"All units, clear missiles!"
Kyle's roar drowned out the engine's hum and the static on the communication channel, exploding like a thunderclap in every cockpit.
Ronin's thumb was already gripping the launch button, his knuckles white from clenching it.
The moment he heard the command, he pressed down hard.
The wings suddenly dipped, and four anti-ship missiles, trailing blue-white plumes, detached from the frame, drawing four straight white lines in the dawn sky.
Three hundred F-22 Raptor completed a salvo almost simultaneously.
Thousands of missiles detached from the aircraft formation, like a swarm of startled wasps, instantly weaving a giant burning net in the sky, raining down on the " Blade " and " Heavy Hammer ".
Under the command and coordination of the early warning aircraft, these missiles successfully penetrated the Void Shield and exploded in bursts of sparks on the external armor of the starship.
The anti-ship missile, equipped with Melta Bomb, easily tore through the thick armor of the warship and exploded inside.
The Heavy Hammer's port-side anti-aircraft gun array was hit directly by an armor-piercing shell, and the entire turret was blown away amidst raging flames, tumbling and falling into the wasteland below.
But the two Destroyer did not back down in the slightest. With their engines running at full power and bracing against the shockwave of the explosion, they continued their dive, their close-in weapon systems firing at full capacity.
"Avoid! Avoid everything!" Kyle's voice boomed again.
Before the words were even finished, 1,200 Thunderbolt Fighter simultaneously launched all the missiles under their wings.
Four thousand eight hundred missiles rained down from the sky like a hail of steel, crashing down on the F-22 Raptor formation.
Ronin abruptly pulled the control stick to its lowest position, and the F-22 Raptor flew past the tail flames of three missiles with a 9G side turn, the decoy flares exploding in a dazzling white light behind it.
But the F-22 Raptor next to him wasn't so lucky. Two missiles hit its belly at the same time, and the entire aircraft exploded into a ball of orange-red fire in mid-air. The pilot didn't even have a chance to eject.
"Don't stand there! Keep maneuvering!" Ronin gritted his teeth, sweat trickling down his forehead and into his eyes.
He watched helplessly as the burning wreckage swept past his left wing, the scalding fragments grazing the wing and leaving a charred scratch on the matte gray coating.
Just then, one hundred Wetware unmanned aerial vehicles took off.
They did not hesitate, they did not fear, and they did not make any unnecessary movements.
All the drones simultaneously activated their afterburners, plunging headlong into the area with the highest concentration of missiles, like a swarm of moths drawn to a flame.
The dull thuds of metal colliding continued one after another.
One drone was cut in half by a missile, and another immediately stepped in to block the next one.
Dozens of drones exploded in mid-air, but not one retreated.
Their sole purpose was to use their steel bodies to shield humans from bullets.
Trading one's life for another is the cheapest and most common transaction in the Warhammer World.
The Thunderbolt Fighter missed most of their first volley of missiles.
Just as they were preparing to lift and load, the weather on the ground suddenly changed.
The camouflage netting covering the ruins was simultaneously torn off, revealing the menacing muzzles of dozens of Hydra Flak Tank.
The automatic loader emitted a clanging metallic sound as the four-barreled Autocannon rotated simultaneously, aiming at the densely packed Thunderbolt Fighter in the sky.
The next second, hell descended.
Countless orange-red lines of fire rose from the ground, weaving an impenetrable net of death in the sky.
Caught off guard, the Thunder formation was caught completely off guard. The first thirty-odd fighter jets were torn to pieces on the spot, and the debris rained down on the ground.
The surviving Thunderbolt Fighter desperately pulled up in an attempt to escape, but Hydra's fire control system held fast to their tails.
The cannon barrels spun wildly, chasing the fighter jets' trajectories, firing burst after burst of armor-piercing rounds at their rear, one Thunder fighter after another being blown apart in mid-air.
These Hydra Flak Tank were high-quality goods that Kallen sourced from the Forge World. They were ridiculously expensive; the price of one Hydra was equivalent to that of three Leman Russ Battle Tank.
