Chapter 144: Manhattan Project 5

Two seconds later, Chen Feng was the first to rush out.

"Save the person! Quick, save them!"

Ground crew and trainees only then reacted, rushing forward. Inside the wreckage, Zhao Tianxiang was trapped in the deformed cockpit, his face covered in blood, already unconscious.

"Stretcher! Bring a stretcher!"

Everyone fumbled to pull him out and carried him to the infirmary—a tiny room with a single bed and basic medicines.

Chen Feng stood at the wreckage edge, watching the twisted wing fracture surface. The break was clean, not from impact but because the wood itself had cracks that gave way under Stress.

Ma Shifu squatted nearby, running his hand over the fracture, and tears suddenly fell.

"It's my fault... I didn't spot it... the wood had hidden damage..."

Chen Feng said nothing. He crouched, examined the fracture closely, then inspected other joints. The problem wasn't just the wood. The bolts securing the wing were too thin, the joint design was unreasonable, and the wing's own strength was insufficient...

A report came from the infirmary: Zhao Tianxiang had a fractured left arm, three broken ribs, a concussion, but no life‑threatening injuries.

Chen Feng exhaled a sigh, yet his mood remained heavy.

In the evening, the base convened an emergency meeting.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it stole breath. Ma Shifu kept blaming himself, several engineers bowed their heads in silence. The trainees suffered a huge blow—they hadn't even learned to fly yet and had already witnessed a crash.

"The responsibility for today lies with me," Chen Feng was the first to speak. "I was too hasty. I knew the materials were inadequate, the craftsmanship flawed, yet I forced a test flight. Teacher Zhao is still lying on the sickbed; this is a lesson in blood."

He paused, then continued:

"But the plan won't stop. From today we adjust our course."

Everyone lifted their heads.

"First, suspend in‑house whole‑aircraft production. Second, Minister Wang, contact Europe immediately, spend whatever is needed, purchase two ready‑made, top‑class aircraft and bring them back. We need real planes so the trainees can see what an aircraft truly looks like and how it flies."

Wang Wenwu nodded, "I've already been in contact. The French side responded; they can sell us two 'Blaerio XI' monoplanes, the fastest type available."

"Good. Second, Ma Shifu, your team's mission changes. No longer aim to build whole aircraft; instead study the purchased planes, disassemble, analyze, learn. Then, using our own materials, replicate the critical components—one by one—until they match the originals in quality."

Ma Shifu wiped his eyes, "Yes, Engineer Chen."

"Third, while Teacher Zhao recovers, theoretical lessons cannot stop. I will teach them myself," Chen Feng said, "We start from the basics, no rush on schedule, but ensure solidity."

He looked at each person present. Their faces showed frustration and confusion, but not yet despair.

"I know today is hard. But I want you to remember: three years ago, when we built our first ship, the 'Fuxing' Keel broke on the slipway. Two years ago, when we forged our first batch of special steel, molten steel erupted, injuring eight workers. One year ago, when we made our first machine gun, it misfired twelve consecutive times."

His voice echoed in the makeshift conference room:

"Each failure made us think it was over, that we couldn't succeed. Yet each time we got back up. Why? Because aside from moving forward, we have no retreat."

"Today is the same. A crashed plane can be rebuilt. Injured people can be healed. But if we become afraid, stop, give up, then we are truly finished."

Outside the window, the desert night fell completely. In the distance, toward Dubai, the sky glimmered faintly—that was city lights, a home being built by fifteen hundred thousand people.

"Tomorrow, the sun will rise as usual," Chen Feng concluded, "Tomorrow, work continues."

The meeting ended, people dispersed. Chen Feng was the last to leave; he walked to the runway edge and stared at the pile of wreckage.

In the moonlight, the broken wing resembled a bird with a broken wing.

Wang Bo appeared beside him at an unknown moment, handing him a coat.

"Young Master, it's chilly at night."

Chen Feng took the coat but did not put it on.

"Wang Bo, do you think I was too hasty?"

The elder was silent for a moment, "Young Master, I know nothing of aircraft. But I recall, when you were a child learning to walk, you fell many times. Your father—Old Master always said, falling isn't frightening; what's scary is not daring to walk again."

Chen Feng smiled faintly, a hint of bitterness.

"This time is different. This fall claimed not only me but others' lives."

"Mr. Zhao's medical expenses and compensation have all been arranged," Wang Bo said, "His family will receive the best care. That's also the rule you set: no responsibility for anyone."

"Rules are rules, conscience is conscience," Chen Feng sighed. "Wang Bo, sometimes I truly fear... that the future I see will require too much blood from too many people to obtain."

Wang Bo looked at his profile; in the moonlight, the young man's face bore fatigue beyond his years.

"Young Master, you often speak of returning home—to the South Ocean, to Borneo. I think the road home has never been easy. The sea brings storms, the road bears thorns. Yet one cannot stay ashore because of fear of storms, nor abandon the path because of thorns."

Chen Feng turned his head to look at him.

"You're right," he inhaled deeply, the night breeze cool. "No matter how hard the road, we must walk it."

February 8, 1912, 9 a. m., the Oasis base conference room.

Smoke curled in the room. Chen Feng sat at the far end of the long table, a wreck analysis report of 'Chuying-1' spread before him. Wang Wenwu sat to his left, rapidly noting with a steel pen. Liu Yongfu, Li Te, and Wang Bo gathered around the table, while Ma Shifu and several engineer representatives sat at the lower end.

"The reports are all read," Chen Feng closed the folder, his voice hoarse—he had barely slept last night. "The conclusion is clear: material strength insufficient, design flawed, process control failed. In short— we were too hasty."

Ma Shifu bowed his head, fingers intertwined.

"The responsibility isn't yours, Ma Shifu," Chen Feng said, looking at him. "It's mine. I set an unrealistic schedule, used substandard materials, and still insisted on flying."

Liu Yongfu cleared his throat, "President, it's useless to dwell on this now. The question is what to do next? The base has over a hundred personnel, daily expenses run into thousands of pounds; we can't just…"

"So we need to adjust," Chen Feng pulled three documents from his briefcase. "The new plan proceeds in three steps."

He pushed the first document to the center of the table.

"Step one, purchase. Minister Wang, when can the two 'Blaerio XI' from France arrive?"

Wang Wenwu opened his notebook: "It's already settled. Unit price is £12,000, including basic training and spare parts. The seller is the Blaerio Company's agent; they can provide a pilot to train us for three months. But the terms are strict—the aircraft may only fly at designated sites, may not be disassembled for study, and may not be used for military purposes."