Chapter 181

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Chapter 181: I am a Little Bird

Indeed, just as several experienced pilots anticipated. The Indian Air Force, struck hard, was likely to become a turtle hiding in its shell. Their air force was not yet ready for intense combat, and the loss of nine fighter jets was a severe blow to their morale.

Even if they took action next, it would be after careful consideration, not a reckless move to put themselves in danger again.

"For a short time, don’t we have absolute air superiority? We can push the ceasefire line forward!" said "Gold Coin," from Sichuan, his English tinged with a Sichuan accent.

"Well said!"

"We can drop bombs right on the Indians’ heads!"

The pilots from Pakistan’s 16th Black Panther Squadron Team 1 clapped in agreement.

"Snow Fox," from Northeast China, with rich experience in aerial provocations and counter-provocations, shook his head, "That’s not necessarily a good thing!"

The Indian Air Force had plenty of planes; they could still withstand these losses. If the Indians truly became turtles, they’d be like hedgehogs, making it even harder to approach.

"Then we rush in and destroy their airfields while we can! Hahaha, all the beautiful metal fragments!" Old Russian "Caviar" joined the discussion, having guzzled down a half box of Caviar in a flash. He truly didn’t know how he would manage to buy such expensive Caviar with the pitiful allowances he earned during this volunteer mission.

Fragments, fragments, metal fragments—the gold giant dragon showed strong support. Amid the mental chaos, Lin Mo felt dizzy with gold stars in his eyes. As long as there was a chance to fill his stomach, he absolutely wouldn’t let it go.

Lin Mo decisively cut off the mental connection with the metal lump, focused on filling his own stomach first.

"Meat Sauce" shook his head energetically and clapped his hands, saying, "Caviar, if it were that easy, the higher-ups would have ordered us to do that already. Even if the Indians hide, their shells are thick. They certainly have plenty of air defense weapons; anti-aircraft machine guns and surface-to-air missiles are surely abundant."

"I think we can lure out the Indian Air Force," Snow Fox said with a strange smile, expertly pacing around the tent with a professional demeanor, giving himself a thumbs-up, "In this regard, I am an expert!"

"Expert?"

Everyone echoed in unison, puzzled. They were all fighter pilots; whether firing missiles or dropping bombs, anyone standing there was already a combat expert; who else could claim to be an expert?

"I often play these kinds of games with the Russian and North Korean air forces. Of course, it’s not with live ammunition; we use fire control radar to lock on," Snow Fox insisted on proving his so-called "expert" credentials.

"Oh!?" Everyone remained confused, especially the Pakistani pilots, who were curious about what kind of unique figure this "Snow Fox" really was.

After last night’s battle, the capabilities of the Chinese volunteer pilots had completely conquered their Pakistani counterparts.

"It’s you! It’s you! I remember now; you’re the one who always teases our young pilots. Hah, several guys would love to shoot you down!" Old Russian "Caviar" suddenly recalled something and pointed at Snow Fox, shouting excitedly. Clearly, Snow Fox was a well-known figure patrolling the northeastern airspace.

Upon hearing Old Russian’s shout, everyone understood that this thirty-something young pilot was not as simple as he appeared.

After pausing for effect, Snow Fox shared his questionable idea: "We can use a fishing strategy, like putting out a bait to attract their fighters. As long as the bait maintains a certain altitude and stays out of the air defense weapons’ range, we can swagger past. I don’t believe the Indians will ignore it! As soon as their fighters show up, we swoop in and swarm!"

What a ridiculous idea!

The pilots were speechless; "fishing for bait"—never would they have imagined this provocation expert for China’s northern airspace would suggest such a game.

However, finding such bait wouldn’t be easy. If they accidentally triggered fireworks from the Indians, it could backfire, losing a fighter jet, old or not, would still be costly.

But soon, the pilots, realizing something, turned their gazes toward Lin Mo. More and more eyes focused on him like laser beams.

"Why are you all looking at me?!" This foodie finally sensed something was off, raising his head innocently, completely unaware he had been volunteered as bait.

"It’s him!"

Everyone shouted in unison, bursting into laughter.

The unfortunate Lin Mo remained bewildered, focusing solely on eating without paying attention to their discussions.

Yes, among everyone, Lin Mo was the most suitable to be bait. His exceptional dogfighting skills and the shootdown record of three planes in one night had established his ace status beyond any doubt, showing he had the experience and ability to handle multiple opponents simultaneously.

"Let’s make a plan! Let’s use the ‘Dragon Knight’ as bait and ambush from high altitude!"

"Meat Sauce" completely ignored Lin Mo’s opinion. Someone who could use a cannon to shoot missiles was certainly not someone to take lightly. Using him as bait to lure planes was perfect; they might not even have time to catch the fish before Lin Mo took them down.

