Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

In the vast deserts of Northwest China, the sandstorms are as sharp as knives.

The newly laid foundation was faintly visible in the gale, like a giant beast that had not yet grown up.

Shen Jinghong stood in the command post, which was not yet fully topped out, holding a newly translated urgent telegram in his hand.

The telegram was sent by Air Force Commander Liu Yalou, and every word was filled with anguish:

"The US Air Force has launched a full-scale attack, with B-29 formations bombing the Yalu River Bridge day and night. Our logistics lines are almost paralyzed, and frontline soldiers are lacking food and clothing. Urgent! Urgent! Urgent!"

"Those robbers."

Shen Jinghong crumpled the telegram into a ball, her eyes cold.

He glanced back at the centrifuge being assembled, then at Lin Qinghan, whose face was weathered and worn.

"Qinghan, I'm leaving this place to you."

Shen Jinghong's voice was deep, yet it carried an undeniable determination: "We must plant the mushroom eggs, but if the fire from the front lines reaches us, we won't be able to cultivate them safely here."

"Are you going to Andong?" Lin Qinghan didn't stop him, but silently straightened his collar.

"Go deliver a batch of goods."

Shen Jinghong smirked, "Since the Americans want to play aerial warfare, then I'll teach them what... dimensional reduction attack is."

……

Two days later, the secret airport in Andong (now Dandong).

The night was deep and the wind was biting cold.

The huge hangar was brightly lit.

Dozens of young pilots were gathered around several enormous structures covered by thick tarpaulins, craning their necks with curiosity and impatience in their eyes.

The leader was a square-faced, burly man with thick eyebrows and big eyes; he was none other than Captain Wang Hai.

"Commander, what good stuff did Director Shen bring us?"

Wang Hai wrung his hands anxiously, "The La-11s we're using now can fly, but they're propeller-driven! Compared to the Americans' jet engines, they're like an old ox pulling a broken cart—they can't even catch up, they can only stare helplessly!"

"Exactly! Yesterday, I watched those Americans blow up the bridge and swagger away. I was so angry I felt like my lungs were going to explode!" Jiao Jingwen, the wingman next to me, also looked indignant.

"Don't rush, good things come to those who wait."

The hangar door was pushed open with a loud bang.

Shen Jinghong, wearing a military overcoat, strode in, followed by Commander Liu Yalou, who was equally excited.

"Is everyone here?"

Shen Jinghong's gaze swept over the group of young faces.

They are the fledglings of the Chinese Air Force, the future kings of air combat. But right now, they are still very inexperienced and have yet to witness the true dominance of the skies.

"Director Shen!"

Wang Hai snapped to attention and saluted, his eyes fixed on Shen Jinghong's back. "Stop keeping me in suspense, just lift the veil! I'd be happy to fly artillery shells if it meant catching up with the Americans!"

"Flying cannonballs?"

Shen Jinghong laughed, a meaningful laugh, "You're absolutely right, this thing flies faster than a cannonball."

He walked up to the first airplane, grabbed a corner of the canvas, and yanked it hard.

"Splash—"

The canvas slipped off.

A fighter jet, entirely silver-white with a streamlined fuselage gleaming with a cold metallic sheen, suddenly appeared before everyone's eyes.

The huge swept wings resemble the folded wings of an eagle.

Instead of the familiar propeller, the nose of the aircraft featured a dark, gaping air intake, resembling a gaping maw ready to devour its prey.

On the stern, the bright red "August 1st" military emblem shines brightly under the lights.

"hiss--"

A collective gasp filled the hangar.

Everyone was stunned.

beautiful.

That's so sci-fi!

This is unlike any plane they've ever flown before; it's not from a different era!

"This...this is an airplane?"

Wang Hai circled the plane three times, couldn't resist reaching out to touch its smooth fuselage, and finally stopped in front of the nose, scratching his head in a bewildered expression:

"Director Shen, why is this bald? Where's the propeller? How does it fly without a fan?"

"That's right!"

Jiao Jingwen also came closer, peering inside the exhaust nozzle. "Why is there such a big hole in the back? This doesn't look like where the engine is installed!"

