Landing on North Island!

Across the turbulent sea, a majestic cruiser cut through the rolling waves. Her name was the *Kraken*, christened after the most ferocious beast in these waters. When Shelter 70 built her, they outfitted her with state-of-the-art anti-ship systems and surface fire-control radar. In theory, even if all the destroyers of the Northern Federation and the Southern Sea Alliance were pooled together, they would be no match for her. This was poised to be an outcome without suspense—or rather, a one-sided slaughter. Inside the bridge, tension hung thick in the air. The radar operator stared unblinkingly at his display. The moment a ripple appeared on the screen, he shouted out reflexively. "The *Reef* has appeared!" "Target is proceeding along its scheduled course! Estimated five minutes before their radar detects us!" Right now, the *Reef* was surely still kept in the dark, dutifully playing the part of a seemingly harmless "bait." Hearing the operator’s report, Fu Hongyi, captain of the *Kraken*, gave a solemn nod. The attack window was a mere five minutes. Yet that was more than enough time—bordering on unnecessarily long. By the time the *Reef* realized that the ship arriving to meet them wasn't the *Flying Fish* but the *Kraken*, they wouldn't even have time to pray before anti-ship missiles sent them to the bottom of the sea to feed the fish. Still, knowing that their target consisted of former comrades-in-arms, Fu Hongyi felt conflicted. Noticing everyone’s eyes on him, he spoke slowly. "Can we reach them?" Seated before the terminal, the communications officer shook his head. "No contact! They entered radio silence as scheduled..." Just as planned. Although Fu Hongyi had never genuinely intended to contact them, he still let out a faint sigh, issuing orders for all combat stations to prepare for engagement. Seeing everything ready, the adjutant standing beside him showed a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. After struggling internally for a moment, he asked in a low voice, "Are we... really going through with this?" The captain fell silent for a few seconds, then reached up to adjust his officer's cap. "The tide of battle turns in an instant. Hesitation means defeat... Sink her." They had little time left. The Southern Sea Alliance's ambush fleet was nearby. The *Kraken* had to strike decisively, ideally breaking contact immediately after landing a hit and altering course to rendezvous with the main force. What a cruel irony. The Southern Sea fleet had been formed to guard against the Legion, yet to this day they hadn't seen so much as a shadow of the Legion; their only battle honors were earned killing their own brothers. They would have been better off without a fleet at all. Fu Hongyi smiled wryly to himself. Perhaps once the mess on their own doorstep was settled, Mr. Zhalas could put these warships to some real use. At least somewhere else on the wasteland... "Fire-control radar has painted the target!" "'Torrent' anti-ship missiles ready!" "Safeties disengaged!" "Ready to fire!" A chorus of status reports echoed through the bridge. But just then, a jarring voice shattered the rhythm. The operator sitting before the sonar console let out a terrified cry. "Sonar detects an unidentified contact closing fast!" Fu Hongyi's pupils contracted sharply. Countless possibilities flashed through his mind, only to culminate in sheer despair. "Launch torpedo decoys—!" Before the words left his mouth, the port side of the *Kraken* shuddered as though struck by a colossal sea beast, violently jolting the entire warship. The bridge crew were hurled against the reinforced glass windows as if gravity had vanished, only to be instantly engulfed by the billowing flames and scorching blast wave. Seen from afar, the cruiser named after the Kraken snapped like a chopstick broken down the middle, slowly slipping into the ocean amid raging infernos and the blinding detonations of cooking ammunition. It all occurred in the blink of an eye. From the moment the torpedo struck to the total sinking of the cruiser took barely fifteen minutes. In over-the-horizon naval warfare, spotting the enemy meant you were already far too late. Roughly twenty nautical miles west of the sinking cruiser, a nuclear attack submarine slowly surfaced, breaking the water to expose its conning tower and antenna mast. They had maintained radio silence here for three entire days, lying motionlessly on the seabed like a true reef. A silent transmission relayed the triumph of their strike to the naval headquarters on Anle Island. "This is *Shark Tooth*. The *Kraken* has been sunk. We are proceeding as planned to the designated rendezvous point to regroup with the fleet." With the report completed, the *Shark Tooth* submerged beneath the waves once more, turning its bow to cruise toward the main fleet. Inside its command deck, an oppressive silence lingered. Unable to endure the quiet, an officer slipped out into the corridor, only to find someone already standing there. Seeing his grave expression, the other man let out a whistle, attempting to ease the awkward silence between them. "Counting the *Cold Night*... that's two friendly