Chapter 153
Chapter 153
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 153
Chapter Title: Rescue at the Shipyard
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The shipyard was a total wreck.
Buildings lay shattered everywhere, craters from explosions scarring the landscape.
Ships under construction had been flung haphazardly into space, and unaccounted-for flying aliens were still rampaging unchecked.
Workers riding industrial machines tried to fend them off with glowing-hot drills, but they couldn't even pierce the barriers properly.
And there were just so damn many.
While I wasn't looking, their numbers had swelled even more, bolstered by aliens swept in from our battle.
‘Has all the defense infrastructure already been destroyed?’
It had looked pretty battered from the start.
They probably hadn't repaired the damage from the first airstrike.
Any remaining defenses would've drawn attention first and gotten wiped out.
Still, the sight of them wielding work tools as weapons was just too pathetic.
‘And some of them are even trying to flee in the middle of all this...’
While technicians fought for their lives, others were attempting to escape on the opposite side.
It was the very picture of pandemonium.
But even the escapees were being too greedy.
Whatever they were hauling made such a racket as they patched it onto the back of a massive transport ship.
Of course it was going to attract the aliens' attention.
A swarm was already converging on the transport.
They seemed desperate to accelerate and shake them off, but to me, it looked like they were already too late.
“Does it bother you?”
“...”
It was hard to say no.
Black Yak was a rival company hostile to the Monarch family.
With my stake in Monarch Lou Dock Station, I should've been thrilled to see them go under, but watching this made me hesitate to just let it happen.
“The situation isn't that dire. You could just send the Insignia.”
“Really?” My eyes flicked toward it.
The garrison troops were holding the city as a stronghold, defending against the aliens effectively.
Part of it was the fleet blocking the airstrikes relatively well, but the superhumans' performance was impressive too.
Even as several city blocks turned into infernos, not a single common injury had cropped up among the garrison.
Honestly, they didn't seem to need more support.
That said, factoring in the defenses for surrounding cities, some help was warranted.
Taking Frederick's advice, I split off the fleet and dispatched the Sheila-class Insignia to the city with the garrison.
“Send a comm to Black Yak. Tell them we're coming to help.”
But contrary to expectations, there was no reply from Black Yak.
They must've already spotted our flagship heading their way, yet no response at all.
“Captain, what are your orders?”
Frederick asked whether to provide covering fire.
Even if it was to take out aliens, firing on the shipyard without confirmation risked being misinterpreted.
“...Judging by the lack of response so far, it seems the leadership has failed to do their job.”
“Sound assessment.”
“Commence bombardment. Prioritize precise strikes on the nearest aliens for clean kills.”
“Yes, sir!”
As the flagship opened fire, the aliens clinging to the shipyard started dropping fast.
On the observed feed, I could see technicians who'd been rescued cheering.
The flagship drew closer to the shipyard.
Flying aliens spotted it, flapped their cicada wings, then shattered under shellfire.
‘Too late for them, huh.’
I glanced at the transport attempting to flee.
Their efforts hadn't been in vain; it had shrunk to a distant speck.
But the aliens that latched on before they accelerated hadn't been shaken off, and severe hull damage was visible.
Even if we pursued now, rescue was impossible.
“Captain, we're receiving multiple short-range messages.”
Frederick filtered the decent ones and forwarded them to me.
Every message brimmed with gratitude for the save.
Some described the shipyard's situation and begged for extraction.
I picked out the most standout one. “Can we connect with this sender now?”
“Attempting... Connected.”
“Put it on screen.”
A hologram of a rugged-faced man popped up in front of the captain's chair.
He was suited up in a work machine, battle-worn and battered.
“Hello. I'm Meister Han. Just call me Meister or Han. As for affiliation... Damn it! Just assume none. Sorry for the language.
He was pissed.
I'd chosen him for the most objective report on the shipyard, but maybe I'd picked wrong. “I'll call you Meister. Mind if I ask a few questions?”
-Ask away. You saved our asses—what wouldn't I tell you?
“Can't reach your leadership either?”
-Everyone left here is just workers. The higher-ups all bugged out already. The few stragglers bolted at the start of the airstrike.
They'd already fled.
I felt a surge of disbelief.
No matter how precious life was, how could they abandon facilities like this?
‘They already moved the high-end gear?’
In manufacturing, technicians are the real key asset.
Sure, equipment and tech matter, but without skilled hands, building ships is impossible.
“What about that transport that just left?”
-Oh, that? A team hauling equipment. They got scared and tried to bail—drew all the alien attention and saved our skins.
“Scared, but they took that heavy load with them?”
-That gear's irreplaceable. You wouldn't know unless you're in the biz...
“My family name is Monarch.”