"This is a jet fighter, codenamed 'J-0'."

Shen Jinghong patted the fuselage, his tone carrying the unique pride of a science and engineering man:

"It doesn't rely on a fan to pull it; it propels itself by spitting fire from its rear end."

"Simply put, it sucks in air, adds fuel, ignites it, and then sprays it out from behind. The reaction force can propel it to 1,100 kilometers per hour!"

"Breathes?"

Wang Hai's eyes widened, then a sudden thought struck him, and he slapped his thigh:

"I get it! Isn't that...that broom the witch rode in the fairy tale?"

"But this broom is made of iron, and it's a 'flying broom' that breathes fire!"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

The surrounding pilots burst into laughter.

"It really is! Without a propeller, all bare, isn't it just a giant broom?"

"That's a brilliant analogy! We're like riding broomsticks to sweep away the Americans' demons and monsters!"

Shen Jinghong chuckled; these young men had quite the imagination.

"Okay, then let's call it 'Flying Broomstick'."

Shen Jinghong's smile vanished, his expression turning serious. He picked up a baton and pointed to the aircraft's distinctive swept-back wing:

"However, this broom is not easy to ride."

"It's too fast; those old dogfighting tactics are outdated."

"Listen carefully, I will only teach you once."

Shen Jinghong's voice echoed in the empty hangar:

"The key to flying this plane can be summed up in one word: speed!"

"Don't get entangled with the Americans, don't try to maneuver around them."

"Utilize your speed advantage: climb, dive, attack, disengage! If you miss, fly a thousand miles away!"

"This is... vertical mobility tactics!"

The pilots listened with rapt attention.

This entirely new tactical concept is like a door to a new world, slowly opening for them.

While Shen Jinghong was explaining how to use high-G maneuvering to get rid of missiles (although there are no missiles yet),

"Waaaaah—waaaah—!!!"

The piercing air raid siren suddenly resounded throughout the entire Anton Airport.

The red warning light was spinning wildly.

"Reporting to the Commander!"

A staff officer rushed into the hangar, sweating profusely:

"Radar has detected a large number of enemy aircraft! Thirty B-29 bombers, escorted by forty F-80 fighters, are approaching the Yalu River Bridge!"

"Altitude 8,000 meters! Distance 100 kilometers!"

The air froze instantly.

The war is imminent.

Commander Liu Yalou suddenly looked at Shen Jinghong, then at the group of young pilots, his palms sweating profusely.

These planes have just arrived, and the pilots haven't even flown them once yet. Is this going to work?

"Director Shen, this..."

"War is the best coach."

Shen Jinghong did not hesitate at all.

He turned around and looked at Wang Hai, at those bloodshot eyes filled with excitement and nervousness.

"Wang Hai!"

"arrive!"

Wang Hai snapped to attention and roared like thunder.

"Do you dare to go up?" Shen Jinghong asked.

"dare!"

Wang Hai answered without a moment's hesitation, "With this 'broom,' let alone a B-29, even if the Jade Emperor himself came, I'd pull him down!"

"good!"

Shen Jinghong reached out and adjusted his flight cap, then punched him hard in the chest.

"Remember what I just said."

"Use your speed to rush in and plunge the knife into their hearts before they can react!"

Shen Jinghong pointed to the pitch-black night sky outside the hangar, her voice as cold as a knife:

"Go on, take down those arrogant Americans..."

"Sweep them all down!"

"Yes, sir! Everyone board!"

With a wave of his hand, Wang Hai sent twelve pilots hurtling toward their respective fighter jets like arrows released from a bow.

"Buzz—"

The turbojet engine starts.

It was a sharp and powerful whistling sound unlike anything I'd ever heard before, instantly drowning out the alarm.

Twelve silver warplanes, spewing blue tail flames, glided out of the hangar and rushed toward the runway.

Shen Jinghong stood at the doorway, watching the streaks of light shooting into the sky, a bloodthirsty smile curving his lips.

tonight.

The sky over the Yalu River will no longer belong to Americans.

That is... the dragon's territory.