Chapter 590

Chapter 590: High Praise! Dear!

A munitions truck’s detonation caused massive destruction. The air defense positions made up of anti-aircraft machine guns were flattened, and the brave leader of the armed organization was sent straight to hell.

The truck carrying daily necessities was too close to the explosion, and the shockwaves rolled it over, leaving a gruesome scene on the ground.

"Break through! Charge out!"

"Captain Heim is dead; we need to leave."

"Get away from this place, Bartlow. Find a vehicle; we have to get out!"

Nearby armed personnel witnessed the scene, and they found themselves stripped of any will to fight. Even if they held on, they wouldn’t earn a dime of the reward. Even if they escaped, the terrifying Captain Heim wouldn’t be able to crawl out of hell to turn them into mere sticks.

Completely stripped of command, the armed personnel fell into a state of headless dragons, lacking a unified strategy. Preoccupied with saving their own skins, they had no concern for the fighter jet in the sky. To hell with it—escaping even one was better than dying here.

Chaos reigned everywhere. After all, they were not professional soldiers but mercenaries fighting for money. Even though many came from a military background, they could not control the chaotic situation on the battlefield.

The surrounding Special Forces seized the opportunity and pushed forward, tightening the encirclement further.

There was now no effective anti-air fire threat on the ground, yet the "Mustang" continued to descend, quickly dropping to an altitude of 1,000 meters.

Lin Mo’s expression remained unchanged as he firmly pulled back on the control stick. The engine entered an overloaded state, emitting a peculiar shriek.

Just moments ago, during the dive, the "Mustang" reached a maximum speed of nearly 1,000 kilometers per hour, an astonishing speed indeed.

Diving toward the ground at almost 280 meters per second was a remarkable feat, but pulling up from this speed was no simple task.

At this moment, he had to rely on the aircraft’s structural integrity to maintain its aerodynamic layout and the power provided by the engine to pull the fighter jet out of its plunge.

Lin Mo had great confidence in the gold giant dragon’s modified structure.

"Products of the dragon are always exquisite."

This principle extended beyond technology; even in another world, it held true. The long lifespan of the dragon kin allowed them to master their craft to near perfection.

However, not every giant dragon, especially during its growth period, had the patience to delve into a profession; most preferred a leisurely life of eating and sleeping like lazy pigs.

Lin Mo trusted the instinctual skills of the gold giant dragon. If it couldn’t even hunt for food, it was indeed worse than a pig.

The aircraft emitted creaking sounds as it finally began to level out. Just moments before it would crash directly into the armed organization’s defensive position, it managed to pull up and blast away, the belly nearly scraping against a nearby hill.

"My goodness, who is that?! So reckless and with smoke to boot, that’s downright terrifying!"

The Special Forces sniper Han Dazhi, hidden on the hillside, nearly wet himself when the "Mustang" zoomed by him, its belly almost brushing against his forehead.

The overwhelming pressure and visual shock left his mind blank, and the camouflage netting he wore was blown away to who knows where.

"This guy has some nerve!"

His spotter, also his squad leader Xie Songchao, raised his hand and gave a rude finger gesture to the fighter jet that had just soared back up.

This was the natural disdain infantrymen felt towards pilots; no matter how good they thought they were, they’d become nothing but turkey when shot down.

"These pilots love to fly around up there, never staying still, while we’re the real soldiers on the ground, toughing it out. Just look at us in the army, crawling through mud and earning the well-deserved medals of manhood; we are the true iron-blooded men."

With a proud tone, Han Dazhi adjusted his Barrett heavy sniper rifle and chambered a 12.7 millimeter steel-core sniper round. Just as he grinned, his helmet was struck hard.

“What are you doing?!” His squad leader Xie Songchao, with a disapproving look, pulled back his hand from delivering a slap and glared at the clueless rookie sniper. "You’re so foolish! You should read more books. Do you think heaven will allow you to be a man with scars? What a pig! Pilots aren’t allowed to have scars!”

“Hey, hey, hey, yes, squad leader! I will study hard and strive for improvement!” Han Dazhi scratched his head, chuckling. Then as he turned back to the scope, he ground his teeth and muttered under his breath: “You called me dumb! You called me dumb! You called me dumb…” With each muttered phrase, he squeezed the trigger, reloading the sniper rifle again.

Bullets filled with resentment flew towards the enemy camp, creating billows of deadly blood mist.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to scare me to death?”

