Munitions Empire

For a pilot, parachuting is not an easy task; losing one's airplane and entrusting one's life to a mere piece of torn fabric is undeniably a mortifying experience.

Hanging shakily on the parachute in the cold wind, Zhao Feng felt that he might crash to death in this unfamiliar place.

Although he was from Dahua, he had never actually been to the southern oil fields, nor had he visited Wangchun City, Tengyun, or South Wind Pass.

But now, he had indeed arrived, and in a most unforgettable manner, too: he floated in the wind, the ground beneath him drawing ever closer.

Coming from the Zhao family, Zhao Feng's heritage was indeed extraordinary: he was a member of the royal family, although nowadays, aside from the family tree, he really had no connection to the actual royal members.

His great-great-grandfather and the then-Emperor were brothers, and he had been made a duke of the United Kingdom, a prominent royal relative at the time.

Unfortunately, the subsequent heirs were lackluster, lacking capability and the courage to take sides or invest, eventually falling out of favor when a new emperor ascended the throne and ending up with a demoted title.

Thus, the once distinguished duke became a marquis, the marquis was demoted to an earl, the earl, after a couple of generations, became a viscount, and the viscount, having committed a crime and been punished, was demoted to a baron...

Later on, the titles continued to decline to minor colonel positions... and by the time it reached Zhao Feng, he was almost unable to maintain even a minor officer rank, which is why he seized the opportunity to learn to fly on Dragon Island.

After becoming a pilot, he managed to preserve his colonel rank by riding the wave of Dahua Empire's construction of the Air Force, barely scraping by as an officer.

This time, as an elite pilot who had trained on Dragon Island, he was ordered to pilot the most advanced fighter jet for an escort mission, only to be shot down in this godforsaken place.

He didn't even know where he had fallen, and the moment his legs hit the ground, he even thought he might never get out of a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

The massive impact felt like it had broken his legs, and before he could even check if his legs were indeed broken, the white parachute above him fell down, disorienting him completely.

Scared half to death by his own parachute, Zhao Feng hurriedly reached up to lift it off him, only to be flipped over by a gust of wind.

Ignoring the pain in his knees, Zhao Feng began to unstrap himself; his parachute gear, imported from Tang Country, was good quality and relatively easy to remove.

The parachutes used for bomber pilots were all replicas made in Dahua Empire, the quality of which nobody really knew. However, the parachutes for their fighter pilots, like him, were all imported from Great Tang, reputed to rarely have quality issues.

Panting heavily, Zhao Feng crawled out from under the completely grounded white parachute. The good news was that his legs weren't broken, so he could still walk; the bad news was that walking was now his only option...

In the wilderness, surrounded by trees and bushes, only the spot where he had landed was clear, and there seemed to be a small village in the distance.

Zhao Kai carefully identified his bearings, then saw not far from where he landed, what seemed to be the burning wreckage of a fighter jet.

He reached down to his waist and drew a Left-Wheel Handgun. This was the standard self-defense weapon of Dahua Empire pilots, each equipped with six bullets, fair to all ages.

Holding the gun, he staggered toward the smoking wreckage. He didn't know if there would be anything there, but curiosity still drove him to approach.

He thought, if he could encounter an unlucky companion there, maybe the two of them could help each other out and not be so terribly alone.

However, a watched pot never boils; what looked like a short distance was not easy to traverse. The grass was tall, and walking through the muddy, uneven ground seemed to take forever without covering much distance.

Being a noble of the Dahua Empire, if he were captured, would it embarrass the royal family? As he walked forward, Zhao Feng allowed random thoughts to swirl through his mind.

If he encountered enemies, should he fight them to the death? Should he shoot five enemies first, and use the last bullet on himself?

If he did that, would the Emperor commend him? Would his two children then receive nobility titles?

Probably? He might even be promoted to a minor colonel... This minor colonel title was different from a real military rank, belonging to a lesser "noble" title, likely even less prestigious than a feudal lord's "knight" designation.

As he was ruminating, Zhao Feng reached the crashed plane and closely examined it, recognizing that it was a Dahua Empire bomber, although most of the hull had been damaged during the crash, leaving only a small part visible.

He saw the support bars at the remaining wing roots and the broken steel cables. Then he saw a dead gunner in the front of the cockpit, hanging there like a piece of dried meat.

