Chapter 71: Forget Boeing, We Want a Literary Giant

Today was finally the start of the airshow phase. I’ll be posting two chapters for now to catch my breath, and tomorrow I’ll continue pushing forward as planned. I hope all readers will keep supporting me.

Looking at the large wooden crates being unloaded from the car, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied—these two months of hard work were about to make their formal debut before the Western “animal army.” When the time comes, those Westerners are in for a surprise.

Having personally overseen the process of loading the model aircraft onto the train and sealing them with tin tags, Yang Hui no longer needed to worry about the models. A dedicated team would escort them all the way to the port, where they would be loaded onto a cargo ship bound for the Mediterranean, then transferred overland, and finally arrive at the warehouse in Paris.

A new day began. The four members selected from the base boarded a train back to the capital, for only the national airline there could fly them to France. This time, the four representing the base were Yang Hui, Director Bai, Yang Yue, and Xie Lianfa, whom Yang Hui had personally recommended. In Yang Hui’s opinion, Xie was a bit overqualified for just a technical role—his vision marked him as someone worthy of cultivation. Who knew, maybe one day he’d join Old Wu in aircraft trade. Talented people who understand both technology and business are truly rare.

So, swaying along, they returned to the capital they had left just a month and a half ago. It was now early June, and they needed to book tickets to France. Passports and visas were already in order, but securing plane tickets proved tricky.

Old Wu, sitting in his office, explained to the four who had just arrived in the capital, “There are only a few flights by the national airline; all the 707 tickets are sold out. The others go to Germany or the UK. We could also take the Il-62, which will fly to Paris in a few days.”

Upon hearing the word “Boeing,” Yang Hui immediately recalled that previous incident and was filled with inexplicable distrust. Take a Boeing again? Wasn’t that just asking for trouble? Even if the Americans didn’t yet have the ability to remotely control the 707, it was best to make a habit of not flying with Boeing.

“Old Wu, let’s not take the 707. Doesn’t the national airline have the Il-62? Let’s take that instead.”

But what kind of plane is the Il-62? It was a Soviet airliner, a heavyweight rivaling the 707, a pinnacle of early Soviet civil aviation. Even into the next century, it would occasionally be seen—for instance, the Kim dynasty’s official plane was one of these. At this time, the national airline had five Il-62s imported since ’71, so it was certainly possible to fly one. Whether or not they experienced capitalist planes was irrelevant—the main thing was business.

“Alright, having a plane to take is good enough. Let’s go with the Il-62, though it’s a bit noisy. I’ve taken it once before.” Clearly, the Il-62 had left Wu with a deep impression; otherwise, he would have booked it straight away instead of coming back to discuss.

With tickets secured, Yang Hui and Yang Yue took the rare opportunity to return home for a few days to rest and spend time with their families. On June 13th, Yang Hui and the whole team boarded their flight to Paris.

On the runway, the Il-62 stood out with its four engines mounted at the tail. Its most distinctive feature was the fourth landing gear at the tail, or tail stand, designed to support the aircraft when on the ground, given its heavy rear. Without it, the plane would sit on its tail.

This time, Yang Hui and the others were lucky enough to get seats in the front. Once settled, the plane took off. Aircraft with tail-mounted engines are sometimes grandly called “the fighter jets of commercial aviation” because, with the center of gravity at the rear, their noses pitch up steeply during takeoff, making them appear more “aggressive” than their wing-mounted counterparts. Yang Hui suddenly thought this might be the real reason why the battle-hardened Russians were so obsessed with this design.

Old Wu’s previous impression of the Il-62 was completely overturned. “Who would have thought—the noise in the front cabin is so low. It’s nothing like last time.”

That one sentence summed up the pros and cons of tail-mounted engines. Among commercial airliners, McDonnell Douglas was a staunch advocate of tail-mounted engines, always touting their advantages—one being reduced noise. But anyone who’s flown on such planes knows that the noise level in the front and rear cabins is worlds apart. The front is far from the engines and quiet, while the rear, close to the engines, is a test of endurance. McDonnell Douglas’s claim was, therefore, somewhat one-sided—focusing on the head and ignoring the tail.

As the plane climbed to cruising altitude, there was little more to say—time for some casual conversation.

The Il-62 and the Republic once had a brush with fate. Back in the day, the Republic had the chance to fully introduce and manufacture this 160-ton behemoth. In the early 1980s, the Soviets, hoping to ease pressure on their eastern front and improve relations, offered the Il-62 as a gesture. But by that time, the pro-Western faction of businessman-designers had taken charge, and ties with the Soviets were being cut. Using the excuse that “we have the Yun-10,” they rejected the offer, missing out on a golden opportunity and pressing on with the Yun-10—which, in the end, was killed off by the businessmen, beyond all hope of revival.

Thus, the Republic’s path to developing large commercial aircraft became even more arduous. Had they introduced the Il-62, things might have turned out differently. As for how, readers can imagine for themselves. At least during the Soviet era, the Russians were trustworthy—unlike Boeing, which had no bottom line.

After a long flight, the team finally arrived in Paris. Taking one last look at the handsome “The Writer”—as the Il-62 was nicknamed—Yang Hui and the six others participating in the exhibition exited the airport.

They also brought along two model aircraft as insurance, in case the sea shipment was delayed. Both models would take part in the demonstration. They loaded the crates onto a pickup truck and split into two groups, planning to regroup at the embassy in the evening.

Old Wu led one group to claim the shipment that had arrived by sea, while Director Bai took the other to finalize the assembly and testing of the two models brought by air and to find accommodations near the airshow.

Staying at one of the big hotels near Le Bourget was out of the question, so with the help of a cheerful pickup driver, they found a small inn run by a Chinese-French owner. The boss, with his touch of Eastern heritage, humorously introduced himself:

“My great-great-grandfather was sent to France as a laborer during World War I. After the war, the home country abandoned them. These laborers worked in factories far behind the front lines, so after the war they had decent jobs. In the end, it was the enthusiastic French widows who took care of these Chinese husbands when the authorities wouldn’t.”

Yang Hui had no comment—history simply took its course. When booking rooms, the owner learned that they shared a common heritage and were aircraft designers from the Republic, here for the airshow.

The owner was excited, patting his chest and instructing the receptionist to charge them the lowest possible rate. A dedicated aviation enthusiast, this small boss had done well for himself and had even secured professional day tickets to the airshow, which required payment and were the only way to see the best exhibits.

They moved their crates into the inn’s basement, which had originally been a small garage but was now unused and perfectly suitable. When the time came, they could back the pickup right in, load the models, and head straight for the airfield for the flight demo.

Opening the crates, they took out the models. These two were no longer in their test-flight, high-visibility military liveries. Yang Hui had personally designed new paint schemes that better suited Western tastes, dressing the models in “capitalist clothing”—they now looked every inch the Masters’ standard. They’d be sure to turn heads.

The engines, sold separately, weren’t left bare either; painting was essential. One was a glossy red, the other a light blue. Even the control stand had been repainted—gone was the utilitarian look, replaced with a sleek silver-gray for a high-tech feel. Only with such details could the models exude an aura of advanced aviation technology—impressive, even if you didn’t know what you were looking at.

Xie Lianfa, who had gone out to source fuel and propane, returned with two cans of properly mixed fuel and set them aside. For the test run, a small amount was added to the models. With propane fed in, the engines started smoothly, fuel transition and control surfaces all operated perfectly. Everything was ready for the demonstration flight at the airshow in two days.