Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

10,000 meters above the ground.

Above the clouds, the sunlight was blindingly bright with no obstruction.

This is the stratosphere, a realm of deathly silence and extreme cold, and also the backyard of the US military's B-29 "Superfortress" bomber fleet.

"This is practically a picnic."

In the cockpit of the lead aircraft of the US bomber formation, Colonel Mike comfortably adjusted his oxygen mask, his voice transmitted through the radio to the headsets of every aircraft:

"Guys, five minutes to reach target airspace. Open the bomb bays and let those Chinese taste the fire rain from hell."

"Understood, sir."

The wingman's voice was lazy, carrying a hint of nonchalant arrogance:

"To be honest, I was almost asleep. This isn't a war; it's clearly a one-sided delivery of packages. The Chinese air force? Ha, they're probably still riding brooms around everywhere, aren't they?"

A burst of laughter came over the radio channel.

Their radar screens were completely empty, as clean as a blank sheet of paper.

The escorting F-80 Meteor fighter squadron resembled a pack of lazy sheepdogs surrounding the massive bomber formation.

Those were the first generation of jet fighters. Although they were jet-powered, their straight wing design destined them to be confined to the subsonic quagmire.

"Hey, the view down there is nice."

An F-80 pilot even had the leisure to look out through the canopy and admire the winding Yalu River below.

I don't know.

It was directly two thousand meters above their heads.

In the depths of the sun's dazzling brilliance.

The twelve silver phantoms, like eagles before hunting, folded their wings and hovered silently at the top of the sky.

Wang Hai stared intently at the group of aircraft below.

Through his goggles, his eyes were as cold as knives.

"Is this B-29?"

He spoke in a low voice over the radio, his voice suppressing a barely contained rage:

"It looks big, but it flies like a snail."

"Captain, that's a sitting duck!"

Wingman Jiao Jingwen's voice was filled with excitement, "We're at 12,000 altitude now, and they're at 10,000. We're in the sun's shadow, they can't see us at all!"

This is the tactic that Shen Jinghong taught them—

Vertical maneuvering and high-altitude suppression.

Using the terrifying service ceiling and climb rate of the "J-0" (a heavily modified version of the F-86), seize the high ground and then crash down like a meteorite!

"Brothers."

Wang Hai took a deep breath, slammed the control lever down, and the throttle valve opened fully:

"Let's teach them a lesson!"

"Charge with me! Tear them apart!"

"Buzz—!!!"

Twelve fighter jets simultaneously swooped down.

The turbojet engine roared with a piercing cry, and the enormous thrust propelled the fighter jet toward the edge of supersonic speed in an instant.

With the help of gravity, they moved as fast as silver lightning, tearing through the air with a deathly roar as they hurtled toward the American formation below.

A U.S. radar operator is staring blankly at the screen.

Suddenly, without warning, a scrambled string of characters appeared on the screen.

Immediately following, a series of incredibly fast points of light descended from the sky at a speed that defied the laws of physics!

"Bandit! 12 o'clock high!"

The radar operator's screams hadn't even reached the communications channel yet.

"Da da da—!!!"

Wang Hai had already rushed to the top of the aircraft formation.

He didn't need to aim for long at all; the massive B-29 was like a mobile aerial palace, filling his entire sights.

Press the launch button hard with your thumb.

Six 12.7 mm caliber aircraft machine guns simultaneously spewed long tongues of fire.

The dense hail of bullets was like a giant metal saw, instantly slicing through the B-29's fragile aluminum alloy skin.

"boom!"

The lead B-29 didn't even have time to make any evasive maneuvers.

The left wing was severed, and the massive fuselage tumbled violently in the air before exploding in mid-air, turning into a huge orange-red fireball.

"What the hell?! (What the hell?!)"

Colonel Mike was terrified.

He watched helplessly as his wingman disintegrated before his eyes, debris raining down on his canopy like hail.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! It's a MiG! No... it's too fast! It's not a MiG!"

"What are those F-80s doing? Get them out of here!"

