Tel Aviv Kirya Military Base

"Yage! Song has slipped away from the airport!"

The moment the call connected, Pence couldn't wait to start demanding explanations.

"How did you guarantee to me?! Saying if he tried to escape via commercial flight, it would be suicide!? And you said you had so many men stationed near the airport?!"

"Pence, are you kidding me! He actually ran from the airport?!"

Yage Cohen hurried to the large screen and stared intensely at the surveillance footage divided into twelve segments.

"Look at the gate B22 replay, the Russian airline's boarding gate! Damn it! He boarded from there!"

"Quick, show me the B22 playback..."

Yage patted the shoulder of the technician in front of him while questioning Pence, "The footage from how many minutes ago?!"

"What do you mean minutes!? It has been twenty minutes, they've already taken off! My technicians analyzed the images and the back profile matched 98%! It's definitely him!"

In the replay from Beirut Airport, an Asian-faced man is seen through the boarding gate, with a fresh scar on his face.

The more Yage watched, the more astonished he became.

It really is him!

"Your people couldn't even recognize him standing right in front of them? They're all pigs!" Pence's voice crackled over the line, "Now that Russian tin coffin has climbed to 8000 meters, carrying our mutual little problem on board."

Yage pressed a black button on the console, lighting up twenty tactical screens simultaneously. "The An-148 has a maximum range of 5000 kilometers..."

He pulled up a 3D flight path map; Tehran's virtual route was covered in blood red, now under the surveillance of the Daishe Bird Air Force patrol planes, "Their medical flight application is for Egypt."

He paused then continued:

"Deputy Director Pence, you need to find a way to detain them! Notify Cairo authorities, tell them there's a terrorist on their plane, demand to detain them upon landing, and then negotiate to take him."

"Are you mad?! Slapping him with a fake terrorist hat won't work! Fake will never become real. We might pull it off in Europe, but in Egypt, our influence isn't that strong. Do you think the Persians aren't supporting him?! Do you think Cairo will hand him over to us?! If we notify them, it'll be the same as telling them we're onto Song and know his whereabouts!"

"If this can't work, that can't work, then what do you suggest!?"

Yage was getting annoyed.

"Should we send fighter jets to shoot them down now?!"

The line went silent.

Both men stopped talking.

About thirty seconds later, Pence's cold voice came through, "That's not impossible..."

"What?!"

Yage felt like he was standing before a cunning devil, tempting him to make a reckless decision.

"Think about your black kill order! If you can't kill him, how will you ever intimidate others in the future? How can you stand firm in Z-Dong without our help, what's your foundational principle for establishing your country?!"

"Merciless!"

Yage squeezed out the word through clenched teeth.

"I know what to do now."

"Mhm, don't worry, if things go wrong, we'll support you," Pence's voice was ice-cold like it came from a freezer, "If it comes to it, we'll organize an investigation team and in the end, the matter will be dropped."

"Alright, we'll do it!"

Eastern Mediterranean airspace.

When Song Heping opened his eyes in the third row of business class, the cabin was lightly trembling.

Through the window, ice crystals were forming at the wing tips, moonlight flowing on the metallic skin like silver streams.

From the front cabin came the murmurs of a conversation in Russian, a flight attendant pushed a meal cart past him, coffee in a stainless steel pot rippled with small waves.

His right chest was still faintly aching.

But leaving Liben behind, his mood was much lighter.

"Do you need some painkillers?"

Jiang Feng whispered, keeping his left hand on his waist.

Above their seats in the luggage rack was an emergency gear bag prepared by Ghost, a military-grade first aid kit.

Song Heping shook his head, fingers stroking the cover of his documents.

The gold-embossed "International Medical Rescue Organization" lettering glinted under the reading light, the personal info page had his name changed to "Chen Zhiyuan".

When the broadcast announced in Russian that they had left Liben's airspace and were entering the international airspace over the Mediterranean, he suddenly grabbed the armrest—some battlefield instinct-induced tremor climbing up his spine.

Tel Aviv.

Some underground command post

Six signal analysts raised their heads simultaneously, their spectrum analyzers showing jumping, eerie waveforms.

Yage yanked his collar open, staring at the screen showing the plane passing through the clouds, "Tell the kids of the 69th squadron, it's time for a check-up on the Russian second-hand plane, but go easy, do it cleanly."

