Summoning America

Chapter 183: The Battle of Mykal (3)

Author's Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

If you like Summoning America, you'll love Manifest Fantasy! Manifest Fantasy is my latest work and is also modern-fantasy-themed. Expect excellent writing quality, well-written characters, original worldbuilding, and a fresh take on the modern vs fantasy (or military isekai) genre.

Note 2:

Read up to two weeks ahead: Chapters 184 and 185 are now out for corresponding Patreon tiers!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd

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January 23, 1641
Mykal Port
IGVN VB-27 "Donner Squadron"

8,000 feet. The air screamed past Adler's canopy as he pushed the control column forward, sending his plane into a nearly vertical dive. The La Burke-class destroyer grew larger in his sights with each passing second, its deck bristling with anti-aircraft guns. Flak burst all around him, peppering his plane with shrapnel. Adler gritted his teeth, fighting to keep the plane steady.

To his right, Jurgen's plane suddenly vanished in a fireball, struck by a missile that seemed to come out of nowhere. Adler barely had time to process the loss of his wingman before another plane, Donner Four, was torn apart by a barrage of tracers. The accuracy of the La Burke's fire was unnerving, far beyond anything he'd expected from the Muans.

6,000 feet. Adler's heart pounded in his ears as he watched Donner Five and Six succumb to the destroyer's defenses, their wreckage plummeting into the sea. The flak was getting thicker, the shells exploding closer to his plane. He was insulated within the canopy, but it was like he could feel the heat of the explosions, the smell of burning fuel and metal.

Jurgen, Maller, Schneider... gone in an instant. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Half his squadron, the men he'd trained and fought with, wiped out in a matter of seconds. And for what? A single La Burke, a ship that was supposed to be an easy target for the pride of the Gra Valkan Navy.

3,000 feet. Adler's hands shook on the control column, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The doubts that had plagued him since the briefing surged to the forefront of his mind. The Muans were supposed to be primitives, savages with borrowed technology they barely understood. But this... this was something else entirely. The La Burke's guns tracked his squadron with uncanny precision, as if guided by some unseen hand. The missiles, the radar, the proximity fuses... these were the tools of a modern military, not the backward barbarians he'd been led to expect.

2,000 feet. As the dive continued, the La Burke growing ever larger in his sights, Adler struggled to push the doubts aside. With each passing second, each plane that fell from the sky, he could feel his confidence wavering. Even if the Muans had managed to upgrade their weapons, the underlying hull still remained the same. It was this sole fact that granted him solace as the flak became a solid wall, the shells bursting so close he could feel the plane shudder with each impact.

1,500 feet. It was enough to strike with respectable accuracy, but not enough in his eyes. Alarms blared in the cockpit, warning of damage to the wings and the fuel tanks. Adler's vision narrowed, his focus consumed by the looming shape of the La Burke. Just a few more seconds, a few more heartbeats, and he'd be able to guarantee a killing blow.

1,200 feet – almost there. He tightened his finger on the bomb release trigger, breath catching in his throat. This was it, the moment of truth. The La Burke sat before him, ready to swat him from the sky like an insect. Whether through sheer luck or his warrior spirit as a Gra Valkan, his plane was still miraculously intact. He would not falter, would not fail. Not here, not now.