Tang Mo had several aircraft dedicated to himself, each of these C47s underwent stringent inspection and modification, making them fundantally different from those C47s operating comrcially.
Although not as luxurious as those heavily modified planes of the 21st-century tycoons, they could essentially be described as comfortable.
Each ti his plane took off, fighter jets also launched to escort it, ensuring the King’s absolute safety in the air.
The Butcher fighters escorting, the FW-190 fighters, were unsurpassed in performance—they were the most advanced weaponry that this era and this world had to offer in the skies.
The interiors of Tang Mo’s C47 aircraft were redecorated with an additional layer to isolate noise and make the best use of the internal space to enhance the comfort of the flight experience.
Such modifications increased the range of the aircraft while reducing the number of crew mbers. Under normal circumstances, Tang Mo’s private plane could only accommodate four people.
Compared to today’s presidential aircraft, Tang Mo’s plane was more like a small private business aircraft rather than a large official one.
After all, the C47 was too small, offering limited space for modifications: such a plane could carry just so many paratroopers and could transport only a handful of people without any changes.
Even Tang Mo couldn’t hold etings on his private aircraft. However, he could issue commands to forces on the ground while airborne, sothing other countries were unable to do.
These types of aircraft were not for sale, as Tang Mo neither wanted to sell the production technology for all-tal airplanes nor release the advanced engine technology prematurely.
After all, World War II-era technology was interlinked—if other countries mastered the engine technology of the C47 transport aircraft, it wouldn’t be a problem to adapt it for single-engine fighters.
Even if the performance was slightly inferior, it would imdiately equip those countries with fighters that were usable, which was not what Tang Mo wanted to see.
If that happened, Tang Mo’s Air Force pilots would face challenges; they could be shot down, a loss that Tang Mo considered too costly.
He wanted his adversaries to have aircraft, but they should be outdated with minimal resistance capability. Tang Country’s fighter pilots should be able to shoot down these enemy crafts as if they were hunting, without expending much at all.
Hence, the technology he released was actually biplane technology, with covers made of canvas and bodies of wood.
Such aircraft could be mass-produced cheaply, but their performance, frankly, was not impressive. They rely solved the issue of availability, not usability.
Yet, when young people from around the world experienced this entirely new weaponry, they were still awestruck by the biplanes that, albeit rudintary, could indeed take to the skies.
When they were first packed into the back seats and strapped in by ground crew, they were as nervous as tourists about to ride a roller coaster.
Unaware of the challenges they would face, they clenched their fists in tension, watching the propeller spin to life and feeling the engine vibrate the aircraft body.
"Don’t be nervous! This is just an introductory flight, all you have to do is concentrate and enjoy the whole process," said a young Tang Country flight instructor in the front, who was also quite youthful— in fact, they were all recent flight school graduates themselves.
Tang Mo couldn’t possibly search for a group of experienced pilots to teach; he wasn’t foolish. Each subtle action of those pilots could be a life-or-death lesson learned through hard experience, so how could they easily show it to others?
Everyone was young, but the young pilots were truly in a league of their own. After a few days of interaction, the young interns from various countries were thoroughly impressed by these youthful Tang Country instructors.
In terms of knowledge, these instructors were far superior, all having been trained as elite talents by Dragon City University. Even if they weren’t pilots, they were more than capable of excelling in any job.
In terms of ability, there was no question; they were trained to beco formal pilots, and the investnt Tang Country made in them was not for nothing. One could say that each of them was built with money.
"I, I’m not, I’m not nervous," stamred the apprentice, speaking shakily during their first ti stepping away from the ground, challenging gravity.
Everyone has firsts. The first ti sitting in a comrcial airplane, even in the spacious and comfortable cabin, most people still feel nervous.
The situation now is, if you were soaring skyward in an open-top car, would you be able to maintain a very calm deanor and face it with equanimity?
"It’s alright, if you throw up, at least there’s no glass around you!" The young instructor in front turned around and chuckled, and after those words, the trainer aircraft began to sluggishly move forward.
With the roaring of the engine, the plane taxied on the runway, gaining more and more speed.
