Chapter 204: Arrival
October 1938, Hong Kong
This Far East city, still maintaining a facade of prosperity under the shadow of war clouds, was surging with undercurrents.
Jimmy Doolittle and Verl were rushing around everywhere to find airplanes, but this task was far more difficult than imagined.
The shadow of war made everything sensitive and complex.
At this time, Hong Kong was controlled by the British. These John Bulls were all the type who wouldn’t shoot unless they saw a rabbit. They had already smelled the risk of war and were unwilling to easily get involved in this muddy water.
The bosses of Hong Kong Airlines either quoted astronomical prices for Verl and the others’ requests to lease or purchase large transport planes, or stalled and evaded with various excuses.
As for those smugglers operating in dark alleys, the airplanes they had were dilapidated and unusable, like flying coffins. Doolittle absolutely dared not risk over a hundred lives on them.
Days passed one by one, and these American adventurers gathered in Hong Kong began to grow restless and anxious.
Among them were young pilots eager to make a name for themselves, skilled but underutilized mechanics, and adventurers who came purely for the high commissions.
They had diverse backgrounds and different personalities, but they all shared one common trait: they were unruly and hot-tempered, and most were not of good character.
“Jimmy, when the hell are we taking off? If we keep waiting like this, I’m afraid the guys will lose patience.”
A middle-aged man nicknamed “One-Eyed Jack” was complaining to Doolittle. He had lost one eye in World War I and was now impatiently grumbling to Doolittle.
With a cigar clenched in his mouth, his thick sideburns trembled slightly with his speech.
Doolittle patted his shoulder, his deep eyes revealing a steadfast resolve: “Jack, please trust me, and ask the guys to have a little more patience. I already have some leads, and there will be good news soon.”
His “leads” came from difficult negotiations with British colonial government officials.
Initially, those arrogant British ignored his requests, fearing it would anger the Japanese and bring trouble to the British Empire’s interests in the Far East.
But Doolittle did not give up. He mobilized all his connections accumulated in the American aviation industry and applied pressure to the British through various channels.
He passionately stated the justice of supporting China’s war of resistance while continuously hinting at the long-term strategic benefits and potential commercial returns this could bring.
Of course, some “lubricants” also played a significant role.
For example, promises of future cooperation on certain aviation projects, as well as some private “thank-you fees”… all subtly contributed.
The reason this worked was that Doolittle had previously been a senior consultant for the American oil giant Shell. His network spanned the entire American aviation industry, so the British naturally had to give him face.
Finally, after tremendous effort and cost, things took a turn for the better.
The British relented. They agreed to “lend” three Douglas DC-3 passenger planes, belonging to one of the predecessors（ of British Overseas Airways Corporation） BOAC, for Doolittle’s use.
These three planes, due to the war’s impact, had drastically reduced flights and were idling bored in the hangars at Kai Tak Airport these days, “basking in the sun.”
DC-3, this twin-engine propeller transport plane, was world-famous for its sturdy structure, reliable performance, and impressive payload capacity, reputed as the “air mule.” For Doolittle, it was undoubtedly a lifeline.
“Gentlemen, we have planes!”
When Doolittle brought this news back to the hotel, the people who had been waiting impatiently erupted in cheers.
The long-suppressed anxiety vanished, replaced by excitement and anticipation.
October 25, late night.
Kai Tak Airport, Hong Kong. The daytime clamor had long dissipated, leaving only a few dim yellow navigation lights flickering in the night mist.
Three silver-white DC-3 passenger planes stood quietly like three hibernating giant birds at the end of the runway.
Most of their windows were covered with thick blackout curtains, only faint light seeping through. The engines were preheated, emitting a low, steady hum that conveyed a sense of pent-up power in the silent night sky.
One hundred twenty-seven Americans, under Doolittle and several action group leaders’ command, boarded the planes tensely and orderly with simple bags on their backs.
Among them were pilots, navigators, radio operators, mechanics, ground support personnel, and even a few attached doctors and nurses.
To carry as many people and necessary equipment as possible, most seats in the cabins had been removed. People squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder and back-to-back, the air filled with a mix of sweat, tobacco, and engine oil smells.
Doolittle personally took the cockpit of the first plane as captain.
He donned his flight cap and headphones, skillfully checking the instrument panel data. Beside him, the co-pilot was a young man named Tom King. Though not particularly experienced, his skills were solid, and he was bold yet cautious.
“All units, this is the lead plane, callsign ‘Polaris.'” Doolittle’s voice came clearly over the radio to the other two planes. “Check all systems and report readiness.”
“‘Orion’ received, systems normal, ready!”
“‘Sirius’ received, all set, ready to take off at any time!”
The captains of the other two planes were also seasoned veterans who knew the dangers of this night flight and dared not slack off.
With the takeoff clearance signal（ specially coordinated through the tower）, Doolittle took a deep breath and steadily pushed the throttles forward.
“Roar—”
The engine roar suddenly intensified, powerful thrust propelling the heavy fuselage to begin rolling down the runway. Scenery outside the windows sped backward as the plane accelerated, accelerated!
“Takeoff!” Doolittle said in a low voice, gently pulling back the yoke.
The massive DC-3 broke free from gravity like a liberated beast, nose up, elegantly leaving the ground and whistling into the pitch-black night sky. “Orion” and “Sirius” followed suit, rising one after another.
The three steel birds carried one hundred twenty-seven adventure-seeking Americans from ten thousand miles away, craving hefty commissions, flying northwest toward that distant and unfamiliar Chinese land.
Their journey spanned over 1,600 kilometers, destination Wutai County, Shanxi… a small place hard to find even on a map.
