He turned his head, his breathing was a bit heavy, but he could see the enemy pilot's eyes, staring at each other.
He charged past, and Antoine Marshalle quickly called out on the radio, "Hostile!"
That was the order to launch an infrared missile.
In NATO, it was required that whenever one opened fire, they had to shout the corresponding code on the radio. F represented Fire, and F1 through F4 represented different weapons, with F2 being an infrared missile.
This was to prevent friendly forces from rushing to the front when one's own missiles were launched.
The AIM-9 Sidewinder rushed towards a Harrier fighter three kilometers away.
By the time the enemy realized it, it was already in front of them, staring with wide eyes, too late to dodge.
The first fireball fell from the sky above the Pacific Ocean.
Below, Erich Albert Redel, the brigade commander, watched with his mouth half-open, "Quick, continue bombarding the fleet, cover for our air force!"
News of the Northern Army's attack on the British ships arrived at Popovich's headquarters immediately.
"Utter audacity! Utter audacity!"
He stood up angrily, grabbed his secretary in front of him, "Dispatch our air force for support!"
The secretary said awkwardly and stiffly, "Our airport's planes were all destroyed, and the aid promised by the United States and the United Kingdom hasn't arrived."
"He's gone to inspect the troops at the front."
"The Navy, what about our Navy…"
"All compensated to the Southern Government."
Popovich pulled his hair, continuously crying out as if someone had violated his mother.
He finally felt helpless and sat back down in his chair.
He could only pray to God for protection.
But this wasn't the worst: as he was dealing with a headache, another secretary knocked on the door and entered, and Popovich looked up, his eyes somewhat bloodshot, "I hope it's good news!"
The secretary froze and shut his mouth.
Enraged, Popovich pointed outside and yelled, "Get out! Get out!"
The two secretaries looked at each other and hurried out. The last to enter also helped close the door, but not without sticking his head back in, "Sir, the China Bridge was blown up, the 61st Brigade can't enter the central region, the 12th Cavalry Regiment and 600 men of the Spanish Foreign Legion are already engaged with the Northern Army at China…"
Before he could finish, an ashtray flew at him.
The startled secretary quickly recoiled.
Popovich's expression darkened; no, he couldn't let the British Fleet be beaten . He picked up the phone and dialed a number, "Get Aldous on the phone!"
On the other side inspecting the "1st Brigade" in Guanajuato State, he was accompanied by Admiral Hastings Aik Ojinlayek.
When he got a call himself from his boss, he answered, and before he could even speak, he was insulted and dumbfounded.
"Attack the Northern Army's territory!"
After saying that, he slammed down the phone.
Aldous Wendell's mind was still blank, but when he came to his senses, he told Admiral Hastings Aik Ojinlayek, "Presidential Palace orders, we attack."
"So urgent?" Brigadier General Powell of the 74th Armored Regiment spoke up nearby.
Aldous and Powell both looked towards Admiral Ojinlayek.
The 60-year-old veteran nodded slowly, "I understand, summon all the officers for a meeting; it's our turn to take the field."
The old general was decisive. After giving his orders, he left with his guard, leaving Aldous Wendell behind, apparently not impressed with this "second-in-command."
"Mr. Smith, can we win?"
He didn't take it personally, just turned his head and worriedly looked at the blonde middle-aged man next to him, quite… handsome, even with glasses, quite scholarly-looking.
This man was not to be underestimated.
He was the one Aldous had sought.
He was also the original author of the "battle plan" Aldous had posted on BBS.
According to Smith, he was a military author, had degrees from five military schools around the world, and was a senior advisor to the U.S. Military.
Aldous Wendell had hired him as his personal "military advisor."
With a monthly salary of 33,000 US dollars!
After much contemplation, Smith agreed.
This man must be capable.
Aldous's favorite character when reading "Romance of the Three Kingdoms" was Wo Long—a fitting moniker, just like him.
Hearing the question, Smith lowered his head, readjusted his glasses, with a fleeting look of panic in his eyes.
He didn't know squat!
He was just a common man who wielded grand words on the internet. As for his main gig…
He was an employee at a sales company.
The kind that sold snake oil.
His online views were just blather, but who knew people would actually believe them and even pay him for it!
This, of course, was very tempting for someone earning a few hundred dollars a month.
He never expected to find suckers.
He was aware of his worth, but they offered too much.
33,000 US dollars; with one year's salary, he could buy a house and a car.
Smith looked up, facing the panicked Aldous Wendell, smiled faintly, and extended his hand, "Our battle plan is correct. Victor cannot escape our palm, and everyone may doubt, but as the Commander, you must have absolute confidence."
"When you stand in Tijuana to give a speech, everyone will listen attentively!"
It must be said, a con man knows his stuff—just a few words along with that smile and body language.
Indeed, they calmed Aldous Wendell substantially.
He looked at his "mentor" in front of him.
He nodded vigorously, his eyes shining brightly!
"Let's celebrate the New Year in Tijuana!"