Frost Fortress, Arctic Alliance Command Center.
All the electronic screens had gone black. Neither wired nor wireless communications responded, and even the most basic lighting system struggled, flickering between light and darkness.
The staff officers and the technicians who had just arrived stumbled over themselves around the malfunctioning equipment. Shouts and arguments made the entire hall unbearably noisy.
At that moment, General Lebedev was sitting unusually calmly in the commander's seat, his hands folded over his knees, not a trace of emotion showing on his wrinkled face.
Two or three minutes later, a middle-aged man in a black clerical robe hurried to his side. He bent down and whispered something into the old man's ear.
He nodded lightly, then slowly rose and clapped his hands.
Clap, clap!
The crisp applause brought the din to a halt. Everyone turned toward the seat of command.
"Tier Nine hasn't launched an attack. It was only a 'Spatial Tremor.' Handle it according to the emergency plan we drilled before."
The old man's voice was calm yet forceful, carrying the power to soothe hearts.
The soldiers in the hall saluted in unison, then swiftly got to work.
"Kirilenko, come here. Help me record the models and quantities of the damaged equipment!"
"Alyosha, don't just stand around. Get the helicopters ready. For every technician you count, have them go to the rear warehouse and retrieve spare parts."
"Yes, yes, take several copies—no, bring them all over. The front line needs them too!"
"Go check on Thor's Hammer. Search every sector!"
The mid- and low-ranking officers' spirits lifted. They even became relaxed and full of enthusiasm.
But the expressions of the senior officers, including Ma Baoguo, remained grave.
In the past thirty years, Spatial Tremors had occurred only four times in total.
There was still