55: Chapter 55: A Dimensional Reduction Strike from Warhammer

Alarms blared in the quinjet cockpit.

Maxim, an ace pilot for S.H.I.E.L.D., had executed hundreds of infiltration missions; forget fifth-generation fighters, he could easily penetrate even the top-tier air defense networks of any nation and had never failed.

Just as Maxim was about to lock onto the opponent for an eye-for-an-eye retaliation, he was stunned to see two missiles flying towards them!

Even more deadly, the missiles were traveling at speeds exceeding Mach 8!

"Damn it!"

Maxim shoved the control stick forward, and the fighter climbed vertically at a 9G overload.

The wingman followed closely behind; the two quinjets were like startled birds, performing frantic tactical maneuvers.

Optical stealth was pushed to full power, and signal jamming flares were scattered as if they cost nothing.

It was useless.

The radar lock signal never wavered.

"Fuck—what kind of technology is this?!" the co-pilot roared, his fingers sliding frantically across the touchscreen.

Hill's calm voice came through the communicator: "Pull back, evacuate immediately!"

Before the words could finish, an explosion erupted—the wingman had been destroyed!

The good news was that the explosion disrupted the remaining missiles, and Maxim successfully escaped.

He cursed through gritted teeth, but a trace of relief flickered in his heart: "It was just a missile ambush, taking advantage of the fact that I didn't bring any missiles for this mission! If it comes down to a close-quarters dogfight, would an ace pilot like me really fear you?"

But before Maxim could catch his breath, the radar showed the enemy aircraft was rapidly approaching.

Although the opponent's normal cruising speed was only Mach 0.9, it had suddenly accelerated to Mach 1.5!

Combined with the detour taken to avoid the missiles, precious time had been wasted, and now the distance between the two sides was extremely close.

Fortunately, the opponent didn't fire any more missiles.

"Out of missiles? Good! You must die today!"

Maxim ignored Hill's order to retreat and turned the quinjet, deciding to have a direct confrontation between men.

To Maxim's surprise, the enemy aircraft seemed to have the same idea, flying straight toward him.

Without thinking twice, Maxim pressed the cannon button.

The 20mm Vulcan cannon roared, shell casings raining down like a downpour, as a barrage of bullets covered the entire front of the valkyrie.

Sparks flew everywhere.

The rounds slammed into the ceramite armor, leaving only a series of faint white marks.

Not even a single crack appeared.

"What kind of steel plating is this?!" The pilot looked despairingly at the unscathed target on the radar, a chill running through his body.

The opposing fighter opened fire.

Crimson beams struck; in just one pass, the quinjet's tail fin and right engine were taken out. The aircraft instantly lost control, spiraling toward the sea.

"Eject! Eject!" Maxim screamed. The cockpit canopy blew off, and two figures were hurled into the high sky by ejection seats.

Parachutes opened, and Maxim descended slowly, but before he could reach the sea, the fighter had already hovered beside his descent path. The cabin door opened, and two burly men reached out with long hooks, dragging both the man and his parachute into the cabin!

The whole process took four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

Two quinjets, completely destroyed!

Men captured, while the opponent suffered zero damage.

Earth's top-tier stealth fighters didn't even have the right to fight back against a starship gunboat.

...

In the military port's conference room, the real-time air combat footage actively synchronized by Fu Haoran was playing in full on the large screen.

When the valkyrie was hit head-on by the 20mm cannon yet remained unscathed, everyone was stunned.

Someone in the conference room couldn't help but mutter, "Wait, did it take the hits on purpose just to show off its armor?"

Suddenly, a young staff officer asked a critical question: "That fighter... what material is it made of?"

No one could answer.

The Old Commander picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then spoke: "I think we should invite the other party for a live-fire test."

Consequently, that afternoon, a heavy transport plane with a distinctively different design took off from the ship's hangar, with a Leman Russ Tank firmly attached to its underside.

No steel cables, no hooks; it was just suspended there by suction.

The sixty-ton steel beast was steadily dropped at a firing range several kilometers away.

The Army Commander suddenly asked: "Among current transport helicopters, what is the maximum load capacity in tons?"

A staff officer swallowed hard: "The Mi-26, only 20 tons."

The Army Commander said no more, his eyes fixed on the tank that had already landed, his heart in turmoil.

"A 60-ton tank transported without cables... our heavy equipment delivery could be improved by several levels!"

...

Seeing that the guests had all arrived, Fu Haoran asked, "Father Karen, is the tuning finished?"

Father Karen said reluctantly, "My Lord, although I have performed appropriate tuning according to your requirements to ensure the Leman Russ Tank reaches a speed of 70 kilometers per hour, I must remind you that such modifications violate..."

Fu Haoran completely ignored the second half of Father Karen's sentence. In his view, the Leman Russ Tank's maximum road speed of 35 kilometers per hour was simply unbearable.

With such a speed, how could they leave a good impression on the clients?

Now that the mountains are high and the emperor is far away, the Adeptus Mechanicus couldn't interfere even if they wanted to; he would focus on making the clients happy first.

Thus, everyone saw a "fatty" that closely resembled a French Char B1 tank from World War II speeding across the range.

