Chapter 41: 70 Hours War Part 8
South Irnetia Sea, Carrier Nanjing, China First Expeditionary Fleet
Admiral Li Pengcheng gazed out over the vast, shimmering expanse of the South Irnetia Sea from the command bridge of the carrier Nanjing, the flagship of the China First Expeditionary Fleet. The calm of the ocean surface did little to reflect the tumult roiling beneath his stern exterior. His mind raced with calculations and grim possibilities, though his face remained a mask of disciplined composure. He had learned long ago that in moments of extreme pressure, a calm exterior was his greatest ally.
The unexpected message from the Central Military Commission still echoed in his mind. The report was short but suffocating in its implications. A Milishial superweapon—the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, HMES Nova Aurora—was heading directly toward their position. The nature of the threat was staggering.
"Thirty thousand kilometers above us," Li muttered softly under his breath, his words barely audible. He shook his head as he repeated the statistic that boggled even his seasoned military mind. "A 2,600-meter-diameter platform of death."
Colonel Lei Xuanji, the Electronic Warfare Officer, stood beside him, clearly just as disturbed by the news, though he too maintained his rigid bearing. Both men were veterans, forged in the fires of countless naval engagements. They had faced everything from sophisticated enemy fleets to treacherous weather, but this was something else entirely—a battle against a seemingly insurmountable foe.
"Colonel Lei Xuanji," Li said in a low, measured tone, "we're facing something none of us ever expected. What do we have in terms of detection capabilities? Is there any way our radars can even pick up something at that altitude?"
Lei furrowed his brow, processing the question. He knew the answer but took a moment to confirm the technical details in his mind. "Admiral," he began, turning to face Li more fully, "our Type-346B active electronically scanned array radars, the ones fitted on our Type-55 destroyers, are among the most advanced in the world. But their effective range tops out around 400 kilometers. These radars are designed for air and surface threats, with some limited capability against low-earth orbit objects. But at 30,000 kilometers?" He paused, shaking his head. "Even with a target as massive as the Nova Aurora, the radar signal would be so weak, so dispersed at that distance, it might as well be invisible."
Li closed his eyes briefly, digesting the information. "So, we can't detect it."
"Not reliably, sir. Even if we could somehow point our radars straight up and account for the curvature of the planet, the signal would degrade to the point of being useless. Space-based objects, especially at those altitudes, are usually tracked by specialized systems—space surveillance radars, satellite constellations, not naval radars."
Li exhaled slowly, staring out at the horizon. He had anticipated as much. Naval warfare, despite its incredible evolution over the centuries, was still mostly confined to the atmosphere. They were sailors, not spacemen. And now, they were facing a threat that should belong to the realm of science fiction.
"Then we can't fight it, and we can't hide from it. That leaves only one option: we run."
"Colonel, you want us to break formation?" Lei asked.
"Yes," Li replied. "We need to consider the potential of area-effect munitions—if it has a bomb or some kind of orbital strike capability, it could devastate our formation in one fell swoop. We can't afford to remain clustered together like sitting ducks. Spread out the fleet. I want every ship to move in a different direction—north, south, east, west—whatever direction is furthest from our current position. We need to make it as difficult as possible for them to hit us all at once."
"Aye, Admiral," Lei acknowledged, quickly turning to the communications officer to relay the orders. "Send out the signal: all vessels are to break formation immediately. Full speed in all directions."
The officer swiftly began typing out the command, and within moments, the ships of the China First Expeditionary Fleet began executing Admiral Li's orders. The tight, disciplined formation they had maintained until now began to unravel, each ship peeling off on a different course, spreading across the horizon in an intricate dance of evasion.
Li watched as the fleet dissipated, his mind still working through the complexities of their situation. Breaking formation might make it harder for the Nova Aurora to target them, but there were other factors at play—factors that might give them an even greater advantage.
"We're not entirely defenseless," Li muttered to himself.
"Sir?" Lei asked, catching the quiet remark.
Li's eyes narrowed in thought. "For all its power, the Pal Chimera isn't without its own limitations. It's not invincible. At 30,000 kilometers, even with their advanced sensor arrays, the Milishial space battle station will have to deal with atmospheric interference. Humidity, temperature variations, the dynamic nature of the sea itself—these factors will degrade the quality of their optical and electro-optical sensors. It won't be easy for them to get a clear lock on us."
Lei nodded, understanding the point. "So you think their targeting systems will struggle to track us because of the distance and atmospheric conditions?"
