222: Chapter 222 Operation Onion Pulling: Swipe My Card

The moment the canopy dropped, the whole world went quiet.

Li Li tightened his five-point harness, the shoulder straps digging into his flight suit, the metallic sound of the buckle engaging echoing crisply in the confined space.

The multi-function displays lit up one by one, and the HUD projected pale green flight parameters onto the windshield.

Fuel gauge: Full.

Li Li glanced at the needle pointing to the top and gave Lt. Col. Reynolds a mental thumbs-up.

Regardless of which side this guy was on, he'd filled the tank enough for him to fly to Mars.

The tower's instructions cut into the radio.

"All formations, attention. Taxi onto the runway by sequence. F-22 formation first, F-35 formation follow. Repeat, F-22 first."

Three F-22s moved first, their gray diamond-shaped bodies taxiing slowly on the runway, their tail nozzles spitting out heat waves, twisting the air into a blur.

Following closely was the second batch of F-22s.

Then the F-18s.

Finally, it was the F-35s' turn.

Nine F-35s lined up on the runway in order, with Li Li in the fifth position.

The four in front had already released their brakes, accelerating one by one at fifteen-second intervals.

The first one, wheels off the ground.

The second one, pulled the stick and ascended.

The third one, only heat waves left on the runway.

The fourth one, takeoff.

It was his turn.

Li Li pushed the throttle, the thrust of the Pratt & Whitney F135 engine climbing to military power within two seconds, the airframe beginning to vibrate violently as the markings on both sides of the runway receded rapidly.

The speedometer jumped wildly: 150, 200, 250.

Pull the stick.

The F-35's nose lifted, the front wheel left the ground, followed immediately by the main wheels.

The ground disappeared.

The runway at Kadena Air Base shrank rapidly beneath the cockpit, turning into a gray-white line.

Sea wind cut in from the side, the fuselage swayed slightly, and the flight control system intervened instantly to correct it.

The radio became lively.

"JP-0047, airborne, altitude climbing."

"Copy, 0047. Formation assembly altitude 1,500, heading 270."

Li Li leveled off his attitude, stabilized his altitude, and waited for the four behind him to catch up.

Three minutes later, nine F-35s completed assembly at an altitude of 1,500 meters.

Three groups of three.

He was assigned to the center of the second group.

On his left was Miyuki, and on his right was a Caucasian second lieutenant named Williams.

"All formations, attention." Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds' order came through. "Follow the F-22 formation into the flyover route. Altitude 300, speed 600. First flyover, maintain formation, no fancy tricks."

Nine gray steel giant birds began to descend.

One thousand. Eight hundred. Five hundred. Three hundred.

The ground became clear again. The runway, hangars, apron, and that temporarily erected reviewing stand.

Sitting on the stand was a blond man. His red tie was particularly eye-catching in the sunlight.

Two rows of Secret Service agents stood on both sides of the steps, dressed in crisp suits.

The F-22 formation roared overhead.

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else.

People on the reviewing stand looked up one after another.

The blond man rested his right hand on his forehead to shade his eyes, his neck tilted back forty-five degrees.

The F-18 formation followed closely. Six fighter jets pulled into even intervals and swept over the runway.

Neat. Beautiful. Completely unoriginal.

It was the F-35s' turn.

Li Li followed the formation and lowered his altitude to 300 meters, speed 600 kilometers per hour, the reviewing stand ahead getting closer and closer.

[Ding]

[Temporary Mission: Show Them Off]

[Mission Description: Let the Earth's leader see how powerful cosmic-level air, land, and sea driving mastery is]

[Reward: The more you show off, the cooler it feels]

Li Li was speechless. He had to show off at a time like this?

The system really didn't treat him like a human.

If the show-off went wrong, he'd be a box on the ground.

Li Li looked at the red tie fluttering in the wind ahead.

An extremely irrational thought popped up, but one that would definitely draw the entire base's attention to the sky.

Before leaving, leave a deep impression on President Trump.

Li Li pushed the stick with his right hand.

The F-35's nose suddenly dipped. The altimeter started spinning wildly. 300. 250. 200. 150.

The airframe broke away from the formation.

The radio exploded instantly.

"0047! What are you doing?!"

"Yamada is deviating from the formation! Abnormal altitude drop!"

Miyuki's Japanese voice, with a sharp tremor, rushed into the channel. "Yamada-kun! Please return to formation immediately! Your altitude—"

"JP-0047!" Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds' roar drowned out everyone else. "Restore formation altitude immediately! That is an order!"

Li Li pressed the talk button.

He cleared his throat.

"Don't talk."

In thick, heavy Japanese-accented English, swallowing the R sounds and dragging out the vowels.

"Watch my show."

The radio went dead silent for two seconds.

Twenty-six pilots crashed simultaneously.

The F-35 flew alone, hugging the runway, altitude less than one hundred meters.

The hangar roofs on both sides receded rapidly in his peripheral vision.

Ahead, the reviewing stand.

200 meters. 150. 100.

The Secret Service agents on the reviewing stand all stood up.

Two people's hands went straight into their suit armpits.

The blond man sat in the leather chair in the middle, his neck turning backward at a visible speed.

Fifty meters.

At a speed of 600 kilometers per hour, the F-35 cut horizontally past a position less than eighty meters directly in front of the reviewing stand.

The engine's exhaust plume sprayed out scorching heat waves, documents on the reviewing stand were blown into the sky, the Chief of Staff's hair instantly exploded into a bird's nest, and two agents threw themselves in front of the blond man.