Now, these weapons, forged with real money, are proving their worth through the most devastating results of the battles.
The Earl will never know that it was he who "sponsored" Fu Haoran.
Kyle piloted his old Lightning Fighter, making a wide circle from the side and rear of the battlefield, cutting into the rear of the Thunder formation at an almost impossible angle.
Forty years of flying experience were etched into his very bones.
He doesn't even need to look at the instrument panel; he can tell the fighter jet's status just by the engine vibrations and changes in airflow.
Old Lightning Fighter executed a beautiful barrel roll, catching up with a Thunder that was chasing Ronin.
"Da da da da!"
Dozens of explosive shells accurately hit the cockpit of the Thunder.
The entire fighter jet immediately lost control, spinning and plummeting towards the ground.
"Fire out all the spare missiles in the fuselage! Don't hold back!" Kyle roared, then caught a glimpse of Ronin piloting F-22 Raptor, performing a U-turn in mid-air.
A Thunderbolt Fighter behind him frantically pulled back on the stick, trying to keep up with his turning radius, but it simply couldn't.
The Thunderbolt Fighter is a typical example of a powerful but weak aircraft. Its armor is thick enough to withstand small-caliber autocannons, and its firepower is so strong that it can tear apart ground tanks, but its aerodynamic shape is terrible, with a turning radius as large as a playground.
The F-22 Raptor's vector thrust nozzles make it practically unstoppable in dogfights.
Ronin easily locked onto the Thunder at six o'clock and fired a burst of explosives, directly destroying its engine.
Two.
Just as a sense of relief rose in his heart, his wing was lightly grazed by an out-of-control lightning bolt.
"Snap!"
The entire F-22 Raptor shuddered violently as if struck by a hammer, a half-meter-long tear was ripped in the skin of its left wing, and the warning lights flashed wildly.
Ronin's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.
The F-22 is too fast, and too fragile.
It's as fast as a paper-folded dagger, incredibly sharp, but it will shatter at the slightest touch.
In contrast, even if those Thunderbolt Fighter are riddled with holes by bombs, as long as their engines don't explode, they can still fly back in a wobbly manner.
Kyle glanced at the tear in Ronin's wing but said nothing.
He knew it all too well.
The mortality rate of Thunderbolt Fighter pilots has remained above 70% for years, and the coalition forces are simply unwilling to send their aces to do this dirty work.
The ones flying in the sky opposite are all newbies like Ronin.
The sky right now is a battle of novices pecking at each other.
The only difference is that the aircraft provided by the governor are far more flexible than those of the enemy.
Even his 40-year-old Lightning Fighter can't compare in maneuverability.
As for the F-22 Raptor piloted by these new recruits, they were able to outmaneuver the Thunderbolt Fighter completely.
But so what?
The enemy has 1,200 aircraft, while they only have 300.
They can't afford to engage in a war of attrition.
Just then, Wade's scream suddenly rang out in the communications channel, "Governor! It's an experimental Nova Cannon specially modified from the Blade! To fit this cannon in, they dismantled half of the hangar and ammunition depot, and its power is only one-third of the standard Nova Cannon!"
Inside the command center of the Allied flagship, Earl Octavius's face was contorted like a demon.
Damage reports for the two Destroyer flashed wildly in front of him, and the red warning lights stung his eyes.
" Earl Excellency! You mustn't!" The adjutant lunged forward and grabbed his arm.
" The Nova Cannon is still in the experimental stage! Firing inside the atmosphere will generate a huge shockwave! Our own fighter jets and ground troops will be swept up in it!"
"Get out of my way!" Octavius shoved him aside, his eyes burning with a crazed rage. "I don't care about anything else! This experimental cannon isn't that powerful! What does it matter if a few groups die! As long as we win, it's all worth it!"
He pointed at the screen and roared at the top of his lungs, "Fire! Fire now!"
The ship, the Blade, slowly raised its massive, fifty-meter-long cannon barrel.
