Rockwell's right hand gripped the edge of the command console so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He suddenly felt a pang of regret.
Regret for accepting this mission.
Just then.
The sensor supervisor's voice suddenly rang out, shattering the oppressive silence on the bridge.
"Report! The quantum harmonic direction finder has detected the Federation transmitting quantum communications toward the L-7 and N-12 directions!"
Rockwell's brow twitched sharply.
The communications officer immediately followed up.
"Report, Commander!
Monitoring stations report that four Federation joint fleets are advancing at full speed toward the L-7 and N-12 warp points!"
The atmosphere on the bridge instantly grew tense.
The adjutant quickly stepped to Rockwell's side, his voice tinged with barely suppressed urgency.
"Commander... Could the enemy have guessed our intentions?"
Rockwell remained silent.
He simply stared at the tactical screen, his eyes fixed on the rapidly moving blue dots.
Four joint fleets.
L-7 and N-12.
Those were the primary retreat routes for the Ares and Pandora Fleets.
According to the command headquarters' plan, the Savannah Star System was the core corridor for these two sequence fleets to withdraw to the rear.
As for deploying one joint fleet each to Turkmen and Tyrol, that was merely to confuse the Federation, making it unclear from which direction the two fleets would actually retreat.
As long as the Federation couldn't pinpoint it, the pressure on the Savannah direction would be significantly reduced.
But now, the Federation had directly dispatched four joint fleets charging toward L-7 and N-12.
Could there be a Federation spy among the Empire's high command, who had leaked their entire retreat plan to the Federation?
Just as this thought flashed through Rockwell's mind, the communications officer's voice sounded again.
"Report! Receiving emergency communication from Admiral Creston, commander of the Hemera Fleet!"
Rockwell took a deep breath.
"Put it through."
The communication screen lit up.
A middle-aged man wearing an admiral's uniform appeared on the screen—Admiral Creston, commander of the Hemera Fleet.
His expression was grim, his brow furrowed, his voice urgent.
"Commander! Four Federation joint fleets have surged into the Tyrol Galaxy border!"
He paused, his voice carrying a hint of barely contained tension.
"Requesting reinforcements!"
Rockwell's pupils contracted sharply.
The Tyrol Galaxy.
Also had four Federation joint fleets?
Before he could respond, the communications officer's voice exploded once more.
"Report! Receiving communication from Admiral Shane Finnigan, commander of the Charon Fleet in the Turkmen Star System!"
"Also receiving communication from Admiral Trent Grant, commander of the Hypnos Fleet in the Garton Star System!"
Rockwell's hand trembled slightly.
He connected both communications simultaneously.
Two screens lit up at once.
Finnigan and Grant's faces appeared on them, both wearing identical expressions of anxiety and tension.
Finnigan spoke first, his voice hurried.
"Commander! Five Federation joint fleets detected at the Turkmen Star System border!"
Grant immediately followed.
"Five Federation joint fleets detected at the Garton Star System border! They are rapidly approaching the warp points!"
Rockwell was stunned.
Tyrol Galaxy: four.
Turkmen Star System: five.
Garton Star System: five.
Plus the four at Savannah...
A number flashed through his mind.
Eighteen.
Eighteen Joint Fleets.
According to standard fleet organization, six Joint Fleets formed one Sequence Fleet.
Three Sequence Fleets.
A full three Sequence Fleets' worth of forces.
Rockwell swayed slightly.
He steadied himself against the Command Console, barely managing to stand firm.
300,000 warships.
How could they have so many forces?
Where did they transfer them from?
Rockwell took a deep breath.
It was a very deep breath, as if he wanted to draw all the air on the Bridge into his lungs.
Then he spoke.
His voice was hoarse.
"Hold your positions."
He paused.
"Not an inch of ground is to be yielded."
The Communications officer met his gaze, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as he swallowed.
Then he straightened his back.
"Yes!"
His fingers danced rapidly across the Control Console, forwarding Rockwell's orders to the three fleet commanders.
Eighteen Joint Fleets.
Over 300,000 warships.
And he had only seven Joint Fleets.
A disparity of more than double the forces.
His brows knitted into a tight knot.
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again.
"Send a message to Command Headquarters."
The Communications officer looked up.
Rockwell spoke, enunciating each word clearly.
"Four star systems, including the Tyrol Galaxy, are under full-scale attack by three Federation Sequence Fleets."
"Force ratio: nearly three times our own."
"I urgently request Command Headquarters..."
He took a deep breath.
"...to dispatch reinforcements immediately."
The Communications officer's fingers trembled slightly, but he still accurately typed every word into the system.
Silence fell over the Bridge once more.
After a brief silence.
Rockwell's voice rang out again, deeper and colder than before, carrying an unyielding resolve.
"Commandeer all starships within the Savannah Star System."
He paused, then continued.
"Military or civilian, all of them."
The Communications officer's fingers hovered over the Control Console, trembling slightly.
Rockwell went on.
"Notify all shipyards: 24-hour non-stop operation."
"For all those commandeered starships..."
He emphasized each word.
"...install shipborne weaponry on every single one."
The Adjutant couldn't help but speak up, his voice kept very low.
"Commander... the hull integrity of those civilian vessels..."
Rockwell glanced at him.
That glance held nothing, yet seemed to hold everything.
The Adjutant fell silent.
Rockwell withdrew his gaze and continued.
"Also, conscript all discharged veterans within the Savannah Star System."
He paused, as if thinking of something, then added.
"No."
"All adult males who have ever worked on a starship..."
He raised his head, looking at everyone present.
"...conscript them all."
The sound of breathing on the Bridge almost ceased.
All adult males who have ever worked on a starship.
What did that mean?
It meant merchant ship crew, cargo ship pilots, mining ship operators, even harbor tugboat drivers...
Everyone.
Anyone who had ever laid hands on a starship's helm would have to put on a military uniform, board those hastily retrofitted ships, and charge into that burning battlefield.
Rockwell's voice continued, terrifyingly calm.
"Have them pilot those retrofitted starships."
He paused, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
"At the same time..."
His gaze fell upon the Adjutant.
"...all law enforcement personnel within the star system are to be incorporated into the Supervisory Combat Unit."
"Assigned to every starship."
The Adjutant's body stiffened slightly.
Supervisory Combat Unit.
Everyone knew what that meant.
It was used to prevent desertion.
It was used to fire upon their own comrades on the battlefield.
Rockwell spoke the final word.
The Bridge fell into dead silence once more.
This silence was longer and heavier than before.
No one spoke.
No one moved.