Just as it was about to sprint to the end of the runway, the apprentice pilot in the back suddenly felt a floating sensation as their body followed the lift of the aircraft’s fra.
His feet no longer sensed a firm connection with the ground; his body seed to have started to float. The plane undulated up and down in such a strange way that it was indescribable.
Because it was an open cockpit, he, wearing goggles, could clearly see the earth below gradually growing distant, the trees at the far end of the airport runway, their canopies already below his feet.
He could breathe in the scent of the forests carried by the strong winds; he could also feel that thrilling sensation of flying high above.
"Wow! It’s so beautiful!" As he watched the trees swiftly recede and shrink, the young flying apprentice from Shireck beca utterly excited.
This was a sensation he had never felt before, one that those flying in comrcial planes would never be able to experience.
Small planes are actually quite erratic in the air due to the airstreams; their bumpiness is completely different from large planes, and the feeling of controlling them is also distinct.
"This is aweso! So much fun!" The novice, experiencing this sensation for the first ti, was shouting with excitent in the back, but soon his voice grew fainter.
There’s no helping it, as when a normal person sees the ground receding further and further below them, fear starts to grow—this is the innate respect for heights found in our genes, a demon that all pilots must overco.
"My goodness... How, how high are we now?" The apprentice who had been shouting and laughing loudly now forgot his frenzy and started to be afraid again.
"Just over 1,300 ters, don’t be nervous; our climb limit actually exceeds 4,000 ters," the young instructor called out, relaxed: "There’s a strong wind! You can close your mouth tight!"
After he finished speaking, he kept controlling the plane’s ascent with a smile, dissatisfied with the painfully slow climb rate of the old biplane.
If it were an FW-190 fighter, by now he might already have reached an altitude of 5,000 ters, right? That kind of enclosed, pressurized cockpit would be more comfortable, and the plane would be faster.
Compared to the fighters equipped by Tang Country, these old trainers were practically antiques, more clumsy and more difficult to control, making them highly unlikable.
"Our current altitude is 1,500 ters!" This ti the instructor didn’t turn around, rely calling out an altitude before continuing to pilot the plane higher.
Truth be told, even wearing a leather jacket, even wrapped in a scarf, even with goggles on, the apprentice still felt cold.
Though the windscreen sliced through the strong wind, so of it still hit the apprentice in the face, and the icy air was creeping into the gaps of his clothing; he didn’t even care to look down at the increasingly distant ground anymore.
"Instructor... how, how high are we, are we planning to, to fly today?" He tried to make his speech more fluent, but regretfully, he couldn’t.
"Around 3,000 ters should do! The first ti, no need to push the limits," said the instructor, piloting the ascending plane without turning back.
After a brief pause, the instructor continued, "Later, I have to demonstrate so maneuvers like rolls and dives—that’s the exciting part."
The apprentice sitting behind truly wanted to tell his instructor that he didn’t need excitent right now; what he needed was to safely return to the ground.
"What did you have for breakfast?" After a long climb, the instructor asked a rather odd question out of the blue.
While the flying apprentice was still pondering what he had for breakfast, he suddenly felt the plane abruptly pitch upward.
His body seed to grow heavy, and he had no choice but to lean against his seat, his gaze gradually turning upward to the sky.
Then, he felt his blood rushing to his head, and the earth beneath his feet ca back into his field of view, although it was now above his head.
The old biplane executed a clumsy sorsault in the air, during which the apprentice pilot nearly threw up his breakfast.
He tried hard to clench his mouth shut, striving to keep his ingested food in his stomach. After all, breakfast here was really lavish and too expensive for him to waste any.
After turning a sorsault, the plane began to dive, and during the dive, it perford two barrel rolls.
Consequently, the apprentice was unable to hold back his breakfast any longer, and he started to vomit incessantly… Luckily, there was indeed no cockpit cover around, and the vomit was scattered by the wind.
However, so of the partially digested mush still managed to stick to the apprentice’s own face and even cover his goggles.
Seeing nothing, he suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of security. He could no longer see the earth rushing towards him, nor the terrifying scenes of sky and ground interchanging.
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