135: In arms deals, money is the deciding factor.

Reagan's voice was filled with fury.

"How are we supposed to explain this to Congress? How are we supposed to explain this to our allies?!"

The senior generals and advisors in the office were terrified into silence, not daring to even breathe.

After a long while, the Chief of Staff finally steeled himself and stepped forward.

"Mr. President, according to the intelligence we currently possess... Israel's defeat was not a tactical error, but rather... a technological generation gap."

"A technological generation gap?"

Reagan acted as if he had heard some ridiculous joke.

"Are you saying that a Third World country like the Crescent Nation has surpassed us in military technology?"

"It's not the Crescent Nation."

The Chief of Staff's expression was grim.

"It is the new type of air-to-air missile they are equipped with. Our intelligence indicates that the range of that missile... far exceeds our imagination."

He paused, then stated a fact that made everyone gasp.

"It even... surpasses our most advanced AIM-54 'Phoenix'."

The AIM-54 'Phoenix' missile has a range of up to 184 kilometers.

It is the pride of the Eagle Country Navy and the exclusive super-weapon of the F-14 'Tomcat' fighter jet.

It is one of the cornerstones of Eagle Country's air superiority system.

Now, someone was telling him that the Crescent Nation possessed a missile with a longer range than the 'Phoenix'.

This was simply shaking the very foundations of the nation!

"Fuck!"

Reagan couldn't help but curse.

"We must find out immediately what that missile is! Furthermore, we must have our own, even stronger missile!"

"Yes, Mr. President."

The Minister of Defense immediately chimed in.

"We have already initiated an emergency plan, and the Air Force's next-generation air-to-air missile project will be launched immediately!"

He looked at Reagan and said firmly.

"Our goal is—an effective range of 250 kilometers!"

250 kilometers!

This figure made everyone present feel suffocated.

This meant that Eagle Country's fighter jets would be able to launch lethal attacks from outside the enemy's radar detection range.

"Very good!"

Reagan's expression eased slightly.

"Money is no object! Personnel are no object! I just want results!"

"Get those guys at Lockheed, Boeing, and Raytheon moving! Whoever can come up with the best plan will get this order!"

The atmosphere in the office instantly became subtle.

The representatives of several arms giants had gleams of excitement in their eyes.

A defeat in war, to them, was not a bad thing at all; on the contrary, it meant the beginning of a gluttonous feast.

Unlike the gloomy atmosphere in Eagle Country, the capital of the Crescent Nation was currently immersed in an ocean of joy.

The Presidential Palace was brightly lit, and a grand victory banquet was being held.

Hafez al-Assad was beaming, standing at the front of the stage, in high spirits.

"Friends! Compatriots!"

"Today, we are here to celebrate our great victory!"

His voice traveled through the microphone to the entire banquet hall and was also broadcast to thousands of households via live television.

"Some people always think we are weak and can be bullied! Some people always think their weapons are invincible!"

"But today, we tell the whole world with facts! The land of the Crescent Nation shall not be violated! The people of the Crescent Nation are invincible!"

Thunderous applause erupted from below the stage.

Assad pressed his hands down, signaling for everyone to be quiet.

"Of course, we were able to achieve such a brilliant victory."

"It could not have been done without our brave Soldiers, and even more so, without our reliable allies and our most cutting-edge weapons!"

He changed the subject and raised his volume.

"Here, I want to especially thank one type of fighter jet!"

"It is the pride of our Air Force, the king of the skies—the JF-17 Thunder Block 3 fighter jet!"

"It was it that, with its precise claws, tore apart the enemy's illusions! It was it that, with its incomparable performance, defended our airspace!"

"JF-17 Thunder Block 3! Well done!"

Following Assad's passionate speech, the name JF-17 Thunder Block 3 completely resonated throughout the world.

In the corner of the banquet hall.

Jameson held a glass of champagne, watching the high-spirited Assad on stage, a barely perceptible arc curving at the corner of his mouth.

As the "interim Chief of Staff" of the Crescent Nation and one of the true heroes behind the scenes, he shouldn't have appeared in such a public setting.

But today, he had to come.

Because the prey had already smelled the scent of blood and delivered themselves to his door.

"Mr. Jameson."

Assad walked off the stage and went straight to him, a sincere smile on his face.

"Today, you are our greatest hero."

"Mr. President, you overpraise me; I only did what I was supposed to do."

Jameson smiled modestly.

"Come, let me introduce you to a few friends."

Assad pulled Jameson and walked toward the crowd on the other side.

There, several representatives wearing the military uniforms of different countries were waiting expectantly.

"Everyone, this is the person I often mention to you, our most distinguished advisor, Mr. Jameson."

Assad introduced him enthusiastically.

"Our Air Force's tactical system, as well as the upgrades to those 'little toys' of ours, all came from Mr. Jameson's hand."

As soon as these words were spoken, the eyes of those military representatives instantly lit up.

The way they looked at Jameson was like hungry wolves seeing sheep.

No, like seeing glittering US dollars.

"Mr. Jameson, I have long admired your name!"

A tall, thick-bearded representative from Pakistan was the first to squeeze forward, enthusiastically shaking Jameson's hand.

"I am the Pakistan Air Force representative, Abbasi."

"Your country's JF-17 Thunder Block 3 fighter jet's performance in this war was truly... too stunning!"

He spoke a bit stiffly, but the excitement and desire in his tone were undisguised.

"I wonder... do we have a chance to also possess such a powerful aerial guardian?"

Jameson understood clearly in his heart.

Just as he was about to speak, a sharp voice cut in.

"Abbasi! You Pakistanis also want to buy the JF-17 Thunder? Can you afford it?"

A slightly short and stout, dark-skinned representative from Egypt walked over with a look of disdain.

His name was Shridhar, the head of the military observer delegation sent by Egypt this time.

He looked at Jameson, patted his own chest, and said with the air of someone wealthy and influential.

"Mr. Jameson! Don't listen to them! Whatever they can pay, we in Egypt will pay double!"

"As long as you are willing to sell the JF-17 Thunder Block 3 to us, the price is negotiable!"

"If they buy one, we will buy two! If they buy one squadron, we will buy two squadrons!"

The face of the Pakistan representative, Abbasi, instantly turned the color of pig liver.

"Shridhar! What do you mean?! We were here first!"

"First come, first served? Heh, in arms deals, money does the talking!"

Shridhar would not give an inch.

"If you have money, you can have everything! If you don't have money, get lost to the side!"

Seeing that the two were about to argue, a gentle voice with a heavy accent rang out.

"Heh heh, Mr. Shridhar, still so energetic."

A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed representative from Russia walked over slowly, holding a glass of vodka.

His name was Dmitri.

He took a look at the two who were at daggers drawn, then looked at the composed Jameson, a flash of shrewdness passing through his eyes.

"Mr. Jameson, don't mind them; these two friends of mine are just so enthusiastic."

Dmitri raised his glass and said to Jameson.

"However, what they said is also true. Everyone wants good things. We in Russia are also very interested in your JF-17 Thunder Block 3."