91: Chapter 91 The Pentagon's Furious Revenge and "Internal Corruption"

The United States, Virginia, Pentagon.

Inside this pentagonal building, which symbolizes the highest military power in the world, the atmospheric pressure was terrifyingly low.

In a top-secret operations conference room deep underground, the air conditioning was turned to the maximum, but the dozen or so generals and intelligence officials present still felt sweat running down their backs, as if they were trapped in an oven.

On the massive tactical screen, several slightly blurry videos and photos were playing on a loop.

These were images that reconnaissance satellites and high-altitude drones had managed to capture on the Northern Myanmar battlefield.

Although the footage was shaky, the silhouette, the shape of the turret, and the unique rear grille were so familiar to everyone present that they would recognize them even if they were reduced to ashes.

"Bang!"

A heavy palm slammed onto the table, making the coffee cups jump and spilling coffee all over the desk.

The current Army Chief of Staff, Four-Star General McMillan, had a face flushed to the color of a pig's liver, and the veins on his neck were bulging like earthworms.

He pointed at the tank firing on the edge of the jungle, his roar almost shattering the bulletproof glass:

"Can someone explain this to me! What the hell is going on?! Why is that an M1A2 SEPv3?! Why is our Army's newest main battle tank, which some of our own domestic units haven't even finished equipping, appearing in the mud pits of Northern Myanmar on the other side of the globe?! And it's an entire armored regiment at that!"

He panted heavily, his eyes sweeping over everyone present as if he wanted to eat them alive: "Which ally sold them? Saudi Arabia? Or Australia? Or was that damn transport ship hijacked by pirates? Or did one of you sell the tanks like used cars?!"

The Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), Black, turned pale. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, braced himself to stand up, and his voice trembled: "General, we... we have already initiated the highest-level traceability investigation. Every serial number of every M1 series tank exported to allies is under surveillance. We have checked all shipping records and inventory lists..."

He swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower: "And these few in the photos, after comparison by the technical department, their turret armor configuration and the installation position of the Active Protection System (APS) are completely identical to our active-duty SEPv3s! In fact... some details are even more advanced than our export versions! But... but not a single tank from all production lines and inventories is missing. They are as if... as if they appeared out of thin air."

"Not a single one missing?!" McMillan laughed in extreme anger. "Then what is this thing on the screen? Is it magic that God performed for Zhang Cheng? Or is it an inflatable model?! Huh?! "

He pointed to another photo, which showed a Wa State bunker blown away by an M1A2, "You tell me, can an inflatable model achieve this effect?! That muzzle velocity, that armor-piercing capability, this is the real deal!"

The conference room fell into a dead silence. This was exactly what was most terrifying.

If they had been stolen, sold, or even robbed, there would at least be a trace to follow. But the current situation was simply a paranormal event! It was as if that warlord Zhang Cheng had a 'Cornucopia' that could create things out of thin air, or... he had mastered the core production technology of the US military and built an arsenal himself in that godforsaken place in Northern Myanmar! But was that possible?

"And this!" A major general clicked on another photo, which showed M4 carbines and javelin anti-tank missiles captured and displayed by the Kokang National Army. "These were what we provided to South Wa through secret channels. And the result? They all became the enemy's war trophies! Even more ironically, our advisory group reported that the enemy's infantry tactical movements are even more standard than our Rangers! How are we supposed to fight this war? Are we delivering packages to the enemy?!"

"Investigate! Investigate until you find something!"

McMillan finally calmed down, but his cold tone was even more terrifying than his roaring. "This is definitely not as simple as an outside theft. This is a leak! A top-level technical leak! There must be a mole! And this mole is high-ranking, capable of accessing core blueprints and production lines!"

"Notify the FBI, lock down all General Dynamics Land Systems factories! Detain every engineer, executive, or even janitor who has had access to the SEPv3 blueprints! Check their accounts, check their communications, check their ancestors back eighteen generations! I don't believe we won't find something fishy!"

"And," McMillan turned to look at the CIA liaison officer, his eyes gloomy. "I want to know the true source of Zhang Cheng's equipment, at any cost. If there really is a big mole inside our ranks... I will personally send him to the electric chair!"

Orders with the highest priority were issued from this conference room.

That night, the senior management of several major US military industrial giants were taken away for questioning overnight, and countless technicians' homes were turned upside down. The entire US military-industrial complex was in a state of panic; this was the famous "Ghost Tank" incident.

And they could never have dreamed that the so-called "mole" did not exist at all. Zhang Cheng, who was driving them crazy, was currently lying in that large boss chair at Bangkok Camp, looking at the "Patriot" air defense missile system that had just refreshed in his system, a "simple and unpretentious" smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Fleecing the Americans, it really feels great."