There was once a timeless saying in the desert: "Whether the world descends into chaos depends entirely on Charm Construction."
Now, as the successor to Charm Construction, the Atlantic Federation likely understands its own operational methods better than anyone else.
So while Halberton was counting every agonizing day in the command center, his adjutant—whom he had assigned to secure the Underground Energy Hub—was equally frantic.
It must be understood that the energy hub at the Allied Forces headquarters in Alaska was the only location not under Admiral Halberton's control. Initially, no one had anticipated any irregularities there, but in hindsight, why was it exempt from the Admiral's jurisdiction? Even though the Admiral repeatedly petitioned higher authorities, those superiors stubbornly rejected his appeals every time. The realization was truly chilling.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" the adjutant urged the former Eighth Fleet soldiers repeatedly, pressing them to quicken their pace.
In truth, these former Eighth Fleet soldiers were already running as fast as they could. Under their superior's urging, the soldiers could swear that even if their homes were invaded by "little sun" plumbers, they wouldn't have rushed back faster than they were moving now.
Yet, despite this, the adjutant still felt it was too slow.
Bang!
Just as these heavily armed soldiers were nearing their destination, a gunshot rang out—clearly intended as a warning.
"So there really is a conspiracy? Are the Atlantic Federation's top brass truly planning to use us as cannon fodder?" Hearing the gunshot, the adjutant gritted his teeth and growled under his breath.
"Sir, shall we storm in?" The carefully selected soldiers naturally understood their mission. At this development, their hearts sank. To avoid becoming turkeys in an oven, many soldiers chambered rounds and asked.
If you show no mercy, don't blame us for being ruthless. After all, such things have happened before in history—like battle-hardened veterans falling on the path of petition. And you still expect us to obey orders? Stop talking nonsense!
A significant number of soldiers even whispered among themselves that if they survived this and left the Allied Forces headquarters in Alaska, they would make those bureaucrats in the Hexagon understand what it means to face the vengeance of soldiers upon returning to the Federation.
"Wait."
The adjutant, initially consumed by rage and ready to order an all-out assault—to leave no one alive—paused when the main gate of the energy hub's central passage unexpectedly swung open on its own.
"What's happening?" The leading adjutant and several senior officers felt a surge of hope. Could it be that the soldiers inside intended to defect at the last moment?
Yes, that must be it. Even Blue Cosmos fanatics would surely use their brains a little when their lives were at stake.
"What's that?"
As they watched the slowly opening door with anticipation, the first thing that caught their eyes—gun barrels—made some soldiers exclaim in surprise.
"Type 95?"
Veteran soldiers, recognizing the rifle model and what it represented by its barrel, stopped some rookies from drawing their weapons. Realizing their misinterpretation, the adjutant and officers flushed with embarrassment.
It turned out the enemy wasn't trying to surrender, nor were they attempting a desperate resistance—reinforcements had arrived.
Only these reinforcements were... distinctly eagle-like.
Compared to them, even we genuine eagles seemed less eagle-like!
"Forget it." Admiral Halberton's adjutant straightened his military cap, put on a professional smile, and stepped forward.
With the appearance of friendly forces here, the Allied Forces headquarters in Alaska stood as firm as Mount Tai.
There could be no better outcome than this!
Though still unaware of the situation at the energy core, Halberton found he didn't need to worry about it for the time being.
Thanks to the once-brilliant blitzkrieg tactics, nearly all the Coordinator forces had surged into the basin nestled among the mountains.
Within a short time, through division and encirclement, large numbers of Allied Forces troops were annihilated or scattered, losing all capacity to fight back.
"The tide has turned."
Facing screens filled with enemy red, Halberton—like a skilled housewife without rice—tugged at his collar.
From external surveillance feeds, he saw up close how the Coordinators' menacing weapons:
Crushed the loyal Allied Forces' tanks underfoot.
Shot down desperately taking-off aircraft like hunting turkeys.
Or blasted entire defensive positions, sending soldiers to heaven in one shot.
Even though some soldiers refused to accept defeat, trying to block the advance with their lives.
But...
"Order their retreat." Closing his eyes, Admiral Halberton issued his final command.
The most humane strategist in the Allied Forces didn't want to see those soldiers pointlessly sacrificed.
