A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

Bald Eagle, Chantilly, Virginia.

A small, yellow truck, resembling a matchbox, bumped along in front of a row of typical rural farmhouses. The words "United States Postal Service" painted on the truck faded to a pale white in the sunlight. The tires rolled over the small garden in front of the houses, flattening a few wilted lavender plants, before coming to a steady stop under the porch.

"Is anyone there? This is today's special delivery!"

A man who looked like a postman lazily got off the bus and dragged a round, barrel-shaped object out of the carriage.

"Is nobody here? Old Ford! Are you there?"

Seeing that no one responded, the mailman impatiently threw the gas cylinder onto the porch of the house, the heavy cylinder making a dull thud.

"Always like this, playing dead as soon as a package arrives, huh? What a waste of such a big farm, trying to skimp on even a small tip?"

As if still not satisfied, the postman kicked the gas cylinder.

Hmm, what would happen if those big-toed shoes collided with this kind of special alloy steel?

Naturally, words starting with F will keep popping up.

"Old Ford, don't expect me to deliver your next package!"

"That cheapskate will rot in this run-down farm sooner or later."

After the postman limped away, cursing and swearing, the door of the hut creaked open, and a typical redneck old man emerged from inside. He looked around, then carried the cylinder into the hut with one hand.

The heavy cylinder pressed against the wooden floor, producing an unpleasant creaking sound.

Move the long wooden table in the middle of the restaurant, and use your foot to pry open the carpet whose color is no longer discernible, revealing a hidden copper ring on the floor.

As the hidden door was lifted, a cloud of dust rose up. He climbed down with his back turned, the steel cylinder in his hand scraping against the wooden ladder with a screeching sound.

After a long while, a disheveled middle-aged woman slowly walked into the restaurant, restored the scene, poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down in a chair, and stared at the hidden entrance, seemingly lost in thought.

……

The redneck old man walked through the tunnel to a guarded gate, flashed his pass at the armed guard, and casually greeted him, "John, you groundhog, how long has it been since you've seen the blue sky outside?"

The guard, sporting a large belly, unceremoniously accepted the pass handed to him by the redneck old man and examined it carefully.

"Blue sky? When there's a huge threat to the blue sky, I'd rather die of old age in this bunker!"

As long as I can be with these adorable donuts and beautiful women, my life will be perfect!

John, heavily pregnant, muttered to himself as he took a few laborious steps, trying to push open the iron gate beside him.

"Threat? With this, what threat can't we face! After all, nipping danger in the bud is our specialty!"

"Ouch! Watch out..."

Just as old man Ford was still rambling on, John's big belly knocked over the small television on the guard's console.

Fortunately, the still-vigorous old man Ford steadied it, preventing the large, clunky TV from falling to the ground.

With just a flick of the finger, the nameplate on the small TV somehow fell off.

"Hey? Old John, why does this TV have two brands?"

Old Ford looked at the sign in his hand, then at the three square characters on the small TV, and asked with some doubt.

"Oh, it was the dismantling department that did it. They bought a machine from France at a high price, dismantled it for a long time, and then threw it into the junkyard. I saw that this screen had a cable TV signal interface, so I moved it here to use!"

Old John winked at old Ford as he laboriously shook open the large iron gate.

“We can’t waste taxpayers’ money! But this little TV is clearer than the old security camera. I saw the mailman kick your gas cylinder. Should I file a complaint with USPS for you?”

"Pfft... He broke his foot, but the bottle is still the same. Could he really break an SRV (return capsule) that can withstand 3000 degrees Celsius with a single kick?"

Redneck Ford clutched the nameplate that had fallen from the TV screen: "French chicken? High price? Tsk tsk, looks like a lot happened at home while I was on the Corona aerial recovery project!"

After the heavy iron door opened, a command hall that was absolutely modern for the time appeared before the two of them.

In the center is a huge display consisting of multiple monitors, and next to the monitors are various electronic devices.

