CHAPTER 310: CHAPTER 6: COUNTERATTACK (PART 3)

All the rescue personnel who received the orders had faces full of bitterness and helplessness, unanimously expressing that this was simply an impossible task.

The deck of a modern aircraft carrier is constructed from special alloy steel plates, far surpassing imagination in strength, not comparable to ordinary wooden structures. Force it open? Use your head to break it?

While the lieutenant colonel’s lips were about to dry and crack from anxiety, his personal phone suddenly rang.

The screen displayed a familiar number; it was a colleague from his days at the Naval Academy. Without hesitation, he immediately answered the call.

The colleague on the other end was unusually calm, "Dick, I saw you in the live news broadcast.

You might want to start giving some thought to your future. A high-ranking official wants to contact you."

The lieutenant colonel was stunned for a full thirty seconds. He looked around at the chaotic and bustling firefighting scene in bewilderment and tentatively asked, "What do you mean? Will I be sent to a military trial?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but it will definitely impact your career; you’re unlikely to retire peacefully," the colleague advised, "Perhaps you should take some time to consider it."

Retire peacefully? From the moment the fire broke out, Lieutenant Colonel Dick had already abandoned any such hope.

Such a serious incident necessarily requires someone to take responsibility.

The dead, who have already perished in the flames, certainly cannot be scapegoats. So, someone with enough weight must be offered up to appease public outrage and higher-ups’ reproach.

The lieutenant colonel originally thought this black mark would never be pinned on him, but he was now starting to waver; who can guarantee he’d remain uninvolved?

He unconsciously asked, "What high-ranking official? What does he want?"

"You’ll know once you get in touch. I can’t tell you too much over the phone," the colleague reported a contact number and added coldly:

"This number will only be valid for the next half hour, no more after that."

Lieutenant Colonel Dick did not immediately dial the mysterious number. Instead, he quickly contacted a friend at the Navy Intelligence Agency, asking for help in tracing the source of the number.

A few minutes later, the friend called back, informing him it was a newly activated number, currently turned on, and astonishingly, the connected base station was just outside the Norfolk Naval Base port!

Just outside the port?

The lieutenant colonel’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively turned his head, casting a complex gaze towards the still-blazing Ford aircraft carrier.

Thick smoke blotted out the sky, like a wounded giant beast emitting hopeless roars.

The Norfolk Naval Base, where the aircraft carrier is docked, is not a completely closed military port, with many public waters nearby.

By now, the news of the carrier fire had spread far and wide.

Numerous media reporters with sharp senses, like sharks smelling blood, rented yachts to approach the incident sea area, setting up cameras for shooting.

Several news helicopters could be seen circling in the sky above, their buzzing rumble like annoying flies, driving people restless.

Lieutenant Colonel Dick’s initial reaction was that his old classmate might be deceiving him; the so-called "high-ranking official" might just be a media reporter eager to dig up firsthand news clues.

But...

The lieutenant colonel’s gaze shifted again to where Admiral Alvin was and was surprised to see the usually dignified and solemnly strict general quietly departing.

His steps were hurried, burdened with heavy thoughts, as if he only wanted to flee from the powder keg, with no intention of taking his deputy along.

This scene instantly shattered the last bit of hope in Lieutenant Colonel Dick’s heart. He immediately dialed the number provided by the colleague, and first heard a question:

"Tell me Admiral Alvin’s whereabouts, and afterward, I’ll set you up an escape plan plus two million US Dollars."

Upon hearing this low and cold voice, the lieutenant colonel inexplicably felt it was familiar, likely just heard recently. An electric current seemed to surge through his mind, and he retorted: "Mr. Harden, you’re not dead?"