During the heated urban battle for Arash, the situation out on the Atlantic sea proves to be much more calming. Yet, it's a calm before the storm as dangers lurk under the sea and above the cloud.

"Admiral, it's already the third day out here, do you think they will take the bait?" An XO posed the question to Admiral Karl Donitz.

Donitz sighs as he clenches his binoculars while viewing the horizon. Far away, he can somewhat see the cloud of smoke stemming from the Ustian blockade fleet. "They will, Commander, they will. What we need to do right now is be patient. The cards are all on the table now, they have more ships than us while we are pulling four transport behind the formation. Not to mention the fact that they have a carrier to boot." Donitz turns to take a look at his Task Force.

Present before him, on the starboard side, is Admiral Graf Spee, the leading ship in the screening formation for his flagship. She and the other three light cruisers of the Konigsberg class are forming a protective square around the Scharnhorst. Trailing behind the Scharnhorst is the Gneisenau, her sister ship. As for the four destroyers, they are divided into two further screening groups, flanking the side of the formation. Further back in this fleet is a group of four transport ships, their protectees for the day.

"With this meager defense force against theirs, they will see us as a very lucrative target to pick on. We just need to keep up the ruse for a while longer." Donitz said calmly. His XO, though anxious about this gamble, chose to remain silent.

At this time, the first line of defense at Arash has already been breached, yet, they're still here, unable to advance. Not just the XO but the entire Task Force is getting restless, they're supposed to swoop in and help their Princess, after all. Not playing a mind game with the enemy fleet, one that has them sitting around, doing nothing.

Donitz understands their feeling, though he scoffs inside, thinking they're still green. 'They lack the patience of a submarine commander, a hunter that lay in ambush, even though intense hunger is driving his instinct mad.'

Donitz knows Arash can last for another week at least, enough time for him to fulfill what he has promised and delivered the troops in the barges safely. He already planned for the enemy to be indecisive and lacking the thrive to actively pursue his escortee. Them being passive is because of lacking motivation, a thing Donitz can provide them with.

"XO, are the wolves in position?" Donitz questioned while he headed inside the conning tower to view the war map.

"Reporting, sir, the submarines have positioned themselves 15km behind the enemy. So far, they have been undetected, probably because their destroyers are busy chasing ours."

"Good, by now the enemy Admiral should have grown uneasy about the lack of actions on this end. I think it's high time we put our battle plan in motion." Donitz checks his pocket watch. "The time is 8:35 am, the sea is calm with breeze winds, perfect weather for a hunt. Have the skeleton crews evac the transports and notify the fleet to prepare for combat. It's time to implement Phase 2." Donitz looks at his XO. "Battle stations."

The XO regains his spirit, muttering to himself about damn time. "Yes, Admiral!"

He runs to the radio station to relay the order for the fleet. "General quarters! General quarters! All hands man your battle stations! All vessels proceed with Phase 2. I repeat, all vessels proceed with Phase 2."

As the alarms are blaring, the crews on all ships spring to life as they assume, check, and maintain absolute readiness on their stations for the time to come. The transports, according to scripts, will unload its crew on motor boats, leaving empty husks for the Ustians. The rest of the Task Force can then move forward to entice the enemy into attacking the defenseless transports. Thus leaving their back wide open for the submerged fleet to engage them. After that, the main fleet will engage the enemy, causing utter confusion and chaos amidst the Ustian ranks. Donitz smirks as he thinks that the inexperienced Ustian Head of Admiralty will be their undoing.

He soon pulls out of his thoughts when his XO reports. "Admiral, the transports are evacuated and put on a steady course. The fleet is ready to deploy, sir!"

"Good, let's get this over with."

Yet, let's slow down for a bit here. Gotta double-check everything and all that, you know?

In Donitz's plan, the plan is divided into three phases. The first phase will have the army troops they were supposed to escort move out in commandeered civilian vessels. Leaving the empty transports to be manned by only skeleton crews, while the actual troop transports are disguised and moving behind the fleet a fair distance away. Of course, they also move in an irregular pattern, unloading and loading stuff elsewhere, tricking the enemy into thinking that they're actual civilian freighters. The three days spent here aimlessly, are just for the 'civilian freighters' to catch up to the fleet.

Now, the second phase is when actions will surely happen. With the empty transports discarded by the entire fleet, the enemy Admiral will be beguiled to attack such a lucrative bounty. As the defenseless convoy is lacking in anti-air defense around them, now that the Belkan fleet has moved out, sending aircraft is the logical choice to make. Consequently, by doing that, they will fall into another trap. Only, this is made by the Belkan Air Force. Stationed away from prying eyes are four squadrons. Two of which consist of purely Bf-109s for CAP duty, a total of 24 aircraft for dealing with the enemy naval aviation. The other squadrons are 14 Heinkel 111 torpedo bombers, tasked with helping the Belkan fleet to sink the enemy battleships. They need only a single word from Donitz to deal a devastating blow to the enemy.

