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The sky above the Strait became a chaotic lattice of smoke trails and intercept arcs. A dozen Iranian missiles lunged toward the carrier strike group, their supersonic profiles designed to overwhelm defenses through sheer volume and speed. But the Aegis-equipped destroyers escorting the Roosevelt responded with mechanical precision. Vertical launch systems thundered as SM-2 interceptors leapt into the sky, climbing fast before pivoting toward their targets. Combat information centers glowed with data streams as sailors tracked each hostile vector in real time.
On the Roosevelt’s bridge, Captain Chen stood steady, eyes moving between displays and the horizon beyond the armored glass. There was no shouting, no visible panic—only clipped confirmations and disciplined execution. The crew had rehearsed this scenario countless times, though never under the knowledge that the missiles in the sky were real. Fear was present, but contained, compartmentalized behind training and duty.
By minute five, the first intercept flashes bloomed high above the water—brief bursts of light as incoming missiles were struck and torn apart mid-flight. Debris rained harmlessly into the Gulf. By minute twelve, more than half the threat had been eliminated. A few missiles penetrated deeper into the defensive envelope, skimming lower, forcing close-range engagements. Decoys splashed into the sea. Radar locks broke and re-formed. Yet none of the incoming weapons found their mark. Not a single missile reached the carrier.
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