Munitions Empire

It turned out that depending on oneself was better than relying on others. Hoping for Dahua Type 1 fighter jets that were far away was unrealistic in the face of Tang Army fighters; fighting fiercely to the end was the only chance for survival.

Gunners on the aircraft futilely aimed their crude gun sights at the swift-moving Tang Army Butcher Fighter Jets, the roar of the engines echoing in their ears, even drowning out the sound of their anxious heartbeats.

After emptying a magazine, the gunner anxiously began to reload his gun, and as they struggled to feed bullets into their machine guns, they could only watch helplessly as yet another bomber was split in half in the air.

The wooden fuselage stood no chance against the devastation of the 20mm cannons. Just a brief attack was enough to shatter a massive-looking bomber in the sky.

On the bombers of the Dahua Empire, gunners weren't equipped with parachutes, though parachutes were standard issue for all pilots in Tang Army manuals. The Dahua Empire didn't think self-defense gun operators on planes warranted the expense of a costly parachute pack.

They were expendable anyway; these gunners were no nobler than tank drivers, so their fate was left to destiny.

There was a theory that providing these gunners with parachutes would lead them not to cherish their planes, choosing to escape in critical moments instead.

Thus, the Dahua Empire bound the lives of these gunners with the planes, making them more appreciative of their chances to survive, better protect the planes, and be willing to fight until the last moment.

In any case, whatever damn theory it might be, the gunners on the Dahua Empire planes had no parachutes. They could only live and die with their planes—such was the harsh reality.

While trembling hands inserted the drum magazine on top of the machine gun completing the reload, the bomber that had been struck was already spiraling toward the ground in the distance.

The wings, no different from paper mache, were perforated by cannon shells, then cruelly torn to pieces by the airstream, finally disintegrating in midair and disappearing from view—a nightmarish scene that replayed endlessly in the minds of the gunners who witnessed it.

At least tanks had a layer of steel armor to provide the crew inside with some sense of safety. Fighting alongside makeshift mosquito nets of wood and canvas at nearly 4000 meters in the air truly required courage.

Finally, after pulling the gun's action and hearing a click, the gunner mustered a bit of courage again.

He tensively scanned the skies, looking for the enemy aircraft marked with the golden dragon emblem on its wing. He didn't know where the enemy was; he could only hear the sound of the engine and the howling wind.

Leaning out, he tried to look below his feet but was caught off-guard by a burst of bullets that scared him into a cold sweat.

The bullets hit near him, leaving a row of holes in the wooden fuselage. Fortunately, his aircraft did not break apart, and the row of bullet holes also missed the lower half of his body, still inside the plane.

These were bullet holes from the defensive guns of a friendly aircraft, nearly scaring him to pee his pants. He carefully checked his lower half, relieved to find no blood-splattered holes, and finally took a deep breath.

The pilot in front of him had been cursing loudly for a while, clearly feeling the deep malice from the guns of a nearby friendly aircraft.

"Damn it! These blind idiots!" the pilot vented his emotions while checking his body.

"Are you blind! Damn it!" After realizing he was unharmed, the nearly shot gunner also yelled curses at the distant friendly aircraft.

He couldn't hear what the other side was shouting, only seeing the opposing gunner waving his arms non-stop, seemingly boasting about his prowess or perhaps apologizing.

In any case, they didn't know what the other side was trying to express, and it seemed the other side couldn't hear their curses either. Both sides gestured with their hands, but clearly, their communication was almost completely ineffective.

"Damn it! I have no idea what he's saying!" The gunner pointed with his fingers at the bullet holes in his own plane, signaling the other side to see the fright he'd suffered.

The person continued to wave his arms, apparently explaining that he hadn't intended to strafe his own people with the machine gun.

"You should've strafed them back! Let them feel what we felt!" the pilot turned around and yelled loudly, egging on his gunner.

Of course, such an act is better left unsaid; if they were lucky enough to fly back, a gunner who did that would probably be executed immediately—the valuable ones were the pilots, not these expendable gunners.

Pilots required significant time to train, while gunners only needed to be strapped to a rotating chair and spun around a few times; if they didn't throw up, they could be strapped to a plane and sent into battle...

"If I run into this guy on the ground, I would surely punch his teeth into his stomach!" The gunner waved his arms, signifying to the other side to be cautious in his own way.

As for whether the other side could understand his gestures, only the clouds would know; he couldn't understand the other side's gestures, but he insisted that his gestures must be clearly understandable to them.