Chapter Forty-Seven: Descending from the Heavens

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Shrouded in darkness, the unmanned reconnaissance drone—barely larger than an ordinary seabird—was nearly impossible to detect even with military-grade radar, let alone here on the island where no such equipment existed. The island itself was home to the largest variety and number of large seabirds in the region.

About fifteen minutes later, the drone arrived safely over its target, circling the small island as images streamed back in real time.

Lei Dong adjusted his visor, connected to “Polaris,” and after a few seconds of static, the scene of the island unfolded continuously before his eyes.

The image quality was decent, albeit a bit shaky. But considering the drone’s compact build and total weight under ten kilograms, to relay such images at a thousand meters high, in pitch blackness and driving wind and rain, Lei Dong couldn’t help but inwardly give a thousand silent praises to the Republic’s engineers.

The drone circled the island’s periphery, then, under Song Jingang’s remote control, swept toward the island’s interior. With only one drone operating, reconnaissance was slower than initially planned, but within a dozen minutes, the general situation of the island was laid bare.

Before boarding the flight to Saint Emperor Bright Island, Lei Dong and his comrades had already familiarized themselves with the basics of this island.

Once part of the archipelago nation called the Republic of Gibaris, the island had boasted excellent tourism resources. Yet, over twenty years ago, global warming began melting Antarctica’s eternal glaciers, causing the sea level to rise steadily. This island, with an average elevation of less than fifteen meters, was rumored to be doomed to total submersion. The then-president of Gibaris, Tanoa, believed the rumors and forcibly relocated all 1,400 inhabitants, abandoning all infrastructure—airports, docks, everything.

From that moment, the island, once bustling and famous for the migration of millions of red crabs that drew throngs of tourists and research teams, became a deserted wasteland.

Though Lei Dong had seen photographs of it in the files, seeing the drone’s live feed made him involuntarily curse, “Damn, that’s wicked!”

From the bird’s-eye view at a thousand meters, the western fifth of the island appeared as an irregular oval. From north to south, it stretched about nine kilometers, and about six kilometers east to west. From the upper part of the oval, a narrow strip of land—twenty kilometers long but only about four wide—extended slightly southeastward, ending abruptly in a mushroom-like tip.

Yes, your suspicion is correct: the island’s bizarre shape was unmistakably reminiscent of a man’s phallus, slanting across the sea!

“No wonder it belongs to the ‘Gibaris’ Republic—the resemblance is uncanny!” This wicked thought flitted through Lei Dong’s mind, just as his gaze sharpened.

At the island’s narrow southeastern tip stood a towering structure: the famous statue of the Bright Saint Emperor. From the crown of its head, the beacon’s yellow light pierced the shroud of night, flashing ceaselessly.

After passing over the statue, the drone quickly lowered to around five hundred meters, flying west along the island’s central axis.

Through his visor, Lei Dong saw that the island was blanketed in a layer of yellowed vegetation. Clearly, the island’s flora had once flourished; wild grass grew rampant in most areas, untamed for years, and now stood taller than a man.

On the northern shore, a barely recognizable dock jutted into the sea; to the south, the tall trees common to the temperate zones of the southern hemisphere. The recent hurricane had wreaked havoc: trees were toppled in swathes, some too small or shallow-rooted to withstand the force, torn from the ground and scattered in chaos.

Yet the ever-present wild grass clung tenaciously to the earth. Though bent and battered, it struggled upright, displaying a vitality that moved Lei Dong.

Even more striking, amid the sea of wild grass, a vast brown fissure—several meters wide and nearly two kilometers long—split the land!

“What is that...?”

Lei Dong nearly cried out. On an island deserted for twenty years, such a scar could only mean one thing—the answer was obvious!

His heart pounded as Huang Xiwen’s voice crackled in his earpiece: “Number Two, lower the drone!”

“Understood!” Song Jingang replied, carefully bringing the drone down to about three hundred meters.

The reduced altitude brought sharper, more detailed images. Now it was clear: the enormous track across the island’s center was caused by something massive skidding at high speed. The trail ended in a dense stand of catalpa trees, their depths swallowed in shadow, but at the edge, hidden in tall grass, a silver behemoth lay still—its nineteen-meter blue tail fin jutting skyward—

A Boeing 777-200 passenger jet!

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“Bingo!” Lei Dong whispered in excitement, hearing his teammates breathe sighs of relief in his earpiece.

Only now did the anxious weight in everyone’s hearts finally ease.

During the pre-mission briefing, An Jing had, with her prodigious intelligence analysis, asserted that the plane was on this island. Yet none could entirely quell the worry: What if the aircraft had crashed? What if it hadn’t flown this way at all? What if...

Now, all such doubts were swept aside!

With the plane located, it was now a matter of devising proper tactics and striving for the best outcome possible.

The drone pressed on. At the island’s broadest point, a small hill rose up—no more than fifty meters high, covering less than a hundred square meters. This was the island’s highest point and sole “mountain,” thickly forested.

“Number Five! Secure the high ground, cover the team’s landing!” Huang Xiwen’s calm order came through the earpiece.

“Understood!” Lei Dong released his visor, glanced around, and adjusted his wing suit to veer from the formation, accelerating toward the hill.