"Exactly," Li said, his voice steady. "Optical sensors will suffer from light distortion, scattering, and absorption at those altitudes. Even the best synthetic aperture radars can struggle to differentiate between targets on a rough sea with constantly shifting waves. And with the fleet scattered, the chaos of the ocean might just work in our favor. They'll have a hard time distinguishing one ship from another, especially if we're moving erratically."
Lei's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of hope crossing his face. "If their sensors are compromised, they won't be able to get precise targeting data. That gives us more time to maneuver and evade."
"More than just maneuvering," Li added. "We can disrupt their sensors entirely. Have the fleet engage ECM protocols. Full-spectrum electronic countermeasures. I want every radar, every communication system, everything jammed. If we can flood their sensors with noise, we might be able to blind them long enough to make a clean escape."
Lei's face brightened, though the tension of the situation still weighed heavily on him. "If we jam their sensors, they'll have to rely on visual identification or other means. But even then, at 30,000 kilometers…" he left the thought hanging, knowing that Milishial's superweapon might still have other capabilities unknown to us.
"Send out the order," Li said firmly. "Tell all ships to engage ECM at full power."
"Yes, Admiral," Lei replied, his voice sharp and clear as he passed the command to the comms officer. "Full ECM protocols on all ships. Let's make it as hard as possible for them to see us."
As the fleet scattered and their electronic warfare systems sprang to life, an indistinct hum began to reverberate through the Nanjing's bridge. The ECM generators were flooding the airwaves with powerful jamming signals, creating a bubble of confusion around each ship. On the surface, the fleet looked like nothing more than a series of vessels moving in different directions. But to any radar or targeting system trying to lock onto them, the fleet would now appear as a wall of noise, an indecipherable mass of static and electronic interference.
Li Pengcheng watched the display screens carefully as the jamming systems activated. He could only hope that their ECM capabilities were strong enough to thwart the sensors of the Nova Aurora. He knew that their electronic warfare systems were among the best in the world, but he was also aware that the Pal Chimera's technology was on an entirely different level. Still, as he had pointed out earlier, the Milishial machine would face its own set of challenges. Targeting moving ships from an altitude of 30,000 kilometers wasn't just a matter of pointing and shooting. The timing had to be perfect. The sensors had to be precise. And the environment—the ocean, the clouds, the atmospheric interference—all played a role in complicating their task.
Li stared at the horizon, his expression hardening. "We've prepared for battles with other navies. With fleets and carriers and submarines. But this? This is something new. Something beyond what any of us expected."
Lei Xuanji nodded. "We weren't trained for this kind of warfare—being hunted from space."
"No," Li agreed, "but we adapt. We always adapt." He straightened his posture, the gravity of the situation sharpening his focus. "They think they can overwhelm us with sheer power. But we'll make them work for every shot they take. If they want us, they'll have to come down from their high perch and get their hands dirty."
As the fleet continued to spread out, every ship following its new orders, the tension on the bridge was palpable. The jamming signals, decoys, and countermeasures were in full effect, and the sea churned as the ships moved at high speed, leaving behind trails of disrupted water.
"Admiral," Lei asked quietly, "if they manage to fire on us… what do we do?"
Li's gaze didn't waver. "We keep moving. They might get a few hits, but we won't give them a clean shot at the whole fleet. The more they scatter their fire, the more of us survive. And that's all that matters right now—survival."
A long silence followed as the bridge crew worked, their focus solely on the task of evading the wrath of the Nova Aurora. Every screen, every sensor, every console hummed with the frenetic energy of a fleet in survival mode.
Finally, Lei broke the silence. "And if we survive?"
Li allowed himself the briefest of smiles, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Then we send a message to Milishial that their superweapon isn't invincible. We'll outthink them. And when the time comes, we'll be ready to strike back."
The Admiral's voice carried a quiet confidence, a determination that seemed to settle over the entire bridge. Despite the overwhelming odds, despite the fear that gnawed at every man's heart, they had a leader who refused to surrender to despair.
For now, they would run, they would hide, and they would survive.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—Admiral Li Pengcheng and his fleet would not go down without trying everything.
The Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station - HMES Nova Aurora
The Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, HMES Nova Aurora, drifted in silent majesty 30,000 kilometers above the planet—a celestial colossus that defied mortal imagination. Suspended in the void, its massive rings caught and refracted the sunlight into spectral hues, rendering it less a war machine and more an otherworldly artifact wrought by ancient sorcery and modern technology. Every contour of its colossal structure exuded both lethal precision and an almost divine artistry, a testament to the fusion of science and magic perfected by the Holy Milishial Empire.
