The co-pilot's body slumped to the side, a dent in his skull revealing brain tissue, and a large hole had been pierced through the glass next to him.
"Get him out of the way, sit down!"
Antonov saw Song Heping and shouted, "Quickly! I need soone to help land!"
Land?!
Song Heping instinctively glanced out the window.
Darkness.
Not even the lights of ships were visible.
That's the sea.
Landing here?
But ti didn't allow for more thought; he had to reach out and undo the co-pilot's safety belt, dragging him out and dumping him on the floor.
Antonov saw him easily drag away the nearly two hundred-pound co-pilot and was montarily surprised.
Song Heping, having seen many bloody scenes, showed no emotion as he directly sat in the left seat soaked with the co-pilot's blood and brain matter, quickly fastening the safety belt.
The fierce wind poured in through the broken glass, numbing Song Heping's scalp with cold, prompting him to quickly cover his head with a sand scarf.
"Three minutes until Egyptian airspace, call for rescue imdiately."
Song Heping glanced at the instrunts in front of him, his heart suddenly panicked.
It was completely different from the layout of the helicopter instrunt panel he had seen before.
"That knob! Adjust it to 121.5MHz!"
121.5MHz is the international ergency aviation frequency, widely recognized as the worldwide channel.
In cases of aircraft accidents, this channel is frequently used for ergency calls, letting the most people know that assistance is needed.
Luckily, the instrunts of Soviet aircraft didn't differ much, and so indicators of the Mi-17 he had learned were very similar to those on this An-148.
He quickly found the tuning knob, switching the channel to the 121.5MHz frequency.
"Call out!"
Antonov shouted, "What are you waiting for?! Call for help!"
Before he finished speaking, the alarm suddenly emitted a piercing buzz.
"Suka!"
Antonov roared, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"They want to kill us! Watch out, missiles incoming!"
After speaking, he abruptly pulled the control stick, his arm muscles bulging.
The plane started tilting to the right.
Song Heping felt a tightness in his throat, the pain of the safety belt digging into his shoulder suddenly growing intense. He saw a MiG-29 dive down from the clouds, the R-73 missiles hanging from its belly gleaming with a deadly light in the sunlight.
"They've locked onto us!" Antonov's voice changed pitch.
Inside the cockpit, alarms rang incessantly, red lights flickering wildly on the instrunt panel. Antonov forcefully pushed the control stick, the heavy fuselage of the transport plane groaning under the strain.
Suddenly, the MiG-29 turned without warning and left, but not before releasing a streak of fire from its belly, an R-73 air-to-air missile detaching from its mount and heading toward the An-148.
"Suka!"
Antonov cursed while saying to Song Heping, "Keep an eye on the oil pressure gauge!"
He then reached out and flicked several buttons on the instrunt panel.
The plane went silent.
"What is he doing!?"
Song Heping seed to understand sothing.
Antonov wasn't performing evasive maneuvers.
Because evasion was impossible.
Such close distance.
Such high speed.
Such a lousy passenger transport aircraft.
The only good part was its sturdiness.
He had turned off the engines!
"Damn!"
Song Heping instinctively reached for the safety belt.
"If we're going to die anyway, let's gamble!"
Antonov's face didn't show fear but an ecstatic thrill.
"They're old MiGs, trust !"
Just as he finished speaking, a ball of red light exploded in the darkness near the An-148.
Then Song Heping heard the fuselage making popping noises, like glass being hit by heavy rain.
The aircraft shook violently, the right wing engulfed in flas, the black smoke from burning hydraulic oil billowing back through the ventilation.
The R-73 air-to-air missile miraculously didn't rip the An-148 to pieces!
A miracle!
But little did he know, Antonov used to be a retired Russian Air Force officer who had flown fighter jets and transport planes.
He only retired and chose to work for a private airline company due to low wages.
He understood the performance of those old R-73 missiles hung on the MiG-29s very well.
Early models predominantly used proximity fuzes and infrared tracking.
Therefore, shutting off the engines could use cold air and wind to reduce the temperature, decreasing the missile's guidance effectiveness.
Moreover, the early models of the R-73 missile had average paraters, hitting fixed-wing aircraft only 60% of the ti.
His gamble paid off!
"Take over the control stick!"
Antonov's shout pierced the ringing in their ears.
The scar from burns on the Russian veteran pilot's face turned bright red, his right hand gripping the left-tilted control stick tightly.
At this mont, he was the god of the entire aircraft!
Everyone must obey him unconditionally.
Even Song Heping was impressed.
Thinking to himself that if he survives, he must get Antonov to join his company in Venezuela.
This guy is indeed a talent!
"Pull the stick!"
With Antonov's forceful command, Song Heping's gloved hand already gripped the throttle lever on the co-pilot seat, with three engine lights extinguished on the instrunt panel.
The sea level tilted at a bizarre angle outside the windshield, the combined cacophony of pressure loss and fire alarms driving them insane.
Song Heping felt his calves go cold and looked down to see pale yellow hydraulic oil gushing from the gaps in the floor control console.
Antonov used his knee to push against the rudder pedals, his left hand slapping the circuit breaker panel above his head quickly: "Shut off the right-wing fuel valve! Hurry!"
Song Heping's fingers wandered among the dense red switches, sweat dripping from his nose onto the electronic flight instrunts.
Suddenly, the whole plane convulsed violently, a tallic tear sounded from the right wing. He watched as the altiter needle spun like crazy, clouds and sea alternated wildly in his vision.
