170: Chapter 80 Air Force Beginnings

In the early morning of early spring, twelve silver-white biplanes were lined up neatly at the newly built airfield outside Jinling City.

The eastern horizon was just beginning to turn a pale, fish-belly white, and the morning light slanted through the gaps in the clouds, plating the surface of the wings with a soft golden halo, as if draping these giant steel birds in a cloak woven from the morning glow.

That was the Aviation Squadron gifted by the system.

Ever since they were "manifested," Li Ling had been secretly planning to establish an official Air Force.

Now, this plan was finally coming to fruition—within three months, the airfield had transformed from a piece of wasteland into a rudimentary flight base, with leveled runways, towering hangars, and fuel and ammunition depots all in place, everything proceeding according to plan.

The airfield was built in an emergency over three months—the runway was eight hundred meters long and thirty meters wide, with a surface compacted with gravel and clay; although it could not compare to the concrete runways of later generations, it was perfectly adequate for this type of light biplane.

On both sides of the runway were several rows of simple wooden hangars, painted with dark green camouflage, making them nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding woods when viewed from the air.

Beside the hangars were the fuel depot, ammunition depot, pilot barracks, and the command tower—the command tower was a three-story wooden building with a tall flagpole on top, from which the military flag of the Qingxia Kingdom fluttered, snapping in the morning breeze.

Li Ling stood on the command tower, his hands resting on the wooden railing, watching the aircraft on the airfield in the distance, a feeling both familiar and strange welling up in his heart.

In his previous life, as a military industrial expert, he knew the principles and structures of aircraft like the back of his hand—aerodynamics, propulsion systems, flight control theory, material mechanics... but those were twenty-first-century jet fighters, with engines boasting tens of thousands of horsepower, supersonic flight speeds, and precise fly-by-wire flight controls.

The biplanes before him were more like precious antiques to him—carrying the warmth of history and the limitations of the era, yet filled with infinite possibilities.

They were like a baby that had just learned to walk; although wobbly, every step pointed toward a broader future.

"Commander Zhao Peng, report the specific parameters again," Li Ling said to the Aviation Squadron commander beside him.

Commander Zhao Peng stood at attention, his voice loud and exceptionally clear in the morning air: "Reporting to Your Majesty! This batch of 'Qingyun-1' biplanes has a wingspan of twelve meters, a length of eight point five meters, and a maximum takeoff weight of one thousand two hundred kilograms; they are equipped with a three-hundred-horsepower radial air-cooled piston engine, with a maximum speed of one hundred eighty kilometers per hour and a cruising speed of one hundred fifty kilometers per hour; the service ceiling is four thousand meters, and the maximum range is five hundred kilometers; the weapon payload consists of four fifty-kilogram aerial bombs or two one-hundred-kilogram aerial bombs—using a mechanical bomb sight, the bombing accuracy in a dive can reach a circular error of fifty meters; the nose is equipped with a seven point six two millimeter synchronized machine gun with five hundred rounds of ammunition, firing through the gap in the rotating propeller, with an effective range of eight hundred meters. One pilot, one crew member—an observer and bombardier."

Li Ling nodded, his gaze resting on that row of silver-white wings.

The wings were a biplane structure, with metal struts and steel cables connecting the upper and lower wing surfaces, the surface covered in lacquered canvas, shimmering with a delicate luster in the morning light.

"A range of five hundred kilometers means that, taking off from Jinling, we can cover the entire middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River.

If we deploy temporary forward airfields at the front lines, we can even cover the northern provinces.

Although the bomb load is not large—the total weight of four fifty-kilogram bombs is only two hundred kilograms—the power of a single fifty-kilogram bomb is enough to destroy an artillery position or a sturdy bunker.

Against those warlord troops still using earth and wood fortifications, this is practically a dimension-reduction strike."

"Your Majesty is brilliant!" Commander Zhao Peng's eyes shone. "Moreover, the maintenance of this aircraft is very simple—the engine adopts a modular design and can be disassembled and repaired in field conditions using the most basic tools; the fuselage structure is a wooden frame with canvas skin, which is also very convenient to repair; as long as there is wood and fabric, temporary patches can be made.

