Thunder Over the Sea

Tens of thousands of meters above the ground, above the clouds, the night sky was black as ink, with only sparse stars.

A strategic Y-20 transport aircraft, painted dark gray and designed for low observability,

was flying steadily at cruising altitude.

The roar of its engines was mostly blocked out by the massive fuselage.

Inside the cabin, there was only the low hum of airflow and the faint sounds of equipment operating.

The cabin was dimly lit, with only several rows of ghostly green auxiliary lights glowing.

Twelve fully armed members of the Thunder Squad sat facing one another in two rows.

They were conducting their final equipment checks before the drop.

They wore specialized deep-sea combat suits covered by modular tactical vests.

Their night-vision devices, oxygen masks, altimeters, and specialized glider-wing assemblies strapped to their backs were all in place.

Every movement was precise, calm, and silent. Only the faint click of metal buckles and the rustle of fabric could be heard.

The pilot's steady voice came through the speaker on the cabin wall:

"Approaching the designated airspace. Thunder Squad, attention. Parachute drop countdown: one minute."

Repeat!

"Approaching the designated airspace. Thunder Squad, attention. Parachute drop countdown: one minute."

The atmosphere in the cabin instantly tightened as they made one final mutual inspection of harnesses, secured equipment, and oxygen supplies.

"Everyone, get ready!

Tonight, we are carrying out more than a mission. We are writing a boundary.

Tonight, we will tell those who think they can do whatever they want with massive warships and heavy guns

that some lines can never be crossed, and some prices they cannot afford to pay."

"Trust your equipment. Trust your teammates. More importantly, trust yourselves.

We are Thunderbolt—we do not descend amid clamor. We strike only when needed, and kill with a single