Inside the command nexus of the station, deep within an expanse of softly glowing rune-carved panels and holographic star charts, Duke Valandor Illisthar stood resolute. His expression, hidden behind a featureless, pale mask that betrayed neither emotion nor thought, was as inscrutable as the abyss beyond the viewport. Illisthar's voice, when it broke the silence, carried the chill of interstellar space itself.
"Status report," he commanded, his tone a blend of cold efficiency and unyielding authority.
From a console lined with esoteric symbols and augmented with crystalline interfaces, Lieutenant Eldarin responded without hesitation. His hands danced over the floating rune panels—each movement a seamless integration of practiced martial precision and arcane artistry. "ETA in T-minus ten minutes, Duke," he reported, his voice even, betraying none of the urgency that pulsed in the station's core.
Illisthar's gaze swept over the expansive display of the cosmos, where countless stars glittered like distant memories of a bygone era. "Target acquisition?" he inquired, turning his attention to the data streams and scanning readouts.
A crackle of static preceded the measured reply of Sergeant Thelen, the officer responsible for the station's radar and sensor arrays. His tone, tinged with thinly veiled irritation, was transmitted from a station awash in shifting waves of raw data. "Full-spectrum jamming is active from the Chinese fleet, Captain. Their ECM systems are saturating our channels, making a clean lock almost impossible." His words, clipped and direct, hinted at the many battles waged against the chaos of electronic warfare—a conflict of wills between mortal ingenuity and the unpredictable forces of magic.
Before Illisthar could offer further instructions, a stately figure stepped forward. Marquis Veyraen, resplendent in his ornate regalia that fused classical elegance with militaristic austerity, advanced with measured steps. His sapphire-studded mask, which caught the ethereal glow of the station's inner light, lent him an air of ancient nobility. "Perhaps we should lower our altitude, Captain. Reducing the distance could pierce their interference with greater ease," he suggested, his voice smooth as tempered silver.
Illisthar waved his hand dismissively, the gesture echoing with finality. "Lowering the station would expose us to risks we cannot afford. The enemy still retains long-range missile capabilities. Although none can reach us at this altitude, closing the gap would invite unnecessary peril. We shall proceed with caution."
At that moment, Calithor, a lithe figure whose every motion was the embodiment of disciplined grace, bowed slightly in deference. "As you wish," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the station's arcane generators.
The duke then issued the next command with unwavering resolve. "Begin using focused radar beams. We must locate our quarry. Time is on our side, and we will not yield to the interference of their ECM."
A flurry of activity erupted across the command deck as the crew set about recalibrating the sensor arrays. The station's immense central pillar—a fusion of ancient oracular runes and cutting-edge quantum circuitry—pulsed with a growing intensity as the Nova Aurora shifted into a meticulous scanning pattern. Slowly, almost reverently, the energy within the room began to hum with the combined cadence of machinery and incantation.
Minutes stretched into an eternity as the crew labored to pierce the veil of electronic chaos. Then, in a moment that seemed both inevitable and miraculous, the arcane runes along the walls flared into life. The ambient light pulsed, and a series of data streams coalesced into a coherent image on the central display. There, amid the swirling patterns of sensor data and magical interference, a target emerged: a Chinese Type-75 amphibious assault ship, the Guangxi. The vessel, though agile and nimble in its evasive maneuvers, was reduced to a mere flicker—a fragile blip on a vast, tumultuous sea.
Valandor Illisthar's masked face remained impassive as he acknowledged the report with a slight nod. "Prepare to fire. Even if our strike is not perfectly on target, the area of effect will be devastating." His words were as final as the edicts of ancient emperors, carrying an unmistakable promise of annihilation.
At the adjacent weapons station, the red-haired homunculus—a construct of both seductive allure and deadly efficiency—moved into focus. Clad in intricately embossed leather that accentuated every curve of her engineered form, she manipulated the station's energy systems with the fluidity of a seasoned performer. Her motions were graceful, each gesture a precise melding of technical expertise and raw, arcane power. Though to the elves and other ethereal beings she might have been viewed merely as an automaton, to the crew she was a living conduit of the station's lethal potential.
