January 23, 1641

Artticus Ocean, 250 miles from Mykal

IGVN Second Conquest Fleet

Pegasus-class Fleet Carrier GVS Hel Reis

Lieutenant Commander Lukas Adler entered the briefing room. He was surrounded by the low murmur of conversation as his fellow pilots, the elite of their naval air arm, waited for the briefing to begin. He took his seat at the front, his eyes scanning the faces of the men who would soon be under his command. They were a hardened bunch, each one a proven warrior of the sky, dedicated to the cause of Gra Valkan supremacy.

The briefing officer stepped up to the podium, his presence commanding the room's attention. "Gentlemen, today we embark on a mission of vital importance to the Gra Valkan Empire," he began, his voice filled with the unwavering confidence that was the hallmark of their superior culture. "Our target is the Elysian defense fleet, currently positioned off the coast of Mykal."

Adler leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. The Elysians, while technologically inferior to the mighty Gra Valkas Empire, had proven to be a persistent thorn in their side. It was time to pluck that thorn and crush it beneath the heel of Gra Valkan might, demonstrating the superiority of their empire and its indomitable warrior spirit.

The officer gestured to a large map on the wall, indicating the known positions of the enemy ships. "Intelligence reports indicate the presence of several high-value targets, including six Muan La-Burke class destroyers, two Orichalcum-class battleships, and two Rodeus-class carriers. The La-Burke class, in particular, is believed to possess advanced anti-aircraft capabilities, likely provided by their American allies."

Adler studied the map intently, his mind already analyzing potential vulnerabilities. While they lacked detailed information on the La-Burke class destroyers' specific capabilities, he was certain that their experience and training would allow them to triumph. The Muans were barbarians compared to even the Mirishials. Regardless of the tools they were bestowed upon by their American masters, at the end of the day, they were still barbarians.

"Although we don't have comprehensive intelligence on the La-Burke class, we must assume they possess enhanced targeting systems and potentially even radar-guided guns," the officer continued. "However, their limited numbers and reliance on foreign technology – which they have likely had minimal time to train with – make them vulnerable to the superior tactics, numbers, and training of our pilots."

Adler nodded in agreement, his confidence bolstered by the officer's words. The Gra Valkas Empire had faced many challenges in its glorious history, and had always emerged victorious through the strength of its warriors and the brilliance of its strategy. Even the Kainians, in all their might, would have crumbled easily.

The officer pointed to the map, highlighting the planned attack vectors. "Your mission is to neutralize these threats, focusing primarily on the La-Burke class destroyers positioned on the outer perimeter of the Elysian formation. You will approach from the western coastline at an altitude of 12,000 feet, using cloud cover and fog to mask your approach. The dive bombers will lead the attack, initiating their dives at a 70-degree angle from an altitude of 8,000 feet. Your primary targets will be the destroyers' command centers, bridge superstructures, and any visible anti-aircraft batteries."

Adler visualized the attack. The steep dive angle would allow them to build up tremendous speed, making it harder for the enemy's anti-aircraft guns to track and engage them effectively. It should be extraordinarily difficult to track a target moving that fast – even for whatever the Muans might be equipped with. Logically, he believed that there was no way that the Americans would have outfitted the Muan ships with their own current technologies, so it stood to reason that the Muans must be using some sort of outdated system.

"The torpedo bombers will follow closely behind, approaching at an altitude of 500 feet," the officer continued. "They will target the ships' engines and rudders to cripple their maneuverability, making them easier targets for subsequent attacks. Timing is critical - the torpedo bombers must begin their attack runs no more than 30 seconds after the dive bombers complete their dives, to maximize the element of surprise and minimize the enemy's ability to coordinate their defenses."

"Once the La-Burke class destroyers are neutralized, you will shift your focus to the Orichalcum-class battleships and Rodeus-class carriers," the officer said, indicating the relevant sections of the map. "Prioritize cleaning up any targets that have been previously crippled by our submarines. The dive bombers will concentrate their attacks on the battleships' main gun turrets and bridge superstructures, aiming to disable their offensive capabilities and disrupt their command and control. The torpedo bombers will target the carriers' flight decks and any visible hangar bays, seeking to destroy as many enemy aircraft as possible before they can be launched."

Adler's lips curled into a predatory smile. The Elysian fleet, for all its vaunted technology and foreign support, would be powerless against the fury of the Gra Valkan assault. They would strike hard and fast, shattering the enemy's defenses and leaving nothing but burning wreckage in their wake.

