Chapter 479 Countermeasures!

Across the ocean.

Inside the core power hub of the Dead Corner Building.

In the conference room.

The atmosphere was stifling to the extreme.

Everyone sat in their chairs, their breathing becoming cautious.

The several display screens hanging on the wall were all broadcasting news channels from different countries.

At this moment, the Dead Corner Building in Country A knew that the fact they had been bombing mere patterns had already been exposed.

This was no longer a classified secret.

Instead, it had become fodder for global netizens to discuss over tea and dinner.

On screen, a news anchor from a certain country was reporting in a tone full of ridicule.

"Welcome to today's special program. Let us enjoy the desert art exhibition hosted by the superpower, costing tens of millions of dollars."

Following that, the screen switched to footage captured by a front-line war correspondent.

One could see the edges of the large craters blasted out by the expensive bombs.

There wasn't even a single piece of metal debris.

There was only a layer of curled-up, colorful industrial paint that had been blasted apart.

The reporter even crouched down, grabbed a handful of sand mixed with paint, and laughed uncontrollably at the camera.

In addition to news reports, parody content on various social media platforms emerged one after another.

There was an animated video that depicted the Joint Task Force, which Country A was so proud of, as a group of blindfolded, headless flies, continuously crashing into a few simple sketches on the ground.

Watching the overwhelming mocking photos and videos on international news media, the anger of these high-level officials flared up instantly.

Their chests heaved violently.

The sound of heavy breathing seemed particularly grating in this quiet conference room.

This sense of humiliation, as if being stripped naked in public, caused these usually high-and-mighty bigwigs to lose all face.

Several hot-tempered generals could no longer suppress the fire in their hearts.

With a sudden burst of strength, they grabbed the coffee cups off the conference table and smashed them fiercely onto the floor.

With a crisp "Crack!!!" sound, the ceramic cups were smashed to pieces.

Brown coffee liquid mixed with shards splashed all over the expensive carpet.

They felt as if their massive faces were being pressed into the mud and rubbed fiercely.

The big leader, Old Meipu, sitting at the head of the table, was so angry he almost developed dark circles under his eyes.

Pressing his hands on the table, he thought of his political enemies back home.

The opposition would certainly seize this opportunity to attack him in the media, claiming he treated military spending like a child's game.

An official in charge of public opinion reported the current situation with trepidation, stating that the opposition party back home had already started organizing protests.

They were holding drawing boards and paint buckets, protesting outside the office building.

Hearing this, Old Meipu's blood pressure soared with anger.

This concerned his upcoming re-election votes.

This humiliation had to be washed away immediately.

This joke could not be allowed to continue.

Immediately, they issued a strict order to the Joint Task Force in the Middle East.

Through an encrypted satellite network, a video connection request was quickly sent out.

They had to be made to provide a solution!

Those damned nobodies had to be completely rooted out and eliminated.

...

In the Middle East region.

Inside the front-line command post of the Joint Task Force.

The Colonel in charge of the Joint Task Force still had sweat all over his forehead.

Sweat flowed down his bearded cheeks and into his collar, bringing a sticky, uncomfortable feeling—it was incredibly uncomfortable.

Yet, he didn't even have the courage to raise his hand to wipe it away.

Just a few hours ago, he was still holding a glass of red wine, organizing those so-called "glorious battle results," and dreaming of pinning on his general's stars.

But in the blink of an eye, the battle results became a joke.

He had become a blind Commander known to the whole world.

"Trash!!! You are all a bunch of overpaid pigs!!!"

On the big screen, Old Meipu's roar was deafening.

Even across the network, one could feel the overwhelming rage.

The Colonel swallowed hard.

His legs felt a bit weak, and he could only lower his head and take the scolding.

He felt this whole thing was too ridiculous.

'Those radars cost billions to develop; they identified them as fighter jets, and the fire control system locked onto them automatically. What the hell am I supposed to do?' he complained frantically in his heart.

