Perhaps he was shouting for himself to hear.
"All units!"
He raised his arm, pointing toward the planet named Danube ahead.
"Maximum combat speed! Pursue the fleeing Federation Fleet ahead!"
"We must... for our Commander..."
He paused.
His throat felt blocked by something.
"For our comrades..."
"...avenge them!"
As his words fell.
The communication channel fell silent for half a second.
Then.
"We will carry out the Commander's orders at all costs!"
The commanders of each fleet shouted in unison.
Their voices held fear, anger, and resistance toward death.
But more than that, there was a complex emotion they themselves couldn't quite identify.
Finally, there was a reason to keep flying forward.
Finally, they didn't have to look back at that darkness devouring everything.
General Knight slowly lowered his arm.
He stood there, listening to the pledges of carrying out orders at all costs in the communication channel, and suddenly felt the iron weight in his chest loosen slightly.
A soldier's duty is to obey orders.
Even if it means death, an order from a superior must be carried out.
Even if he were court-martialed afterward, he could use this reason to defend himself.
He slowly sat back in the command chair, his spine still ramrod straight.
Outside the viewport, that darkness continued to expand.
But not a single one of the Blood Locust Fleet's thousand-plus warships turned back.
Maintaining their pursuit formation, engines at full power, their tail flames trailing into straight bands of light, they flew directly toward Danube Star.
At this very moment.
Opal Starfield Theater Command.
General Strauss stood before his massive desk, his back to all the holographic screens in the room.
The screens were still lit.
No, it should be said they were frantically flashing with glaring red alerts.
The Demon Claw Fleet.
Completely annihilated.
Brigadier General Hamilton, along with his over three hundred warships and tens of thousands of officers and soldiers.
Not a single intact wreckage could be recovered.
Then, the Abuja Stellar Ring.
The Wildfire Giant Cannon was paralyzed, the Docking Zone blasted open with a breach over ten kilometers in diameter, the outer defense platforms plowed over, and tens of thousands of transport ships turned into floating piles of metal debris.
The last battle report he received came from Abuja Ring Administrator Wright.
"The Federation Fleet withdrew toward Nadler Star after the attack.
The ring area is severely damaged, but the zero-point energy module has been relocated to a secure area."
Strauss read that battle report three times over.
Then he abruptly turned around, placed both hands on the edge of the desk, leaned forward, and stared fixedly at Bradley standing three meters away.
His voice was low, but each word sounded like iron shavings ground out from between his teeth.
"Weren't we told... it was a small guerrilla force?"
Bradley said nothing.
Strauss slammed his palm on the desk.
"Smack!"
The sound was particularly sharp in the empty office.
"Speak!"
His voice suddenly rose.
"Wasn't it you who analyzed it for me?
Deep within the Bushman Star System, two joint fleets deployed for defense, monitoring stations densely covering the border—even a Duke-class Fleet sneaking in would be wiped out!"
He straightened up, his chest heaving violently, his lips twisting into an extremely ugly, self-mocking curve.
"A small guerrilla force."
He repeated.
"A small guerrilla force capable of easily annihilating the Demon Claw Fleet and severely damaging the Abuja Stellar Ring."
He suddenly laughed.
The laughter was forced from deep within his throat—dry, hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against steel.
"Timothy!"
He said with a laugh.
"Tell me, if all Federation guerrilla forces were this formidable, if they could all so easily wipe out one of my mother-class fleets and cripple one of my military fortress rings..."
He paused, his voice as soft as if speaking to himself.
"Then shouldn't our Empire have already perished long ago?"
Bradley's pupils abruptly contracted.
He almost instinctively took a step forward, raising a hand to cover his mouth, his voice lowered to a whisper.
"Commander..."
His gaze swept rapidly over the tightly closed office door and the internal secure communicator in the corner, its standby light perpetually glowing red.
"That last sentence..."
He hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"It would be best not to say it too often."
"If someone with ill intentions overheard... and reported it to His Majesty the Emperor..."
Strauss looked at him.
Looked at his long-serving Chief of Staff, at the complex expression on his face—a mix of tension, concern, and loyalty.
Then he laughed again.
This time, it was a hearty, unrestrained laugh.
The laughter was loud, brazen, even carrying a hint of madness unbecoming of a soldier of his age and rank.
"Let them report!"
He spread his arms wide, as if embracing those unseen, lurking individuals hidden in every corner of the Empire's bureaucratic system.
"Report it to His Majesty the Emperor!
Report it to the highest court-martial!
Report it to the Imperial News Agency!"
"Get me removed from office...
Put someone more capable in this chair!"
His voice grew louder and louder, yet his smile grew colder and colder.
"Oh, right."
He lowered his arms, looking down at the few battle reports on the desk, already crumpled by his fingers. His tone suddenly became very light, very calm.
Calm, as if telling an ordinary joke.
"Ambushing the Imperial Transport Fleet, severely damaging the energy node, the Abuja Stellar Ring..."
He paused, raised his head, looked at Bradley, a peculiarly strange smile hanging at the corner of his mouth.
"Next, it should be time to destroy the star gate, shouldn't it?"
Bradley opened his mouth but said nothing.
Strauss said it for him.
"This year's best war blockbuster from the Federation..."
He pushed forward the report on the annihilation of the Demon Claw Fleet on the desk; the paper slid far across the smooth surface.
"I've even thought of the title for those Federation directors."
He straightened up, adjusting the perfectly neat collar of his General's uniform.
His voice was as calm as stagnant water.
"Let's call it...
Star Gate Fall: Guerrilla Warfare Behind Enemy Lines."
He looked at Bradley.
The latter stood in place, motionless.
Strauss nodded slightly, as if confirming something.
"And I, Karl von Strauss, General of the Empire, Commander-in-Chief of the Opal Star Sector Combat Zone..."
He paused, then continued.
"...am the villain to be sent to the guillotine."
The office remained silent for a long time.
Only the continuous low hum of the ventilation system and the still silently flashing red alerts on the holographic screens.
Suddenly, Strauss turned around, pointing a finger directly at Bradley.
The finger hesitated in the air for a moment, then his face broke into an exaggerated, almost absurd smile.
"And you!"
His voice rose, carrying a deliberately theatrical tone.
"Timothy Bradley, my Chief of Staff, my old friend, my most trusted deputy."
He paused, narrowing his eyes.
"The one who gave me terrible advice from start to finish, making me move the fleet around, deploy it in scattered formations, exhausting us..."
"Time after time aiding that damned enemy rear guerrilla force—truly the most successful spy the Federation has planted in the highest ranks of the Imperial Navy!"
His tone was light, as if making a harmless joke.
But there was no laughter in his eyes.
--Enjoying the story? Want more chapters? Check out my Patreon and support me for 40+ advance chapters.
Just search for "LegendaryTL" on Patreon!"
Thanks!