Counterfeit Hero

"Woo......"

The piercing alarm sounded in the spaceport. Countless Leray soldiers burst out from their barracks, either running forward or jumping onto rail cars, all rushing towards the warship berth in response to the officers’ commands and repeated broadcasts.

The berth was in chaos. The white light illuminated the vast enclosed space with utmost clarity. The red light of the alarm kept rotating, sweeping over the warships. Countless transport robotic arms, like the thousands of arms of Avalokiteshvara, frantically delivered containers of supplies onto the warships. Soldiers surged like a tide from all directions. The sound of footsteps and shouts echoed everywhere.

As thick steel doors closed tightly under the contraction of hydraulic arms, one warship after another floated away, turned, separated from the massive magnetic tractor, accelerated through the white air barrier outside the berth, sailed out from the fully opened transparent dock gate, and rushed into space, heading for the assembly area.

In less than twenty minutes, over a hundred warships in the spaceport had all ascended into the sky. Looking up, as the warships departed, their blue ion tails flickered in the pitch-black cosmos like fireflies in the night.

Only an empty scene remained at the berth.

The automatic magnetic tractor slowly contracted to the edge of the berth, emitting a clanging sound. This sound in the deserted space was so clear and solitary.

The ground personnel did not hurry to pilot work mechas for the routine inspection of the berth. They just stood there dazed, watching the warships leave, until the spotted blue lights shrank to pinpricks and gradually disappeared in the black cosmos.

An old soldier squatted on the ground, covering his face.

Several empty rail cars, port transport forklifts, and a loading mecha parked irregularly beside him. In front of him, at the empty berth, the automatic robotic arms remained in chaotic positions for transporting or grasping. The loud noise of the air barrier enveloped the entire berth in a sense of despair.

What kind of warships are those that ascended?

Scarred hulls, worn-out paint, rattling as if they could fall apart at any moment upon starting. Many of the warships even had exposed holes from damage, not yet repaired to the most basic level.

This is now the main force of the Leray Federation Fleet... Among them, less than ten percent are new warships, most are old warships originally belonging to regional fleets. There are even several newly converted from large civilian vessels. To call it a regular Leray fleet would be humorous; it’s more like a group of beggars!

However, it was these warships that, for an entire year, held fast at the Newton Star System Jump Point, repelling the Western Alliance Fleet’s attacks time and again, defending the last piece of Leray Federation territory.

Sacrifice is no longer a shocking word on this land. It has become part of life. As long as one glances at the spaceport capable of harboring a thousand warships, as long as one walks through the vast empty campsite, one understands the meaning of sacrifice.

But how much more blood does this country have to shed?

After this ascension, how many warships will return to this spaceport?

Looking at the emptied berth, no one knows the answer, and no one dares to think.

——————

"How many warships can we launch within twenty days?"

Flavio stood atop the tall tower of the shipyard, watching the nearby dock. In the brightly lit dock, countless workers buzzed around a warship hull like ants. Calling it a hull was generous, as it was merely a shell just forming its shape.

Upon hearing Flavio’s question, the logistics officer accompanying the visit quickly answered: "We have forty shipyards still operational, eight may launch, but to form combat power......"

"None at all, right?" Flavio smiled wryly, the deep wrinkles on his forehead and the corners of his eyes seemed to deepen, "The fleet is awaiting replenishment, as long as they can ascend. At this point, who cares if they can form combat strength?"

Turning, he descended the tower. A group of officers and officials silently exchanged glances and followed behind him.

"Sobel truly thinks highly of us."

Sitting in the flying car, Flavio’s once upright figure slumped immediately. Accepting the medication handed by his confidential secretary, he swallowed it with water, sighed deeply, and cast his gaze towards the illuminated shipyard dock. As the flying car started, the lights soon fell behind, gradually becoming a mix of distant luminescence.

Flavio turned back to rest against the seat. His once taut eyelids now bore some slack, intently staring at the flying car’s ceiling. His gaze was deep, as if trying to pierce through to see that interstellar space, the space battlefield where energy cannons and flowing light reigned.

Twenty days, eight warships.

A bitter taste instantly filled his mouth.

He bent forward to open the wine cabinet beside him, gestured for the confidential secretary offering help to stop, poured a glass, and drank it down in one go. Letting the fiery liquid rush down his throat into his stomach.

The Newton Jump Point, is it finally going to be lost?!

"Mr. President....." Admiral Markey, the current Leray Federation Space Navy Commander, opened his mouth with difficulty and said slowly, "Can we let the bandit army......"