King Of War: Starting with Arms Dealer-Chapter 1022 - 912 Bombing

The journey of piloting a fighter jet from Sangha Town to somewhere near Yakoma was really just a matter of flooring the throttle.

But for the special operations teams encircling the rebels around Yakoma, they had to trek through jungle and waterways for a great deal of time.

Joe Ga prided himself on having experience piloting the Super Albatross, so he had some confidence in knowing how to launch an attack.

But when he actually lowered his altitude and tried to locate the targets based on coordinates, he finally understood why fighter pilots must have excellent vision...

The jungle along the Central African Congo border was the perfect camouflage. The so-called camps hidden in the jungle didn’t exist for someone like Joe Ga, gliding by from above—because he simply couldn’t see them!

Joe Ga’s vision was decent, but without professional training, he was completely clueless about how to distinguish targets on the ground...

Cobra was extremely patient. After Joe missed the targets for the third time, he finally said, "Notify the ground team to mark their positions.

The ’Raptor-2’ missile has a range of 120 kilometers and comes with GPS and TV guidance capability. It can perform beyond-visual-range attacks.

Input the missile’s exact coordinates, and then focus on determining the approach direction and angle of entry to avoid friendly-fire incidents."

Joe Ga was an obedient student. He quickly pulled up and began a wide rotation, pressing the communicator to call out, "’Bullhorn,’ activate the friend-or-foe identification and report your location. Don’t worry, I’m using precision-guided missiles; the margin of error is very small.

As long as the coordinates you provide are correct, we should have no problems..."

On the ground, Bullhorn had already run a kilometer away. Hearing this, he shouted loudly for his comrades to activate identification signals. Then he took a look around at the surroundings. This guy gritted his teeth, jumped into a river, and let the current carry him downstream for over 500 meters before swimming to the opposite bank where he finally stopped.

Watching several signal traces move across the screen, Joe Ga smacked his lips and said, "Cobra, which direction should I take to approach?"

Cobra held the flight stick, smiling as he said, "Ascend to an altitude of 8,000 meters, then approach from Bullhorn’s flank or rear."

Worried his explanation wasn’t clear enough, Cobra grabbed a pen and paper, drew a circle and two arrows on it, then reached over Joe Ga’s shoulder to point at the coordinates displayed on the radar. "Pay attention to altitude, direction, and range. Relax, the missile is already locked on to the target. As long as you’re pointing the nose of the plane in the right direction, you’ll hit the mark.

Don’t be too nervous—just think of it as pulling a trigger..."

Joe Ga gently adjusted the control stick, gradually aligning the nose of the F-14, then said with some resignation, "I’m not nervous, I just feel like these two ’rounds’ are way too expensive.

When I boarded the plane, I checked—the Raptor-2 may not be all that fancy, but its market price is still 800,000 US dollars.

I bet those rebel lunatics’ lives combined aren’t worth the cost of these two missiles..."

Saying so, Joe Ga glanced at the altimeter and radar and declared, "Altitude 8,000 meters, range 63 kilometers, approaching from the southwest.

Dual Raptor-2 missiles, fire~"

Joe Ga was addressing the E-Team on the ground. As soon as he spoke, he pressed the launch button...

Two 1.2-ton Raptor-2 missiles dropped instantly from under the wings...

The moment the missiles fell, a pair of wings unfolded. As the wings adjusted, the missiles began inertial guidance.

Entering the terminal phase of the flight, the rocket engines abruptly came alive.

The rear of the one-ton-plus missiles spewed flames, initiating a secondary acceleration that instantly broke the sound barrier and plunged straight into the untamed jungle of the Congo with a deafening supersonic boom.

Cobra had been monitoring the television guidance feed of the missiles. Once he confirmed that the missiles would strike their target, he released the left joystick and patted Joe Ga on the shoulder, saying, "Lower your altitude; you should see your handiwork for yourself..."

As Cobra spoke, a catastrophic explosion erupted in the jungle.

The two 1.2-ton fragmentation warheads detonated upon crashing through the treetops, at a height of about five meters above the ground.

Triggering the 1,000-kilogram explosives, the blast created a dazzling orange fireball.

The blinding light, mixed with innumerable lethal fragments, swept across a radius of approximately 300 meters.

At the time of the explosion, nearly two hundred armed rebels were preparing for something in their jungle camp.

Under the command of a dozen muscular men, they formed into teams and began injecting themselves with a pale golden liquid using filthy syringes.

The missiles detonated mere dozens of meters from them...

The wooden huts and grass shacks in the camp were obliterated like toy blocks struck by a tsunami, sending splinters flying outward with the explosive shockwave.

The trees at the explosion’s core carbonized instantly. Those injecting the drugs were swept by the high-temperature shockwave, their bodies igniting like candles in an instant before being disintegrated into ashes by the force of the blast.

Several sentries stationed on the camp’s perimeter narrowly avoided the core’s high temperatures, only to be shredded by the fragments and debris propelled by the shockwave.