Inside the muzzle, a dark red plasma sphere was rapidly expanding, ionizing the surrounding air with high temperature and producing crackling sounds.
The next second, the Nova Cannon fired.
A 30-meter-diameter beam of scorching plasma ripped through the sky, lashing down on the ground like a whip from God.
There was no explosion.
There was only a deathly white light.
Wherever the white light passed, everything was instantly vaporized. The Hydra tank hidden in the ruins didn't even have time to turn its gun before it melted into a pool of molten iron.
Buildings, tanks, and soldiers within a 500-meter radius, along with the soil on the ground, all vanished without a trace.
A smooth, hemispherical lava crater remained on the ground, with magma still bubbling.
The shockwave swept across the sky like a tsunami, blowing dozens of F-22 Raptor and Thunderbolt Fighter that had no time to dodge into the air.
The control system of a Thunderbolt Heavy Fighter was shattered, and it disintegrated into countless fragments in mid-air.
"He's gone mad! He even blew up his own people!" Ronin gripped the control stick tightly, staring at the still-smoking lava crater below, his stomach churning.
He witnessed three Thunderbolt Fighter being struck by the aftershocks of the Nova Cannon, their pilots and aircraft turning into a cloud of gas.
"Nobles have never treated anyone as a human being." Kyle's voice was as cold as ice.
"In their eyes, we are all just numbers. As long as they can win, it doesn't matter how many people die."
Inside the Stormbird's command center, Fu Haoran stared intently at the Nova Cannon charging up on the screen.
His voice boomed across the communications channel, carrying an unquestionable command, "All units! Target the Blade's Nova Cannon! Destroy it at all costs!"
"We're out of missiles! We've all fired them all!" Ronin shouted in despair.
"We only have one-third of the machine gun ammunition left!"
"I can't get through, I'm stuck!"
An atmosphere of despair seemed to permeate the communication channel.
This time, the Nova Cannon was aimed at them.
The Thunderbolt Fighter on both sides relentlessly drove them towards the center.
Everyone knew that if the second Nova Cannon landed, at least half of the fighter jets in the sky would be lost.
Then they will truly have lost.
Kyle glanced down at his ammunition counter.
One left.
This has been his habit for forty years: always saving himself one last bullet, one last missile.
He took a deep breath and pressed the launch button.
No response.
He pressed it again, but the indicator light on the launch pad remained a red malfunction light.
Old Lightning Fighter wouldn't even give him his last missile.
Kyle stared at the flashing red light for a very long time.
Then he looked up at the diving Blade, at the glowing Nova Cannon, and at the increasingly bright plasma sphere at the muzzle.
He suddenly smiled.
It wasn't a bitter smile, nor an angry smile; it was a calm, relieved smile.
It's like someone who has traveled a very, very long way finally seeing the door to their home.
His finger pressed the all-channel communication button, and his voice, though soft, carried clearly to everyone's ears. "Gentlemen, I'll go first. See for me what the new era looks like."
The old Lightning Fighter's engine let out a final, hysterical roar.
It no longer evades, no longer hovers, and no longer makes any tactical maneuvers.
Like an arrow drawn for forty years, it finally released the bowstring and charged straight toward the giant steel ship.
"Instructor Kyle! No!" Ronin screamed in anguish.
But Old Lightning Fighter didn't turn back.
Kyle sat in the cockpit, the twelve faded photographs on the instrument panel falling off the panel amidst the violent vibrations, floating in mid-air like a group of awakened Ghost.
He reached out and gently touched the leftmost photo, a group photo of him and his entire squadron taken forty years ago.
A slight smile played on Kyle's lips, and in his cloudy eyes reflected the ever-brightening plasma sphere and the ever-approaching steel behemoth.
"Old friend, dance one last dance with me."
Old Lightning Fighter crashed into the muzzle of the Nova Cannon.
In the final 0.1 seconds before the plasma sphere was to be ejected, Kyle's vehicle, along with the jammed missile and the twelve photographs, shattered the magnetic confinement device at the muzzle.
Then, the explosion occurred.
