The sun warm ray against my skin as I lay back in my bikini, sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright glare. The soft rhythm of the waves lapping at the shore nearly lulled me into complete relaxation as i enjoy my break. Nearly. Because suddenly, the control mask in my side began beeping—loud and urgent. I frowned, annoyed at the interruption, but instinct kicked in. I grabbed the mask, putting it on, and my heart sank.

An enemy fleet is spotted. A few hundred kilometers from Port Six, said by my AWACS patrol aircraft currently shadowing it.

I shot to my feet, adrenaline crashing through me. The lazy tranquility of the beach vanished as the weight of the situation slammed down hard. "Damn it," I muttered, yanking my towel aside as I sprinted toward the nearest destroyer, my pulse matching my footfalls.

"All C-1, C-2, O-1 O-2 Class ships Turn around and return to the nearest port—now!" My voice echoed as I shouted orders through the mask, already switching gears into full battle mode. There isn't the time to waste. The Carrier Strike Force at Port Six needed to mobilize immediately, or we'd be caught with our pants down. "All units, intercept the enemy fleet. Go!"

Every second felt stretched, the weight of each decision pressing hard against my mind as I run through the docks and boarded a docked destroyer going to its bridge. Finally reaching the Fleet Control Room, my fingers steadily moved over the console, pulling up the airbase tabs. As i initiate a full strike mission to many stationed aircraft. F-2s, F-1s, and B-1 bombers—all armed with the lethal 500-kilogram glide bombs—are dispatched from Ports Six and Five.

"All Assigned Aircraft Strike the Unidentified Ship!" I commanded, my voice cold and sharp now, no longer clouded by the beachside calm of moments ago.

On the display, the airbases sprang into action. Fighters and bombers roared into the sky, a dark swarm streaking toward the enemy. Meanwhile, my fleet pushed forward at cruise speed, the ships slicing through the water, positioning for attack. We are closing in on their striking distance. My patrol fleet shadowed the enemy ships, tracking their every move. Twenty-five vessels, oblivious, still plowed toward us, blissfully unaware that hell is about to rain down on them.

I tightened my grip on the console, heart hammering in my chest. They wouldn’t know what hit them. And I had to make sure it stayed that way.

My arms started to tremble, a mix of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through me. This is it—the moment I’d been waiting for. Every sleepless night, every agonizing decision, all the endless logistics—everything had led to this. It is all on the line now.

I locked my gaze on the giant screen in the Fleet Control Room, watching as my forces crept closer to the enemy. The tension is unbearable, each inch bringing us nearer to the decisive blow. My heart pounded against my chest like a drum, but I couldn’t let it distract me. I had to stay sharp.

“Long Island, prepare your strike force,” I commanded, voice tight. The carrier readied 15 of my F-1s, each armed with those guided 500-kilogram glide bombs. Deadly, precise. I couldn’t help but picture the devastation they are about to unleash. This is it, my first real shot at ocean dominance.

I kept waiting, pulse racing, fighting the urge to pace. The weight of the moment bore down on me—this could be my first true victory at sea. And it had to be. Failure isn't an option.

“Send them,” I ordered. Fifteen aircraft launched from Long Island, streaking toward the enemy fleet. They looked like dark specks against the endless sky, but I knew the destruction they carried in their wings. I sent another 10 fighters to act as combat air patrol, a defensive shield around my fleet.

And now, I waited.

Seconds stretched into eternity. My fingers gripped the edge of the console as the screen flickered with incoming data. Every breath felt like a battle. I imagined the bombs hitting their marks, the explosions, the victory. It is so close; I could almost taste it.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, the reports started coming in: my first wave of aircraft had reached high altitude, just outside the enemy’s detection range. I stared at the screen, searching for them, but all I could see are tiny markers moving in formation. The tension in the air is thick, almost suffocating. Then the reports began flashing across the console.

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit By A Missile - Airsquad 5522]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit By A Missile - Airsquad 5111]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit By A Missile - Airsquad 5211]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit By A Missile - Airsquad 5165]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit By A Missile - Airsquad 5121]

Missiles? I blinked. Missiles? I never thought of my bombs that way, but damn, seeing those notifications light up made my heart leap into my throat. It didn’t matter what they are called—the important thing is that they hit their targets. The first blow had landed.