Colonel Deng Rongang, the commander of the Special Forces, was shaken to his core by the breathtaking scene unfolding before him. He almost thought the ace pilot sent from above was going to crash.

If an ace pilot were to be lost here, the Special Forces would suffer immensely, and their reputation would be seriously damaged. They could forget about getting air support in the future.

Was this guy exceptionally skilled or just plain crazy?

In the past, Colonel Deng had faced many dangerous situations with unwavering courage, but now his heart raced with anxiety. After cursing a few times, he redirected his focus back to the battlefield.

Deng noticed that after the attack, which was even more thrilling than a stunt show, the enemy camp had descended into chaos, and it seemed the recent blow had taken out a major target.

Chaos was good; where there is chaos, there is opportunity.

Ragtag groups could never compete with organized and disciplined regular forces. Colonel Deng grasped this opportunity immediately and issued orders to surround the enemy, increasing firepower on the east, west, and south side by one hundred percent. They had kept some heavy-caliber machine guns in reserve, and even deployed small cloud explosive bombs.

Due to restrictions from Mongolia and Russia, too many Chinese Special Forces operatives were not allowed to enter, preventing numerical superiority against the enemy.

Now, after losing command, the enemy’s numerical advantage could no longer stop the battle, which was coming to a close. The remaining armed personnel of that organization had become easy targets, taken down one after another.

The eight girls who had been rescued were safely taken five kilometers away from the battlefield. Though wrapped in blankets, they still shivered, shaken and terrified, but after sipping some hot soup, their emotions stabilized significantly.

However, the two truly skilled operatives who had led the rescue and made the critical advance were now both squad leaders, with one receiving treatment from a medic.

As the fighter jet burst forth from the rising sun, launching its first wave of attacks and annihilating all the pursuers, one squad leader, who had been carrying a girl in each arm, felt a sense of relief but soon tripped over his own legs, falling to the ground, narrowly avoiding landing face-first like a famous American president (Kennedy).

This valiant squad leader attempted to get back up, only to discover that his legs had quickly gone numb and lost feeling; he had been hit by three bullets—two grazed his calf, and another made a hole in his thigh. Fortunately, a subsequent examination showed that the bullet did not hit any bones, allowing him to muster his courage and run a few more steps.

If he had fallen behind, he would have surely faced the same explosive fate as the pursuers behind him.

When three Russian girls saw the Chinese soldier who had come to save them injured and unable to get up, they defiantly turned back, along with a few other Chinese girls, dragging him by the arms and legs, bringing him back despite his injuries.

No one knew where these weak girls found such courage and strength.

Gunfire and explosions continued to fill the air, but both sides knew that the battle was rapidly approaching its end.

Ten minutes later, when Lin Mo’s "Mustang" landed on a nearby grassy field, the fight had almost concluded, with nearly one-fifth of the armed organization members surrendering and emerging from their shattered convoy.

The Special Forces operatives carefully searched every corner of the battlefield with life scanners, ensuring a bullet was shot into the head of every corpse they found.

Given the ferocious nature of the enemy, this caution was absolutely necessary. The lives of the enemy were worth nothing compared to their valuable soldiers; the military would never risk their prized troops for someone else’s worthless lives.

Moreover, these were ruthless thugs.

“Report, squad leader: we eliminated 163 enemies and captured 32; two of our men were severely wounded, 25 lightly wounded, with no fatalities. The on-site materials are being counted and will be fully tallied in two hours.”

The soldier who completed the initial count reported the preliminary results loudly to Colonel Deng Rongang, who was in charge of the operation.

They set up several tents near the battlefield as a temporary camp to await the transportation helicopter from their homeland; they did not enjoy the same freedom Lin Mo had with his self-piloting aircraft.

“I understand.”

Colonel Deng nodded, releasing a long breath.

The overwhelming fire assault had met expectations, preventing unnecessary sacrifices.

This success relied on air support from the fighter jet. Without it, their soldiers and equipment would have likely suffered casualties in combat, given that the enemy boasted both excellent weapons and ample supplies.

That pilot, Colonel Deng glanced at Lin Mo, who was inspecting the P-51 “Mustang” not far away, and secretly shook his head; he was definitely a crazy guy, and that kind of madness was hard to handle.

Compared to average pilots, Lin Mo’s aggressive attack instinct was well appreciated by the Special Forces, earning a perfect pentagram star evaluation.

“What about the prisoners?” The soldier relaying the messages remained standing, hesitating.