Chapter Forty: Positioning (Part Three)

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Inside the operations room, the atmosphere was unusually tense and oppressive. In that instant, every face darkened noticeably.

Everyone understood what it would mean if such a scenario unfolded.

It would signify that Cao Jingren and Shui Yao Xian had fallen into the hands of the Minnia Federation’s island separatists. The intelligence that was almost within their grasp, along with the peace accord eagerly awaited by people on both sides of the strait, would be snatched away at the very last moment.

It would mean the Republic’s technological and military progress, as well as the process toward peaceful unification, would be brutally interrupted!

Moreover, it would place the Republic under the Federation’s accusations, forcing them to make significant diplomatic concessions to quell international, especially Western, condemnation and to stave off a torrent of sanctions likely to follow.

Such is the nature of intelligence warfare: even if you steal the enemy’s highest secrets, as long as you are not caught red-handed, you can deny everything, remain unruffled, and ignore all protests. Conversely, even the acquisition of trivial information becomes a disaster if irrefutable evidence falls into your opponent’s hands—leaving you in a passive and perilous position.

These are the cruel, cold rules.

If the Republic wished to reclaim those intelligence files and erase the evidence, it would have to consider the consequences—such an operation would require penetrating a foreign military base, braving overwhelming enemy firepower, and confronting more than four thousand elite troops.

A handful of special operations personnel clearly would not suffice; not even the entire Fury Dragon Unit could accomplish such a feat. The only option would be to dispatch a massive joint naval and air force!

Setting aside whether the Republic’s forces had the long-range projection capability to deploy such a force across distant oceans before the intelligence and evidence leaked, even if they could, what would that mean? It would mean a fierce clash between two of the world’s largest and most powerful nations—a collision of military might tantamount to the outbreak of a new world war!

“This direction, this direction… this direction is impossible!” Amid the silence, a voice suddenly rang out. At first it was hoarse and hesitant, but it grew clearer and more resolute, and by the time it pronounced the word “impossible,” there was a note of absolute certainty.

It was Lei Dong!

Since he had first proposed the possibility that the East Wuguchat Organization was involved in the plane’s disappearance, Lei Dong had been silent for some time. Now, the anxiety that had clouded his face just moments earlier had given way to an unexpected lightness, a sense of relief.

Seeing all eyes turn toward him, Lei Dong smiled lightly. “My reasoning is simple: there’s not enough fuel.”

How could that be? This location clearly fell within the area delineated by maritime satellite signals, suggesting the plane could have made satellite contact there. Why, then, would it lack the fuel to reach this spot?

But after a moment, everyone’s eyes brightened in realization. Of course! Not enough fuel!

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Lei Dong’s expression grew even more relaxed and confident as he noticed their understanding. “It seems you’ve all picked up on it as well. For the plane to vanish over the northern Indian Ocean and then head southwest, it would first have to cross Annam, Batistan, and Indiana. As Comrade An Jing previously analyzed, these three countries possess strong air defenses, heightened by regional conflicts and mutual suspicion. To cross this area, there’s only one method with even the slightest chance of success!”

“You mean, ultra-low altitude flight?” Lei Tiangang spoke in a measured tone.

“Yes, exactly—ultra-low altitude flight. Only by flying so low could such a large plane hope to evade radar and traverse such a vast expanse undetected. Even if we assume the hijackers were highly skilled pilots with the experience to avoid air defense networks, don’t forget: flying below 1,500 meters not only drastically reduces speed, but fuel consumption is double that of normal high-altitude cruising,” Lei Dong emphasized. “Flight 740 only carried enough fuel for eight hours of normal operation.”

With a whoosh, the atmosphere in the operations room seemed to thaw, as if life had returned to a glacier.

The data on the map made it plain: from the last point of radio contact, flying southwest to the Diego military base would require at least four hours at maximum speed. At low altitude, with slower speed and much higher fuel consumption, the plane would run out of fuel and crash into the sea long before the base was in sight.

This assessment brought a collective sigh of relief. An Jing nodded in agreement. “I concur with Comrade Lei Dong’s analysis.”

She placed particular emphasis on the word “comrade,” causing a jolt in Lei Dong’s infatuated heart. “Is she angry?” But then he noticed her lips curl ever so slightly, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief and delight.

