Now they only had 40,000 retrofitted starships left to squander.
However, judging by the current attack intensity of the Federation Fleet, even these 40,000 retrofitted starships would likely be exhausted soon.
He took a deep breath, turned around, and looked at his adjutant.
"How many ships have been conscripted in the second batch so far?"
The adjutant quickly pulled up another set of data.
"As of now..."
He raised his head.
"Approximately 180,000 starships have been conscripted in the second batch."
Rockwell's pupils contracted slightly.
180,000.
Even if split in half, that would be 90,000 ships.
Plus the remaining 40,000.
That made 130,000 ships.
130,000 might seem like a lot, but their actual effectiveness would be minimal.
Rockwell's gaze returned to the screen.
On that battlefield, retrofitted ships were still surging forward frantically.
Federation artillery fire was still pouring down relentlessly.
He remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying an indescribable weariness.
"The second batch of conscripted starships..."
He paused before continuing.
"Assemble them as quickly as possible and deploy them, sending them to L-7 and our Warp Point respectively."
"Furthermore, these 180,000 starships are far from enough.
Tell the people at the Stellar Police Bureau to work harder.
If the third batch of conscripted starships doesn't reach 300,000 ships,
then they can come up here and fight alongside us themselves!
Within three days, I must see 300,000 starships!"
Hearing this, the adjutant couldn't help but voice his concern.
"Commander, isn't three days too short a time?
If we need to equip all 300,000 starships with turrets, torpedo launch tubes, and other weapons,
I'm afraid there won't be enough time!"
Rockwell sneered coldly.
"Then forget about turrets and those weapons. Just weld some steel plates onto their bows.
They can serve as rams!
That way, they'll still count as warships!"
Hearing this, the adjutant felt a chill run down his spine.
This was clearly sending them to their deaths.
In this Interstellar Era of beyond-visual-range combat, the principle of detection equals destruction was fully realized.
Starships equipped only with rams—an ancient naval weapon—would likely be turned into piles of scrap metal the moment they entered the firing range of the enemy forces.
Seeing the adjutant's hesitation,
Rockwell turned his head to look at him.
"Hmm?"
The adjutant hurriedly replied.
"Yes, Commander!
It is their honor to dedicate their strength to the Empire!"
With that, the adjutant quickly relayed Rockwell's orders.
Just then,
the communications officer's voice suddenly rang out.
"Report, Commander!"
Rockwell turned around.
The communications officer stared at the screen before him, speaking rapidly.
"Lieutenant Commander Xavier Fox, commander of the pirate fleet, has sent an Emergency Communication!"
"Jump Point Z-78..."
He paused.
"Has come under attack by the Federation Fleet!"
"Estimated enemy strength..."
He raised his head, enunciating each word clearly.
"A mother-class fleet!"
Rockwell's pupils contracted sharply.
Z-78?
That was their rear.
It was a warp point in the deepest part of the Savannah Star System.
How could a Federation Fleet possibly appear there?
His brows furrowed into a tight knot.
"How could there still be a Federation mother-class fleet there?"
No one could answer him.
The bridge was deathly silent.
Everyone was digesting this news.
Before they could fully process it,
the communications officer's voice rang out again.
This time, more urgent, more tense.
"Report, Commander!"
"Lieutenant Commander Grant Osborn, commander of the Gold Sand Fleet, is hailing us!"
"Jump Point S-22..."
He paused, his voice trembling slightly.
"...is under attack by a Federation Fleet!"
"Estimated enemy strength..."
He looked up.
"...one mother-class fleet!"
Rockwell's body jolted violently.
S-22.
Also the rear.
Rockwell stared at the tactical screen, his brow deeply furrowed.
Two mother-class fleets.
How could they appear there?
The adjutant stepped closer, lowering his voice to voice his suspicion.
"Commander, do you think it could be that Federation Fleet that's been causing trouble behind our lines?"
He paused, then continued.
"Could they have withdrawn to the Savannah Star System and then proactively attacked our warp points?"
Rockwell shook his head.
"Impossible."
His tone was firm, as if stating a fact.
"They should be appearing at Jump Points L-7 and N-12."
The adjutant was taken aback.
"But..."
Rockwell cut him off.
"The quantum communication direction detected earlier by the gravitational wave directional harmonic analyzer was clearly headed towards L-7 and N-12."
His brows furrowed even tighter.
"That was a communication signal between Federation Fleets. It couldn't be wrong."
His eyes swept rapidly across the tactical screen as he muttered to himself.
"Unless..."
His voice grew softer.
"...there's another Federation Fleet hidden here?"
As he spoke, he instinctively turned his head, looking suspiciously out the surrounding viewports.
Outside the windows, there was only the deep, unchanging starfield.
Nothing.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that a pair of eyes was watching him from the darkness.
Seeing him like this, the adjutant's heart tightened.
He stepped forward quickly, his tone urgent.
"Commander! The most critical thing right now is to send reinforcements to Jump Points L-7 and N-12!"
"Two Sub-Level Fleets alone can't possibly hold off the assault of two mother-class fleets!"
"Even with four thousand retrofitted starships helping..."
He paused, a trace of helplessness in his tone.
"...what use could those retrofitted ships possibly be?"
The adjutant's words were like a bucket of cold water poured over Rockwell's head.
He snapped back to reality with a jolt.
Jump Points L-7 and N-12 were currently under siege by Federation Fleets.
The intensity of that firepower suppression made warp conditions impossible.
If Jump Points S-22 and Z-78 were also taken by the Federation...
A terrifying image flashed through Rockwell's mind.
The Pandora and Ares Fleets, two Sequence Fleets, two hundred thousand warships.
With no usable warp points.
Forced to rely solely on their fusion engines, crawling back bit by bit.
How long would that take?
In that much time, the Federation's pursuing forces would have long since caught up.
How many of those two fleets would remain by then?
Rockwell didn't dare to think further.
He slammed his fist down on the command console.
BANG!
The dull thud echoed through the bridge, startling everyone around him.
"What a bunch of useless fools!"
His voice echoed across the Bridge, carrying an uncontrollable fury.
"We sent them four thousand Starships!"
He pointed at the screen toward the Z-78 and S-22 directions.
"Just by having them stationed there, which Federation mother-class fleet would dare charge head-on against four thousand Starships?"
His chest heaved violently.
"They must have leaked the true state of those Starships!"
"Letting the Federation know those were retrofitted ships!"
"Letting the Federation know those were paper tigers!"
The Adjutant stood to the side, head lowered, not daring to speak.
Rockwell took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He rubbed his temples.
A dull ache throbbed there, as if someone were drilling with an awl.
A few seconds later, he lowered his hand
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