The supporting maintenance team provided by the system is already fully in place, with two mechanics assigned to each aircraft, fully capable of ensuring a sortie rate of over eighty percent under front-line conditions."

Li Ling turned and walked down the command tower, the wooden steps creaking under his feet.

Commander Zhao Peng followed closely behind, his footsteps exceptionally clear in the silence of the early morning.

They crossed the runway and arrived beside the first aircraft.

Li Ling reached out and touched the canvas-covered wing—the surface of the canvas was coated with a layer of waterproof varnish, feeling somewhat rough but pulled very tight, and he could feel the outline of the wooden frame underneath.

He pressed it gently, and the canvas sagged slightly before springing back, carrying a resilient tension.

"How is the training of the first batch of pilots going?" he asked, his gaze not leaving the aircraft.

A complicated expression appeared on Commander Zhao Peng's face, as if he were holding back laughter: "Your Majesty, the training progress is faster than expected, but there have been some… hmm… interesting incidents.

The first batch of twenty pilots were all elites selected from the Army and Navy; there were no problems with their physical fitness or reaction speeds.

But their understanding of aircraft was still at the stage of 'iron birds'—some were so scared they didn't dare to open their eyes the first time they boarded, keeping them closed the entire time they were taken up and brought down by the instructor; some called for their mothers in the air, their voices so loud they could be heard on the ground; and others knelt directly on the ground and kissed the runway after getting off the plane, muttering 'bless the Earth God.'"

Li Ling could not help but laugh, his laughter carrying far across the empty airfield, startling several sparrows that were preening their feathers on the eaves of the hangar.

He understood the pilots' feelings all too well—for people accustomed to walking on land, being suddenly sent to an altitude of several hundred meters with only a layer of canvas skin and a wooden frame beneath them, that kind of fear was etched into their bones, an instinctive reaction left over from millions of years of evolution.

When he first flew in a plane back then, although he pretended to be calm and collected on the surface, his palms were wet, and his legs were weak for quite a while after landing.

"And then?"

"And then…" Commander Zhao Peng suppressed his smile, his expression becoming serious. "That book, 'Introduction to Flight Principles,' that Your Majesty left behind played a huge role.

The system printed the key chapters you marked into booklets and distributed them to everyone.

Some trained during the day and read by flashlight at night, the light shining from under their covers until late at night; some tore the book into pages and pasted them at the head of their beds, the first thing they did every morning was to read a page, and they even recited lift formulas in their dreams; others used branches to draw airfoil cross-sections in the sand, drawing and erasing, drawing and erasing, until all the airfoil parameters were engraved in their minds.

Now, those twenty people have all completed their independent takeoff and landing training, and five of them possess the preliminary ability for night flight—they can complete takeoffs and landings with only moonlight and ground signal lights, with an error of no more than twenty meters."

Li Ling nodded with satisfaction.

That 'Introduction to Flight Principles' was written by him overnight, combining his own aviation knowledge from his previous life with considerations for the conditions of this era, explaining the principles of flight in the simplest language—what is lift, what is drag, what is a stall, what is a spin—with each concept accompanied by simple, easy-to-understand hand-drawn illustrations.

He deliberately avoided overly complex mathematical formulas, opting instead to use examples from daily life as analogies: just like a kite, as long as the angle and wind speed are appropriate, it can fly; the same logic applies to aircraft.

"Continue training," Li Ling said, his gaze becoming serious. "But do not just practice flying.

I want you to practice bombing, shooting, formation flying, and reconnaissance.

War is not a performance; it will not spare you just because you fly beautifully.

Every pilot must practice combat subjects until they form muscle memory before actual combat arrives—that kind of muscle memory that can be executed even with eyes closed.

Because on a real battlefield, you have no time to think; you can only rely on instinct."

"Yes!" Commander Zhao Peng stood at attention and saluted, turning to convey the order.

Li Ling stood alone by the runway, watching an aircraft taxi, lift its wheels, leave the ground, and ascend in the morning light.

