The barrage was so savage that the storm clouds shrouding the sky were the first to be torn to shreds—nothing left of them.
Shafts of gold sunlight poured through the hole the flak ripped open to the north, turning the ink-dark sea into a field of glittering scales. Beneath that gilded waterline, though, the rain still lashed down and clouds still pressed low, while three million Abyssal shipgirls drove south through a world braided from light and shadow.
The Airfield Princess faced the three nameless carrier flagships screening her and forced down her irritation.
The "lessons learned" they offered boiled down to a single line: brace and take the hit.
She swallowed the temper anyway. Their failed intercept of the bomber wave had been humiliating—but it had also cleared her head.
She began plotting how to seal off and defend against the five-hundred-plus hero bombers to the north.
Across the Abyssal center, the three nameless carrier flagships—commanders of a combined 1.2 million carrier aircraft—traded meaningful glances.
Unlike the rank-and-file, these three had "woken up" in the mind: higher reasoning, sharper ambition. That meant intrigue among themselves—and, when it suited, a united front against outsiders.
The exclusive-class flagships looked down on them; the "nameless" were eager to show the elites some color of their own.
By chance, the mainline Abyssal carrier models came in three tiers—and all three happened to be present.
Carrier O-class, Carrier X-class, and Light Carrier Ξ-class.
All three looked like gray-haired, gold-eyed girls, each with a tail-like rig at the hips—half anchor, half devil's tail. Their headgear differed: the Ξ light carrier wore a floating halo like the N-class; the carriers sprouted two small, hornlike projections—dainty compared to exclusive flagships.
Unlike Abyssal cruisers and battleships, whose rigs often took beastly forms—shark, octopus, sea dragon, leviathan—capable of fighting on their own, Abyssal carrier rigs were floating deck slats. Long, rectangular plates rotated around the carrier; when they slid together, they formed launch strips for the air wing.
In other words: almost no close-quarters bite. Their entire threat was their planes. An X-class could carry up to 144; the other two topped out at 108. Terrifying capacities.
The Airfield Princess clapped once, decision made. "I have a tactic. Call it… the Kaleidoscope."
"This one's got style, huh?"
Saratoga sounded genuinely amused, like she'd found a new toy.
And it did look clever: under the Airfield Princess's control, over six hundred thousand Abyssal fighters twisted into colossal spinning vortices—tube-shaped maws yawning wide to swallow Lexington's bomber groups.
"Cut the talk, Sara. We're on a clock," Lexington narrowed her eyes. "We punch straight through."
Skirting around was the worst option for bombers—least efficient, most dangerous. Even as hero planes, bombers were thin-skinned by nature.
The longer they lingered in enemy airspace, the more time they spent under flak and fighter guns—and the higher the losses.
A straight thrust minimized the enemy's attack window and bought the kill shot.
Even so, there was room for a trick or two.
"Hey, Monkey! Screen us!"
"Don't call me Monkey—Taihou. Taihou!"
Taihou stamped in protest, but her hands were already moving. Two hundred and eighty mirror planes slid ahead to the van of the six bomber groups, interposing themselves to soak up the first burst of fire.
Mirror craft were half-real, half-phantom; enemy fire lost bite against them, and with only half the punch of true aircraft, they were the right casualties to spend.
The formation completed in the charge. At better than Mach 30, six lances of light drilled straight into the heart of the "Kaleidoscope."
[End of Chapter]