"Gun stabilization systems normal," intoned Eldarin from his position near the navigation console, his voice as measured as the ticking of an ancient clock. "Course set for optimum bombardment efficiency." The words were spoken with a mechanical detachment that belied the monumental forces about to be unleashed.
Beside him, the homunculus mirrored his focus, her glassy eyes locked onto the holographic trajectory overlays. She was a critical cog in the machine of war—a perfect synthesis of beauty and brutal functionality.
Without delay, Illisthar issued the final command. "Commence the attack." His voice resonated through the chamber, a clarion call that left no room for hesitation.
At once, the colossal cannon, ominously dubbed "Zeus" and forged from the ancient relics of a long-lost sorcerous empire, stirred to life. The great weapon—a marvel of hybrid engineering—began to hum with a terrible, resonant power. The ambient air around the cannon shimmered as latent magical energy coalesced within its firing mechanism, a portent of the destruction it was destined to unleash.
Deep within the heart of the station, the central pillar glowed with a blinding white light. Arcane symbols, centuries old yet timeless, swirled around the pillar in a mesmerizing dance as the immense power of the Nova Aurora was channeled into its primary weapon. Then, as if in response to a silent command, a concealed hatch at the bottom of the structure slowly swung open, revealing the genesis of the impending doom.
There, suspended in a controlled field of gravity magic, hung a massive 10-ton rod crafted from orichalcum—a metal of myth and legend, renowned for its near-indestructible properties and its uncanny ability to channel magical energies. The rod, its surface etched with glowing runes and intricate patterns, hung momentarily in defiance of gravity before the ancient enchantments took hold. In an instant, gravity magic surged, accelerating the rod downward with an awe-inspiring force of 10 kilometers per second squared.
Outside, the ocean sprawled beneath like an endless, dark tapestry. Its surface, roiled by the tumult of battle and the distant echoes of human conflict, now braced itself for an event of apocalyptic proportions. The Guangxi, valiantly attempting to outmaneuver the unseen threat, continued its desperate evasive course. Yet, its efforts were tragically futile against the inexorable pull of fate.
The rod, a manifestation of destructive genius, hurtled toward the planet with breathtaking speed—accelerating until it reached an almost unimaginable velocity of 775 kilometers per second. As it descended, the atmospheric layers themselves seemed to shudder in anticipation. When the rod finally struck the ocean, it made contact 120 meters to the north of the Guangxi. The slight deviation, a result of atmospheric distortion at such extreme altitudes, was inconsequential compared to the sheer devastation about to be unleashed.
The moment of impact was cataclysmic. The rod plunged into the water, and in an instant, the kinetic energy it carried was transferred with apocalyptic efficiency. The collision released an energy equivalent to 720,000 tons of TNT—a force that obliterated everything within its immediate vicinity. The ocean erupted in a blinding flash of light, the shockwave radiating outward with a terrifying inevitability.
The surface of the sea was transformed in an instant. A vast, yawning crater was carved into the water as if the hand of a vengeful deity had reached down and scooped away a portion of the world. The shockwave, a relentless, invisible force, surged across the water, its power so immense that even the mightiest of vessels was left at its mercy. The Guangxi, though not directly struck by the rod, was caught in the throes of the shockwave. The hull of the amphibious assault ship buckled violently, the metallic frame screaming under the overwhelming pressure. In a matter of moments, steel and flesh alike were reduced to fragments—tossed about by the concussive force like discarded toys.
Within a 500-meter radius of the impact, the force was so concentrated that every trace of matter was vaporized. Beyond that, the destruction was equally ruthless—ships were flipped onto their sides, their superstructures crumpling like paper in a storm. The once formidable Chinese fleet, which had dared to challenge the might of the Milishial Empire, was now but scattered debris upon a sea turned graveyard.
Aboard the Nova Aurora, the command bridge was cloaked in an eerie silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of arcane machinery and the measured cadence of operational procedures. The crew watched impassively as the devastation unfolded on their ethereal displays—each image a grim testament to the station's unparalleled lethality. None of them allowed emotion to betray their disciplined resolve; they were instruments of a higher purpose, bound by duty and the inexorable laws of war.
Marquis Veyraen observed the unfolding chaos with a detached analytical air. "The rod missed by 120 meters," he noted in a calm, measured tone, his voice devoid of triumph or sorrow. "But the result is acceptable." His words, though clinical, carried the weight of inevitability.