The silver-white figure flew higher and higher, the roar of the engine echoing across the empty airfield, startling several early-rising birds on the treetops in the distance.

Those birds flapped their wings and took flight, circling the aircraft a few times, curiously observing this "giant steel bird" that had intruded into their airspace—they seemed to be wondering why this thing had no feathers yet flew higher than they did.

Li Ling looked up at the arc the plane carved into the blue sky; the roar of the engine rolled overhead like a low rumble of thunder. That arc was fluid and graceful, bearing a caution and tentativeness unique to a novice—the pilot was still adapting to the sky, and the sky was still adapting to this sudden visitor.

"System," he said in his mind, his voice drowned out by the engine, yet the system clearly captured every word. "Tell me, in a few years, will these planes be able to fly higher, faster, and farther?"

[Host, according to the system's technology tree progress, the design blueprints for monoplanes can be unlocked in approximately two years. The speed of such aircraft will exceed 250 kilometers per hour, the range will exceed 800 kilometers, and the payload will also double—increasing from 200 kilograms to over 500 kilograms. If combined with the aviation engine technology developed by the Host—such as breakthroughs in supercharging technology and the application of lightweight alloys—it is entirely possible for aircraft with speeds exceeding 300 kilometers per hour to appear within five years. However, the system must remind the Host that the development of aviation technology is a systematic project; engines, aerodynamics, materials science, and navigation equipment are all indispensable. A shortcoming in any single link will become a bottleneck for overall performance. The system can provide technical blueprints, but actual production still requires an industrial foundation and the cooperation of skilled workers. The Host's current heavy industry system is still relatively weak; it is recommended to prioritize the construction of production lines for engines and propellers—this is the core bottleneck of aircraft performance and the key to autonomous production.]

Li Ling nodded. Engines were indeed the key factor constraining aircraft performance—while a 300-horsepower engine might be top-tier in 1900, it still paled in comparison to the aviation engines of his past life, which often boasted thousands of horsepower. However, one cannot rush success; he would take it one step at a time. He recalled the development history of the aviation industry in his past life: from the Wright brothers' twelve horsepower to the two thousand horsepower of the World War II era, it took a full forty years. But he, with the support of the system, could compress this process to within five years.

He continued to look up at the plane in the sky, his gaze following the trajectory it carved into the blue expanse. That trajectory was like an invisible brushstroke, writing some kind of prophecy on the canvas of the firmament. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, outlining every line on the wings with striking clarity—the protrusion of the ribs, the curvature of the wing surfaces, the silhouette of the tail—everything was rendered in vivid detail in the morning light. The plane circled in the sky again and again, like a fledgling eagle testing its wings; although its movements still carried a hint of rawness and hesitation, it already possessed the posture of soaring.

"Commander Zhao Peng!" Li Ling called out, his voice echoing across the empty runway. "Have that kid come down; I have questions for him."

The plane landed quickly—the landing gear bounced twice upon touching the ground before coming to a steady stop on the runway. The pilot jumped out of the cockpit and jogged over, his face flushed with excitement. He was a young man in his early twenties, not tall, but with broad shoulders and bright eyes. His name was Liu Dazhu—a name as rustic as they come, but Li Ling noticed a glimmer of extreme intelligence in his eyes, as if they held countless questions brewing within.

"Your Majesty!" Liu Dazhu saluted with a somewhat sloppy military salute, his voice still carrying the excitement and panting from the flight. "You called for me?"

Li Ling looked him over—his uniform buttons were misaligned, his flight cap was crooked on his head, and there was a streak of uncleaned oil on his face; he had clearly run over immediately after getting off the plane. "How long were you in the air?"

"Reporting to Your Majesty, forty-five minutes!"

"What did you see?"

Liu Dazhu's eyes lit up, the gleam like a kindled flame: "I saw it! I saw a factory emitting smoke about thirty li to the north; it should be the chimneys of the Jinling Machinery Factory. Further northwest, about fifty li away, there was a convoy—dozens of horse-drawn carriages in a line, covered with tarpaulins, looking like they were transporting grain. The convoy was moving extremely slowly, perhaps because the road was difficult or the drivers were slacking off. It was incredibly clear from up high, much more than what one could see standing guard on the ground for a whole day!"

