Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

The door to the archives opened after all three keys were turned simultaneously. He Yuzhu went in, stopped in front of the innermost row of cabinets, and pulled open the cabinet labeled "Military Industry - Anti-ship Missiles." Inside, a stack of documents was wrapped in kraft paper, with the words "Haiying-1" written on it, in fountain pen, each stroke carefully made, though the ink had faded considerably. He took them out, placed them on the table, and untied the rope.

By the time the car left the research institute, it was already dusk. He Yuzhu leaned against the car window, watching the institute's gate grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. The two lights at the entrance came on, their dim yellow light illuminating the large posters on the wall, the edges of the paper curling up and billowing in the wind. Yang Xiaobing drove without saying a word, and neither did He Yuzhu. The street scene outside the window changed from alleyways to main roads, then to suburban dirt roads, the streetlights dwindling until it was completely dark.

The Third Academy of Aerospace Science and Technology was located thirty miles south of the city. The walls of the compound were very high, and sentries stood at the gate. Yang Xiaobing stopped the car. The sentry shone a flashlight on the license plate, then on He Yuzhu's face, and waved him in. Inside the compound were several drab buildings with lights on in the windows. The humming of machines from the workshops could be heard through the walls.

Dean Wang's office was on the second floor, the door open, filled with smoke. He sat at his desk, a stack of blueprints spread out in front of him, a pencil clipped to his ear, and his reading glasses pushed up on his head. Seeing He Yuzhu enter, he stood up, pulled his reading glasses down from his head, and placed them on the bridge of his nose.

"Where is the long road, so late?"

He Yuzhu placed the stack of documents on the table. "There's something here, take a look."

Dean Wang untied the rope and turned to the first page. It was the overall design drawing; the missile was slender, with a pointed warhead and deployed tail fins. He looked at it for a while, then turned to the second page. There was a parameter table, densely packed with numbers. He slowly traced his finger across it.

The missile is 7.2 meters long, 0.76 meters in diameter, and has a wingspan of 2.6 meters. Its launch weight is 2,500 kilograms, and the warhead weighs 600 kilograms. It has a range of 60 kilometers, a speed of Mach 1.2, a cruising altitude of 50 to 200 meters, and a terminal sea-skimming altitude of 10 meters. Its guidance system combines active radar and infrared imaging, with terminal maneuvering for evasion, and a 92% hit probability.

Dean Wang pushed his reading glasses up, his finger pausing briefly on the line indicating "speed Mach 1.2". He turned to another page, which showed a cross-sectional view of the engine, then another, a diagram of the guidance system. He closed the document and looked up.

"Where does this thing come from?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He sat down in the chair opposite him and waited.

Dean Wang took the pencil off his ear and placed it on the table, then took off his reading glasses and wiped them with the corner of his shirt. He looked at the stack of documents, then at He Yuzhu.

"It's possible. But it will take time."

"how long?"

Dean Wang thought for a moment. "Six months. This thing is too complicated; we'll have to figure out the guide head from scratch."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. It was pitch black outside, but the workshop lights were on, and he could see the workers' silhouettes flickering against the windows. He turned around. "Three months. Vietnam can't wait."

Dean Wang remained silent for a moment. He picked up the stack of documents, opened to the first page of the guide, and read it again. The room was quiet; people walked by in the corridor, their footsteps drawn out.

"Okay. Three months. I'll send more people."

He Yuzhu nodded, walked to the door, and then turned back. Dean Wang was still sitting there, holding the stack of documents in his arms, his fingers slowly tracing the cover.

The lights in the workshop stayed on all night. He Yuzhu went three times in the first month. The first time he went, the seeker head was still being tested; the signal was unstable, and the screen was full of static. Dean Wang was squatting in front of the oscilloscope, turning a knob, his forehead covered in sweat. The second time he went, the engine test run had exploded; the test bench was blackened, and the paint on the walls was scorched. Workers were squatting on the ground picking up the debris, while Dean Wang stood beside them, saying nothing. He Yuzhu didn't ask; he stood there for a while, then turned and left.

The third time he went was three days before the test launch. The missile had already been fully assembled and was standing upright at the back of the workshop, covered with a tarpaulin. Dean Wang lifted the tarpaulin, revealing the warhead, sharp and gleaming coldly under the lights. He touched the missile body, his fingers slowly running over it.

"Where's the training ground? Target practice the day after tomorrow. Are you coming?"

"Come."

