Live Stream 1980: Netizens Teach Me How to Make a Rocket by Hand

Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine.

In the secure hall on the second basement floor of the Southern Design Bureau, hundreds of engineers were hunched over tilted drawing boards.

The sound of pencils rubbing against tracing paper and T-squares sliding back and forth blended together.

This was the old base for Soviet intercontinental ballistic missiles and rocket engines.

For the past thirty years, they have relied on these hand tools to draw, stroke by stroke, the SS-18 "Satan" intercontinental ballistic missile that has kept the entire West awake at night.

The heating inside was on full blast, and the windows were covered in condensation.

In the corner, a silver-gray square box was placed on an empty table, surrounded by foam padding and disassembled cardboard boxes.

Korolev, the deputy chief designer of the overall department, rubbed his hands together and opened the instruction manual, which was written in Chinese, English, and Russian.

"Great Wall GW-1..."

"Personal microcomputer..."

He turned on the power switch following the steps on page three of the instruction manual.

The screen lit up.

A colorful icon interface pops up, with a Tai Chi symbol in the upper left corner and several square icons arranged below.

Korolev paused for a moment.

It's not that he's never seen a computer before.

He had used the ES-1045 mainframe terminal at the Mo City Computing Center.

That thing took up half a room, and it took twenty minutes to turn on. You had to use punched paper tape to operate it.

But the machine in front of him wasn't much bigger than the typewriter on his desk.

Following the instructions, he picked up the mouse and clicked on the icon labeled "Bagua CAD".

The software started in just a few seconds.

A preset demo case appears in the center of the screen, a two-dimensional engineering drawing of a turbopump housing.

The dimension lines, dimension chains, and section symbols are all complete.

Korolev tried clicking and dragging the mouse along the outer contour of the shell.

The image rotated.

He released his grip, and the graphic stopped at a new angle.

All labels will automatically adjust accordingly.

Korolev turned to page seven of the instruction manual and found the instructions for the "modification" function.

He selected a hole, entered the new coordinates, and pressed Enter.

The hole has been moved.

The relevant mating dimensions are automatically recalculated.

He then tried changing the shell wall thickness from 12 millimeters to 10 millimeters.

The next second, all related dimensions and tolerance markings on the entire image were refreshed.

Korolev's hand remained on the keyboard for ten seconds.

He glanced back at the ocean of drawing boards behind him.

His hands began to tremble.

In the past, to modify the size of a chamfer, the draftsman had to carefully scrape off the ink lines on the tracing paper with a blade and redraw all the surrounding related structures.

If you encounter a complex curvature fluid test, you have to submit a report to apply for the computing power of the mainframe in the computing center that occupies half a room, and you have to wait in line for at least two weeks!

Now, by clicking the mouse, I modified several coordinate parameters in the properties panel.

The curvature of the combustion chamber on the screen is instantly reconstructed, and all related dimensions are automatically refreshed.

It's not just a little fast.

The entire design process is about to change drastically.

Korolev suddenly stood up, his chair sliding back half a meter with a screeching sound.

He grabbed the intercom on the table and shouted toward the door, his voice trembling violently:

"Summon the communications officer!"

"Contact the equipment department of Mo City immediately."

"Our bureau needs one hundred of these computers!"

"No, five hundred units!!"

......

Mo City.

Sergeyev has been experiencing both pain and pleasure these past few days.

The five-axis machine tool issue has been resolved successfully, and the Kremlin has already hinted at personnel adjustments at the end of the year, which will be "very beneficial" to him.

This was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

But this joy was quickly washed away by another kind of torment.

Because there's a long line outside his office every morning at eight o'clock sharp.

It wasn't ordinary people queuing up.

Among those queuing were three academicians of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, two recipients of the "Labor Hero" title twice, the deputy chief designer of the Ruby Design Bureau, and the head of the aerodynamics group of the Sukhoi Design Bureau.

These people are completely unreasonable.

An academician, leaning on a cane, blocked the corridor and started criticizing him, pointing his finger at him:

"Sergei, if you can't get your hands on that Chinese computer, you're committing a crime!"

"You're hindering the country's progress!"

Ruby's vice president slammed his fist on the table and roared:

"Our design bureau is queuing up to use the ES mainframe, and each design team can only get four hours of machine time per week!"

"Four hours!"

"Do you know how long we've been waiting for our Tu-160 bomber modification program?"

There are even more outrageous.

The people from the Southern Design Bureau simply flew from Ukraine to Moscow, bringing a bag of technical reports personally written by Korolev, and piled them up in his office.

The report meticulously lists how many hours, how much manpower, and how many rounds of verification can be saved in the rocket design process after GW-1 is used in conjunction with CAD software.

On the last page, there were three lines drawn in red pen.

"It is recommended to purchase no less than 500 units immediately."

Sergeyev dared not go back to his office, nor did he dare go home.

Because the general's wife in the next building had asked his wife to pass on a message.

I want a Chinese washing machine.

He hid in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs archives for a whole day, but was still dragged out of there.

"Alright, alright!"

Sergeyev finally couldn't take it anymore, grabbed the phone, and called the liaison office of the Chinese Foreign Economic and Trade Delegation in Moscow.

"Qi! I need to see you!"

"Today! Right now!"

......

Two hours later, at the Mo City International Hotel coffee shop.

Director Qi sat opposite him with a smile, a cup of black tea in front of him.

Sergeyev plopped down, skipping all pleasantries and getting straight to the point:

"Qi, we need to expand our trade."

"Washing machines, color TVs, learning machines—we need to increase the quantity of everything."

"Especially that GW-1 computer."

"At least another thousand units, along with that CAD software or something."

"no problem."

Director Qi put down his teacup.

"But the usual rules."

"Barter trade does not accept rubles."

"I know, I know!"

Sergeyev waved his hand forcefully.

"You make the list."

"Siberian timber, specialty aluminum ingots, urea fertilizer, even Kamaz heavy trucks are all acceptable!"

"Just send the goods over to me, the sooner the better!"

Director Qi's eyes lit up.

But he remained expressionless, slowly taking out a printed list and handing it over.

Sergeyev took it, glanced at it, nodded, and signed.

After finishing his business, he leaned back in his chair, finally seeming to breathe a sigh of relief.

Director Qi stood up, as if suddenly remembering something, and pointed to several large cardboard boxes piled up in the corner of the coffee shop.

"Oh right, I almost forgot."

Director Qi walked over and patted the cardboard box:

"This is a personal gift from Engineer Wu Tieyuan of the Imperial Machine Tool Factory, who asked me to bring it to you."

"One brand-new color TV, one twin-tub washing machine, and one fan."

"There are also three Little Tyrant learning machines for your grandson."

Sergeyev looked at the boxes and finally a genuine smile appeared on his lips for the first time in days.

He certainly understood whose favor this was.

"Please thank Engineer Wu for me."

He stood up and solemnly grasped Director Qi's hand.

"There's no need for formalities between old friends."

......