"Listen to me, ladies and gentlemen: the Russians now have stinking anti-radiation missiles, but we need not be afraid.

Isn't it just a missile that tracks the radar signal, and the countermeasures have been issued, and we can immediately apply it to real combat - in a word, the Russians use their missiles, what about us? Uh-we are ready to 'Blind_Combat' and resolutely fight back under the guidance of the air command system! ”

"Blind, blind ......?"

Hearing the red-faced lieutenant colonel shouting "Blind_Combat" in a loud voice, he was confused by this completely fabricated statement, and the pilots present did not know what it meant.

As a member of the main fighter wing, the pilots of the 15th Wing have been confronting and chasing Russian fighters in the sky these days, and they have also discovered some clues, and now a letter of order from the headquarters is equivalent to confirming this. If the Russians are really sneaking up with anti-radiation missiles, then not turning on the radar is a good defensive strategy; But for a third-generation fighter like the F-15, the absence of radar means that the combat effectiveness is greatly reduced, is it really okay to do so?

After a "buzzing" private discussion, someone raised his hand to raise the question, but was retorted by the excited Harris:

"Absolutely! We have to make the situation clear, the Russians are now so dependent on anti-radiation missiles that they no longer use the AA-10 'Poplar' and other goods, and when it comes to ARHM and active radar-guided missiles, Ivan does not have them now. So what other options do they have?

That's right. They don't have a choice. So even if we abandon radar and BVR confrontation, it will only turn the combat into a complete hand-to-hand combat. ”

Speaking of this, Lieutenant Colonel Harris's face had become very stern, or rather, there was a hint of gloom and resentment:

"Fighting, our boys, you won't lose to the damned Russians! ……”

With Lieutenant Colonel Harris's love affair exploding, the meeting at Diyarbakir's base is still in full swing. A group of rookie pilots who had just joined the wing were babbling under the indifferent gaze of the veteran.

In the crowded conference room, the recruits of the United States clenched their fists and cursed loudly, like a pack of doping coyotes surrounding Harris, responding to the lieutenant colonel's war cry; However, unlike these inexperienced rookies, the battle-hardened flight veterans are all tired of sitting in folding chairs and looking tired of lack of sleep.

These veteran pilots, it's not that they don't approve of the lieutenant colonel's passionate speech, but they really can't be optimistic about the current battle situation.

It depends on these hairy boys in front of you, guys from Virginia and Missouri, whether they think that the Russians are all Arabs. A bunch of idiots and idiots with only five combat power?

The so-called "blind engagement" is such a novel term that cannot be intimidated by the flight veterans of the 15th Wing. After months of tug-of-war with the Russians in the Caucasus, they know very well what the combat power of these crazy Ivan is: if NATO fighters can still take advantage of the command system and electronic technology in over-the-horizon combat, then after really entering the short knife fight, the contest between the two sides is completely a kind of evenly matched attrition.

It is such a bad battle form that unilaterally abandoning the use of radar and engaging the enemy only by orders from the command system is undoubtedly a very crazy adventure.

Thanks to these boys who don't know the height of the sky, they are still happy!

But then again, in the face of the Russians who are frantically heading south, maybe such a fearless momentum can make the devastated 15th Wing regroup and even play a beautiful counterattack?

Glancing at the room full of confidence in the conference room, the veteran pilots present exchanged heads and whispered through their chairs, of course they now hope for a miracle, but to say that they can achieve this with "blind engagement", these battlefield veterans can only report with an extremely cautious wait-and-see attitude.

But no matter what, anyway, there is no other countermeasure at the moment, no matter what "Blind_Combat" he is or something else, now he can only fight with a qiē!

……

In the dark of the night, the hustle and bustle in Diyarbakir's base continued.

On such a critical night, in the face of a tidal wave of enemies, the operation of NATO warplanes was naturally extremely hurried.

Similar to the dotted forward bases in Asia Minor, many of the fleets adrift in the eastern Mediterranean, close to the southern coast of Turkey, were still asleep, busy at their posts, preparing as much as possible for the battle that would follow.