On the day of the test launch, the sky was clear and the wind was light. He Yuzhu stood on the observation platform, holding up his binoculars and staring at the sea. The target ship was secured to the sea with iron chains, forty kilometers from the shore, painted white and dazzling in the sunlight. Dean Wang stood beside the launch pad, clutching a stopwatch. Ma Yuejin squeezed in from behind and stood next to He Yuzhu, raising and lowering his binoculars several times, rubbing his palms on his trousers.

The countdown blared from the loudspeaker. Ten, nine, eight… He Yuzhu stared at the missile, the sweat on his palms soaking the rubber cover of his binoculars.

"...Three, two, one, ignite."

A plume of orange-red flame shot from the missile's tail, billowing thick smoke. The missile shuddered, then began to accelerate, faster and faster, leaving a long trail of flame as it skimmed the surface of the sea. Waves were whipped up by the airflow, leaving a white trail behind the missile.

He Yuzhu followed the white line, his binoculars trembling slightly in his hand. The missile flew for more than ten seconds, then suddenly lifted up, pulled up, and then pressed down, skimming the sea surface, less than ten meters from the water.

"Low-altitude penetration," Dean Wang said from the side. "Radar can't see it."

The missile continued its flight, farther and farther away, until it became a tiny dot. No one spoke on the observation platform. Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. Fifty seconds. Suddenly, a burst of fire erupted on the distant sea.

boom--

The loud bang came a few seconds later, muffled and deep, like thunder. Before the flames had even dissipated, black smoke was already rising. When the smoke cleared, the target ship was still there, but there was a large hole in its hull. Seawater rushed in through the hole, and the ship began to tilt and slowly sink.

A few seconds of silence fell over the observation platform. Then someone shouted, followed by a second, a third. Some jumped up, some hugged each other, and some punched the sea. Dean Wang stood beside the launch pad, his stopwatch lying on the ground, unpicked up.

Commander Nguyen rushed out from behind the observation platform, ran to He Yuzhu, and grabbed his hand tightly. He Yuzhu's eyes were red, his lips trembled, and he wanted to say thank you, but something seemed stuck in his throat. He released his grip, turned around, and shouted at the sea in Vietnamese, a sharp, piercing shout, as if something had been forcibly ripped from his chest. The translator beside him remained silent, head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

Ma Yuejin stood next to He Yuzhu, nearly dropping the binoculars in his hand. He swallowed hard. "Dean, let's keep a batch of these for ourselves too."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He walked to the observation platform and watched the target ship sinking. The stern was up, the bow submerged, bubbles rising rapidly. He turned to Dean Wang. "How many are left?"

Dean Wang picked up the stopwatch from the ground. "There are two left. If we have enough materials, we'll make five more."

He Yuzhu nodded. "Give Vietnam three. We'll keep the remaining four for ourselves."

Ma Yuejin paused for a moment. "Dean, what about Vietnam..."

He Yuzhu interrupted him. "They're enough. We'll equip the rest ourselves."

Dean Wang inspected the launchers of the two missiles once, then again. Regiment Commander Ruan stood beside them, watching the workers load the missiles onto the truck, his eyes never leaving the three green missile bodies. When the truck drove away, he stood at the gate of the courtyard for a long time, until the truck turned the corner and disappeared from sight, before turning back.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat in his office and took the missile parameter sheet out of his drawer. The missile was 7.2 meters long, had a range of 60 kilometers, and a speed of Mach 1.2. He looked at it twice, folded it up, and put it back.

The phone rang. He answered it, and it was Dean Wang on the other end, his voice very low.

"Chief He, a US reconnaissance plane has been spotted over the Gulf of Tonkin. The Vietnamese radar can't reach it."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the table. "I'll handle the radar issue. You send the missiles over first."

"OK."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window and pulled the curtains open a crack. Several people stood outside the courtyard wall, wearing red armbands, putting up posters. They left quickly after they finished. He closed the curtains, took the list from the drawer, turned to the radar page, and added a line: "US reconnaissance aircraft spotted in the Beibu Gulf; additional radar needed."

He finished writing, put the list back, and locked the drawer. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and shone on the courtyard wall, casting the shadows of the big-character posters on the ground, patchy like welts. He stood there for a while, then turned off the light and left the office.

The corridor was dark, except for the emergency exit lights, which glowed a greenish hue. He walked past the records room door and paused. The door was closed and securely locked. The key felt heavy in his pocket. He continued walking and pushed open the door. A cool breeze blew in. Yang Xiaobing was waiting in the car, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe.

"Commander, shall we go home?"

"go home."