Chapter 487

Chapter 487: Visual Feast: Dance with the Aircraft

Even the most experienced pilots never imagined they could string together various classic maneuvers into a dance—a dance belonging to the aircraft.

The waltz is typically a duo dance, but in the sky, the J-11 danced alone, and oh, this solitude wasn’t the usual kind; it represented the loneliness of a king. A master’s path is often lonely, seeking a worthy opponent yet finding none.

It was as if the Su-27 had been possessed by more advanced fighters like the F-22 and Su-37, showcasing professional maneuvers such as the Mongoose maneuver, cone maneuver, hook maneuver, tail slide, and the clock maneuver.

Even for maneuvers that had never existed in this world, as soon as the air combat skill made its debut, it caused a sensation in the entire exhibition area. Everyone leaped from their seats, rushing towards the runway, crashing into the French military’s security line with exclamations of despair.

Hunting Sparrow Trajectory!

Bloodthirsty strangulation!

Magical Swallow Through Forest!

Morning Light Storm!

Breakthrough Triple Strike!

……

The roar of war!

The J-11 even harnessed sounds from its airframe, creating a bizarre howl distinct from its engine, shaking the venue to its core.

Even the designers of the Su-27 and the J-11’s improvement team likely never predicted that the J-11 could tear through the air with its structure, producing sounds akin to a sonic weapon, potentially intimidating on-ground battlefields.

Compared to the air combat experience accumulated over millennia in other realms, the skills in this world seemed rather juvenile. The aerial knights appeared as if they were elementary school students before Lin Mo, left in awe when an advanced student took the stage.

This year’s Paris-Le Bourget International Aerospace Exhibition promised to be a miraculous showcase of maneuvers. No one expected the value of such displays to reach this level, shining like true gold.

China’s J-11 astounded the entire audience.

“A tragedy!” Chen Haiqing gazed blankly at the sky, murmuring.

“Condolences! Condolences!” Anticipating the event, Shenyang Aircraft Corporation’s senior engineer Qiu Zhengjun comfortingly patted Young Master Chen’s shoulder, sharing a glance of sympathy.

They observed clients’ eyes completely bloodshot, breathing heavily, like bullfighters on edge.

The J-11 succeeded once again, its outstanding performance allowing military procurement representatives from various countries to witness its capabilities firsthand—there’s nothing like seeing to believe.

If the F-22 could accomplish certain feats, and the J-11 could do the same, that meant the J-11 might even rival or match the F-22.

While insiders knew that human factors played a significant role, they struggled to dissociate their souls from witnessing the dance of the solitary waltz dancer in the sky.

Even if ten F-22s faced this J-11, the outcome would likely be the same: defeat.

“I want ten J-11s!”

A powerful shout erupted from somewhere, and military procurement representatives quickly clogged the National Defense Star exhibition area, unable to contain their excitement.

Clients who missed out on the J-14 became desperate, wanting to snatch at least a single J-11 order to take back. The performance of this fighter jet was too impressive; how had they not noticed it before?

Nearby, Shenyang’s exhibition staff was left speechless, quickly sending help to manage the influx. After all, they were the primary producers of the J-11. The demand for National Defense Star’s production capacity clearly couldn’t cope with such an overwhelming wave of orders and depended on Shenyang to fulfill all this purchasing desire.

However, Shenyang’s efforts didn’t yield the expected results; not everyone was willing to believe their claims. Many clients believed that National Defense Star’s J-11 was a special custom version—after all, how could it achieve such remarkable maneuvers?

“National Defense Star has succeeded!”

Sukhoi’s chief engineer, Sergei Sulotov, forced a smile as he gazed at the exhibition area flooded with clients from National Defense Star.

“Our Su-27…” The team leader of Sukhoi also looked helplessly at his booth, which was nearly vacant, feeling defeated by imitations, utterly lacking any ability to compete.

This type of sales skill—claiming Russian diamonds are "eight stars and eight arrows" and pretending they are diamonds—really cannot be learned.

No matter how much the salespeople pulled those clients and pounded their chests, claiming their Su-27s were genuine and world-class in quality and design, the clients remained uninterested. Even those willing to sit down for a chat offered harsh modification suggestions. For Sukhoi, there was no profit to be made; the profits from parts would come much later. Such orders were essentially losses, one after another.

“Everyone, think of a way. Are we really going to leave here without a single order?” Remembering the high exhibition sponsorship and advertising costs, if they didn’t secure four or five orders, Sukhoi would obviously have to "drink the northwest wind"—even worse than the already worsening situation with MiG.

