The horrific scene before his eyes made Chekhov curse incessantly.
Just moments before, a fire extinguisher cylinder had grazed his forehead, nearly taking him down with it.
This was fate; it was either early or late. If you wanted to make a living this way, you had to accept it. There was no choice.
Two MiG-29s, along with their pilot, were killed before they even got off to a successful mission. But the battle wasn't over. Fortunately, the second batch of A-39B "Big Mouth" light turboprop attack aircraft arrived a step too late and escaped unscathed.
Squadron Leader Chekov not only lost his MiG wingman but also the fire control operator for his turboprop aircraft.
No one would ever again clasp their hands together and offer this big bear some effeminate advice: smoke less, drink less, and get a regular lifestyle.
Even pilots aren't immune to being used as tools; they need to be able to fly jets and operate turboprops as well. Versatility is essential. Military contractors might leave their best jet fighters idle, but they won't allow pilots to become complacent for extended periods. After all, good pilots need hours of training and consistent flight practice to maintain their skills; otherwise, hasty takeoffs might not yield significantly better performance than less experienced pilots.
The MiG-28, to some extent, is an advanced trainer, perfect for maintaining pilot proficiency, and its cockpit layout is very similar to the NATO standard MiG-28.
This is why Air Force Base 911 chose two rebadged MiGs instead of equally inexpensive genuine MiGs. At least when switching operating habits and data link interfaces, there's no need to worry about different standards, allowing for easy and cost-effective high-low configurations.
The golden dragon that had intruded into the operational area of Air Service Base 911 and launched its attack from dozens of kilometers away was not unstoppable. At least four fighter jets were engaged with this berserk killing dragon, having pursued it from other air service bases all the way here.
Despite the chaos on the tarmac, littered with the remains of MiG-28s and ground crew, flames scattered everywhere, and thick, acrid smoke billowing from the airfield, it didn't deter the five A-39B "Big Mouth" turboprops in the second echelon from taking an unconventional route. They crossed the grass and entered the runway from near the tarmac.
Even though the 1500-meter main runway was destroyed, the neatly trimmed lawn beside it could still be used for temporary emergency takeoffs and landings; propeller-driven aircraft are often not picky about their takeoff and landing conditions.
Moments later, A-39B "Big Mouth" light turboprop attack aircraft from Air Service Base took off in formation, heading straight for the airspace where the battle was raging.
The crisscrossing cannon tracer trajectories and the massive fireballs from exploding missiles intensified dramatically.
"Take this (Power and Glory)..."
The bumbling Chekhov, who had barely finished shouting, jumped around on the ground in rage. Before he could even finish his boast, he realized he'd been left behind—just a lone major! It was utterly outrageous! His
jet wingman and turboprop fire control pilot had just been literally blown open, his white brains still gushing out, dead with wide-open eyes, certainly not capable of rising again to fight alongside him.
On the runway's takeoff section, only a lone "Big Mouth Monster" remained, its desolation unspoken, only tears streaming down its face.
The A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" was a two-seat light turboprop attack aircraft; Chekhov alone was no match for it!
Even if one could fly, it was ultimately not as efficient as two people working together.
On the battlefield, victory or defeat is often decided in a single move, life or death in a split second. Dancing with death, the difference lies in the smallest of margins. Single-seat aircraft have their advantages, and two-seat aircraft have their strengths, but
Even the strongest fist can't defeat four hands. The latter, with its superior ability to seize the optimal attack opportunity during high-speed maneuvers, has a greater advantage. Turboprop fighters have a smaller turning radius than jet fighters, and their maneuverability is more agile at low altitudes and speeds, making them not entirely helpless even against the so-called Lords of the Sky, the dragons.
After five A-39B "Big Mouth" light turboprop attack aircraft took off, the entire 911 Air Service Base sounded its piercing air raid sirens.
The intense air battle had reached the air service base located on higher ground. Ground crew units, having completed most of their missions, began to retreat to safe shelters to avoid further casualties, as compensation payments would be substantial.
Seeing the new recruit still clutching the thick technical manual, seemingly lost and confused, Chief Mechanic Xiao Ming quickly shouted, "Chen Fei, don't just stand there like an idiot, come with me to the air-raid shelter!"
Bullets have no eyes; a graze is fatal, a touch is fatal. In the eyes of dragons, humans are no different from ants.
Especially in the dictionary of the gold-type dragons, compassion and mercy simply don't exist; they are utterly ruthless.
No one can guarantee that the entire aircrew base will still exist in a moment. Perhaps that gold-type dragon could easily roll a few times, turning all the buildings on the ground into ruins. As long as
people are alive, the base will still exist.
If people are gone, the base will be gone too.
The loss of equipment and supplies is just a matter of money; for the big shots who can contract military bases, money is no object. 911 is just one example.
"I'm coming right away!"
Chen Fei didn't want to put down the technical manual in his hand. He looked at the BCDEFG equipment beside him, wanting to find a small cart to take them all with him.
Just then, Squadron Leader Chekov returned to the hangar, seemingly searching for something.
Only a handful of staff remained in the hangar; most had already evacuated, completely disregarding their belongings.
"Who else?!"
The bear roared, its gaze instantly landing on Chen Fei. It grinned widely, striding forward with an arrogant, maniacal laugh.
"Kid, it's you."
"Chekhov, what are you doing?"
The mechanic, Xiao Ming, was both shocked and furious at the sight. This Slavic barbarian clearly had ill intentions.
"..."
Little Chen Fei was completely bewildered. Caught off guard, the squadron leader of the 911 Aircrew Base's combat flight squadron grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away.
The bear's fan-like paws caught him squarely, almost like lifting a chick.
"Put him down, Chekov, and come back here!"
Xiao Ming chased after him angrily.
If he just stood by and let that bear steal his man, how could he lead the team in the future? He
really didn't know how a bear weighing nearly 300 pounds could run so fast; it tossed Chen Fei onto its shoulder and disappeared in a flash.
The fastest in the sky is the air force, and the fastest on the ground is also the air force—the ancients were right.
By the time Xiao Jixiu reached the takeoff section of the runway, the only remaining A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft was already spinning its propellers, emitting a deafening roar; he could no longer get close.
When Chen Fei, who had been "kidnapped," finally came to his senses, he was horrified to find himself somehow shoved into the cockpit, strapped in with a seatbelt, and even wearing a helmet.
Where am I?
What am I supposed to do?
Hey, hey, I want to get off! This isn't a plane to kindergarten!
The repulsive-looking pilot in the front seat slammed the canopy shut, reached into his pants, tossed it behind him, and then turned to laugh maniacally, saying, "Harasho, have a sip! Major Chekhov will show you how to be cool, he'll take you flying!"
He casually threw a Patton-style salute at the mechanic who was chasing after him from outside, goodbye!
Flustered, Chen Fei caught the bottle of Blue Star Erguotou liquor, which smelled strongly of both Russian and cow's. He was bewildered. Was this the legendary real masturbator, or a urine bottle?
Ah! This caliber… very suspicious!
Σ(°△°|||)︴Chen Fei: Danger! ~
Damn it, this stinky bear is no good!
Can I swear?
"Chekhov, you bastard, you'll die a horrible death, fuck you eighteen..."
Jumping and hopping on the ground, Xiao Ming's voice was quickly drowned out by the roar of the "Big Mouth Monster," and Chekhov, who was controlling the "Big Mouth Monster" to accelerate, let out a strange laugh that sounded like a ghost's howl.
Which story line should I write next?
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