In truth, large and small battles along the thousands of kilometers of jagged frontlines had never ceased. Even the frontline headquarters could only focus on the big picture and let the small details go. The combat data Hikaru and the others had picked up in such a short time likely couldn't keep up with the rapidly changing front lines.
Still, knowing more was always better. Hikaru handed some of the reports to Lexington and Fletcher as well so they could study together.
Fletcher wasn't the studious type—just a slightly more mature girl than most, and certainly not as capable or efficient as Lexington or Washington. She only skimmed the papers absentmindedly before letting her gaze wander around the room.
The silver-haired marshals and senior commanders gathered in groups for discussion. Once finished, they sat down one after another at the long table. Circles of staff and officers soon surrounded each of them, coordinating tactics with their respective teams.
Yamato's side, however, remained quiet. She had delegated all command authority to the front command post, choosing instead to form a separate unit with Lexington, Bismarck, and the others. Tactical decisions and mission planning no longer concerned her directly.
But whether it was Yamato in her rare moment of leisure, or the busy marshals and commanders, they all seemed a bit distracted.
They were waiting for the outcome of Operation Chicxulub.
…
It wasn't just them—the top leadership of every nation in East Continent, and even those from West Continent and New Land, were closely watching this mission unfold.
In the fight against the Abyssals, all three continents stood in the same trench. While mass airdrop support with shipgirls wasn't possible, conventional military cooperation and logistical aid were strong—money could buy access to top-tier equipment and technology.
Projects like Silent Horizon, Ghost-class stealth strategic bombers, and Warwolf-class nuclear submarines were all born from international cooperation. If, in the face of an enemy like the Abyssals, countries continued hoarding their best technology and duplicating research at great expense, it would be a crime against all humanity.
Now the world waited with bated breath to see:
Could the most powerful stealth bombers on Earth truly wound a flagship-class Abyssal of unprecedented strength?
…
The flagship of Takeyama Takeshi, London, had already closed in to within fifty kilometers of Abyssal Barbarossa's position.
Amid the storm, over 300,000 Abyssal shipgirls were scattered across the 10,000 square kilometer area. From above, one could see them arranged in surprisingly disciplined formations—organized, hierarchical, and tightly coordinated.
Such was the power of a flagship-class Abyssal: transforming wild beasts into elite troops.
London had stopped her submerged approach—this was as close as she could risk.
Any further, and it would be face-to-face.
The sea was crawling with Abyssal patrols. London didn't even dare surface.
Equipped with stealth submersible gear suitable for operating in the Black Sea, she had made it this far for one purpose:
To observe the strike.
To gather firsthand intelligence on the bombing's effectiveness.
She didn't have to wait long. After avoiding two waves of patrolling Abyssal submarines, London suddenly sensed a shift in the sea's fury.
The Abyssal flagship was enraged.
London instantly realized what had happened. She couldn't detect the bombers herself—but the flagship certainly had.
The only question was:
Would it be in time?
—It wouldn't.
From the heart of the storm, a figure rose in fury: white-haired, red-eyed, crowned with a long and short twisted dragon horn—Abyssal Barbarossa. Her lava-beast-like rigging surged with fury as she stood.
Then it happened.
Three triangular aircraft tore through the clouds, plunging from the heavens at supersonic speeds.
They dove in a tight wedge formation, hugging the sea at under 100 meters altitude, slicing through waves as the Abyssals' anti-air fire turned the skies into a wall of light.
And yet not one of the bombers flinched.
The world's most advanced bombers.
Its most elite pilots.
The most reckless, suicidal strike attempt ever launched.
This was it.
Barbarossa barely had time to raise her rigging and launch bursts of laser fire before the three bombers released their payloads.
Three bombs detonated just meters above her head.
There could be no more perfect bombing run.
Barbarossa let out a scream.
But it was swallowed whole by the hellish blast wave that followed.
[End of Chapter]
[50 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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