Chapter 177: Lose And You’ve Got Nothing
“Robert, come come come, look at this news, China atomic bomb test explosion success.”
China’s atomic bomb test explosion success was a huge shock to everyone following the matter, especially the Chinese people.
After Lin Ran returned to Redstone Arsenal, he chatted about this with Zhang Lülin.
The number of Chinese engineers at NASA is very small, so small that there are only a handful among thousands.
Zhang Lülin easily caught Lin Ran’s attention, but it was not until the year before last that Lin Ran learned Zhang Lülin’s identity, the illegitimate son born to Zhang Haicheng and Zhao Yidi, handed over to Zhao Yidi’s friend Iger in San Francisco to raise after 1940, who joined NASA after graduating from the aerospace major at California Institute of Technology as an adult.
However, compared to Lin Ran leaping to NASA director in just five short years, Zhang Lülin’s NASA career seemed very ordinary, with no positions and no famous achievements, steadily working in that position until retirement.
Zhang Lülin, that is, Robert Zhang, took the newspaper from Lin Ran’s hand, read it, and sighed deeply: “It’s really not easy for China to achieve this.
Not only facing pressure from America, but also pressure from the North.”
As a science and engineering talent, Zhang Lülin knew very well how difficult it is to develop an atomic bomb.
Lin Ran also sighed deeply; in the past, he had seen this history in books, but now he was seeing this news in the newspaper: “It’s not easy.
England and France could rely on America’s technology export, Soviet people could also obtain nuclear weapons-related technical data from Americans, while China could only be self-reliant; it’s indeed not an easy thing.”
England highly depended on America in nuclear weapons, and although France nominally developed independently, America also assisted France in analyzing atomic bomb-related data through an operation called Operation Aurora.
As for the Soviet Union, no need to mention it; in a sense, around atomic bomb technology, the Soviet people obtained even more from America than England.
“Yeah.” Zhang Lülin nodded.
Lin Ran asked: “Robert, what do you think your father would feel if he saw this news?”
Zhang Lülin had returned to Taipei in 57 to reunite and meet his parents; after hearing this, he hesitated for a moment and said: “Father should be happy about it, right?
But Father might not be able to see this news; the broadcasts there won’t report on it either.”
Lin Ran thought thoughtfully; what he said made sense—this news was a strategic shock to Taipei, so it would never be widely reported, as reporting it would 100% cause public panic.
“Your father’s clearance should allow him to know this news, right?” Lin Ran thought and asked.
Zhang Lülin shook his head: “Not sure; I’ve only gone back three times, not clear if Father usually has access to news outside official channels in his daily life.”
“The ways of the world are unpredictable.”
In the Beitou residence on Revival Third Road in the Beitou district, Zhang Haicheng sat on an old rattan chair, holding a Bible in his hand, his gaze drifting from time to time to the familiar mountain view outside the window.
The room was simply furnished, with a few paintings on the walls, books and an old desk lamp scattered on the desk; the only modern equipment was a Panda brand radio from Mainland China, which Zhao Yidi brought back for him when she went to Hong Kong to visit relatives.
Even so, from when it was brought back to his hands, it underwent repeated checks to ensure it contained no non-compliant functions.
Zhao Yidi gently pushed the door open, holding a teacup, her footsteps making faint sounds on the wooden floor.
She walked to Zhang Haicheng’s side, placed the teacup on the desk, her voice soft and calm, with a barely perceptible fluctuation: “Hanqing, I just heard on the radio that the Mainland successfully tested its first atomic bomb.”
Zhang Haicheng’s fingers paused on the page, he slowly raised his head, a flash of surprise in his eyes, then returning to calm.
He put down the book, took the teacup, sipped lightly, and repeated in a low voice: “Atomic bomb…” his tone mixed with complex emotions—surprise, sigh, perhaps a hint of inexpressible loss.
He originally wanted to ask what the Baldy’s reaction was, but thought better of it, since Zhao Yidi didn’t know either.
He turned to look at Zhao Yidi, his gaze deep, as if recalling the past: “This is big news.”
