Chapter 261

Chapter 261: Shoot It Down for Me

“Report! Report!” Suddenly, someone outside the tent was shouting. The two soldiers guarding the tent flaps tightened their grips on their guns and raised their alertness.

“What’s going on? Just say it at the door!” Lawrence didn’t want a minor character to disturb them.

“I, our helicopter has been shot down.”

The voice from outside was breathless, clearly having rushed over to report the news.

In a region like Afghanistan, where the main equipment consisted of automatic rifles, grenade launchers, RPGs, and some small-caliber mortars, even having a helicopter—especially a civilian one with a heavy machine gun mounted on it—was a luxurious setup often kept as a hidden weapon.

The news of the helicopter being shot down was enough to cause a stir in the camp.

“What shot it down? How could it be so careless? Do the people in the valley have air defense missiles?”

Lawrence furrowed his brows. Even if that helicopter was a civilian model, it wasn’t a cheap toy. He wondered how many AK-47s it could buy. The only aerial force capable of providing comprehensive suppression had been eliminated so quickly, which was clearly beyond his expectations.

“No, no, no! The helicopter wasn’t shot down by anti-aircraft weapons; it was shot down by a fighter jet.”

Like a stone thrown into a pond, the news stirred a frenzy inside the tent. The leaders jumped up, and chairs were knocked over.

A fighter jet?! How far-fetched was that?

In the minds of the Afghan people and the armed militants roaming their neighboring countries, only major powers like America, China, Russia, and a few strong European nations possessed and could deploy such aerial combat weapons elsewhere. To have one appear in this place was both shocking and terrifying.

Moreover, it was aiding those almost completely impoverished civilians. How could they have such a powerful background to own a fighter jet? There couldn’t be a more alarming piece of news.

Many had experienced airstrikes, and some were Afghan, especially members of the Taliban. They knew well the devastating power of fighter jets on the battlefield.

What was a helicopter compared to a fighter jet? Even an armed helicopter might struggle against a specialized high-speed fighter jet. With speed and firepower, a single fighter jet could easily wipe out hundreds of them without taking a hit.

Many faces inside the tent changed. The high lethality of high-tech weapons left an indelible impression on them.

“Impossible! Is there an airstrip in the valley? You! Come in and speak!”

Lawrence, usually calm and collected, lost his composure. How could such a thing happen? He sensed the situation was slipping further out of control.

“Yes! Yes!” A man dressed in Russian military uniform timidly walked in. This place was full of ragtag troops, so proper military uniforms were out of the question. He didn’t know where he had gotten the old, dirty uniform.

All the gathered intelligence indicated that those in the valley were merely civilians and mercenaries. They hardly qualified as a proper paramilitary organization, mostly consisting of farmers, herdsmen, blacksmiths, barefoot doctors, and some teachers, none with an education beyond high school.

Moreover, high-tech weapons like fighter jets required maintenance. Personnel, equipment, money, and facilities—all demands that were extraordinarily high.

Where would they find pilots? Where would they get mechanics, electronic engineers, communication personnel, and logistics support? In this rundown area, would anyone who lived a comfortable life abroad and earned high wages choose to settle in a remote place like this?!

If that were the case, this world would be absurd.

If they had such capabilities, these people wouldn’t need to migrate from afar. Selling the plane would be enough for them to recruit troops and seize a vast territory, turning it into their own peaceful haven.

If another force had established an air force base here, then Lawrence’s expression changed immediately. He couldn’t bear to think further.

With just these few hundred ragtag soldiers, even adding a zero wouldn’t be enough to deal with them. Leading a charge against this air force base was nearly akin to seeking death.

The two “Striker” wheeled armored vehicles that had suddenly disappeared last night and the powerful shock bombs—it all added up. Yes, it must be so; there had to be a strong organization with a secret base here. And those civilians, migrating from so far away, probably had something to do with this base or were familiar faces.

If this were true, everything that had happened would make sense.

The leaders watched as the face of this temporary commander, a white man, changed again and again, as if he had begun to comprehend some horrifying truth. Their expressions also darkened.

“What kind of plane was it? Did anyone see any markings?”

Lawrence asked again. He needed to ascertain what kind of force they were facing to respond appropriately, hoping things wouldn’t become too tense.

Lawrence suspected that the valley already had an owner.