"Remember, gentlemen," the officer said, his voice ringing with the unshakable conviction that was the birthright of every Gra Valkan, "you are the spearhead of the Gra Valkan war machine. The Elysians and their American allies may have their technological tricks, but they lack the discipline, the training, and the indomitable will of the Gra Valkas Empire. You will triumph over these lesser foes because you are the products of the most advanced and powerful culture in all of Elysia. Your skill, your courage, and your unwavering dedication to the Empire will carry the day."

Adler felt a surge of pride at those words, a sentiment clearly shared by his fellow pilots. They were the chosen warriors of the Gra Valkas Empire, the instruments of its righteous fury. No force on Elysia, be it magical or technological, could stand against the might of their culture and the strength of their convictions.

The briefing concluded as the officer called out, "Prepare yourselves for battle. Dismissed!"

Adler rose from his seat. He made his way to the flight deck, where his squadron was already preparing for the mission. It had been quite a while since he had seen the deck this busy – of course, aside from the recent scare following the loss of the Falkenhorst, Wulfhart, and the Ernstrud. In all honesty, the event nearly shook his faith in the Gra Valkas Empire – very nearly. Thankfully, he came to his senses. Their destroyers must have triumphed over the enemy, considering the fact that they experienced no further attacks.

His wingman, Lieutenant Jakub Jurgen, looked up as he approached. “Sir! The men have er… expressed reservations about the upcoming mission.”

Adler scoffed at the very notion of reservations. “Of what? Of the La Burkes? I needn't remind them that we have won every single battle against the Elysians. And, I assure you, the Muans’ troglodyte minds wouldn't be able to properly use the equipment their American masters have given them."

Jurgen shifted uneasily but agreed anyway. “Of course, sir. I’ll ensure the men are ready and focused.”

Even Adler could see what Jurgen truly thought. Deep down, a flicker of doubt tugged at his own thoughts. The La Burkes were an unknown, but the Gra Valkas Empire had never known loss according to the official IBC broadcasts and the reports from all the admirals.

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He pushed the doubts aside. They were the pride of the Gra Valkan Navy, the finest pilots in all of Yggdra, and perhaps Elysia as well. They’d always emerged victorious. This would be no different.

As he climbed into his own plane, he ran through the pre-flight checks almost mindlessly. His mind was already in the sky, already picturing the dive, the release, the glorious explosion. Completing his checks, he called out to his men. “Donner Squadron, radio check.”

The responses came back, crisp and clear. Jurgen, Maller, all the rest.

Adler nodded. “Donner Leader to all Donner aircraft, start engines on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

“Tower, this is Donner Leader. Donner Squadron requesting permission for takeoff, over."

"Donner Leader, this is Tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Winds are 240 at 10 knots, altimeter 2992. Acknowledge, over."

"Tower, Donner Leader. Winds 240 at 10 knots, altimeter 2992. Acknowledged. Donner Squadron taking off, over."

Adler taxied to the runway, his squadron falling into position behind him. As he reached the holding point, he performed one final check. Flaps set, trim adjusted, engine gauges in the green. He glanced over his shoulder, confirming his wingman's position.

"Donner Two, you have the wing."

"Roger, Donner Leader. I have the wing," Jurgen responded, his voice calm and professional.

Adler took a deep breath, centering himself for the task ahead. Then, with a steady hand, he guided his plane onto the runway.

"Donner Squadron, line up and wait."

One by one, the other planes reported in, confirming their readiness.

"Donner Two, lined up and waiting."

"Donner Three, lined up and waiting."

"Donner Four, lined up and waiting."

Adler checked his instruments one final time. Throttle, friction lock, boost, mixture, prop... all set. The engine thrummed with contained power, eager to be unleashed.

"Tower, Donner Leader. Donner Squadron ready for takeoff, over."

"Donner Leader, Tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Winds are steady at 240, 10 knots. Good luck and good hunting."

"Acknowledged, Tower. Donner Squadron taking off."

Adler pushed the throttle forward, feeling the plane strain against the brakes. The engine roared, the propeller a blurred disc pulling them forward.

Adler released the brakes and the plane surged forward, gathering speed. The rumble of the wheels on the deck became a roar as the plane hurtled down the runway.

Faster, faster... the end of the deck was rushing towards them. Adler pulled back on the stick, feeling the plane respond, the nose lifting. A moment of resistance, the wheels clinging to the deck... and then they were airborne, climbing into the vast expanse of sky.

Behind him, the rest of the squadron lifted off in precise order, forming up on his wing as they gained altitude.