Li Ling smiled. This kid had observational skills and knew to proactively pay attention to details on the ground—many pilots would fly for dozens of hours and still only look at clouds and the horizon, never noticing those "little things" on the ground. And yet, it was precisely those "little things" that were often more important on the battlefield than any other intelligence. The movements of a transport unit, the smoke from a camp, the rut marks on a road—combined, this information formed a living map of the enemy's logistics.

"Good." Li Ling patted his shoulder, feeling it tense slightly from excitement. "Keep practicing. When you have flown for one hundred hours, I will personally award you a medal."

Liu Dazhu was so excited his face turned red, and his voice even cracked: "Yes! Your Majesty! I will definitely fly for one hundred hours—no, one thousand hours!"

Watching his retreating figure as he jogged back—the hem of his uniform lifted by the wind, revealing the worn, white-washed undershirt beneath—a warmth welled up in Li Ling's heart. These people, these young pilots, were using their passion and courage to open up a brand-new territory for an ancient nation. That territory was called the sky; it would no longer be a realm belonging only to birds and gods, but would become a new battlefield for the soldiers of the Qingxia Kingdom to gallop across.

Three days later, on the wilderness sixty li outside Jinling City, an unprecedented military exercise began.

In the sky, twelve silver-white biplanes circled—the bombs slung beneath their wings glinted with a cold metallic luster in the sunlight, like fruits of death hanging in the air. On the ground, hundreds of artillery pieces were lined up, their muzzles pointed toward the target area in the distance, their barrels painted with dark green camouflage, blending in with the shrubs of the wilderness. Further away, thousands of infantry were advancing rapidly under the cover of armored vehicles, dust billowing, their battle cries shaking the heavens.

When the first aerial bomb fell from the sky and precisely struck the target area, the entire wilderness trembled—orange-red fireballs shot into the sky, and soil and rubble were blasted dozens of meters into the air, scattering like a fountain. Following that were the second, third, and fourth... The twelve planes took turns diving and dropping bombs, turning the pre-marked target area into a sea of fire. Thick smoke billowed, obscuring half the sky, as if a black mushroom cloud were growing on the wilderness.

Then came the roar of the artillery—hundreds of cannons fired simultaneously, shells streaking across the sky with sharp, whistling sounds, landing in the area that had just been bombed and blasting up even more dirt and smoke.

Finally, the infantry charged—thousands of soldiers, under the cover of armored vehicles, surged across the land that had been plowed by artillery fire; the sound of footsteps, shouts, and gunfire merged into a deafening torrent.

Li Ling stood on the reviewing stand, the towering flames and smoke reflected in his binoculars. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly—it was the expression of a hunter seeing his prey caught in the net, calm, confident, and full of anticipation. Three types of forces—aerial, ground, and mobile—perfectly coordinated within the same time and space, forming a closed kill chain. Bombers paved the way, artillery provided support, and infantry advanced; the time gap between the three was compressed to the minimum, leaving the enemy with no opportunity to catch their breath or regroup.

"The Northern Expedition," he lowered his binoculars, his voice calm and firm, as if announcing a decision that had been set for a long time, "can begin."

Behind him, the commanders of the Air Force and the Army were heatedly discussing the details of the exercise that had just concluded—some were rapidly taking notes in notebooks, some were marking impact points on maps, and others were arguing over optimization plans for certain tactical aspects. Staff officers rushed back and forth, delivering battle reports into the hands of the commanders. And further away, the common people in Jinling City remained completely unaware—a storm that was about to change the destiny of the entire nation was quietly building up on this wilderness, about to sweep across the entire north in the days when spring flowers bloom.

In the sky, the twelve silver-white planes took off again, forming a neat formation and flying into the distance. The sound of their engines faded in the clouds, like the lingering echoes of war drums dissipating in the wind. But in Li Ling's heart, that sound never disappeared—it would continue to echo until the flag of victory was planted on every inch of land.