Chapter 121

"Your Highness Trexi, leave the base to me! You might as well go ahead and wipe out the Scotland base while you're at it!"

"Are you sure? Can you and Roger handle it?"

The Scottish fleet was already closing in on the Welsh base.

"No, just me. I’ve already recalibrated the army’s equipment; it’s more than enough to deal with Cromwell. Now, with a few modifications to the fleet’s naval guns, I should be able to handle that fellow Hesbrown as well. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just whip up something else to play with." Cole looked at the giant battleship twenty nautical miles away, a sneer of disdain playing on his lips. Having served on an Imperial-class battleship himself, after witnessing the true pinnacle of naval engineering, he wore the same expression as Andrew Cunningham when faced with such an imitation.

"There's no need for command; just let me handle the mechanical operations. Although this system has certain limitations, it won't prevent me from exerting manual control and electronic override." Cole smiled faintly, his hands dancing across the keyboard before him. This was a turret control console intended for a ship's commander, but Cole had used his hacking skills to forcibly link all the turrets together, unifying them under his direct control. While the first volley had been fired by a monitor of the Erebus-class, the truth was that he held control over every battleship and battlecruiser in the Irish Sea.

In the waters of the Isle of Man, thanks to Cole’s precise adjustments, every gun on the Welsh ships struck the core sections of the Scottish vessels with surgical accuracy. By now, the Scottish aircraft carriers had completely lost the ability to launch or recover planes, their flight decks torn asunder. The main batteries of the battleships and battlecruisers were largely paralyzed, and the other warships had snapped in two due to internal magazine explosions. The Welsh vessels seemed equipped with some kind of special fire-control radar, capable of landing shells precisely on the most lethal spots of the enemy ships. Such a near-hundred-percent hit rate was impossible, even for the finest gunners using the United Kingdom's most advanced VG fire-control radar. Moreover, beneath the surface, dozens of submarines had already been sent to the depths. For some reason, the Welsh destroyers acted as if they had wall-hacks, conducting a fully saturated attack on the submerged vessels. By now, the threat below the surface was effectively neutralized; even the United Kingdom’s standard Dolphin-class anti-submarine radar couldn't have achieved such a feat.

All of this was accomplished through Cole’s technical prowess. If the battleship Monarch was a cheat code in warfare, Cole’s existence was nothing short of heaven-defying. By now, only the large warships of Wales and Scotland remained in the waters of the Isle of Man—not because the smaller Welsh vessels had been wiped out, but because they had either departed for the Scotland base or returned to Wales to support their own. However, Heckwell was effectively beyond salvation; his main guns were useless, and his secondary batteries were either unable to deal damage or unable to lock onto enemy ships.

"Pour out all firepower and prepare to scuttle!" Heckwell bellowed. He could not allow the Welsh to capture his ships; that would only increase the burden on His Highness Kevil. Yet, even as he resolved to scuttle, the enemy's fire did not cease. His secondary batteries were obliterated by a final, saturated barrage. With few personnel left, they could barely maintain the ship's basic operation.

"Goodbye! I won't let you scuttle!"

At that moment, a 410mm shell arrived, forcing Heckwell out of the battle. The armor of the King George V-class battleship, HMS Duke of York, was pierced directly. Severely damaged, the Duke of York began to sink. Trexi silently removed his hat; it was, perhaps, a gesture of respect.