Chapter 262

Chapter 262: The Old Steed Starts a New Chapter

As a renowned "agent" operating in the Middle East, Lawrence was well aware of the origins of the P-51 "Mustang." The Red Scorpion had previously possessed an air force and had some understanding of aircraft.

Although there were rumors that America would produce a new batch of P-51 Mustangs for counterinsurgency operations in Afghanistan, nothing had been confirmed yet. If this was genuinely related to America, he would probably be the first to receive the news.

An unmarked aircraft, without any identifiable backing, was unlikely to be supported by a powerful organization. Otherwise, there wouldn’t just be one aircraft, especially not such an old model. Even standard training aircraft from various countries would be superior to this.

With this realization, Lawrence felt more confident. He had been anxious at first, but now he issued the attack order directly.

Machine guns that had just been set up in various corners of the camp immediately aimed at the sky and opened fire. Since they were attacking Gem Valley, the primary focus was ground warfare, and they did not bring professional anti-air weapons. The only air defense they had available were high-caliber machine guns.

Some armed militants joined in with their AK-47s, as taking down a fighter jet—even an outdated one—would be the perfect leverage for future ranks. For those who valued martial accomplishments, this victory was enough to be proud of.

Gunfire erupted throughout the camp, with the tracers from the high-caliber machine guns lighting up the sky as they shot upward. More unseen 7.62mm AK-47 bullets tore through the air like locusts, aimed at the P-51 "Mustang."

"What a warm welcome! How lively!"

Lin Mo took a moment to observe the coalition camp at an altitude of 1,500 meters. The only threat to him from this height came from large-caliber weapons like those high-caliber machine guns.

Gold Coin had already been tucked into the P-51’s fuselage. Lin Mo wanted to bring the piston fighter back in one piece; it was a valuable item. Even if he didn’t use it, selling it to a collector would earn him a nice sum.

Of course, domestic aircraft design institutes had no interest in this old relic; only small aircraft manufacturers would be interested, and their offers wouldn’t be low, considering the military-grade fighter’s quality.

Even if bullets struck the fuselage, Gold Coin could cheerfully absorb them, as it wasn’t a domestic type on active duty. Lin Mo could do whatever he wanted without needing to explain the P-51’s wonders to the domestic military.

Today belonged to jet fighters; no one had any interest in piston-powered aircraft.

Last night’s feast left Gold Coin feeling satisfied. With five "Metal Storm" units, over ten sets of special nano-metal armor, and two sturdy armored vehicles, they not only filled their bellies but also collected plenty of valuable electronic components—materials that were hard to find in the market.

Now that they were well-fed, it was time to work. Gold Coin, who hadn’t flown in a long time, decided to warm up and smoothly integrated into the P-51 "Mustang," acting as Lin Mo’s protector. It also stacked its Void Magnetism talent on the aircraft, making the nearly four-ton aircraft feel half its weight after refueling.

This effect significantly boosted the aircraft’s agility and speed, even approaching that of subsonic fighter jets. Its speed in level flight was comparable to that of a jet descending from high altitude.

No one would access the black box; the area was filled with enemies. No one would reclaim the P-51. Lin Mo felt even bolder than when piloting the J-10, letting loose with both hands and feet.

In a barrel roll, the P-51 soared through the sky like a wild stallion, dazzling the armed militants on the ground whose fire mostly missed.

“Lin Mo, damn it, can I get some more snacks? This is such a pity,” complained the lazy dragon, used to having food handed to it, mirroring the ground militants’ frustrations.

Even if it was just for show, Lin Mo’s skills seemed almost too high. With aerial knight techniques and instincts from two worlds, he played with the old relic, turning decay into wonder and rendering the ground fire useless as it chased after him.

“Don’t worry, I’m about to attack! Cover me!”

The P-51 "Mustang" executed a tight turn, its nose pointing down towards the ground. The heavy machine guns on its wings roared, responding with two streams of fire.

The 12.7mm caliber bullets ruthlessly shredded tents and bodies on the ground, sending blood and flesh flying. Though it was an old aircraft, under the guidance of the Light Mirror Technique, Lin Mo’s shooting skills were hardly diminished.

Without missiles as air combat weapons, the WWII aircraft had a gunfire intensity that was not inferior to modern jet fighters.