Many people were busy in their respective equipment rooms.

Redneck Ford dragged the gas cylinder into the hall, trying to make some noise to attract attention, when he heard a voice shout:

"Behold!"

"Behold!"

"Behold!"

Redneck Ford looked up and saw a middle-aged man with yellow skin in a suit raising his right hand, dramatically spinning it several times in the air, before slowly bowing to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give our hero a round of applause!"

Sparse applause rang out.

The middle-aged man frowned, somewhat displeased.

"What? Mr. Ford accomplished the most innovative technology of our time! He used a modified C-119 transport plane to hook onto the return capsule launched from Corona at an altitude of 4500 meters. Isn't this a feat worthy of your cheers!"

Only then did the "farm" employees applaud perfunctorily again, but after a short while, each of them dispersed with their own documents in hand.

"Oh... my old friend, I was planning to give you a grand welcome gift, but unfortunately, I seem to have messed it up..."

The middle-aged man with yellow skin shrugged awkwardly: "You see, discrimination is everywhere in this country. Even though I'm already a department head, it's still the same..."

"Hahaha……"

Old Ford put down the gas cylinder he was carrying and gave the middle-aged man with yellow skin a warm hug.

"King! My old friend, forget about those 'employees,' as long as you're happy for me, that's enough!"

"Hahahaha!" Uncle Jin and Old Ford patted each other's chests and backs enthusiastically, warming up for a while.

"Come on! Knowing you were coming back early this morning, I specially prepared Intelligentsia Coffee. It's top-quality coffee, just air-freighted from the plantation. I guarantee you'll never taste anything like it..."

After the warm greeting was over, Uncle Jin pulled Old Ford's arm and led him to his office.

On the way, Uncle Jin glanced at the cylindrical container: "How's the return capsule doing?"

“It’s wonderful! This newly launched satellite has improved equipment, and the return capsule that was ejected this time,” said Old Ford, patting the large cylinder with pride, “contains 915 meters of film, which can cover an area of ​​about 427 million square kilometers, and the resolution has been improved from the initial 80 centimeters to 0.6 meters!”

"Wow! That's amazing! Hey, this satellite must have passed over that red country..."

"Old Ford, I have a favor to ask..."

Old Ford took the coffee from Uncle Kim, sipped it a few times, and said, "It's truly wonderful! A silky smooth and incredibly enjoyable experience..."

While sipping his coffee, Old Ford kicked the large cylinder to Uncle Kim with his foot: "Alright, I know what you want."

"The position of head of intelligence for the Asia-Pacific region must be difficult to hold, right?"

"I'll give you a day. I hope you can discover something good from it!"

"Oh... Brother, thank you! You have no idea how much trouble this yellow skin has caused me..."

"You're too kind. The essence of the fraternity is mutual help! Without you, my son's company wouldn't have turned a profit so quickly!"

"Haha, that's all thanks to your son's talent. I was just offering some encouragement..."

Uncle Jin was a shrewd man. When Old Ford agreed to let him take the "cylinder," he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he stayed in the office with Old Ford, slowly sipping coffee. While sipping, he praised Old Ford's son as if he were the best in the world, a child prodigy.

In his speech, Uncle Jin not only mentioned Ford's son, but also gave a thorough praise to the "Continental 1939" produced by his son's factory.

This made Old Ford squint and laugh nonstop.

It sounds nice...

Praise me more...

Because Ford was deeply involved in the design of this model, he was extremely pleased with the launch of "Kwak Gold".

Gradually, the fatigue of the past few days overwhelmed Old Ford, and he tilted his head to the side and began to snore loudly.

Uncle Jin covered him with a blanket before carrying the cylinder out the door.

"Old Ford is too tired, none of you should disturb him. Johnson, come with me, we'll deal with this..."

Another young man with yellow skin stood up from the corner and walked hesitantly to Uncle Jin's side.

"Yes! Supervisor!"