World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"The construction period..."

"The construction schedule cannot be delayed," Rajiv said firmly. "When the President inspected the site last month, he said that this pipeline is crucial to the fuel supply for the next three years. Without fuel, the four battleships in the dry dock are just scrap metal."

"Engineer Rajiv." Chen Feng walked directly to the command platform. "Progress as..."

"What about the quality?"

"The weld pass rate is 95.3%, and the pressure test pass rate is 100%." ​​Rajiv handed over the inspection records. "However, there is a problem with the quality of the pipes. Three percent of the steel pipes supplied by Bethlehem in the United States have pinholes or inclusions."

Chen Feng frowned as he reviewed the records. "Notify the purchasing department to suspend the final payment to Bethlehem. Have them send a quality engineer to explain; otherwise, we'll switch to sourcing from Germany."

"But German pipes are 20% more expensive..."

"We have to buy it even if it's expensive," Chen Feng said. "If the oil pipeline leaks, it will pollute the groundwater, and the repair cost will be ten times higher than the price difference of the pipe material. Moreover, it will delay the construction period—and we can't afford to delay the construction period right now."

He walked up to the newly welded pipe section and touched the warm weld seam with his hand. "Rajiv, are you from Mumbai?"

“Yes, Your Excellency. My father works for the Mumbai Port Authority, and I graduated from the Mumbai Institute of Engineering,” Rajiv said. “I came here last year after seeing Lanfang’s job posting.”

"Why choose this place? The British treated us just as well in India."

Rajiv was silent for a few seconds. "Your Excellency, in India, engineers like me would only ever be second-in-command to the British. My father worked for thirty years and only ever reached the rank of assistant engineer. But here..." He pointed to the pipeline in front of him, "this is the first major project I've been in charge of. You trust me and have given me this opportunity."

Chen Feng nodded, then turned to Uncle Wang and said, "Write it down. After the project is completed, Engineer Rajiv will be promoted to Level 3 Technical Specialist, and his monthly salary will be raised to eighty pounds."

Rajiv's eyes widened. "President, this...this is too much!"

"Not many." Chen Feng patted him on the shoulder. "A person who can be in charge of a 100-kilometer oil pipeline is worth this price. And I want you to train a team—select promising workers and teach them to read blueprints, take measurements, and weld. We're building a second pipeline next year, and we need more people like you."

"Yes! I will definitely do it!"

Chen Feng continued walking along the pipeline. The workers, seeing him, stopped what they were doing and bowed. Chen Feng waved his hand: "Keep working, don't worry about me."

He noticed a detail: although the Arab and Chinese workers did not speak the same language, they cooperated seamlessly. During hoisting, a single gesture was enough for them to understand each other; during welding, the handing of tools was done with practiced ease.

"How was the translation problem solved?" he asked the foreman.

The foreman was a Fujianese man in his forties named Lao Chen. "General, it was indeed troublesome at first. Later, we came up with a set of 'construction site sign language'." He gestured, "For example, this means 'lift,' this means 'stop,' and this means 'move to the left'... Simple, but effective."

"What about the casualties?"

"In the three months since the project started, two people have been seriously injured, both from hoisting accidents. There are 26 people with minor injuries, mainly heatstroke and cuts," said Lao Chen. "The medical team makes rounds twice a day, and the seriously injured have all been sent to Dubai Hospital, with all expenses covered."

"What about the arrangements for the family members?"

"Most of the Arab workers are from nearby tribes and live in their own tents. The Chinese workers live in the construction site dormitories, eight people a room, with fans and mosquito nets." Old Chen paused, "The food is... Arab brothers don't eat pork, but we Chinese love to, which sometimes causes conflicts."

Chen Feng pondered for a moment. "In this way, the construction site canteen will be divided into two sections: a steamed food section and a regular food section. The steamed food section will use beef and mutton, while the regular food section can include pork. But the signs must be clearly labeled to avoid misunderstandings. In addition, we will organize a weekly dinner where the chefs from both sides can learn from each other's cooking—we want to integrate, not just make do."

"Understood, I'll arrange it right away."

Continuing on, Chen Feng arrived at the pipeline's booster pump station construction site. Three large steam reciprocating pumps, each with a power of 500 horsepower, were being installed there, capable of propelling crude oil 100 kilometers. German engineer Hans Müller was overseeing the installation.

"Mr. Chen!" Muller greeted him in broken Chinese. "These pumps are good stuff! The latest model from Mannheim Machinery Factory, fifteen percent more efficient than the British ones."

"Can it start production on time?"

"We'll be testing it next month, and it should be operational by the end of October." Muller patted the pump body. "But there's a problem—the steam boiler needs a lot of water. The nearest water source is twenty kilometers away."

Chen Feng was prepared. "We are building a water pipeline, running parallel to the oil pipeline. The water source is deep groundwater, which can supply 5,000 tons per day. Is that enough?"

"Enough! That's more than enough!" Muller said excitedly. "Mr. Chen, you've thought this through very thoroughly. When I was working in the British colonies, they never bothered with these details; they always left it to the engineers to handle themselves."