Chapter 147: We Can Take Off

Chen Feng walked over: "What did you see?"

"I saw... I saw the ground is curved," Zhou Afu struggled to articulate, "Really, President, the horizon is curved! And the wind—the sound of the wind is different, completely unlike on the ground! And... there's this feeling, as if... as if I've become a bird!"

Chen Feng smiled. He knew that at this moment, in these youngsters' hearts, a seed had been planted—a seed about the sky, about freedom, about the future.

Over the next two weeks, Charles took two trainees aloft each day. After each flight, everyone seemed transformed—more focused, more diligent, more eager to learn.

By day, the trainees learned flight basics from Charles: how to inspect the aircraft, start the engine, taxi, and judge wind direction. At night, Chen Feng gave them theory: aerodynamics, flight principles, instrument identification.

Progress was visible to the naked eye.

Meanwhile, Ma Shifu's team had secretly drafted a complete blueprint of the first Bleriot XI. Though not 100% precise, it was sufficient for them to begin copying.

"We can't build the engine, but we can try the airframe," Ma Shifu reported to Chen Feng. "We're using premium fir shipped from Fujian, cut to the measured dimensions. The skin will be the finest linen, coated with three layers of shellac. Though it'll be fifteen percent heavier than the original, the strength should be adequate."

"First build an airframe skeleton," Chen Feng instructed. "No engine, no skin—just the frame. We need to test structural strength."

"It's already underway."

Everything seemed to be progressing in a positive direction.

Until that afternoon, during training, Charles suddenly said, "Mr. Chen, my contract expires in a week."

Chen Feng was looking at the plans, looked up: "I know. We hope to renew."

"I'm not renewing," the French pilot shook his head, "The conditions here are terrible, the sandstorms are too strong, I can't get used to the food and lodging. Moreover... I always feel you're secretly studying my aircraft."

"How could that be?" Chen Feng said without changing expression, "We are merely learning."

"Learning requires measuring the aircraft every night?" Charles sneered, "I'm not a fool, Mr. Chen. You want to copy, right?"

The conference room fell silent.

Wang Wenwu tried to speak to explain, but Chen Feng raised his hand to stop him.

"Yes," Chen Feng admitted calmly, "We want to learn advanced technology; what's wrong with that? We paid for the aircraft, paid to have you train us, we have the right to learn."

"The contract explicitly states no disassembly for study!"

"We haven't disassembled," Chen Feng pointed to the intact aircraft outside the window, "Aren't they just fine there?"

Charles was at a loss for words. Indeed, both aircraft were intact, at least on the surface.

"In short, I'm not renewing," the Frenchman insisted, "I'll leave in a week. Before I go, I'll finish the final training, but don't expect to get any more from me."

"Fine," Chen Feng nodded, "Then this week, please have Mr. Charles take the trainees up as often as possible. The fee follows the old rule: one hundred pounds per flight."

Hearing the money, Charles's expression improved: "That works."

After the Frenchman left the conference room, Wang Wenwu worried, "President, if he goes back and spreads rumors..."

"He won't," Chen Feng said confidently, "First, he has no evidence. Second, he's made a lot of money and doesn't want to cut off his revenue. Third, the French are now focused on Europe and can't spare attention for the Persian Gulf."

"But we still haven't mastered flight..."

"So this week is critical," Chen Feng looked out the window, where several trainees were performing routine checks beside the aircraft, "We must let them fly as much as possible, feel it more. Once Charles leaves, we'll have to rely on ourselves."

He paused, then added, "Also, our Swallow-I should start construction."

April 12, 1912, 3 p. m.

Charles left. Carrying a six‑thousand‑pound fee and a bellyful of complaints, he boarded the ship back to Faguo. Before departing, he did say a frank remark: "Among your trainees, a few have good talent. Especially Zhou Afu—bold and with a good feel."

The two Bleriot XIs remained at the base. Now they wholly belong to Lanfang.

"From today onward, we fly on our own," Chen Feng announced to everyone on the runway, "But I must stress three points: First, safety above all. Second, progress step by step. Third, never take risks."

Zhao Tianxiang was already able to get out of bed and walk, though his left arm was still bandaged. He stood beside Chen Feng, pointing at the aircraft with his functional right hand:

"I'll lead the flights first. Each time I take one person, we'll familiarize at low altitude and slow speed. Once everyone can handle takeoff and landing independently, we'll gradually lift the restrictions."

Training resumed.

With the prior foundation, the trainees improved quickly. By the end of April, eight could independently perform the basic takeoff, level flight, and landing maneuvers. Though the motions were still awkward and often quite bumpy, at least the aircraft could get airborne and land safely.

Zhou Afu was the most outstanding among them. On his fourth solo flight, he dared a shallow turn. On the fifth, he attempted a climb to five hundred meters—the current highest record at the base.

"How does it feel?" Chen Feng asked after each landing.

"Getting better and better!" Zhou Afu always replied, "President, I feel I was born to fly!"

May brought the desert's hottest season. Daytime ground temperature exceeded fifty degrees, so training could only occur at dawn and dusk. Even then, the cockpit was like a steam box; after a flight, the flight suit could be wrung dry.

Yet no one complained. Everyone held back a surge of determination, wanting to fly higher, farther, better.

May 18, tragedy struck.

At five p. m. that day, the temperature had dropped a bit. According to schedule, trainee Lin Guodong was to undergo high‑altitude adaptation training. He was an overseas Chinese youth, his father a merchant from Penang who sent him to Lanfang to study; he secretly entered the selection himself.

Lin Guodong was well‑educated, learned theory fastest, but his flying skill was average. This training aimed to make him overcome his fear of altitude—previously he became nervous at three hundred meters.

Zhao Tianxiang, still not fully recovered in his arm, couldn't lead flights. So this time Lin Guodong flew solo, with Zhao Tianxiang directing from the ground using flag signals.

"Pre‑flight check complete!" Lin Guodong shouted from the cockpit.

"Cleared for takeoff!" Zhao Tianxiang waved the green flag.

The Bleriot XI taxied, lifted off, and climbed. All normal.

When the aircraft climbed to four hundred meters, it began level flight. Lin Guodong, as instructed, flew a rectangular pattern over the base. On the third circuit, he suddenly began to climb—an unplanned maneuver.

From the ground control post, Zhao Tianxiang frowned and waved a yellow flag signaling "stop climbing."

But the aircraft kept climbing—five hundred meters, six hundred, seven hundred...