“How do things look to you? Your opinion, please.” After the slightest of hesitations, he called out his name: “Commodore Yang!” Irritation and impatience kept it rocking nonstop. The fleet commander’s psychological state was reflected in his subordinates, and the air on the bridge felt charged with electricity. Amid all that, the vice admiral noticed one man, and one man only, who didn’t look especially bothered. Vice Admiral Paetta, commander of the Second Fleet, was sitting in the command chair of the flagship Patroklos, jiggling one knee outside the crew’s line of sight. Even so, they had not decided to veer from the original plan and were still advancing toward the battlefield at the same velocity as before. At that moment, the Second and Sixth Fleets of the Alliance were reeling from shock, having only just learned of the sudden change of circumstances.
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