Chapter 142: Manhattan Project 3

Chen Feng looked at him, then glanced at the young people in the distance who had been eliminated because they were illiterate. He suddenly realized a problem: in this era, education itself is a privilege. Those who can attend secondary school either come from wealthy families or have extraordinary talent. And these people usually do not enlist, let alone immigrate to the desert to make a living.

"How's your eyesight?"

"Report! 1.5! Passed the unit's physical exam!"

Chen Feng thought for a moment: "Go, take the cultural exam. If you pass, stay."

"Thank you, President!" Zhou Afu exclaimed, saluting excitedly and ran toward the tent.

Two hours later, the preliminary results came out.

Of the 320 candidates, only 37 passed both the cultural exam and the eyesight test. Among them, only four reached "secondary school physics level." Of those four, two were set aside by Chen Feng because of weak constitutions.

Zhao Tianxiang held the list and whispered to Chen Feng: "Mr. Chen, this foundation… is too weak. According to the manual you gave, to understand the basics of aerodynamics you need at least high school level. These people can't even recite all three of Newton's laws."

"Then start teaching from the beginning," Chen Feng gritted his teeth. "Start with literacy, then arithmetic, then the most basic physics. Eight hours a day; anyone who can't learn may not sleep."

"How long will that take…"

"We'll teach them no matter how long," Chen Feng said. "Mr. Zhao, you are currently the only one among us who understands aviation. I need you to devise an accelerated training program; in three months, I want them to at least be able to read basic aircraft schematics."

Zhao Tianxiang forced a wry smile: "Three months… Mr. Chen, I studied mechanical engineering in Britain for four years. Aviation is just a branch, but—"

"We don't have four years," Chen Feng interrupted. "Not even one. European aircraft are crude, but they improve daily. We must seize time."

He looked at the 37 people who passed the preliminary selection. They stood in the cold wind, unaware of what they would face.

"Assemble!" Chen Feng shouted.

The 37 formed a line quickly. Chen Feng walked to the front of the formation, looking at each of them. Most were about twenty years old, some Chinese, and surprisingly two had Arab faces — descendants recommended by Elder Suleiman, who had studied at a school in Lanfang and could speak Chinese.

"From today onward, you are the first batch of trainees for the Manhattan Project," Chen Feng's voice echoed across the field. "From now on, you will undergo the toughest training, learn the hardest knowledge, and bear the greatest pressure. You may quit at any time during the process. Those who stay may be injured, even killed."

He paused briefly, letting the words settle.

"Now, anyone who wants to quit, step forward."

No one moved.

"Fine." Chen Feng nodded. "Then remember: from this moment, your lives belong neither to yourselves nor to your families, but to Lanfang's sky. Dismiss! In an hour, a vehicle will take you to the base."

After the formation dispersed, Chen Feng called Zhou Afu aside.

"Your machine‑gun shooting is good; the unit needs you. Have you really thought it through?"

Zhou Afu straightened his back: "Report, President! I've thought it through! My mother said, following the President leads to success! Flying a plane… although I don't know what that is, it must be better than shooting a machine gun!"

Chen Feng looked at the light in his eyes, pure trust and yearning. He suddenly felt the weight on his shoulders grow heavier.

"Go. Study well."

"Yes!"

Three days later, deep in the inland desert.

This place is 200 km from Dubai, surrounded by nothing but dunes. Yet amid the wasteland, a cluster of structures appeared miraculously: a dozen rows of crude brick houses, a large shed made of canvas, and two compacted earth roads — the latter serving as an airstrip, though now empty.

The base's code name is "Oasis," its external designation "Geological Exploration and Meteorological Research Station."

Chen Feng stood inside the so‑called "hangar" — actually just that shed — and worried over the pile of materials before him.

The timber was fir shipped from Fujian, required to be "light yet sturdy," but the actual shipment varied in quality. The canvas was good, British waterproof canvas originally intended for tents. Engines… engines are a big problem.

"This is the six‑cylinder automobile engine we bought from Germany," Zhao Tianxiang said, pointing at a heavy iron lump. "It's from the Daimler Company, max power 45 horsepower. We've taken apart three of them, trying to assemble one that works."

"45 horsepower…" Chen Feng shook his head. "Too weak. We need at least 80 horsepower to barely get off the ground."

"That will have to wait. We've already inquired with France and Britain, but aviation engines… Europe has only a few manufacturers, and the price is absurd—5,000 pounds per unit, plus they demand a 'final use certificate.'"

Chen Feng knew this issue had no immediate solution. He turned to another difficulty: the blueprints.

In a corner of the shed, a dozen engineers gathered around a long table, where F4F "Wildcat" schematics were spread. These people were handpicked by Liu Yongfu, each a top craftsman from various factories—some skilled in sheet metal, some master welders, some intimately familiar with transmission mechanisms.

But at this moment, everyone wore a bewildered expression.

"Engineer Chen." The speaker was a man in his forties, a veteran fitter named Ma, everyone called him Ma Shifu, "Your blueprints… we can't understand them."

"Where is it unclear?"

"We don't understand anything," Ma Shifu said frankly. "The materials listed—'2024 aluminum alloy,' '4130 chromium‑molybdenum steel'—we've never heard of. And this structure, all curves, no right angles; we normally make square, straight machine parts, this…"

"And the tolerances," another younger engineer added. "They require ±0.1 mm. Engineer Chen, our best machine tools are accurate to about 0.5 mm. Handcraft? Impossible."

Chen Feng took a deep breath. He knew these problems would arise, but facing them in reality left him feeling powerless.

"Material issue, we'll use substitutes for now," he said, picking up chalk and writing on a nearby blackboard. "If we lack aluminum alloy, we'll use spruce for the frame and cover it with canvas. If we lack high‑strength steel, we'll thicken ordinary steel. Weight will increase, strength will drop, but at least we can build it."

"What about performance…"

"The performance will be poor, I know," Chen Feng said. "But first we need to solve the 'whether it exists' problem. Once we have it, we'll address the 'how good' problem."

He walked to the table and pointed at a section of the wing structure blueprint.

"Ma Shifu, look here. The wing isn't a flat plate; the upper surface is convex, the lower surface is flat. That's called an airfoil, the key to generating lift. Can you figure out a way to carve the wood into that shape?"

Ma Shifu leaned in and examined for a while, then gestured with his hand: "Carve… we can carve, but with so many ribs, each must be identical—hard."

"Then make a mold," Chen Feng said. "First create a standard one, then use it as a template for the rest. The error can be a bit larger, but not too large."

"I'll give it a try."