kills under our belt." "Can we even call them friendlies?" "Sort of, I suppose. At least we trained together in the past." The attempt did nothing to ease the discomfort, and the corridor fell quiet once more. After lingering in the doorway for a long while, the officer let out a weary sigh. "...Let's just get this over with." He had no idea how future generations would judge this twisted chapter of history. Perhaps sinking to the bottom of the ocean was the only true relief. * * * Having fulfilled its mission, the *Shark Tooth* pressed on toward its destination. After sailing along its designated route for some distance, the destroyer *Reef* discovered that it hadn't been sunk, nor had anyone arrived to escort it. For a moment, the ship fell into an awkward vacuum with no clear orders. The naval headquarters on Anle Island had assigned no follow-up mission, and continuing along the decoy route was obviously pointless. Before long, the *Reef*'s sonar detected the wreckage of a cruiser descending to the seabed. Without hesitation, Zhang Ruowen ordered the ship to set course for the waters where the *Kraken* had gone down. Though the odds of any survivors were slim, he still intended to attempt a rescue. Every soul saved counted. As for Arzu residing inside his mind, the entity had vanished without a trace—whether merely silent or truly gone, Zhang Ruowen could not tell. Regardless of which it was, once all of this was over, he would undergo a minor surgery to have that thing removed. The bionic chip certainly had its uses, but now that he felt no uncertainty about the future, he no longer had any need to listen to the so-called gospel of the "Kingdom of Heaven." * * * Meanwhile, at the North Island Naval Command, a deathly silence spread like a contagion through everyone's heart. Zhalas's eyes bulged, bloodshot, his fists clenched white. At this moment, he resembled an enraged beast. The staff standing beside him scarcely dared to breathe, terrified of making a sound that might draw the beast's wrath. "...Useless trash." Zhalas spat a vicious curse. Stifling the agony in his heart, he forced himself to calm down and immediately barked at the commander beside him. "What about our main fleet? Have they spotted any trace of the enemy?" "Not yet... Should we detach a destroyer to trace the sonar returns of the strike on the *Kraken*?" The commander looked at Zhalas nervously, hurriedly chiming in with the suggestion, only to be verbally eviscerated. "Are you a pig?! We only have two destroyers left! You want a single destroyer screening our battleship?!" A bunch of utter fools! Glaring at the commander, who bowed his head in silence, Zhalas spat a few more curses before steadying his nerves and looking back down at the nautical chart. Excluding the destroyer about to be launched, he held only three ships in his hand. One battleship, two destroyers—an absurdly unbalanced force. By contrast, the Southern Sea Alliance seemed to gather more men and materiel the longer the war dragged on: three destroyers, one cruiser, three nuclear attack submarines, and an elusive submersible carrier that had yet to show itself. However— His side was not entirely without a chance. As long as the battleship *Haiya* could wipe out the Alliance's four surface combatants in one sweep, and his destroyers, the *Flying Fish* and the *Defender*, mopped up the remaining four submarines, a sliver of victory remained! *But why?* Zhalas stared intently at the chart, his brow locked in a tight scowl. Why hadn't his battleship detected any trace of the Southern Sea Alliance fleet yet? Had they coated their hulls with some novel radar-absorbent paint, or were they employing specialized jamming gear? If the *Reef* was the bait, the Alliance fleet had to be lying in ambush nearby... *Wait! Wave after wave of realizations struck him.* Zhalas froze, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. They already knew that he knew the *Reef* was bait. They would have anticipated that the battleship *Haiya* was lying in wait nearby. Just as they had correctly predicted that the ship sent after the *Reef* would be the cruiser *Kraken*, deducing the movements of the Federation's main battle fleet was well within their grasp. After all, he would never deploy a lone cruiser hundreds of nautical miles out without support; the main fleet had to be lurking within a hundred nautical miles. "If I were Li Minghui..." "I would never throw my only chips into the teeth of a battleship. I would take advantage of the battleship's absence to launch a sneak attack on North Island's harbor..." His trembling lips muttered the words as a bead of cold sweat rolled down his forehead once more. This time, he wasn't the only one. Everyone inside the command center followed his reasoning, snapping back to awareness. North Island was their true objective! The final battle had already begun! Realizing this, Zhalas’s eyes went wide, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Recall the *Haiya* immediately! Double time!" "Yes, sir!" the communications officer acknowledged nervously, frantically typing into the terminal to transmit the dispatch. At the very same instant, the command center's