The escorting F-80 fighter jets finally reacted.

"Intercept!"

The U.S. squadron leader roared and pulled the control stick, trying to lift the nose of his aircraft to catch up with the diving silver fighters.

But it's too slow.

Compared to the J-0's near-sonic dive, the F-80 was like a kite frozen in mid-air.

"Whoosh—"

Wang Hai piloted his fighter jet, roaring past between two F-80s.

The powerful airflow even flipped one of the F-80s over, causing it to spin in the air like a drunkard.

"My God! They're so fast!"

The American pilot cried out in despair, "I can't lock on! They're like lightning!"

This is a massacre.

A massacre akin to a dimensional reduction attack.

Twelve J-0 fighters charged into the bomber formation as if it were empty.

They utilize their unparalleled speed advantage to strike, retreat, pull up, and then dive again.

Each dive was accompanied by the crash of a B-29.

Fire rained down from the sky.

Those once invincible "super air fortresses" are now lambs to the slaughter, trailing thick black smoke as they plummet to the earth with screams of agony.

"This isn't an aerial battle...this is murder..."

Colonel Mike, looking at the sky full of parachutes and burning wreckage, completely broke down.

He gripped the radio and screamed incoherently into the rear base:

"This isn't the MiG Corridor! This absolutely isn't!"

"These are dragons! A group of fire-breathing dragons!"

"This is Dragon's Zone! Anyone who enters dies!"

Just as the US military aircraft were in chaos, preparing to scatter and flee for their lives.

A U.S. F-84 fighter jet painted with a shark mouth pattern, the aircraft of U.S. ace pilot Davis, was quietly sneaking up from the side and rear.

Davis is a veteran.

He discovered the attack pattern of Wang Hai's lead aircraft.

"Fly fast, huh? Dive hard, huh?"

Davis gritted his teeth, fixating intently on Wang Hai's 6 o'clock position, "If you level up, I can take you down!"

"Beep beep beep!"

An alarm sounded in Wang Hai's cockpit indicating that he was locked out.

"Squad leader! There's a tail behind us! At five o'clock!" Wingman Jiao Jingwen shouted anxiously.

"I saw it."

Wang Hai glanced at the rearview mirror and a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Trying to bite my tail? You think you're worthy?"

If it were the old La-11, it could only evade by performing a barrel roll or a sharp turn.

But now, he is driving the J-0, which was personally trained by Shen Jinghong.

The aircraft's aerodynamic design and flight control system allow it to perform some actions that defy common sense.

"Hold on tight!"

Wang Hai abruptly pulled back the control lever, simultaneously shutting off the engine's afterburner and opening the speed brakes.

next second.

High in the sky, ten thousand meters above the ground, a scene unfolded that Davis would never forget, a scene that even made him question the existence of God.

Suddenly, without warning, the silver fighter jet flying at high speed ahead—

The nose of the aircraft was raised.

Instead of climbing, the entire fuselage suddenly tilted backward until it was perpendicular to the direction of flight, even exceeding 90 degrees!

The entire plane resembled a cobra suddenly enraged, raising its head high!

The enormous air resistance caused the fighter jet's speed to drop drastically in an instant.

"What the f**k?!"

Before Davis could react to what was happening, his plane, propelled by inertia, hurtled straight in front of Wang Hai like a cannonball!

In that instant, the roles of hunter and prey underwent a dramatic reversal.

"goodbye."

Wang Hai pushed the lever again, flattening the engine head, and the engine roared once more.

At this moment, Davis's F-84 was awkwardly exposed right in the center of his sights.

The distance is less than two hundred meters.

You can even see Davis's face contorted with terror.

"Da da da!"

The machine gun roared.

The F-84 disintegrated in mid-air, turning into a dazzling firework.

Davis ejected from the capsule at the last minute.

He floated in the air, watching the silver fighter jet draw an elegant victory roll in the sky before flying away.

At that moment, his worldview collapsed.

With trembling hands, he pulled out the diary he always carried with him and painstakingly wrote a line of hasty handwriting in the wind.