"General, should we retreat?"
A massive stone-class battleship stood like a giant shield at the forefront of the fleet, and the adjutant inside was whispering.
In such a dangerous situation, the true big shots would never appear here.
For example, Mr. Stuart, who had previously spoken, was now standing in a glacier somewhere on Sky Bear Star, quietly watching them.
General Cohen, burdened with the higher-ups' will, looked conflicted, appearing to be in his forties, strong and vigorous, but with graying beard, he seemed exceptionally rugged.
His title of General was self-proclaimed within the mercenary group, not an official rank of the Federation.
"Do you dare to retreat? Why don't you try commanding a ship yourself?"
The adjutant hesitated and dared not speak further.
Under this immense pressure, looking at the super-long orbital cannon formed by four slender assault ships, Cohen took a deep breath and finally picked up the communicator, speaking slowly.
