Chapter 10

"Report, Comrade Chekhov, the 'Zhenxiang' combat squadron has assembled, seventeen expected, seventeen present!"

In the 911 Air Base, the main combat force of seventeen pilots stood neatly in two rows. The deputy squadron leader was the short-haired girl, with eight-pack abs, and her call sign was 'Devil Pepper.' The answer to the question above her was A, and the number couldn't be any larger, or else she might punch herself in the face during high G-force maneuvers and die.

The first alarm sounded, and the pilots who were lounging in the hangar suddenly sprang up like a disturbed chicken coop.

Those who were exercising dropped their fitness equipment, didn't even bother to wipe the sweat, and rushed into their G-suits, reeking of sweat. Those who were playing cards threw down their cards and left, not even bothering to pick up the star yuan bills they had bet. Those who were eating, drinking, and playing immediately focused, fumbling to get themselves properly equipped.

Those who were still sleeping in their dorms rushed out, dragging their shoes and carrying their clothes, scrambling to get there.

The combat flight squadron of the 911 Air Base was called 'Zhenxiang,' which indeed sounded quite strange, lacking the fierce and intimidating aura one might expect. It seemed to be a casual name, but when linked with the pilots' call signs, it became quite interesting.

The squadron leader, Chekhov Leonidovich Ivanov, had the call sign 'Peanut Butter.' The deputy squadron leader, the short-haired girl Ilyana Rousius, had the call sign 'Devil Pepper.' The others used various condiment names as their flight call signs.

With so many condiments gathered together, Emmmm... it really was 'Zhenxiang' (really fragrant)!

It also symbolized a voracious appetite for combat.

The squadron leader, Lieutenant Colonel Chekhov Leonidovich Ivanov, puffed out his chest and stomach, reeking of alcohol, and while pacing, shouted loudly, "Comrades, ah! Comrades, you've worked hard. Let's start verifying the combat mission, ah! Does anyone want a drink?"

He shook his head, feeling extremely good.

Drinking could keep the brain alert, and while flying wouldn't be straight, no one could shoot down the superhuman Comrade Chekhov from the sky.

The random chaotic Brownian motion curve was unpredictable. Unless they also closed their eyes and shot blindly, using probability theory against chaos theory, there was no way to ensure a hit rate.

This guy's reason for drunk driving was truly unique and left people speechless.

It was damn reasonable!

None of the 17 pilots in the 'Zhenxiang' squadron spoke up. Erguotou and Nai were the squadron leader's faith, and no one would seek trouble for themselves.

Seeing no response, Chekhov regretfully twisted the bottle cap, pulled down the zipper of his G-suit, and stuffed the bottle into his crotch, straightening his waist. "I'll go and warm the wine to slay Hua Xiong."

"201 ready!"

"202 ready!"

Two MiG-28 jet fighters from Hangar 2 were towed by the ground crew, one after the other, passing through the gate of Hangar 1 and heading to the open-air apron next to the main runway.

201 and 202 were the serial numbers of the two MiG treasures. The American MiG was originally a joke, with the prototype being the F-20 'TigerShark' jet fighter, a former export star that took twelve years to develop, comparable to the Soviet MiG-21. The MiG-21 could do everything, and the F-20 could do even more, capable of carrying AIM-7 Sparrow air-to-air missiles for beyond-visual-range combat. After upgrading the avionics and engine, it remained a powerful and highly cost-effective aircraft, capable of carrying more and flying farther, making it an excellent air superiority fighter for military contractors, leaving turboprops in the dust.

One shouldn't underestimate the king of the second generation; even third-generation fighters might not be able to match the re-produced F-20.

If one thought that the higher the aircraft model number, the stronger the combat power, they would be greatly mistaken.

After reviving the old production line to generate revenue, the manufacturer, Northrop Grumman, simply slapped on the MiG-28 label and started selling (or rather, fooling) it.

Why can the polar bear make 27, but the bald eagle can't make 28?

How unreasonable!

What is integrity, can it be eaten?

Moreover, one is odd, and the other is even, isn't that perfect?