Staggering forward, Zhao Feng winced involuntarily as he moved beneath the hanging gunner. He saw the body of the machine gunner, riddled with bullets, and the cockpit shattered to pieces.

The firepower of the Great Tang's artillery was terrifying indeed, something Zhao Feng had just experienced firsthand. His plane had been hit by only two shots before he had to immediately abandon it and leap from the cabin.

Had he hesitated a few more seconds, he might not have had the chance to deploy his parachute: his plane broke apart swiftly, splitting in midair into two.

Through the choking gun smoke, Zhao Feng made his way past a broken wing to inspect the bomber's cockpit, shocked to find the pilot still there, slumped over in his seat.

He hurried over to check on the pilot who hadn't managed to eject, whispering as he approached in an attempt to rouse the unfortunate soul, "Hey! Wake up! Are you alright?"

There was no response from the hanging pilot; only upon closer inspection did Zhao Feng realize the unnaturally twisted angle of the pilot's neck. The impact of the crash had broken the pilot's neck; he was already dead.

"Dammit," Zhao Feng cursed, then heard the sound of another plane crashing above him.

He looked up to see another bomber being shot down, plummeting towards the other side of the forest. He watched someone jump from the plane and deploy their parachute.

But then, he witnessed the parachute failing to fully open, balling up and swaying back and forth in the wind, rapidly dragging the pilot to the ground.

Zhao Feng couldn't bear to watch; he closed his eyes, almost hearing the dull thud of flesh hitting the ground.

This was the last Dahua aircraft he saw; when he opened his eyes again, he could no longer see any fighting squadrons above.

It seemed the Tang Army's planes had departed, and the planes of the Dahua Empire had either left or been shot down—none had escaped.

Coughing twice from the smoke of the burning wreckage, Zhao Feng grabbed his handgun and left the valueless remains of the bomber.

All four aboard the plane were dead, including the two pilots and both machine gunners.

The rear gunner's head was nowhere to be found; Zhao Feng had nearly vomited everything in his stomach when he went to check.

In fact, there was nothing left in his stomach, so he dry-heaved for a while before quickly leaving the gruesome site.

As he staggered away from the wreckage, he saw the people coming for him—or rather, the Tang Army troops coming to capture him.

When Zhao Feng saw the Tang Army soldiers carrying rifles, he bent over, raised his handgun, and prepared for battle.

At that moment, he thought of his child at home, his waiting wife, and all the messy thoughts that had crossed his mind earlier.

He contemplated fighting desperately right here, showing these Tang people the dignity and pride of the Dahua Imperial Royal Family.

But just as he was about to fire the first shot, a Lion-style armored reconnaissance vehicle burst from the nearby bushes, its massive frame startling the birds around it into flight.

The tank commander, leaning on the turret, immediately spotted Zhao Feng hiding in the grass. Pointing out Zhao Feng's location, he loudly alerted the surrounding infantry, "Be careful! He's got a handgun!" As he ducked back into the turret, the nearby Tang Army grenadiers immediately ducked down, hiding in the tall grass.

Zhao Feng was startled by the enormous eight-wheeled armored vehicle and lost all confidence in his ability to fight his way out.

What a joke, he was a pilot, not one of those novelistic Ranger mercenaries—he might dare to ambush an enemy, but tackling several at once and contending with an armored vehicle? Impossible.

So he quickly threw away his Left-Wheel Handgun as if it burned his hand. Then, moving deftly, he raised his hands and shouted loudly, "I am from the Dahua Royal Family! Don't shoot! Don't shoot, I surrender!"

The identity he had been ready to fight for had now become his lifeline. Fearing they hadn't heard him or might shoot, Zhao Feng stood up and shouted again, "I am of the Dahua Royal Bloodline! Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I surrender!"

Seeing him toss the handgun through the observation window, the armoured scout car commander who had been ready to shut the hatch instead popped back out.

Hearing Zhao Feng's shout, a broad smile spread across the commander's face: "Did you hear that? We've caught a member of the Dahua Royal Family!"

"Ha ha ha!" The surrounding Great Tang soldiers burst into laughter, then gathered around, "Don't crowd, don't crowd! Come have a look, see what a relative of the Emperor of Dahua looks like!"