In optimal conditions, the firepower from six 12.7mm Browning heavy machine guns attacking ground targets could even outperform the 23mm cannons of the J-10.

It was no wonder that Americans felt like using an F-22 against Afghan insurgents was akin to using anti-aircraft guns against mosquitoes—exerting effort without effectiveness—thus reconsidering the deployment of World War II’s ace fighter aircraft.

In a mountainous region like Afghanistan, older planes like the P-51 were better suited.

And now, Lin Mo was proving this idea right for Americans, while the misfortunate militants from the Taliban, Jamaat al-Tableeg, Holy War Army, and World Uyghur Congress paid for this thoughtful hypothesis with their blood and lives.

“Calling ‘Knight,’ calling ‘Knight’!”

Lin Mo heard the voice of the mercenary leader Abik in his helmet headset. It was easier to receive radio signals in the air without heavy mountains in the way, and Abik’s voice came through crystal clear.

“Okay, this is ‘Knight,’ I hear you, Abik! What’s up?”

Lin Mo shook the wings and dropped two small bombs from the hooks on either side. These two 50-kilogram TNT explosives were makeshift bombs created in collaboration with the Pashtun people. Relying on the warhead’s detonator, they also contained some grenades and plenty of steel balls and nails for shrapnel, ensuring their impact would be quite thrilling.

The P-51’s belly also carried a large 200-kilogram bomb—what the original owner had brought along. Originally an air bomb casing used for carrying supplies, Lin Mo had repurposed it back to its original role.

Two massive fireballs erupted at the most crowded point within the militants’ camp, instantly flattening everything within a 30-meter radius.

From the air, one could clearly see the ground once the thick smoke cleared, with two large black radial explosion marks resembling two blooming black chrysanthemums.

Among the burning petals were fragments of tents and scattered bits of human tissue and weapon debris. The 50-kilogram charge also set off grenades or other explosives worn by the dead and injured, causing even more casualties.

“My subordinate, Omar, the skinny little guy you should know, I sent him to destroy the enemy’s supply depot this morning. From the sounds earlier, it seems you attacked their camp?”

“Yes, I just dropped two bombs, but they were aimed at the crowd, not the supplies.”

“Thank God, praise the Almighty. I don’t know if they attacked yet; you should take a look to avoid friendly fire. I’m counting on those little goofballs to keep coming back to work for me. It’s not easy to find obedient and clever subordinates these days.”

“I understand; I can see them! They’re setting up explosives! I’ll attack other targets first and then circle back to cover their retreat.”

“It’s great that you can see them! Wow, your eyesight is truly impressive; thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing.”

Lin Mo maneuvered the controls, flying above the camp with a swaggering attitude, even dropping down to a super low altitude of 300 meters to tease the armed militants into firing at the aircraft, wasting their ammunition. Occasionally, while executing barrel rolls, he tossed out grenades and mortar shells from outside the cockpit.

Lin Mo had a dozen of these handy items, treating them like small bombs, often achieving unexpected results.

As for the occasional bullets that hit the fuselage, Gold Coin just absorbed them, not even enough to be a nuisance.

The armed militants on the ground wildly fired their guns, ignoring the possibility that the plane could return to drop bombs at any moment, fully believing they could shoot it down in the next second. Soon, the ground was littered with bullet casings.

“What the hell! Is this still a P-51? It looks even more impressive than a tank!” Lawrence wide-eyed watched the aircraft performing aerial stunts, forgetting to activate the air defenses. Militants were taken down in droves by the streams of fire, some even being hit by ricocheting bullets. These crazed air shooters had no idea how to dodge.

Lawrence clearly saw the P-51 enveloped in a dense barrage, yet not a single wisp of smoke appeared; it danced with life, turning the whole camp into chaos. Did all those bullets miss their mark?

No, this was definitely not an ordinary flying enthusiast; the pilot was an actual air force pilot. Many of the maneuvers showcased could only be executed by seasoned pilots. Lawrence deduced that the pilot of the P-51 Mustang was undoubtedly an expert; otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to play with the ground shooters so effortlessly amid the numerous surface-to-air attacks.

Could there be an air force base around? This thought emerged in Lawrence’s mind like a haunting shadow. No, that Mustang had had its windshield knocked out; it wasn’t a training aircraft, just a relic. If there were a real air force base in the valley, they definitely wouldn’t send such an antique into the fray.