The night wind in Haicheng Old Port is always mixed with the fishy smell of engine oil and sea, which makes people's faces sticky and nauseating.
"Alert! Alert! An unauthorized high-altitude falling object has been detected. The trajectory coincidence degree is 92%. The estimated impact time is: thirty seconds!"
The harsh electronic anti-aircraft synthesized sound tore through the night crazily over the "Old Dog Aerospace Scrap Recycling Station". The red warning light was like the eyes of a crazy beast, turning 360 degrees, illuminating the mountain of metal debris in a blood-red state.
Xu Guanlan was holding an unlit low-quality cigarette in his mouth, holding a plasma cutting gun in his hand, squatting next to the remains of a first-stage propeller of a launch vehicle that should have been put into a scrap furnace long ago. Hearing the noise, he didn't even raise his eyelids, but skillfully pulled down his goggles, and like an agile cat, he quickly rolled into a thick lead polymer bunker pit nearby.
"Boom——!!!"
