"Their speed is just too fast! We can’t catch up at all! They’ve already breached another formation’s defenses! Radar station! Radar station! We need guidance! We need detailed instructions!" The commander in the Peidao formation, chasing the Tang Army planes, shouted in frustration.
He was truly feeling a bit desperate. With such speed, if they wanted to leave, there was absolutely no way to intercept them.
Moreover, it seed they weren’t leaving but turning around to take them down like fish in a barrel!
"The target’s speed has already surpassed supersonic! They’re making a wide radius turn!" The ground radar station was guiding the pursuing troops, but their efforts were basically futile: "They’re at your 1 o’clock direction... 2 o’clock direction..."
"Altitude! Their altitude!" The Dorne Air Force pilots, who couldn’t see the target at all, were going mad. They felt like they were running blindfolded, trying to catch soone based on hints in a playground.
Hell, their speed didn’t match up, their reactions couldn’t keep up; this ga just couldn’t be played well, right? Venting in his mind, the Dorne pilot called out once again to the ground command radar: "Altitude! Their specific altitude!"
"Altitude is above 6500 ters... approximately 7000 ters... there’s so variation; their speed is too fast, our detection might have so errors," the radar operator at the ground radar station reported the target’s paraters embarrassingly.
They had done their best, but these old radar models had extrely limited capability in capturing three coordinates, with stability being very poor, often resulting in malfunctions.
They were already very satisfied, because today, the Great Tang Empire’s most deadly electromagnetic interference hadn’t acted, allowing the ground guidance radar to function and keeping communication between the ground and sky intact.
If it were usual, once the Tang Army’s electromagnetic interference started, many of Dorne’s radar stations would be forced to shut down: they feared attacks from anti-radiation missiles, so they would shut down radar and hide.
And those radars that remained operational could see absolutely nothing in the sky; the screen would be filled with interference noise, forget planes; you might not even be able to see a blimp.
As for communication, it was even more hopeless: on the ground, people could still try to avoid interference by using wired communication, but ground-to-air communication can’t be wired, right? So, the Tang Army’s electromagnetic interference would completely sever Dorne Air Force’s communication.
This was deadly; Dorne’s planes didn’t have radar detection thods, and once airborne, they entirely relied on ground guidance to approach enemy aircraft facilities for interception combat.
Without communication, ground guidance completely disappeared, and those Dorne pilots airborne imdiately turned into blind n, without even a guide by their side.
They were like headless flies crashing around in the sky, lucky only to return without success, or unlucky to be shot down by Tang Army planes.
"Climb! Climb! They’re already above us!" The Dorne commander of the pursuing formation ordered loudly; their altitude was only over 6000 ters, while the opponents were about 1000 ters higher, which wasn’t good news.
Throttle increased, and four Peidaos began a slow climb: Despite Peidao fighter jets’ climb efficiency for propeller planes seeming miraculous, compared to second-generation jets known for speed, Peidao’s climb speed was obviously lacking.
Though engines continued roaring, the change in their altiter reading wasn’t significant. At this mont, a pillar of white smoke suddenly rushed from the side, then precisely turned to target the climbing wing of a Peidao.
The wingman’s pilot didn’t even have ti to call for help before the tail of his plane was engulfed by a blast of flas.
The proximity fuze ignited the warhead; countless fragnts pierced the Peidao’s fuselage, leaving it riddled with holes and igniting the fuel inside.
In an instant, the explosion broke the Peidao into two parts, with only half the fuselage and two wings trailing smoke as they plumted toward the ground.
"Number 6! Number 6! Respond if you hear ! Respond if you hear !" Watching the descending smoke, the leading Dorne commander repeatedly shouted commands over the communication channel.
He hoped to hear the wingman’s answer, but what answered him was a despairing silence. Shrapnel pierced the plane’s cockpit, and the holes and blood on its canopy spoke volus.
As the Dorne commander continued calling, the left wing of the plumting Peidao broke, even the descent trajectory lost control.
It spun toward the ground, but now no one would gaze at that tragic scene because the second white smoke was already charging at the Peidao formation, and everyone was frantically avoiding it.
Yet the Thunderbolt Missile seed to have eyes, instantly turning to pounce on the turning Peidao fighter jet, exploding at a very close range into a storm of steel fragnts.
Like countless sharp blades, these fragnts pierced through the Peidao’s fuselage in an instant, leaving countless holes on the tal skin.
Through the headset ca the screams of the pilot in that plane; he seed to have been hit but didn’t imdiately lose consciousness.
"I’ve been hit! There’s blood everywhere... I need to bail out..." The communication channel broadcasted his muddled voice, but inside the cockpits of the remaining two Peidaos, the pilots saw that the canopy of the fighter jet, numbered 7, wasn’t opened.
"Bail out quickly! Get out of that damned plane!" The commander in the 5th fighter jet, responsible for directing the action, shouted in a raspy voice as if the louder his voice, the faster the other could act.
Regrettably, the aircraft had already lost one wing, and it began to tumble irregularly, the enormous G-forces making bailing out several tis harder for the pilot.
Perhaps, if not wounded, the pilot could have struggled, but in the cockpit filled with blood every ti he moved, the wounded pilot couldn’t bail out.
He could only wail in despair in the cockpit, quickly losing consciousness due to blood loss and overload. That hopeless whimper sent chills down the spine, tearing apart the courage of everyone remaining in the channel.
"Dive! Dive! Accelerate! Get out of here! Damn it! I haven’t even seen the enemy planes! They’re demons! Demons!" The leading Dorne pilot lost his composure, screaming loudly in the command channel.
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