After Bell finished recounting his extraordinary tale, the women sitting in the cafe shared a collective sense of bewilderment. Sylva couldn't wrap her head around the bizarre world Bell found himself in. Hanna marveled at how many times he narrowly escaped certain death, while Lisa pondered the stark contrast between Bell's world and the modified Earth that Aya had entered, as described by Gerhard. It was clear to all of them, however, that Bell must have been an exceptional pilot to have navigated such perilous circumstances with his F-15S.

"So, have you heard about our crazy plan?" Lisa finally asked.

"What crazy plan, Lisa? I've only been here for 12 hours, and I've had my fill of crazy plans for the past couple of years. This better be worth it," Bell remarked. "Let's not forget, the system wasn't available back then. I was practically just a human with horns there."

Lisa turned her gaze towards Bell, a reassuring smile on her lips. "Relax, Bell. You're still alive, aren't you?"

"I mean, I'm all for coming out of retirement, but I'd prefer not to be thrown back into the fire right away," Bell chuckled wearily. "Anyway, what's the plan? If it's less than 95% likely to kill me, then I'm all ears."

"Remember the fleet? We're planning to nuke them," Lisa revealed.

Bell raised an eyebrow. "Nuke? What kind of nuke? ICBMs? Tactical nukes? French's warning shot?"

Sylva couldn't help but chuckle silently. "Seems like living in pseudo-Earth has rubbed off on you in a good way."

"We'll equip your F-15S with GBU-61 bombs. You fly in, drop them at the center of the fleet, and kaboom," Lisa explained, using her finger to sketch out the plan on the table. She illustrated her fingers as the ships and made an explosion gesture before sweeping her hand away.

Bell found himself intrigued by the idea. At least in this world, there were no J-20 fighter jets to contend with. The F-15S would suffice, even if it seemed a bit like overkill. Trying to recall the size of the fleet, he realized it was likely substantial enough to level him up. He briefly missed the term "level up." If only he could summon the array of equipment available to the cabal, perhaps things would have turned out differently. It was a shame they were made up of war criminals.

Nodding in agreement, Bell confirmed, "So, that's the plan?"

Lisa nodded in affirmation.

Though the weapon called GBU-61 didn't exist, Bell speculated it might be a version of the B61 with a guidance kit, turning it into a precision strike weapon. Nonetheless, he didn't dwell on it. His F-15S could carry three heavy bombs, and he had already devised the optimal approach.

"Alright," Bell declared, his tone serious but resolute. "I'll guide them to detonate in the middle of the fleet on an airburst setting. Does that sound good to you?"

Lisa nodded once more.

With the meeting concluded, Bell rose from his seat with a solid plan in mind for the upcoming mission. While the plan might have seemed crazy from the outset, it was also the most cost-effective way to destroy the entire fleet with just a single fighter. "Let's get to work then. The sooner we can execute this mission, the better."

"Four-Eyes, Crimson 1-1, requesting takeoff at runway 2," Bell radioed the ATC as he guided his F-15S toward the designated runway. However, it was evident even at this point that he would have to wait, as a C-5 Galaxy was inbound to the airport from the east.

"Crimson 1-1, Four-Eyes, hold your approach. Container 1-1 is currently on final approach to runway 2," came the response from the control tower.

Moments later, the massive cargo plane touched down on the runway, its powerful GE-95 engines clearing snow from the edges as it taxied to a nearby empty area to unload its cargo, which could either be personnel or Umbrilium. Frostwood primarily exported goods, after all.

"Crimson 1-1, you're clear to take off," the ATC informed him.

"Copy that, Four-Eyes," Bell acknowledged.

With determination, Bell pushed the throttle of his F-15S and engaged the afterburner. The force from the two engines behind him pressed him firmly into his seat as the fighter jet accelerated rapidly. The airspeed indicator climbed steadily, reaching 100 knots before he smoothly lifted the aircraft off the runway, accelerating further to 350 knots as he banked eastward toward New Glacier. His jet was loaded with maximum weaponry, including two AIM-130 ACLRAAM missiles and two AIM-9X Sidewinders.

As the roar of the engines gradually faded into a steady hum, Bell climbed higher into the sky, setting a course directly for the target area near Saven. He configured the auto-pilot and double-checked the heading. Despite the gravity of the mission—dropping nuclear weapons—Bell found the operational aspect to be relatively straightforward.

