221: Chapter 221 Tremandous!

Heat waves billowed and rose from the perimeter of the tarmac.

Li Li stepped out of the shadows; the sunlight was so blinding that it was hard to keep one's eyes open, and the pungent smell of aviation fuel mixed with the sea breeze filled his nostrils.

Everyone had arrived.

Twenty-six pilots stood in three rows in front of their respective fighter jets, some talking in low voices, others looking down to check the buckles on their G-suits.

Li Li's pace was steady, his rhythm without the slightest sign of disorder.

Stripping clothes in the interrogation room, taking on three people in the elevator, and then sending Snowden into the underground passage. After this entire combo, time had been squeezed to the absolute limit.

Fortunately, Yamada Ichiro was a well-known recluse.

Being late wasn't terrible, but being late and then proactively going over to explain oneself—that was just asking for death.

He kept his head down and walked straight toward the F-35 formation.

As he brushed past, a captain from the F-22 formation raised his right hand.

"Hey, Yamada! Where have you been? I've been looking for you for ages."

Li Li stopped and nodded.

There wasn't a single superfluous syllable.

The captain's hand froze in mid-air, feeling snubbed, and he turned to whisper to his wingman.

"This Japanese guy is something else; you'd have better luck chatting with the hangar's load-bearing wall than trying to greet him."

Li Li ignored the murmurs behind him.

The persona was maintained flawlessly.

Walking to the F-35 area, a few pilots were gathered in the shade of the wings, shooting the breeze.

A white second lieutenant lifted his military boot and kicked the under-wing pylon.

A dull, plastic thud echoed out.

"Look at this piece of junk," the second lieutenant said, looking thoroughly annoyed. "The paint job is shiny, but it's all empty dummy missiles. If an enemy plane actually broke through, what would we fight with? Throw this hunk of industrial garbage at their windshield?"

A red-haired lieutenant chuckled.

"Relax, brother. Within a 280-nautical-mile radius of Kadena, not even an unregistered seagull could fly in."

He jerked his thumb toward the main building.

"Besides, for the absolute safety of Air Force One, the air defense system has been completely cut off. Even if there really were enemy planes, the surface-to-air missiles couldn't lock onto them."

The second lieutenant was stunned.

"Cut off? How long does it take to restart?"

"Thirty minutes."

A black soldier in the corner poked his head out, looking incredulous.

"Thirty minutes? Was the system for The Pentagon outsourced to the Indians?"

Laughter erupted.

Li Li stood at the end of the line, expressionless.

Why 280 nautical miles? Because 300 nautical miles away was the East Sea Fleet.

The air defense system paralyzed for thirty minutes.

All aircraft loaded with non-threatening dummy missiles.

God was basically spoon-feeding him, and even holding the bowl steady.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds appeared at the entrance to the tarmac.

He carried a rolled-up roster, followed by two fully armed adjutants, walking with long, swift strides.

"Attention, everyone!"

The idle chatter ceased abruptly. Twenty-seven pilots quickly returned to their positions, their leather boots hitting the concrete floor in perfect unison.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds unfolded the roster. He spoke at a lightning-fast pace.

"Jackson."

"Present."

"Johnson."

"Present."

"Miyuki."

"Present."

"Yamada."

Li Li paused for 0.3 seconds to ensure his reaction speed matched that of a distracted person.

"Present."

Crisp. Sharp.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds didn't even lift his eyelids and continued reading down the list.

Closing the roster, the Lieutenant Colonel scanned the entire field.

"Take your positions! Proceed to your designated aircraft and line up three meters to the right of the nose. The President's motorcade will arrive in ten minutes."

The formation dispersed.

Li Li stood still.

It wasn't that he didn't want to move; it was that he had no idea what the tail number of Yamada Ichiro's F-35 was. Nine stealth fighters were lined up in a row, looking identical.

He couldn't exactly go up to each landing gear to check the license plate number.

As he was looking down, pretending to adjust the velcro on his flight gloves, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds walked over.

"Yamada."

Li Li looked up.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds tilted his chin slightly, gesturing toward the third F-35 on the right.

"Your position. JP-0047."

Li Li nodded, and just as he was about to step forward, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds leaned in half a step, his voice dropping very low.

"According to your flight habits, only your aircraft has been fueled to capacity. Do a good job and give the big shots from Washington a surprise."

Li Li's footsteps paused slightly.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds patted his shoulder.

"But it doesn't matter; it's just a flyover display, so it won't burn much fuel."

Li Li didn't respond.

Full fuel.

Among a group of fighter jets that only had half a tank of fuel, he had been assigned an F-35 with a full tank.

After saying this, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds didn't leave immediately.

He stood there, looking at Li Li, and made a very abrupt gesture.

He blinked his left eye alone.

Li Li's movements froze completely.

A signal? A test? Or did this American Lieutenant Colonel have a facial nerve spasm?

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds had already turned around, his back straight, his gait normal, as if that eerie wink hadn't existed at all.

Li Li stared at that retreating figure.

In this godforsaken base, everyone was a damn riddle-maker.

Li Li walked toward JP-0047.

He walked a circle around this gray-black steel beast.

