184: Chapter 184 The White House is in an uproar, a reverse exhibition

"And now, we bring you a live broadcast from the skies above the South China Sea, reported by Jack Donaldson, Chief Asia-Pacific Correspondent for Reuters."

As the studio host finished speaking, the broadcast instantly cut to a high-altitude aerial shot. Sea breezes swept clouds across the lens, clearly capturing the outlines of the giant warship and fighter jets on the ocean surface.

"Dear viewers! Live footage! Two US military F/A-18E/F Super Hornets have just broken away from the USS Ronald Reagan carrier strike group, lowering their altitude to circle the da fu!"

"Wait! The lead plane is lowering its altitude! The landing gear is down! It looks like the Super Hornet is preparing to land?!"

In the live broadcast, the lead F/A-18E/F dipped slightly, aligning itself with the landing runway of the da fu.

Inside the cockpit, the US lead pilot's head was still groggy.

He had spent half the night drinking whiskey with his colleagues on the USS Ronald Reagan. The hangover hadn't worn off yet; his hands felt shaky on the joystick, and his eyes were half a beat slow to focus.

"The fighter has touched down! Wait! The tailhook missed! It missed all four arresting wires!"

The commentator's voice cracked in a screech. On screen, the tires of the F/A-18E/F screeched across the deck without slowing down at all, hurtling straight toward the end of the flight deck. Just a few meters ahead lay the vast South China Sea. If it plunged into the water, the plane would be destroyed and the pilot killed!

At this critical juncture, the emergency arresting system at the end of the deck instantly activated.

Two electromagnetic arresting nets snapped up from beneath the deck. Working in tandem with the electromagnetic buffer towing device at the end of the deck, they precisely caught the fighter's nose landing gear.

The fighter, which had already overshot most of the runway with its nose pointing downward, was forcefully yanked back by a gentle yet powerful force. Its speed plummeted visibly, and it came to a steady halt right at the edge of the deck, less than half a meter from plunging into the sea.

The entire process took less than two seconds. There was no violent crash, no damage to the fuselage, and the 25-ton carrier-based aircraft was steadily brought to a stop. Even the pilot in the cockpit only jolted forward slightly, completely unharmed.

"My God! It stopped! It actually stopped!" the commentator shouted excitedly. As a military reporter, he knew all too well how incredibly difficult this was to achieve.

Before this, once a fighter failed to catch the arresting wire, it either had to go around or plunge into the sea—there was no third option.

"This aircraft carrier has actually installed a second emergency electromagnetic arresting system at the end of the deck! It can stop a fighter under the extreme condition of being completely out of control and overshooting the runway! This technology completely surpasses the configuration of active US Navy aircraft carriers!"

Laymen watch for the excitement, while experts look for the craft.

In the bridge of the da fu, Raymond watched the surveillance screen, also breaking into a cold sweat.

Before setting off, he had strongly opposed taking off and landing on the aircraft carrier.

There was no choice; these pilots were fast-tracked using brain-computer interfaces, with less than 100 hours of flight time. Under US military regulations, they were not allowed to take off or land independently on an aircraft carrier.

Fu Haoran had confidently claimed at the time that there were backup safety measures, but Raymond had never believed him.

Only now did he realize that this safety measure was this one-of-a-kind terminal electromagnetic arresting system.

"Although it's a simple and straightforward brute-force solution, the technical sophistication is not low at all. The coordination precision of the entire ship's electromagnetic system has to be pushed to the absolute limit. Only President Fu would dare to play like this."

"Strange, why are US military pilots getting worse and worse at flying? Why didn't he go around when he missed the wire?"

Inside the cockpit, the hungover pilot finally came to his senses. He crawled out with weak limbs, leaning against the fuselage and gasping for air. He had just crossed himself and hadn't even had time to thank God when his collar was grabbed by a large hand.

Tychus, standing over two and a half meters tall with broad shoulders and a thick back, had muscles that stretched his DYB overalls to their limits.

He lifted the pilot straight up, as if hoisting a newly hatched chick.

The second F/A-18E/F following close behind landed smoothly, its tailhook precisely catching the second arresting wire, decelerating to a steady stop.

As soon as the pilot pushed open the cockpit canopy and stepped out, he was surrounded by veterans of the Planetary Defense Force, disarmed in a second, and then "friendly" escorted to join his colleague.

The live broadcast camera was locked onto the deck, capturing this scene with absolute clarity.

Tychus grabbed both pilots by their collars, one in each hand, and walked toward the depths of the ship. The two pilots cursed the entire way, but they didn't have the slightest room to struggle.

