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May 1981 — The Collapse of the Aegean Front
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The morning came —
but there was no sun.
Only fire.
Smoke.
And the low endless roar of a dying empire.
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The Empire's Combined Fleet — once a force of unbreakable might —
was now broken.
Scattered like ashes across the Aegean Sea.
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Missiles shrieked overhead.
Jet engines ripped open the gray sky.
Explosions hammered the earth and sea alike.
The waters were a graveyard —
Corpses floating in the tide.
Ships burning down to their skeletons.
Steel and fire stretching from horizon to horizon.
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Requests for reinforcement screamed across every channel.
"Request backup! Sector 9 collapsing—"
"Enemy bombers inbound! No air cover!"
"We are losing the straits! We need reinforcements now—"
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But the answer —
always the same:
"Denied."
"Fall back."
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The Aegean Sea —
the cradle of the empire's dominance —
was falling into the hands of the Great Russ Federation.
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And in the center of it —
HMS Venter struggled.
The submarine that once hunted beneath the waves
was now crippled.
Her engines dying.
Her hull groaning against the surface.
Battered too hard to dive again.
She was a whale bleeding out into the sea.
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On the bridge —
Selene von Aetherwald stood.
Hands gripping the railing.
Eyes burning cold.
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No hesitation.
She pointed toward the enemy destroyer still hammering survivors with cannon fire.
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"Prepare the last missiles."
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The officers didn't argue.
Didn't question.
They moved —
silent.
Precise.
Ready to fire even as they sank.
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The tubes hissed.
The missiles launched.
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The enemy destroyer blossomed into fire across the waves.
Ripped open.
Broken in two.
A small victory —
a dying blow from a wounded titan.
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But it wasn't enough.
Not against the storm overhead.
Not against the empire bleeding out at every seam.
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A corvette — one of the last ships not yet sinking —
maneuvered alongside HMS Venter.
Crew waving frantically.
Ropes thrown across the decks.
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The command came, sharp and without pity:
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"Abandon ship!"
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The order no one ever wants to give.
The command that tastes like iron and failure in the mouth.
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Selene didn't blink.
Didn't argue.
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She turned —
checked each corridor herself.
Crew moving —
some limping,
some bleeding,
some silent, faces blank with shock.
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She barked at them:
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"Leave everything. Forget the medals. Forget the pride. Leave it."
"Get to the corvette. That's an order."
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Her voice —
low.
Cold.
Unshakable.
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One by one, her crew crossed the makeshift bridges onto the corvette.
Leaving behind the submarine that had carried them through victories —
and would now carry their dead to the bottom of the sea.
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Selene was the last.
Always the last.
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She stood at the rail.
Saluted sharply.
No tears.
No words.
Just steel.
Just silence.
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Behind her —
her surviving crew lined up on the deck of the corvette.
One by one —
without orders —
they lifted their hands in salute.
Together.
Facing their sinking ship.
Facing their floating grave.
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The submarine's hull dipped under the waves.
One final groan of steel.
One last breath.
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Selene stood motionless.
Until her arms trembled.
Until her heart cracked.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
She would not cry.
She would not give them that.
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But her hands shook at her sides.
Her knees threatened to give out.
The ocean caught the sob she wouldn't let escape.
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Her crew saw.
They said nothing.
They saluted harder.
Because they understood.
Because this —
this —
was a commander they would follow to hell if needed.
Because she broke inside and still stood.
Because she bled and still ordered them to live.
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Above them —
the Aegean burned.
Missiles fell like stars.
The empire they loved shattered piece by piece.
But Selene von Aetherwald stood among the dying —
and still refused to bow.
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