The data from the news photos overlapped with the actual object in his mind. The stealth coating shimmered with a faint matte finish in the sunlight, and the serrated edges of the air intakes were sharp and cold.

Full fuel. Single seat.

Enough for him to pull up the nose, rush out of the Okinawa Air Defense Identification Zone, and dive headlong into the East Sea Fleet's radar protection circle.

Li Li raised his hand and patted the fuselage skin.

The metal gave back a solid tactile feedback.

Buddy, you'll have to suffer a change of nationality in a moment.

He walked to a point three meters to the right of the nose. Stood at attention.

Twenty-seven pilots stood in a straight line.

The high temperature scorched the runway, and the air was twisted and distorted.

Ten minutes later.

The motorcade tore through the heat waves and drove in from the perimeter.

Three black Lincoln SUVs led the way, two heavily armored Humvees brought up the rear, and in the middle was a bulletproof stretch limousine.

The wheels screeched to a halt.

The car doors pushed open.

Blonde hair. Deep blue suit. Iconic bright red tie.

President Trump stepped onto the tarmac.

He puffed out his chest, his chin held high, his strides wide. Secret Service agents on both sides quickly dispersed, their suit jackets blown up by the sea breeze, vaguely revealing the outlines of shoulder holsters.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds went up to meet him, saluted, and gave a quick report.

President Trump waved his hand casually and walked straight toward the pilot formation.

The first one. Handshake. "Good job, soldier." Let go. Keep walking.

The second one. Handshake. "America is proud of you." Let go. Keep walking.

The third one. Handshake. "Nice haircut." Let go. Keep walking.

An extremely standardized assembly-line operation. The stay time for each person did not exceed four seconds.

Li Li kept his head down, his peripheral vision locked onto the trajectory of that red tie.

The eleventh. The twelfth. The thirteenth. The distance was getting closer and closer.

The last person. Black leather shoes stopped in front of Li Li's line of sight.

Li Li looked up.

Less than a meter away, the man at the top of the global power pyramid stood before him.

The filter from the television screen had vanished. His hairline was even further back than in the news footage, his tie knot was tied tight, and his shirt collar was stuffed full by the flesh on his neck.

President Trump looked down, scanning the name tag on Li Li's chest.

"Yamada." He pronounced the name, nodding slightly. "I'm very glad you could represent Japan and participate in this flight display."

Li Li looked at him. The nerve in his brain named "pragmatism" suddenly twitched.

An incredibly outrageous, incredibly suicidal, but absolutely max-level resume-building thought popped into his mind.

He opened his mouth.

"This is... Tremendous... honor!"

An unmistakably atrocious Japanese-accented English pronunciation. The R sound was completely off, the L sound was swallowed directly, and the vowels were dragged out long and weird.

But that core vocabulary word was articulated with perfect clarity. Tremendous.

President Trump's favorite word, an exclusive adjective he used at campaign rallies, in tweets, and even when ordering well-done steak at White House dinners.

Now, this word had popped out of a Japanese pilot's mouth in an almost comical tone.

The air on the tarmac froze. The Secret Service agents' muscles tensed instantly. Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds frowned slightly in the back.

President Trump stared at Li Li. Two seconds of dead silence.

Then, President Trump burst into laughter. Not the fake smile politicians wear for the cameras, but a genuine laugh that made his shoulders tremble.

"You are very funny." He extended a thick palm and slapped Li Li's shoulder heavily. "I hope to see you again."

After saying this, he withdrew his hand and strode toward the viewing platform.

Li Li stood in place, his shoulder bearing the dull pain.

He silently opened his system resume in his mind and added a bold, colorful entry: [Wearing a stolen US military uniform, mocking the US President to his face with Japanese-accented English.]

If the CIA's archives department saw this criminal record, they would probably open a special, highest-risk classification just for him.

The motorcade restarted and drove toward the high platform.

Inside the stretch Lincoln limousine, the air conditioning was on full blast, instantly insulating them from the heat waves outside.

President Trump leaned back against the leather seat. The smile on his face retreated completely the moment the car door closed. Not a trace remained.

The Chief of Staff sat opposite him, flipping through the briefing for the next agenda item.

"Mark." The Chief of Staff looked up.

President Trump raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee.

"That Japanese pilot from just now." "Yamada?" "Yes."

President Trump tugged at that tight red tie.

"I do not want to see this face again at any US military base."

The Chief of Staff's hand, which was flipping through the documents, stopped. "Sir?"

President Trump turned his head, his gaze passing through the bulletproof glass, staring at the row of reflective fighter jets on the tarmac.

"Mimicking my speech." His chin tightened, and his voice revealed undisguised disgust. "What is his status? What is my status?"

The Chief of Staff immediately closed the briefing. "Understood. After the event, I will personally notify Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds to cancel all his flight qualifications."

President Trump snorted coldly and said nothing more.

Outside the car window. Nine fighter jets lay like dormant steel beasts in the sunlight. The F-35 in the very center. The cockpit canopy was slowly rising, pushed by the hydraulic rods.

That Japanese pilot, who had just been issued a ban by the US President, was stepping on the boarding ladder, climbing into that top-tier fighter jet, fully fueled and costing over a hundred million.