Chapter 1134 - 1017: Death Storm_3

In the underground command center, Song Heping watched the flight trajectory of the F-15I formation on the screen, transmitted in real-time by the "Seagull," and listened to Iron Wolf's warning, slowly closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, only the cold gleam of the Hunter remained.

"Understood."

He only replied with three words, then cut off the communication.

He turned around to face all his subordinates in the command center, who were holding their breath, faces solemn yet standing with their spines straight. His voice was not loud, but it resounded in everyone's hearts like a battle drum:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the guests are arriving soon."

"Get ready to welcome them according to my planned operation!"

...

In the eastern airspace of the Mediterranean, at an altitude of 28,000 feet.

Four F-15I "Thunder" heavy fighters cruised like giant steel birds under the deep blue sky at a speed of 0.95 Mach.

Under the wings, the enormous conformal fuel tanks and the "Gaze" (Spice-2000) satellite/inertial guided glide bombs and "Delilah" cruise missiles on the racks reflected a cold, hard glow in the moonlight.

Inside the cockpit, behind the oxygen masks came the calm yet slightly excited breathing of the pilots.

"Hammer 1 calling Hammer formation, maintain flight level FL280, heading 090, expect to contact 'Nanny' (refueling tanker) in 5 minutes."

The voice of Major Ilan Kohen, the lead pilot of the formation, codenamed "Anvil," was clear and steady on the encrypted tactical channel.

"Hammer 2 received, formation in good shape."

"Hammer 3 confirmed."

"Hammer 4 received, fuel remaining 43%, urgently need 'Milk Tea.'

Ilan glanced at the multifunction display (MFD) to see the green light representing the KC-707 tanker flashing steadily in the predetermined airspace ahead.

Below, the lights of Alexandria Port outlined a blurred silhouette on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, with the darkness of the North African continent devouring all light in the distance.

"Attention all."

Ilan's voice carried a hint of caution, "Entering 'sensitive area.' Maintain electronic silence, ECM (Electronic Countermeasures) systems on standby, passive sensors fully active. Although intelligence indicates they might have deployed SAM-6 here, it's outdated, and its range cannot reach this far, but everyone still needs to stay alert."

Several short confirmations came over the channel.

The four jets maintained a tight diamond formation, like four silent daggers, piercing toward their prey.

Five minutes later.

About 45 nautical miles northeast of Alexandria Port.

A massive Ibis Air Force KC-707 "Sword" tanker hovered like a floating steel island in the night sky, with the large refueling drogue at the tail swaying like an orange lantern in the darkness when illuminated by navigation lights.

Its wingtips and fuselage bristled with electronic countermeasure antennas and infrared flare dispensers, indicating this was no docile "Nanny."

"Hammer formation, 'Sword' calling.

Visual contact established.

Airspace clean, wind speed stable. Begin refueling operations according to standard procedures."

The voice of the tanker operator came through steadily.

"Hammer received. Hammer 1 going first."

Ilan pushed the throttle, causing the jet to accelerate slightly, breaking formation to precisely align its altitude and speed with the tanker for parallel flight.

Below was the ink-black Mediterranean, reflecting sparse starlight, like a bottomless abyss.

Ilan's right hand gripped the control stick tightly, while his left hand made fine throttle adjustments. The green reticle of the helmet-mounted display (HMD) encircled the drogue swaying ahead of the tanker.

The refueling probe slowly extended from beneath the F-15I's nose. Nighttime aerial refueling is the ultimate test of a pilot's skill and nerves—turbulence from the massive tanker, dim lighting, and the unpredictable swaying of the drogue, any slight error could lead to a fatal collision.

"Steady... steady..."

Ilan murmured to himself as the jet bobbed slightly in the airflow.

Data on the HUD (Heads-Up Display) representing the ideal docking position kept fluctuating.

He took a deep breath, held it, and pushed the control stick very slightly forward with his right hand.

Click!

A faint, reassuring thunk was felt through the aircraft.

The HUD lit up with the word "CONNECTED" in green.

The thick refueling hose instantly went taut.

"Docking successful. Commencing refueling."

The tanker operator confirmed.

Aviation fuel began gushing into Hammer 1's thirsty tanks.

Ilan maintained absolute focus, his eyes locked on the drogue and relative position indicators, his hands seemingly welded to the control stick and throttle, performing precise micro-adjustments.

Behind him, Hammer 2 had already begun adjusting its posture to prepare for the next round of docking.

The entire airspace was filled only with the roar of engines and the hiss of air currents sweeping over the aircraft, infused with a tense yet orderly tranquility.