Chapter 3

Dong Lei is an air traffic controller at Xiucheng Airport. This job sounds impressive, but in reality, it's just so-so. He spends his days from eight in the morning to five in the evening, with strict air traffic control in place and a pitifully small number of civilian aircraft in the 1980s. In a remote small city like Xiucheng, there are hardly any incoming passenger planes that need guidance or control.

Fortunately, Xiucheng has an Air Force flight school, and the airport outside the city is home to an Air Force training unit equipped with two HJ-5 bombers and about ten CJ-6 and JJ-5 trainers. The economy wasn't doing well in those days, and even the Air Force was short on resources. Flight school students might not even log double-digit flight hours in a month.

It's easy to imagine how monotonous Dong Lei's work would be under such conditions. Day after day, he stares at the radar control screen, which often shows no changes for hours on end. This boring and mundane life makes one question the value of their existence.

Dong Lei brewed a cup of tea, the rising steam providing one of his few ways to relax. Being part of the military, he couldn't pass the time with magazines like "Playboy" while on duty. The tea wasn't particularly good, though it smelled fragrant, it had a bitter taste.

After drinking the hot tea, he felt more relaxed. The scorching weather in August made even thinking a luxury, but the hot water gave him a sense of internal and external comfort.

Dong Lei squinted his eyes, his mind wandering. In two days, he would have a holiday, and he might visit the city. Recently, he had made a pen pal through a literary magazine, and they had agreed to exchange photos in their next letter. This would be a good opportunity to take a photo in the city.

Although his mind wasn't on work, his peripheral vision remained on the radar screen—after all, it was so large that he couldn't look away.

Suddenly, Dong Lei noticed a green dot flashing on the radar screen. It took him a few seconds to realize what this meant. There were no training plans for the airport today, which he had confirmed when he started his shift.

If it were an Air Force or civilian aircraft passing by, there would have been a notification. Dong Lei recalled, but no one had informed him of any temporary flight activity.

He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The mechanical radar scanned every five seconds, and after five seconds, the green dot was still on the screen. Dong Lei realized what he had discovered.

An aircraft! An unregistered aircraft! After two radar scans, the target's data appeared on his screen. It was traveling at 420 km/h and increasing. In just two scans, the speed had increased to 770 km/h!

Keep in mind, the cruising speed of the J-6, China's main fighter jet at the time, was only 900 km/h!

Soviets? Japanese? Americans? Dong Lei felt his hair stand on end. The imperialists' desire to destroy us never dies; this must be an enemy reconnaissance aircraft!

However, when Dong Lei read the data of the aircraft, he was stunned.

Flight altitude: 233 meters. The radar cross-section indicated a wingspan of less than 1.5 meters! Is this an aircraft? It's too small to fit a person!

Could it be an alien spacecraft? Sci-fi literature was quite popular in the 1980s, and Dong Lei's mind wandered in that direction.

Regardless, he took a deep breath and grabbed the red telephone handset!

"Hey, slow down! Slow down! Brother Hai, I can't see our plane anymore!"

Lu Daming held a pair of binoculars, scanning the blue sky frantically.

In the 1980s, cars were scarce in Xiucheng, making it easy to find an empty road. After a short run, the assembled F-14 jet engine model aircraft gracefully took to the sky.

The model's maneuverability far exceeded that of a real fighter jet. Although the simplified small turbojet engine only provided about 12 kg of thrust, the model's light weight made it highly agile. The F-22 has a thrust-to-weight ratio of 1.2 to 1.4, allowing for many impressive maneuvers. But compared to models with thrust-to-weight ratios of 7 or even 10, it was still lacking.

Even a brick could fly with a powerful enough engine, and with an excellent aerodynamic design, the model's speed was so high that the limited view through the binoculars couldn't keep up. Due to material limitations, Hu Wenhai's F-14 model weighed about 7 kg, with a thrust-to-weight ratio of 1.7, which was not particularly impressive in the modeling world.

Hu Wenhai stood in front of three two-meter-high antennas, connected to a remote control strapped to his waist. The remote control had at least a dozen joysticks and buttons. He stared intently at the small black dot in the sky, operating the controls rapidly.

"Brother Hai, this thing really can fly!" Hu Hu, who didn't have binoculars, strained to see the model in the sky.

Although he had been involved in the entire manufacturing process of the model, even contributing to many key components, seeing it soar in the sky still left Hu Hu in awe.

It was fast, too fast. At nearly 800 km/h, it would be manageable at several thousand meters, but at just 200-300 meters, it was easy to lose sight of it.

Every time the model passed overhead, the engine's roar, identical to a real aircraft, made his blood boil.

Hu Hu, in his mid-twenties, had been playing with model aircraft for four or five years. He started with assembled models, then moved to catapult and towed models, and electric fan models were considered high-end. Those who could afford electric heat engines were the standard rich and handsome in China. Just having money wasn't enough; the knowledge required was beyond most individual entrepreneurs of the time.

But compared to Hu Wenhai's turbojet model...

Hu Hu felt that everything he had played with before was garbage. What electric heat engine could reach 700 km/h? Could it produce the same engine roar as a real aircraft?

Moreover, Hu Wenhai had recreated the F-14 fighter jet in full scale based on his memory, and the paint job made it almost indistinguishable from the real thing.

Not just Chinese in the 1980s, even Americans hadn't played with such advanced models.

However, the most surprised person on the scene was not Hu Hu, but Hu Shiwu. As an eighth-level worker, his technical skills were far beyond his worker status. As a pillar of the 501 factory, he had processed countless military parts and even worked on aviation engines.

But that's why he knew that miniaturizing a turbojet engine wasn't just a matter of scaling down. It required a complete redesign. The knowledge required for designing a turbojet engine was far beyond what a high school sophomore could grasp.

The higher one's knowledge, the more one realizes how little they know. From Hu Shiwu's perspective, the engine on this small model was not just a toy but a perfect balance of design, craftsmanship, and efficiency.

Such industrial design and knowledge mastery, if not seen with his own eyes, Hu Shiwu would never have believed it came from his grandson.

But, who cares! Hu Shiwu smiled happily. This is his grandson, a Hu family descendant, of course, he's extraordinary!

By the roadside, the four people who had participated in the F-14 model's construction all smiled contentedly.

However, just a few minutes after the model took off, a louder buzzing sound came from the sky. A deep green CJ-6 appeared, flying slowly. It had a maximum speed of only 286 km/h, but the airport was close, which is why the radar detected the small model at 200 meters.

To the surprise of the people on the ground, the CJ-6 flew a low pass at 100 meters. Hu Wenhai, with his 1.0 vision, could clearly see the instructor in the back seat taking photos of the four people on the ground.

But the most surprised people at that moment were the two pilots in the CJ-6.

"Instructor, I'm not seeing things, right? That's a model aircraft?" The third-year student, An Fu, who was piloting the plane, made a wide turn and slowly climbed to 300 meters.

The F-14 model was about 50 meters below his plane, returning from the horizon at a speed far exceeding the CJ-6. Even the slowest among them, Hu Wenhai, knew he was in trouble again. Air traffic control in the 1980s was strict, and with the limited number of flying objects and the tense strategic situation around China, being caught was not surprising.

"What, what do we do? Should we leave quickly?"

"Leave? Where to?" Hu Wenhai, noticing Lu Daming's pale face, controlled the model to land smoothly and shook his head. "Didn't you see that CJ-6 monitoring us? Wait here, someone will come soon."