At an altitude of 30,000 meters, in the stratosphere.
The air is as thin as a vacuum, and the temperature is as low as minus seventy degrees Celsius.
The thin clouds, like frozen veils, gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen under the glaring sunlight.
This place is a no-go zone for aircraft, but also an arena for the strong.
The SR-71 "Blackbird," a reconnaissance aircraft representing the pinnacle of American aviation technology, cruised at an absolute altitude of 28,000 meters, like a long, black scythe of death.
Its titanium alloy fuselage glowed slightly red from the high-speed friction in the thin atmosphere, and the massive J-58 engine spewed out two almost transparent and distorted heat waves, propelling it at a terrifying speed exceeding Mach 3, leaving the vast land below mercilessly behind.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot, codenamed "Raven," stared blankly ahead with a cold expression.
The radar screen in front of him was spotless, signifying absolute control and security.
Occasionally glancing at the signals of the escort formation below was merely a routine confirmation.
More than two thousand meters below, two F-15C Eagle fighter jets flew like loyal hounds, escorting the SR-71 from the side and rear.
The vulture's ace pilot sat in the cockpit of the lead aircraft, enjoying the thrill of looking down on all living beings.
The F-15 he piloted was specially modified, possessing enhanced climb capabilities and radar, and was designed specifically for high-altitude escort missions, serving as the "Eagle's Nest Eye."
He whistled softly and cracked crude jokes with his wingman "Crow" over the encrypted channel:
"Hey, crow, do you think those rabbits down there are frantically trying to push their 'bamboo dragonflies' out right now? Too bad they can't even smell our exhaust fumes, haha!"
"Boss, my radar screen is so clean you could use it as a mirror! There's not even a bird in it!"
The wingman, "Crow," chuckled lightly, "This Falcon Operation was like a picnic! When we get back, I'll treat you to a drink at the base bar!"
The vulture smiled smugly, its fingers tapping lightly on the joystick.
Through the gilded, anti-reflective canopy, he looked down at the mountains and desert below, which resembled a sand table model. His gaze swept over the approximate area of the base marked in intelligence reports, and a cruel smile curled at the corner of his lips.
"Chinese planes? Ha... They're probably still just dreaming on paper! Prepare the recording equipment, Raven. Once we're over the target area, I'm going to have the cameras capture every inch of land and completely expose their arrogance!"
"Received, vulture."
Du's cold voice came through.
Just as this aerial formation swept past the highest point of China's northwestern airspace at an unparalleled speed, in the seemingly empty, dark blue void slightly ahead and below their flight path, a silent phantom had already spread an invisible net.
Inside the cabin, Lao Zhao's breathing became sluggish under the oxygen mask.
The whole world seemed to have been suffocated, leaving only the heavy, slow beating of my own heart in my chest.
Sweat soaked through the lining of the anti-G suit, clinging to the skin and bringing a cold, sticky feeling.
He stared intently ahead through the narrow canopy.
In my field of vision, the three points of light representing death and arrogance are growing larger and clearer at an alarming rate!
The lead F-15 fighter jet had missiles mounted under its wings that reflected a blinding glint in the sunlight, and the vulture insignia painted on its fuselage was clearly visible, like bloodied claw marks!
Under the calculations of "Milky Way" and the precise guidance of Mingzhao, the distance is shrinking at a rate of hundreds of meters per second!
Altitude difference: -1500 meters!
Relative speed: close to Mach 5!
Estimated time of intersection: 15 seconds!
The tower's instructions were etched into Lao Zhao's mind: "Maintain absolute silence, maintain posture. Execute the reconnaissance plan."
His muscles were taut like steel, and his hands seemed welded to the control stick, maintaining a near-perfect level flight posture.
With all active radiation sources shut down, the Shadow, like the deepest dark matter in the universe, blended perfectly into the background electromagnetic environment and swallowed most of the roar of its own engine.
Like a silent grim reaper, it hurtled towards the F-15 painted with the vulture symbol from the side and below at high speed!
Time was stretched to its limit.
10 seconds!
Inside the Vulture's cockpit, the radar warning receiver (RWR) remained silent, its screen completely blank.
He was still joking with his wingman about the new waitress at the base bar.
8 seconds!
Old Zhao's finger hovered above the start button of the reconnaissance pod.
His fingertips turned slightly white from the pressure. He could clearly see the patterns on the auxiliary fuel tanks mounted under the fuselage of the F-15 Vulture.
5 seconds!
The area at the rear of the "Shadow" engine compartment, covered with a gray-black ablation coating, has long exceeded its design limits due to continuous high-speed friction and the intense heat of the engine compartment!
Inside the embrittled damping material, tiny cracks are quietly growing and spreading under the combined effects of ultra-high temperature and residual vibration!
A faint, hissing sound, like the groaning of metal in fatigue, began to travel through the fuselage structure into the cockpit!
Old Zhao's nerves instantly tightened to their limit!
3 seconds!
The vulture seemed to sense something, perhaps it was the pilot's intuition that defied common sense.
He subconsciously tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping unconsciously across the lower left corner of the sky, a dark blue void that should have been empty under the sunlight.
1 second!
In that very instant!
A blurry, dark gray, streamlined, eerie silhouette, as if leaping directly from another dimension, filled his lower left porthole view with an unsettling silence and incredible speed and angle!
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