Some armies, even when armed with advanced weapons, might as well be wielding sticks.
Others, despite inferior equipment, can still overpower those supposedly superior forces.
But what happens when an army possesses both unyielding morale and weapons that aren't far behind?
Answer: They unleash 40,000 tons of artillery shells in the first 20 minutes.
An utterly staggering figure.
"Damn, I've become a spectator."
Wang Hu, piloting the Qilin, found himself reduced to a mere onlooker.
From his cockpit, he couldn't help but sigh at the sight.
Following the instructions from the rear fleet, he had long since steered clear of his own side's bombardment path.
For the first time in his life, Wang Hu witnessed the most spectacular and grandiose scene imaginable.
Countless—truly, only the word "countless" could describe it—streams of light streaked across the sky above him.
Even "countless" felt insufficient to capture the sheer volume of artillery shells soaring overhead.
It was something no words could truly convey without seeing it firsthand.
A Path of Light, woven entirely from artillery fire, stretched endlessly from the East Asian Army's warships, ceaselessly extending into the distance.
Unrelenting. Overwhelming.
The scorching gun barrels roared like dragons, while the tons upon tons of shells became their furious claws.
And beneath the might of this colossal dragon, the Coordinator fleet trembled in fear.
"Move! Move!"
Inside the ZAFT warships, chaos reigned. Shouts of the same desperate plea echoed everywhere.
The vanguard became the rear, the rear became the vanguard.
Every soldier wished they had eight legs—except, of course, they were in space.
Even eight legs wouldn't have helped.
Witnessing the East Asian Army's earth-shattering assault, the surviving squad leaders felt their hearts pounding in their chests.
Just moments ago, when the East Asian Army had launched their full-scale attack, a few particularly stubborn and thick-headed squad leaders had still dared to boast about standing their ground.
How could they flee like cowards before the enemy?
Wouldn't that disgrace ZAFT's honor?
"Thank goodness, thank goodness..."
Many squad leaders stared at the screens, where even the wreckage of their allies had been reduced to dust.
They shuddered with relief at their earlier hesitation—otherwise, their allies' fate would have been their own.
But then, abruptly, they clamped their mouths shut, not daring to make a single sound at this critical moment.
Because they were afraid—afraid that even the slightest noise might distract the helmsmen, who were now gritting their teeth, veins bulging from sheer exertion.
Go, go!
Silently, in their hearts, they cheered for these usually overlooked, seemingly insignificant helmsmen steering the warships.
The squad leaders and every crew member aboard were rooting for them.
After all, their survival now depended entirely on these helmsmen.
And the helmsmen, as if sensing the burning gazes from the bridge crew—
And the desperate hopes of those elsewhere on the ship—
Pushed themselves to their absolute limits. They swore they had never moved their hands faster in their entire lives than at this very moment.
And it would be difficult to reach the current level again in the future!
Ship tilting, tail swinging, stepping on the throttle, accelerating.
The above actions were executed seamlessly in one fluid motion.
All to ensure the pursuing East Asian Army couldn't even see their taillights!
Inside the ship, the crew was tossed about, with unfastened objects and people dancing together.
Under normal circumstances, the crew would have already started cursing.
But now, watching the flying debris that could draw blood at any moment,
the crew actually felt reassured.
After all, they could still distinguish between drawing blood and losing their lives.
Including Captain Creuset, who had a toilet-shaped object of unknown origin on his head.
In the current situation, he merely adjusted his mask to ensure it stayed on.
As for the rest...
Like the soldiers who had been shocked upon seeing him earlier, now flushed with complex expressions.
No need to dwell on details... it didn't matter.
Creuset struggled to keep his mask in place, then decided to sit back down in GINN's cockpit.
And so we chased, they fled.
They fled, we chased.
Like a low-quality romantic drama where the male lead chases the heroine's car, reluctant to part.
"Cease fire."
On the flagship Zhenhai,
watching the enemy forces that had already left the L4 Space Colony Area and were still fleeing at full speed,
General Zheng issued a dignified order for the entire force to halt.
Chasing further could no longer be justified as a counterattack.
To allow the diplomatic masters to confidently hurl more verbal barbs at the Coordinators' faces.
"Yes, the sacrifices were too great."
General Zheng said, his words carrying a double meaning.
Looking back at the devastated battlefield, which would require immense effort to clean up.
"Indeed." Chief of Staff Jiang shared the same sentiment.
For this battle, their ammunition reserves were nearly depleted, leaving only the bare minimum.
But compared to the gains, it was all worth it!
When poor, use tactical maneuvers; when rich, unleash overwhelming firepower.
We can play that game too!
"Return."
"Agreed."
Thus concluded the Battle of Nova Resource Satellite.
The conflict that erupted on June 14, CE70, became a turning point in the Earth Sphere-wide war sparked by disputes over spoils.
"Hahaha, Coordinators aren't so tough after all!"
Azrael, who had been closely monitoring the battle from its outset, happily slapped the battle report on the table.
Who said I was being radical?
Who said I should take responsibility for the unfavorable war situation?
Who said starting this war was reckless?
His eyes swept coldly over the high-ranking officials from the Atlantic Federation and the Eurasian Federation before him.
God knows how these cowards had criticized him during the earlier string of defeats.
Must we wait until the Coordinators' blades are at our throats before resisting?
With the East Asian Army's victory bolstering his confidence,
Azrael couldn't resist speaking sarcastically.
"Look at this, everyone."
"Is it really because the Coordinators are formidable warriors, or because some among us haven't been putting in real effort to fight?"
"How is it that these supposedly invincible monsters from the heavens were defeated?"
"What they can accomplish, you cannot. Tell me, what is the reason for this?"
"Whose responsibility is it, exactly?"
Faced with Azrael's sarcastic tone and malicious questioning, the high-ranking officials of the Allied Forces exchanged glances, none daring to speak.
Many among them harbored deep resentment toward the blond man before them.
How could they possibly compare to the East Asian Army?
If only they had the same organizational efficiency and fearless, battle-hardened spirit as their counterparts.
How could a mere puppet propped up by the military-industrial complex dare to act so arrogantly in front of them?
Just look at yourself—could you even attend a military meeting on their side?
Even if you shamelessly forced your way in, you'd be left waiting outside, eating dust.
But though such thoughts filled their minds, none dared voice them aloud.
Meeting Azrael's smug gaze, Admiral Halberton—the so-called "strategic genius" of the military—stepped forward.
A well-known opponent of Blue Cosmos within the ranks, he delivered a veiled, cutting remark.
"As the Chairman has pointed out, our forces are indeed powerless against the enemy's Mobile Suits."
"So it wouldn't be wrong to call us useless."
"In that case, perhaps Chairman Azrael should hurry and request reinforcements from the East Asian Army!"
"You—!"
Azrael's eyes narrowed at the words.
I'd love to—if only they'd actually come!
You scheming bastard!
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(End of chapter)