Illisthar, his gaze fixed on the myriad data streams detailing the destruction below, remained silent for a long moment. Finally, his measured tone returned. "Prepare the next rod," he commanded. "We shall continue our assault until the entire Chinese fleet is eradicated." The words fell from his lips like a decree, an edict that brooked no dissent.
Back at the weapons station, the red-haired homunculus resumed her task with an almost preternatural calm. Her lithe, statuesque form moved in perfect synchrony with the controls, as she initiated the sequence to forge another rod of orichalcum. The process was both arcane and mechanistic—a ritual of precise timing and energy transfer. As the new rod materialized, its surface shimmering with freshly inscribed runes, the station's power grid pulsed in anticipation of the next assault.
Throughout the command deck, every officer—each bound by duty to the Milishial Empire—worked with a singular focus. Lieutenant Eldarin adjusted navigational overlays that combined star charts with real-time magical feedback, ensuring that the station's targeting remained uncompromised despite the ECM interference. Sergeant Thelen continued to monitor the barrage of jamming signals, his experienced eyes scanning for any anomaly that might betray the enemy's evasive maneuvers.
Outside, the stars continued their cold vigil, indifferent to the carnage unfolding beneath them. The ocean, once a symbol of nature's vast, unyielding power, was now scarred by the relentless fury of technology and magic. The scattered remnants of the Chinese fleet drifted like shattered dreams—a testament to the overwhelming might of the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station.
In the dim glow of the control panels, Illisthar allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. His mind, as cold and calculating as the weapon he commanded, considered the immutable truth of war: that in this realm, only power and precision could determine the fate of nations. His thoughts were not of victory nor defeat, but of the inexorable march of destiny. "Let this be a message," he murmured almost to himself, "to all who dare defy the might of the Milishial Empire."
Marquis Veyraen, standing silently at Illisthar's side, nodded in solemn agreement. "The world will come to know our power, Duke. No adversary shall stand unchallenged in our wake." His voice, imbued with a quiet confidence, resonated with the grim promise of retribution.
As the second rod was readied and the station's lethal mechanisms prepared to unleash yet another volley of devastating energy, the crew of the Nova Aurora moved with the efficiency of a well-oiled war machine. Every soul aboard was aware that each moment of hesitation could spell annihilation for entire fleets. Yet, in that silence—a silence born of absolute resolve—the vast gulf between mortal frailty and divine retribution was bridged by the immutable laws of war.
The ensuing moments would determine the fate of countless lives below, as the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, an amalgam of ancient magic and cutting-edge technology, continued its inexorable assault on those who dared defy the empire. With the stars as silent witnesses and the void as its eternal arena, the HMES Nova Aurora stood as both a harbinger of doom and a monument to the cold, calculated cruelty of war.
And so, as the red-haired homunculus initiated the sequence for the second devastating rod and the station's runes flared with renewed intensity, the machinery of obliteration resumed its rhythm. Each pulse of energy, each flash of blinding light, was a stark reminder that in the vast theater of cosmic conflict, there was no room for mercy. Only the relentless pursuit of dominance, executed with an unyielding precision that defied mortal comprehension, could secure the eternal reign of the Holy Milishial Empire.
Beijing, Central Military Commission Emergency Meeting
The atmosphere in the Central Military Commission (CMC) headquarters was tense. Seated around a massive table, China's most powerful military figures awaited the outcome of the emergency session. In the chair at the head of the table sat Hu Wenbo, General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party and President of China. His face was stoic, but his mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. He had summoned the top brass after receiving the dire news from the South Irnetia Sea. The sinking of the Chinese navy by the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, HMS Nova Aurora, had pushed the situation to the brink of collapse.
Seated to his right was General Zhang Youxia, a veteran known for his strategic brilliance, and on his left was General He Weidong, the youngest vice chairman, known for his calm but decisive leadership. Both men were trusted pillars of China's military establishment. Around the table, the other members of the Central Military Commission sat in a tense silence. General Liu Zhenli, the Chief of Staff of the Joint Staff Department, shifted slightly in his seat. His sharp mind was racing through countless scenarios. Beside him, Admiral Miao Hua, the Director of the Political Work Department, kept a stoic expression, though his eyes betrayed concern. General Zhang Shengmin, the Secretary of the Commission for Discipline Inspection, sat stiffly, always a disciplinarian at heart, his mind focused on maintaining order amidst the chaos.
