Chapter 478 No, it really is?

"Connect to the Middle East frontline command immediately!"

The head of the Defense Logistics Department grabbed the communicator on the desk and shouted the order.

The high-ranking officials nearby gathered around, their faces turning green.

To verify that ridiculous conjecture, a top-level encrypted order was hastily issued from the Dead Corner Building.

The content of the order was very clear: Send people to the bombing site immediately. If they are alive, bring them back; if dead, bring back the bodies. Even if it is just scrap metal, bring back a piece.

...

Middle East frontline.

Amidst the rolling yellow sand.

Upon receiving the order, the special forces did not hesitate at all. A six-man elite team traveled in two desert off-road vehicles and quietly arrived at the location bombed by their Joint Task Force to conduct an on-site survey.

The sun was scorching enough to roast the earth.

The off-road vehicles stopped behind a sand dune.

The major leading the team made a tactical hand signal.

Several heavily armed special forces soldiers immediately jumped out of the vehicles.

Carrying assault rifles and fanned out in a defensive formation, they crept toward the several huge, charred craters not far away.

Under their windproof goggles, pairs of vigilant eyes scanned the surroundings.

They had originally thought that no matter how badly the area had been bombed, there should at least be scattered charred aircraft debris, twisted alloy landing gear, or engine turbine blades.

However.

As the team slowly approached the center of the explosion.

Everyone subconsciously stopped in their tracks and looked at each other.

Apart from the churned-up yellow sand and blackened soil, the area was surprisingly clean.

There was no metal debris.

Not even a single screw could be found.

"Use the metal detector to scan!" the major ordered in a hushed voice.

A technician immediately took the equipment and walked around the edge of the crater.

The result.

The detector was eerily quiet, not emitting even a faint beep.

The major frowned and slung his rifle over his back.

He walked to the edge of the unexploded "aircraft" pattern.

He crouched down halfway.

He pulled out the military knife strapped to his lower leg, placed the blade against the ground, and scraped the sand hard a few times.

The yellow sand was brushed away.

Beneath it, brightly colored blue and gray stuff was revealed.

Then, he reached out, pinched a bit, and smelled it under his nose.

A pungent smell of chemical solvent rushed straight to his brain.

His head buzzed: "Isn't this just industrial paint?!"

The major was so shocked his scalp went numb.

He stared blankly at the colors staining his fingers.

"How is this possible?!"

"The Joint Task Force spent so many expensive bombs, and all they bombed was a painting?"

The other team members also gathered around.

Looking at the paint on the ground, their mouths twitched, and they felt like ten thousand mythical creatures were stampeding through their hearts.

The technician looked at the graffiti on the ground, his mouth wide open in surprise.

The situation was urgent, so he did not dare delay and immediately took out his tactical camera.

He took several high-definition photos of the graffiti outline shattered on the ground and the layer of paint exposed after scraping away the sand.

Then, he had the medic take out a sampling tube.

They really found the industrial paint deeply smeared on the ground and put it into an evidence bag.

Subsequently.

This high-definition photo and intelligence, along with the paint samples, were urgently sent to the Dead Corner Building via military satellite network.

...

Across the ocean.

In the high-level security conference room of the Dead Corner Building.

The air conditioner was blowing cold air, but the atmosphere in the room was hot enough to ignite someone.

The printer quickly spat out the newly returned lab report and high-definition photos.

The white-haired general snatched the report and quickly scanned the words on it.

The handwriting on the lab report was clear: the main ingredients were common industrial acrylic and cheap hardener.

After the high-level officials at the Dead Corner Building received the lab report and learned the exact result.

They all gasped.

Looking at the traces of paint smeared on the ground, clearly visible in those high-definition photos.

Beside the graffiti were large craters blasted by precision-guided bombs that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars each.

The contrast in this scene was so great that it was practically a public execution of their intelligence.

"Did those guys on the front line get the coordinates wrong?" a politician asked unwillingly.

"The coordinates are exactly the positions locked by the fire control radar yesterday, not a single bit off!" The white-haired general threw the report heavily onto the table.

His heart sank: "Could it be that our precision-guided weapons, which we take pride in, can't even distinguish between a 2D plane and a 3D object in actual combat?!"

Looking at the paint residue obtained in exchange for high-priced bombs, this group of high-and-mighty big shots simply exploded!

The white-haired general pressed his hands on the table, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

He slammed the table and stood up.

The wooden board made a dull sound.

This Old General was trembling with rage.

They had spent tens of millions of taxpayers' money and dispatched so many sorties of advanced fighter jets.

In the end, the entire Joint Task Force was played around by a pile of worthless paint.

"If this gets out, how are we going to hold our heads up internationally in the future?!"

The conference room was filled with swearing.

...

And what they did not know was.

The high-level officials' intention to block the news was destined to fail.

Because of the previous press conference incident, the outside world had a very keen sense of smell.

Major news agencies had long sensed that something was wrong.

