An hour meant an hour. In the military, discipline mattered above all else.
Even with supplies for four warships to sort through, hundreds of people had worked nonstop. By the time Loa returned to Port, everything was ready.
Four enormous ships stood in a neat row before the docks. Onshore, dozens of Marines stood in two ranks, holding their rifles perfectly still.
When Loa and Momonga approached, the soldiers stamped their feet in unison.
Bang!
"Vice Admiral Momonga! Vice Admiral Loa!"
"Mm, looking sharp!" The two returned their salutes, then motioned for them to stand at ease.
A soldier soon brought over reports on the warships and their supplies. Momonga was the only one who studied them, of course. Loa couldn't be bothered.
"No. We can't take that risk! Bring more medicine and tents. If there are still refugees on the island, we're their only hope." After reading the supply report, Momonga pointed to one section and gave the order.
The Marines had no shortage of scum, from branch vice admirals down to menial soldiers. But Momonga was a model of integrity among them. No one could help admiring him.
He was honest and brave in battle. He stood firm against powerful outsiders, showing a soldier's resolve when he invited the Empress to join the Shichibukai. Within the Marines, he looked after his subordinates—which had earned Loa quite a few beatings.
He cared about ordinary people, cutting his own lunch down to a single steamed bun and a cup of water to make sure refugees had enough to eat. In battle, he risked his life without hesitation. Even against Whitebeard, he would charge in first.
He was a true soldier!
And now, although every report said all the island's residents had been sacrificed, Momonga still clung to a one-in-ten-thousand hope