Adler felt the familiar exhilaration of flight, the world falling away beneath him. This was where he belonged, where he truly came alive – and where his enemies became dead. He checked his instruments, confirming that all was as it should be. Altitude, airspeed, heading... everything was nominal.

As they gained altitude, Adler checked in with his squadron. "Donner Leader to Donner Squadron, report fuel and ordnance status."

His men reported in, fuel ranging between 80 and 90 percent. Their engagement was stretching it, but it made sense. Even he knew when to respect the enemy; they wouldn’t be able to close the distance until they removed the enemy Orichalcums from the battlefield.

“Roger, Donner Squadron. Maintain current heading and altitude. Keep an eye out for enemy interceptors.” He switched to the general frequency, listening for updates from the other squadrons.

“Warhammer Leader to all squadrons. Approaching target area. Prepare to engage on my command.”

Looking out the canopy, Adler could see the faint outlines of ships on the horizon, tiny specks barely visible through their cloud cover.

"All squadrons, this is Warhammer Leader. Enemy fleet in sight. La Burke destroyers are priority targets. Dive bombers engage first, torpedo bombers follow. Acknowledge, over."

Adler responded, "Warhammer Leader, this is Donner Leader. Acknowledged. Donner Squadron standing by to engage, over."

The fog and clouds were beginning to thin ahead, revealing flashes of the battlefield. He switched to his squadron frequency. "Donner Squadron, arm bombs and prepare for attack run. Maintain formation until my signal."

As they descended, the veil of clouds parted, unveiling the chaos of the battle below. Ships crisscrossed the ocean, their wakes leaving frothy trails on the surface. Flak filled the sky, a deadly welcome from the ships' guns.

Adler spotted the aerial battle raging in the distance. The Gra Valkan Antares fighters were engaging the formidable but outnumbered and outskilled Mirishial Alpha 3s and 4s. Even from afar, it was clear that the Gra Valkan pilots were dominating their inferiors.

A squadron of Gra Valkan dive bombers to their right was attacking an Orichalcum battleship, braving the fire from its La Burke escort. The destroyer's guns were spitting out a hail of flak, trying to ward off the Gra Valkan bombers.

But something was different. The flak was unnervingly accurate, each burst seeming to predict the bombers' moves. Adler's eyes widened as he saw the anti-aircraft fire forming an almost solid barrier, while the smaller guns filled the gaps with their precisely-tracking tracers. Too many bombers were hit, falling from the sky in flames. The losses were heavier than Adler had ever seen, far beyond what he'd expected from the Muans. A cold knot formed in his stomach. What trickery was this?

As he watched, a streak of light shot up from the La Burke, moving with unnatural speed and precision. It struck a bomber, which vanished in a fireball. Adler's breath caught. A missile. The Muans had missiles.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The Muans, these inferior beings, had gotten their hands on advanced technology. The briefing had mentioned enhancements, but he never expected such a level of upgrades. Proximity fuses, targeting computers, missiles... these were the latest Gra Valkan innovations – so new that only a handful of ships in each Conquest Fleet were equipped with them. Adler sneered. The dirty Americans were to blame.

Most of the bombers were hit, falling from the sky in flames. A group of four survivors pressed on, undeterred. A wall of ice formed from the ocean, curving over the ship itself like a shield to absorb most of the bombs. Yet, two managed to find their way through. They detonated against the deck of the Orichalcum, taking out an anti-air emplacement and disabling one of the smaller guns – a harrowingly ineffective attack.

Ahead, another La Burke awaited, its guns already tracking Adler's squadron. Flak burst around them, the plane shuddering as shrapnel pinged off the fuselage. But there was a new menace now - the threat of those missiles, against which they had no defense.

Adler's grip tightened on the control column, his knuckles white. This was not the battle he had envisioned, not the easy victory over inferior foes. The Muans had upgraded their ships, had turned them into deadly predators that could pick off Gra Valkan planes with chilling efficiency.

As they neared the release point, the flak intensified, the explosions rocking the plane. Missiles streaked past, each one knocking a fellow pilot out of the sky. Adler's mouth was dry, his heart pounding. He had never faced a threat like this.

He took a breath. He was a Gra Valkan. He would not let this shake him. As with all munitions, the Muans would run out of their precious missiles eventually. They would triumph, as they always did – even if it came with a cost, a cost higher than he had ever imagined.

"Warhammer Leader to all squadrons, commence attack!"

Adler set his jaw, pushing down the unease that threatened to rise up. It was time to show these Muans the might of the Gra Valkan Empire, no matter the price.

"Donner Squadron, break formation and attack! Dive, dive, dive!"