"Is everything alright, Winter?" Shire contacted General Winter through the radio.
At this moment, General Winter had been transferred to the battleship "Prince of Wales," his face blackened by smoke, half of his eyebrows singed, and his right hand wrapped in bandages hung around his neck.
These injuries were sustained when he evacuated from "Canada," where thick white high-temperature gases from the fire and steam pipelines significantly reduced visibility, taking quite some time to find the ladder hanging on the ship's side.
"I'm fine, Shire." General Winter replied; however, his face showed otherwise.
"I warned you," Shire said, "you wouldn't succeed."
"Yes, I lost, Shire." General Winter's expression was complex, his tone carrying a hint of anger:
"So, stop saying these pointless words."
"We can be straightforward; tell me what you want?"
"I mean, how do you plan to deal with us?"
Shire chuckled:
