World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chen Feng then turned to the others, addressing specific issues one by one: How to make the landing gear? How to connect the control system? How to install the instrument panel? How to seal the fuel tank?

Problems kept piling up, each one a headache. But at least, work had begun.

Meanwhile, in another row of brick houses, academic classes were also being conducted painfully.

Thirty-seven students sat in a simple classroom, facing the formulas and diagrams on the blackboard, most of them looking bewildered.

Zhao Tianxiang, lecturing on basic physics, said: "...Therefore, Bernoulli's principle tells us that the pressure is lower where the fluid velocity is higher. The upper surface of an airplane wing has a large curvature, so air flows faster and the pressure is lower; the lower surface is flat, so air flows slower and the pressure is higher. This pressure difference between the upper and lower surfaces generates lift..."

In the audience, Zhou Afu was trying hard to take notes, but his pen couldn't keep up with his train of thought. The young Arab man next to him, Ali (his full name is too long to fill in), muttered something in Arabic, which Zhao Tianxiang overheard.

"Ali, what did you say?"

Ali stood up and said in broken Chinese, "Teacher, I don't understand. Air...you can't see it, you can't touch it, how do you know where it flows fast and where it flows slow?"

Zhao Tianxiang opened his mouth, unsure how to explain. He was used to mathematical derivations and experimental data, but he didn't know how to teach this kind of intuitive, emotional understanding.

Chen Feng happened to walk in and heard the question.

"Ali, have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.

"I rode it."

"When a horse runs, does the wind blowing on your face feel stressful?"

"Yes."

"If you hold your palm up like a knife cutting through the wind, the wind flows away to both sides, and the pressure on your hand is less. If you hold your palm horizontally like a fan to face the wind, the wind hits your hand, and the pressure is greater. Right?"

Ali thought for a moment and nodded.

"The same goes for wings." Chen Feng drew a simple wing shape on the blackboard. "The only difference is that the wind doesn't come from the front; the plane flies forward and hits the air. But the principle is the same: when the air encounters the wing, some of it circulates around it from above, and some from below. The upper path is more winding, so it moves faster; the lower path is flatter, so it moves more steadily. The faster-moving air doesn't need to press down hard on the wing; the more stable air has the time to press down hard. Up and down, the plane is lifted up."

Although the explanation wasn't entirely accurate, the trainees surprisingly understood it. Ali's eyes lit up: "I get it! It's like water flowing around a stone!"

"Yes, it's like water flowing around a stone." Chen Feng breathed a sigh of relief. "Teacher Zhao, please continue."

He walked out of the classroom and heard Zhao Tianxiang continuing his lecture behind him. Thankfully, at least someone was listening.

In the evening, Chen Feng convened a meeting with key personnel.

"Progress report," he said briefly.

Zhao Tianxiang began by saying, "The students' situation... is very poor. Out of thirty-seven students, less than ten can truly keep up with the course. The others are either too bad at math or too slow to understand. At this rate, maybe only five or six people will be able to learn the basic theory in three months."

Master Ma continued, "Regarding the aircraft... we tried to make a wing frame according to the airfoil shape you described. But out of ten pieces of wood we shavings, no two are the same. And the weight... is almost twice as heavy as indicated on the blueprints."

"Where's the engine?"

"We pieced together three units to make one, and after a half-hour test run, it overheated and had to be stopped. We are currently modifying the cooling system."

After listening, Chen Feng remained silent for a long time.

"Starting tomorrow, we'll adjust the plan," he finally said. "The trainees will be divided into classes. Those who are progressing quickly will be placed in the 'Fast Class,' where Teacher Zhao will provide focused training. Those who are progressing slowly will be placed in the 'Slow Class,' and they'll have to start from scratch in literacy and arithmetic. As for Master Ma, don't strive for exact replicas of the wing frames. Just make two sets, one for the left wing and one for the right wing, as long as they can be installed. As for the engine... continue modifying it. The goal is for it to run at full power for one hour."

Wang Wenwu asked, "Commander-in-Chief, can something rushed like this even fly?"

"I don't know," Chen Feng said honestly, "but we have to try. Even if it only flies three meters high, or even if it only flies a hundred meters, it's still a success."

He looked out the window; the desert night sky was dotted with stars.

"We need to succeed once, no matter how small. Otherwise, morale will collapse."

April 15, 1912, 1 PM.

Everyone gathered on the runway of the "Oasis" base.

Parked on the runway was something that could barely be called an airplane. It had a wooden frame, canvas skin, bulky wings, and rudimentary landing gear. The cockpit was open, and the instrument panel had only three gauges: a tachometer, an oil pressure gauge, and an altimeter—the altimeter was a modified marine barometer, and who knows how accurate it was.

The aircraft, named "Young Eagle-1," is the result of two months of effort by the base.

The pilot was Zhao Tianxiang. It wasn't that he wanted to take the risk, but there was simply no one else who could fly—the trainees were still learning theory and didn't even have a simulator. Zhao Tianxiang had flown gliders in England, and although he had never flown a powered aircraft, he at least knew the basic principles of operation.

"Is the inspection complete?" Chen Feng asked.

Master Ma was covered in sweat: "I've checked it three times already. The engine test run was normal, the control levers were normal, the wings were securely fixed... but..."

"What is it?"

"I just always feel uneasy about something," Master Ma said honestly. "This thing is too rough, Engineer Chen. I've been building machines for twenty years, and I've never built anything this... this unreliable."

Chen Feng was well aware of this. But he also knew that if they didn't fly now, everyone's confidence would waver.

"Mr. Zhao, what do you have to say?"

Zhao Tianxiang had already put on his homemade flight suit—which was basically a leather jacket and goggles. His face was a little pale, but his eyes were firm.

"Fly. If you don't fly, you'll never know where the problem lies."

Chen Feng patted him on the shoulder: "Safety first. If something feels wrong, give up immediately. A plane can be rebuilt after a crash, but people can't be hurt."

"clear."

Zhao Tianxiang climbed onto the plane and sat in the cockpit. Ground staff helped him fasten his makeshift seatbelt—which was really just a few leather straps. The engine started, emitting a piercing roar, and the propeller began to spin, kicking up clouds of dust.

Everyone stepped back and held their breath.

The plane began its runway takeoff. The runway was only 300 meters long, a compacted, uneven dirt surface. The plane bounced forward, its speed increasing.

Fifty meters, one hundred meters, one hundred and fifty meters...

The nose of the aircraft has been raised!

"Get up! Get up!" someone shouted.

The wheels of "Young Eagle-1" left the ground, less than half a meter away, but it did indeed take flight. It wobbled forward, like a fledgling bird learning to walk.

Chen Feng's heart leaped into his throat. He stared intently at the plane, watching it climb to about three meters high, and then...

The left wing suddenly trembled violently.

"Oh no!" Zhao Tianxiang's voice was drowned out by the engine noise.

Immediately afterwards, everyone heard an ominous "click" sound.

The left wing broke off at the base.

The plane tilted to the left like a kite with a broken string, then crashed headfirst to the ground. The nose hit the ground first, followed by the fuselage; the canvas was torn, the wooden frame broke, and the engine was thrown out of the cabin, rolling several times on the ground before coming to a stop.

A dead silence.