Squadron Leader Yang Wei moved closer to the maintenance chief, verbally comforting him while secretly harboring some schadenfreude after being teased earlier.
But when he saw the detailed combat records downloaded from the Moebius and the current performance data of the unit, both his and the maintenance chief's eyes widened like copper gongs.
"Can you do this?"
The maintenance chief, having completely forgotten about reprimanding his subordinate, rapidly scrolled through the parameters on the computer.
Meanwhile, Squadron Leader Yang Wei scrutinized the footage of his subordinate Wang Hu frame by frame, looking as though he wanted to press his eyeballs right against the screen.
After a long moment, Yang Wei rubbed his eyes, feeling like the new generation had utterly surpassed the old.
There was also that sense of having thought himself skilled enough to mentor the younger generation, only to realize the so-called "junior" had reached heights he might never achieve in his lifetime.
"I can't," Yang Wei admitted bluntly.
"My brain says I understand, but my body tells me there's no way I can replicate it."
"I see…"
The maintenance chief sighed. He had hoped Wang Hu's experience could be replicated across the entire military—so many bright young men wouldn't have to lose their lives, and their families and the public could shed fewer tears.
"Really impossible?"
Unable to accept it, he pressed again.
Yang Wei didn't answer immediately this time. Frowning deeply, he mentally simulated the maneuvers, his hands and feet twitching slightly as if he were in the cockpit, piloting a fighter through the cosmos.
"It's difficult. Extremely difficult. Maybe I could manage a little during drills or training."
"But in actual combat? Nearly impossible."
After running through the simulation, Yang Wei understood his old friend's hopes, but the truth was the truth.
This wasn't about pride—it was about lives. His answer couldn't be dishonest.
"Fine. If you can't do it, maybe others can."
Hearing his friend's answer, the maintenance chief didn't push further. He knew Yang Wei's principles.
"As a maintenance chief, I don't actually want every kid pulling stunts like this anyway."
To ease his friend's burden, he changed the subject.
"Look at this—Wang Hu nearly wrecked the Moebius' engine in one sortie."
"This thing's rated for a thousand hours of operation, but he burned through that in a single mission."
"Replacing engines on a warship mid-combat is going to be the death of me."
Yang Wei chuckled.
"Well then, old friend, I'd better study Wang Hu's techniques hard."
Glancing at his old friend who said one thing but meant another, Yang Wei said cheerfully:
"It's inevitable that such intense maneuvers would strain the engines, but compared to your hard work, it's better if everyone strives to master his techniques."
"Mm." The maintenance squad leader nodded heavily upon hearing this. He genuinely hoped all pilots in the army could achieve Wang Hu's level of skill.
Even if it meant his entire maintenance squad worked themselves to death, it would be worth it.
He believed all maintenance personnel in the army felt the same way.
Meanwhile, Wang Hu—the subject of their discussion—was in the pilots' dedicated lounge, sharing his experience with surviving comrades.
What? You say teaching apprentices might starve the master?
Nonsense!
The concept of keeping skills secret has never been popular in East Asia, much less taken root in the East Asian military!
Holding up a Moebius model, Wang Hu explained a series of operational details and precautions with meticulous thoroughness.
"Wang Hu."
After he finished, Li Chengzhi looked around at the awestruck expressions directed at Wang Hu.
After some thought, he asked, "Is it really possible? Using Vulcan Cannons and autocannons for such maneuvers?"
"Why not?" Wang Hu set down the model and pointed at his own nose.
"If it weren't for the limitations of the machine's performance, I could have taken down at least two more GINN units."
"And here I am, standing alive right in front of you, aren't I?"
"I know that." Li Chengzhi tried to organize the storm of thoughts in his mind.
"According to the principle of relative forces, what you're saying is theoretically feasible."
"But..."
Staring fixedly at Wang Hu, who now seemed almost superhuman in his eyes, the thought of calculating all those interacting forces in such a short time...
Then using those elements to make a Space Fighter perform atmospheric combat maneuvers...
Covering his forehead with one hand, Li Chengzhi—who had always seen Wang Hu as his greatest rival and goal—couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
"Wang Hu... you're not a Coordinator, are you?"
A comrade in the lounge hesitantly raised his hand like a kindergarten child timidly asking the teacher for permission to use the bathroom.
"Even if I were a Coordinator, couldn't I still be an East Asian soldier?"
Wang Hu pointed at the metal deck beneath his feet and said with a smile,
"Here, if you join us, you're East Asian."
"Right!" Li Chengzhi snapped out of his daze and loudly agreed.
"Unlike other nations, here we only have one identity—sons of Zhonghua."
"Even if Wang Hu were a Coordinator, so what? He's got Zhonghua blood in his veins, fighting for our homeland's century of peace—that's all that matters!"
"No no, that's not what I meant," the soldier who spoke first quickly waved his hands at his glaring comrades.
Scratching his head, he explained, "I don't have any prejudice against Coordinators—that kind of discrimination doesn't exist here anyway."
"What I meant was Wang Hu's maneuvers are so incredible that even a Coordinator couldn't pull them off."
"Oh?" Wang Hu raised an eyebrow at this and addressed the group.
"The myths of other lands always say how humans should serve the gods, using their piety to earn divine assistance."
"But I remember our traditions celebrate the Foolish Old Man who moved mountains and the belief that man can conquer nature."
"The moment you start thinking 'I can't do this' or 'It's impossible'..."
"That's when you're destined to become a failure. Think of our ancestors, think of our history."
"Our forebears carried loads on their shoulders and pulled carts to make future generations stand tall."
"They defended our homeland when surrounded by enemies on all sides."
"That time was exactly like this time. They never gave up then - how can we give up now?"
"I understand, I understand."
As Wang Hu finished speaking, the soldiers in the rest room had a gleam in their eyes.
The same soldier clenched his fists, heart surging with emotion.
"You should be a political instructor. But you don't need to tell us - the word 'surrender' isn't in our dictionary."
"Right!" Wang Hu raised his voice, punching the air forcefully.
"Friends get fine wine; jackals get hunting rifles. We'll never yield, never despair!"
"Yeah!" The group's morale soared.
"What's wrong, Chengzhi? You've gone quiet."
Noticing his friend's unusual silence amid the high spirits, Wang Hu looked at him curiously.
"No, nothing. I was just thinking about something."
"I might need to rely on old connections."
Choosing his words carefully, Li Chengzhi looked seriously at Wang Hu.
"Moebius's performance limits you. I want to see more - much more - of your power."
(End of chapter)