69: Chapter 69 The Vivid Scenes of Mu Yi Hao

The radar warning receiver went haywire.

The short pulse signals turned into a continuous scream; the entire cockpit felt like someone was shoving an electric drill into his ears.

Li Li gripped the control stick with his right hand and glanced at the rearview mirror.

Two blips. Six o'clock position, twelve nautical miles out, closing rapidly.

"Ding—"

[Emergency Alert: Two F/A-18E "Super Hornets" (single-seat variant) behind you, US military fighters.]

[Good news: The opponent has no air-to-air missiles equipped (that Stinger just now exhausted the missile budget).]

[Bad news: The opponent has M61A2 "Vulcan" cannons, 6,000 rounds per minute. If you get tailed, you and Ms. Jiang will become an aerial jigsaw puzzle of debris.]

[Worse news: You have two AIM-9X Sidewinders. Once they're gone, they're gone. Use them sparingly.]

The radio crackled to life, in English.

"Unidentified aircraft with unauthorized Israel livery, callsign unknown, you have entered controlled airspace. Immediately turn back and return to Masirah Island base, land on runway 27, this is your final warning."

The frequency was open and unencrypted—which meant they hadn't classified him as an enemy target yet. The IFF code was still working.

He pressed the communication button.

"Masirah Tower, this is..."

He paused for a second.

A stolen plane—what callsign should he make up?

Damn it.

"This is Li Li in Mu One."

The radio went silent for two seconds.

In the back seat, Jiang Rumu was strapped in tight, her entire body pressed into the seat.

"What did you just say?"

"The callsign."

"You used our CP name as a fighter callsign?!"

"It's temporary. Do you have a better one?"

Jiang Rumu opened her mouth, then closed it.

The other end of the radio was also stunned for a beat.

"...Li Li in what? Repeat your callsign."

"Li Li in Mu One." Li Li nudged the control stick. "I am conducting a humanitarian evacuation, carrying a citizen of Dongda on board, requesting clearance."

"Negative. Unauthorized Israel Air Force fighter, return to base immediately, otherwise, we will take forceful measures."

"What kind of forceful measures? You aren't carrying missiles, are you going to dogfight?"

Silence, a longer silence.

Stealing a plane was certainly not honorable, but the plane chasing him wasn't carrying missiles either—it was like two police officers with empty guns chasing a robber carrying an RPG.

"Li Li in Mu One—" Someone else took over on the other end, with a deeper voice and higher rank. "Turn back within thirty seconds. After thirty seconds, we will force you down with cannon fire."

On the HUD, the two F/A-18Es closed in to eight nautical miles.

Same engine, same aerodynamic layout. But he was in a two-seat F-model, nearly a ton heavier than the others.

He couldn't outrun them in a straight line; there were two of them, and only one of him.

"Li Li." Jiang Rumu's voice was still hoarse in the back seat. "Will they really open fire?"

"Yes."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Have you ever watched UFC?"

"...Yes."

"It's about the same, just a high-end version, more realistic, and more exciting."

"Ten seconds."

"Five seconds."

"Time's up. Interception commencing."

The two F/A-18Es split up, flanking him from left and right. A standard pincer tactic—one to tail, one to cut off.

Li Li pulled the stick.

The nose pitched up violently; the F/A-18F pulled into a near-vertical climb at 30,000 feet, the afterburners spewing blue-white flames, the G-force pinning both of them into their seats.

Four Gs. Five Gs. Six Gs.

The edges of Jiang Rumu's vision turned gray, her face completely distorted. The amethyst necklace on her chest sprang up, the silver chain whipping against her chin.

"Hold on!"

At the apex of the climb, a roll, one hundred and eighty degrees, the world turned upside down.

If she hadn't eaten anything, Jiang Rumu would have already thrown up.

Dive.

Plunging down from 40,000 feet, aiming at the E-model on the right that was pulling into a turn.

The HUD targeting box flickered. Infrared seeker searching. Lock-on tone sounded.

"Fox Two."

White smoke erupted from under the wing. The Sidewinder lunged at the target at Mach 3.

The pilot of the E-model on the right wasn't slow to react—he fired four infrared countermeasures in succession, orange-red decoys exploding in the air, while simultaneously pulling an 8-G sharp turn, trying to shake the missile.

It was useless; the AIM-9X with thrust vectoring control passed through the curtain of decoys, correcting its trajectory.

It hit the right engine intake.

A fireball expanded, debris scattered, a third of the right wing was blown off, and the fuselage spun uncontrollably.

The cockpit canopy ejected, and a parachute blossomed.

Still alive.

Li Li glanced at it. As long as they were alive, it was fine. Killing a US military pilot was a completely different matter.

