The Mi-24 Hind armed transport aircraft flew at an altitude of several hundred meters.
Its extremely fast-rotating wings also chipped the pieces of goose feathers into pieces, and they were immediately swept away by the wind pressure formed under the fuselage.
The military version of the transport plane can never be compared to the civilian version.
Even in the howling wind and snow, it still operates normally and flies quickly towards the predetermined target.
But in the cabin, five people wearing Soviet-style military uniforms were also lined up in sequence, with obvious gloomy looks on their faces.
They were obviously in a bad mood.
Assault rifle, seemingly unaware.
The helicopter continued to fly forward, and the pilot's superb control skills made the helicopter extremely stable.
But in the cabin, a fat officer with a slightly bald forehead seemed a little excited.
He slowly took out the handkerchief in his pocket and wiped the cold sweat on his forehead and neck.
From the corner of his eye, he subconsciously He glanced at the officer sitting in the middle next to him, coughed lightly and said loudly: "Those damn Yankees, the running dogs of capitalism, the public enemies of the proletariat, will sooner or later be drowned by the torrent of the Soviet Union."
The Soviet officer sitting on the chair turned his head slightly, with no expression in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a faint arc, without even the slightest hint of a smile.
As if he heard some ridiculous sound, he gently turned his head to look at the fat officer, and sneered softly: "It seems that you have different ideas, Comrade Bunovsky."
"I, I think that group of Americans today were simply too rude to us.
That commander-in-chief of the Anchorage Defense Line, Bunnar, is simply a rude hooligan."
There was unstoppable cold sweat on his fat face.
The Bunovsky Soviet officer also quickly wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief.
But from the corner of his eye, he saw the faint smile on the corner of the superior's mouth, and he couldn't help but tremble heavily in his heart.
He shook his hands tremblingly, and even had to hold the handkerchief tightly.
Only by holding it can you hold it in your hand.
But he still swallowed hard, and seemed to be quite excited and shouted: "We must teach them a lesson."
He looked at the superior in front of him, and his trembling eyes also glanced at the red star logo on the chest of the officer in front of him, which made him swallow hard.
But the cold sweat on his forehead also broke out more and more among the greasy skin.
He knew what kind of rights this young man from the Moscow Counterrevolutionary Committee and even the top brass of the Soviet Communist Party had.
"Comrade Prenyakov, we will win the final victory" Cold sweat broke out on his forehead more and more, and he clenched his hand and waved it heavily, as if to cheer himself up, and as if to give some encouragement.
But his legs were beating rapidly, trembling as if from the deepest fear, which made his voice mute, and even he himself could hear the lack of confidence hidden in it: "Everything Everything will be won only in the name of the Soviet Union.”
"Final victory, Comrade Bunovsky.
This doesn't seem right."
The chuckle at the corner of his mouth became more and more mocking.
The superior slowly raised the big-brimmed hat on his head.
Prenyakov's face had also appeared in the cabin.
He glanced at both sides and it seemed like something They didn’t know it, but the Soviet officers and aviation elites, who were still sitting calmly like stone figures, couldn’t help but chuckle and said: “You and that guy Bunar are not talking about the sunshine in Hawaii or the beauties in Las Vegas. , and an estate in the suburbs of New York?”
Prenyakov's words were like a bolt from the blue, causing cold sweat to appear on the fat Bunovsky's face more and more on his forehead.
Although his trembling hands were still wiping, the cold sweat had penetrated even his woolen lining.
His plump lips wanted to say something, but his eyes were looking for help.
To the officers sitting together on both sides, their voices trembled as if they were pleading: "We, we" "You guys had a great time talking, didn't you?"
The smile on his lips became more and more raised.
Plunyakov looked at the officers beside him, but they remained as motionless as stone men.
They were familiar with power struggles and did not even blink.
But if you look closely at their foreheads, you can also see circles of cold sweat flowing down, but they dare not wipe it off at will.
This made Plenyakov feel satisfied.
He had achieved the result he wanted.
He turned his head towards Nabunovsky, nodded gently and said: "You are no longer pure, you no longer have Noble party membership.”
"No, no, no, it shouldn't be like this.
Comrade Prenyakov, considering that my uncle is the political commissar of the Bering Strait Theater, let me go.
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Nothing between me and old Bunar has harmed the interests of the Soviet Union. " The fat Bunovsky's eyes widened instantly, a trace of thick fog appeared in his eyes, and a certain despair appeared in the depths of his eyes, which even made him tremble slowly, wanting to He stood up and grabbed the armrest of the cabin, using body language to express what he couldn't express clearly.
However, before he could fully stand still in the cabin, he found that the five elite aviation soldiers sitting opposite him also stood up.
The AK assault rifle in his hand was already pointed at him.
"No harm to Soviet interests" Pushing away the elite aviation force blocking him with one hand, Prenyakov also stood up.
The excellent pilot seemed to have already understood the current situation, and the helicopter he controlled flew quite smoothly.
This allowed Prenyakov to walk forward with confidence.
At the same time, the Makarov semi-automatic pistol in his hand had been slowly raised, pointed at Bunovsky and said expressionlessly: "But Why, would you reveal my specific information to that cunning fox like Bunar?
Where is the raccoon-like guy?"
He paused, with a little anger in his tone.
The muzzle of the gun was already pressed against the fat forehead full of cold sweat as he followed, and said angrily: "Otherwise, you think , I would talk to old Bunar so emotionally, it’s not you who made me lose the initiative.”
The crisp sound of gunfire had already appeared in the helicopter, and at the hatch that opened at the back, a fat body roared and smashed down the flying snow before disappearing into the mountains.
There was only one indifferent voice that seemed to be giving orders, filling the entire helicopter with a depressing and solemn feeling: "Back to the Queen Charlotte Islands, we must act quickly to eliminate those little bugs hidden in the mountains as soon as possible
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