After saying that, his gaze turned back outside the window. He recalled the vast lands of the Northeast, the years of war, and his own long time without freedom.
The country was progressing, technology was developing, yet he was confined to this small place.
Zhao Yidi sat opposite him, hands folded on her knees, quietly watching him. She naturally understood the fluctuations in Zhang Haicheng’s heart.
After a while, Zhang Haicheng sighed lightly, a bitter smile on his lips: “Back then we fought the devils, now they have made an atomic bomb—not bad.”
Zhao Yidi nodded slightly, said softly: “Yes, the era has changed. China finally has the ability to defend itself; this is a good thing.”
Zhang Haicheng gazed at her for a moment: “Yes, a good thing. No matter who is in power, only when China is strong does the nation have hope.”
He paused, then said in a low voice: “It’s just that with these old bones, going back is even harder.”
Zhao Yidi reached out, gently holding his hand: “Hanqing, you’ve already done so much for the country; what we can do is bless.”
Zhang Haicheng slowly stood up, walked to the cabinet, took out a cassette player from the cabinet; moments later, Gu Zhengqiu’s “Bystander” played in the room:
“Snow dyes thousands of brilliant lights, bell shapes Buddha niche
This journey covered in dust to the feast of joy
Youth fades, how no cave paintings of past brilliance
Yet wake to be a bystander.”
After one song, this had been his favorite tune since he first heard it.
From any angle, it fit his mindset and experiences too well.
He said wistfully: “In this life, I truly can only be a bystander no matter what, but the professor reached the unprecedented position of NASA director for Chinese people—how could he write this song?”
Zhang Haicheng knew Lin Ran well; firstly out of curiosity for such an outstanding Chinese person, secondly because his own son worked under him—last year when his son visited him, the two talked about Lin Ran for a long time.
Old and wise, Zhang Haicheng really couldn’t figure it out; the other was deeply involved, had nothing to do with being a bystander, so how could he write such a good song—his own mindset was more like it.
Zhao Yidi said softly: “Genius is different from ordinary people; how can we fathom the thoughts of a genius like the professor.”
After hearing this, Zhang Haicheng said moments later: “True.
The professor’s attitude toward Chinese people is not bystander, but his attitude toward both sides is quite like bystander—I heard Zhou Shukai tried to recruit the professor, he verbally agreed but never actually came to Academia Sinica, nor did he privately help Zhou Shukai lobby Washington congressmen.”
Zhao Yidi guessed: “Could it be because the professor’s identity is sensitive?”
“Possible, but given the professor’s attitude toward Chinese people, he can’t always be a bystander; I guess he’s still observing—from the atomic bomb test explosion success, it’s unlikely Taipei can gain the professor’s support.
The energy that hundreds of millions of people can unleash is far greater than that of the few people on this small island.”
Moscow, Soviet Union space agency headquarters, after successfully completing the moon soft landing.
In the office, faint sunlight filtered through thick clouds and frosted windows.
The desk was piled with blueprints, documents, and steaming coffee.
Rocket and satellite models hung on the wall.
Faint low hum came from the street outside.
Korolev sat behind the desk, holding a report, brows furrowed.
And Yuri Gagarin stood before him, hands clasped, gaze firm.
Korolev: “Yuri, we have an opportunity, a historic opportunity. We have built a spaceship that can take you to the moon.”
Gagarin’s eyes lit up: “Really, Comrade Korolev? Are we ready for the moon landing?”
Korolev took a deep breath: “Yes, but this mission is different from your last flight. This spaceship can take you up, but for return, the probability of successful return we estimate does not exceed 10%.”
Gagarin’s expression turned serious: “So you’re saying I might not come back.”
Korolev nodded slowly: “Correct, Yuri. This may be a one-way trip; you might stay on the moon forever.”
Gagarin briefly lowered his head, then looked straight into Korolev’s eyes: “I understand. But this is for the alliance, for humanity’s steps in exploring the universe.”
Korolev still felt reluctant, his voice trembling: “Yuri, you are our hero; I won’t force you to accept this mission.”
