Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 816, 08.815: "I have a bad feeling, like countless eyes are watching me."

"The instruction confirms that docking stations CA-1 and CB-3 are currently implementing extended procedures."

All personnel, take your positions. Non-operators must immediately leave the area within the designated safety line.

The cold, inhuman synthesized voice echoed through the ship's broadcast system, and the crew members in the corresponding area quickly packed their belongings and left.

As the red access control alarm lights silently rotated, casting crimson arcs of light, the side armor of the light cruiser "Swift Skyhawk" and the supply ship "Light of Babel" slid open in sync, revealing their complex internal mechanical structures.

Two enormous telescopic docking platforms, pulled by roaring drive shafts, reached into the void like the arms of a giant beast.

The hydraulic rods emitted a dull roar, pushing the two 100-meter-long enclosed corridors out section by section until they precisely meshed between the stars.

This hundred-meter-long passageway, supported by several sturdy telescopic supports made of refined gold and armored plastic steel, is suspended between two steel behemoths several kilometers long, making the passageway seem so insignificant.

Around them lies a star-studded abyss, large enough to devour everything.

The ship's hull is covered with Gothic spires and turrets, and ancient emblems and battle scars tell of its long service history, making this brand-new passage look like a fragile bridge temporarily erected between an old church and another.

laugh--

As compressed air was pumped into the sealed corridor, filling the vacuum inside, the inner gate slowly opened with a sharp metallic scraping sound, revealing the cold lights inside the passage.

On one side of the door were the supply crew of the "Light of Babel," wearing heavy work clothes printed with gear and skull symbols, pushing equipment carts loaded with transfer valves and pipelines.

Their mission was to connect the massive water supply pipes beneath the corridor to deliver the precious life-giving water to the warships.

On the other side were the ship's crew aboard the "Swift Skyhawk," dressed in dark gray void combat suits and wielding laser rifles.

They stood like statues, their eyes behind their helmet visors scanning the passageway in a synchronized, all-encompassing arc, alert to any potential threat.

Wearing heavy fireproof and chemical protective suits, the damage control team members passed through the gaps left by the soldiers and began coordinating the water supply process with the supply ship's technicians. Their movements were quiet, efficient, and in accordance with training standards.

Adhering to the pragmatic principle of "connecting all channels," Captain Horatio requested another batch of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Although the nutrient-rich freeze-dried vegetables stored in the warehouse could indeed maintain the crew's physiological functions, Horatio knew that consuming such lifeless rehydrated food for a long time would be nothing short of a slow poison for a fleet that needed to maintain its fighting will in the endless void.

Morale, like ammunition and fuel, is a valuable strategic resource that is immeasurable.

Horatio was always like this; given the opportunity, he would never mistreat his subordinates in these details that maintained humanity.

The entire resupply operation was strictly limited to within twenty minutes.

This was the risk window Horatio calculated based on cold tactical manuals and bloody combat experience. Even a second more of exposure could turn this routine resupply into a disaster in this perilous universe.

On the bridge of the USS Swift Eagle, the air was filled with the strong smell of clean engine oil, the metallic odor of the circulating air, and the faint smell of rust emanating from the data servants in operation.

The towering dome resembled the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral, and cold starlight pierced through the massive armored observation windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor. Newly promoted naval ensign David Beatty stared nervously at the array of oracles before him.

It was a holographic platform with brass trim, projecting a golden grid of space around the ship.

Back in Abyss Harbor, he barely passed the naval officer exam thanks to the policy that "attack ship service records exempted him from the written exam."

As his illustrious brother had said, as long as the written test was bypassed, the interview would be nothing more than a formality, given the prestige and influence of the Ravensberg family.

The specific procedures involved were an unspoken understanding among members of the empire's upper class.

Fortunately, not all Imperial Navy officers enjoyed such privileges as the Ravensberg family scions.

The vast majority of naval officers are qualified to command warships only after undergoing rigorous selection and testing.

Even someone like David Beatty served under Captain Horatio for two whole years, rotating through various departments and experiencing everything firsthand, from oil stains in the engine room to gunfire on the gun deck.

At least in practical terms, he can be considered a qualified Imperial Navy lieutenant.

He served as a signal officer on the USS Swift Skyhawk—the starting point for most newly promoted ensigns in the Navy.

He was responsible for deploying and retrieving the ship's holographic signal flags, as well as receiving encrypted communications from friendly forces.

As he was assigned to the communications department, he also worked with another experienced naval captain to operate the warship's active bird detection system.

At this moment, David Betty's brow was furrowed. He couldn't quite describe it in words, but a deep-seated unease, like cold tentacles, was gripping his insides.

This wasn't some supernatural premonition, but rather an intuitive instinct cultivated through countless simulated battles. This instinct constantly sent him a chilling warning just before he was targeted by the enemy.

He picked up the sandwich beside him, but the delicious combination of freshly baked soft bread and ham slices held no appeal for him at this moment.

He mechanically took a large bite, his gaze still cautiously scanning the busy figures and flashing control consoles on the bridge, trying to find a concrete source for his anxiety.

"Captain."

He lowered his voice and said to the superior officer next to him who was focused on the data panel, "I have a bad feeling about this."

He chewed his food with difficulty, adding indistinctly, and almost choked, letting out a short burp. "It feels...like countless eyes are staring at me. But I can't see anyone."

"Hurry up and eat your lunch, Lieutenant." The captain didn't even look up, his tone carrying a hint of a veteran's impatient tolerance towards a new recruit. "During resupply duty, the captain allowing you to eat on the bridge to recover your strength is already a very generous treatment."

David Betty swallowed hard, his lips making a soft sound. "I'm thinking, should we do a scan? Just in case."

"Hmm?" The captain looked at David Betty with a strange expression. "We're right in the center of the escort group, very safe. Who has the ability to break through the outer defenses and fire torpedoes into the inner layer of the defensive perimeter?"

(End of this chapter)