Chapter 206: First Patrol
Su Yaoyang’s large-scale military expansion order, like a strong east wind, blew through every village and town near Wuta County.
Among them, the most eye-catching and challenging was the recruitment of air force flight cadets.
In one corner of the Jiuju River airport, a fairly large recruitment area was temporarily set up.
This place was not as bustling with voices and resounding gongs and drums as ordinary infantry recruitment points, but appeared more solemn and strict. A prominent banner hung at the entrance of the recruitment site: “Enlist enthusiastically, defend the homeland, become a glorious Shanxi Militia Air Force pilot!”
Under the banner, several crude tables were lined up, with several serious-looking militia officers sitting behind them.
In front of them, a long queue of hot-blooded young men who had heard the news and come to sign up as flight cadets. Most of these youths came from villages, towns, and county towns around the base area; some were even farmer’s sons who had just put down their hoes. At this moment, they stood in line in front of the enlistment point, their faces filled with longing for the future, yearning for flight, and a trace of barely perceptible tension.
At the front of the recruitment queue, beside a separate table, sat a blond, blue-eyed foreigner, none other than the flight squadron commander entrusted with heavy responsibility by Su Yaoyang… Jimmy Doolittle. Not far away, Elizabeth, Anna, Margaret, Susan, and several other medical personnel were conducting physical examinations for the recruits.
He had specially changed into a clean and neat flight jacket today, his expression focused and serious, occasionally exchanging words with the interpreter and militia officers beside him in not-yet-fluent Chinese.
Su Yaoyang was well aware of the extreme importance of pilot selection and had specially invited Doolittle, this flight expert, to personally oversee and participate in the initial screening of cadets.
The selection of pilots had standards far stricter than those for ordinary branches.
This was not only a test of physical fitness, but also a comprehensive examination of intelligence, will, cultural level, and even family background.
“Next!” a military doctor in charge of physical exams shouted.
A young man who was slightly thin but had clear and bright eyes took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The physical examination process was extremely meticulous and tedious.
First was the vision test.
A vision chart hung on a distant wooden board, with densely packed symbols on it, the small ones almost indistinguishable.
Margaret stood beside the vision chart, pointing at different symbols with a thin wooden stick, requiring the recruit to report them accurately.
Doolittle also watched with great interest from the side; good vision was the primary condition for spotting enemies and locking onto targets in air combat.
Many people were eliminated at this stage due to vision damage from daily labor and malnutrition.
Next came tests for hearing, smell, and color perception; any defect in these meant no chance with the blue sky.
Then came the even stricter physical build checks. Elizabeth and the others carefully examined the recruits’ height, weight, limb coordination, presence of hidden ailments, bone development, and so on.
Sometimes Doolittle would even step forward personally, having the recruit perform specific actions like single-leg stands, quick turns, walking straight with eyes closed, etc., to test balance and body flexibility.
He explained that pilots in the air had to withstand enormous overloads and complex airflow changes; without a strong and coordinated body, it was impossible to adapt.
Some lads who looked strong and robust were eliminated due to barely noticeable issues like flat feet, joint problems, or mild scoliosis, and they often argued vehemently, but in the face of the impartial military doctors and Doolittle, they could only leave helplessly.
“Pilots are the nation’s treasures; no room for the slightest carelessness!” Doolittle emphasized in stiff Chinese.
Passing the rigorous physical build check was merely getting a ticket to the next round. Next was the cultural level test.
China’s illiteracy rate was extremely high today; finding a batch of youths who were both physically qualified and had a certain cultural foundation was no easy task.
The cultural tests were handled by several teachers transferred from schools in the county town. They handed out papers printed with basic arithmetic problems and short texts for the recruits to read, write, and calculate.
The questions weren’t too difficult, mostly at the third- or fourth-grade elementary level. Even so, many physically excellent youths were brushed off for not knowing many characters or being unable to do simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.
Doolittle watched from the side and couldn’t help but sigh. He knew modern air combat demanded ever-higher cultural literacy from pilots; they needed to learn complex flight theory, aerodynamics, navigation, radio communications, and more—without a certain cultural foundation, it was impossible to understand and master this knowledge.
Physically qualified and culturally up to standard, but that still wasn’t enough. As the core force to pilot advanced fighters and master air superiority in the base area, the political reliability of flight cadets was what Su Yaoyang valued most.
The political screening was handled by officers from the militia intelligence department. They conducted detailed “interrogations” of the recruits, with content so minute it was astonishing.
“Name? Age? Place of origin?”
“How many people in your family? What occupations?”
“In your family for three generations, any traitors, bandits, or landlord tyrants?”
“What are your views on our Shanxi Militia and Commander Su?”
“Why join the air force? To fight the Japanese devils, or to get promotions and rich?”
These questions were fired at the recruits like a barrage of cannon fire. Meanwhile, these intelligence officers carefully observed every expression and gaze of the recruits, trying to judge the truth of their words.
Any who showed hesitation, evasiveness in answers, or family backgrounds with “stains” were ruthlessly eliminated.
