Chapter Thirty-Nine: Positioning (Part Two)

“Now, we come to the final and most urgent question: where did the plane actually go?” Under the gaze of dozens of eyes, An Jing’s expression grew even calmer as she spoke with composure, “At present, the intelligence available to us is severely limited, but we do possess one crucial piece of information…”

Everyone understood what she was referring to—the brief signal received by the maritime satellite. Perhaps it could help them deduce the plane’s approximate location at that time.

As expected, An Jing’s next words fully confirmed their thoughts.

“According to our information, the satellite in question was the geostationary NSRA1-3 satellite at 65 degrees east longitude. At the moment in question, the angle between it and Flight 740’s antenna was 40 degrees. From this, we can roughly deduce an arc representing the possible position of the aircraft.”

An Jing walked lightly to the command console, tapped a few keys on the computer, and soon a simplified diagram appeared on the large projection screen. Using the maritime satellite as the origin, a circular arc expanded outward, gradually taking shape.

A number of people could scarcely believe their eyes. This woman was a doctorate in literature, who’d later switched to military studies. It was one thing to have elegant features and a refined bearing, another to analyze intelligence with such incisiveness, but to be this mathematically adept—what was the meaning of that? How were the rest of them, academic underachievers as they were, supposed to cope?

They watched, wide-eyed, as An Jing repeatedly verified her calculations on the computer, then imported a world map into the display, adjusting the scale and rotating the perspective. Everyone felt utterly dumbfounded.

At last, as the world map merged with her earlier diagram and the image was fully integrated and magnified, there was a collective gasp of astonishment in the operations center.

“Unbelievable!”

Nearly everyone was on the verge of losing their composure.

According to the map, this mysteriously vanished plane could have: first, continued northwest, entering some unknown airfield within the Republic; second, flown toward the India-Pakistan subcontinent, possibly as far as one of several small Central Asian countries—the old stronghold of the Eastern Uguchat Organization; third, gone southwest, crossing the entire Indiana Ocean and perhaps reaching the pirate-infested African coast; or fourth, turned south over the Indiana Ocean, possibly ending up near the frozen continent of Antarctica!

Good heavens! This range basically covered all of Arthuria and part of Australasia, the western and southern Pacific, the Indiana Ocean coastlines—virtually every country and region one could imagine.

On the map, locations suitable for airliner landing were marked in red, popping up one after another, densely clustered. With each new marking, the number in the upper right corner of the screen grew.

When all locations were marked, the number stopped incrementing and settled on a final figure. That glaring red number was dazzling, even shocking—

643!

Within this range of tens of millions of square kilometers, there were no fewer than 643 possible landing sites for the plane!

An Jing, having just finished entering the data, looked up to find the room in stunned silence, everyone wearing a nearly desperate expression. Suddenly realizing something, she blushed slightly and cleared her throat. “Ahem. As you can see, the area is vast… But, if we apply careful analysis and the process of elimination, we can drastically reduce it.”

She picked up the electronic pointer and circled the northeastern part of the Republic, her voice serene, “First, of these 643 suspected sites, a significant portion—387 to be exact—are small or makeshift airfields only suitable for light aircraft. They cannot accommodate a large passenger jet and can be excluded.”

With a few deft keystrokes, a swath of red markers vanished from the screen.

“The plane would not have headed into the Republic. Our radar would not have missed it, and given the motives of the three parties involved, none of them would risk entering the Republic and courting disaster.”

On this point, no one in the room disagreed. The facts were clear: the plane had not come here. As they watched An Jing rapidly tap at the keyboard, dozens of airports within the Republic disappeared from the screen, and their eyes began to brighten.