The out-of-control plasma sphere exploded inside the gun barrel, and the chain reaction spread like a fire dragon from the ship all the way to the stern.
The entire ship of the Blade was blown apart, with flames and molten metal gushing out from the breach.
Following this, the engine exploded, the ammunition depot exploded, and the reactor exploded.
A series of loud explosions echoed throughout the sky.
The Destroyer was blown into three pieces, the burning wreckage trailing long plumes of black smoke, like three falling meteors crashing into the wasteland below.
There were no cheers on the communication channel.
No one spoke.
Everyone watched silently as the sky burned, and as the old Lightning Fighter disappeared.
Ronin gripped the control stick tightly, his knuckles turning white. He didn't cry.
He simply remembered Kyle's words in the hangar. "The new era is for the young. This old fogey will dance one last dance and pave the way for you."
He did it.
Inside the command center of the Allied flagship, Octavius had completely lost his mind, his eyes bloodshot, like a wild beast driven to the brink of despair.
He had never been so disheveled in his entire life.
A governor from Lower Hive and a motley crew had actually driven him, an Earl and commander of a squadron, to this point.
The Blade sank, the Heavy Hammer was severely damaged, and of the 1,200 Thunderbolt Fighter, less than 400 remained.
But he still has his flagship, his escort ships, his landing forces, and his last chance to turn the tide.
"Full speed ahead! All Thunderbolt Fighter, cover the landing craft! I want to personally cut off Fu Haoran's head and hang it on the flagship's mast!" He drew his Power Sword from his waist, pointed it at the Hive City on the screen, and roared madly.
" Your Earl! Radar has detected a large number of high-speed targets! They are approaching us! Torpedoes!"
"Damn it! I've been tricked!" Octavius roared in fury.
Torpedoes, as the oldest weapon of the Imperium of Man, are slow enough to ignore Void Shield.
Normally, he wouldn't worry at all; the close-in weapon system would take care of them.
But now it's different; all the energy and firepower have been drawn away, giving the torpedoes an opportunity.
The foremost torpedo was shot down by close-in weapon systems, but some still managed to escape.
However, these torpedoes did not explode.
They were like heavy metal coffins, piercing straight through the Void Shield and burning through the armor.
Finally, of the 792 Boarding Torpedo, 108 broke through the close-in weapon system and struck the flagship's armor.
The high-temperature melting cutter started instantly, burning a charred gash into the sturdy Plastisteel armor.
From each breach emerged a group of figures covered in genetic runes and with glowing red eyes.
Zeke was the first to rush out of the breach.
He aimed his Lasgun at the Allied soldiers at the end of the corridor, pulled the trigger all the way down, and the green Laser beam swept back and forth in the narrow hull of the ship.
His comrades clung to the walls and ceiling like geckos, emitting low growls, and pounced on the panicked Allied soldiers.
There was no fear in their eyes, only fanaticism.
Zeke huddled inside the torpedo for three hours, silently repeating the words his mother had carved on the bulkhead ten thousand times.
Now he stands here, in the heart of the enemy, gun in hand, the runes on his chest still burning.
Death is the way home.
"Kill! For the Intercessor! For the Gene-Father!"
He roared and was the first to rush towards the bridge.
Octavius listened to the gunshots, roars, and screams growing closer in the corridor, his Power Sword clanging in his hand.
It fell to the ground with a thud.
He finally understood.
From beginning to end, Fu Haoran's target was not those two Destroyer.
He put on a grand show through everyone's sacrifice.
His true target was always Octavius himself.
Fu Haoran didn't want a victory in a single battle; he wanted to completely crush the allied forces and eliminate them once and for all.
Inside the Stormbird's command center, Fu Haoran stared at the report on the screen that the boarding force had successfully breached the flagship, remaining silent for a long time.
He raised his hand and pressed the all-channel communication button.
His voice was soft, yet carried immense weight, reaching every surviving cockpit and the ears of every Genestealer locked in battle aboard the flagship. "Gentlemen."
Blood debts must be repaid with blood.