Chapter 182
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Chapter 182: If You Don’t Come Out, We’ll Force You Out
Alright, listening to music while flying a fighter jet is just typical self-entertainment, completely carefree as the plane wobbles in the sky, especially over the sensitive ceasefire line in Kashmir.
Ceasefire line?
It’s clearly a combat zone right now!
Lin Mo casually piloted the newly acquired FC-1 Fighter Jet, pretending to be a reconnaissance plane while cruising at six thousand meters. This was not an easy task, and he needed to do it well, making clumsy maneuvers to tell the Indians, "Come on, here I am, a complete rookie fresh out of training. If you don’t bring me down, you really aren’t doing your job."
The controls of the FC-1 Fighter Jet were much simpler than the FC-20 (J-10 "Fierce Dragon"). It used a touchscreen LCD display with fewer instruments cluttering the cockpit, and its computerized control system eased the pilot’s workload. They didn’t need to wrestle with the control stick to maneuver, making it relatively easy to handle—though this also meant it couldn’t perform some of the more complex movements that the FC-20 could.
As a counter to India’s LCA "Tejas," the cost-effective FC-1 Fighter Jet was already enough for Pakistan to set up a balanced mix of combat aircraft.
After several days of learning and accumulating fifteen hours of flight experience, Lin Mo had started to master his new FC-1 Jet.
His previous FC-20 was flown by "Gold Coin," along with "Meat Sauce" and "Wild Chicken," forming a trio at over fifteen thousand meters, laying traps for the Indians.
"Here it comes again, that silly bird is back!"
An Indian lieutenant in khaki camouflage raised his binoculars to the sky and muttered, "Look at how clumsy it is; it might crash into a mountain any second."
Wobbling around the ceasefire line, the FC-1 Fighter Jet looked entirely like a rookie, flying with stiff movements. It swayed like a duck learning to fly, lacking any fluid grace. Occasionally encountering turbulence, it made frantic adjustments, and without the air defense firepower needed to take it down, it risked crashing into a mountain while trying to lower altitude for reconnaissance, with its wingtips narrowly grazing trees and rocks a few times.
One could only imagine how tense and frantic the pilot in that jet must have been.
"I bet it will crash down from the sky by tomorrow."
"I say it will fall today."
"Impossible! I saw it flying just the day before yesterday; it must be scouting for something. If it was going to crash, it should have done it already. Is it possible that Pakistan’s Air Force is out of pilots?"
"Come on, I’ll bet 5000 rupees! It’ll fall today!"
"20000 rupees! It won’t fall until the day after tomorrow!"
"1000 rupees! I’m betting it won’t fall!"
"Get lost! You think with that little money you can play?!"
"Ha! I’ll take a shot at it, just to scare it!"
"You can’t do that, you fool!"
"What? Am I afraid of you? Who says I can’t shoot? Hey! If you dare to hit me, take this!"
"Hit him, hit him! Use all your strength! I’ll bet 500 rupees on you; don’t lose, you jerk!"
Near the front line, there was a brief pause in the firefight as they all watched the FC-1, that had stumbled into their skies days ago, wobbling and flailing about in the air, providing entertainment for the Indian soldiers who were eagerly placing bets.
This FC-1 Fighter Jet had only been in the area for a few days. The ground soldiers pointed and joked about the rookie in the air like he was a prime example of a Pakistani pilot, making even the Pakistani soldiers feel uneasy. Was the pilot in such short supply that they had to send novices into combat?
“‘Dragon Knight,’ you really fly like a loser!”
“Hahaha…”
Above the clouds at fifteen thousand meters, three FC-20s wobbling around broke formation completely. They had been lying in wait for several days, but the Indians had yet to take the bait.
While "Meat Sauce" monitored Lin Mo’s flying via optical reconnaissance equipment, the first glimpse of Lin Mo’s clumsy maneuvers made him nearly mistake the pilot for someone else. The horrendous flying looked nothing like the brave and fluid high-difficulty attack techniques Lin Mo used when flying in formation.
"How could it hook the Indians like that? If the ladies are armed to the teeth with grenades, they’re terrorists, not civilians!"
Lin Mo dismissed the laughter from thousands of meters above, intentionally saying the opposite to provoke them.
"Little brother, you’ve been dodging for days; they haven’t even bothered to fire a surface-to-air missile at you. You need to show more spirit! Playing weak will only make them suspicious; the Indians aren’t fools."
Experienced "Wild Chicken" stifled a chuckle, feeling somewhat helpless. They were all from the same team, and even if they were teasing, they should keep it down; a little respect for the rookie.