He was cursing internally, but on the surface, he could only stand at attention and take the abuse.

After enduring a harsh scolding, the communication on the big screen was temporarily muted.

The Colonel turned around.

He looked at the staff officers and technical team in the command post.

His eyes were practically spitting fire.

He demanded that they immediately provide a countermeasure that could distinguish between real and fake with 100% accuracy.

Under such pressure, everyone in the command post felt like they were suffocating.

They racked their brains.

Gathering around the huge tactical simulation table, they began a heated discussion.

Amidst the back-and-forth arguments, everyone reached a stalemate.

Then, a technician in charge of image analysis pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He thought of a solution.

That was to have a drone fly close to observe the airport over there.

Meeting the Colonel's anxious gaze, the technician took out a piece of paper and laid it flat on the table.

He began to quickly explain the physical principles behind it.

"Sir, a tank drawn on paper looks three-dimensional when viewed from directly above."

The technician said, while placing the paper in front of the Colonel.

"The reason we were deceived before is because optical radars all look down from an altitude of ten thousand meters, which happens to be a blind spot for vertical overhead viewing."

"Without a comparative reference object, it is very easy to mistake that kind of two-dimensional artwork with shadow effects for a real object."

The technician's speaking speed became faster and faster.

"But... as long as we change the viewing angle."

"Just like if you put your eye against the table and look from the side."

"Let our reconnaissance drone lower its flight altitude and perform ultra-low-altitude flight close to the ground."

"When the drone flies closer to look, it will be able to distinguish between real and fake immediately."

"After all, what is drawn on the Gobi Desert is a 2D planar pattern."

"As long as the drone's optical lens sweeps from a low-altitude oblique angle."

"Those artworks stuck on the ground will turn into a flat line in the side-view lens, exposing their nature of having no thickness at all."

"This way, we can completely see through their trickery and then guide the bombers to carry out precision strikes."

Hearing this analysis, the Colonel slapped his thigh, thinking this idea was absolutely brilliant.

Without needing to add any extra costs, just changing the reconnaissance flight altitude and angle would perfectly crack the opponent's smokescreen.

...

The scene cuts back to the Dead Corner Building across the ocean.

The high-level officials of the Dead Corner Building looked at the briefing and listened to the Colonel's report on low-altitude oblique reconnaissance during the video call.

Everyone whispered to each other for a few moments.

They all felt this method was feasible.

It could find those real targets hiding in the shadows with minimal cost.

However, although they approved this plan, the big leader Old Meipu's expression still didn't improve in the slightest.

He knew very well that someone had to take the blame for this joke.

If there was another failure this time, the Colonel would be the ready-made scapegoat.

Therefore, Old Meipu, through the screen, looked with undisguised warning in his eyes.

He issued a strict order directly.

If he couldn't wash away the shame and make the armed organization in the Middle East pay the due price, then he, the person in charge of the Joint Task Force, should just wait to face a military tribunal.

No excuses would be accepted.

There was no room for negotiation.

This ultimatum, which left no room for negotiation, made the entire command post silent.

In the command post, the Colonel's heart tightened suddenly.

He felt as if a great mountain was pressing down on his shoulders.

Hearing this, the person in charge of the Joint Task Force wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

His legs were slightly trembling.

He straightened his back.

He repeatedly assured the high-level officials on the video call that this time he would definitely not disappoint them.

He would absolutely find Hassan's real airport and bomb it into a pile of scrap metal.

And in the end, these high-level officials ordered the person in charge to investigate how those armed organizations managed to create those lifelike fighter jet drawings.

They absolutely did not believe that a group of nobodies could rely on manual drawing to create patterns that could deceive advanced radar.

The video ended, and the front-line machinery began to operate frantically.

Not long after, once the Joint Task Force used radar to find new fighter jet parking locations, one reconnaissance drone after another took off and headed towards that location.