There were also a few daring war correspondents from several countries, including that Big White Bear Reporter who had caused trouble in public, who ran to explore those bombing sites.

They drove dilapidated off-road vehicles.

Avoiding the patrol routes of Country A, they followed the smoke trails left by the explosions and searched all the way there.

After arriving at the scene.

The reporters jumped out of the cars.

"Holy crap!! The analysis at the press conference was actually true!"

"There are no fighter jets here, no rebel forces, only monuments left by Country A using obscenely expensive bombs!!!"

The reporters were extremely excited; this was absolutely the biggest news scoop of the century.

Then, these quick-eyed and fast-handed reporters raised their cameras and snapped away at the scene.

After returning to the cars.

They quickly took out their laptops and connected to portable satellite terminals.

They quickly edited the situation—only paint and no aircraft parts at the site—into news reports.

Attached with high-definition photos, they wrote the most exaggerated headlines possible and sent them out immediately.

This news exploded like a nuclear bomb, and the servers of major international news websites were instantly congested.

The entire international public opinion was in an uproar.

...

After Netizens and military commentators from various countries saw these photos.

Their jaws almost dropped to the floor.

Immediately after.

Country A & Israel instantly became an international laughingstock.

Everyone felt that this matter was ridiculous to the extreme.

Various mocking posts flew everywhere.

After all, not to mention that they had made such a big fuss, mobilized so many people, and even held a globally broadcast press conference.

In the end, they only bombed graffiti.

Just considering how many rounds they bombed, how much money was the economic loss alone?

You have to know, those precision-guided missiles are not cheap.

One costs hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars, requiring the hard-earned money of countless taxpayers.

And the result?

They dropped them, and all they heard was a bang!!

Not only did they not hurt a hair on Hassan, but they also helped him loosen the soil in the desert.

Now it is great, both their face and dignity are completely lost.

On social media, it was flooded with jokes about the Air Force of Country A having eyesight problems.

Some people even photoshopped the fighter jets of Country A into blind men wearing sunglasses, which were circulating everywhere online.

...

The news spread rapidly.

Then, the media in the Eastern Country quickly followed up.

Major portals all promoted the relevant news with big headlines.

Domestic news also reported on the related events.

When domestic Netizens saw this hilarious truth and looked at the paint craters made by hundreds of thousands of dollars.

They could not stop laughing.

Everyone left comments in the comment section.

"Hahahaha, I can't hold it, my stomach hurts from laughing."

"This is too awesome! Using a few dollars' worth of paint to trick millions of dollars' worth of missiles? ( ಡ ω ಡ ) hiahiahia"

"Did Country A buy their radar at a street stall?"

"I said the analysis by the Big White Bear Reporter was spot on; it turns out it really was a painting on the ground!"

And in this ocean of joy across the entire web.

At this time.

Those who previously thought Country A was powerful and felt that their Eastern Country would never compare, those bootlickers were now stunned.

Just a day ago, they were still frantically posting on various social platforms, bragging about the awesome military power of Country A.

'This is simply not the Country A in our impression!'

These bootlickers' minds were a mess: How could they be played for monkeys by a pile of paint?

Some bootlickers simply could not accept this reality.

The collapse of their faith caused them to lose their reason.

There were actually still bootlickers who were stubborn, tapping their fingers on the keyboard, posting online to try to save face.

They said: "This must be fake news!!!"

"Those pictures are all photoshopped, those reporters must have been bought by Hassan!"

"The radar of Country A is so advanced, it is impossible for them not to distinguish between a painting and a real aircraft. You bunch of Netizens are just jealous!!!"

...

However.

This ridiculous sophistry seemed pale and weak in the face of high-definition on-site photos and joint reports by international reporters.

Not long after.

These posting bootlickers were sprayed into silence by the Netizens with off-the-charts combat power.

Everyone mercilessly launched a counterattack.

"It is already confirmed, and you are still trying to whitewash it? Your underwear has been stripped off!!"

"Foreign media have already released on-site videos, and you are still pretending to be blind here?"

"Hurry up and roll to Country A to help your masters clean up their mess, don't embarrass yourself in the Eastern Country."

A series of interrogations, every word piercing the heart.

Watching the private messages of abuse pouring into their inboxes.

Those bootlickers were blushing, ashamed and angry, and even scrambled to deactivate their accounts, never daring to speak again.

...

The domestic onlookers were still happily tapping on their keyboards, enjoying this unprecedented online carnival.

And at this time.

On the other side.

Inside the Dead Corner Building of Country A.

In the empty conference room.

The group of high-level officials had not left.

They stood in front of the entire wall of electronic display screens.

On the screens, the front-page headlines of major world media were scrolling in real time.

From the ridicule of the Great White Bear Country, to the watching of the show by the European friends, to the carnival on the Eastern Country's internet.

Every photo with a paint crater was like a loud slap in the face.

Looking at these reports.

These people in control of supreme power found their breathing becoming heavier and heavier.

Humiliation and anger, mixed together, made their complexions look terrible to the extreme.