The jungle absorbed much of the explosion’s energy, forcing it upwards.

A plume of black smoke, driven by the shockwave, soared to nearly 150 meters in height before spreading out to form a small mushroom cloud.

The F-14 piloted by Joe Ga roared past the side of the scene...

The destructive power of the Raptor-2 missiles far exceeded Joe Ga’s expectations. Yet, the sense of accomplishment from successfully striking the target wasn’t as exhilarating as he had imagined...

Bullhorn and his team had identified the enemy’s position and confirmed the coordinates via drone reconnaissance. All that remained for the fighter jet was to take flight and drop the payload.

The entire bombing process was boring and uneventful...

At an altitude of 8,000 meters, conducting a beyond-visual-range launch...

Other than the explosions, Joe Ga couldn’t make out any details on the ground.

Tilting his head to glance at the exploding scene below, Joe Ga sighed and remarked, "How can anyone possibly contend with this level of power?"

Afterward, Joe Ga turned to glance at Cobra behind him and said, "I don’t know why, but even though the missile hit its target, I don’t feel the least bit thrilled...

It’s not nearly as exhilarating as flying a Super Albatross in low-altitude combat!"

Cobra, well aware of Joe Ga’s quirks, chuckled and said, "That’s because the reason fighter jets were developed in the first place was for massively asymmetrical warfare, to simplify combat.

Plus, the F-14 you’re flying has undergone a series of upgrades to make controlling it much easier.

Otherwise, just flying it in the sky would’ve been thrilling enough!"

As he spoke, Cobra pressed the radio and said, "F-14 is returning to base. The Su-27 will remain to assess ground damage and coordinate with ground forces. There are other targets they need to address..."

Hearing this, Joe Ga climbed higher, locked onto the base’s direction, and flew off...

"Bullhorn, hope I didn’t scare you guys, haha..."

On the ground, Bullhorn, still shaken, stared at the terrifying, distant plume of smoke. Scratching his head nervously, he muttered to Water Ghost beside him, "See? I knew I was right..."

Water Ghost, noticing Bullhorn’s trembling legs, shook his head in disdain and activated the communicator: "This is Water Ghost. Record this—Bullhorn pissed his pants.

Iceman and Bomberman, remain on the perimeter. We’ll move in to check in 30 minutes..."

Soaked from head to toe, Bullhorn shot Water Ghost a shocked glare and cursed, "You’re out of your mind! I’m just wet—it’s not piss! I just climbed out from the river..."

Water Ghost, fully committed to smearing Bullhorn’s name, replied nonchalantly, "Yeah, you’re wet, so I figured you pissed yourself.

It’s fine; it’s normal. Iceman once took a dump on your hand, and I’ve pissed myself in your company too, so we totally get it..."

Over the radio came Iceman’s resigned sigh: "Can you not keep dragging me into this?"

As the E-Team joked around, the F-14 landed smoothly on the base’s runway.

Cobra handled the landing, and as the plane came to a steady stop, Joe Ga opened the canopy, disembarked, and, feeling conflicted, patted the nose of the aircraft, saying, "This is a great plane...

But I really need to follow up with the Belgrade Group. I think the Griffin-1 is better suited for our current needs."

Cobra shrugged indifferently and said, "You sold four Super Albatrosses to Iraq and left two in Liberia.

You do need to push Seville to replenish us with a batch of 250-kilogram bombs and Pathfinders.

Until the Griffin-1s arrive, airstrike operations can’t be suspended...

That ’Rooster’ got us a lot of spare parts and rockets. Those Chinese pilots calculate expenses every time they board a plane.

Honestly, I think that’s great—just make sure not to treat things like the Raptor-2 as standard-issue weapons, and you won’t have to worry too much about funding."

Joe Ga wanted to explain his thoughts, but upon hearing that those Chinese pilots actually paid to fly, he immediately forgot what he’d just been thinking...

Spotting Rooster in the distance collaborating with Wrench to record something, Joe Ga enthusiastically waved and then turned to Cobra to say, "They’re all on our side, and they came here to help. If they want to fly, let’s give them a five percent discount.

Su-25s and Su-27s with rocket pods are quite effective too!

I’ll figure out the bomb situation. The bullet production line I ordered is arriving soon. Maybe I ought to consider ordering two more production lines for bombs and shells.

We’ve got everything here except gunpowder, steel, and the basics..."

Cobra waved casually and said, "It’s up to you. From now on, set aside two hours a week to train here.

Archerfish is a certified instructor, and our aircraft service center and flight school have already received the necessary authorizations.

Once you’ve logged enough flight hours, you’ll get Certificate 0001, which will also set a good example for the flight school.

Mary Eleanor, over in Central Africa, visited the flight school and said that the neighboring countries of Central Africa have a huge demand for fixed-wing and helicopter pilots. Soon, a large number of students will be enrolling and paying tuition.

Stop worrying about money. Victory is the most important thing that got you this far!"