"Have all units break out independently. The Allied Forces headquarters in Alaska can no longer be held."
"This..."
Immediately upon Halberton's declaration of defeat, many soldiers in the command center bowed their heads in frustration.
They had fought so hard, and the Allied Forces headquarters was positioned between the Atlantic Federation and East Asian Federation.
Yet the Coordinators still managed to overrun them!
Were Naturals truly inferior to Coordinators?
Or perhaps!
Considering another possibility, the gritting-teeth soldiers in the command center could only sigh helplessly at their misfortune.
Halberton himself, tilting his head at a 45-degree angle with tears glistening in his eyes, lips trembling, ultimately released a long sigh.
Then, dispiritedly, he gestured for the command post soldiers to escape—every survivor counted.
Thus, the entire battle seemed destined to end in the Coordinators' overwhelming victory.
Watching the collapsing Natural soldiers, all Coordinators on the battlefield believed:
The Allied Forces Naturals could no longer make waves.
"Hahaha, we've won!"
A Coordinator soldier from Jin Enzhong raised his rifle, firing at Natural soldiers fleeing trenches in panic.
Watching the human-body-shredding bullets—equivalent to heavy artillery for humans—the Coordinator soldier laughed wildly.
"I'll kill you all! You're just livestock in human form!"
"We are the chosen ones—the true humans selected by gods and the world!"
The battlefield was where humanity died fastest, especially for soldiers brainwashed by Coordinator supremacist ideology.
Even ordinary civilians, not just soldiers, have long been subjected to such ideologies.
Through subtle indoctrination, these civilians and soldiers gradually lose the inherent empathy that humans should possess.
Thus, when they finally gain power, they are capable of committing any atrocity.
Massacres, endless massacres.
Even when Natural soldiers lay down their weapons and emerge from their fortifications.
After luring them out through deception.
The empowered Coordinators, devoid of any mercy, act without hesitation—some even with gleeful smiles on their faces.
At this moment, the world is painted red.
When the victims become the perpetrators, they often prove even more brutal than their original oppressors.
Perhaps only through such cruelty can they feel their own strength and forget the suffering they once endured.
Suffering that was rightfully theirs to bear.
They boast about depriving others of their basic sustenance.
Even when others with sound reasoning try to intervene, these brainwashed fools persist in their ways.
"What is that?"
Suddenly, at the outermost edge of the Alaska battlefield, a Coordinator soldier who had been reveling in the thrill of killing looked up and pointed at the sky.
"What else could it be? Probably our DINNs, right?"
Another soldier replied without a second thought. In his eyes, the sky was a domain granted to them by the gods.
So what else could be flying up there?
Nothing but their own purple DINNs—no other possibility.
"Really? DINNs are purple, but those things in the sky are white!"
The first soldier retorted. He knew exactly what a DINN looked like.
But those rectangular objects, equipped with two jet engines and four deflectable ducted propeller wings—
Were they drones?
In this era dominated by Neutron Jammers, who would still be using such outdated technology?
This is the age of Mobile Suits!
"Huh?"
Annoyed by the repeated rebuttals, the other soldier glared up at the sky.
Using his Mobile Suit's external camera, he zoomed in on the horizon where the sea met the sky.
"Drones? They really are drones—and an unfamiliar model at that?"
Having been a drone enthusiast before enlisting, the soldier recognized the objects on his screen.
Before he could figure out how drones could still operate in the current world, he made another chilling realization.
What kind of drone could fly at an altitude of 10,000 meters?
Thinking he must have misread the data, he double-checked the altimeter.
As he verified the readings, more and more drones appeared in tight formation, catching the attention of others on the battlefield.
"Enemy attack! We're under attack!"
Now there was no need to adjust the camera lens further—more Coordinator soldiers had noticed the unexpected visitors.
"Open fire! Engage!"
All along the frontline where the Unmanned Aerial Vehicles had appeared, panicked Coordinator soldiers shouted commands to retaliate.
Weapons were raised, missiles primed.
The first wave of purple air-superiority DINNs surged forward.
Having nearly crushed the Allied Forces' headquarters in Alaska, they were confident they could eliminate the seemingly endless swarm of drones.
(End of chapter)