A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

The officer frowned and cursed under his breath, "Damn it! Shoot down a U-2 with a MiG? What a joke! Even the MiG's own family couldn't do that!"

"What a mess! The Alliance's own planes can't even hit the U-2, but their copy can? You know, everything has its own rules! How can a son be better than a father! What's more, this so-called 'son' isn't even the legitimate heir!"

The officer unleashed a string of profanities, spewing out words like "bastard" and "may he die without a burial place."

The Black Rat Squadron Leader appeared respectful on the surface, nodding and agreeing repeatedly, but his mind was already wandering far away.

"Wait a minute, are they trying to create a smokescreen? They're claiming it was a MiG fighter that shot it down, but actually using a SAM missile?" The officer rubbed his bald head, convinced he had figured out the truth.

"Uh, sir! Anyway, the U-2 has already been shot down. Does it really matter whether it was a SAM missile or an aircraft that did it?" The Black Rat Squadron Leader looked puzzled, adopting a humble and eager-to-learn demeanor.

Hmph, how could he not know the difference? One is an offensive move, the other a defensive one; the strategic implications are entirely different. But this superior has always been fond of playing the know-it-all; since he can't bring good news, why not flatter him and go along with his wishes?

To survive, it's not shameful!

"During your last call, the pilot reported that he encountered a large number of deployed missile sites?"

The officer glanced through the combat logs, ignoring the company commander's attempt to smooth things over.

“That’s true, but I think that’s just an excuse for him to desert his post. We know how many SAM missiles the Soviet Union sold, we…” The Black Rat Company Captain’s voice trailed off.

To be honest, the officer in charge at this time still exuded a certain oppressive aura.

The officer narrowed his eyes slightly: "Hmm? You can't even trust your own subordinates? Then should I also..."

The Black Rat Squadron Leader was covered in cold sweat. Damn it, we've weathered so many storms, are we going to capsize here?

"Subordinates deserve to die!"

The officer ignored him and turned his back on him.

"Whether it was really shot down by a MiG aircraft or not, I really want to know. This is a crucial step in determining our later attack plan..."

"This is an important parameter for weighing the strength of both sides! Zijing, I wonder if you can help me out of this predicament?"

"Yes, sir! No problem, sir! I don't know what to do, please instruct me!"

What nonsense! The Black Rat Squadron Leader isn't stupid; of course he knows what his superior means. He just wants to send another U-2 to patrol the area.

In technical terms, it means physically probing the bushes.

The Bald Eagles sent two U-2s last time; one was shot down, so there's still one left.

I forgot to mention, they bought these two planes with their own money. Paying out of their own pockets to purchase aircraft for reconnaissance, and then having to share the intelligence obtained with the US—what a selfless act…

They were simply chosen "working class" people, and even capitalists of later generations would probably be moved by their talent.

The plane is readily available, but the problem is the lack of pilots.

Especially for pilots of high-performance reconnaissance aircraft like the U-2, the technical requirements are extremely high! After all, the U-2 is extremely difficult to operate, and ordinary pilots simply cannot handle it. When pilots were initially selected for training, only two people passed the assessment, one of whom was Major Song, and the other was the squadron leader in front of us.

Okay, you get it now. The company commander said that in a last-ditch effort, trying to shirk this dangerous mission.

"Then get ready. Go and take pictures of where that person lives! I want to publish them in Time magazine!"

"Yes! I understand!"

The squadron leader walked away with a resolute expression. This decisive attitude surprised his superior, who turned around and followed his retreating figure with his gaze.

"Huh? He agreed to such a demanding request so readily... Could it be that I misunderstood him?"

"Zijing..." The officer reached out his left hand towards the company commander's back, as if trying to persuade him to stay.

"Yes, sir!"

The squadron leader walked quickly and had already arrived at the villa's entrance. Hearing his superior's call, he adopted the bald eagle's etiquette and gracefully crossed his legs on the villa's steps.

Unfortunately, the steps seemed too small for the squad leader's size 44 feet. His supporting leg wobbled, and with a cry of pain, he tumbled down the steps.

"Eh...ya~~ya ya!"

"Ah (fourth tone)...my hand...my knee!"

After a long while, the resilient black rat squad leader, dragging his obviously deformed arm, poked his head, still oozing blood, out from under the steps.

He let out a mournful cry: "Sir, I can still fly..."

The officer's outstretched left hand trembled twice before he weakly covered his face.

"The current situation... is so utterly corrupt..."

……

"A child's stomach can be terrifying!"

Donglaishun Restaurant, in the dining room.

After skating, Jiang Xia led his group to this place.

Don't say this kid is extravagant. After learning about these kids' backgrounds, don't you want to treat them to a nice meal?

Look at this little radish head, his father is so-and-so, that little girl, her mother's photo was featured in a propaganda poster in later generations.

I have never met him, yet I am deeply grateful for his kindness.

Now that the continuation of the bloodline of our predecessors is right before our eyes, hosting a banquet for them is like offering a toast to our predecessors.

A group of teenagers filled half the restaurant, and the empty plates were already piled up. Often, as soon as the waiters brought out the food, the impatient kids would dump the whole plate into the pot. After a stir, before the meat even floated to the surface, it would be gone in a flash.

Even the usually dignified and reserved "Iron Butterfly," at Jiang Dong's urging, completely lost her usual elegance, directly using chopsticks as knives and forks, skillfully stabbing each opponent accurately...

"Uncle, uncle, could you please make the butcher in the back hurry up a bit?"

Jiang Dong grabbed the waiter, blinking his big, watery puppy eyes and shamelessly trying to look cute.

The waiter who was pulled back wasn't annoyed. He patted Jiang Dong's head and said, "Hey, this is such a big store, we don't expect you to go hungry. Just wait and see what this uncle can do!"

A moment later, the uncle pushed a food cart piled high with plates and casually stopped next to Jiang Dong and the others.

"Eat slowly! The meat isn't cooked yet, or you'll get diarrhea when you get back! It's a rare treat, it would be a waste if you threw up!" Seeing that these kids wouldn't listen to reason, the waiter simply stood in front of Jiang Dong and the others and started cooking the meat for them.

The waiter grabbed his chopsticks, picked up several slices of meat, and with a quick flick of his wrist, rolled them up and lifted them again. When he placed them on the plate, the pile of meat slices had neatly spread out along the chopsticks, forming a flower shape.

"it is good!"

Jiang Dong led her friends in clapping, instantly boosting the waiter's emotional value.

"Eat quickly, eat quickly. It won't taste good if it gets cold. Uncle will keep heating it for you!" The uncle smiled and kept making little flowers for the children with his hands.

Jiang Xia sat at the table next to him, looking completely incredulous.

"Huh? Haidilao has appeared ahead of schedule?"