But there isn't time to celebrate. The reports are quickly followed by warnings of heavy anti-aircraft fire from the enemy ships. The skies had turned into a killing field, and my F-1s are pulling back after their successful strike, evading the hail of flak and tracer rounds erupting around them. I needed to act fast before the situation spiraled out of control.

"Get my land-based heavy fighters and bombers to climb higher, now!" I barked, fingers tapping rapidly across the console. If we could get the bombers to a higher altitude, we might just keep them out of range of that deadly anti-air fire.

My F-1s retreated, having done their part, but my E-1 reconnaissance aircraft stayed behind, drifting in the clouds like a silent watcher. The AWACS radar pinged with more findings—enemy combat patrol aircraft are starting to appear in, sweeping the skies, searching for my aircraft. But for now, the E-1s are safe, tucked just out of reach.

It took time, but finally, the first of my F-2 fighters arrived. I immediately sent one to snap a shot of the enemy fleet—though "fleet" didn’t seem like the right word once I saw what is out there.

“What on earth is that?” I muttered, staring at the screen, frozen with a mix of awe and fear. These aren't ships, not in any sense I'd ever known. They moved across the water like some massive, giant structures linked together with thick chains, smaller with small islands clustering around them in a formation. A chill crawled down my spine. This isn't normal naval warfare—this is something else entirely.

Panic gripped me, but I swallowed it down. I had to act. “Get those things shot down,” I ordered, voice tight. I didn’t know what I is looking at, but it had to be destroyed before it got any closer.

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I commanded my two heavy cruisers and destroyers, charging forward. I had to get eyes on this thing—up close—but not at the cost of my carrier. “Long Island, pull back! Keep distance and get Combat Air Patrols up!”

My F-2s and B-1 bombers are already lining up for their strike. I marked the citadel-like structure in the center, the one anchoring all the chains. It looked like the heart of this strange thing. Whatever it's, I knew one thing—it had to be hit. Hard.

The notifications started rolling in like a flood.

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit - Airsquad 5311]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit - Airsquad 5522]

[Notice: Enemy Unidentified Ship Hit - Airsquad 5410]

...

..

Each strike slammed into that central structure, and soon after, another image came in from the multirole planes—flames. The citadel is burning, dark smoke billowing into the sky. My heart raced. We’d hit it. But the enemy isn't taking it lying down. Streaks of anti-aircraft fire lit up the skies, and now their aircraft are swarming out, protecting their fleet against my strikes.

My bombers are turning back to refuel and rearm, but I kept my heavy fighters locked in, determined to maintain air supremacy. The skies are alive with chaos as dogfights erupted. Reports flooded in—enemy planes shot down, some of my own lost in the fray. But I had the numbers. I had the upper hand.

The next picture from my recon planes showed something incredible—the enemy citadel is tilting, slowly but surely, like a collapsing tower. It's going down.

“Press on!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the control room. The enemy is scrambling, their forces shaken as my fighters swooped down again and again, denying them air superiority. We are closing in on victory, one burning piece of wreckage at a time.

Scharnhorst and Gneisenau finally arrived at the scene, their massive hulls cutting through the water like predators closing in on their prey. I wasted no time, making my way to the bridge of Scharnhorst to witness the full carnage unfolding before me.

Through the bridge windows, the sight is surreal. The citadel—what is left of it burning, a massive structure tilting precariously in the water. It is barely afloat, supported by smaller, grotesque island like structures clinging to its sides, almost as if they are trying to keep it from collapsing.

In the distance, I could see my aircraft locked in battle, dueling the enemy in furious dogfights. Even under intense anti-aircraft fire, my F-2s darted and weaved, expertly evading enemy flak while taking down their planes one by one. The skies are a blur of speed and destruction, my fighters dispersing and regrouping like a well-rehearsed moves, determined to stay in control.

“Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, load high explosives,” I commanded, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. I marked the citadel with my control mask, the target glowing on my display. “Fire at the designated target.”

The two heavy cruisers followed, their massive turrets turning toward the burning citadel. I held my breath as I watched through the windows, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then came the roar—Scharnhorst and Gneisenau unleashed their full might, broadside after broadside of high-explosive shells tearing through the air.

The citadel rocked violently as the first barrage slammed into it. Flames erupted even higher, and for a moment, it looked like the entire structure might tear apart from the inside. I could feel the shockwaves reverberating through the bridge, each impact a deafening reminder of the sheer power I commanded. The enemy is crumbling, and I am going to make sure they wouldn’t recover.