“Now, let’s look at the northwest.” An Jing zoomed in on the map in that direction, drawing a circle around the suspected area. “On this heading, we have the whole of the India-Pakistan subcontinent, including the major countries of Indiana and Batestan, as well as Alfuhan, Jiers, Tuman, and West Arthuria’s Irek and Abaidy—over a dozen small states. While this region is the heartland of the Eastern Uguchat Organization, don’t forget: the land here is either dominated by the snow-capped Himalayas and its 3,000-meter offshoots, or is uninhabited desert. The countries in between are unstable, wracked by conflict and tension. Indiana in particular is notorious for its unpredictable reactions. To traverse such territory, through layers of radar, satellites, and various missile and anti-aircraft networks, would be a miracle in itself—not to mention remaining undetected. In fact, Batestan, the Republic’s closest ally, reported no sign of the flight at all.”

Her hands flashed over the keys, erasing all airport markers in the northwest.

“Furthermore, we must consider another factor—sunrise time.” She brought up a diagram, and soon a world daylight distribution map filled the screen. “For a plane maintaining radio silence and with navigation systems off, the key to landing, apart from the pilot’s skill, is visibility. We cannot imagine anyone attempting a blind landing in darkness with a plane of such critical importance.”

An Jing took a deep breath. “Due to the time zone, at about 8 a.m. today, dawn was just breaking in Liangzhou, the Republic. West of there, everything was still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. According to the meteorological data I just checked, most of that region was also overcast today.”

As she spoke and more red markers vanished, a sense of clarity slowly settled over the operations center. With most landmass to the north and vast ocean to the south, once the northeast and northwest were eliminated, fewer than twenty red dots remained on the map.

Next, it was time to consider the southwest.

“In the southwest,” An Jing continued, “there are twelve airports in the Indiana Ocean capable of handling large jets. But for the same reasons as before, most of these were still in darkness at the time. For an aircraft with no navigation, landing would be extremely difficult. Except for this location—”

Her fingers, now heavy and her expression grave, tapped the keyboard. With a decisive keystroke, a brilliant red marker zoomed in, then again, until a satellite image appeared on the big screen.

On the surging ocean stood a small, bustling island: a wide dock, a hulking aircraft carrier, and ranks of planes—clearly, a vast military base.

A collective gasp swept the room.

“What is this…” Lei Tiangang’s thick brows nearly met in the middle.

“Minya Federation…” Lei Dong’s face darkened.

“Die! Go! Military! Base!” Huang Xiwen spat out each word through clenched teeth.

The Diego Military Base—the only Minya Federation base in the Indiana Ocean and their largest overseas installation.

Strategically located on a key sea route, Diego’s main island spanned 128.5 square kilometers. The base boasted comprehensive facilities, housing 4,000 Minya troops, covering 44 square kilometers, with a runway over 3,600 meters long—capable of handling B-53s, B-2s, B-3s, and other long-range heavy bombers. Its apron, 370,000 square meters, could accommodate more than a hundred warplanes. Ten B-53 bombers and aerial refueling tankers—135s and 10s—were permanently stationed here. The base also stored a Marine brigade’s equipment and hundreds of air-launched “Battle Flag” cruise missiles.

The port featured two deep-water channels and a military dock, large enough for aircraft carriers, nuclear submarines, and prepositioned supply fleets. It was fully equipped to support Minya carrier groups, amphibious assault formations, and strategic bombers operating in the Indiana Ocean.

This highly classified base, with formidable air defenses, had been built only after every single one of the island’s ten thousand original inhabitants was relocated elsewhere. If Flight 370 tried to approach or land here without attracting the attention of the heavily armed garrison, not even the most skilled pilot could manage it.

However, the crucial point was that if Minya Federation intelligence agents had indeed hijacked the plane, this would be the most likely landing site.

First, Minya agents could easily communicate with the base using light signals; second, the garrison was fully capable of guiding a plane down in darkness; and third—and most importantly—given the extraordinary value and sensitivity of the intelligence on board, the base’s personnel would have every reason to keep the incident secret. Afterwards, they could concoct any story to silence world opinion, and the Republic would have no grounds to protest—indeed, they might even be grateful for the “rescue” of over 150 of their citizens.

And until the Minyans chose to speak, the rest of the world wouldn’t receive so much as a whisper of information.