"It’s all ‘Snow Fox’s’ bad idea! We should just charge in with all the planes, from west to east, and guarantee the Indian fighters will come out for you!"
Lin Mo complained, grumbling about all the fuss. He gently nudged the control stick and aimed at an Indian anti-aircraft machine gun position. Suddenly, he opened fire and then powered up the engine to escape, leaving the confused Indian soldiers scrambling and cursing at the sky.
This teasing style of harassment really left everyone speechless; China’s air combat ace was putting on a show with monkey tricks. Even Lin Mo lacked any enthusiasm while piloting.
After several days of flying clumsily and trying not to get destroyed, Lin Mo finally couldn’t hold back his frustration. Angry, he directed his ire at the ground forces of the Indian Air Force. He unleashed cannon fire and rocket pods as if they were free, poking a hornet’s nest; multiple white smoke trails shot up from the ground, heading straight toward Lin Mo’s aircraft.
Surface-to-air missiles flashed in his vision, and Lin Mo’s pupils dilated. He knew this wasn’t good. Although the Indians had temporarily abandoned air supremacy over the ceasefire line, they still had their defenses ready, and the fierce ground air defense would be a tough nut to crack.
The FC-1 Fighter Jet, classified as a light multi-role supersonic fighter, had a well-established aerodynamic design. While it fell short of the F-16A, it was still superior to the J-7M. Certainly, it lagged at least half a generation behind the FC-20 (J-10), but for Lin Mo, who was used to flying the J-10, the FC-1 felt like a toy. Maneuvering it became second nature, and although it was armed with two drop tanks and air-to-air missiles, its agility remained intact.
With continuous rolls, acceleration, tight turns, infrared flares, and steep climbs, Lin Mo executed several high-overload maneuverings, evading the approaching surface-to-air missiles that exploded uselessly in the sky like fireballs, while the others missed completely.
As long as Lin Mo gave the FC-1 enough time to accelerate, reaching Mach 1.8, intercepting him with surface-to-air missiles would be quite a challenge. With the small-caliber anti-aircraft guns and anti-aircraft machine guns deployed on the ground, their effective range only reached five to six thousand meters. They could only watch in bewilderment as Lin Mo’s FC-1 soared across the sky, leaving behind elegant white trails while completing its attack effortlessly.
As one of the few aces with a repertoire of intricate and continuous attack skills, Lin Mo would not be easily taken down by a few surface-to-air missiles. That would be ridiculous!
Transforming from a novice pilot into a ground-attack ace, this gigantic change left the ground troops of both countries in disbelief. The gamblers who lost money on him must have dropped their jaws, while those who won were possibly wishing to kiss Lin Mo, their newfound lucky charm.
The FC-1 Fighter Jet could carry a maximum load of around four tons, and other than the necessary fuel tanks and air-to-air missiles, Lin Mo loaded it up with rocket pods and cluster munitions. For the next few days, he took on the role of a ground attack aircraft. "The Indians won’t come out? We’ll make them!"
The Persian Cat command center and Peshawar Air Force Base remained silent. Although the Azrael Squadron, Black Panther Squadron, Black Spider Squadron, and Lion Fish Squadron were all ready to deploy, the reticent Indians had vacated the airspace.
At this point, aside from a few aircraft maintaining routine reconnaissance patrols, the Indian Air Force did not launch any large-scale attacks.
Even if the scale and intensity of the conflict escalated, the Indians would have to bear the blame for it.
……
Tuning into the ground troop channel, Lin Mo took on the role of a precision ground attack support gunner at five thousand meters, aiding the Pakistani ground forces in targeting Indian fire points.
Aerial cluster munitions, famous for being a type of cluster bomb, were not the realm of politicians playing with words; Pakistan wouldn’t hold back, and neither would Lin Mo. Once he dropped them, it created a vast impact, hugely assisting the Pakistani ground forces to break through three of the Indian lines, overturning an armored battalion, advancing a full sixty kilometers, and invading India’s original control area.
Even the ground anti-aircraft machine guns and artillery couldn’t withstand Lin Mo’s relentless assault. This damned FC-1 even dared to return fire at anti-aircraft positions with its cannon. A fighter jet could simply turn and escape by adjusting its flaps and rudders, but anti-aircraft guns couldn’t do that; they were practically living targets.
In terms of firepower and caliber, the fighter jet was not lacking. Lin Mo clearly saw that the FC-1 was outfitted with the same 23mm caliber double-barreled cannon as the J-10. Just a few bursts were enough to tear apart the silhouettes on the anti-aircraft position into fragments and blood mist. The anti-aircraft machine guns struck by 23mm rounds were left in ruins.