In the midst of these hurried, exhausted soldiers, the experience of Lieutenant Colonel Sean Phelps, a naval pilot, is a little extraordinary. Having just finished a battle summary between his squadron colleagues, he was now led by a non-commissioned officer walking through the intricate aisles of the USS Carl Vinson, the lieutenant colonel's face was a little tired, but his eyes were still alert, and he looked around as if he were a one-year recruit who had just boarded the sea beast.

After months of continuous duty on an aircraft carrier and countless times inside the labyrinthine giant ship, Sean Phelps felt that he could fully recognize the way and did not need to be led by a person, but this idea, he just took it to heart, and still followed closely behind the non-commissioned officer with a large-brimmed hat all the way.

Speaking of which, Lieutenant Commander Phelps still got some news from the cafeteria that the eccentric Vice Admiral and commander of the entire vast fleet, John Ford, had come up to their CVN-70 and was holding an operational meeting with all the senior officers. But the meeting was a meeting, and His Excellency the Vice Admiral then offered to meet with the front-line fighters, which made the commanders of the "Carl Vinson" a little difficult, and finally named Sean Phelps, a clever young man, to meet the aging vice admiral on behalf of the pilots.

When it comes to this John Ford, the so-called "eccentric temper" is just a euphemism, and many people in the fleet know that the general's mind is "not normal", but the specific question is how strict it is, which is inconsistent, and there are different opinions.

For example, just recently, someone even vividly described the appearance of His Excellency Lieutenant General at the Central Command venue, and performed a stern question to the audience, that is, when facing General Clark, "Do you have Italian blood?" This kind of performance would normally cause everyone to laugh, but now, the American GIs can only laugh wryly, and they have lost the relaxed and ridiculous mood of the past.

When the Russians were marching south and the fighting was intensifying, it was a terrible experience to know that the fleet in which you were serving was commanded by an old psychopath, wasn't it?

As for now, walking briskly to a watertight hatch on the lower deck of the aircraft carrier, Sean Phelps stood upright in the doorway, raised his hand to tidy up his appearance, and then pulled his hair and buttoned his big-brimmed hat on his head, feeling that he was ready to meet His Excellency the General.

Of course, is this self-confidence based on the fact that he has no trace of Italian ancestry——?

Only he knows.

"Ah, please come in, boys!"

Hearing Phelps' knock at the door, the aged general clapped his hands in the cabin, he got up from the soft and comfortable leather swivel chair, took a few steps forward in a welcoming gesture, and then asked with a suspicious expression:

"Oh,—— I know you, Sean Enfield~! But where have all the others gone, have they all been lost? ”

"Well, Your Excellency,—— I'm here as a pilot representative, alone."

The lieutenant colonel could only squeeze out an embarrassed smile when the general inserted a surname that sounded very similar to a certain hand-pulled machine rifle, thinking that the rumors on the ship were indeed true, and he still saluted a very standard military salute in his hand, and then sat down on the sofa next to the spacious office according to the general's gestures.

"Ahh That's not bad, but as soon as there are more people, my head starts to ache faintly. ”

As he spoke, Lieutenant General Ford had already sat firmly back in the leather swivel chair, he naturally leaned back, put his feet together on the edge of the table, and looked at Sean Phelps with his arms folded on his chest, a pair of eyes that were slightly cloudy because of his age, but the gaze still had a kind of majesty, and he stared at the lieutenant colonel like this for more than ten seconds, until the young man was a little hairy, and then suddenly let go of his arms and clapped his hands:

"-Aha! I'll just say it. Okay, young man, you must have a great future, I didn't smell a little bit of the Roman Empire in you, you are a serious Anglo-Saxon, it's good, it's good. ”

"Uh...... Probably, so. ”

Thinking to himself, the vice admiral was meeting each other, Phelps nodded casually on the couch, to be honest, he didn't know what Vice Admiral Ford had called him for; Could it be that the old admiral was confused again, or was His Excellency the Admiral, like the pilots in the fleet, distraught by the Russian attack?

He had heard of John Ford's unusual words and deeds, and now that he had seen them with his own eyes, the lieutenant commander could only feel a little discouraged at how a fleet commanded by such a fellow could win a battle—but it turned out to be only a superficial illusion on his part, for the admiral's subsequent questioning became very organized, not at all like the words of a man with Alzheimer's or a mentally retarded man:

"Sean, what do you think of the current situation?" (To be continued......)