"Enough!" The commander abruptly waved his hand, interrupting the young pilot's passionate speech, his tone carrying a hint of exhaustion and helplessness, "If you insist on going, then go."
He paused, his tone becoming heavy: "But, you must understand, our airport has no reserves of high-grade aviation fuel left."
Saying this, his brow furrowed deeply, a trace of pain in his eyes, "The fuel supply was cut off days ago."
The young pilot was stunned, seemingly unanticipated such a situation. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing came out.
"So...," the young pilot's voice trembled, he looked at the commander with disbelief, hoping for a negative answer: "the Peidao Fighter Jet has no way to take off?"
"Yes." The commander nodded heavily: "The best two modified Peidao Fighter Jets in our hands require high-grade aviation fuel to operate normally, and now we have..."
He spread his hands helplessly, "Nothing at all."