"Ding—"

[Kill Confirmed: US Military F/A-18E ×1. Sidewinders remaining: 1]

[System Evaluation: Air combat K/D is currently 1:0. Bad news—there's one more.]

The E-model on the left wasn't scared off.

Seeing its wingman blown up, instead of running, it accelerated to cut in—at forty-five degrees to the left rear, within cannon range.

The sound of the Vulcan cannon's rotating barrels transmitted through the airflow into the cockpit.

A string of tracer rounds flew past just above the canopy. Red dots traced arcs across the windshield.

Missed by a bit, less than two meters away.

The next round might not miss.

Li Li slammed the left rudder and pulled the stick, executing a barrel roll into a Split-S, the fuselage drawing a twisted spiral as it vanished from the line of fire.

A muffled groan from the back seat. Jiang Rumu's head hit the cockpit wall.

"Are you still alive?"

"...Yes."

"Hang in there."

Throttle pushed to the max. Afterburners ignited. The nose plunged into the clouds below.

The field of vision turned white instantly.

The E-model followed in. On the radar, the distance between the two blips was shrinking—three nautical miles, two, one point five.

Relying on his mastery of piloting, Li Li performed a counter-intuitive maneuver.

Throttle to idle, airbrakes fully extended.

From Mach 1.1, it plummeted to 0.4.

The E-model was too fast and shot right over the top of him.

Overtaken.

Hunter and prey swapped.

Li Li retracted the airbrakes, pushed the throttle to max, and locked onto the E-model's tail.

The last Sidewinder. Lock-on.

"Fox Two."

This time, it was less than a nautical mile; the opponent had no time to react.

Hit the left engine. Explosion. Ejection. Parachute.

A second survivor.

"Ding—"

[Kill: US Military F/A-18E ×2 (Total). Sidewinders: 0]

[System Evaluation: 2:0 shutout. Congratulations on becoming the first amateur variety show contestant in human history to steal a fighter jet and achieve a positive K/D. I suggest you surrender immediately after landing; at the very least, you can write "Living Air Combat Ace" on your resume.]

The cockpit was quiet for three seconds.

Jiang Rumu's breathing gradually steadied.

"Is it over?"

"It's over."

She pulled her fingers out from where they were embedded in the seatbelt. All ten fingers were red, the skin under the nails white.

"Li Li."

"Yeah."

"I'm never riding in anything you're driving again. Not cars, not boats, and definitely not planes."

"What about Yadea e-bikes?"

"...Not those either."

The HUD was clear, no pursuers behind, fuel at 61 percent.

On the system panel, the coordinates of the dual carrier strike group flashed. 001 and 004, in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

Three hundred nautical miles as the crow flies, half an hour at cruising speed.

He adjusted course.

Steady now.

He even started thinking about what to eat in the carrier mess hall—

The radar warning blared again.

Not from behind.

From below.

The frequency was completely different. It wasn't an airborne radar. It was the fire-control radar of a ground-based air defense system. Continuous wave guidance.

All the warning lights in the cockpit lit up simultaneously. All red.

SA-17. "Buk" medium-range air defense missile. Mach 3. Active radar terminal guidance.

Fired from a coastal position on the south side of Masirah Island.

Time to interception: fourteen seconds.

Li Li pulled the control stick to the limit. Fired heat decoys in succession. Chaff poured out.

The SA-17's active radar seeker didn't fall for it.

Ten seconds. 9-G extreme turn. G-suit inflated. Only a single bright spot remained in the center of his vision.

Seven seconds. Missile corrected its trajectory.

Five seconds. Couldn't shake it.

Weapon pylons empty. Sidewinders exhausted. Cannon couldn't hit a missile.

Three seconds.

Two seconds. Missile terminal acceleration. Proximity fuse entered working range.

One second—

A streak of white smoke cut across from the direction of the eastern horizon.

Faster than the "Buk". Mach 4.

PL-15.

The white smoke collided with the missile.

A fireball exploded 300 meters to the right of the cockpit. The shockwave shoved the F/A-18F fifteen degrees off course, debris clattering against the canopy.

Li Li leveled the plane.

His hands were shaking. Not because of the cold.

To the east. Above the horizon. Two black dots. Moving extremely fast.

HUD popped up IFF information.

He was stunned for a moment.

It displayed—

"Hostile".

Dongda Air Force livery. J-15. Electronic warfare variant. Two-plane formation.

IFF identified them as "Hostile"—because he was flying a Israel plane.

In the Chinese fighter's system, he was the enemy.

The radio rang.

The voice was very young, very steady.

"This is the Chinese Air Force, you have entered the operational area of our carrier fleet."

Paused for half a second.

"Identify yourself or leave immediately. Otherwise, the next missile's target is you."