The heads of the military branches filled the remaining seats, each one a figure of respect and fear: Ground Force Commander General Li Qiaoming, Navy Commander Admiral Hu Zhongming, Air Force Commander General Chang Dingqiu, Rocket Force Commander General Wang Houbin, and Aerospace Force Commander General Hao Weizhong. Each of them knew this meeting could shape the course of China's future, or spell its downfall.
General He Weidong, Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission, stood to address the room. His voice, calm yet laden with the weight of recent events, filled the space. "Comrades, the situation has escalated beyond what any of us could have anticipated." He paused briefly, allowing the significance of his words to settle. "Admiral Li Pengcheng and the 1st Expeditionary Fleet achieved a significant victory, delaying the Milishial task force and capturing King Irtis XIII of Irnetia. It should have brought us to the verge of their surrender."
He Weidong's eyes darkened as he continued, "But at 17:34 local time, a lone J-35 fighter from the 117th Stealth Strike Fighter Squadron launched an unauthorized attack on Milishial's flagship, the Invictus Arcanum. This reckless action led to the sinking of our submarine fleet, escalating the situation to its current state."
A murmur swept through the room as the generals exchanged worried glances. The unauthorized strike was a breach of protocol—one that could not have come at a worse time. The room fell silent as General He Weidong delivered the most devastating blow. "In response, the Milishial Emperor has deployed the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station—HMS Nova Aurora. Its mission is clear: to annihilate our entire navy."
The silence that followed his words was thick with tension. The faces of the generals were grim as they absorbed the full weight of the report.
Hu Wenbo was the first to speak. "What can we do to neutralize this Nova Aurora? How do we defend ourselves against a weapon that can strike us from 30,000 kilometers above the planet?"
The room was quiet for a moment as the generals exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, General Wang Houbin, commander of the Rocket Force, broke the silence.
"There is nothing we can do," he admitted, his tone calm but laden with the severity of the situation. "We don't have anything in our arsenal that can reach 30,000 kilometers. The planet's gravity field is too intense for any of our current technology to counteract that kind of orbital weaponry."
The President's eyes narrowed, but he remained composed. "What about Project Heaven Lance? Can we use the nuclear-powered cannon to launch weapons into orbit?"
General Hao Weizhong shook his head. "In theory, yes. We can certainly build the equivalent of an American Orion-style orbital battleship."
"What is that?"
Hao took a breath, prepared for the explanation. "The Orion-style battleship, as conceived by the Americans during the Cold War, was an ambitious project—possibly the most dangerous ever proposed. It was designed to be a massive spacecraft powered by nuclear explosions, specifically by detonating hundreds of atom bombs behind the ship to propel it forward. This propulsion method would have given it enough power to carry enormous payloads, including nuclear weapons, to distant targets, even across planets."
He paused, letting the weight of the concept sink in before continuing. "The Americans believed that a 24,000-ton version of the Orion would be 'right-sized' for an interplanetary warship, armed with devastating firepower. And when I say armed, I meanarmedto the teeth. Their design called for a stockpile of 500 one-hundred-megaton nuclear warheads—each capable of obliterating a small country."
The room fell silent as General Hao continued, the enormity of the numbers shocking even the most seasoned military men in the room.
"The Orion-class would have also been equipped with 15-inch naval cannon turrets, much like those used on warships at sea, to engage smaller threats. It would have carried six hypersonic landing boats, each capable of deploying troops or supplies at high speeds. But perhaps the most terrifying weapon was something called the Casaba Howitzer."
"Casaba Howitzer?" Admiral Miao Hua, Director of the Political Work Department, asked, his brows furrowing.
"Yes," Hao confirmed. "It's a type of nuclear-shaped charge—a kind of directed-energy weapon. When it detonates, instead of a typical explosion, it releases a focused beam of nuclear energy, like a ray gun, except it's nuclear fire. The Orion-style ship would have had several hundred of these, capable of incinerating targets at great distances."
The idea of such a weapon was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. General Hao continued, "In its day, the concept was too extreme, too politically dangerous to pursue. It was shelved in 1965, after years of internal debates within the United States. But with modern technology, we could build something far more advanced. We could fit it with railguns, precision-guided missiles, hypersonic weapons, and far superior sensors. An Orion-style battleship today would be an unstoppable force in orbit."
Hu Wenbo leaned back, digesting the information. "And how long would it take to build?"
"At least five years," Hao admitted, "possibly longer. We don't have the infrastructure for a project of this magnitude right now. We'd need to start from scratch, building facilities, refining our technology, and training teams to execute it. It would be a monumental effort."
