Chapter 141: Manhattan Project 2

Liu Yongfu finally was persuaded, but the technicians' pragmatism made him immediately think of practical issues: "Even if we go ahead, we need a charter. Who's responsible? Where do we do it? How do we keep it secret?"

That's exactly what Chen Feng and the others were asking.

"I'll take personal responsibility. This plan, code name 'Manhattan'."

"Manhattan?" Wang Wenwu asked, puzzled, "What does it mean?"

"Just a place name, not important." Chen Feng brushed it off—he couldn't say it was copying the later American atomic bomb plan's code name. "I'm the project director, Wang Wenwu serves as deputy director, handling resource coordination and external cover. Chief Engineer Liu, you need to pull together an elite technical team, keep the scale under fifty people, and make it absolutely reliable."

"And the location?"

"Inland, deep in the desert." Chen Feng had already chosen, "I'll show you the exact spot tomorrow. There we'll build a 'Geological Survey Research Station' as cover. All personnel and supplies must pass three inspections. A fifty‑kilometer radius will be designated a military exclusion zone; we will compensate the indigenous people for relocation."

Wang Bo asked, "What about the pilots? Who will fly those… iron birds?"

"Recruitment." Chen Feng opened another booklet, "Secretly select from the army, navy, and immigrants. Requirements: age 18 to 25, at least junior‑high education, perfect vision, quick reaction, bold yet careful. The first batch will recruit thirty people."

"Junior high?" Li Te frowned, "President, the literacy rate in our troops at junior‑high level is under ten percent. It may be higher among immigrants, but still limited."

"So that's the first difficulty," Chen Feng admitted, "but we must persist. Flying a plane isn't like riding a horse; you need to read instruments, calculate headings, understand basic principles. The illiterate can't do it."

Wang Wenwu quickly took notes, then looked up: "The budget is two million pounds; does it need board approval?"

"No." Chen Feng said firmly, "This plan bypasses normal procedures. Funds come from my special budget; any shortfall will be temporarily drawn from the navy budget. External accounts must be balanced, all under the headings 'Special Machinery Development' and 'Geological Survey Equipment Procurement'."

He surveyed the group: "Any other questions?"

Wang Bo slowly raised his hand: "Young Master, I have one final question. You just said there could be fatal falls. If… if someone actually dies, how do we report to the family? And how do we appease the others?"

Chen Feng was silent for a few seconds.

"We can't tell the truth. We'll say it was a 'death in the line of duty during Special Equipment Testing'. Compensation will be three times the highest standard, and the family will be supported by the state for life. As for the others…"

He paused.

"I'll tell them: the sky shows no mercy to the weak. We measure altitude with our lives; every foot bears a price. Those who fear death may withdraw now. Those who stay must be ready to give their lives to the blue sky."

The secret room fell quiet again. The desk lamp's light seemed dimmer.

Wang Wenwu closed his notebook: "I have no more questions."

Li Te stood, saluted: "The navy supports any plan that strengthens national defense."

Liu Yongfu sighed, then nodded: "Technical team, I'll give you the list within a week."

Wang Bo concluded: "I will manage logistics and secrecy."

"Good." Chen Feng also stood, "Then, the Manhattan Project, from now on, is officially launched. After adjournment, each person should act on their assignments immediately. Remember—"

His gaze swept over everyone again.

"This is Lanfang's highest secret. Anyone who leaks it will be treated as a traitor to the nation."

November 5, 1911, 4 a. m.

On the outskirts of Dubai, at the training field of the Third Army's base, more than three hundred people were already standing in a dark mass.

A cold wind blew from deep within the desert, raising sand that stung the face. Yet no one moved. These youths had been secretly selected from various units and immigrant resettlement sites; they only knew they were to take part in a "Special Unit Selection", and no one had told them what it entailed.

In front of the field a temporary table was set up, with three people standing on it. In the middle was Chen Feng, on the left Wang Wenwu, and on the right a middle‑aged man nobody recognized—he was Zhao Tianxiang, whom Chen Feng had "invited" from Shanghai with a high salary; he was said to have studied in England, learned mechanical engineering, and could also pilot a plane—not a real plane, but a British glider.

Zhao Tianxiang held a roster and shouted in Mandarin with a Shanghai accent:

"Now we begin the first test! Cultural exam!"

A slight stir rose from the audience.

"Weren't we told physical fitness was required? Why a cultural exam?"

"I… I can't read."

Chen Feng stepped to the platform, took the megaphone: "Quiet! Can't you hear? Be quiet!"

The noise immediately subsided.

"Let me explain." Chen Feng said, "This unit needs to operate complex machinery. You must read schematics, read instruments, do calculations. If you are illiterate or lack math, you can't do it. Now, those who can read, those who have studied, step forward. Those who cannot read, step back. No cheating; there will be a re‑check, and any fraud will be eliminated on the spot!"

The crowd began to shift. About a third moved forward a few steps, the rest stayed or stepped back.

Chen Feng glanced and frowned—those who stepped forward were fewer than a hundred.

"Alright, now the second item." He continued, "Those who stepped forward will line up by education level. Those who learned in a private school or are literate stand on the left. Those who attended a modern school and learned arithmetic stand in the middle. Those who attended secondary school and studied physics—if any—stand on the right."

The line moved again. Only seven or eight people stood on the right.

Chen Feng's heart sank. He turned to Wang Wenwu, who also shook his head.

"Minister Wang, please oversee the cultural exam. Mr. Zhao, take a team to test vision; we need the best eyesight, not a single flaw."

"Understood."

The test began. Wang Wenwu spread the test sheets in a makeshift tent—questions were simple: recognize five hundred common characters, solve ten arithmetic problems, write a short passage. Yet even so, some were scratching their ears.

Outside the tent, Zhao Tianxiang tested vision one by one with an eye chart; his standards were extremely strict—any slight deficiency failed.

Chen Feng paced the field, watching the youths who were eliminated. Most were in their early twenties, strong‑built, eyes bright, but because they were illiterate or lacked sufficient vision, they could only stand in the cold wind, bewildered, watching comrades undergo the tests.

A dark‑skinned youngster suddenly ran up, stood at attention, and saluted: "Report, President!"

Chen Feng recognized him—Zhou Afu, the machine‑gun squad member who had performed well.

"Speak."

"President! I… I can read! I recognize characters!" Zhou Afu said urgently, "I learned from Mr. Accountant at the dock, I can recognize seven or eight hundred characters! I can do arithmetic too, I learned it in the troops!"

"Why didn't you step forward earlier?"

"I… I…" Zhou Afu's face turned red, "I thought you had to have attended a proper school, but I taught myself…"