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When I opened my eyes slowly, the first thing that caught my eye was the ceiling that I didn't recognize.

"It's impossible to write a novel or something......"

Looking at the familiar black mold spots on the ceiling, and moving his body that was a little moldy in the shabby bedding, his spirit gradually recovered, and he remembered why he was in this bed.

"Bet on Yamato, failed." The voice was hoarse, as if something had torn his throat open, and he could feel the hollow noise contained in it.

Remorse, pain, despair, the combination of these emotions is naturally hoarse and unpleasant.

Why, why can't you bet on Yamato?

Countless negative feelings followed, making him subconsciously clench his fists.

Could it be that those with black faces can only accept their fate? Could it be that I can only look up to those rich and hand-picked admirals and silently swallow my bitter fruits?

Does it mean that weak people have to look at other people's show-offs like that? What's wrong with trying everything you can to change your fate? Even if it's just an unrealistic dream, but there is only one way left, so I have to do it!

But, but why, even though it's not the first time, is it still so sad?

"Do you have to make them hungry again......"

Looking at the series of commemorative photos hanging on the wall, he subconsciously muttered.

It was as if my heart was being grabbed by something I couldn't see, and it became a little difficult to breathe. The vision in his eyes gradually began to blur, and he couldn't see the commemorative photo of the breakthrough hanging on the wall.

"One general is incompetent, tired to death of the three armies, that's what I'm talking about."

Lifting the patched bedding, the Admiral got out of bed and slowly looked at the memorial wall.

said that he had broken through the wall of commemorative photos, compared to the commemorative photos of other admirals he knew well, and the countless fresh, bright and smiling ship girls on it, his side was much shabby.

Not only is there no commemorative lace, but even the binding photos are simply nailed with rusty iron nails, which has a dilapidated and helpless steel atmosphere. There is a gloomy and dark aura released on the few photographs. It's not so much a breakthrough as it is more like delaying one's own death.

There are no repairs with those colorful lighting technology PS technology, just a simple photo of the victory to commemorate it. So it's a matter of course that the scenery is so sad. Because no victory is within reach.

"It's been half a year......"

Stroking the photos wrinkled by poor maintenance, and looking at the yellowed codes underneath, the Admiral couldn't help but let out a long sigh.

The marker below the first photo reads 'Northern Deep Sea Grand Fleet Escort Fleet 1-1 Breakthrough - 942.3.16'.

The photo showed only the Grizzled Enterprise and the Admiral himself.

Standing calmly above the deep sea, facing the gray-black water, his eyes lowered. All around is the sinking black deep sea, the equipment on his body is all in tatters, and even the military uniform of the admiral himself has been torn open a few times, and a few wisps of burnt green smoke are emitting miao.

At that time, there was only one utopian fleet, the Enterprise. Therefore, the breakthrough of 1-1 is also the breakthrough of the enterprise number alone. There were no teammates, no support, but they broke through.

So take a picture to commemorate it.

"There have been times when it wasn't cute before."

Looking at the Enterprise with a gloomy look on the photo, the Admiral smiled and slid his finger to the next photo.

'Northern Deep Sea Fleet Strengthens Fleet 1-2 Breakthrough - 942.5.1O'

The photo is no longer alone.

The battleship No. 11O, the No. 2 ship of the Central Plan, and the Enterprise, a total of three ships. He was still gray-faced, in tatters all over his body, and he could even see bruises and scrapes on his body, and he showed a shy smile at the wrinkled photo.

In the background, the huge deep sea that once made him feel desperate gradually tilted down, and finally slowly sank into the deep sea. When he was about to take a photo, the sunken unknown deep-sea battleship spat out the Montana from the core, leaning on the shoulder of the 11o with a bloodless face, and joined the group photo.

"Speaking of which, the Montana seems to be the first ship to be fished out, right?"

When he thought that after seeing that the boat had finally been caught, several people looked at a loss and pushed each other, and he felt the urge to laugh.

"And then, it's the last one."

Looking at the last photo, his face was already full of doting smiles.

'The Core Fleet of the Northern Deep Sea Fleet Breakthrough 1-3 - 942.7.14'

In the photo, five gray-faced girls huggled each other's shoulders and grinned on the body of a black monster, reflecting the surrounding sea of red and black, and made a triumphant gesture to the camera.

It was already evening, and the golden light, along with the Enterprise's plane, drew a white-gold trail of victory behind them.

The white-gold trail merged with the sunlight outside the window and condensed into hope.

It's not a shipwreck, and it's not a death order given by yourself, so what's the use of being so sad? My heart is usually good. If you bet out, you should be lucky, and if you can't bet, there is nothing to be discouraged. Haven't you ever been stuck in the ship even though you have invested resources and materials, but you can't get out?

By the way, there seems to be a model number revealed? Is it called DS-1? You're still stuck in the ship's position eating resources, right? This kind of is all gone, and there is nothing else to care about.

It's just that it doesn't have good combat effectiveness, it's better than nothing.

"Regardless of the gambling ship, there are already six people now, so we can say a final goodbye to the primary sea area around the town guard mansion. It's not that there isn't enough firepower, it's that the ship isn't enough, and this irony can end there. The utopian fleet is now a reorganized fleet. ”

Stroking the photograph taken three months ago, the Admiral smiled self-deprecatingly, picked up the navy hat on the bedside table and put it on his head. After straightening up his patched clothes in the mirror, he walked out of the room.

"There's not much to do other than sweep the surrounding sea and make a plan. Who made me a rotten admiral who couldn't gamble on anything? ”

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