Chapter 180

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Chapter 180: Caviar’s Total Defeat

"Mm-mm!" Lin Mo was enjoying his meal, carelessly pushing Caviar aside. Seeing this, the old Russian had a bright smile, but his expression changed when he saw this foodie pop open a can and dump the entire contents into his mouth, gulping it down in just two bites.

"No, no, no! You are desecrating the delicious Caviar! No, you can’t do this!" The Russian’s face was nearly in tears, watching Lin Mo devour the can of valuable Caviar just like Zhu Bajie devours a ginseng fruit, and he cast a look of despair, as if hoping for another two cans.

"Is there more?"

Lin Mo always had a big appetite—during non-combat times, he could eat three to four times what an ordinary person would. During combat, it could almost be equivalent to ten people’s worth. As soon as he returned, he continued to assault the buffet with enthusiasm.

"This is Sevruga sturgeon roe! It should be chilled first, and then tasted slowly, savoring the burst of flavor, not like this! This is insulting the delicious Caviar!" The old Russian Caviar felt he had met his arch-nemesis, nearly crying in despair, and swiftly executed a Spiral Dive maneuver, strategically moving the Caviar box behind him.

This guy’s terrible eating habits had utterly defeated him.

"If you won’t share, that’s fine, stingy!" Lin Mo didn’t even bother to savor the taste of what was in his mouth; the flavor of the fish roe was quickly overwhelmed by other food. His survival instinct from childhood kicked in: eat quickly, or some wild dog could snatch it away. He remembered that one piece of food could mean starvation.

Uh, this generous Russian finally met his match. The other pilots smiled at each other, realizing once again Lin Mo’s terrifying appetite. His A+ level fitness was no joke; he could eat and work hard like he had a nuclear power source inside him. With such innate stamina, no overload maneuvers would be beyond his grasp.

Using high-overload combat maneuvers continuously, ordinary pilots couldn’t bear such pressure impacts. This required a high level of endurance from their hearts and brains; if they got hurt, they’d have to say goodbye to the sky.

Inside the pilot’s rest and dining tent, there was a large flat-screen TV broadcasting the latest battle conditions via the Persian Cat command center.

The 19th Lion and Heron Squadron’s F-16 formations and the 26th Black Spider Squadron’s jets had already engaged with the Indian Air Force. In a situation of mutual strength, Pakistan’s ground attack mission had been completed. The fourteen Indian fighter jets hadn’t even crossed the ceasefire line in Kashmir and had returned home in shame, certainly realizing they had encountered tough resistance.

"These guys are really spineless!"

Seeing the Indian aircraft turn tail and flee without firing a shot on the screen, the Persian Cat command center provided a humorous commentary that made the pilots laugh.

Absolutely correct! The pilots from Pakistan’s Black Panther Squadron and Black Spider Squadron at Peshawar Air Force Base nodded in agreement. Many pilots had been injured in the previous night’s attack, and those who weren’t were now in the standby area, ready for combat whenever needed, all holding back their frustration.

Most of these pilots were experienced A-5 veterans, some had just transitioned to the new FC-1 jets, all possessing rich combat experience.

"What a pity!" Lin Mo shook his head at this bunch of cowards, completely disgracing the honor of aerial knights. Even when he had flown a MiG-21 without ammunition against two fully armed Su-30s, he had never thought of running away.

As volunteers, they received allowances—double allowances, to be exact—one from their own air force and another war subsidy from the Pakistani military. They would receive substantial rewards for every enemy aircraft shot down.

Thus, the volunteers carried a hint of being mercenaries, knowing that their lives were in fate’s hands; they were responsible for their own lives and deaths.

It was unlikely they would constantly encounter fortunate ones like Major Kauala, son of the Zambian Air Force Commander, who was quickly running out of funds. Lin Mo certainly hoped to participate in more combat missions, especially air combat ones; the more opportunities to earn money, the better.

Creating a custom war machine required a lot of money. The aircraft he was working on, which barely had a basic framework, was like an unquenchable money furnace.

Buying materials, customizing parts, obtaining technical licenses, commissioning tests and experimental models—all of these consumed cash.

In Lin Mo’s eyes, the Indian fighter jets were piles of cash.

"This next battle will be tough! The Indians won’t be lured easily."

Veteran ace pilot "Old Hen," who had previously exchanged military ideas with Russia and held an ace pilot status like Lin Mo, kept a close watch on the TV screen for military updates. The latest reports revealed the ground troops’ actual situation, which they could not overlook; their focus was solely on how to maintain air superiority.

