Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C115

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Chapter 115: The Aftermath, Sentry

Tiagalara was the first to sink, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. A silver beam shot up from beneath the waves, silent and swift, striking the port side of a destroyer. It tore through the hull like paper before vanishing into the sky above.

“Boom… boom… boom…” The explosion rippled outward, consuming the ammunition depot, then the missile bay. Flames surged forth in great, rolling bursts that mirrored the ocean’s fury—pouring out of portholes, doorways, and every opening they could find.

Crew members, their uniforms ablaze, ran screaming across the deck. “Ahh… ahh…” Their cries pierced the air, raw and gut-wrenching, echoing over the water.

“Plop,” “plop.” One by one, desperate sailors leapt into the sea, hoping the cold embrace of the ocean would extinguish the fire consuming them. But Loot Bay was no longer the gentle beauty she had once been; now, she was a ravenous beast. Her churning waves tossed them high into the air only to swallow them whole as vicious whirlpools dragged them deep below.

Christina stared blankly at the monitor array. On the underwater camera feed, amidst flickering images of four-legged creatures firing silvery particle beams, another weapon caught her eye—a laser-like ray that left trails of electric-blue sparks radiating outward when it struck its target. Whatever it touched melted away like snow under the midday sun, leaving behind nothing but charred remnants.

She watched in horror as the Tulrose, a frigate stationed to Weston’s left, was sliced clean in two by twin beams—one slicing through the bow, the other through the stern. Electricity crackled in the water, thick cables writhing like eels glowing with an eerie purple light. Bodies were squeezed out by the pressure, caught in the current, tumbling lifelessly until they disappeared from view.

Then came the image that made Christina scream—a woman’s corpse floated past the camera lens. Her hair fanned out wildly around her head, her face bloated and discolored, her eyes wide open in a final, unblinking glare. It looked like something straight out of a horror film.

“Ahh!” Christina shrieked, stumbling backward and landing hard on the floor. Zhou Tong—it was Zhou Tong, the celebrated military flower of the South Sea Fleet, Tiagalara’s Snow White. How many young men had dreamed of marrying her? How many powerful officials had doted on her? And yet here she was, dead, just another piece of driftwood sinking into the abyss.

Christina sat there trembling, paralyzed by fear. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but all that escaped her lips were weak, pitiful moans. Chaos reigned in the command room, but no one paid her any mind.

The sonar operator worked furiously, pushing the equipment to its limits in an attempt to lock onto the enemy beneath the waves. Yet despite sending wave after wave of sonar pulses toward the source of the particle beams, no return signal came.

“How is this possible? How?” shouted Tris, the team leader, his voice cracking with desperation.

Nearby, the gunner, who’d been itching for action, turned red-faced. “Tris, what the hell are you doing? Give me those coordinates already! Those guided torpedoes aren’t getting any younger!”

How could they possibly understand the terror of Protoss technology? The plasma shields surrounding Stalkers and Sentries not only offered unparalleled protection against kinetic, thermal, and explosive forces but also absorbed electromagnetic radiation, rendering sonar systems utterly useless.

“Sailors, lower the escape boats—now!” The young captain, having witnessed the horrifying demise of Tiagalara, lost his nerve entirely. Thoughts of survival consumed him. What was all this talk of Celtic’s holy light or military honor? None of that mattered if he didn’t survive. Only the living could enjoy sunshine, sandy beaches, fine wine, and beautiful women far lovelier than the ones stuck in these cramped quarters.

“Boom!” Another flash lit up outside. Everyone felt the ship lurch downward, the deck tilting violently. Christina clung desperately to her seat, peering through the porthole at the chaos unfolding beyond.

Weston’s main 120mm cannon had been cleanly bisected by a laser beam, sparking showers of fiery debris. Sailors scrambled toward the stern, heads covered, faces pale with panic. That same underwater laser, gleaming like an executioner’s blade, carved Weston’s foredeck into two jagged halves. Sparks flew, explosions roared, and towering waves crashed against the hull as the entire ship began listing sharply downward.

“Crash… crash…” Water surged inward, flooding cargo holds, engine rooms, and fuel tanks. Weston’s nose tipped upward while her stern sank lower, leaning precariously to the left.

Anchors, sailors, fuel canisters, missiles, depth charges, laundry racks, underwear, bras—even smuggled bottles of liquor, decks of cards, and makeup kits—all tumbled off the decks like trash spilling from an overturned dumpster. Some splashed into the sea, others drifted aimlessly, carried away by the tide.

“Mother…”

“Help! Help… Helicopter! Lower the ladder, quick!”

“Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to face…”

“Out of my way! Move, damn it!” The young captain shoved past the communications officer blocking his path, shoving himself along a row of instruments as he struggled toward the hatch.

There was no saving Weston now. If he could make it topside, maybe he stood a chance of escaping via helicopter. But trapped below deck, drowning was inevitable.

Even in crisis, this arrogant noble brat couldn’t shed his disdainful nature.

Christina’s station wasn’t far from the door. Glancing briefly out the window, she took a deep breath. As the captain neared, she suddenly swung her right leg back and hooked it around his ankle.

“What the fuck!” The cocky young officer stumbled, losing balance. Before he could recover, a female officer who’d long harbored resentment kicked him squarely in the rear. He went tumbling down the sloping floor like a child on a playground slide, slamming into the bulkhead with a resounding thud.

“Well done, Christina! That bastard deserved it.”

“If it weren’t for regulations, I’d have twisted his smug little head off ages ago!” Despite the dire situation, some crew members cheered aloud. Clearly, the young captain wasn’t exactly beloved.

Christina exhaled slowly, casting one last glance out the porthole. Weston’s tilt grew steeper, nearly reaching a 45-degree angle. For junior officers like herself, staying aboard meant certain death—but so did trying to leave. Those helicopter pilots would save space only for higher-ranking officers, abandoning the rest without hesitation.

With nothing left to lose, Christina felt strangely calm after exacting revenge on the man who’d caused so much misery among the crew. She watched silently as seawater flooded in, creeping steadily upward. Then, almost casually, she observed a silvery particle beam lance up from below, striking the tail of an armed helicopter with pinpoint accuracy. The aircraft split in half, spinning drunkenly through the air before plunging nose-first into the ocean, sending up a towering spray of water nearly ten meters high.

So even the skies weren’t safe anymore.

By now, the water had risen to chest level. Christina gazed out the porthole one final time. The surface churned with smoke and metal shards, crisscrossed by streaks of particle beams and lasers shooting skyward like inverted meteor showers. They illuminated the heavens, painting a surreal tableau of destruction.

Perhaps it was fitting that the senior officers would go down with the fleet. Her only regret was never knowing where those mysterious monsters had come from—or why they attacked the naval convoy. And how could such small, frail-looking creatures wield such devastating power?

As her thoughts faded, so too did Christina’s consciousness, her body sinking deeper into the dark embrace of the sea.

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