The President's frown deepened. "Five years is far too long. We need a solution now."
Admiral Hu Zhongming, the commander of the Chinese Navy, cleared his throat and spoke up for the first time, his voice slicing through the tension that had settled over the room like a heavy fog. "We may not have five years, but we do have other options," he began, his tone measured and calm, yet carrying an undeniable weight. "While no ICBM of ours can hit their mainland due to the vast distance separating us from Milishial, there are alternatives."
The others at the table, a collection of China's top military strategists and defense officials, immediately leaned forward, their attention now fully locked on the admiral.
"Currently," he continued, his gaze sweeping the room, "two of our Longwang-class nuclear-powered unmanned underwater vehicles are stationed near Milishial waters."
A murmur rippled through the table, the significance of this revelation quickly sinking in. The Longwang-class vehicles were highly classified, known only to a few select individuals within the government. Capable of functioning autonomously for months at a time, they were the stealth weapons that China had placed in strategic positions long before tensions had escalated to their current levels. The mere mention of them changed the tone of the conversation.
"These vehicles," Admiral Hu explained, "are torpedo-shaped robotic submarines, capable of traveling at speeds of 185 kilometers per hour with virtually limitless range. Their stealth capabilities make them undetectable by most existing sonar systems due to their depth and speed. No enemy vessel will know they're there, not unless we want them to."
He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. The room was silent, save for the soft tapping of a pen from one of the aides taking notes in the corner. The faces around the table were focused, intense. These were the men and women who controlled the fate of the nation, and the burden of the decisions they made here would ripple across the globe.
"Each Longwang," Hu continued, his face still impassive, his voice steady, "is equipped with the capability to carry and launch up to three long-range cruise missiles, each fitted with a one-megaton nuclear warhead. These missiles are not bound by the same limitations as our ICBMs. We could use them to strike directly at Milishial's capital, Runepolis."
The room went deathly silent. The mere suggestion of a nuclear strike on Milishial's capital—a gleaming, nearly mythical city that had long been the seat of the world's most powerful empire—was unfathomable. Milishial had demonstrated overwhelming superiority in the last few weeks, devastating Chinese fleets with near impunity, leaving China on the defensive.
General Liu Zhenli, Chief of Staff of the Joint Staff Department, was the first to react. His face flushed with anger as he slammed his fist down on the heavy oak table, the sharp sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. "Are you out of your mind, Hu? That's suicide! Pure, unadulterated madness!" His voice rose as he spoke, nearly shaking with fury. "The Milishial Empire has firepower we can barely comprehend. And they have egos the size of the sun! If we even threaten to nuke their capital, they'll strike us first and wipe us off the map before we even get a chance to fire!"
Liu's outburst sent shockwaves through the room, but Admiral Hu Zhongming remained calm, his expression a mask of quiet determination. "I understand the risks," Hu replied, his voice low but unwavering. "But you're forgetting something important. Right now, they're playing a game of escalation. Each time we try to counter them, they raise the stakes. The Nova Aurora is just the latest escalation in that game." His eyes scanned the room. "We need leverage—something that will make them think twice before striking again. The Longwangs might be that leverage."
General Liu leaned forward, his eyes burning with disbelief. "Leverage? You're talking about nuclear war! We don't even know what kind of retaliation they're capable of. And what if they have something worse than the Nova Aurora? What if their station starts obliterating our cities from orbit?"
The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. As the weight of Hu's proposal sank in, the atmosphere grew electric, everyone's nerves frayed by the gravity of the situation. The possibility of provoking Milishial into a total war loomed large over every word spoken.
General Zhang Shengmin, Secretary of the Commission for Discipline Inspection, leaned forward, cutting into the rising argument with a voice that was low but sharp, each word carrying the weight of quiet authority. "Liu is right," he said coldly. "A nuclear strike on Milishial would be catastrophic. But we also cannot ignore the reality of our situation. We're outmatched, outgunned, and on the verge of being completely overwhelmed. This isn't about winning anymore. It's about survival."
The words struck a chord in the room, sending a ripple of uncertainty through the ranks of China's military leadership.
Admiral Hu Zhongming pressed on, undeterred by the skepticism. "I know what we're talking about is dangerous. But look at the alternatives! If we sit back and do nothing, the Nova Aurora will obliterate our fleets, and Milishial will continue to tighten its grip around our necks. They've already humiliated us on the global stage." His gaze swept across the room. "If we strike Runepolis, they'll hesitate. They'll have to consider the consequences of escalating the conflict even further."