radar operator went sheet-white and cried out in terror. "Massive aerial contacts closing on our position! Count: 1,447!" That cry served as the spark to a powder keg, instantly sending the room into an uproar. "They're decoys! Activate active tracking radars to illuminate the airspace! Switch to optical tracking!" "Bring surface-to-air missiles to standby! Move!" "Radar burn-through confirmed! Twenty contacts remaining... Damn it! Why are there still so many?!" "EMP warheads detonating in close airspace! Counter-pulse systems holding!" "Chaff! They deployed massive amounts of reflective chaff! My screen is completely blinded!" "Cheap parlor tricks... Scramble our fighters to intercept! Move!" In less than a minute, the previously silent command center on North Island erupted into a boiling cauldron! * * * In the central park of North Island, on a makeshift runway converted from a manicured lawn, four "crudely designed" fuel-powered fighters rolled out of a spacious hangar, accelerating down the strip before soaring into the sky. A glittering blanket of light twinkled in the distant sky—chaff drifting through the upper atmosphere. Beyond that glittering curtain, Alliance aircraft were closing in at breakneck speeds, their numbers still unknown. Sitting in their respective cockpits, all four pilots wore expressions taut with nerves. Though they had completed two hundred hours of flight training, this was their very first time entering real combat. Prior to the Alliance's arrival in the Southern Sea, the Federation had never bothered developing an air force, possessing no pool of technical specialists. The two pairs of fighters codenamed LB-1 were the pure byproduct of the "with enough thrust, a brick can fly" design philosophy; even their fire-control and radar systems were crude adaptations stripped directly from destroyers. If their opponents had been the Alliance's first-generation jet, the *Lingyun*, or a swarm of mass-produced propeller planes, these machines might have put up a decent fight. Reality, however, offered no such mercies. Just as Zhalas finally deduced the Southern Sea Alliance's strategic intent, a colossal submarine slowly broke through the surface a hundred nautical miles off North Island, unveiling its majestic bulk amid the rolling waves! It resembled a surfacing leviathan, but what spouted from its towering bow was not water, but catapult-launched carrier aircraft! Two L-10 "Thunder" fighters and two P-2 "Lightning" attack planes were hurled into the sky, swiftly forming an arrowhead combat flight that streaked toward the skies over North Island with a roar. The former was a joint masterpiece produced by Goblin Tech and the Alliance Scientific Expedition, while the latter was the culmination of a century and a half of engineering from Boulder Military Industries! Both relied on miniaturized controlled fusion reactors and plasma thrusters for propulsion, putting their power systems an entire era ahead of the Northern Federation's LB-1s! In truth, prior to this, the Alliance had developed a specialized "submersible carrier-capable aircraft" tailored for the *Conch*. Unfortunately, almost all the prototypes had crashed during training flights, and mass production issues remained unresolved in time, leaving them absent from this decisive engagement. Inside the cockpit of a Thunder fighter, Luo Yu drew a deep breath, glancing swiftly across his radar display. Seeing the red markers painted on the screen, his eyes hardened. His left index finger flipped open the switches for missile radar and seeker head, before his left hand came to rest firmly on the throttle. "Enemy airborne contacts spotted! All units, disengage weapon safeties. You are cleared to engage!" A chorus of crisp responses sounded over the comm channel. "Understood!" Four pale-blue plasma exhaust trails stabbed into the sky like daggers, piercing through layers of thick cloud before colliding with the four burning plumes of the interceptors. Beyond-visual-range missile exchanges swiftly collapsed into a close-quarters dogfight. Bright tracer rounds drew wild arcs across the sky, mingling with the brilliant white flares of decoys to resemble fireworks blooming across a clear horizon. The battle was decided before it even began. The pilots and gear of the Northern Federation's hastily assembled air force were greener than fresh grass. Once their missiles were spent and they were drawn into dogfights with veteran Alliance pilots, they were toyed with completely. One LB-1 had its wing sheared off by cannon fire, turning into a streaking fireball that plunged into the ocean. Ignoring the pilot who ejected, Luo Yu dove his fighter straight into the defense sector over North Island. Skimming low, he unleashed an anti-radiation missile tipped with an EMP warhead directly at the radar emission source! A violent surge of electrical pulses instantly fried the internal electronics of the radar installation. In an instant, North Island's anti-air grid went blind in one eye, its ferocious defensive barrages immediately losing all precision. The two P-2 "Lightning" attack craft unleashed eight air-to-surface missiles in unison, obliterating every exposed