Before things worsened to a point of no return, Lawrence came up with a plan to halt the attack and withdraw his troops. The enemy was too powerful, with a fighter jet, indicating that they were beyond the capability of his men.

The best way to protect themselves was to retreat before the enemy counterattacked. If necessary, sacrificing a few unfortunate souls to calm the enemy’s anger was a price he was willing to pay.

Just as Lawrence searched among the leaders for a scapegoat, the person who had come to report stammered, “It’s a silver-gray aircraft with no markings. It has a propeller at the nose of the aircraft, not a jet engine.”

“What? What?!”

Lawrence’s eyes widened in disbelief. A propeller at the nose of the aircraft, not a jet engine? What kind of plane was that?

What the reporter had said completely overturned his assumptions. It was illogical; how could it be an old-fashioned propeller fighter? Could it even be a training aircraft? This tangled thought made Lawrence feel overwhelmed for the first time.

What year was it that someone was still equipped with such an aircraft? It was unimaginable.

The lack of markings could only be confirmed by seeing it with his own eyes, and Lawrence didn’t fully trust the reporter. If they accidentally provoked a powerful force, that could mean serious trouble.

“Yes, it’s a very old-fashioned plane. It doesn’t look like it’s from America, Russia, or China. It has machine guns mounted on both wings. I can confirm it should be a fighter jet,” the man said cautiously while observing Lawrence’s expression, fearful that if he said something wrong, he would be dragged out for target practice.

Lawrence wanted to ask a few more questions but suddenly heard a roaring sound from outside. People in the camp began shouting, and the orderly camp started to stir uneasily.

“Aircraft! There’s an aircraft!”

“I see it! I see it! It’s to the east!”

Someone shouted towards the sky, and those with binoculars raised them directly. Many others stood frozen in place, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands as they stared at a small black dot in the sky, which grew larger and clearer.

“It arrived so quickly!” Lawrence felt a jolt in his gut. He waved his hand to go outside and told the reporter, “Relay my orders: all machine guns should be aimed at the sky. No one is allowed to fire without my command. This is an order. If anyone fires without authorization, I will personally hang them.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” The reporter bowed and quickly retreated. This was a gathering of high-ranking individuals, including Mr. Lawrence and the heads of major organizations, and standing there alone was quite stressful.

Lawrence took the lead and stepped outside. The leaders in the tent exchanged confused looks and quickly followed him out in a line.

“What’s happening? Wasn’t there no one in the valley? How could there be a military base here? There isn’t even a road!”

“Yeah, could these peasants have found some allies?”

“Hard to say. If we run into someone tough, we don’t even know if we can make it out alive.”

“Kaslov, you usually have good insights; help us analyze this!”

“Yes, yes, yes! We’re just uneducated brutes. You’ve spent some time abroad; you must have more experience. What do you think?”

“Uh, don’t blame me for rambling, but I’m just guessing here. I suspect there’s definitely something wrong. It’s likely that another large organization has taken an interest in this place and is trying to seize territory from us. Maybe they received the news too late and only managed to send a few people, but their main forces are on the way.”

“That’s possible. Hey, look, that plane is coming! What model is it? It looks very stout, completely different from a jet.”

“Let me borrow those binoculars! I need to see! It seems familiar—it’s definitely a fighter jet, but it’s so old.”

“It’s a ‘Mustang’!”

Just as the leaders were whispering outside the tent, Lawrence, who had somehow managed to acquire a pair of binoculars, coldly remarked.

The heads of various organizations turned their gaze towards Lawrence in shock. He sneered, “That’s a P-51 ‘Mustang’ piston fighter, the finest fighter aircraft from World War II. I really don’t know where they dug up such an old relic.”

Through the binoculars, he could see the approaching fighter jet clearly in the sky. The sound arrived much earlier than the aircraft itself, as it didn’t even reach the speed of sound, allowing the camp’s residents to leisurely gather and watch.

Lawrence felt slightly relieved.

An unmarked, unescorted, stateless fighter plane was not the training aircraft of a powerful organization as he had expected. It seemed more like a mercenary tool that had been acquired at a great cost, possibly even flown by hobbyists rather than trained military personnel.

He sneered, clapped his hands, and pointed at the aircraft, saying, “Shoot it down for me!”