On May 22nd, at the capital airport, a passenger plane from Soviet Russia landed swiftly, rolling onto the tarmac as if it were racing against time.
Feeling the plane finally touch down, Wen Leyu, whose body had been tense the whole time, finally let out a long breath.
Although she had spent nearly half a year in Soviet Russia and had repeatedly experienced the Russian pilots' simple, brutal style of takeoffs and landings, she still could not quite get used to it. Takeoffs were tolerable, but landings were agonizing.
And Wen Leyu was still young. Some of the older comrades traveling with her were even more dissatisfied.
"What's wrong with these Soviet Russia pilots? There wasn't much wind outside today, was there? Why did he fly the plane like that? I thought he was going to give me heart disease!"
"Aren't our domestic pilots also taught by Soviet Russia? How come they can fly planes so smoothly and steadily?"
"Exactly. Our domestic pilots can all make two-and-a-half-point landings, and plenty can even make three-point landings. But these people? Do they really think they're hauling a truckload of liquor bottles?"
"You're about right. Last time in Grozny, I could smell alcohol on that pilot's breath. He was truly addicted to drink, treating safety like it was nothing!"
"Ha, then you don't understand. That pilot might not have been drinking. More likely, he was flying a civilian airliner like a military aircraft, conducting wartime training!
"This kind of landing method was forced out of them in Afghanistan by Stinger anti-aircraft missiles. Stingers specifically targeted planes landing at airports, forcing pilots to dive down from beyond their range."
"..."
"Well, if it hadn't been for Afghanistan, Soviet Russia might have held on for a few more years. What a pity. But now that