The MiG design bureau, one foot in the coffin and the other in the museum, was exasperated:凸(艹皿艹*)

Under the wings of the jet fighters, two entirely red missiles were suspended, with three air intakes on their surfaces, making them stand out.

The six A-39B 'Big Mouth' light turboprop attack aircraft, which were also ready, had a red missile hanging from their belly centerline hardpoints.

The blue angel light circles on the warhead's fuse module flickered like breathing, indicating that the missile had been preliminarily activated and was ready to launch.

The 911 Air Base had spared no expense, equipping the 'Zhenxiang' squadron with 'Dragon Killer' missiles, the KDK-1 air-breathing hypersonic smart missiles, which were now activated and on standby.

The target of this emergency mission was a dragon, and a rare golden dragon at that. Despite everyone appearing calm and composed, they were all a bit nervous inside.

The defeat of the Neanderthal clan from the Primordial World was partly due to the participation of the dragons from the Azure Sky World. The combat power of dragons was unmatched, the true rulers of the sky, and the current dragon king was a golden dragon, ready to fight anyone who dared to challenge him, and brutally ruthless.

The 'Dragon Killer' missiles, specifically developed to combat dragons, would have to be used this time.

Boom!~

A rolling thunderous sound came from the distant horizon.

"Roar!~"

The soul-shaking roar echoed in everyone's ears, making even the clouds tremble.

The golden dragon arrived unexpectedly fast.

"Take off! Everyone take off!"

The squadron leader, Chekhov, got into the transport vehicle to head to the apron to board his aircraft.

Killing the golden dragon would bring a huge reward!

Before his words could fully sink in, several silver-tipped spears shot at lightning speed, turning the two MiG-28 jet fighters that had just arrived at the apron into porcupines.

The ground crew members guarding the aircraft were taken aback, their faces turning pale as they turned to flee, but the massive explosion and brilliant flames instantly engulfed them and all the equipment on the apron.

The power supply and fuel trucks that hadn't managed to escape were torn apart.

"Damn golden dragons, they're all lunatics!"

The shockwave from the explosion knocked the unprepared Squadron Leader Chekhov to the ground. He spat out a mouthful of choking smoke, struggled to his feet, and suddenly seemed to remember something. He reached down and felt his crotch, then broke into a lecherous and smug smile, chuckling to himself before turning to call his wingman, the pilot of MiG-28 202, Bason.

"Great, Bason, you'll have to be my fire controller again, huh, Bason?!"

Fortunately, the 'Dragon Killer' missiles mounted under the wings did not detonate in full mode; otherwise, the terrifying destructive power would have created a massive crater on the apron and damaged the nearby main runway, with the destruction equivalent to a 400mm caliber main gun's full-power shell.

Not only would Chekhov Leonidovich Ivanov have been killed on the spot, but even the nearby hangar would have been destroyed.

The two MiG-28 jet fighters were obliterated right before their eyes, but Chekhov and Bason were also the crew of the A-39B 'Big Mouth' light turboprop attack aircraft 211, with 'Peanut Butter' Chekhov as the pilot and 'Lemongrass' Bason as the fire controller.

Whether flying in a two-ship formation or sharing a single aircraft, their默契 (chemistry) was unparalleled, and no one could replace them.

But Bason could no longer respond.

He lay motionless on the ground, half his head missing, covered in blood, with only one lifeless fish-like eye staring at the towering flames and smoke a hundred meters away.

This poor guy hadn't even managed to board the MiG-28 jet fighter when he was decapitated by the shrapnel from the explosion, his body quickly cooling.

Poor partner!

Chekhov punched the ground in anger.

Three plumes of smoke rose from the 911 Air Base, and three anti-aircraft missiles, trailing flames, shot into the sky, accelerating and whistling toward the horizon.

The密集阵 (dense array) anti-aircraft positions and anti-aircraft artillery positions remained silent, afraid of being easy targets, while the anti-aircraft missile positions fired all their missiles in the first wave.

The golden dragon, now a digital dragon, had more attack methods, and any slight negligence could lead to disaster. Therefore, once engaged, they had to unleash all their firepower without hesitation, fighting as fiercely as possible, hoping to find a way out.

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