"Last night we shot down around nine of them; the Indians must be hurting now. This time they were too careless, but they won’t be so foolish next time."

"Meat Sauce" replied while holding a plate of fried noodles. As a seasoned pilot with experience in large military drills, he had some analytical skills regarding battle conditions.

It was already three in the morning, but everyone was wide awake. The rest area provided 24-hour meals, prepared for any sudden combat tasks.

Just now, Pakistan’s 19th and 26th Squadrons had returned, while the warning aircraft Tiger Shark was still patrolling the skies. It was estimated they would need to refuel in an hour, during which several reconnaissance planes would launch alongside ground radar systems for reconnaissance missions.

Once the flames of war ignited, there was no worry about running out of battles to fight. Tonight’s raid favored Pakistan, as it was a chance to retaliate for the previous night’s attack on Peshawar Air Force Base and to clear out the Indian encroachments all at once. If they didn’t move, they could afford to wait, but once they did, they would strike hard.

Amidst the chaos, the Indian side was delivering official breaking news.

India’s narrative was completely the opposite; they claimed that the Pakistani Air Force had actively attacked a mobile radar station inside the Indian-controlled line in Kashmir while saying nothing about the SAM-22 air defense system. At the same time, they blamed an unfortunate terrorist organization for the attack on Peshawar Air Force Base, attempting to pin it on India. Whether intentional or not, several terrorist organizations hurried to claim responsibility for the attack on Peshawar Air Force Base, only muddying the waters further.

The truth is often known only to those involved; currently, the Indians still had not realized that the Chinese were involved, as all the volunteer pilots used English, just like the Pakistani pilots. With their aviation helmets on, it was nearly impossible to tell who was who, especially since the squadron and pilot code names were all Western-style, devoid of any Eastern characteristics.

The Chinese were also stirring the pot because they knew a fight was inevitable. Once combat began, it would purely rely on strength, and there was much military equipment and tactics yet to be tested. Finding a large-scale, targeted battlefield was something many design centers and military enterprises in China eagerly anticipated.

War meant naked orders; while burning money, it also generated wealth, but of course, this only applied if they won.

"Why would it be tough?" Lin Mo still didn’t fully understand how warfare worked in this world. Every large-scale global war turned previous strategies upside down, and the application of various tactics was never according to textbooks; it was all up to the commander’s talent and personal qualities.

“Meat Sauce” glanced at the glutton who had asked the question and was now busily eating again, feeling kindly explained, “Last night the Indians were seriously hurt, but after taking such a big loss, they won’t willingly accept it. They might launch a few counterattacks, and they won’t give up airspace control easily, but they won’t rashly send out smaller aircraft anymore; they’ll surely deploy larger formations. This could pose a disadvantage for the attacked Peshawar Air Force Base, indicating that the Indians had plotted this beforehand.”

While watching the Indian spokesperson sternly criticize Pakistan for supposedly breaking the ceasefire agreement on the big screen, he noted their attempts to distance themselves from the attack on Peshawar Air Force Base. The contrasting images to Pakistan’s release just yesterday showed a complete inversion of truth.

In the media’s verbal sparring, these were just tricks politicians used to fool the public, seeking international sympathy and moral support. Yet the military would not be lenient due to mere notions of morality.

"In terms of numbers, the Indian Air Force has upgraded many advanced models like the Su-30MK1 and Mirage-2000, which are now replacing their older MiG fleet. Their recently developed LCA ‘Tejas’ light fighter is preparing for formal deployment, similar to how Pakistan is deploying the ‘Shadows.’ The only difference is that the Indians are willing to spend more money." "Night Hawk," who pilots the JH-7 Flying Leopard back home, was also well-informed.

Though the MiG series fighter jets boasted a glorious history, due to funding issues in research and development, they had started a downward trajectory after the Soviet Union’s collapse, even while trying to collaborate with various air forces for production.

"Well said. Last night we bombed the Indian armored units; it seems the Pakistani Army will launch a counterattack during the daytime, not only to retake lost ground but also to establish a staging area to launch strikes towards India. Daytime will be the main battlefield for the army, and the Indians will be much more cautious; the likelihood of them sending in fighter jets to assist ground troops for counterattacks won’t be very high."

Old pilots "Meat Sauce" and "Night Hawk" exchanged glances, smiles of agreement spreading across their faces; heroes see things the same way.