Rick had a short fuse.
Damn it! My men were out there risking their lives, and those bastards in the rear had the nerve to question their skills? Your fucking skills were the problem!
Besides, pilot error was possible, but had they ever seen two Pilots make the exact same mistake at the same time? Did they think those two were twins with telepathy...?
Rick slammed his fist into the desk on the spot.
Unfortunately, the people at the Martin Company couldn't see any of it.
After venting his anger, Rick received a satellite call from the Department of Defense.
The caller gave him a few instructions and hung up, leaving Rick utterly bewildered.
"Damn it, they want me to plant grass? Who the fuck came up with that idiotic idea?" Rick roared, his mood already foul.
But what could he do after shouting? Plant grass, of course.
His superior's superior had personally instructed him that, if they wanted Gold Island to release the men, they first had to restore the Flowers and Plants their Fighter Aircraft had crushed.
For a moment, he wondered whether Phantom Immortal Technology's senior management had something wrong with their heads.
This was absolutely a major incident that could escalate into a diplomatic dispute. If he and Shen Bing had traded places, he would have demanded an outrageous price.
Yet Shen Bing had simply brushed the matter aside and asked the United States to restore the Vegetation. Wasn't that treating the whole thing far too lightly?
Fine, even if Shen Bing had made that decision because he was out of his mind, why had the higher-ups insisted that Rick go in person? They'd said something about worrying that Shen Bing might pull a trick.
Of course, his current task wasn't to plant grass yet. First,