launcher site. Surface-to-air missile racks and anti-ship missile silos alike were smashed to smoking rubble! The main fleet of the Southern Sea Alliance closed on the coastal waters of North Island. Two destroyers elevated their main guns, opening fire on the naval port and the nearby barracks under the spotter guidance of aerial drones. With that, North Island's air defenses were rendered dead in all but name, and its ground resistance began to crumble. Had the Federation possessed even a single destroyer nearby, the raid would never have proceeded so smoothly, nor would the Alliance aircraft have closed within fifty kilometers of the island. Yet warfare knew no "what ifs." Victory and defeat were determined in the single instant one side faltered. * * * On North Island, the garrisoned marines and security forces mobilized rapidly. Zhalas clearly understood what the Alliance would do once they seized air superiority. Before the Federation fleet could return, he had to hold the Alliance back at all costs! Just as the battle for the sky concluded, four "Viper" light transports parked in the cargo bay of the submersible carrier *Conch* were brought up to the upper deck via elevators. That vertical, flat deck was the most prominent visual difference between the *Conch* and the *Dolphin*-class cargo submarines. In addition to spacious interior holds and launch catapults for carrier aircraft, the former's top section had been refitted into a deck and flight pad capable of accommodating conventional aircraft takeoffs and landings. A total of twenty-four heavy infantrymen clad in "Xiaguang" power armor were already assembled beside the Viper transports. Not only did they carry automatic weapons like light and heavy machine guns, but they were also equipped with brutal individual anti-materiel weapons like 37mm "Heavy Lances." Though only two squads stood assembled here, no one dared underestimate their firepower! They were the Alliance’s best-equipped, most lethal unit—the Burning Corps! Back in the Ten Peaks Mountain or on the Weifu Wasteland, a squad of barely twenty-some men from this outfit could easily wipe out an entire mutant thousand-man regiment! Waves crashed against the hull, white foam washing over the proud, towering bow. Clad in "Dragoon" power armor, Lao Bai stepped in front of his brothers, flipping up his helmet visor to speak in a ringing voice. "Our brothers in the air force have cleared the skies for us. Now it’s our turn to pull the rug right out from under them!" "Our objective is the airfield in the dead center of North Island. We need to secure the runway intact and neutralize anything that points a barrel your way!" "Remember to control your fire zones. Do not harm civilians!" "Sir!" A chorus of thunderous roars echoed across the deck, every player's eyes gleaming with unbridled excitement. Meeting those fiery, battle-hungry stares, Lao Bai snapped his visor shut and gave a clean, decisive wave of his right hand. "Move out!" With the order given, agile figures quickly boarded the waiting Vipers. Pale-blue plasma plumes erupted from the engine nozzles, lifting the sleek hulls off the deck before they skimmed the white crests of the waves, rocketing toward North Island. * * * At that moment, smoke choked the skies over North Island, thick plumes billowing from every corner. This was especially true along the southern coast. The entire strip of land from the military harbor to the edge of the settlement looked as though it had been plowed over by bulldozers, leaving behind a scarred expanse of ruins. The 150mm naval cannons had thoroughly pulverized the area inside and out. Even the nearby shipyard had taken two stray rounds, its vaulted dome blown wide open. The four Viper transports punched straight through the churning black smoke, breaching the coastline defenses of North Island like a sword thrust into the belly. Dazed and concussed by the bombardment, the marines clambered out from their shelters, raising their rifles to fire skyward. Yet 7mm rifle rounds could not pose the slightest threat to the Vipers. Deprived of anti-air weaponry, the defenders could only watch helplessly as the aircraft sped toward the dead center of the island. Leaning against broken masonry, a marine company commander wearing an exoskeleton grabbed his walkie-talkie and screamed into the channel with despair. "...This is the South Coast defense line!" "Enemy air elements have breached our sector! Their suspected target is the airfield in the center of the island!" "We... we can't stop them!" * * * Having just retreated into the basement of the presidential palace under marine escort, Zhalas had barely caught his breath before receiving the grim report from the front. Hearing that the Alliance’s objective wasn't the presidential palace, he felt an instinctive surge of relief. Yet before that breath could leave his lungs, his heart leaped right back into his throat. The airfield! The Alliance's target was the airfield! "No! They cannot take that airfield!" he roared, reaching out to seize his confidant, Marine Commander Lundy. "Take your men there! Forget about me! Hold that airfield at all costs!" If the Alliance captured the