"You're talking about provoking a nuclear holocaust!" General Liu fired back, his face flushed with anger. "You're gambling with the lives of billions, Hu!"
Before Admiral Hu could respond, General Zhang Youxia, Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission, erupted. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he rose to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Liu Zhenli. His face was red with fury, his eyes blazing. "What are you suggesting then, Liu? That we just sit here with our thumbs up our asses while they wipe us out? You're a coward!"
Liu's face twisted into a scowl as he shot back, "I'm trying to save this country, Zhang, not destroy it! If we act recklessly, we'll be wiped out, and Milishial will be justified in doing it! You want to go down in history as the general who got China annihilated?"
General Li Qiaoming, commander of the Ground Forces, joined the fray, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, Liu, what's your brilliant plan? Surrender? Beg Milishial to spare us like a bunch of sniveling dogs?" He shot a glance at Admiral Hu. "At least Hu has the guts to propose a plan with teeth."
General Liu Zhenli held his ground, though the tension in the room was palpable, the intensity of the argument pressing down on every person present. "Maybe we should consider surrender!" Liu said through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low. "We're not in a position to win this war, not yet. We need to buy time—time to rebuild, time to develop the kind of weapons that can counter their orbital stations, time to figure out a way to survive."
The word "surrender" hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. The generals in the room exchanged glances, some in shock, others in disbelief. General Zhang Youxia's face turned a deeper shade of red, his fist trembling with anger as he spoke.
"Have you lost your mind, Liu? You're a traitor! A coward! How can you even suggest such a thing? Surrender? To those arrogant elves? They'll strip us of everything!" His voice shook with barely contained rage.
The room erupted into chaos as the generals began shouting over each other, each trying to make their voice heard in the cacophony. Admiral Hu remained silent, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression, while General Liu stood his ground, unflinching in the face of the accusations being hurled at him.
"Surrender is treason!" General Zhang Youxia roared, his voice drowning out the others. "They'll take our land, our resources—everything. And then they'll humiliate us on the world stage for generations to come. Is that what you want, Liu?"
"No," Liu shaked his head. "Milishial have huge egos, but they also have a need for order. Milishial claims to be the guardians of world peace. If we stroke their egos, offer them a sincere apology, perhaps negotiate terms—"
Admiral Hu Zhongming cut in, his voice laced with disdain. "Negotiate terms? With an empire that just obliterated our fleet with a weapon fromspace? You think they'll settle for an apology?"
Liu held his ground, his eyes narrowing. "They might. Milishial prides itself on beingcivilized, on maintaining balance...
General Zhang Shengmin joined the fray, his voice cold and cutting through the noise like a knife. "What do you think Milishial would demand in return, Liu? They've already shown they have no qualms about obliterating our forces. They'll demand total capitulation. We'll be at their mercy, and mercy isn't exactly a trait Milishial is known for."
General Liu Zhenli's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his voice measured. "We don't know what they'll demand, but what we do know is that continuing this war recklessly will only lead to one outcome—our destruction. We have to be realistic. We're not prepared to face their superweapons. Not yet. Surrendering now doesn't mean defeat; it means survival."
"Surrendering is defeat, you idiot!" General Li Qiaoming sneered. "You're delusional if you think Milishial will let us rebuild after surrendering. They'll cripple us, and we'll never recover!"
The room grew louder and louder, the shouting match intensifying as the generals hurled accusations and insults at one another. For a moment, it seemed as though the situation might devolve into violence, as fists clenched and tempers flared.
But through it all, the President remained silent, his face unreadable as he sat at the head of the table, watching the argument unfold. His fingers were steepled in front of his face, his expression inscrutable as he listened to his most trusted military leaders tear each other apart.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hu Wenbo raised his hand, and the room fell into a tense silence. The generals quieted immediately, their gazes turning toward the President, who had yet to utter a single word throughout the entire debate.
"We cannot act recklessly," Hu Wenbo said, his voice quiet but commanding. "The future of China is at stake. This isn't about pride, or ego, or revenge. This is about survival." His eyes moved slowly around the room, locking onto each general in turn, making sure they understood the gravity of the situation.
"General Liu is right about one thing," he continued, his tone measured. "We cannot afford to provoke an all-out war with Milishial, not when they hold the cards." The President words hung in the air, thick with the weight of his authority. "Let open a diplomatic channel and learn what they want."