Go back in time and be a chaebol

Chapter 2505 The Blow to Civilization (Second Update, Please Subscribe)
Before the smoke in the air had even cleared, the black and gray painted F3 fighter jets finally arrived on the battlefield.

The Syrian pilots, who had been passively taking hits, finally saw the enemy.

It's an F-3 fighter jet!
One of the most advanced fighter jets in the world.

Despite having this thought in mind, not all surviving Syrian warplanes chose to flee the battlefield.

Abdul did not choose to flee. As Syria's best pilot, he had not only been trained in Moscow but also in France.

They've already closed to visual range!

Upon seeing the enemy plane, Abdul had a thought flash through his mind—now is the time.

Under the wing of his MiG-23, the seeker of the R-73 missile began to emit a lock-on warning sound, while many pilots were still recovering from the shock of being shot down one after another.

Abdul piloted his fighter jet straight at an F-3, firing two R-73 missiles from under his wings, trailing red flames – these were the Soviet Union's most advanced air-to-air missiles, whose off-boresight launch capability, according to the Soviets, far exceeded that of the Sidewinder missile.

Furthermore, they believe that at this distance, the missile is powerful enough to shoot down any fighter jet.

Although the communication between Syrian fighter jets is currently being electronically jammed, preventing Abdul from calling for wingmen to provide cover, his well-coordinated wingmen are also cooperating with him seamlessly as he launches his attack.

"Hound, hound, I'll cover you."

Abdul only heard static noises; at this moment, he felt like a first-generation fighter pilot in World War I, forced to fight alone.

The moment the missile locked onto its target, Abdul launched two R-73 short-range air-to-air missiles in quick succession.

Clearly, the other side had received the warning. Abdul saw that the F-3 pilot reacted with astonishing speed, pulling back the stick the instant the missile was launched, causing the fighter jet to leap upwards at an angle that defied the laws of physics, with its wings almost perpendicular to the ground.

The R-73 missile was hot on its heels, its seeker head locked onto the fighter jet's heat signature, and it looked like it was about to hit the fuselage.

Just then, the F-3 suddenly released a string of infrared flares, and dozens of high-temperature heat sources exploded instantly in the night sky.

The R-73's seeker was misled by a false signal and deviated slightly from its trajectory. In that instant, the F-3 had already completed a roll and swooped down like a falcon, with Sidewinder missiles roaring out from under its wings.

Abdul's wingman, piloting a MiG-23, had just made an evasive maneuver when a missile struck the engine, instantly turning the fighter into a fireball. Abdul saw his wingman's ejection seat pop out in the flames, but he was unable to deploy his parachute.

"Damn it! What a bunch of damn bastards!"

Abdul's eyes were red with rage. He had trained for two years at the Lipetsk Air Base in the Soviet Union and had also learned Western air combat techniques under French instructors at a French air base. He was a Syrian Air Force ace pilot. He slammed on the stick, his fighter jet flying at extremely low altitude, skimming the valley floor to evade radar detection, while stealthily maneuvering to the side and rear of an F-3.

The MiG-23's sights were firmly locked onto the target, while the R-73's lock-on sound was sharp and somewhat piercing!
"It's now!"

He pressed the fire button hard.

The missile shot toward its target like an arrow released from a bow. Hassan stared intently at the sights, watching the distance between the missile and the F-3 decrease steadily.

Five hundred meters, three hundred meters... He could even see the enemy fighter being shot down.

Just as the missile was about to hit, and just as a smile appeared on Abdul's face, the F-3 suddenly performed an almost impossible maneuver, its fuselage rising sharply and then quickly dropping back down, while simultaneously releasing flares.

The R-73 missile grazed the area the enemy had flown through, plunged into the flares, and exploded.

"It didn't work out."

Before Abdul could recover from the shock, the radar alarm emitted a desperate shriek—he was locked inside.

The F-3 had circled around to his 6 o'clock position, and the other side hadn't even launched a missile, but instead... he was going to use a machine gun.

