The Center's Move

The warships returning to the Rosenfeld family's port, the harbor nearest the East, were in a truly wretched state.

Two 4th-rate frigates followed the 3rd-rate ship of the line Defender, which led the way. Their masts were broken, their hulls riddled with holes, and corpses lay scattered across their decks because there had been no time to clear them away.

"We're taking on water again!"

"Haa... I'm coming!"

"Buckets! We're short on buckets!"

The sailors of the 3rd-rate ship of the line Defender had not even had time to dwell on their miserable defeat. Water had rushed in before they could savor its bitterness.

The starboard side of the ship caught in the 20mm machine-gun barrage was riddled with holes the size of an adult's fist.

No matter how much they bailed, the water pouring in showed no sign of stopping. With its sails broken, the slowly sailing ship could make less than half its normal speed.

More than half its crew was gone as well.

It was a tragedy wrought by just three seconds of machine-gun fire...