"Retract the flaps! Keep the fuselage level and glide!" Antonov's voice carried the chill of Siberian tundra. Song Heping, with trembling hands, pushed the flap control lever to zero, the remaining two engines let out dying roars.
Ergency landing procedure on the sea flashed in his mind—the fuel dump system is damaged, aning the belly full of dical supplies will beco a burning powder keg upon water contact.
Altitude a thousand feet.
Antonov suddenly released the control stick, his calloused hands grabbing Song Heping's wrist, forcing his fingers onto the decelerator switch.
"Rember, kid! " The veteran pilot's murky blue eyes shone with a strange light, "The sea is the best runway and the worst graveyard."
His face displayed that ecstatic thrill of treating life as nothing again, shouting—
"No one can take lives from Russian pilots, except ourselves!"
The night was ink-like, diterranean waves gleaming white under the moonlight.
Song Heping felt his fingers rge with the control stick, Antonov's heavy breathing echoing in his ear.
On the instrunt panel, the altiter needle was plunging madly.
"Prepare to touch down!"
Antonov's voice sounded distant.
Song Heping watched the sea grow rapidly larger outside the windshield, flas on the wing drawing a crimson trail in the darkness.
With a thunderous crash, the fuselage trembled violently.
Sea water pounced on the windows like a giant beast, Song Heping's helt smashed against the instrunt panel. Salty sea water poured into the cockpit from all sides, bone-chilling cold soaking through his clothes.
The icy water cooled Song Heping's previously feverish mind.
Successfully landed!
Seeing water slowly seep into the cockpit, Song Heping finally accepted the fortunate reality—he wasn't dead!
"Open the cabin door!"
Antonov tore off his safety belt and waded through waist-deep water toward the passenger cabin.
Song Heping followed, shivering from the cold sea water.
The cabin was chaotic, screams of passengers mingled with the roar of incoming water.
"Quickly! Get out from here!" Song Heping grabbed a crying little girl, pushing her toward the ergency exit.
Under the moonlight, he saw life jackets scattered on the sea, and several figures struggling in the waves.
Suddenly, a horrific scream tore through the night. Song Heping saw the water surface nearby ripple eerily, a shadow moving swiftly beneath.
Blood spread in the water, a struggling figure suddenly dragged underwater.
"Sharks!" Soone scread.
More shadows appeared around, triangular dorsal fins breaking the surface.
Song Heping felt his blood freeze as he watched a man have his thigh bitten by a shark, blood spraying out.
"Swim quickly!" Antonov's voice ca from the right.
Song Heping saw he and Jiang Feng frantically swimming towards a floating tent package. The sll of blood in the water grew stronger, he could feel sothing brush past his leg.
Suddenly, a strong force hit from the side.
Song Heping flipped over, salty water filling his mouth and nose. He kicked furiously, seeing a huge shadow pass beneath him.
Just then, a strong beam of light illuminated the water.
"Over here!" Antonov held a waterproof flashlight, the beam hitting a tiger shark's eye.
The shark turned and swam away, spooked. Seizing the chance, Song Heping swam desperately towards the floating object.
A giant floating object appeared on the sea.
"Climb up!"
Song Heping saw it was a provisions package.
This humanitarian rescue mission carried many self-contained provisions.
Including tents.
And this floating object was the packaged tent.
All three climbed onto the tent package, exhausted.
Song Heping felt his lungs burn, water dripping from his hair.
In the distance, the endless screams faded, replaced by splashing as sharks tore into their prey.
"We have to leave here," Jiang Feng panted, his arm bleeding from a deep wound.
Song Heping rembered the military ergency kit "Ghost" had given him for the journey.
Looks like it would co in handy now!
He hurriedly took it out, ripped it open, and used the hemostatic belt to bind Jiang Feng's wound.
The bleeding stopped.
Everything seed stabilized.
Surrounded by darkness.
Song Heping asked Antonov, "Where are we approximately?"
"Approximately?"
Antonov thought for a mont and said, "I rember we were approaching Egyptian airspace when we were attacked. We should be near the coast of the Alish Desert. I tried my best to fly here as it's close to shore."
"Now it's all up to the tide."
Song Heping sighed; there was nothing he could do.
Sotis you can only rely on God.
Jiang Feng cursed in Chinese beside them, "Mossad is seriously insane! Sending the air force to hunt us down! Weren't they afraid of exposure?!"
Song Heping smiled wryly, "Do you think those Hebrews care? Mossad never leaves loose ends."
"Who on earth are you guys?"
Antonov suddenly interjected.
"It seems you weren't around when we ca from Europe."
Song Heping said, "We were already in Z East and decided to catch this flight back at the last minute."
"No."
Antonov looked displeased.
"I understand Chinese, I lived in China for a while when I was young."
"Damn!"
Jiang Feng realized his earlier words had given them away.
"You understand Chinese?"
Antonov imdiately spoke in Chinese, "Of course, although I haven't spoken it in years, I can still understand."
He then scanned Song Heping and Jiang Feng's faces and asked, "Why was Mossad chasing you?"
Seeing they couldn't lie, Song Heping briefly explained the situation, omitting so secret details, but didn't hide the fact that they were Mossad's targets.
"Essentially that..."
After briefly stating the facts, Song Heping smiled, "Now you're with soone on the international terrorist list. You can deny knowing us when we reach shore."
Antonov thought for a mont, "You said the CIA put you on that list?"
"Yes," Song Heping nodded, "they did."
"Fuck the CIA!"
Antonov directly cursed.
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