Chapter 540

Chapter 540: You Want to Fight? Then Let’s Fight!

The onboard threat warning system had already scanned for threatening weapons within a thousand-meter radius, and alarms echoed in the cockpit.

“Take off, my little wolf!”

White Wolf yanked the control stick back hard, and the "Flying Wolf" steadily lifted off the ground, powered by two small jet engines that provided much more thrust than propeller engines.

Just a few meters off the ground, the ailerons on the helicopter’s rotor blades began to move at a steep angle, causing the aircraft to change its normal level posture. A shadow barely grazed the belly of the craft, zipping past dangerously, before exploding into a fireball on top of a nearby building, scattering countless fragments.

“Damn it!”

"Ghost Bird" slammed the RPG launcher down on the top of the truck’s cabin in frustration, collapsing onto the upside-down boat shell, collapsing against the truck’s roof.

Sirens blared piercingly behind them, accompanied by the roaring engines of heavy-duty jeeps.

Armed security from Lockheed Martin, filled with rage, filled the entire lane with their massive convoy, forcing any passing vehicles off to the sides of the road.

“Damn it, ‘Ghost Bird’! We can’t escape!”

The truck driver evidently heard not just the distant roar of jet engines but also the distinct Doppler effect of helicopter blades.

Two fully armed Apache helicopters swooped over the seafood transport truck.

There was no way up to the sky, and no way down to the ground.

“‘White Wolf,’ you bastard!”

"Yellow Sparrow," jostled violently during takeoff, felt a surge of pain from his wound, cold sweat pouring down his face.

Quickly, he set several coordinates and flight parameters, activating the autopilot mode on the "Flying Wolf," which sped northward at 350 kilometers per hour.

Although two signals for Apache helicopters appeared on the radar screen, catching a fixed-wing "Flying Wolf," which could reach a maximum speed of 470 kilometers per hour, wasn’t an easy task for the Apaches, which could only reach a maximum speed of 307 kilometers per hour.

Furthermore, the Apache was an anti-tank armed helicopter, primarily designed for ground attacks rather than air-to-air combat.

In a one-on-one confrontation, the Apache was no match for the "Flying Wolf." The "Flying Wolf," capable of freely switching between rotor and fixed wing states, could outmaneuver the Apache with ease.

“Look, our great hero. They always say the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the yellow sparrow behind. With a reputation for high mission completion rates, ‘Yellow Sparrow’ is famed for his unbeatable intelligence and flawless planning; yet here he finds himself in such a predicament. Tsk, tsk! The tragic end of a hero; I thought you were some sort of superhero with your underwear on the outside.”

White Wolf unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, revealing a small first aid kit in his hand.

“You bastard, aren’t you afraid the helicopter will crash?”

“Yellow Sparrow” inhaled sharply, gripping his wound tightly, pressing on nearby arteries to stop the bleeding.

“Crash? No way! My ‘Flying Wolf’ can’t operate autonomously in combat, but autopilot works just fine. Now heading toward Death Valley—come on, let me take a look. You really look so pitiful; let big brother take good care of you."

White Wolf, with a sharp tongue, joked ruthlessly, squatting beside "Yellow Sparrow." He opened the first aid kit, sorting through the medicines and bandages inside.

Death Valley is located southeast of California, bordering Nevada.

“You crazy guy, I’m not some gay cowboy! My God, are you insane? Aren’t you afraid that fighter jets from Edwards Air Force Base will come looking for you? They have the SR-71 Blackbird and X-series experimental machines. Ouch! That hurts! Be gentle…”

“Yellow Sparrow” winced in pain as White Wolf carelessly sprayed disinfectant on his wound, making him fume with frustration.

“Be good! Uncle will buy you candy and take you to see the goldfish.”

White Wolf grinned slyly, resembling a creepy uncle trying to charm a little girl. He deftly pushed aside "Yellow Sparrow’s" injured area, revealing two deep bullet wounds oozing blood, and a large area of bruised and swollen skin.

White Wolf’s rough handling made "Yellow Sparrow" roll his eyes, but he dared not say anything, fearing that this madman would mock him further. The only slight reassurance was that this guy seemed fairly skilled in his actions.

“You’re such an idiot! What does Edwards Air Force Base have? Are they sending a space shuttle to hunt me down or what? Or is it the Blackbird?” White Wolf sliced delicately around the edge of the bullet hole with a thin, sharp scalpel, creating a neat little cross shape while remarking, “Just endure it!” as he inserted a pair of tweezers into the wound.

“I swear!” "Yellow Sparrow" was in so much pain that he was cramping all over, almost grinding his teeth to pieces. But then he thought, even if the Blackbird flew really fast, it couldn’t carry weapons.

