Anderson's eyes lit up.
He quickly raised the wine glass in his hand.
"Sir, let's toast to your promotion and prosperity in advance!"
Fox smiled and also raised his glass.
The two glasses lightly clinked together, producing a crisp sound.
"Cheers."
They both tilted their heads back and drained the wine in their glasses.
Anderson casually wiped the wine stain from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
Fox sat back down in the Command Seat, leaning against the backrest, looking out the window at the dense cluster of Starships.
Just as Fox finished speaking.
"Woo—!!"
A sharp Alarm Sound erupted abruptly on the Bridge without warning.
The sound was piercing, urgent, like an awl stabbing into everyone's eardrums.
The wine glass in Fox's hand shook violently, splashing red wine onto the pristine white sleeve of his uniform.
He didn't bother to wipe it off.
His gaze was already fixed on the massive Tactical Screen.
The Communications officer's voice sounded amidst the alarm, carrying a hint of barely suppressed tension.
"Report, Commander!
SFN-693 Monitoring Station has sent an urgent report!"
"A large number of Federal Starships have been detected approaching our position!"
He paused, quickly scanning the data.
"Estimated scale.
Approximately one hundred and fifty ships!"
The Bridge instantly fell silent.
Fox's brow furrowed tightly.
One hundred and fifty.
That number made his heart sink heavily.
"Could it be..."
His voice was hoarse, carrying an indescribable tone.
"That Federation Fleet that infiltrated our rear?"
Anderson stood beside him, his face also turning somewhat pale.
They had just been talking about this.
Who would have thought.
The words would become a prophecy.
The enemy had really come.
Fox's gaze fell on the Tactical Screen.
On the screen, one hundred and fifty blue dots were slowly approaching.
And beside him, there were four thousand Starships.
Four thousand against one hundred and fifty.
An absolute numerical advantage.
But he did not smile.
The bold words from earlier were just boasting.
Those four thousand ships were Civilian-converted Military Starships.
They were Cargo Ships, passenger ships, mining ships, tugboats hastily welded with a few cannons.
They were paper tigers without proper Armor, easily pierced by a single shot.
And the one hundred and fifty ships on the other side.
Were frontline combat fleets.
Were regular troops that had fought real battles and killed people.
Fox's breathing quickened slightly.
He rapidly ran through various possibilities in his mind.
Four thousand against one hundred and fifty.
Even with poor combat effectiveness, couldn't they overwhelm the enemy with sheer numbers?
They should... be able to, right?
He took a deep breath.
Forcing himself to calm down.
Then he spoke.
His voice was steadier than before, but that tension was still barely concealed.
"Order..."
He paused, then said.
"The eight hundred Starships of the Vanguard, advance!"
"Spare no cost, annihilate them!"
The Communications officer quickly recorded the order, then stood at attention.
"The order has been relayed!"
On the screen, those eight hundred Civilian-converted Military Starships began to move slowly, heading toward the direction of the one hundred and fifty blue dots.
Fox looked at the formation of those Starships.
Loose, chaotic, without any order.
His heart sank again.
But he did not show it.
He turned and continued speaking to the communications officer.
"Immediately send a communication to General Rockwell!"
The communications officer's fingers hovered over the control console, awaiting his next words.
Fox took a deep breath and spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
"Jump Point Z-78, under attack by Federation Fleet."
"Estimated enemy strength..."
Fox paused briefly before continuing.
"One mother-class fleet!"
The communications officer froze.
Thinking Fox had misremembered.
He opened his mouth, instinctively saying,
"Commander, the monitoring station just reported one hundred and fifty ships..."
Fox glared at him.
That glance held something indescribable.
The communications officer instantly understood.
One hundred and fifty ships was merely the scale of a classified fleet.
If they reported that scale when requesting reinforcements,
there was a risk General Rockwell would dismiss it, citing his four thousand warships as an absolute numerical advantage.
A mother-class fleet was different.
Three hundred ships.
Although only a difference of one hundred and fifty ships, the nature was completely different.
That was a threat that demanded attention.
The communications officer lowered his head and quickly edited the order.
Fox turned back to face the tactical screen.
On the screen, those eight hundred civilian-converted military ships were slowly approaching the one hundred and fifty blue dots.
His brow remained tightly furrowed.
He didn't know how long his eight hundred paper tigers could hold out against the one hundred and fifty regular warships on the other side.
Neither General Rockwell nor Fox held any hope for these civilian-converted military starships.
Aside from their use for deterrence, their only remaining purpose was to deplete enemy ammunition and energy.
In the outer airspace of Jump Point Z-78.
Faced with the eight hundred Imperial starships actively advancing toward them,
the Pluto Fleet did not open fire immediately.
Qin Bei Wang stared at the densely packed red dots on the system star chart, a slight smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Swift fighters, all deploy."
His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached across the entire fleet.
"Target, the enemy vanguard fleet."
"Free hunt."
Dealing with these starships that didn't even have shield generators,
using the main cannons would simply be a waste of their energy.
The orders were swiftly relayed.
The Jade Qilin's catapult tracks all opened, and Swift fighters surged out from the carrier along laser guidance lines like a disturbed swarm of bees.
Over seven hundred Swift fighters streaked across the void, trailing hundreds of blue tail flames as they lunged toward the eight hundred approaching civilian-converted military ships.
Onboard a modified cargo ship in the Imperial vanguard fleet.
The crew crowded into the cramped bridge, staring at the blue dots on the screen growing ever closer.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
On the screen, those dots were moving too fast.
Too fast for them to react.
A young crewman turned to look at the first mate standing behind him.
The first mate's face was pale, his lips trembling slightly, but he said nothing.
He then looked at the captain.
The captain stood before the command console, hands gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles were white.
His gaze was fixed on the screen, unmoving, as if nailed there.
The bridge was terrifyingly quiet.
Only the low hum of instruments and the crew's heavy breathing could be heard.
The few star police sent to supervise the battle were also frozen in place.
They still held their guns but didn't know who to aim at.
Shoot the enemy?
The enemy was still millions of kilometers away.
Shoot their own people?
Their own people hadn't done anything.
They just stood there blankly, staring at the screen, watching those blue dots drawing ever closer.
No one gave orders, no one took command, and no one knew what to do.
Because no one had ever been on a battlefield.
Until those Swift fighters were close enough to be seen with the naked eye.
Beneath their wings, a flash of fire.
Missiles detached from their racks, trailing white tail flames as they lunged forward.
"Boom—!!"
The first modified cargo ship was struck by a missile.
The ship didn't even explode.
It simply split in half, its hull slowly separating in the vacuum.
The cargo and people inside were all flung into the void.
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