He grinned, his booming voice shaking the broadcast's audio receiver: "Come on, honored guests. Our boss is inviting you to the bridge to have some coffee for a couple of days."

After speaking, he didn't forget to wave at the helicopter in the sky, flashing a bright, friendly smile.

In the VIP spectator section of the Miss Universe Zhuhai Pageant, Fu Haoran looked at the live broadcast on his phone, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Beside him, Cheng Beixiao, who had just rushed back from the Port Authority, finished reporting the situation while drenched in sweat. Looking at the US pilots being carried away on the live stream, his legs went weak: "President Fu, aren't we... playing a bit too big here?"

"Is it too big?" Fu Haoran looked up at the runway, his tone nonchalant. "The goods have been delivered right to their doorstep. We have to let the buyers see the real deal."

The Pentagon Command Center.

Admiral Jenson stood in front of the large screen, watching his dispatched pilots being carried off like little chicks on the live broadcast. His face was as black as the bottom of a pot.

Gritting his teeth, he didn't lose his composure in public, but in his heart, he cursed himself eight hundred times.

A perfectly good move had turned into sending sheep into a tiger's mouth, rubbing the US military's face in the dirt of the South China Sea in front of the entire world.

—

"If those fighter jets had fallen into the sea, where would I hide my old face!"

But when he redirected his gaze back to the emergency electromagnetic arresting system on the live screen that had just completed the extreme stop, the gloom in his heart deepened even further.

Because this was precisely the core technology that the Ford-class had spent over a decade and billions of dollars on without ever perfecting!

The more he looked at this aircraft carrier, the more complicated his feelings became.

Look at this sleek design, the sci-fi appearance of the island. It not only had mature and stable electromagnetic catapults but also a dual-redundant electromagnetic arresting system. It was larger, had a higher displacement, and was brand new!

More importantly, it was already built and operational. They had sailed from the eastern shore of the Pacific to the western shore, a solo voyage of ten thousand nautical miles without any supply ships or escorts. What did that prove? It proved they had absolute confidence!

Then look at the Ford-class aircraft carrier, which was plagued by endless delivery delays!

The reliability of its electromagnetic catapult system still hadn't been resolved. Congressmen had once mocked the carrier as nothing more than a "13-billion-dollar nuclear-powered floating barge."

If that was considered a major issue, what about the remaining minor problems?

What was even more ridiculous was that just as it was about to be delivered, the designers discovered they were short of over a hundred berths. Jenson really couldn't understand if that group of highly-paid designers were just complete idiots.

At the thought of this, Jenson was absolutely furious, and his expression grew even darker.

The surrounding staff officers didn't dare to breathe loudly, waiting for him to order a retaliation or initiate diplomatic negotiations.

However, Jenson issued an order that caught them completely off guard: "Have our State Department contact the Zhuhai Airshow Organizing Committee!"

His subordinates were completely bewildered: "Sir? Why contact the organizing committee?"

"Why?!" Jenson glared, his face filled with reckless irritation. "If you can't beat them, join them! They've set up their stall right on our doorstep. What's the point of us staring at satellite feeds from across the Pacific?!"

"Order the USS Ronald Reagan carrier strike group to maneuver at full speed to the waters off Zhuhai Port and apply to dock there under the guise of a diplomatic visit. At the same time, submit an application to the organizing committee for US carrier-based aircraft to perform flight demonstrations, and demand the largest booth right next to DYB! We are participating in the exhibition too!"

"What if they don't agree?" someone asked quietly.

Jenson glared at him thoroughly annoyed. "Do I really need to teach you this? Release the news first to drum up international public opinion. Would they dare to publicly reject a guest who is normally participating in the exhibition?"

"Additionally, prepare military experts and a procurement team. We are going to the airshow ourselves. I want to see with my own eyes what he dares to sell! Buy back everything that can be bought!"

"I absolutely will not allow others to buy up all the technology we consider our crown jewels while we are left with nothing!"

The entire command center was dead silent.

No one had expected the Chief of Naval Operations to pull off such a "if you can't beat them, join them" wild move. The anger they had bottled up for so long completely transformed into an eagerness to rush to the scene and snatch up goods.

But thinking about it carefully, this seemed to be the only viable option at the moment.

The Eastern Power Military Command Center.

On the massive electronic screen, all footage of the sea surface, airspace, and the airshow venue was synchronized in real time. The thrilling arresting footage from just moments ago was being replayed in slow motion over and over again.

Finally, a technical analyst spoke up: "The technical team has just completed the footage analysis. The target vessel is equipped with a dual-redundant electromagnetic arresting system!"

"In addition to the conventional four arresting wires, a terminal emergency electromagnetic buffer arresting device has been installed!"

