425: Chapter 425 Seizing the Airport in Nineteen Minutes

This was the first effect of "Perception Fog" — making the enemy blind.

The second effect would arrive in three minutes.

In the underground command center in Naypyidaw, Zhang Cheng stood before the holographic situation map.

He circled the air defense nodes of Singapore one by one: three "Aster-30" medium-range surface-to-air missile batteries, two "Patriot-3" long-range surface-to-air missile batteries, and four "Sky Shield" short-range anti-aircraft gun batteries.

Behind each battery, he had marked its radar model, blind spots in coverage, and missile ammunition count — this data came from an analyst from the former Singapore Intelligence Agency who had defected three months ago, as well as all the air defense exercise parameters that Night Owl had intercepted via signals intelligence over the past year.

"Hammer drop, commence," Zhang Cheng ordered.

Deep in the South China Sea, the flight decks of three nuclear-powered aircraft carriers lit up simultaneously with blue-green takeoff and landing lights.

One hundred and twenty "Zhan-10B soaring dragon" stealth fighters and "Shadow" unmanned attack aircraft took off within twelve minutes, forming six attack waves.

The first wave — twenty-four "Shadow" drones, armed with GBU-57 heavy bunker-buster bombs, targeted the Changi Airport runway.

The second wave — eighteen "Zhan-10B"s, armed with anti-radiation missiles and electronic warfare pods, targeted the Paya Lebar Airbase air defense radar array.

The third wave — sixteen "Zhan-10B"s, armed with precision-guided glide bombs, targeted the Jurong West communications hub and the Sentosa satellite ground station.

Waves four through six — sixty-two aircraft of various types remained on standby in the air, ready to carry out immediate strikes against any enemy aircraft attempting to take off or any ground-based counter-attack forces.

At 3:11 AM, the first bunker-buster bomb detached from the "Shadow" drone's pylon.

It made no sound as it fell — it was traveling faster than the speed of sound.

Lin Jiahao, the ground crew duty officer at the middle section of the Changi Airport runway, only had time to see a straight crack suddenly rip through the clouds above his head before the runway exploded twenty meters beneath his feet.

It didn't explode on the surface — it drilled in and detonated within the runway's foundation.

The concrete panels were flipped over in their entirety, as if a giant were prying them up with a shovel from below.

The second bomb struck the east end of the runway, the third hit the intersection of Taxiway 2 and the main runway, and the fourth struck the backup runway next to the fuel depot.

In eleven seconds, four craters, each twelve meters in diameter and five meters deep, completely severed both of Changi Airport's runways.

The four F-15 SGs parked outside the hangar were pushed sideways by the shockwave for over a dozen meters, their landing gear plowing charred furrows into the concrete ground.

The ground crew inside the hangar lay on the ground, their insides churning from the continuous shockwaves — many of them didn't even know what had happened; they only knew that the fluorescent light tubes overhead were shattering one by one, with glass shards falling like rain.

The fate of Paya Lebar Airbase was even more fatal.

At 3:12 AM, anti-radiation missiles detached simultaneously from the wings of the eighteen "Zhan-10B"s.

Their seekers locked onto radiation sources of the same frequency band — the AN/MPQ-65 fire control radar of the "Patriot-3" air defense system.

Thirty seconds before the missiles launched, the operator of the Singapore air defense unit finally saw a string of light dots approaching at Mach 8 on his screen and pressed the intercept button — the "Aster-30" missile popped out of the silo, ignited, and then lost its target.

It didn't miss.

It was because the anti-radiation missile had switched its lock-on beacon the moment the interceptor lifted off, flying down the fire control radar's illumination beam back to the silo.

By the time the first anti-radiation missile hit the radar vehicle, the second had already penetrated the roof of the air defense command center's bunker.

Seventeen officers inside the bunker — all killed in action.

Not a single one of the twelve F-15 SGs on the Paya Lebar runway had time to start its engine.

At 3:20 AM, over Seletar Airport.

Six "soaring dragon" stealth transport aircraft opened their tail cargo doors at an altitude of 3,000 meters.

Their radar cross-sections were completely masked by fake target signals projected by "Vega" — on the remaining screens of the Singapore air defense system, those weren't six transport planes, but a flock of bar-headed geese migrating south.

The "Shadow Blade" 1st Airborne Regiment — 1,200 Death Soldiers — leapt from the tail cargo doors.

Their HUD goggles projected real-time thermal imaging of Seletar Airport: the fourth floor of the control tower had two duty officers and one sentry — all three were sitting still, with heart rates below 65.

Twelve ground crew members of the 121st Squadron were stationed in Hangar 1, all sleeping in the dormitory area.

Hangar 2 housed two F-15 SGs, with their canopies closed and weapon pylons empty.

The entire airport was at Level 2 combat readiness — theoretically, it could switch to Level 1 within an hour, but at the moment, the radar screens were still just snow.

The first "Shadow Blade" operative landed on the roof of the control tower.

Their optical camouflage suits transitioned from the deep black of the 3,000-meter night sky to the gray-white of the tower's concrete roof, and the faint sound of the landing was masked by the wind.

He rappelled down the outer wall of the tower to the fourth-floor window, cut the window lock with a ceramic dagger, and slid inside.

Sergeant Chen Yaohui, the duty officer, was staring blankly at the radar screen filled with snow — he heard footsteps behind him, assumed it was a colleague coming to relieve him, and said without turning his head: "Still no signal."

A suppressed pistol barrel pressed against the back of his neck.

"You have been taken over. Shut down all communication equipment. Do as you're told, and you will live."

Chen Yaohui raised his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a second gray-white shadow silently sliding into the first floor from the stairwell, where the sentry was still leaning back in his chair dozing with his rifle in his arms — until a hand covered his mouth, the rifle was pulled from his grasp, and he was zip-tied to the chair armrests.

The entire process took barely ten seconds; the sentry didn't even fully wake up.

The twelve ground crew members in Hangar 1 were subdued one by one in their sleep.

They were gathered in the dormitory corridor, forced to squat with their hands on their heads.

The "Shadow Blade" operative in charge of guarding them announced in a low voice in English: "Non-military personnel will not be harmed. Stay quiet."

A young ground crew member tried to reach for the phone in his pocket — the phone had lost signal three minutes ago.

Within twenty seconds, the two F-15 SGs in Hangar 2 were affixed with thermite charges — not to destroy the aircraft, but to blow the canopy release latches and the landing gear hydraulic lines.

If the pilots attempted a forced takeoff, the canopies wouldn't close, and the landing gear would snap during the taxi.

At 3:40 AM, control of Seletar Airport changed hands.

Nineteen minutes since the operation began.

At the same moment, in the underground bunker of the Presidential Palace.

Lawrence Wong was curled up in an explosion-proof chair in the emergency conference room, his shirt collar soaked with sweat, sticking to the back of his neck.

Spread out on the table in front of him were three satellite phones — all of them displaying "No Service."

The military radio that Ng Eng Hen had brought from the Ministry of Defense sat in the center of the table, with the loudspeaker looping "Vega"'s electronic suppression broadcast — that recording had played for the seventeenth time, every word scraping against Lawrence Wong's eardrums like sandpaper.