Huaxia Waters, Joint Fleet command ship, Bald Eagle's Reagan
Lieutenant General Smith sat with one leg crossed over the other, coffee in hand, his gaze leisurely fixed on the densely packed blips representing Huaxia vessels on the radar screen.
Having participated in actual S2 combat, what had he not seen?
To him, this standoff was nothing more than a contest of will. Whoever cracked first lost.
He had eight aircraft carriers, hundreds of warships, and the entire Western world behind him—what did he have to fear?
The coffee was slightly bitter on his tongue, with a faint sweet aftertaste.
Just then, an urgent voice came through the communications channel:
"Lieutenant General! The Footpan Chicken fleet has sent an emergency transmission requesting authorization to open fire! They are demanding an immediate attack on the Huaxia Fleet!"
Smith frowned.
Authorization to open fire?
What were those idiots thinking?
He sighed and cursed inwardly. What useless teammates. At a time like this, whoever fired first would lose.
This was a contest of will, not firepower. Once the shooting started, it would no longer be a standoff—it would be the S3 War.
"Patch me through to the Footpan Chicken fleet's command," he said, slamming his coffee cup onto the table.
"I want to see what the hell they're thinking."
The channel connected.
The next second, Smith's brow furrowed even more deeply.
A chaotic storm of shrieks, sobs, and roars erupted from the other end—cackling and pandemonium everywhere, like a marketplace thrown into boiling chaos.
Just as he was about to berate them, a nearly hysterical voice came through. It was Yamada Ichi, commander of the Footpan Chicken fleet:
"Lieutenant General Smith! It's over! It's all over! Jingdong—Jingdong has been attacked by a Peace Weapon!
The capital is gone! The Prime Minister's Office is gone!