Gagarin straightened up, said firmly: “Comrade Korolev, I am willing to carry it out.
I know the risks, but I believe in our technology, and I believe in you.
Three years ago, we carried out the manned spaceflight mission; the pre-estimated success rate wasn’t also only 50%, but in the end we successfully completed the manned spaceflight mission and returned to Earth!
I believe this time will be the same; I have the confidence to return successfully.”
After a moment of silence, Korolev said, “No, Yuri, this time is different!
Although the last manned spaceflight had risks like rocket launch failure, orbital mission malfunction, etc., honestly, I wasn’t too satisfied with the escape system design; the whole mission indeed had major safety hazards, but I felt those safety hazards were controllable, and I wasn’t too worried inside.
This comes from my confidence in myself and in you.
But this time is different; what I can do is only ensure you can go up and land steadily—we achieved soft landing last year.
But I cannot guarantee bringing you back, because to ensure the moon landing success, we simplified the return propulsion system and extra fuel; its precision on return is hard to guarantee.
Even if you can successfully leave the moon, I cannot guarantee you can return to Earth on route.
Yuri, you have confidence, but I don’t.”
What Korolev didn’t say was that the 10% return probability was an optimistic estimate.
Speaking of this, the Soviet Union’s forced moon landing was also inseparable from Lin Ran.
After Lin Ran proposed the artificial intelligence technology singularity, the more the Soviet Union researched, the more reasonable it seemed; after IBM Deep Blue and Babylon were transported to the Leipzig trade fair for exhibition, it brought huge shock to all Soviet camp researchers and technocrats who saw them.
They so intuitively felt the revolution brought by technology; the technological singularity is not a concept, but a tangible reality.
Plus America was at a moral disadvantage, the Kremlin leaders hoped to accomplish it all at once, complete the moon landing this year, and reduce aerospace investment after.
Aerospace can be done slowly anyway; we won the space race.
Put most resources into semiconductors.
This strategic shift led to the conversation between Korolev and Yuri Gagarin.
“Comrade Korolev, I need to go back and consider.” Yuri Gagarin said.
Korolev nodded: “We will fully respect your personal will.”
Before leaving, Gagarin asked: “Comrade Korolev, if I don’t accept?”
Korolev said: “Yuri, you’re just the first I talked to; we’ll continue to talk one by one with Komarov, Leonov, Bikovsky, Nikolayev, Popovich, etc.; I think among so many people, someone will be willing to carry out this mission.
And even if you agree, you still need to go through training and final selection to become the astronaut executing the mission.
Yuri, you must understand, even if the probability of successful return is only 10%, we will do our utmost to help you train and raise that probability as much as possible.”
After hearing this, Gagarin turned back and sat down again in front of Korolev, “Comrade Korolev, I accept this mission; I believe no one has a greater probability of successfully returning to Earth than me!”
Korolev sighed inwardly; honestly, if he had a choice, he really didn’t want these excellent young people to go to their deaths—in his view, this was going to die, but no way, sometimes the situation forces you, you have no choice.
“I understand, Yuri; prepare well. We plan to form two astronaut training groups; you need to stand out in one of these two groups.”
Compared to America, the Kremlin indeed had many baffling operations, but the Soviet people did not betray that flag.
The same nuclear leak, Chernobyl nuclear power plant; the Russians filled it with lives, throwing materials into the reactor core via helicopter to extinguish the graphite fire and limit radiation release; helicopters flew 1800 times, dropping about 5000 tons of materials.
All pilots carrying out the mission had to face massive nuclear radiation and unprecedented harm to their bodies.
Just because the Soviet Union lost, heroes can be forgotten; Japan’s nuclear leak can be seen as a scientific act—lose and you have nothing. Your efforts and sacrifices will be forgotten, even made into documentaries for smear campaigns.
Korolev turned to look outside the window, said moments later: “Our launch window will close on December 15, 1964. You need to give me a reply before May 15; we need your final decision.”
Gagarin walked to Korolev’s side, voice firm: “I’m ready, Comrade Korolev!”
Korolev turned around, patted him: “Yuri, tell me the answer again in a week.”
