Chapter 677: The Killing Blow

Translator: Timothy_ Editor: GlobeGlotter

Wales stood on the mothership's top deck, his telescope trained on the dense swarm of planes and ships rushing toward Luo Yue. A smile played on his lips.

His advisors stood silently beside him, their admiration for their commander evident in their eyes. At the war's outset, Wales's courage had been unparalleled. Ignoring all advice, he'd ordered the creation of vast quantities of fake planes and ships.

This deception alone cost tens of billions, perhaps nearing a hundred billion dollars. Then came his order to send five groups of F-22s to attack Luo Yue—a gamble no one else would have dared to take.

Wales knew he'd sent those men to their deaths. If American citizens knew his plan, they'd brand him the ultimate criminal.

But he had succeeded. Luo Yue's cessation of missile fire was proof. He had depleted their stockpiles, and the Union Army was closing in. Occupying the shores meant victory, regardless of Luo Yue's advanced defenses.

Wales basked in his subordinates' admiration, already envisioning himself atop Luo Yue's main government building, the world cheering. American citizens would hail him as a hero; he might even become the next president!

Calmly, he remarked, "Men, perhaps in a few hours we'll be toasting with champagne in Luo Yue's government building."

But the lack of joy on his advisors' faces struck him as odd, deeply abnormal. Horror and worry filled their eyes.

Suddenly, countless rumbles erupted. Wales instinctively looked back, his face paling.

The Indian Ocean was awash in missiles—missiles that seemed to possess eyes, striking their ships with pinpoint accuracy. Only a few fell into the ocean; most exploded in massive fireballs.

Their interception missiles were useless against these mini-missiles. Even if effective, using them against such a swarm would be futile.

Mini-missiles? Did such things even exist?

Rumble rumble—As Wales finally snapped out of his panic, he felt the mothership vibrate. Several mini-missiles had hit the runway, blasting a football field-sized hole in the mothership. Simultaneously, several grounded jets erupted in flames.

He froze again, staring at the seemingly endless stream of mini-missiles tearing through the fleet, creating a chain of colossal explosions.

Looking up at the Indian Ocean sky, he saw the once-dense formation of jets scattered and dwindling, planes constantly plummeting into the sea.

"No!" His mind blanked; he spat blood and roared. This was Luo Yue's killing blow—incredibly small, fast, and accurate missiles. Mass production of such weapons would mean the end of the U.S., its fleet, its army.

His heart turned to ice, and he slumped unconscious, unable to accept this crushing defeat after moments of apparent victory. He would become a historical pariah.

His advisors quickly revived him. Upon regaining consciousness, he grabbed his telescope. The sky was black, the air thick with smoke and the smell of burning metal. Debris from jets and ships littered the air.

Fighter jets were disappearing at an alarming rate. Only a few desperate stragglers remained, quickly pursued and downed by mini-missiles. Meanwhile, the Union Army's missiles were all shot down, most falling harmlessly due to interference.

His fleet could not retaliate.

Suddenly, he felt the mothership shudder. A shiver ran through him. ‘We must retreat, immediately!’

"General Wales, you must come down! This tower could be hit at any moment!" An advisor tried to pull him down.

Wales shoved him aside. "Our losses? No time for that! We retreat—immediately—"

He'd seen many wars, but none like this.

"Sixty-one battleships, two motherships, nine hundred fighter jets, eight hundred helicopters lost. Soldier casualties are still being assessed. Many returning jets have nowhere to land; many carriers are incapacitated."

The report nearly knocked him unconscious again. In a matter of moments, the Union Army had lost nearly half its strength! A few more hours, and they'd lose everything.

Despair consumed him. He was finished, but before death, he needed to save the remnants of his army.

"Retreat! Retreat immediately!" he bellowed.

The army was already retreating, though. They knew this wasn't war; it was suicide.

Rumble—

The Indian Ocean had become a maelstrom of explosions and smoke. Countless screams echoed across the water, a stark testament to war's brutality. Luo Yue's mini-missiles rained down relentlessly.

….

Neutral countries and media ships, witnessing the scene, smelled the smoke and fire, understanding the brutal reality. Half an hour earlier, Luo Yue had been a lamb to the slaughter; now, they'd revealed an astonishing trump card—grenade-sized, long-range, incredibly accurate missiles.

Watching the swarm of missiles, everyone knew the Union Army was doomed.

Four days earlier, Wales's scorched-earth tactic had been praised by experts as ideal for neutralizing Luo Yue. Four days later, Luo Yue's counterattack shocked the world.

The neutral countries and media felt a chill. They knew Luo Yue was strong, but not this strong. The last Union invasion had ended in their utter annihilation, thanks to imported missiles and jamming technology. Yet, in a short time, they'd developed these devastating mini-missiles.

Just as Wales's fleet cleared the missile range, dozens of Luo Yue ships suddenly appeared—undetected by their radars!