The fleeting expression would have gone unnoticed by anyone less observant, but Lei Dong, ever alert to An Jing’s every move, caught it at once.

He hesitated, then couldn’t help but find it both exasperating and amusing.

It was clear that An Jing had already considered this point long before Lei Dong spoke, and had withheld it deliberately—perhaps to test her “students,” or maybe just to see how he would react.

The thought left Lei Dong a little helpless. “Of all times, she’s still in the mood for this! ‘Man’s trouble lies in his desire to teach others’—how true the old sage’s words ring now…”

But the next moment, pride welled up inside him. “Still, I was the first to respond. Could this be what it means to be perfectly in sync?”

He knew the crisis was far from over, yet he couldn’t help but watch An Jing’s delicate lips move, lost for a moment in sweet reverie.

“Since we can rule out the northeast, northwest, and southwest, that leaves only one real possibility: the southeast.” An Jing’s fingers danced swiftly across the keyboard, pulling up the southeastern map.

As the map rotated and zoomed in, the operations room fell utterly silent—barely even a breath could be heard. Everyone knew the final truth was about to be revealed.

To the southeast, the vast eastern Indian Ocean merged with the Pacific, its endless waters dotted like pearls with islands of various shapes, sizes, and hues.

Among these islands, only seven red markers remained indicating runways capable of accommodating large aircraft.

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The process of elimination was surprisingly straightforward. Most of the region was open ocean, with the world’s major powers concentrated in the Northern Hemisphere and few strategic outposts here, making military installations rare. The sparse populations were clustered in a few major cities, and the only airports suitable for large aircraft were located in these urban centers. All indications were that the missing Flight 740 had not landed at any of those airports.

Thus, after discounting the four major city airports of the New Australis Federation, as well as island airstrips in the tropics that had long been abandoned, their runways overgrown with trees and grass so thick they were no longer fit for landings, only a single flashing red marker remained on the screen.

“This is it—Saint Bright Island!” An Jing exhaled deeply, her voice ringing with conviction.

This club-shaped island was located in the subantarctic zone of the Southern Hemisphere, with an area of about 150 square kilometers and less than 500 kilometers from the frozen continent of Antarctica.

More than five centuries earlier, during the dawn of the Age of Discovery, the navigator Magblen had discovered the island on his first circumnavigation. After a genocidal massacre of the indigenous people, the devout Magblen and his two hundred crewmen erected a towering statue of the Holy Light on the island, declaring that all heresy would be purged and the radiance of the Holy Faith would one day shine over the earth.

In the 1930s and 1940s, the statue was fitted with beacon lights, serving as a navigational aid on southern sea routes. In the adventure-hungry, travel-obsessed 1970s and 1980s, a simple airstrip capable of handling large passenger planes was built here, but due to a lack of tourism resources, it was abandoned early in the new century.

Yet because of the climate, plant growth was slow, and the cement-hardened runway was only covered with a thin layer of vegetation. For an expert pilot, landing here would not pose any problem at all.

A series of short beeps broke the calm of the operations room and the thoughts of the dozens of Fury Dragon Unit members. As everyone stared in surprise, the projection screen abruptly switched: a major general with a single golden star on his epaulet suddenly appeared onscreen.

This major general had fair skin, and his eyes, half-hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, gave him a scholarly air. But those who knew him would never have described him that way.

Yin Sunyang, Deputy Director of the Third Department of the General Staff, had graduated from a prestigious university’s mathematics department thirty years earlier, and was immediately assigned to the Third Department to work in technical intelligence. He had been promoted to major general only last year.

Notorious for his unconventional methods, it was nothing for him to barge unannounced into a top-secret Fury Dragon Unit meeting—this was just a minor display of his unorthodox style.

But no one could deny his brilliance. With a razor-sharp mind and endless stratagems, he had secured countless pieces of vital intelligence for the Republic, and was listed in several foreign intelligence agencies’ secret files as a “priority” threat.

“I have several important pieces of intelligence to report,” Yin Sunyang said calmly. His tone was neither explanatory nor apologetic; it was as if his abrupt intrusion was perfectly natural and beyond question.

Fortunately, Lei Tiangang was well acquainted with the character of this indirect subordinate and took no offense. He got straight to the point, even more bluntly than Yin himself: “Has Ayyim Nawal confessed? Is the incident connected to the East Wu Organization?”

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