(Thanks to Gabriel Angelos for the generous "God-tier Certification" gift. Something came up at home today, so I'll make up for it with an extra update tomorrow.)
"Attention, all personnel! Enemy ships at three o'clock! Range, forty thousand kilometers and closing! Our mission is to protect the Yukikaze to the utmost!"
Over the Communications Channel, the Commander's voice was hard as steel, cutting through the hangar's roaring engines and the shouts of the ground crew to reach every pilot's ears.
There was no fear in that voice, no hesitation, only a resolve as sharp as a blade.
Inside the vast hangar, more than a hundred Thunderbolt fighters of the Imperial Navy's air arm stood ready to launch.
The fighters were neatly lined up on the flight deck, their wings carrying full loads of missiles, their nose-mounted Laser cannons having completed their final calibration.
Ground crews moved among the fighters, as busy and orderly as a colony of ants.
Some performed final wiring checks, some refueled the aircraft, some hauled ammunition, and others communicated with the pilots in their cockpits through hand signals.
The air smelled of fuel and lubricating oil, mingled with metal and gunpowder, and carried that peculiar, adrenaline-spiking tension that came just before a great battle.
Engines roared one after another, like a hundred caged beasts growling as they waited to be unleashed.
Gerhard Barkhorn, Commander of the 76th Squadron, sat in the cockpit of his Thunderbolt fighter.
His aircraft differed little from the others, except for the shark's mouth painted in white on its nose—his personal emblem.
He slowly surveyed the hangar, his gaze passing over the busy ground crews, his comrades making their final checks, and the indicator lights blinking overhead.
His fingers tapped lightly against the control stick, steady and unhurried, as though keeping a