"This is the rhino Annihilator variant. The main gun is a twin-linked Laser Cannon, a professional anti-armor specialist."

"A single shot can penetrate the frontal armor of all current main battle tanks."

"If you want to perform any tests, feel free to make a request."

The military didn't hold back, bringing over a current main battle tank loaded with a 125mm APFSDS round—800mm of RHA penetration, the ceiling for anti-tank weapons on Earth.

"Fire."

Boom!

The armor-piercing round struck the rhino's turret head-on at a speed of 1,700 meters per second.

Fire flared and dust filled the air.

When the dust settled, the rhino hadn't budged.

On the frontal armor, there was only a palm-sized charred mark, not even a dent.

The entire field fell silent.

The chief designer of the Armored Forces Research Institute rushed forward, stroking the charred armor and muttering to himself, "Impossible... how is this possible..."

Fu Haoran's voice rang out at the right moment:

"ceramite composite armor—the core material for Imperial starships, power armor, and tanks."

"Resistant to penetration, high temperatures, and radiation. As long as it's not a direct hit from the core of a small nuclear bomb, it can withstand it."

The chief designer suddenly turned back and asked, "Can you give us a sample of this material for analysis?"

"Can do," Fu Haoran smiled, "but finish watching the tests first."

Second round of testing.

The military testers couldn't help but ask, "Does this tank's engine have high requirements for fuel grades? Will the logistical pressure be very high?"

Fu Haoran smiled and gestured to Wade.

Wade walked expressionlessly to the rhino, opened the fuel tank cap, and drained all the diesel inside.

Then he brought over a bucket of bulk, low-quality gasoline and poured it in.

Ignition.

The engine ran smoothly without any vibration.

The testers' eyes nearly popped out of their heads.

Wade then brought over two bottles of industrial alcohol and poured them in.

The engine speed remained stable.

Finally, a young researcher asked an outrageous question: "Um... theoretically, would urine work?"

The room went quiet for two seconds.

Wade remained expressionless and said calmly, "Theoretically, any organic liquid will do. In extreme circumstances, we've used all sorts of bizarre fuels."

The Army Commander slammed his hand on the table, stood up, and roared:

"This is the tank we need! Plateaus, deserts, border defenses—it can fight in any terrain and any environment! With this, our border defenses will be invincible!"

While the military bigwigs surrounded the tank in layers, looking at it like a rare treasure and refusing to return to the conference room, the Old Academician took materials experts to sample the ceramite and plastiform on-site and sent them to the testing lab.

The moment the test reports for plastiform and ceramite came out, the room fell silent once again.

The Old Academician murmured to himself, "We've spent decades developing new materials... but compared to their basic general-purpose materials, it's like children playing house..."

A gray-haired materials expert said excitedly, "With these two materials, our aviation, aerospace, and military industries can leap forward a hundred years!"

...

In the evening, the conference room was full again, but the atmosphere had completely changed.

"Our Army Research Institute doesn't want much, just three thousand slots!" the Army Commander was the first to slam the table.

The Old Commander frowned: "Three thousand? How many people does your institute even have in total?"

The Army Commander counted on his fingers: "The rhino's main gun, engine, armor, suspension, and fire control—five core systems. Each system needs at least two hundred people for research, right?"

"Then there's material replication, logistical adaptation, combat training, maintenance support... I'm afraid three thousand people won't even be enough."

The Old Commander was silent for two seconds, and then the Air Force Commander spoke up as well:

"We don't want much either, just five thousand slots."

The Navy Commander said to the commander with a smile, "Old Commander, the number of slots I want isn't much either; seven or eight thousand will be enough."

"A 1.5-kilometer starship is sitting right there in the port! If we get that ship's technology, our Navy will instantly become number one in the world! From now on, we'll be the first-class service!"

The Army Commander immediately slammed the table: "Bullshit! You Navy guys have been the first-class service for decades; it's time for our Army to have its turn!"

"Bullshit! Air superiority determines everything!"

"Without a Navy, can you Air Force guys fight at sea?"

People from the Space Agency, the Materials Institute, the Ordnance Industry Group, and even food companies squeezed in; the conference room was as noisy as a vegetable market.

The Old Commander's head throbbed from the noise as he watched a group of usually steady and dignified bigwigs acting like children fighting over candy.

But then again, if he couldn't treat everyone fairly in this matter, there would definitely be trouble.

He raised his hand to quiet them and spoke slowly: "How about this: there will be no upper limit on the number of slots to board the ship."

Everyone's eyes lit up.

"As long as you can solve the corresponding canned food quotas yourselves, in principle, it can be negotiated."

Everyone's eyes lit up!

"In principle, it can be negotiated"—wasn't that just a "yes"? The conference room instantly exploded.

"Canned food?" The Army Commander was stunned for a second, then went wild with joy, "How much could that stuff possibly be worth!"

"Our Navy has a logistics department; there will be plenty of canned food!"

"Our Air Force has money; we're not afraid."

In their eyes, trading tens of thousands of tons of canned food for interstellar technology was a massive profit.

Only Fu Haoran, on the bridge, had a smile that grew deeper and deeper.