“Keep firing,” I ordered, eyes fixed on the burning target. The cannons continued to thunder, each volley bringing me one step closer to total annihilation of that monstrous thing.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something impossible. One of the enemy islands—if you could even call it that—began to shift, turning toward my formation. For a split second, disbelief rooted me in place. Then instinct took over. I disperse the my fleet, unsure of what this monstrous thing is capable of.

Just as the formation broke apart, a new threat emerged—enemy aircraft, swarming from the island like a hive of angry hornets. But this time, I am ready. Both my F-1 Combat Air Patrol and F-2s launched into action, streaking toward the incoming planes with lethal precision. In moments, the sky above turned into a battlefield. Explosions blossomed as my silver-painted fighters tore into the enemy with ferocity, finishing off their dark, ominous aircraft. Fireballs rained from the sky, the enemy crumbling beneath the weight of my airpower.

“Now it’s a fair fight,” I muttered with a grim smile, a surge of satisfaction rising in my chest, i dont even need to use my AA Guns, truly. This is payback. After that humiliating defeat where I almost lost a destroyer, the scales had finally tipped in my favor.

Even as the enemy planes fell from the sky, my heart pounded. It isn't over yet. My CAP aircraft are doing their job, protecting my fleet, but with each one that is shot down, I felt the weight of command pressing harder. Stress built with every fireball—each one a piece of my hard-won air superiority slipping away. Yet, despite the losses, my aircraft are holding strong, and my ships continued to rain broadside after broadside into the enemy’s floating citadel.

Then, another card played itself into my hand—my second strike force from Port Cinco arrived, just in time.

Seeing the opportunity, I marked the chains—the ones binding the entire formation together. “All Bombers in the Area, Drop Bombs at the Designated Targets” I commanded, and my aircrafts didn’t hesitate. My Glide Bombs streaked toward the target, and moments later, explosions ripped through the chains. The once-stable floating platforms began to tilt and sink, their precarious balance shattered.

To make sure nothing survived, I diverted some of my aircraft to perform SEAD (Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses) strikes against their anti-aircraft platforms. In seconds, their guns fell silent, no longer a threat to my planes.

With the chains severed and their defenses obliterated, the enemy structure is collapsing into chaos. The citadel is burning, the platforms are sinking, and their skies are mine to command. Victory is closing in, and this time, I am determined to see it through.

The bombers returned one by one, low on fuel and ammunition, ready to refuel and rearm for another round. But Port Six’s bombers are already on their way, the cycle of strikes never ending. My heavy cruisers kept hammering away at the enemy citadel, their relentless bombardment turning the massive structure into a flaming wreck. And yet, somehow, it remained afloat, defying gravity and reason.

Up in the skies, my aircraft held absolute dominance. Enemy planes tried to challenge my aircraft but they swarmed them—five to one—tearing through their formations with ruthless efficiency. Dogfights ended as quickly as they began, with fireballs lighting up the clouds. The enemy had no chance.

Then, finally, the moment I had been waiting for. The citadel gave way. The massive structure collapsed in on itself, dragging the smaller floating platforms down with it. It hit the water with a tremendous crash, sending waves rippling out, slamming into the surrounding debris. The sight is both awe-inspiring and terrifying—a final death throe of a behemoth.

I squinted through the bridge windows, zooming in with my control mask to get a closer look. What remained is just a burning hulk of twisted metal and debris, slowly sinking beneath the waves. Oddly, I couldn’t see any sign of life, no beings scrambling to escape the wreckage. It left me uneasy—who or what had I just fought? There is no time for answers now, but the question gnawed at me.

Still, the job isn't finished. I ordered my heavy fighters to head home. They’d been out there too long, and I didn’t want to risk losing them to fuel starvation. I sent refueling aircraft along their route, just in case, while keeping my F-1s patrolling the skies, ensuring that nothing could catch us off guard.

"Well, good game," I muttered, a slight grin tugging at my lips as I watched the aftermath unfold. My strike had utterly dominated the enemy, leaving their once-massive citadel in ruins.

But something nagged at me—the structure, despite its crumbling upper half, still floated. As I got closer, I realized the lower portion had somehow remained intact, untouched by the destruction that had ripped through the rest of it. A giant flame roared through the middle, devouring the core of the structure, yet the foundation seemed... resilient.

I couldn't ignore it. Something is off, and I needed answers.