[Using us as bait? Commander!
Do you have any idea what kind of firepower we're up against?
Maintain contact and withdraw slowly!
We won't even last until the Bloodblade and the main force encircle them—these two fleets of ours will be chewed up by those damn T5 fighters first!]
Of course, Barnes could only think these words to himself.
If he actually said them out loud, he could forget about keeping his position as Commander.
After all, this was the Empire, with its strict hierarchy!
"Understood!
Yes, Commander!"
Barnes and West responded in unison.
The communication cut off.
"…Orders to all ships!" Barnes' voice carried exhaustion and resolve.
"Withdraw to the designated coordinates as commanded.
Heavily damaged vessels, follow as best you can. Don't let the formation scatter too much—maintain a minimal anti-air fire net.
Make the enemy think… we want to run, but we can't run fast or far."
"Tell them this is an order, and also… our only chance for survival," Lieutenant Commander Barnes added, his tone heavy.
Thus, under the continuous harassment of the Federation fighter craft swarm, the two heavily damaged Imperial Fleets began a fighting retreat toward the direction of the Bloodblade Fleet, moving in a somewhat "clumsy" and "panicked" manner.
It was as if they had been stunned by the ferocious firepower, focused only on fleeing but unable to shake off the pursuit.
Zane Barrett received the intense combat data and video footage from the S-22 zone almost simultaneously with Lancaster's emergency communication.
He watched on the screen as the nimble and deadly "Swift" fighter craft tore through the Imperial warships like venomous wasps.
He observed the two fleets, usually considered elite, forced into a disorderly retreat.
Instead of anger, a wild grin slowly spread across his rugged face, twisting the scar.
"Ha!
Hahaha!"
He actually laughed out loud, slamming the armrest of his seat.
"S-22!
Right under my nose!
Bold!
Damn bold!
Even bolder than I was back in the day!"
His eyes gleamed with undisguised, almost exhilarated admiration.
"Over four billion kilometers, slipping in without a sound, catching Lancaster's guard dogs and going for the kill…
This kid is something! I'm starting to enjoy this hunt!"
Admiration aside, orders were orders, and these orders suited him just fine.
"All ships, hear my command!"
Barrett's roar echoed across the bridge as he wiped the grin from his face.
"All units that have shed their camouflage, engines at full power!
Target S-22—get there at maximum speed!
The rest of you, forget about camouflage!
I'm going to meet this Qin Bei Wang and see whether his T5 fighters are tougher or my Bloodblade's firepower is fiercer!"
"Tell the crew, the prize is right ahead. If we're late, we won't even get the scraps!"
The notorious Bloodblade Fleet, like a pack of sharks that had caught the scent of blood, suddenly accelerated.
With a brutal momentum, they surged from their lurking shadows, charging straight into the war-torn S-22 zone.
Barrett's excitement and fighting spirit, like an invisible flame, ignited the entire fleet.
Savannah Star System, S-22 zone, combat airspace.
Time flowed amidst the flashes of explosions and the shrieks of tearing metal.
The Emerald and Beryl Fleets resembled wounded buffaloes being relentlessly torn apart by a pack of wolves.
Under wave after wave of precise and ferocious strikes from the Swift fighter craft, they were visibly crumbling.
After the initial heavy losses, the Federation fighter craft, under Qin Beiwang's command, launched more rhythmically coordinated assaults.
They no longer sought maximum output in a single wave but divided into several echelons, taking turns diving, attacking, and disengaging to maintain constant pressure.
Simultaneously, they minimized their exposure to the anti-aircraft fire nets as much as possible.
This tactic left the Imperial Fleet's defenses increasingly overwhelmed.
Another blinding flash erupted as a Cruiser from the Emerald Fleet was struck simultaneously by multiple missiles on its Bridge and main power compartment.
A massive explosion tore it in two, with debris, shrapnel, and flames drifting slowly apart.
Shortly after, another Cruiser from the Beryl Fleet, while attempting to cover an allied ship, had its propulsion array shredded by armor-piercing rounds from a flanking squadron of fighter craft.
Completely immobilized, it became a floating target.
Destroyers?
Their relatively weak armor and limited anti-aircraft firepower had already made them priority targets in earlier attacks.
By now, all Destroyers once possessed by the two fleets had been reduced to cold wreckage.
Even the Flagships, serving as the core and command centers of the fleets—
The Jade Crown and the Soul of the Deep Forest—had not been spared.
Several Swift fighter craft braved the dense point-defense fire to press forward, launching missiles at their massive hulls.
A secondary turret on the Jade Crown's broadside was completely destroyed, with the ensuing fire spreading across half the deck, billowing thick smoke.
The communication array antenna of the Soul of the Deep Forest was severed at the base, and several sensor domes were riddled with holes, severely hampering command efficiency.
At a still-operational point-defense cannon position aboard the Jade Crown—
Gunner Karl, a young soldier with a face smeared in soot and a uniform soaked with sweat.
His fingers clenched tightly on the trigger, eyes bloodshot, fixed on the targeting screen where enemy craft signals flickered and vanished like phantoms.
During every lull between enemy attacks, he instinctively glanced at the worn, timer-equipped military watch on his wrist.
He noticed a detail.
"Sir!"
In the brief silence following another enemy craft's pass, the position momentarily quiet.
Karl shouted hoarsely to the equally exhausted point-defense cannon chief beside him.
"The attack intervals! They're getting longer!
Last time it was three minutes and forty-seven seconds, this time it's eight minutes and nine seconds!
They're not coming as frequently!"
The point-defense cannon chief, a veteran with burn scars on his face, was busy checking ammunition reserves.
He spun around abruptly, his bloodshot eyes instantly blazing with fury.
He grabbed Karl by the collar, nearly slamming his helmet against the cold interior wall of the position.
"What the hell are you babbling about?
Can't you hope for something good?!"
The chief's spittle nearly hit Karl in the face.
"Those Federation bastards are attacking less?
Bullshit! They're toying with us!
Looking for our weak spots!
Or..."
He released Karl, panting heavily, his eyes a mix of fear and a forcibly imposed "rational" explanation.
"...Or their mothership, that damned stellar carrier, can't keep up!
Yes, that must be it! The Swift fighters are fast, but their carrier is slow!
To fly this far to attack us, they need more time to return to the carrier for rearming and resupply after each strike, then fly back again!
That's why the intervals are getting longer!"
The gunner seemed to convince himself, glaring fiercely at Karl.
"Don't let me hear such demoralizing talk again!
Keep your eyes on your screen - the next wave could come any moment!
One more word and I'll throw you out to feed the void!"
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