wired to their ribs and been loaded into the breach of the harbor's 240mm coastal siege mortars for immediate ballistic delivery to Hagaru-ri. As for the late General Dingleheim, Quartermaster clerks confirm that both halves of the former commander have been salted, packed into empty loincloth crates, and slated for the 0800 catapult barrage into the Ogre ridge lines to conserve artillery shells.
