The horrific scene that unfolded before him made Squadron Leader Chekhov swear profusely.
Just monts ago, a fire extinguisher canister had flown past his forehead, narrowly missing him as well.
This was fate, whether it arrived early or late, choosing to work in this field required this awareness, with no other options available.
Two MiG-28s along with one pilot had perished before achieving any victory, but the battle was far from over. Fortunately, the second wave of A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft, due to their late arrival, had narrowly escaped destruction.
Squadron Leader Chekhov had lost not only his MiG wingman but also the fire control operator of his turboprop.
No one would again effeminately beg this Big Bear to smoke less and drink less, insisting on a regular lifestyle with folded hands.
Even pilots couldn't escape the fate of being re tools—they needed to know how to fly jets and handle turboprops. Having multiple skills was essential; military contractors might let a jet fighter sit idle but wouldn't allow pilots to waste away for long.
After all, good pilots were built on flying hours and required consistent training to maintain their state; otherwise, spontaneous sorties might not perform much better than those rookies.
The "Big Mouth Monster" was sowhat akin to an advanced trainer aircraft, perfectly suited for maintaining touch, and its cockpit layout was nearly identical to that of the MiG-28, which also conford to NATO standards.
This was why the 911 Aircrew Base chose two licensed fake MiGs over the equally cheap real MiGs—to avoid headaches with different standard specifications and data link integration, providing a cost-effective mix of capabilities.
The tallic Dragon that had breached the business area of the 911 Aircrew Base and fired the Dragon Spike from several kiloters away was not unchallenged; at least four combat aircraft, from other aircrew bases, were engaged in a fierce battle with this crazed Dragon of Slaughter.
Although the ready apron was a complete ss littered with wreckage of MiG-28s and ground personnel, flas scattered everywhere, and choking black smoke billowing out, it didn't stop the second squadron of five "Big Mouth Monster" turboprop aircraft from taking an unusual route directly through the grass, entering the runway near the apron.
Even if the main 1500-ter-long runway was destroyed, the neatly trimd lawn beside it could also serve as a temporary ergency landing strip, as aircraft that used propellers for propulsion were not fussy about takeoff and landing environnts.
Monts later, 911 Aircrew Base's A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft took off in formation, heading straight into the intensely contested airspace.
The crisscrossing trajectories of the cannon's tracer bullets and the massive fireballs from missile explosions instantly intensified the battle.
"Eat my sword (Power and Glory)..."
Just as the foolish bear Chekhov started shouting, he choked up. Before he could finish his gallant speech, he found himself pulled down, left as just a bare-stick Major, which was absolutely absurd!
The jet wingman and turboprop fire control operator had just been truly cracked open; their white brain matter was still spilling out, a sight they could not possibly rise from to fight side by side.
On the takeoff portion of the runway, only a solitary "Big Mouth Monster" remained, nowhere to express its desolation but through tears that flowed endlessly.
The A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft, being a two-seater model, one Light Chekhov wasn't enough!
Even though one person could operate the aircraft in battle, it ultimately could not match the efficiency of two people working together.
On the battlefield, victory and life or death could be determined in a mont, dancing with the Grim Reaper by re milliters. Single-seaters had their advantages, and two-seaters had their strengths, but two hands couldn't compete with four, as the latter had the advantage in capturing the best timing for attacks during high-speed maneuvers.
Turboprop fighters, with their smaller turning radius compared to jet fighters, were more agile in low-speed, low-altitude maneuvers, so even when facing the imnse Dragon Race, known as the Masters of the Sky Do, they were not completely powerless.
After five A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft took off, a piercing air raid alarm was imdiately sounded across the entire 911 Aircrew Base.
The intense aerial battle had already reached the high-lying aircrew base. Most of the ground support units had completed their tasks and began to retreat into safe shelters, to avoid further unnecessary casualties—as compensation paynts were significantly substantial.
Upon seeing the new rookie still clutching the bulky technical manual, not knowing what to do, Chief chanic Xiao shouted at him, "Chen Fei, don't just stand there dumbly; follow to the air raid shelter."
Bullets do not discriminate; a close pass can wound, and contact ans death. In the eyes of the Giant Dragon, humans are no different from ants.
Especially in the dictionary of the tallic Dragons, there is no such thing as sympathy or rcy—nothing could be more brutally cruel.
Nobody could guarantee that the entire aircrew base would still exist later; perhaps a casual roll by that tallic Dragon could reduce all the buildings on the surface to ruins.
If people are present, the base remains.
If people are gone, so is the base.
The loss of equipnt and materials is rely a matter of money, and for those who can contract military bases, money is certainly not an issue; after all, 911 is just one of them.
"I'll be there right away!"
Chen Fei didn't have the heart to leave behind the technical manual he was holding, and eyed the various items labeled BCDEFG, looking for a cart to take them all away.
At that mont, Squadron Leader Chekhov, also known as Big Bear, returned to the hangar, seemingly searching for sothing.
Only a few individuals, likened to kittens, remained in the hangar, as most people had already evacuated, completely disregarding the stuff they left behind.
"Who's still here?!!"
He first roared, and in the next second, his gaze landed on Chen Fei, imdiately stretching a big grin and striding fiercely, as he laughed wildly and charged over.
"Boy (thief), it's you."
"Chekhov, what are you doing?"
Seeing this, Chief chanic Xiao Ming was both shocked and angry, sensing malicious intent from this Slavic brute.
"..."
Poor little Chen Fei was utterly bewildered and caught off guard when the leader of the Aircrew Base Combat Flight Squadron grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away on the spot.
The giant bear-like paw grasped him just right, almost as if lifting a small chick.
"Put him down, Chekhov, co back here!"
Xiao Ming, furious, chased after them.
How could he just stand by and watch as his man was snatched away by this big bear, wondering how he'd lead his team in the future?
Who knew how this nearly 300-pound Big Bear could run so fast, tossing little Chen Fei over his shoulder and disappearing in just a mont?
Indeed, the fastest in the air are the air force, and the fastest on the ground is still the air force, the ancients truly didn't lie to .
By the ti Chief chanic Xiao caught up to the take-off stretch of the runway, the only remaining A-39B "Big Mouth Monster" light turboprop attack aircraft had already started its propeller, emitting a trendous roaring sound, making it impossible for him to get any closer.
When "kidnapped" Chen Fei finally ca to his senses, he was terrified to find himself inexplicably stuffed into the cockpit, strapped to his seat with a seatbelt, and even wearing a helt.
Where am I?
What am I supposed to do?
Hey, hey, I need to get off, this isn't the plane to kindergarten!
The seemingly vile old pilot in the front seat just finished fastening the canopy, fished sothing out of his crotch, tossed it behind him, then turned his head and laughed maniacally, saying, "Harasho, have a sip, Major Chekhov will take you to put on airs, and fly you high!"
He casually threw a hand salute to Chief chanic Xiao, who was too late and chasing from outside, bidding him goodbye!
Catching the bottle of Blue Star Erguotou, which reeked strongly of Russian essence and even more of bullshit, Chen Fei was at a loss. Could this be the legendary true "plane cup," or perhaps a urine bottle?
Ah, this! This caliber... very suspicious!
Σ(°△°|||)︴Chen Fei: Danger!~
Damn it, this stinking big bear is no good!
Can I curse?
"Chekhov you bastard, you won't die a good death, fuck your eighteen..."
On the ground, Xiao Ming hopped and skipped, his voice soon drowned out by the roar of the "Big Mouth Monster," as Chekhov, who started to accelerate the "Big Mouth Monster," let out a ghostly howl-like crazy laugh.
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