Suddenly, White Wolf knocked his head hard with frustration and said, “Damn it, I forgot to give you anesthetic.” As he released the tweezers, a bullet fell out, clinking onto the cabin floor.

"Yellow Sparrow" immediately fainted from anger. Partnering with such a teammate was truly a streak of bad luck.

“Haha! Fainted! This works! Saves me from needing more anesthetic!” White Wolf chuckled nervously at his own mistake and replicated the same treatment on the other wounds, hurriedly applying a fast-penetrating healing agent and wound patches.

Suddenly, warnings blared within the cabin.

Startled, White Wolf quickly dashed to the pilot’s seat and glanced at the radar, noting several new signal dots on the screen.

Six AH-56 Cheyenne armed helicopters were rapidly approaching.

The dual-mode helicopter manufactured by Lockheed Martin was a formidable opponent, capable of switching between helicopter and rotorcraft modes.

The Cheyenne’s greatest feature was compensating for the helicopter’s lack of air combat capabilities, boasting excellent air superiority. It housed a 30mm cannon within a rotating turret underneath its belly, while another rotating weapon pod could be equipped with either a 40mm grenade launcher or a 6-barrel 7.62mm Gatling gun.

What troubled White Wolf the most was that the Cheyenne could reach a maximum speed of 407 kilometers per hour, comparable to propeller-driven fighter planes, making it a monster among armed helicopters.

However, from the radar display, these six Cheyennes were flying at least 500 kilometers per hour. They weren’t just modified second-generation helicopters but initial prototype models equipped with cruise jet engines like the “Flying Wolf.”

It was no surprise for Lockheed to equip their Skunk Works with such machines, so it was clear that grabbing the upper hand wouldn’t be easy.

With direct escape now nearly impossible, he gritted his teeth and shouted, “You want to fight? Then let’s fight!”

Without caring whether "Yellow Sparrow" heard him, he yelled, “’Yellow Sparrow,’ brace yourself, we’re going to battle!”

The fire control system lights on the dashboard illuminated all at once.

……

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Just after finishing dinner and planning to take a stroll down the streets of Las Vegas, Professor Yan suddenly heard Lin Mo shouting behind him.

Professor Yan was taken aback. In just a moment, his prized disciple had grabbed a hotel staff member by the throat, lifting him off the ground. He exclaimed, “Lin Mo! What’s going on? Let him go!”

Gasps and panicked screams erupted in the hotel lobby, as some guests were terrified by Lin Mo’s brute strength. Was this a movie scene or real life?

“Let go? Hmph!”

Lin Mo didn’t answer Professor Yan but waved a small object the size of a yellow bean in front of the staff member’s eyes, saying fiercely, “Don’t you get it?” This was his prize from a few seconds earlier.

“Ah! I don’t know anything! I swear!”

The staff member was clearly terrified of Lin Mo’s eyes, which flashed with a predatory glint. As his grip tightened, the overwhelming feeling of suffocation left him weak and gasping for breath, but it was all in vain.

He felt as powerless as a Little Chicken, unable to escape Lin Mo’s grip.

The staff member had no doubt that this guy would crush his neck without hesitation. Those eyes looked at him like he was already dead, showing absolutely no regard for human life.

I’m going to die! I’m going to die!

Despair flooded the staff member’s mind as his eyes slowly rolled back.

“You! Put him down! Stop it now!”

The hotel security, wide-eyed and shocked, charged over while shouting, although they were still loyal to their duty, reaching for their waists.

No, there were no guns, just pepper spray.

“What is that?”

Seeing the small object Lin Mo was holding, Professor Yan sensed the seriousness of the situation. His precious disciple wouldn’t show such a ruthless side without a good reason.

“This guy is a spy and plans to plant this on you.”

Though Lin Mo didn’t know exactly what the small item he held was for—whether it was for spying, tracking, exploding, or guiding electromagnetic weapons—it was clearly not something good.

“Let him go first; he’s going to die.”

“He’s a spy; spies have no rights!”

“Just drop him, listen to your teacher, and do it now.”

“Fine!”

Lin Mo tossed the staff member as if he was a cotton pillow, sending him crashing into the lobby’s lounge area, toppling wicker tables and chairs everywhere.

“You…”

Professor Yan sighed, shaking his head; it was clear that his disciple had many unknown aspects.

Lin Mo shrugged; he never held back when dealing with enemies.

The rushed hotel security stopped short, glancing back and forth between the collapsed staff member and Lin Mo, as if seeing a monster. They instinctively took a few steps back, keeping their distance from this terrifying figure.