Chapter 559:

He gave the two people a quick smile and a nod, then raised the binoculars with both hands to beckon them. "When we get there, it will be \'extinguished\'. We will fly in the dark, except for the wings and taillights high above. The enemy's movements are uncertain; maybe he can still see us, but we will not advertise ourselves to him. "
The bow of the ship is blunt, with a round glass nose, cut by an aluminum crossbar. The deeper central part of the big flying wing was raised ten feet forward. This was just one of the many details Smithy looked at with interest when he saw the ship waiting for them on the battlefield.
When they entered, his pilot room was dark. Only the glow on the dashboard shows the two people sitting behind the wheel controls. One of them turned around and nodded in welcome.
He said: "Can't provide seats for gentlemen. But if you stand behind us, you will see the whole work." He did not wait for a reply, but turned back to the dark night ahead.
Glancing at the ignited instrument, he found the altimeter. 12,000-Yes, there is a nasty country here. Then, he stared into the darkness, stared at the starry sky, the blur of the unlit world far below, leaving on the left and right sides, behind them was the trembling cold light, and the starlight blurred from the rotation. Reflex propeller.
When he watched, the other wing lights flashed, and he knew that from that moment on, they were invisible from below-at least invisible to the human eye-they were in the dark like a huge night bird chasing its prey Passing by.
"Fire forward, sir." A pilot spoke on the phone, whispered, and reported to Captain Farrell. These words touched Smith's head, and he also saw the beginning of white light on the distant horizon.
They fought there-200 planes roared down, one formation after another. In his mind, he saw it so clearly.
The white light flickering in front of the flame is getting bigger. It was not so far away from what he initially imagined, and the scene he portrayed soon became reality.
The heir’s own ship is still at an altitude of 12,000 feet. Five thousand feet in front and below, small red, white and green lights weave intricate patterns at night, and the quick movements of these lights make hundreds of people seem to be thousands. The fighter's flight lights are on to protect the aircraft. Moreover, the glare from below cannot be hidden further.
It was a blinding fireball that shot down, and the torch was dropped by a squadron of reconnaissance aircraft that had been torn through in advance. They brightly illuminated a valley. A few hours ago, it was many similar valleys-square fields, dark green fruit tree leaves, straight across roads, houses, and a small city in the distance.
Now the valley is a fire-breathing hell. That city is a huge, roaring furnace, under a cloud of smoke mixed with blood red and black. As the convoy passed upwards, the valley floor was a desolate place with scattered smoke and flashing shells.
The countless lights of the plane formed a circle, spinning a huge vortex over the valley a mile wide.
Next to Smith, the wheel controls are moving. When their plane tilted and tilted below the nose, he clung to the pilot's seat. Now he shouted to Culver:
"Disciples! They are there! Thousands!"
When their plane landed, it was pointing between the two pilots. He could see them clearly now, the dark figures condensed into a ball rushing back and forth frantically. He saw them in a blink of an eye-and the world they were in was a boiling of bombs and shells.
Colonel Culver said quietly next to him: "Let them catch a cold! It was handed to them."
Their own plane landed. As the electric motors were throttled, they drifted slowly, only a thousand feet higher than the hovering plane on one side. Culver's faint tone rose to a hoarse shout: "These boats! My goodness, they are falling down!"
His wild cry was over. Smith beside him, like Culver, stared at the tiny whirlpools panting and horrified. These whirlpools suddenly changed from smooth circular motions to crazy chaos, or disappeared in the yellow glare of a fuel tank explosion. The light of their own white flares picked them out with terrible clarity as they fell.
The yellow straight vertical line burns the plane. They once again made terrible zigzag darts, which became mutilated and helpless in the blink of an eye, while others, dozens and dozens of people's wrinkled wings, joined the crazy dance of death.
Smith knew he could never look away from him. However, he was calling in his heart. "They didn't do it from below!" the thing shouted. "Don't fall in that hell. There's more somewhere." Then, somehow, he forced his eyes to stare ahead and into that frightening circle of infatuation, he knew for a moment, he saw A green flame.
There was only a single light in the darkness near the white flame and a small hill next to the land of destruction. A lamp—in the valley, it flickered a million lights. It only flashed for a moment, but to Smith, it looked like he saw when he attacked his camp. It was Smith who suddenly became cold.
Hold the steel with one hand and clasp it firmly on the pilot's shoulder. His other pointed out. "There-they hide behind that mountain and pick up our boat from the side." Then, like a guiding lighthouse, green appeared again.
The plane tilted sharply, and a pilot spoke clearly and spoke clearly on the phone. He listened; then: "Yes!" He patted. "Diving for bow and arrow shooting. Bombing at 500 feet."
They walked into the night. Then it turned left, putting the dazzling flares and the falling plane into sight smoothly; they were flying towards it.
One
The white light on Death Valley is a hill with clear outlines. Then the nose of the ship fell heavily. From the straight forward stabs of each wide wing, the running Richter battery consistently lightning.
The pilot's room is a place with unbearable sounds. The impact of gunfire seems to have to crush the glass wall like an eggshell by the strong impact of its own thunder. At that Smith never knew when they flattened. He only knew that the mountains ahead were shining, and every flashing light was an exploding shell. He knew when the hill passed under them.
Then, at night, next to them, outside the cab glass, there was a rapid red glow. The plane dived and staggered. Smith clutched the front seat desperately. The pilot was fighting frantically with the steering wheel. The roar of the bomber from the place where the bomber fired missiles at the approaching hill is unheard of. In a world that suddenly became chaotic, he could hear nothing. All he knew was that the dead valley ahead was dizzying-his sight suddenly sank.
They collapsed. That red light-they were hit. Then, some kind of hard and firm pressure forced him, irresistible. This is the last impression of consciousness in Smith's heart.
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