Watching the expectant look on the officer's face, the soldier hesitated and extended one finger.
Before he could say anything, Feodor had already stepped forward and spoke:
"One? Are you saying, one squadron? Yes, to be able to come from New York City so quickly, they must have utilized the advantage of aerial mobility... Um, tell me quickly, which team is it, and how many planes are there?"
Hearing this, the soldier's finger paused in mid-air, wanting to retract it, but not knowing how to face his boss's expectant gaze next.
Finally, he bit his teeth and said helplessly:
"Commander, there's no squadron you mentioned. The reinforcements from the Hurricane Bureau only sent one plane..."
"What?"
Feodor was stunned, somewhat doubting his own ears.
"What did you say? One plane?"
"Yes, Commander sir."
At this point, the soldier also threw caution to the wind, shrugged his shoulders, and wore a helpless look.
"Bang!"
Feodor slammed the table, his eyes full of anger.