"Good!"

As the top performer, Lin Mo was undoubtedly pushed forward to be the live target for the Indians, and the rest area resonated with lively agreement.

Without his consent, Lin Mo was forced into this task, and he grimaced, completely lacking any appetite. He wanted to argue, but he was given even more reasons, feeling like he was being forced into something beyond his ability.

"Hey, guys!"

A group of Pakistani pilots entered the tent and greeted the Chinese volunteer pilots. "We are from the 9th Squadron!" "Haha, we are back!" shouted some pilots returning with part of the 26th Black Spider Squadron.

"Our Falcons and FC-1 Fighters are back! Welcome, welcome!"

"Welcome back! How was it?"

"Wow! The heroes are back!"

"How many planes did you take down?!"

In the rest area, the Chinese volunteers, pilots from the 19th Squadron Team 1, and the not-yet-departed pilots from the 26th Squadron all stood up to welcome them, slapping each other on the back, clearing seats.

The pilots in the temporary rest tent stood up with smiles to greet each other; if not for the 9th Squadron’s F-16 fighter group replacing the first wave of fighter jets, things could have gotten dire.

"Don’t mention it! The radar didn’t have time to lock on before they ran away!"

After Lin Mo and the others completed their attack mission, fourteen Indian fighters fled without firing a shot, simply flashing on the radar before skipping back to their own fighters, never even coming within visual range.

"Come over, and let me introduce you to the ‘Lion Fish’ Squadron. They just transferred in the other day and haven’t had the chance to meet everyone yet; better late than never." The pilots from the Black Panther and Black Spider Squadrons began to stir with excitement.

"Hello everyone, I am Major Zayeeri, Team Leader of ‘Lion Fish’ Squadron 1!"

"I’m Captain Talich, number one wingman!"

"I am Major Keman!"

With a logo featuring a fierce red beast armed with a devil’s tail and bat wings, the 9th "Lion Fish" Squadron all flew F-16s, originally stationed at the Sargodha Musaf Air Force Base, responsible for various missions including combat and escort. They also formed an elite fighter squadron.

"Hello, I’m the ‘Dragon Knight’ from the Knights Squadron!"

"I’m ‘Snow Fox’!"

"I’m ‘Meat Sauce’!"

"I’m ‘Gold Coin’!"

"I’m ‘Night Hawk’!"

"Hi! I’m ‘Caviar’ from Russia!"

…

The 9th "Lion Fish" Squadron had just recently arrived at Peshawar Air Force Base. Had it not been for the attack the night before, all the Pakistani pilots would have been present, filling the tent.

Without anyone needing to lead, the Chinese volunteer pilots quickly became familiar with the pilots from the 9th Squadron. From now on, they would be comrades in the same camp, always having countless common topics to discuss.

With no alcohol around, they had to make do with drinks—black tea, green tea, and mineral water became the pilots’ main beverages. The atmosphere grew livelier. Although Pakistan’s economic conditions weren’t very good, the pilots’ treatment was top-notch. The Pakistani government was always willing to invest in its air force.

After some supplementary edits from other Chinese volunteer pilots, ‘Snow Fox’s’ provocation plan was submitted in the form of a report.

During the review by the staff group, just as ‘Meat Sauce’ and ‘Snow Fox’ predicted, around the ceasefire line in Kashmir, Pakistani fighters no longer encountered Indian aircraft during routine patrols, and aside from the Indian side desperately criticizing Pakistan in the news, the Indian Air Force seemed to truly withdraw into its shell.

However, the patrolling air force didn’t let down its guard around the Kashmir ceasefire line. The side-looking radar from early warning aircraft and reconnaissance pods on patrol fighters indicated that the Indians were gradually strengthening their air defense capabilities on their side of the line. Both the anti-aircraft machine gun positions and air defense radar deployments had significantly increased compared to before.

Unless the Pakistani side deployed large formations of fighter aircraft, the Indian Air Force would have little reaction to routine patrols. Aside from occasional small-scale ground conflicts, no significant aerial battles had occurred.

In this calm sky, a storm seemed to be brewing.

"I am a little bird.

Sometimes I feel like a little bird,

Wanting to fly but unable to soar high.

Maybe one day I will climb to a branch, only to become a hunter’s target.

I fly into the blue sky only to find myself utterly alone.

Every time it’s deep into the quiet night, I can’t fall asleep.

I wonder if it’s just me who won’t get better tomorrow.

What will the future hold? Who will ever know?

Is happiness merely a legend that I will never find?

…"

The thunderous roar of the RD-93 engines on the FC-1 Fighter Jet struggled to drown out the music filling the cockpit.

The Persian Cat command center and the Tiger Shark’s monitoring channels echoed with the grievances of this "little bird."