Night long-distance flight in this era was no simple matter; it was also a severe test of pilots’ skills and courage.
They had no advanced GPS, relying only on rudimentary radio beacons, celestial compasses, and vague memories of landmarks.
To evade Japanese radar and patrol planes, they had to maintain low-altitude flight and radio silence throughout, undoubtedly increasing the flight’s difficulty and risk.
Inside the cabin, lighting was dim. Most felt uncomfortable from the bumpy journey and cramped space. Some dozed against the cold cabin walls, others whispered to dispel tension and fatigue.
The engines’ constant noise was like a lullaby but also unsettling. Through gaps in the occasionally wind-blown window blackout curtains, one could see the profound night sky and sparse stars outside.
Doolittle and his crew were fully focused. They watched the instrument pointers intently, listened carefully to faint signals in their headphones, and periodically adjusted the plane’s attitude and heading.
Sweat soaked their foreheads and backs, but their hands remained steady on the controls.
Time ticked away in prolonged waiting and torment. They flew over the turbulent South China Sea, skimmed the rolling Nanling Mountains, and crossed the mighty Yangtze River.
When the eastern horizon showed the first streak of dawn, dispelling the thick night, it was the morning of October 26, 1938. After eight heart-pounding hours of arduous travel, the three DC-3s finally entered SX Province’s airspace.
“Jimmy… Jimmy… I got a signal!”
The radio operator of the lead plane “Polaris,” a short guy named Mike, suddenly shouted excitedly, his voice trembling with agitation. “It’s a ground radio positioning signal! Very weak, but it’s there! Bearing… northwest by north, not far from us!”
This news was like an adrenaline shot, instantly invigorating everyone in the three crews! The eight hours of high tension and fatigue seemed to vanish in that moment.
“Good job, Mike!” Doolittle could barely contain his excitement and immediately ordered, “Lock on the signal source! All units, prepare to descend. We’re almost there!”
The three planes began slowly descending, piercing the thin morning mist. The scenery below gradually sharpened. It was typical loess plateau terrain, crisscrossed with gullies and rolling hills. A winding river flowed through the valley like a silver ribbon in the dawn light.
“Look! That river! It must be the Jiuqu River marked on the map!” co-pilot Tom shouted, pointing below.
On the south bank of the Jiuqu River, a clearly artificially leveled open area abruptly appeared in their view. Two long, yellowish-brown runways stood out starkly in the early morning sun. At the runway ends and sides, low, newly built houses and ant-sized figures could be seen moving about.
“That’s it! That’s our airport!” Doolittle’s voice was filled with relieved joy. He could even see people on the ground waving to them.
Under clear ground radio guidance and Doolittle’s steady command, the three silver-white DC-3 passenger planes sequentially adjusted attitude, aligned with one main runway, and gracefully lowered their landing gear.
“Whoosh—”
The first plane, “Polaris” piloted personally by Doolittle, touched down lightly on the solid loess runway like a weary bird returning to its nest.
Tires screeched faintly against the ground.
After sliding steadily along the runway for a distance, the plane came to a firm stop in the designated area.
“Orion” and “Sirius” then landed safely one after another.
When all three massive transports were fully stopped, propellers slowly ceased turning, and the engine roar completely faded into the quiet morning air, the new airport by the Jiuqu River, born less than two days ago, erupted in jubilation!
Su Yaoyang, Pi Ruoyu, John, and the main officers and soldiers of the militia who had been waiting at the airport for a long time, burst into thunderous cheers and applause. They waved hats and flags, faces beaming with irrepressible excitement and joy.
This rudimentary airport, built by countless hands and sweat, finally welcomed its historic first visitors in the dawn light!
The cabin door slowly opened, and the gangway was lowered.
The first to step off the plane was Jimmy Doolittle. He wore a brown flight jacket; though fatigued from the overnight flight, his spirits were still sharp.
Standing on the gangway, he deeply inhaled the morning air of Wutai County, scented with earth and faint gunpowder, surveying the unfamiliar land and the enthusiastic Chinese soldiers, a happy smile on his face.
Following him, one hundred twenty-six American pilots, mechanics, navigators… of varied skin tones and builds, all bearing relief after perils and journey fatigue, disembarked one by one.
They curiously eyed the rudimentary yet vibrant airport and the Chinese soldiers wearing German uniforms but carrying American weapons.
Su Yaoyang strode forward with a sincere and warm smile, extending his hand to Doolittle and saying in not-so-fluent American English.
“Gentlemen, welcome to a world of excitement and adventure!
I am the commander-in-chief of the Shanxi Militia, Su Yaoyang. On behalf of the Shanxi Militia and the Shanxi people suffering under Japanese invasion, I welcome your arrival!”
Doolittle looked at this resolute yet overly young general, saluted solemnly, and said loudly: “Greetings, General… Jimmy Doolittle reporting to you!”
“I…”
Hearing Doolittle’s introduction, Su Yaoyang nearly popped his eyes out.
He asked incredulously: “Jimmy Doolittle? Born in Alameda, California? Doolittle who graduated from MIT with master’s and doctoral degrees in aeronautical engineering?”
With each question, the opposite Doolittle nodded once.
He then asked puzzled: “General, do you know me?”
“Of course… ah… I’ve heard of you.” Su Yaoyang nodded, forcing composure, though his heart was exploding with joy.
He had only wanted to recruit some skilled workers, but unexpectedly hooked such a big fish.
This was Doolittle, a legendary genius god even in the talent-rich 20th century. With this big shot joining his team, he alone outweighed everyone else!
