The Approaching Storm (3)

"Ah, right—Jessica!"

"Yes, Commander."

Afraid the idea might slip away if I waited even a second, I called Jessica over at once and put the thought that had just flashed through my head into immediate practice.

"The Neranzara-class is still outside, right?"

"Yes, it is…?"

"Have it dock inside the fortress berthing facilities right now, then switch to full submersion mode from inside the base and head back out!"

"…!"

The plan was simple: put our Neranzara-class to work. Slip in right next to the enemy fleet, unload every weapon we had—starting with the space torpedoes—then leisurely return to base, drop out of submersion, recharge, and do it all over again. Fire everything and bounce. A classic hit-and-run.

And the result of Icarus's little gambit and the Neranzara's hit-and-run tactics…

If things dragged on just a little longer like this, the Walpurgis Alliance leadership would—sadly for them—tear themselves apart through infighting and self-destruct all on their own. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠For Icarus, that would have been the happiest possible ending.

But… as always, happy endings had a way of never arriving for Icarus.

Unable to stand watching the situation any longer, a clan leader who hit the gym three times a week and could bench seven hundred went nuclear in the chat—then charged straight in at the head of his entire fleet, only to get vaporized by the fourth Kraken teleport strike in a glorious last stand.

That spectacle lit a fire under the other players. More precisely, the users and allied clan leaders who were now convinced their ships wouldn't just pop like balloons under the Kraken's surprise teleports finally decided to launch an all-out offensive against Icarus's Avalon Fortress.

The Approaching Storm. (3)

Of course, even if the Kraken's surprise teleport-and-strategic-missile attacks were no longer an option…

"Above, below, front, back, left, right—enemies everywhere. No need to aim."

"All batteries, open fire!"

Even without that, I still had plenty of excellent tools at my disposal.

For instance… those big, beautiful spears—no, utility poles—no, the strategic missiles themselves were still very much available. The moment the enemy opened their full offensive and we answered by dumping a massive volley of missiles, the Hresvelgr joined right in, flinging its own excellent spear-class strategic missiles and treating the other side to a little surprise show of its own.

"They're pouring in like crazy~♡"

"Pashtura, just fire in whatever direction will sink the most of their capital ships."

"Oh my, so I can do whatever I want with everything else, then?♡"

"Yeah, the rest is up to you… ah—about the battle, I mean."

"You shut that down so fast♡ Got it♡"

I cleanly cut off the lewd nun's attempt to naturally pivot into demanding a hot, sticky, dense night together. She pouted and grumbled at my response—and then, as if looking for somewhere to vent the stress, Pashtura immediately unleashed a beam cannon at maximum output, crushing an enemy heavy battleship charging the fortress into a crumpled tin can.

And beyond all that, there was something even more critical in a fleet battle.

Namely…

"Hyaaaaah!"

"So this is a battlefield!"

"Time to earn our pay, you maggots!"

"Commander, did you call in the mercenary groups?"

"…Burned through 1.5 million minerals and 400,000 rare resources to summon them on the spot."

"Ah."

That would be the roughly two hundred mercenary groups ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd hired by dipping into the resources I'd been carefully stockpiling for the assault on Tannhauser Gate Fortress.

Ideally, the force would have been heavy on capital ships… but unfortunately…

Nothing in this world ever goes according to plan. Sadly, this particular mercenary spam came with a painfully low number of capital ships, so most of the vessels either blew up in spectacular fashion not long after deployment—or scrambled to cling to the base perimeter, mixing in among our fleet and the "security fleets" in a desperate bid to eke out a miserable survival.

But even with two hundred mercenary groups thrown in on the fly, the battle still wasn't going particularly well.

Hadn't I said before that the force I'd used to conquer Tunguska—when Rattonwater and Magellan invaded at the same time—came out to roughly 320,000 ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to 350,000 points? The problem was that the fifty-odd clans currently pushing into my territory were fielding fleets worth over 400,000 ship points.

On top of every method I'd already mentioned, I scrambled every fighter from the fortress hangars and my carriers, and even used the base's Long-Range Warp System to teleport mercenary groups behind the enemy fleet in an attempt at a double envelopment. I poured every scrap of effort I could muster into holding them off.

But even with the fortress's full defensive suite—batteries, missile launchers, the works—thrown into the fight, within a mere twelve hours of the enemy's all-out offensive, the combined security fleets and mercenary groups totaling over 60,000 ships had mostly been blasted into cosmic dust.

Their sacrifice, however, was far from meaningless.

The very moment the mercenary groups' small-ship loss rate was about to break ninety percent—

"Commander! The fortress's main combat fleets have all sortied!"

"Finally."

Unlike during my own siege, when those fleets never even got a chance to fight, this time my forces had thoroughly protected the gates. The fifty combat fleets that now slipped out successfully swung the battle—which had been tipping badly against us—back into a hard-fought stalemate.

And at that same moment, over in the Walpurgis Alliance clans, people were staring in disbelief at Icarus's fleets—no matter how many they killed, more just kept coming.