"This system can achieve zero-damage arrest of a 25-ton carrier-based aircraft within 1.5 seconds under extreme conditions where the aircraft is completely out of control, overshooting the runway, and exceeding the speed limit of the arresting wires!"

"According to our preliminary assessment, this is likely the best life-saving technology for carrier-based aircraft in the world today!"

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

The officer at the command console stared at the slow-motion footage of the interception on the screen, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk, and ordered in a deep voice: "List the target ship's electromagnetic arresting system and electromagnetic catapult system as top-priority recording targets. Do not let a single detail of the technical specifications slip by."

"Notify the naval frigate formation to move out and rendezvous with da fu, keep a close watch on the Reagan carrier strike group, and do not allow them to cross the line by even a single step."

"Notify the Southern Theater Command Air Force to have the J-20 pair formation take off, accompany the DYB fighter formation for the entire duration, do not fire without orders, and record flight data throughout."

"Telegraph headquarters; archive all data regarding the target ship and fighter jets."

The orders were passed down layer by layer, mobilizing the entire military.

At the Zhuhai Airshow.

The control tower had already received orders from superiors to guide the DYB fighter formation into the landing flight path for the entire duration, clearing the main runway.

Inside the exhibition hall, the media, exhibitors, and buyers were still happily browsing, snapping photos of various fighter jet models and equipment display boards, completely unaware of the shock about to come.

Suddenly, a deafening roar came from the sky, approaching from afar and drowning out all the noise in the venue.

Four silver-gray fighter jets whistled in from over the sea in a tight formation, precisely aligned with the runway, lowered their landing gear, and landed smoothly.

The tires grazed the runway, leaving two faint trails of blue smoke. Immediately after, four more arrived. Then another four.

A military enthusiast carrying a telephoto lens was squatting outside the fence at the end of the runway, filming the preview flight performance. His lens followed the fighter jet that had just landed, and his finger suddenly froze on the shutter.

Diamond-shaped nose, twin outward-canted vertical stabilizers, two-dimensional vector thrust nozzles. These features were etched into the DNA of every military enthusiast.

He lowered his camera and confirmed it with his naked eye three times, then suddenly slammed the camera back to his face, cursing at the image in the viewfinder: "Damn, an F-22!"

In the nearby VIP lounge, several Middle Eastern buyers who had been drinking coffee and discussing business heard the roar from the runway becoming increasingly intense and walked to the window with their cups. After just one look, they froze. The bone china coffee cups slipped from their hands, shattered on the floor, and hot coffee splashed onto their trousers, but no one bent down to pick them up.

The walkie-talkies of the police maintaining order at the scene crackled with emergency orders, demanding the immediate lockdown of the area around the runway and prohibiting any unauthorized personnel from approaching. Armed soldiers quickly took their positions, and yellow caution tape instantly surrounded the entire parking area.

But this could not stop the reporters and military enthusiasts carrying telephoto lenses. After all, the runway was open-air; the caution tape could block the ground, but not the line of sight.

One F-22 after another flew in from over the sea, landing sequentially on the runway at Jinwan Airport. As the fighter jets taxied to the parking area, the DYB Warhammer military insignia printed on the fuselage was clear and dazzling in the sunlight.

The sound of shutters merged into one, like a heavy downpour hitting a tin roof. Everyone's mobile phones, cameras, and video recorders were all aimed at the runway. Some people didn't even have time to edit their content; they snapped photos and posted them directly to Weibo and Twitter, with the caption consisting of only a few words: "F-22 appears at Zhuhai Airshow."

In just a few minutes, three hashtags—#F22 Air Drops into Zhuhai Airshow, #Mysterious Carrier Appears in South China Sea, and #What Exactly is DYB Military's Background—exploded to the top of the trending lists on domestic and international social media platforms. The Weibo server crashed on the spot, and refreshing the page resulted in nothing but blank screens of loading failures. On Twitter's global trending list, six of the top ten were related to this event.

Washington, the White House Situation Room. President Trump sat at the head of the long table with three screens in front of him. On the left was a real-time satellite image, in the middle was a live broadcast from a foreign media helicopter, and on the right was a scrolling page of Twitter's global trends. He stared at the F-22s landing on the screen; the expression on his face shifted from confusion to shock, from shock to anger, and finally settled into an extremely complex sense of helplessness.

From this morning until now, questioning calls from NATO allies, inquiry calls from Congress, and interview requests from the media had completely jammed the White House switchboard. He repeated the same three sentences over and over: "We don't have them, we are unaware, and this is absolutely not an official U.S. military operation."

