On the two simple runways of the Sen Air Force's southern airport, two MiG-23ML fighter jets with a rugged appearance and a strong Cold War steel vibe landed successively amidst ear-piercing whines, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The old mottled paintwork on the fuselage vaguely showed the once red five-stars, now covered by the hastily sprayed emblem of the Sena interim governnt.
Two burly Russian pilots jumped down the ladder, their movents slightly stiff.
Leading the way was Captain Vasily, whose face bore the Slavs' unique ruggedness and the fatigue after a long flight, yet his gaze was as sharp as an eagle.
"What's the status of the aircraft?"
Jiang Feng had been waiting by the runway, inquiring of two colleagues who had been working for the aviation departnt of the Venezuela Special Soldier School in South Arica.
"A few minor issues, but we brought the chanical team along, they'll get the maintenance done overnight."
"That's good, the Boss said if you do a good job, the commission will be doubled, coming towards the end of the year nearly doubled again. If ssed up, you'll be fired like rockets from launch pads."
There was no unnecessary small talk, Jiang Feng directly handed the encrypted tactical tablet to Vasily.
"Target area coordinates, route, altitude limit, friend or foe identification response frequency, it's all here. Your mission—"
Jiang Feng pointed at the map on the tablet and said: "When SAS and Lumar's rabble are pinned at the bottom of the canyon by our ground firepower, carry out a low-altitude assault. Altitude, below 200 ters, utilize the terrain to avoid potential threats. Weapons can use the S-24 rocket pods, for widespread damage; if necessary, use OFAB-250 aerial bombs, to destroy their heavy equipnt gathering points. Listen to ground guidance, understood? Repeat it!"
Vasily quickly glanced at the information on the tablet and responded in heavily Russian-accented English: "Understood! Low-altitude assault, below 100 ters, follow ground command, rockets and bombs! You pay us, we'll get it done beautifully!"
He grinned, showing teeth stained yellow from tobacco, and patted the fuselage of the MiG-23, laden with heavy rocket pods.
"Don't underestimate this old lady, she can still dance a deadly dance in my hands!"
Jiang Feng nodded expressionlessly: "Fuel and ammo topped off, stand by. Good luck, Vasily."
He turned and left, while the Russian pilots and ground crew began the tense final checks and armant operations around the fighter jets.
While the forces in all directions were busy with the tense pre-action preparations, Song Heping approached Henry in the Sena Governnt Army's frontline command post and handed him a USB drive.
"Let these things leak out on the internet for ."
"Secret?"
Henry took the USB drive, a aningful smile appeared on his face: "Is it related to MI6's intelligence?"
"Yes." Song Heping said, "Involves the CIA, I'm going to give them both a jab in the eye, can't let them join forces against us."
"OK, I know what to do."
Henry took the USB drive, smiling mischievously, inserted it into his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up so top-secret materials inside, then opened the stealth software, logging onto the network…
Inside the underground command post, the heavy slls of oil and sweat almost solidified.
Henry's fingers flew across the keyboard, so fast only shadows remained, the screen's eerie blue light reflecting his playful smile.
The USB drive Song Heping had handed over was now plugged into his heavily encrypted laptop.
"Tsk tsk, Boss, your gift is quite the scorcher."
Soon after, Henry whistled, the screen rapidly scrolling through encrypted file lists and audio waveform graphs.
"MI6's 'Dirty Gloves', M lady's icy cold tone… and your 'friendly' call records. If the CIA sees their 'number one terrorist' together with their most 'intimate' ally MI6 stabbing them in the back, they will be more than astounded."
Song Heping stood expressionless next to him, his eyes sharp as a hawk, watching the green bar on the screen representing data transmission progress.
"Cut the crap, Henry. Use 'Ghost Protocol', spread it across several key nodes of the 'Dark River' (Deep Web), especially those forums and mailboxes of certain 'journalists' who love intel gossip. Add so spice, suggest this is just the tip of the iceberg, pointing to dissatisfaction within London. I want it to blaze across the internet before dawn."
"Understood! I'll make sure lady M and her gentlen have a sleepless night!"
Henry grinned, eyes gleaming with the excitent of a prank well-played. He adeptly pulled up complex stealth software, virtual paths layered and nested, IP addresses frantically hopping between global servers, finally through the Tor network, those intelligence enough to cause diplomatic earthquakes—including a segnt of processed dialogue in distinctive tallic British accent with Song Heping's icy tone, as well as several exceedingly directional action report abstracts—were accurately placed into the preset whirlpool of the deep web.
Like dropping heavyweight bombs on a calm lake, the ripples caused by the intelligence Henry spread quickly radiated at light speed.
Almost simultaneously with Henry hitting the final confirmation key, Song Heping turned to the corner and approached a satellite phone with exceptionally secure encryption.
After picking up the phone, he inputted a long string of complicated and eye-tiring passwords, connecting to a highly confidential channel.
"You're daring to contact ? Do you know the ss you've stirred up! Sena..."
The phone rang only once before being quickly picked up, a low voice filled with evident caution ca through, precisely that of Simon, the Deputy Director of African Affairs for the CIA.
"Deputy Director Simon."
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