“We can’t agree to National Defense Star’s conditions…” Sergei Sulotov shook his head, completely out of ideas. Those Chinese clients were asking for too much; the AL-41 engine technology didn’t belong to Sukhoi but to the Lurik “Saturn” Research and Production Association, which Sukhoi had no right to exchange or persuade Lurik “Saturn” to help out with.

The Russian military would never agree to such terms.

Looking at the confused young men from the "Gregory" flight team in the rest area, the Sukhoi manager gritted his teeth and said, “Those robbers!”

Likewise, at Lockheed Martin, supervisor Townsend Williams was also grinding his teeth. The Japanese had directly confronted him on the way back to the hotel yesterday, demanding an explanation.

What could he say? Should he admit to secretly provoking the brilliant talent of the Blue Impulse Flight Team, Yamashiro Soichiro, to challenge the Chinese? Even the potential benefits would not come close to compensating for the loss of an F-22 Raptor.

He had toiled hard, scaring and tricking these yellow-skinned monkeys into leaving, offering them a few slots to observe F-22 flight training as insignificant compensation.

Did he really have to personally bear the cost of an F-22?

The base price of a Raptor exceeds 120 million dollars—how many lifetimes would it take him to afford that? Congress wouldn’t allow another F-22 to be given to Japan. What would he do then? The chairman of Lockheed would probably want to execute him or launch him on a missile.

No, no, no! He had a wife and kids to support; he couldn’t die young like this.

He was still brainstorming ways to explain the situation to his superiors. If anyone was to blame, it had to be the Chinese pilot from National Defense Star; he was just too cunning, triggering the French air defense missile system, resulting in a missile hitting Yamashiro Soichiro’s fighter jet.

He ran his fingers through his hair, messing up his presentation-worthy hairstyle into a Chicken Coop. Townsend Williams’s eyes were bloodshot, filled with hatred as he glared at the National Defense Star exhibition area, muttering curses with his eyes darting around, not sure what scheme to concoct.

Meanwhile, the civilians in the audience had no idea what was happening in the exhibition area. Their full attention was on the sky, where the J-11 flew beneath an altitude of 1,000 feet, allowing the spectators to see clearly, gaining immense joy from the display, possibly inspiring many new aviation enthusiasts.

“Look! That’s a Condra exchange! It flies beautifully!”

“Yes, and there’s the O.P style right-hand turn at 90 degrees. Oh! One, two, three, backslide! It’s simply magical.”

“Textile step, hesitation step. Oh, I love the Chinese! I must marry one!”

Although not experts, the ordinary spectators had their own ways of appreciating the spectacular visual experience the J-11’s performance offered.

The fighter jet waltz—a new term sure to captivate the world—saw the J-11 dance elegantly in the sky, especially igniting the romantic spirit of Westerners, particularly the French, who adored the waltz. Unable to resist the temptation, they stood up from their seats, casually grabbing a nearby companion, regardless of gender, and started dancing the waltz.

The audience was filled with dancing crowds, while those who had crushes but never dared to confess took the chance to hold hands and make their advances.

An extraordinary scene unfolded at the aerospace exhibition—people dancing with fighter jets, sky and ground joining together. The multiple cameras set up by French TV Channel 4 seemed insufficient to capture it all, and the host and guests couldn’t help but rhythmically join in the waltz beats.

The sky and the ground were in perfect harmony.

Not only the pilots from the "August 1" flight team but also those from other nations and manufacturers were left stunned. They had never seen fighter jets being played with this way. Was this still just a stunt?

It wasn’t a simple mixture of maneuvers but true mastery in piloting, with precise control over every tiny attitude change of the aircraft, remarkable spatial awareness, and an impressive ability to handle overload.

If an ordinary person were in the cockpit, they might collapse into a puddle of mush in under thirty seconds. Yet, that J-11 pilot managed to endure for ten minutes.

Without the burden of missiles or external fuel tanks, the lightweight design of the J-11, its improved maneuverability through technical upgrades, and its aerodynamic layout for post-stall maneuvers were what allowed Lin Mo to pull off such a breathtaking aerial waltz.

Of course, they couldn’t occupy the performance time for too long. As the final note of the waltz echoed, landing gear was lowered, creating a faint trail of smoke on the runway.

Almost simultaneously, the dancing crowd on the ground completed their last action to the music, exchanging smiles as they locked eyes.