EBE Chapter 822 0:48? Are you kidding me!
Chapter 822 0:48? Are you kidding me!
The place is brightly lit, and the huge battle map and radar screen wall cast a faint blue light, illuminating the faces of every senior general with a relaxed smile.
The air was filled with the aroma of rich Cuban cigars and fine coffee.
The American Air Force generals and their newly-crowned Russian allies—several burly marshals and generals with medals hanging all over their chests—were gathered in front of the main screen, holding glasses of wine, chatting and laughing, as if they were enjoying a wonderful performance whose ending was already known.
"Marshal Malinov," a four-star general raised his glass and said half-jokingly to the big-eared Marshal beside him, "Your Golden Eagle is truly an eye-opener. Its ghostly maneuverability is simply a work of art in the air."
"I think those poor Pennsylvania pilots didn't even have a chance to see it clearly before it was torn to pieces."
"Hahaha, General, you're too kind."
The bear marshal known as Malinov let out a loud laugh, and his fat belly trembled.
"This is just a small token of our sincerity for this alliance. Using the Golden Eagle to deal with the toys donated by the Dragons would be an overkill."
His words were filled with the undisguised arrogance and self-confidence unique to the Slavs.
In his opinion, with the indestructible "force field shield" of the "Apocalypse" tank and the unparalleled super maneuverability of the "Golden Eagle" fighter, this joint operation is nothing more than an armed parade.
Victory is a matter of course.
They leisurely sipped fine wine and admired the forty-eight green dots of light on the radar screen representing the "Golden Eagle" formation, which, like an elegant pack of wolves, rushed straight towards the red line representing the air defense zone of the Republic of Pennsylvania.
Everything seemed so perfect, so under control.
However, this harmonious and contented atmosphere did not last long.
The accident happened without any warning.
"Hmm?" A technical officer in charge of monitoring the radar was the first to let out a puzzled cry.
He leaned closer to the screen and tapped one of the flashing dots with his finger.
The next second after he asked the question, the green light representing a "Golden Eagle" fighter jet was instantly extinguished, as if it was gently wiped off the screen by an invisible hand.
"What's going on? The signal of R-07 is lost! It might be electronic interference!" the officer reported immediately.
"Don't be nervous, Lieutenant," Marshal Malinov said, waving his hand nonchalantly without even turning his head. "Perhaps the bird was flying too fast, out of the effective scanning range of the radar. Our Golden Eagle is not one of your delicate F-series fighters."
The generals in the headquarters burst into good-natured laughter.
But the laughter quickly got stuck in their throats.
Because, just as Malinov finished speaking, two more green spots on the screen went out.
Then, there were three, five, ten...
The scene was like someone playing a minesweeper game on a computer screen, and every click of the mouse would take away a green block.
Those light spots representing the most powerful fighter jets on the earth disappeared one after another in the dark background of the screen at a heart-pounding, stable and efficient frequency.
During the entire process, not even a decent alarm was triggered.
There was no flashing red light indicating being locked, no fierce evasive maneuver data, and no distress signal sent back.
They were like being sucked into an invisible black hole, disappearing silently and cleanly.
In just a few minutes, nearly half of the forty-eight menacing green spots on the radar screen had disappeared.
The cheerful atmosphere in the headquarters vanished in an instant. All the laughter disappeared, replaced by a deathly silence.
The smiles on the generals' faces froze, their wine glasses hung in the air, and the ashes of their cigars fell on the expensive carpet without them noticing.
Everyone stared with wide eyes, looking at the extremely weird scene in front of them in disbelief.
"What...what's going on?!"
The voice of the four-star general of the Eagle Sauce became a little sharp because of shock.
"Where are our electronic warfare units? Why haven't they suppressed the enemy's radar? Is there something wrong with our Growler?"
"impossible……"
Marshal Malinov's expression also became solemn. His deep-set eyes stared at the screen, and beads of sweat oozed from his forehead.
"The Golden Eagle is equipped with our top-tier anti-interference system. Even if Dragon Country's Air Police early warning aircraft were to arrive, it would be impossible for them to conduct so many attacks simultaneously without being detected!"
For the first time, a strong sense of uneasiness surged in his heart.
This is wrong, it's totally against common sense.
Air combat is not like this. Even in the disastrous defeat in the Bekaa Valley, the Syrians at least knew what had shot them down!
Why... why didn't our pilots even call for help? What on earth happened to them in the sky?
Just as his heart was in turmoil, the heavy door of the headquarters was violently slammed open.
A young communications officer rushed in crawling, his military cap tilted to one side, his face as pale as a piece of paper. Due to extreme fear and running, his breathing was as rapid as a broken bellows.