Twenty kilometers away, two MiG-29 "Fulcrum" fighters tore through the night sky.

On the HUD of pilot David, the green triangle representing the airliner was blinking.

"About to enter guaranteed hit range."

"Order confirmed, clear to engage."

"Understood."

Their dialogue was in Hebrew.

Meaning the two pilots were actually Daishe Bird Air Force pilots.

But they flew two MiG-29 Soviet fighters.

The MiG-29 was a classic fighter equipped by the Soviet Union and Eastern European countries at the end of the Cold War, but it's rarely known that in the 90s, Daishe Bird obtained several MiG-29s through secret channels and arranged confrontations with US-made fighter jets to better understand their opponents' capabilities.

In the mid-90s, Daishe Bird's most serious competitors, Persia and Siria, began to receive MiG-29s consecutively, greatly enhancing their air-to-air combat abilities and creating a sense of crisis for Daishe Bird military.

Therefore, after negotiating with former Hua Yue member states, Daishe Bird military introduced at least three MiG-29s from big Bobo in Spring 1997 and immediately began a series of tests.

Before this, Daishe Bird had actually already obtained MiG-21s and MiG-23s, mostly through seizures or defections, thus their military secretly possessed a batch of Soviet fighters.

Of course, using MiG-29s today for shooting down a civilian aircraft was the best choice.

Receiving the command confirmation, the two pilots controlled the planes to slowly approach the An-148 passenger plane.

The pilots unlocked the missiles, entering ready-to-fire status, the R-73 air-to-air missiles under the wings gleaming faintly in the starlight.

When the distance between them reached 13 kilometers, it already meant entering the non-escape range of the R-73 missiles.

The pilot glanced at the dashboard, then at the screen, suddenly switching on the radar lock.

Beep beep beep—

Soon, the locking device emitted a prompt tone, meaning the An-148 ahead was locked on...

"A1, fire."

"A2, fire."

"Observe."

"Approach..."

An-148 cockpit

The co-pilot suddenly took off his headset, "Antonov, there are fighters approaching from the seven o'clock direction."

Captain Antonov glanced at the radar screen, two red dots were closing in at high speed.

His pupils constricted rapidly, beads of sweat with the scent of alcohol appeared on his forehead, and he grabbed the radio, "This is Russian Birch Tree Airlines RA-61735, we have a legitimate flight permit..."

At this moment, he was still trying to identify himself, thinking they had entered some sensitive airspace and been misjudged.

But he quickly discovered his call was useless.

The two missiles were still rapidly approaching.

At this speed, in less than ten seconds, the plane would be hit!

"Suka! They're going to kill us!"

The co-pilot Igor exclaimed.

Antonov shouted, "No one takes lives away from Russian pilots!"

Of course, there was another half of this sentence—except themselves.

"Lower altitude! Brace yourselves! Igor, notify everyone to prepare for impact!"

After saying that, he thrust the control stick, the An-148 passenger plane dove rapidly towards the sea like an eagle hunting prey.

In the cabin, everyone suddenly felt a sense of free-fall as if on a rollercoaster diving down.

"Ah—"

"Oh my god!"

"What's happening!"

"What's going on?!"

The cabin erupted in chaos, passengers screaming.

"Elder squad leader, what's happening?!"

Jiang Feng fastened his seatbelt immediately, asking Song Heping in a slightly tense tone.

"Don't ask, it's Daishe Bird." Song Heping calmly fastened his seatbelt, glancing at the sea outside, "Damn! These lunatics actually dare!"

Jiang Feng asked, "You mean Daishe Bird sent the air force to hunt us?!"

Song Heping nodded, "Actually to hunt me, the black kill order."

As he finished speaking, a red light flickered in the night outside the window.

Boom—

The whole plane shook violently, the luggage rack emitted the sound of twisting metal.

"Woo woo woo—"

Someone in the cabin started crying.

Song Heping smelled a faint scent of burning.

"The airliner encountered severe turbulence," the trembling Russian voice announced over the broadcast, "Please fasten your seatbelts."

Song Heping's nails dug into his palm.

This was thousands of meters in the high air.

He could do nothing.

Everything now was left to fate.

"As long as I don't die, you all just wait and see!"

He gritted his teeth, roaring in his heart.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com