Last, but not least, is Phase 3, and probably the most simple phase of them all. Just swoop in and spank some Ustian booties from the front and rear, up their asses and down their throats. Donitz has all the means an Admiral can wish for to achieve a perfect victory. And with the Mother Goddess on his side, he won't be losing any ship of his, he hopes. Though it's a thing that for sure he will fight for, not just hoping alone.

Currently, the enemy is divided into two Flotillas. The first one, nearer to them, is the Battleship flotilla consisting of battleships Dunkerque, Bretagne, three light cruisers, and four destroyers. The second flotilla, also the one at risk of being hit by the submarines, is sitting further back with the carrier Bearn and three destroyers. Knowing this, Donitz thinks with his hands deftly maneuvering a few chess pieces on the war map. Each piece signifies a ship of him or the enemy. Soon, he makes a new formation of pieces on the map, suited for the task at hand. Donitz nods to himself, seeing the new battle plan he made. It won't hold up to actual combat, no plan does, but it will provide him a background to work on. Now he waits, again, for the enemy to take the bait.

It takes only a short time, ten minutes at best, for the Ustian scout aircraft to arrive above their location. As usual, they will fly at high altitude to report on the location of the Belkan fleet, their composition, and so on... Yet, seeing that the transports are left behind while their Task Force moves further ahead, presumably to break the blockade the Ustians are enforcing. The scout aircraft hastily reports their findings for the Ustian Admiral. Receiving the news from his XO, the Ustian Admiral smirks. Leaning back on the captain's chair with a hand supporting his chin, he demeans his foes. "As expected, the Belkan scums have grown too impatient for this game. Knowing that their Princess is in grave danger for her folly on our soils probably lighted a stove beneath their arses."

The man, unlike Donitz who is 40 years old and served in the Great War, is ten years younger and only studied in the Erusea Naval Academy. Having been adored for his good looks, political skill, and his knack for capturing the heart of ladies. This Ustian Admiral sits at the Head of Ustian Admiralty, not through achievement but through connections.

He stands up and with a wave of his hand for theatrics, orders. "Have the Bearn sorties her squadrons, I want the transports and their thousand of souls be fish food. After that, the First flotilla moves out to intercept the enemy fleet. I want our destroyers and cruisers to run circles around the enemy. We will use our superb speed and maneuverability to run them rags, while the battleships hang back to bombard the enemy with our larger guns. Show them no quarters, men!" He's in desperate need to prove himself worthy of his status. There's a girl at home he wishes to court and a resounding victory here will look damn good on his resume.

"AYE, AYE, SIR!"

Thus begins the downfall of the one who shall be known in history as the Casanova Admiral.

--------------------------------------------------

"Go, go, go! Get that thing off the elevator!" A V-156-F is directed to the rear of the aircraft carrier Bearn. Ahead of the bomber are two columns of her sister aircraft, all spooling up their engines for the upcoming takeoff. While up ahead of the column, the last of the CAP fighter are taking off.

"That's the last of the AC1! AB1 starts take-off now!" The flight deck coordinator screams over the ship's speakers, his voice somewhat drowns out by the dozen of bombers on the deck. "We don't have all day so move those rust buckets!" The crew then leads the first V-156 up the take-off line before scurrying off to the side. The carrier-born aircraft then hit the engine to the max before cutting off the brake. Roaring to life, the aircraft speeds up along the short runway before lifting effortlessly due to the favorable weather condition. After that, it's rinsed and repeated for the next 23 aircraft. The scene is a bit hectic, though most carrier operations are just like that back in the day. If you're not being careful, your head will be sent flying by the propeller blades.

It takes an hour for the entire 32 aircraft complement of the Bearn to be deployed. During that time AC1 has been gaining altitude and keeping tabs on the Belkan formation. Their squadron consists of eight Dewoitine 373 air-superiority fighters while AB1 and AB2 are using Osean-made Vought V-156-F dive bombers. Once AB1 and AB2 have reached the altitude of 3500 meters above sea level, the three squads adjust their headings for the convoy ships behind the Belkan fleet. This process eats up another 15 minutes and all of this occurs under the watchful eyes of the Belkan radar operators.

The report soon reaches Admiral Donitz. His XO says. "Admiral, as expected the enemy aircraft are heading straight towards us. Altitude 3600 meters. I reckon they will send a group to attack the transport ships while others will engage us as targets of opportunity."

