Reincarnated with the Country System

The Bernardian aircraft thundered low over the sea, their engines ripping through the storm like iron beasts. Their radars painted the horizon with hostile markers, but their eyes were locked on the target: the Vosha, Indiana's colossal Nagaratha-class carrier.

Unlike any modern vessel, Vosha was a hybrid of ancient and arcane design—its wooden hull reinforced with enchanted steel, its decks crowded with siege towers, ritual circles, and rows of tethered flying beasts. Smoke curled from its chimneys, runes flickered across its planks, and hundreds of crew stood ready with bows, ballistae, and spellbooks.

The Bernard pilots had trained for years, but few had imagined this scene: a city-class ship fused with sorcery, bearing down on them like a floating fortress.

"Sword-One to all wings, target is Vosha. Ignore escorts. Punch through and hit her towers before they activate barriers."

Commander Hartmann's order was sharp and immediate.

The jets descended in attack runs. From the decks of nearby Indiana warships, ballistae twanged, hurling glowing bolts of steel. Mages lined the rails, chanting in unison, unleashing firestorms and jagged shards of ice skyward. The first volley tore into the air, exploding among the aircraft.

"Incoming spells! Defensive maneuvers!"

Sword-Two pulled hard right. A fireball grazed his wingtip, flames licking across the fuselage before the suppression system kicked in. Another jet wasn't so lucky—ice spears pierced its canopy, killing the pilot instantly as the plane spiraled into the sea.

But most of the strike force punched through.

Bernard technology held. Their electronic countermeasures scrambled the magical targeting systems. Their speed outpaced the old arcane weapons. By the time Indiana's galleons reloaded, the jets were already streaking toward Vosha.

...

The carrier loomed like a fortress on the waves. Its deck swarmed with handlers releasing gryphons, wyverns, and thunderbirds into the air. The beasts took wing, screeching, lightning crackling from their talons.

But the Bernard pilots were ready.

"Fox-Two, Fox-Two!"

Missiles screamed from underwing pylons, trailing contrails across the storm. The first salvo struck the deck, detonating among the beast pens. Fire and gore erupted as half a dozen gryphons were torn apart before they ever left the deck. Their handlers were shredded by shrapnel, hurled into the sea.

Another missile slammed into a tower on the starboard side. The structure exploded violently, its wooden beams collapsing onto the deck below.

"Direct hit! Tower collapsing!"

The pilots pressed the attack. Cannon fire tore through the carrier's upper decks, ripping apart crew and equipment alike. Mages trying to raise protective wards were cut down mid-chant, their blood painting the runes.

Bombs followed. Precision-guided, they dropped in arcs of fire, smashing into the carrier's aft section. One penetrated deep before detonating, blasting open the hull and sending flames roaring skyward.

The Vosha shuddered. One of its arcane towers toppled, crushing dozens of soldiers as it fell. A section of deck caved inward, swallowing men and beasts into the flames.

Chaos spread. Indiana's officers screamed orders, trying to restore order. Mages rushed to stabilize the barrier wards, but the explosions had disrupted their runic chains. Soldiers with buckets and conjured water spells scrambled to douse the flames, but the fire fed on the enchanted wood, burning hotter and spreading faster.

Thunderbirds launched from their cages, wings sparking with fury, but many were cut down before reaching altitude. The Bernard jets weaved through their counterattacks, guns blazing, shredding feathers and flesh alike.

The pilots exhaled sharply, adrenaline pumping.

"Sword-One, this is Dagger Flight. Deck is lit up. One tower down, multiple fires confirmed."

"Good work. Keep pressure. Destroy their defenses."

The great carrier—Indiana's pride—was bleeding.

...

Fleet Admiral Varun Sen was observing the entire battle from his flagship.

"Admiral, Vosha is under heavy attack. One tower destroyed, multiple casualties."

"Our forward galleons report severe damage. Thunderbirds are struggling against enemy flying machines."

Varun Sen's jaw tightened. The Bernardian fleet had struck with precision, using technology beyond anything Indiana possessed.

And now, his great carrier—his symbol of power—was burning.

"Unacceptable," he growled. His voice carried like thunder across the deck. "Signal to all ships: close distance. Advance at full speed. We will not allow them to dictate this battle."

The order spread instantly. Indiana's entire fleet—hundreds of enchanted ships, war galleons, and spell-towers on floating platforms—began to surge forward, their sails glowing with magical propulsion. Drums thundered. Crews shouted as the line advanced toward the Bernardian carriers on the horizon.

But as the Indiana fleet advanced, the sea lit with fire.

The Bernard carriers and cruisers unleashed their long-range weapons. Vertical launch silos roared open, and dozens of cruise missiles streaked into the air.

Indiana lookouts screamed warnings, but the weapons were too fast. They arced across the sky, descending onto the advancing fleet like meteors.

The first wave struck the forward galleons. One ship was hit amidships, the explosion ripping it clean in half. Another took hits in succession, vanishing in a blossom of fire and water.

A spell-tower platform was obliterated in a single strike, its mages disintegrated before they could cast their wards.

The sea churned with wreckage and flame.

On the flagship, the deck shook violently as a near miss detonated a hundred meters off the starboard side. Officers stumbled, shouting reports over the din.

"Admiral! Enemy attack devastating our vanguard!"

"Casualty reports climbing!"

Varun Sen gritted his teeth, knuckles white on the railing. His fleet was taking punishment unlike anything in their history.

"Form the shield wall!" he roared.

At his command, dozens of mage-ships lit their runes. Giant translucent domes shimmered above the fleet, overlapping to form a glowing wall of energy. The next salvo of missiles slammed into the shields, detonating in massive fireballs. Some barriers held. Others shattered instantly.

...

Meanwhile, in the air, Bernardian pilots circled for another strike, but fuel and munitions were running low.

"Sword-One, we've done heavy damage. But Vosha isn't sinking. She's still moving."

"Copy. One more strike run, then we disengage."

Commander Hartmann's voice was steady, but he knew the risk.

The carrier's defenders were regrouping. Magicians, now organized, were forming layered wards.

The sky became a lethal maze of lightning, arrows, and anti-air magic.

A missile struck Vosha again, ripping through its starboard hull. Flames poured from the wound, smoke blackening the sky. But still, the giant carrier did not sink. Its sheer size and magical reinforcements kept it afloat.

Inside their cockpits, Bernard pilots felt both triumph and unease. They had inflicted terrible damage—but they hadn't finished the job.

And now the enemy fleet was advancing with renewed fury.