Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

March 20th, 1939

The vast, unforgiving expanse of the South Atlantic stretched out in all directions as the battered but determined Ruthenian fleet pushed south. The waves, turbulent and dark, rose and fell beneath the steel behemoths that made up the invasion armada. For days now, the Ruthenian forces had been sailing through treacherous waters, their once-unassailable confidence shaken but not shattered.

Onboard the RNS Sovereign, Admiral Artyom Volkov stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the storm-laden horizon. The recent losses had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he was determined to press on. He had no choice. Failure was not an option, not when the Tsar's expectations hung over him like a guillotine.

"Admiral, we're approaching the southern currents," Captain Alexei Leonov reported, stepping up beside Volkov. "The Cape of Good Hope is just a day away. Once we round the cape, we will enter the final stretch toward Valoria."

Volkov gave a curt nod, his mind already racing ahead to what awaited them. "How are the ships holding up?" he asked, his voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil that brewed beneath his calm exterior.

Leonov hesitated for a moment, then replied, "The damage from the Valorian submarine attacks has been mostly contained. The crew aboard the Red Star are still patching up their hull breaches, but she remains seaworthy. As for the Stormbringer, our engineers have restored partial flight operations. We can launch short-range reconnaissance flights, but we're still vulnerable without full air support."

Volkov's jaw tightened. He couldn't afford any more setbacks. Every day they spent repairing ships was another day for Valoria to bolster its defenses. He turned to the communications officer stationed nearby. "Send word to all ships: maintain tight formation as we round the cape. I want our destroyers on high alert for any sign of enemy submarines. The Valorians won't let us pass through these waters unchallenged."

The officer saluted and hurried off to relay the orders. The fleet had been fortunate to avoid another confrontation so far, but Volkov knew that their luck could change at any moment. The waters near the cape were notorious for their treacherous currents and unpredictable weather, making it the perfect place for an ambush.

On the deck of the RNS Ivan the Terrible, the crew braced themselves as the ship crested a massive wave, water crashing over the bow and drenching everyone in icy spray. Captain Yuri Petrov wiped the saltwater from his face and squinted at the horizon.

"Keep your eyes sharp, men!" he barked to his officers. "This is where the Valorians will likely strike if they plan to stop us."

The destroyers, including the RNS Falcon, which had successfully sunk the VNS Sea Serpent, now formed a protective screen around the fleet. Sonar operators strained their ears for any hint of Valorian submarines lurking beneath the waves. The memory of their previous engagements was fresh in everyone's mind. They had drawn blood, but they knew the Valorian wolves were still out there, waiting for another opportunity.

"Captain, sonar is clear so far," reported Lieutenant Gromov, the sonar operator. "But these currents... they're making it difficult to get a steady reading."

Petrov nodded, knowing full well that the churning waters could easily mask the approach of a stealthy submarine. "Keep monitoring. The moment you hear even a whisper of something unusual, I want to know."

As night fell, the Ruthenian fleet finally began to round the treacherous Cape of Good Hope. The sea, already rough, grew even more tumultuous as strong winds whipped across the water, turning the waves into towering walls of froth and spray. The ships groaned under the strain, their steel hulls creaking as they powered through the stormy seas.

Onboard the RNS Sovereign, Admiral Volkov remained on the bridge, his eyes never leaving the horizon. The flicker of lightning illuminated the night sky, casting brief, blinding flashes over the ocean.

"Admiral," Captain Leonov called out, "we've received reports from our scout planes. No signs of Valorian naval forces ahead. It appears their fleet is still concentrated to the north, near their primary defenses."

Volkov's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Good. It means they're expecting us to take a more direct route. But we'll catch them off guard by coming around the south." He turned to his officers. "Once we clear the cape, we'll head northeast and hit their coastal defenses before they can reposition. We need to establish a beachhead before they have time to react."

The fleet pressed on, the storm gradually subsiding as they moved past the worst of the cape's currents. The waters began to calm, and the air grew warmer as they sailed closer to their target. The island nation of Valoria loomed somewhere beyond the horizon, a prize that, if taken, would secure Ruthenia's dominance in the region.

At dawn, the first signs of Valoria's distant coastline came into view—a thin line of green on the horizon, shrouded in the morning mist. The mood among the fleet shifted; there was a renewed sense of urgency. The crews knew that the final confrontation was fast approaching.

"Admiral, we have visual on Valoria's outer islands," Captain Leonov reported with a hint of excitement. "We'll be within range of their coastal defenses within the next twelve hours."

Volkov nodded, a spark of determination in his eyes. "Excellent. Order the carriers to prepare their bomber squadrons. I want a preemptive strike to soften their defenses before we make landfall. And signal the fleet to begin forming the assault line. We will hit them hard and fast."

The orders were relayed, and the fleet began to shift into an attack formation. The aircraft carriers, including the RNS Thunderstrike and RNS Lightning, prepared their squadrons for launch. Deck crews scrambled to load bombs and fuel up the planes, while the pilots received their final briefings.

Onboard the VNS Phantom, still lurking in the depths after narrowly escaping the Ruthenian manhunt, Captain Elias Kovac listened intently to the chatter on the radio waves. The Valorian Navy had been tracking the Ruthenian fleet's progress, and now, it seemed, the moment they had been preparing for was at hand.

"Captain, we've intercepted a communication from the Ruthenian fleet," Romanov reported, excitement in his voice. "They're preparing an aerial assault on our coastal defenses."

Kovac's eyes narrowed. "Inform Volkshalle immediately. Let them know the Ruthenians are moving in. We've bought time, but now we must hold the line."

As the Ruthenian fleet pressed ever closer to Valoria's shores, the final pieces of the chessboard were falling into place. Both sides knew that the coming days would determine the fate of their nations.

The Ruthenian forces, bloodied but unbroken, were ready to strike. And Valoria, battered but defiant, stood ready to defend its home.

The storm that had been brewing for months was about to break in full force.