"Report... Report to all the generals!" He shouted breathlessly, his voice tinged with tears. "Frontline...frontline air combat forces...'Golden Eagle' battle formation..."
He choked, as if the word was too heavy for him to say in its entirety.
“The entire…entire army was wiped out!”
"What did you say?!"
A hot-tempered brigadier general rushed forward, grabbed the officer by the collar, lifted him up from the ground, and spit in his face.
"Say it again! What do you mean by total annihilation?! Do you know the consequences of lying about military intelligence? Soldier! I can kill you right now!"
"I...I didn't...it's true..."
The officer was so frightened that he spoke incoherently.
"stop!"
A thunderous roar stopped the Eagle Brigadier General in his tracks.
It was Marshal Malinov.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to suppress his heartbeat that was like a drum and his blood pressure that was rushing to his head.
He pushed the hawkish Brigadier General aside, personally helped the trembling officer up, and asked in a tone that was as steady as possible, but still unable to hide the trembling:
"Soldier, look at me and repeat what you know. Are you sure? Is it... all?"
"Yes... yes, Marshal." The officer, having narrowly escaped death, quickly pulled out a small record player from his pocket and tremblingly pressed the play button. "These... these are the last few communication recordings we intercepted from an encrypted backup channel..."
Segments of chaotic electrical sounds, meaningless screams, and the pilot's heart-wrenching wails before his death immediately echoed through the loudspeakers in the silent command center.
"What the hell is that?! There are... clouds in the sky! No! It's drones! There are too many of them!"
"There's nothing on my radar! Help! Aa ...
“Ohnпoвcюдy! Вe3дe! Чept! Пpoщan, mama…” (They’re everywhere! Everywhere! Damn it! Goodbye, mom…)
The recording is very short and ends abruptly.
But the most primitive fear and despair contained in that voice was like an icy awl, piercing the hearts of every senior official present.
There was complete silence in the command center.
Everyone was silent. The faces of those generals who had been so arrogant just now were now uglier than if their parents had died.
"Well...it seems our warriors have encountered stiff resistance."
After a long time, Marshal Malinov spoke slowly, forcing himself to calm down.
As the military leader of the alliance, he cannot panic.
Yes, don't panic.
It's just a temporary defeat. We have the "force field shield" and the ground forces are the key to victory or defeat.
The failure in the air was simply because we were too careless.
He looked around at his colleagues who looked ashen-faced and spoke in a comforting tone.
"Even the best warriors can fail sometimes. We attacked Pennsylvania before, so it's normal for them to be on guard this time. Perhaps those cunning Dragon people gave them some new tricks that we don't know about."
"However, I believe that even if our warriors died in battle, they must have died heroically after destroying enemies that outnumbered them many times over, right?"
His words were more of a comfort to himself than to others.
He urgently needed data that could save the face of the Russians and himself.
He turned to the communications officer and gave the order in a tone that left no room for questioning.
"Now, tell me the final results. What was our exchange ratio for this operation? How many enemy planes did we shoot down?"
He was looking forward to a number, even if it was 1:2 or even 1:1, he could accept it.
He was mentally prepared for the worst.
However, the officer's next answer was like an invisible hammer weighing tens of thousands of tons, hitting him hard on the top of his head.
The officer looked at the battle report in his hand, swallowed hard, and said word by word in a tone that was almost dreamy, full of absurdity and unreality:
"Report to the Marshal...According to the latest broadcast data transmitted by the system..."
"The final loss ratio of this air battle is..."
"Zero...to...forty-eight."
"We...we didn't shoot down a single enemy plane..."
Zero…to forty-eight.
0: 48.
This number, like a vicious curse from hell, exploded in Marshal Malinov's ears.
Zero? How could it be zero?
This is impossible! This is unscientific! This goes against the laws of war!
In the history of human aerial combat, there has never been such a record...
This is... this is an insult to the honor of all soldiers!
At that moment, he felt that all the blood in his body had frozen.
What flashed through his mind was the arrogance of the "Apocalypse" tanks enduring artillery fire, the elegance of the "Golden Eagle" fighter jets cutting through the sky, and the promise of victory he made to the Eagle Sauce delegation in Moscow...
The indestructible self-confidence and glory that he once took pride in were ruthlessly crushed in the face of the cold and cruel number "0:48".
A fishy, sweet taste of rust suddenly rose from my throat.
He felt as if the whole world in front of him was spinning. The bright lights in the headquarters and the horrified faces of his colleagues all turned into blurry and distorted blocks of color.
"Marshal! Marshal, what's wrong with you?!"
Amid the crowd's shouts of fear, Marshal Malinov's tall and burly body shook violently twice, then fell straight back.
He felt the blood rushing up, his vision went dark, and he completely lost consciousness.