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?" When President Trump spoke, his voice was kept extremely low, and the entire Situation Room was dead silent. The Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and the CIA Director stood in a row, looking at each other; no one could answer this question.

The door to the Situation Room was pushed open, and General Jensen walked in with long strides, placing a freshly printed intelligence briefing and a receipt for the airshow booth application in front of the President. His expression remained grim, yet he carried an air of reckless resignation.

"Mr. President, the situation has been verified. The owner of da fu is DYB Technology, and the actual controller is Fu Haoran, the protagonist of the Washington alien incident a few months ago, and also the only honorary Major General of the National Guard in America at present."

Jensen's voice was steady and restrained, but every piece of information was like a thunderclap, exploding in the Situation Room. "Additionally, I have already had the team submit an application to the Zhuhai Airshow organizing committee, securing the largest booth next to DYB. The Reagan carrier strike group is moving at full speed toward Zhuhai Port, applying to dock at Zhuhai Port under the guise of a diplomatic visit."

President Trump looked up abruptly, his face full of disbelief: "What are you doing?!"

"Mr. President, we cannot stop him, nor can we silence the global buyers," Jensen gave a bitter smile. "Instead of staring blankly across the Pacific, we might as well go to the scene to keep an eye on things. If he dares to sell, we dare to buy. We absolutely cannot let the F-22 technology or the electromagnetic catapult technology fall into the hands of our rivals."

"Wait, let me wrap my head around this first." President Trump rubbed his temples, remained silent for a long while, and finally managed to squeeze out a sentence: "You mean to say that one of our honorary Major Generals of the National Guard, using his own factory and workers, not only replicated the F-22 fighter jet but also casually built an aircraft carrier with four electromagnetic catapults, and then sailed it all the way to the Zhuhai Airshow in China to publicly set up a stall and sell it?"

"That is the case, Mr. President."

"Alright then." President Trump took a deep breath. "How could they have an F-22 production line?"

"According to our investigation, it was purchased from Lockheed Martin. When Lockheed Martin sold it to them, they believed it did not have the conditions for restarting production," Jensen answered truthfully.

"But they restarted production." "Yes."

"Lockheed told Congress that the production line was completely dismantled and could not be replicated. Why could someone else do it?" President Trump asked, suppressing his anger. The Situation Room was deathly silent; no one could answer.

The CEO of Lockheed was currently in Congress undergoing questioning; his phone was being blown up, and he didn't dare to answer calls from the White House at all.

"Alright, second question: how long did it take them to build the aircraft carrier?"

"The specific start time cannot be confirmed, but based on the ownership transfer records, it has been at most two years."

President Trump closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his eyes were filled with uncontrollable rage: "Do you mean to say that for two whole years, you never knew someone was secretly building an aircraft carrier?"

Jensen was silent for a moment: "Although I really don't want to admit it, I am afraid that is the case."

"Fine, you tell me why our Ford-class carrier has been built and repaired, and yet the electromagnetic catapult is still not stable enough for use." "And yet they built a ship larger than the Ford-class, with an electromagnetic catapult system that runs smoother than ours, is capable of continuous full-load catapult launches for over a hundred sorties, and can even sail across the ocean into the South China Sea to exhibit."

Jensen was silent for a long time: "I would like to know the answer to that as well."

President Trump stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to everyone. "What do we do now?"

"Mr. President, based on my understanding of Fu Haoran, since he said he is going to sell, he absolutely intends to sell." "To prevent the leakage of technology, we must buy back this batch of F-22s, as well as all the core technologies in his possession that we can."

"Huh?" President Trump turned around abruptly, his face full of disbelief. "Aren't those our fighter jets? Besides, who would dare to buy them without our nod!"

"Legally speaking, those were produced by Fu Haoran's private enterprise and do not belong to U.S. military assets," Jensen gave a bitter smile. "And I'm afraid you are overestimating our deterrent power." "The host, China, would definitely be more than happy to pay for them, and Persia, the Russians, and the Indians are all clutching their checkbooks, waiting."

President Trump broke down on the spot, slamming the table hard, making the solid wood surface hum with vibration. Pointing at the F-22s parked on the runway in the live broadcast, he squeezed a few words through his teeth: "Send our people to the scene immediately! Whoever dares to buy, I will sanction them!" "Absolutely do not let a single one end up in the hands of another country!"

"Wait," President Trump suddenly called out to Jensen, who was about to turn away. "Notify our allies, Japan and South Korea, and have them make the purchase." "Huh?" Jensen didn't react in time. Trump revealed the shrewd smile peculiar to a businessman: "If our allies pay, it's the same as us paying. As for how they are used in the end, isn't that up to us to decide?"