airfield, their heavy transports would be able to touch down directly on the island. When that happened, it wouldn't matter if the Federation fleet returned. There would no longer be a single friendly port left in the entire Southern Sea capable of resupplying them. Clutched by the collar by Zhalas, Lundy broke into a cold sweat that drenched his forehead and back. "B-but your safety..." "I said forget about me!" Zhalas roared in blind fury, rudely cutting through the man’s protests. He shoved Lundy toward the doorway, watching him stumble into the hallway and sprint toward the basement exit. Once that figure disappeared, Zhalas turned a murderous glare on the soot-stained officers in the room. "The rest of you, get out too!" No one dared cross him. The men who had just sat down hurriedly lifted themselves from their chairs, filing out of the room trembling and leaving him entirely alone. Quiet settled over the chamber. Zhalas worked to steady his breathing, taking a long time to regain a semblance of composure. The room was utterly still, as though he were the only person left in the world. He could hear his own ragged breaths, even the thudding of his heart. This seemed to be the end... His grand ambitions had been reduced to a pathetic full stop before they had even properly begun. *But why?* Why couldn't those useless idiots simply do as they were told?! He shut his eyes in agony, burying his wrinkled face in his hands. If the *Kraken* had sunk the *Reef* as planned, and the ambush fleet had devoured the Southern Sea Alliance fleet as intended, not just Anle Island, but Ring Island and even Port French Fries would have fallen at his feet! From there, he would have sailed his fleet into the port of Silver Moon Bay, conquered the Camel Hump Kingdom, and pressed further west into the heart of Brahma Province! He would have sailed up the Everflowing River until the front line reached West Sail Port under Legion control! He would have forged an incomparable maritime empire! The lads of the Southern Sea would have been able to do whatever they pleased on the wasteland! And yet those fools had insisted on defying him! They had refused to listen to his plans! For a brief second, hallucinations seemed to dance before his eyes; he felt as if he were not huddled inside the basement of the presidential palace, but perched upon the throne of the master of the world. Yet in the span of a heartbeat, that illusory splendor burst like a soap bubble, dragging him straight back down into the pitch-black abyss known as reality. Staring at the flickering ceiling light, a name suddenly leaped into his mind. Perhaps the only one left who could save him. His throat tightened, and he called out in a trembling voice. "Arzu." The room remained dead silent. Just like always, that fellow loved to play disappearing acts at critical moments, ignoring every call. Yet today was different from the past. In the past, Zhalas had never pinned his hopes on an outsider, but now that very entity had become his final lifeline. "Arzu!" Faced with utter silence, a twinge of panic crept into his chest, and he bellowed again. "Arzu! Show yourself!" This time, a voice from the void finally responded. Yet the listless, feeble tone caused what little hope Zhalas had managed to kindle to plummet straight into an icy abyss. "What would be the point... of showing myself?" Arzu let out a soft, distant sigh as he looked upon the raving Zhalas. Seeing that indifferent, detached demeanor, Zhalas snapped completely. "Don't you dare act like you're an innocent bystander! You said we were allies—we rise together, we fall together! Pull me up, help me! Where are those biological weapons of yours?! Bring them out! I still have a fleet! As long as they make it back, we still have a chance! I haven't lost!" Arzu watched him in silence, a sudden glint of pity coloring his gaze. This man had not been like this before. Or was every "human" this wretched in the final moments of their life? Back in Jinhe City, Arzu had blamed the failure on the unreliability of the Sanctuary itself, complaining that Luo Qian had given up too early. From that, he had concluded that "an imperfect divine nature is inferior to human nature" and that "human nature should command the faithful on earth to build their heaven." On that premise, he had proposed the necessity of constructing a "Second Sanctuary" to the Holy Son. Though most of the Pioneers had opposed him, the merciful Holy Son had bestowed upon him the ability to wield the Sanctuary while remaining in a human vessel. During his evangelism in the Southern Sea diocese, Arzu had consistently pursued indirect control through a puppet ruler, using the "power of the gods" to prop up a terrestrial "king," and using that king's hands to maneuver the pieces across the board. Yet the end result was this bitterly disappointing... "I never said you lost. But... evidently you already know your end in your heart, lost in your fevered delusions." Looking at the hands that reached for his collar—only to pass harmlessly through his spectral form—Arzu offered a bitter smile, his cloudy eyes laden with exhaustion. "...Lord Holy Son above, your servant has done his best."