As the thought crossed his mind, Abdul frantically maneuvered the fighter jet, trying to break free of the lock-on. He pushed the MiG-23's control stick almost to its limit, and the overload made his vision go black.

But the F-3 was like an inescapable shadow, always steadily following behind him. At that moment, he felt like a lamb, completely unable to escape the attack of a wild beast.

Just then, the F-3's cannon opened fire, and a barrage of shells tore holes through the MiG-23's fuselage. The damage inflicted by the 30mm shells hitting the aircraft was irreparable.

Abdul felt his aircraft lose control and begin to spiral downwards, the mountains below growing larger in his field of vision. He glanced at the sky one last time; there were still three MiG fighters locked in combat with the F-3, but all were on the defensive, with Sidewinder missiles attacking from different directions.

They failed!
The moment he pulled the ejection handle, Abdul felt himself fly out of the cockpit. As his legs were automatically ejected by the ejection seat, a feeling of despair welled up in his mind.

Failed!
They were completely unable to stop the enemy's attack.

As he deployed his parachute in mid-air, he saw the last MiG fighter jet hit by a Sidewinder missile. The pilot did not eject, and the jet crashed into a distant mountain amidst thick smoke.

Perhaps a violent explosion occurred there; the only saving grace was the sight of the parachute in the air reminding him that the pilot had successfully ejected.

Above the blue sky, SEA's F-3 fighter jets circled in formation, like a flock of victorious vultures.

Today is their victory day.

The F-3 fighter jet, deployed in combat for the first time, delivered a satisfactory performance to the world.

0: 73!

This was the air battle in history with the greatest disparity in losses between the enemy and ourselves.

SEA naval and air force pilots flying F3 fighter jets shot down 73 Syrian warplanes in an air battle without losing a single one of their own.

"Unfortunately, on the return trip, we had to abandon the missiles at sea."

After the plane landed smoothly on the deck, Du Zhong complained to the camera in an almost helpless tone.

"I think the technical department should further study whether it is possible to return with the missile, after all, the missile is still very expensive."

This is less a complaint and more a source of pride, because—they achieved an overwhelming victory without even having time to launch all their missiles.

In other words, it wasn't that they shot down 73 Syrian fighter jets, but rather that Syria only had 73 fighter jets available for them to shoot down.

Actually, this is not surprising. After all, the F3 fighter jet can carry four medium-range missiles and four short-range air-to-air missiles in its air superiority mode, and it can also carry three external fuel tanks.

Such a payload capacity is unparalleled among all fighter jets.

Therefore, they did not use all their ammunition. On their return journey, due to the limited space on the aircraft carrier deck, a failed landing could result in the fighter jets crashing into the deck or falling into the sea. If the aircraft were carrying fuel and ammunition, it could cause an explosion, threatening the safety of the aircraft carrier.

Therefore, carrier-based aircraft often need to jettison munitions and empty their fuel before landing. That's why they complain like that. Actually, that's just how Versailles is.

On this day, the pilots aboard the aircraft carrier "Borneo" were the darlings of the news. Reporters pressed them for details of the battle.

Of course, the reporters also pointed their cameras at the F3 fighter jets parked on the deck.

Undeniably, it was this advanced fighter jet that led to this overwhelming victory.

They suffered no losses.

This is practically a live advertisement.

In fact, this was an advertisement in itself, an advertisement made in front of the whole world.

The purpose of this comparison is to show everyone just how superior the F3 fighter jet's performance is.

It should be noted that prior to this, the West considered the MiG-23 fighter jet to be not much worse than the F-14.

After all, the wings of this fighter jet are also infinitely adjustable—this is thanks to the development of Soviet electronic technology, which enabled its onboard computer to solve problems such as wing adjustment.

Although it is a single-engine fighter, it boasts powerful thrust, further optimized aerodynamic layout, and advanced radar and electronic systems.

No one would consider the MiG-23 to be an outdated aircraft.

In the eyes of some enthusiasts, it is a powerful weapon that could even pose a threat to F-14 fighter jets.