His task was simple. Just drop the bomb, engage afterburner, and get the hell out as fast as possible before the nuke blew off. The blast would kill every ship in the vicinity, and he would finally get his well deserved break in this past couple of years that he really deserved, the flying took toll on his body, even though he loved every single second of it.

"Crimson 1-1, Four-Eyes, you're out of my radar range. Please contact Seahound on the frequency sent to your tactical terminal," the ATC informed him.

"Copy that, Four-Eyes. Thanks for the message," Bell acknowledged.

"Have a safe flight, sir," came the well-wishes from the ATC.

Switching his radio channel to that of Seahound, a Frigate sailing on the North Elysian Ocean to the east of Saven, Bell prepared to coordinate the final phase of the operation. However, he remained oblivious to events unfolding on the other continent's edge. The Empire had yet to mount any expeditions in that direction, having found nothing of interest thus far. Perhaps one day, Bell mused, he would spearhead an expeditionary fleet, but for now, his focus was on the task at hand.

"Seahound, this is Crimson 1-1, how copy?" Bell radioed.

"Got you on the radar, sir," Seahound replied promptly.

"Can you send the fleet's location via my data link?" Bell requested.

"Sending coordinates via the data link... done. Have a good hunt, sir," Seahound responded, completing the exchange.

With the new coordinates swiftly inputted into the tactical computer within the cockpit of his fighter jet, Bell watched as the target appeared on his Head-Mounted Display as a green square, indicating it was 120 kilometers away from his current position. Time was of the essence as the F-15 hurtled toward the drop point, the bomb hanging from the aircraft's underbelly, replacing the gun pod.

Turning on the air-to-ground radar, Bell scrutinized the fleet displayed on the Multi-Purpose Display in his cockpit. The black-and-white image depicted thirty-one ships sailing in formation, oblivious to the imminent danger heading their way.

"Crimson 1-1, bombs away," Bell radioed, as he pushed the throttle forward and engaged the afterburner, swiftly maneuvering the aircraft away from the blast radius. Setting the bomb to explode at its maximum yield ensured that none of the fleet would survive the nuclear detonation.

With the afterburners engaged, the F-15 rapidly accelerated to Mach 1.5, streaking through the air to distance itself from the impending blast. Bell pushed the fighter to its limits, focusing solely on putting as much space as possible between himself and the detonation site. This was no ordinary mission; there was still a risk that the blast could throw him off course in the air. He dared not look back just yet, fully concentrated on evading the imminent danger.

As Bell allowed himself a brief rearward glance, he witnessed nothing at first, until suddenly, a blinding flash filled the sky. Quickly banking his aircraft to catch a glimpse of the detonation, he beheld a colossal mushroom cloud rising into the air, pushing aside the clouds and illuminating the horizon with an immense fireball that pierced through the ocean's haze, reflecting off the clouds in a breathtaking display.

In the cockpit, a momentary silence hung heavy as Bell observed the awe-inspiring spectacle unfolding before him. The raw power of the explosion, born from demonic ingenuity and destructive capability, held him transfixed. Though not his first encounter with a nuclear detonation, it still sent shivers down his spine. No magic could replicate the intense destructive force unleashed by a nuclear bomb.

"Crimson 1-1, Seahound, confirm visual on detonation. Assessment?" the radio crackled to life, breaking the silence.

“Seahound, Crimson 1-1, I can’t provide visual assessment yet. Over,” Bell responded.

"Roger that, Crimson 1-1. Begin RTB procedure. We'll handle the assessment from here," the air traffic control from the frigate instructed, signaling the end of the mission.

[After Action Reports: 12,438 Humans Killed, 1 Sea Leviathan Killed]

[1,487,066,000 EP Rewarded, 7,219,000 EXP Rewarded]

[Level Up!]

The return flight was uneventful, the steady roar of the engines serving as Bell's constant companion as he navigated through the skies back to Federation airspace. The F-15S sliced effortlessly through the clouds, its powerful engines propelling it forward with ease. Before long, Bell found himself arriving back at Frostwood.

Reflecting on the mission, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Overall, it had been a resounding success.