"Range to the enemy main fleet?" Questioned Donitz.

"The spotter gave us the range of 50km, sir!" This means they are outside of the enemy firing range, for now.

"Good, all ships defensive AA formation, North-East heading," Donitz commanded. "and tell the Air Force to move in whenever they're ready."

"Aye aye, sir!"

With the order sent out, the entire Task Force maneuvers to present their port-side AA guns to the approaching Ustian aircraft. At that height, it's best to engage the aircraft with the 88mm and 105mm dual-purpose cannons. The 20mm is best used in a range less than 1km while the 37mm... That thing is a waste of money.

"Sir, the enemy aircraft is in our effective range. Altitude 2000 meters, they are preparing for a dive bombing run, sir."

"All vessels focus fire on the enemy bombers!" Donitz gave the order as the multitude of cannons point their barrels to the sky. Soon, the first shot is fired by the Gneisenau's 10.5 cm/65 cannons, followed by the ones on Scharnhorst. Seconds later, the plethora of 88mm flak on the cruisers join in, promising a series of fireworks in the middle of the day. And by the time the 105mm cannons have done reloading, the flak 88s have already sent out their second salvo.

From a bystander's perspective, it's a glorious sight to see miniature black clouds blotting out the sky. Yet, for the pilots on the receiving end of things, it's a nightmare to fly through them.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

High up in the sky are AB1 and AB2 bomber squadrons. Consisting fully of Osean-made V-156-F, the thing is built to be sturdier than the Ustian flimsy biplanes. Yet, thanks to a bunch of bureaucracy, its bomb load is laughable to see. Only a pair of 100kg bombs for each aircraft is mounted under the wings, as they're lacking the bomb rack beneath the fuselage. With such a unique loadout for naval bombing duty, it's best used against unarmored ships like transport and destroyer. The former is a piece of cake while the latter is harder as they can maneuver a lot to get out of harm's way.

As for AC1, their combat-air-patrol group is off to the left side to provide air cover. Yet, it's doubtful how effective they are when they have only been engaging balloons for simulated targets. Still, the same thing can be said for the two bomber squadrons. After all, Ustian Naval Aviation branch is underrated, undertrained, and underequipped. Hence it's not surprising when two aircraft from AB1 got blown out of the sky from the first flak salvo. That's what they get for flying in a straight line, right in front of the enemy AA muzzles.

The first casualty explodes into a ball of fire and steel as the flak shell, unknown of its caliber, detonated the two wing-mounted bombs on the bomber. Its pilot and gunner die instantly as the bomber, well, what's left of the fuselage plummetted to the sea 3km below. The second V-156-F spins out of control as its left wing snapped off the aircraft cleanly. Unable to get a hold of the aircraft, the pilot screams incomprehensibly over the radio.

"Fuck! Who else got hit?!" The guy that is flying to the left of the exploded bomber cursed.

"It's Damien's plane!"

"Damn it! Eject, eject!" The flight lead of AB1 shouted as he lean his plane to the left, getting a view of the poor sod that's spinning irrecoverably.

Yet, the AC1 flight lead announced painfully."No chute! I don't see a chute!"  Just before another barrage of flak interrupts them.

Yet, having learned their lesson the hard way, the AB1 flight lead gives a hasty order. "All aircraft spreads out! Don't bunch up with each other!"

AC1 and AB2 also follow suit with the command, lessening the possibility of a flak burst gonna score multiple kills like what happened before. This earns them some respite, allowing the dive bombers to inch closer to their target. Yet, once they get closer to 2km away from the Belkan fleet, the AA firepower intensifies as the 20mm and 37mm start opening up. Shredding them a new one and scores three kills, 1 from AB1 and 2 from AB2. AC1 is luckily spared as they're hanging back to provide air cover, not bombing armed vessels.

Nevertheless, despite their losses, AB1 soldiers through the intense AA coverage above the Belkan ships and head straight for the convoy vessels. While AB2 overshoots the Belkan Task Force before turning back, diving to 1000 meters. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that AB2 wants to bomb the Belkan vessels as payback. Hence, all starboard side anti-air mounts start spitting fire on the blasphemous flying antiques. It will be the shame of the century if a ship of theirs is sunk by such a lackluster squadron.

Surprisingly, even with the increase in shell density, AB2 pilots muster enough willpower to keep on diving, targeting reticles trained on the Belkan cruisers. Sadly, their lack of training and coordination proves to be a detriment. As each pilot picks his own targets rather than cooperate and drop all their meager bombs to completely cripple one. That and some got cold feet when they reach 500 meters and dropped the payload too early. Missing their target by a huge margin before disengaging, leaving their last teammates to bear the full brunt of AA fire. Just from that dive alone, three more bombers have succumbed to the coordinated AA defense.