Even the Soviets themselves believed that, even if there was a slight difference, it was still a small one.

But now?
This Soviet Union's most advanced fighter jet, which was touted as being on par with the T-72 tank, turned into a flock of lambs to the slaughter over the Bekaa Valley.

They were completely powerless against the F3 fighter jet.

This result tells the world directly—who is the best fighter jet?

Faced with such a result.

The whole world looked completely dumbfounded.

After all, they never doubted that the coalition would win, nor did they doubt the advanced nature of the F3 fighter jets. But they never expected to achieve such an overwhelming victory.

This overwhelming victory in the air battle even diverted the attention of most people to some extent.

At the same time as the war began, ground combat also began. Unlike the precision of air combat, ground combat tended to be more destructive.

On that day, there were not only F3 fighter jets flying over Lebanon, but also H1 strategic bombers that had come from afar.

When PLO was resisting the Allied forces there, they faced bombs raining down on their positions.

Carpet bombing is often more deterrent, or rather, more destructive.

When the bomber formation arrived over West Beirut, all that could be heard on the ground was the roar of the aircraft.

At first, scattered black dots fell from the belly of the plane, slamming into distant buildings with sharp thuds. The seemingly indestructible structures were instantly reduced to rubble. The first explosion shook the ground violently, as if the earth's heart had suddenly stopped beating. Then, a second, a third... countless bombs rained down, the roar of which engulfed all screams and shouts.

The militant huddled in the corner had long since thrown his AK aside, his hands tightly covering his ears, but he couldn't block out the deafening roar that made his eardrums ache. Waves of heat washed over him, scorching his skin, and the thick smoke and dust made it hard to breathe.

The houses around me collapsed in the explosion, and pieces of reinforced concrete rained down like hail, shards of glass scattering all over me.

After an unknown amount of time, the bombing finally stopped.

Abbas struggled to crawl out, the sight before him chilling him to the bone. He didn't even know how he had survived, or rather, how he had survived such a bombing.

The once bustling streets have been reduced to ruins. Everywhere you look, all the buildings have been destroyed. Amidst the broken walls and charred remains, some are beams and pillars of houses, others are... human limbs.

The seemingly indestructible tank was reduced to scrap metal. Not far away, a turret had been blown to some unknown location, and the tank was billowing thick smoke.

The air was thick with the pungent smell of burning and blood, making one want to vomit. In the distance, flames still burned, illuminating this hell on earth.

500kg or even 1000kg bombs turned its flight path and the entire western district of Beirut into ruins.

All the armed personnel who attempted to use the city as a battlefield to resist the coalition invasion were buried in these ruins.

This is real war.

Of course, this does not mean brutality, since the ultimatum was issued at the same time that civilians were ordered to evacuate the area.

Civilians are generally driven by self-preservation; upon receiving notification, they will certainly leave the war zone. What remains are the militants, who attempt to turn the city into their battlefield, using buildings as fortresses. However, they have clearly forgotten one crucial point: in a real battlefield, these structures are often incredibly vulnerable.

The devastating bombing rendered PLO's armed personnel, tanks, and artillery ineffective.

Then they were destroyed by carpet bombing. This is the most conventional way of warfare. From World War I to World War II, after the battlefield ended, the battlefield would become the surface of the earth, and everything would be reduced to ruins.

Just a few hours later, the western part of Beirut and the surrounding area, which had already been controlled by militants, were completely occupied by the coalition forces.

The core members of those militants were either reduced to ashes in the bombing or raised their hands in terror after the bombing ended.

These militants, who had been brandishing AK-47s and shouting wildly, were now completely terrified.

They finally understood what the power of civilization meant.

The reason why past civilizations tolerated them was because they were tolerant enough to tolerate many of their atrocities and barbarity.

But this is merely letting them experience the brutal blow of civilization.

This kind of explosion involved thousands of tons of bombs—many of which were even leftovers from World War II.

In a sense, this is a form of destruction.

It wasn't just the bombs themselves that were destroyed.

(End of this chapter)