But just as he changed course, a faint flicker of fire caught his eye atop the dark hill. The light was minuscule, but to Lei Dong it flashed like lightning.

“Someone’s there!” He whispered the warning into his throat mic, and immediately pulled up his wing suit.

Huang Xiwen was startled too. “Number Two, recall the drone!”

Before Song Jingang could reply, Lei Dong cut in, “No! I’ll go first!”

He knew the drone’s camera had limited resolution: too high and it might miss crucial details; too low and, despite its quiet engine and the masking effect of environmental noise, it might alert any adversary, jeopardizing the mission.

It was just past four in the morning, the darkest hour, clouds thick overhead. In such conditions, his own silent approach through the night sky would be more concealed.

Blocking Song Jingang’s recall, Lei Dong, two kilometers away, squinted hard, forcing his vision to its limits, and cast his senses toward the hill.

The darkness was nearly absolute. Even with his preternaturally keen sight, he could only make out faint shadows. In the gloom, the faintest red glow flickered, a dozen meters above ground.

Drawing closer, Lei Dong discerned a small platform built between two thirty-meter trees, a shadowy figure standing on it, leaning against the left trunk, head bowed, right hand at his mouth—“Damn, he’s still smoking!” Lei Dong instantly understood the man’s action.

Confirming there were no others nearby, Lei Dong carefully guided his wing suit, gliding silently toward the two trees.

Five hundred meters, four hundred, three hundred, two hundred, one fifty...

He dropped rapidly. As he hovered barely ten meters above the platform, the shadow abruptly stirred, as if sensing something. Lei Dong didn’t hesitate—he slapped his chest, jettisoned his wing suit, and dove at the figure like a hawk!

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Two thousand kilometers away, on Masnik Island, at the Minia Federation Navy logistics base.

Base Commander Colonel Moore Anderson stood outside his office, gazing up at the stars, then checked the hands of his military watch, shrugged, and muttered, “Fifteen minutes to go.”

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Since receiving the emergency landing request over two hours ago, Anderson had ignored others’ advice and insisted on waiting by the runway to greet the arriving “Sea Gods.”

Born into a navy family, Anderson had always dreamed of joining the Sea God Assault Team, though he never managed it. Twenty years ago, however, the squad had once saved his life in battle.

So, though he had no idea what mission they were undertaking—certainly a perilous one—he was sure victory would be theirs. He didn’t know why they were landing at this modest naval base, but as a long-time admirer of the renowned special forces unit, he was eager to meet these brave and lovable young men.

Above, the distinctive roar of a Hercules engine broke the night. Anderson shouted excitedly, “Tower, guide them in for landing! Neo, show your skills—brew up one hundred and forty cups of strong, fragrant coffee! Hey, kitchen crew—has the boys’ dinner been prepared? We need turkey, juicy steaks, the finest cheese, the freshest fruit, and the hottest pine nut liqueur—I want these lads to have a grand welcome feast!”

As commander of a medium-sized navy logistics base, Anderson felt fully capable—and authorized—to ensure these admirable Sea Gods would leave with fond memories of this hurricane-swept night.

Under the tower’s guidance, the Hercules aligned for the runway, landing gear lowering smoothly. Just then, Anderson’s young, handsome sergeant major, Neo, rushed from the command post, shouting, “Colonel, sir, telephone—the Chief of Naval Staff, Admiral Nelson!”

Anderson glanced at the descending aircraft, frowned, and went inside.

“Admiral, this is Colonel Anderson!”

“Hello, Anderson, has the plane landed?” The voice on the line was urgent.

“Yes—ah, no, Admiral, it’s just coming in now...”

But the Admiral had no patience for details and cut him off: “Refuel immediately. In thirty minutes, the plane must take off and return the way it came!”

“What? Admiral, the hurricane’s almost here!” Anderson was nearly stunned by the command.

“I know, but they must return!” The admiral’s voice was stern, brooking no argument. Anderson almost wondered if the old men at Warthington Naval Headquarters had lost their wits. His face reddened as he protested, “Admiral, that’s a category 14 super-hurricane—with torrential rain! Forcing them to fly in this is nearly a death sentence for our boys!”

Neo was dumbfounded, never having seen his always-polite, gentlemanly superior argue so fiercely—especially not with the highest military authority in the navy.

Admiral Nelson sighed, his tone softening, or so he thought. “Yes, I know all that. My meteorologists have briefed me. But you don’t know what’s happening there. I’m sorry—this is top secret. Until I have authorization, I can’t tell you anything. But I must stress, everything happening there concerns the Federation’s most vital interests!”

“But...” Anderson struggled to find words, repeating “but” several times, yet never finishing the sentence.

“No buts—the order stands! The same order has already been relayed to the aircraft...” Perhaps realizing something, Nelson sighed. “Very well, I’ll allow a little leeway—twenty extra minutes, so they can at least enjoy a good supper. But let me repeat: the order must be executed!”

The call ended. Outside, the engines were dying down. As Anderson watched the assault team pour off the plane, cursing in furious frustration, he suddenly felt the sea wind biting through him, colder than ever before—a deep sense of foreboding settling over him.

“Shit!”