When what's left of AB2 dives to 300 meters, they notice the Belkan guns have stopped firing. Befuddle by the sudden change, they don't have time to question it before bullets start zipping from behind them. The sudden backstab comes from the Bf-109s that have finally reached the airspace!

Having diverted six Bf-109s to deal with AB1, the remaining eighteen Bf-109 tear through what's left of the AB2 squadron. In a matter of seconds, their aircraft are either burning or crashing down onto the sea, not able to drop their payload at the end. Done dealing with the easy prey, the 109s train their eyes on the now retreating AC1 CAP squadron. As expected of the Ustians, they would pick flight rather than fight most of the time.

Scoffing inside his mind Rigel 1 gives the order to chase them. Their 109s can outrun and outgun the flying rust buckets the Ustians have been using. And true to his thought, after kicking his aircraft into overdrive for three minutes of flight time, his gun is now aiming at a panicking D.373. The Ustian pilot tries to veer his aircraft to the right yet fail to escape the muzzle of the 20mm autocannons. Rigel 1 pulls the trigger for but one second to see his white and green tracers slam into the flimsy aircraft. The HE shells of the 20mm shred the thing in half, its pilot for sure is dead meat. To him, killing this thing is way too easy, the enemy he engaged when escorting Franka 1 was much deadlier and more exciting to dogfight.

He's soon on the tail of another D.373, this time the bastard has the gall to try and shoot his flight mate. Well, if there's one thing that antique can do well then it's the turn radius is better than a 109 when dogfighting. This is why Rigel 1 always says to maintain good communication with your flight buddy. As if you have an enemy on your tail, your buddy is the only one that can save you. It's why Rigel is now saving his.

Since the enemy is a bit too close to his buddy then he would like, Rigel can't use the 20mm. Instead, he opts for the pair of MG 17s as the weapons of choice for this situation. Firing a short burst from behind, he grabs the attention of the enemy pilot when a few shots land on the fuselage. Not doing much damage, yet enough to pull the enemy off his friend. The guy is intended to do the same turn-fighting trick he used on Rigel 1's flight buddy, yet fails when the Belkan Ace got him figured out. Already anticipating the enemy to bank his aircraft hard left, Rigel 1 slows his plane down a notch before bringing all guns to bear on the cockpit of the now-turning D.373. From his cockpit, Rigel 1 can see the paled face of the enemy pilot, he knows he fucked up big time. That was his last thought before the 20mm does God's work and baptism him into a ball of fire.

Breaking away from the now dead enemy, Rigel 1 surveys the airspace to see that the last of the enemy CAP fighter is dropping down to the sea. To be honest, bringing 18 Bf-109s against a mere 8 D.373s are overkill. Yet, air command demanded such a number to ensure operational success, Rigel 1 can't argue with it. He also notices that the last of the enemy bombers are also out of the picture, meaning he is now left jobless once more. Mentally complaining that he's now left with the babysitter job, Rigel 1 then orders to reform CAP formation for patrol. Internally hoping that the enemy land-based aircraft will come to join the fun.

"Thanks for the assist back there, Rigel 1." A female voice rang out from the radio, it was his flight buddy, Rigel 2.

He snickers before jesting. "Keep flying bad like that then I would rather shoot you down myself, lass."

Rigel 2 laughs. "As if! I got them hot ass that you so dearly love. That's why you keep saving it every time." She adds while taking a position to the right of Rigel 1. "And I will go back and haunt you so you won't get a hard-on ever again if I get shot down."

Shaking his head, Rigel 1 can't really argue with her. What she said is true, after all.

"Oof! It seems like 1 and 2 are at it again." This time a male voice belonging to Rigel 3 interjected. He flies to Rigel 1's left before saying. "Wanna bet who will win this time, 4?"

Rigel 4 answers, to the right of Rigel 2. "No chance, I still own the bar lady a few tabs. I would rather not add it up by losing this one." He shook his head to further emphasize his reluctance.

Rigel 3 guffaws. "Haha, that's your fault for trying to court the lady then. The whole airbase laughed our asses off seeing your failed attempts."

"Ugh... must you say that out loud?" Rigel 4 complained only to earn snickers from the rest of his squadron.

After that, all the Bf-109s disperse into smaller CAP patrol groups, securing the airspace tight for the arrival of the flights of He 111s. All the while bantering like that to kill the time, disregarding the tense atmosphere below. Where the two Task Forces are about to engage each other.