Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C185

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Chapter 185: The Final Battle of Krotan (Part 12)

The calculations streamed in from the , and the ship’s turrets unleashed a barrage of projectiles into the northern sky. A fan-shaped wall of fire stretched for dozens of kilometers, missile contrails and glowing electromagnetic rounds illuminating the dim yellow haze above. Guided shells and arced through the air with piercing whistles, hurtling toward the incoming .

Faced with this relentless storm of firepower, the Vikings performed dazzling aerial acrobatics—spinning, diving, and weaving in impossible maneuvers as they surged forward toward the mothership’s landing platforms.

This first volley from the fortress-like carrier had clearly been meticulously planned. The dense web of explosions and streaking projectiles formed an impenetrable net, one no bird could escape. If the Vikings tried to force their way closer, they would pay dearly—half their numbers destroyed at best, total annihilation at worst.

After all, this was no ordinary warship; it was a , a military citadel. To charge headlong into its defenses was suicide.

True enough, any ordinary squadron of pilots would have been paralyzed by such overwhelming firepower, their will to fight crushed under the weight of the onslaught. But Aldrich wasn’t dealing with ordinary pilots. These were elite warriors, veterans forged in battles against swarms of , fearless and unyielding.

The Viking formation shifted mid-flight, abandoning their V-shaped attack pattern for a tight, wave-like cascade. The lead group flared their , drawing the brunt of the enemy fire before executing sharp climbs and rolls, dragging countless missiles and shells away from their comrades. Behind them, another wave of Vikings accelerated downward, exploiting the distraction.

A second salvo erupted from the mothership, but the next line of Vikings mimicked their predecessors’ tactics. They baited the guns, dodged, and soared upward, leaving trails of pursuing ordnance behind them. This deadly dance repeated several times, each iteration bringing the surviving Vikings closer to the mothership.

Aldrich stared at the screen, dumbfounded for what felt like an eternity.

“Combat team! What about those ? Why aren’t they firing?”

The officer overseeing the railgun array stammered, “S-sir, the large turrets can’t keep up with the speed of the enemy fighters—they can’t lock on!”

“Damn it!” Aldrich slammed his fist onto the armrest. “They’re creating opportunities to break through. , give me a new attack plan—now!”

“S-sir… it’s too late,” a strategist monitoring the situation interjected. “They’re already here.”

Aldrich looked up. On the main display, twenty enemy craft had pierced the defensive net and were closing in on the upper deck of the mothership.

“What are they doing? Smashing themselves apart? Suicide runs?” The bridge crew watched in stunned silence as the Vikings ignored long-range missile bombardments and instead charged straight for the deck without hesitation. “They’ve gone mad. Completely insane.”

As the Vikings dove toward the landing platform, chaos erupted among the crew. Firefighting vehicles rolled out of hangars, ready to contain whatever inferno awaited them.

But what happened next defied everyone’s expectations. Instead of crashing into fiery oblivion, the descending Vikings suddenly decelerated, their forms shifting dramatically. With thunderous impacts, they landed squarely on the runway—not as aircraft, but as towering humanoid machines. Steel legs supported massive torsos armed with , missile launchers perched atop broad shoulders, and cockpit modules serving as heads. Humanoid shapes. Transformable fighters.

The sight left technicians and flight controllers gaping in disbelief. This wasn’t the crude transformation of Heavy Armor Warriors—it was a seamless transition from aerospace combat mode to ground-based warfare capability. Such complexity required technological support far beyond anything humanity currently possessed.

How could this be possible?

Even the pilots of the were dumbstruck. They glanced between the invaders and their own sleek jets, bitterness rising in their throats.

“Boom, boom, boom…” The sound of gunfire echoed across the deck. Gatling cannons spun rapidly, six barrels spitting flames in unison. Each punched horn-shaped craters into the hulls of the parked Thunderwings.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Twenty Vikings, forty gatling cannons, and ten missile launchers turned the deck into a maelstrom of destruction. rained down, igniting a hellish inferno. The crews were shredded by cannon fire, their limbs and organs scattered like refuse across the runways. The air reeked not only of smoke but also of blood and viscera.

One by one, the Thunderwings exploded into flames. Some suffered direct hits to their fuel tanks, others lost propulsion systems entirely. Still more were engulfed in fire, careening wildly into neighboring craft, erupting in cascading fireballs. Shrapnel flew everywhere, turning the entire deck into a blazing hellscape. Screams filled the air as panicked personnel scrambled across warning red-lit runways.

“Thud, thud, thud…” Ten more Vikings breached the defenses, landing smoothly on the taxiways. Unlike their predecessors, these newcomers moved to the edges of the platform, unleashing volleys of MT50 Lanzel rockets onto the railgun arrays below.

Flames leapt high as shrapnel tore through the fragile electromagnetic tracks of the railguns. One after another, the powerful weapons twisted and warped, rendered useless. It was salt in the wound—the weakening of the mothership’s primary offensive capabilities allowed even more Vikings to slip past the dwindling barrage and descend upon the deck, spreading carnage wherever they went.

“What are you all standing around for? Command the internal security teams to drive them off the deck!” Aldrich’s voice roared across the bridge.

Orders were relayed, and elite special forces squads, accompanied by swarms of , poured out of elevator shafts onto the deck.

By now, fifty Vikings had transformed into rampaging arsonists, leaving scorched devastation in their wake. Another dozen hovered low, strafing the remaining Thunderwings with torrents of MT50 Lanzel rockets. From the moment Aldrich issued his attack command until the Vikings began their brutal assault on the deck, not a single Thunderwing had managed to take off. Ninety-nine percent had been reduced to burning wreckage; the few that remained intact were abandoned by their fleeing pilots.

Half of the 120 railguns lay in ruins, obliterated by the relentless rocket bombardment. Even the lower-deck turrets and missile launchers were battered beyond recognition.

When the special forces and combat robots finally emerged onto the deck via the elevators, they weren’t greeted by the Vikings—but by the ominous shadow of an sweeping overhead.

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