The blond man leaned back, his right hand gripping the back of the chair, his red tie lifted by the airflow and plastered directly onto his face.

Just when everyone thought the fighter jet was about to crash into the fence at the end of the runway.

Li Li pulled the stick.

Throttle pushed to the max.

The F-35's nose lifted violently at an angle of nearly ninety degrees, the entire fighter jet rising vertically from the ground right in front of the reviewing stand.

A dry-land scallion pull.

The violent climb at a large angle of attack, G-force pressed Li Li firmly into the seat, the anti-G suit inflated rapidly, squeezing his thighs and abdomen painfully.

The speedometer jumped wildly, the altimeter soared.

100, 300, 500, 800.

Dragging a white condensation trail, the F-35 pierced vertically into the blue sky. From the perspective of the reviewing stand, this stealth fighter worth over a hundred million was drilling straight into the clouds in the posture of a rocket launch.

The entire Kadena Air Base went quiet for three seconds.

At an altitude of 1,200 meters, Li Li rolled and leveled off, merging back into the formation.

The entire sequence of actions took no more than forty seconds.

On the radio, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds was silent for a long time.

"... You non-native brat."

He cursed. Everyone in the channel could hear the smile at the end of his sentence.

"So freaking willful." Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds added, not pursuing it further.

Miyuki let out a heavy breath in the channel next to him.

"Yamada-kun... you're crazy."

Li Li didn't answer.

He silently added another entry to his resume in the cockpit.

[Piloted a stolen US military F-35 and performed a dry-land scallion pull in front of the US President.]

If someone in the CIA archives saw this, they would probably open a top-secret S-class file just for him.

On the reviewing stand, the atmosphere was completely different.

Documents were scattered all over the ground.

The Chief of Staff was squatting on the ground picking up papers.

Two agents were still in a rescue posture, sandwiching the air, one on the left and one on the right.

The blond man sat in the chair, pulled off the red tie plastered to his face, and his hair, which had been fully gelled, finally showed a displacement that defied human physics.

He stared at the sky, his chest heaving violently.

"Mark."

The Chief of Staff straightened his waist.

"Sir?"

The blond man pointed to the small gray dot in the sky that had merged back into the formation.

"Whose subordinate is that pilot from the plane just now?"

The Chief of Staff turned, walked quickly to the communications officer, and spoke in a low voice.

The communications officer pulled out the flight number record, checked it, turned around, and reported.

The Chief of Staff walked back.

"Sir, it is... that pilot from the Sakura Country."

"Yamada Ichiro."

The blond man grabbed the tie knot and pulled it down hard.

"The one who just greeted me with my exclusive vocabulary?"

"Yes, sir."

"The 'Tremendous' one?"

"... Yes, sir."

The blond man slapped the armrest of the leather chair, making a muffled sound.

"What about our pilots?"

The Chief of Staff didn't answer.

"Twenty-six pilots!" The blond man raised his finger, pointing at the sky. "The most elite flight unit in America! And not a single person can do this maneuver?"

"Let a pilot from the Sakura Country show off over my head?"

"At my base? Flying my plane? Using my fuel?"

The Chief of Staff weighed his words.

"Sir, that maneuver is called a low-altitude vertical climb, which consumes a lot of fuel. Today's flight demonstration didn't schedule this subject because fuel is expensive."

"What? Fuel is expensive?"

The blond man stood up.

His 1.9-meter height, plus the height-increasing insoles in his leather shoes, cast a large shadow on the reviewing stand.

"Am I poor?"

The Chief of Staff shut his mouth.

"Make them all fly back."

The blond man straightened his red tie, word by word.

"Do it again."

"Every single one of them, fly that... what is it called, dry-land scallion pull?"

"A dry-land scallion pull, sir. The aviation term is low-altitude vertical climb."

"Whatever it's called! Everyone do it once for me!"

The blond man reached into his suit pocket, took out a black card, and slapped it into the Chief of Staff's hand.

"Fuel money, swipe my card!"

The Chief of Staff looked down at the American Express Centurion Black Card in his hand.

"Sir, the procurement of military aviation fuel goes through the Department of Defense budget allocation system, and it does not support personal credit card swipes."

"Then use a special appropriation!" The blond man waved his hand, interrupting. "Presidential special executive order, emergency military training requirement, code name it..."

He thought for two seconds.

"Call it 'Operation Pulling Scallions'."

The Chief of Staff held the black card, standing in the hot wind of the South Pacific, his hair still maintaining the bird's nest shape blown by the F-35.

He closed his eyes.

The radio on the reviewing stand rang again.

"All flight formations, attention."

The communications officer's voice was trembling.

"Presidential order: All return to base, repeat the flyover subject, with an additional requirement."

He paused.

"All fighter jets, in front of the Presidential stand, jointly perform a low-altitude vertical climb."

On the radio, twenty-six pilots lost their voices collectively.

The leader of the F-22 formation spoke first.

"Tower, please confirm... is this an order?"

"Confirmed. Direct order from the President. Fuel costs approved."

A burst of profanity erupted in the channel immediately. In English, Japanese, and Spanish.

Li Li sat in the cockpit of JP-0047, listening to the swearing in his headset, tapping his fingers on the control stick.

In the headset, Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds' laughing scolding emerged.

"Yamada, are you happy now?"

"Twenty-six people are working overtime with you."