-...Ah, right.
The Meister's face shifted oddly.
No one in this industry doesn't know the Monarch name.
-Figures. And the owners ditched it...
“Our fleet will stick around the shipyard for a bit to run rescue ops. We're sending troops to clear infiltrated aliens—got a good landing zone?”
-You bet.
I nodded, and the hologram slid down.
The crew would handle the rest.
As I decided on support force size, I asked Frederick,
“Fighters ready?”
“Yes, on standby.”
“Send one squadron to check on that transport.”
The ship's underbelly opened, launching fighters.
A three-ship squadron.
Fighters rarely saw action in alien wars.
Situations exploiting their range advantage were scarce.
Plus, their armor was paper-thin—one graze and they're gone.
For the cost, better to load extra missiles.
We kept them for occasional utility, mostly recon.
“Stuck here after all.”
The airstrike was winding down.
The defense fleet had already cleared the hive nest and was en route to Anthrozia.
Once orbital bombardment kicked off, alien numbers would plummet.
What remained was hunting infiltrators and preventing hatcheries.
Early response was key, so we'd be here a few more days. “Lucky it blew up while we're still around.”
Frederick had a point.
One more day, and it would've been a real mess.
Post-first strike, they'd rushed fortification—beefing defenses, etc.—but still way short.
Colonization incomplete, the planet's interior was chaos.
Best hope was delaying the next wave, but today's second strike would accelerate the shitshow.
*
The airstrike on Anthrozia wrapped up cleanly.
Scale clocked in at about 130 million.
Standard size.
With garrison defense fleet power, at proper fortification levels, it was manageable.
Considering Anthrozia had just started fortifying, it was a damn good showing.
The garrison commander, aware it was thanks to the Golden Fleet, invited me via comm.
I brushed it off with being busy at first, but couldn't keep dodging.
We'd cross paths on the Styx Frontline for years minimum.
Luckily, our first meeting wasn't awkward. “Haha, come on in. Leonard Superhuman. Great to see your face.”
“Likewise, happy to meet like this.”
The commander led the talk, thanking Anthrozia's results and our dedication.
More like venting frustrations than conversation.
He poured out how stifled he'd felt, how messed up Anthrozia was.
‘Been through hell, huh.’
I just listened quietly, nodding empathy.
The rear lines lacked military prep.
Everything was short by default.
Handling a sudden strike and stabilizing the planet took real grit.
“I hear you were due to depart that day.”
“Yes. Airstrike hit suddenly. But we'll refit and leave in two days.”
“Whoa, two days?”
He reacted with surprise.
“We've overstayed already. Can't delay more.”
“...Even so, that rushed? Can't you stick a few more days to help?”
The commander looked regretful.
But we couldn't park the Golden Fleet here forever.
25 superhumans tied to one planet was wasteful.
Barring emergencies, the garrison's two resident superhumans could handle most threats.
“We'll leave four superhumans and two hundred troops on Anthrozia till hatchery signs fade.”
A bit more than originally planned.
Enough to tackle Class 3 hatcheries no sweat.
His expression brightened.
“How to thank you...”
“My unit and I will operate on the Styx Frontline. Call anytime you need superhumans.”
“Oh, really?”
Word of my new superhuman squad wasn't out yet.
With 25 under me, sharp folks might guess.
The commander caught the hint, eyes sharpening.
He got more engaged after.
Asked about the Golden Fleet, showed interest in past ops.
“From what you say, the Golden Fleet's rep is no exaggeration. Even better hearing it from you.”
“Rep's just from a few superhumans' small deeds. Nothing compared to what you've done here.”
Getting the hang of this flattery.
But I didn't want to keep spouting it, so I changed tack.
“Anyway, I've been mulling how to help defend Anthrozia, and an idea hit.”
“What's that?”
“There's Black Yak's abandoned shipyard in orbit, right?”
“Black Yak...”
His face soured at the name.
I already knew why from Meister Han.
Black Yak had publicly slammed the commander after the first strike.
Blamed him for not protecting key sites, trashed him via media they controlled on Anthrozia.
I played dumb. “Some trouble, I take it.”
“Don't get me started. Thinking of the headaches they caused makes me shake.”
Post-strike, Anthrozia was effectively under permanent wartime footing.
Civilian media was ignorable.
But bad press gums up everything.
Exhausting as hell.
“...No need for you to know, Superhuman.”
Words said, face told otherwise.
Bottled-up resentment.
Worked for me. “Don't mind it—keep talking.”
“If you've got beef with Black Yak, what I say might cheer you up.”
“Huh?”
“I'm proposing we turn that shipyard into an orbital defense fortress.”
The commander's eyes blinked in surprise.