The nurse knocked on the door, then entered the exam room. He sat on the edge of the table in the exam room with his feet dangling off the floor and above the small stepping stool. Dressed in a white undershirt and dark pants, the man in his late-twenties or early thirties, and perhaps at a time not too long ago was in top physical fitness shape, looked up at the nurse.
“The doctor will be in to see you in a brief moment. I’m not sure what to make of your stomach aches. You don’t have any other indications of being sick from what we can tell. Your blood pressure is fine. You are breathing fine. Eating seems ok. Perhaps it is work related?” she told him.
The patient was finishing a text on his smart phone, hit send, then put it away and looked up.
“Yes, I understand what you’re saying, but, I just do not feel well. Between my abdominal pains, some vomiting, and sometimes some back pain, I feel like I am sick. And nausea. I am just not myself,” he told her.
Just then, the doctor entered the room, did a quick exam by asking plenty of questions, and reviewed the charts. He must have felt his stomach, chest, and neck three or four times.
“Sir, you are not from here. You are not one of our regular patents. We do not see you regularly. It is tough to understand your medical history if you do not share with us your past records,” the doctor told him, reviewing the sheets of paper in the thin manila folder, writing down some of his findings.
There was some yelling from outside the doorway, most likely from Chinese patients getting mad at a doctor, a common occurrence in China. Patients were routinely growing in anger at doctors because of both prices and outcomes not being favorable. The noise settled down quickly.
“I am private about my health, and… ahh… didn’t want my employer’s doctors taking a look at me. That is why I pay in yuan, and will take my records with me,” replied the patient.
“That’s okay, that’s okay,” as the doctor waived his pen around. “All I can recommend is that you come back and see us, or visit another provider in the future. I’m thinking of a massage for the moment. But, you should come back. If you have more problems, visit a traditional emergency room, as needed,” the doctor told him. “Other than meditation and a massage, I recommend nothing else. There is nothing wrong with you.”
Disappointed that the doctor could not give him a firm answer, he left the hospital and returned to work discouraged. Despite the doctor’s lack of findings, he knew something was wrong.
The Chinese Army Air Force General Officers, some not fitting so well these days in their official uniforms, were lined up along the tarmac in the reviewing stands, along with some of the political leadership. They were all in VIP seating, complete with escorts for protocol, a small sound-system for announcements, and porta-johns behind the stands. A plethora of finger food and alcoholic drinks were readily available, especially the drinks, as they flowed steadily across the crowd.
The flight crew was the only show in the air that morning, so there was no need to converse on the aviation radio frequencies and ask for permission to do anything, like land. The pilots just did it. No other aircraft were within 100-plus miles of them, so there was no requirement to coordinate their safe movements in the air. They were their own airshow.
Wu Lee, now 30-years old, a People’s Liberation Army Air Force Captain and pilot, pushed the throttles for all four engines forward a wee-bit more, although there was little forward thrust felt from the cockpit. The temperatures and pressures all moved on the engine indicators in the green, as well as the attitude and airspeed indicators, but no firm jolt was felt. Instead of flying directly over the runway like most aircraft demonstrations, Wu had a trick up his sleeve, designed partly to entertain himself, partly to scare the Generals he was not so fond of. Wu was already south of the airfield at 1,000 feet in altitude above ground level, and instead of maneuvering to the east, to the right, to line up on the east-west runway, he started a descent.
“Descending. Set altitude bug at 100 feet, Liu,” Wu instructed his co-pilot, Captain Liu Nie.
Liu raised his left hand up to a round, black dial that twisted like a radio volume dial in a car. He moved the dial counter-clockwise, and some digital numbers appeared in a window and counted down. By doing this, the jet would descend in altitude and level off at the new altitude. About 100 feet prior to the new altitude, the jet’s avionics notified the crew with a tone in their flight helmets.
Down on the ground, the alcohol was rolling, the fake smiles flourishing, and the Chinese political scene was strong. Over the VIP sound system, a voice was heard addressing the crowd.
“Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, if you look down the runway on your right, just above it, our latest, most SPECTULAR aircraft will soon make its debut…” announced Chinese Air Force Lieutenant General He Chen, the father of the program, spoken with much pride.
Wu kept in the descent, leveled off at the altitude he wanted, and kept up the airspeed. Wearing a grey helmet, black flight gloves, and a dark visor, Wu smirked at what he was about to do.
“610 knots, 120 feet,” Wu said over the two-way intercom, as the aircraft commander and test pilot.
Liu adjusted his harness again, ensuring it was locked.
Wu was bringing up the jet from behind the crowd, knowing that they would never see him, nor hear him coming. The sound of the engines was usually heard the loudest from behind the aircraft, so if the aircraft was coming at you as you stood on the ground, it would be a low murmur until the aircraft passed overhead. He was near silent when creeping up from behind, especially at that speed, and the crowd would never know he was there until it was too late. Plus, Lieutenant General Chen focused the crowd to the right, expecting this new jet to appear over the runway.
VRRRRRR….WHHHOOOOOOOOOOO-SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
All the VIP people in the stands ducked out of habit, nerves, and terror. A buzz was heard from the crowd, then euphoria of yelling and clapping.
Wu brought the jet over the heads of the crowd at an alarming airspeed, grinning as he zoomed over the stands. They both smiled inside the cockpit, and Wu brought the jet up into a climb by pulling back on the stick between his legs and moving the throttles that sat on the console between them.
“Liu, I’ll bring her up to about 1,500 feet, come right into the pattern, then over the runway. We’ll let the crowd see her from all the angles,” Wu told him.
Wu pulled back on the stick ever so slightly, and the jet popped up in altitude. The crowd was able to see the rear of the mysterious black jet, and then the top of her. The pilots could also feel her, with her four powerful engines purring loudly, producing the enormous thrust unlike any jet in history. They brought her around at slow speeds, fast speeds, inverted, steep climbs, and even did a roll. At one point, Wu did slow flight with the gear down, just above the runway, but never touched his wheels on the surface.
Lieutenant General Chen, standing on the pavement alone, grabbed the sound system microphone again. “Ladies and Gentlemen, our pride. Our future. Our newest military bomber! Our first Chinese long-range stealth bomber, THE….. DEVILLLLLDRAAAGGGONNNN!”
Loud cheering and applause was heard as the Devil Dragon completed its private demonstration flight. The crowd of proud, pleased Chinese political and military officials were ecstatic to see what was in the planning, building, and flight test phase for so long. At last, a grander weapon that would command respect world-wide, and it was thought to many Chinese military strategists that this aircraft would command respect from other Asian nations, as well as the United States. It didn’t matter to them how they obtained this stealth technology, only that they had it now.