Doolittle was somewhat puzzled by this strict political screening; in his view, as long as the skills were solid and they were loyal to duty, that was enough. But Su Yaoyang had explained privately: “Jimmy, in China, hearts matter more than technology. Our planes and pilots are too precious; we can’t afford the slightest mistake.”
After such layer-upon-layer screening, those who remained were undoubtedly elites picked from a hundred li. They might come from poor backgrounds or not have high education, but they all shared one trait: healthy physiques, smart minds, thirst for knowledge, and hearts full of patriotism.
Thus, after more than half a month of screening like waves washing away sand, 368 pilots were finally selected.
…………
In the spacious command center operations room, a huge sand table occupied the center of the room, meticulously marked with terrain, landforms, and enemy and friendly dispositions around the Wutai Mountain base area.
Su Yaoyang, Doolittle, and Chief of Staff Pi Ruoyu were gathered around the sand table, occasionally pointing with command rods and discussing in low voices.
As the saying goes, three cobblers surpass Zhuge Liang. Doolittle had rich aviation combat experience and was very familiar with air force organization, training subjects, logistics support, and more.
Pi Ruoyu, from Virginia Military Institute in America, was bold yet meticulous, considering from the actual situation of the Shanxi Militia the feasibility of various plans, required resources, coordination with existing troops, and other issues in detail.
Su Yaoyang coordinated from the center; though far less professional than the other two, he always offered key guiding opinions.
Just as the three were discussing heatedly, a communications staff officer hurried in, holding a just-decoded telegram.
“Report!” The communications staff officer stood at attention and saluted. “Urgent intelligence from Eighth Route Army Headquarters!”
“Oh?” Su Yaoyang raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. He knew Eighth Route Army Headquarters wouldn’t send a telegram without reason.
The communications staff officer cleared his throat: “According to intelligence obtained by our department, recently… the Japanese army has assembled a large number of air forces at Fenglingdu Airport east of the Yellow River, including various fighters and bombers.
Based on our analysis, the Japanese army’s action this time is very likely aimed at Wuta County, particularly Jiuju River Airport, intending to destroy your important military targets through large-scale air raids. Please ensure your department heightens vigilance and takes precautions early.”
The telegram wasn’t long, but once read, the air in the command center seemed to freeze instantly.
The relaxed expression on Doolittle’s face vanished, replaced by solemnity. As an experienced pilot and commander, he knew all too well what a large-scale air assembly meant.
Pi Ruoyu’s brows furrowed tightly; he quickly walked to the military map on the wall, his gaze moving back and forth between Fenglingdu and Wutai Mountain, calculating possible air raid distances and times.
Su Yaoyang took the telegram, read it carefully again, his face still calm but a barely perceptible glint of coldness in his eyes.
“Eighth Route Army intelligence… looks like that old Japanese devil Xiaozuka Yoshio really can’t sit still.”
Su Yaoyang thought to himself. He had anticipated that after the losses at Wild Wolf Valley, the Japanese would launch a frenzied retaliation, but he hadn’t expected them to assemble such a large air force so quickly.
“Doolittle, Chief of Staff Pi,” Su Yaoyang broke the silence, his tone steady. “What do you make of this intelligence?”
Doolittle spoke first, his voice somewhat hoarse: “Sir, if the intelligence is accurate, the situation is extremely serious.
Fenglingdu Airport is less than 300 kilometers from here—not too far for bombers.
Once the Japanese complete their assembly, they could strike us anytime. And our Jiuju River Airport, with its relatively complete takeoff and landing facilities and forming air force, is bound to be their primary target.”
Pi Ruoyu nodded in agreement: “Commander, Colonel Doolittle is right. We can’t underestimate the Japanese determination and capability.
Intelligence on Jiuju River Airport has likely long been known to the Japanese. Choosing to strike with absolute air superiority before our air force is fully formed is a very vicious strategy.”
Su Yaoyang nodded; he fully agreed with their judgment. It seemed a “decapitation operation” against the Wutai Mountain base area, especially Jiuju River Airport, was imminent.
“Looks like our previous expansion and war preparations, especially strengthening airport defenses and forming the air force, were completely correct.” Su Yaoyang said gravely. “The enemy won’t give us time to develop leisurely. We must race against time!”
He walked to the sand table, his gaze sweeping over several key positions around Wutai Mountain.
“Chief of Staff Pi,” Su Yaoyang ordered, “Immediately pass the order: the construction speed of the several radar stations deployed around Wuta County must be accelerated at all costs! I demand forming initial air warning capability in the shortest time! Even if rudimentary, it must exist!”
“Radar stations?” Doolittle’s eyes flashed with surprise at the term. He knew radar, this advanced warning equipment, was only just starting experimental deployment even in the U.S. mainland. He hadn’t expected Su Yaoyang to possess it and already be deploying it. This young Chinese seemed to have endless secrets.
Su Yaoyang didn’t explain the radar’s source and continued: “At the same time, the airport’s air defense forces must be strengthened immediately! All anti-aircraft guns and machine guns are to be redeployed to form far, medium, and near three-layer air defense fire nets. The airport guard regiment is to enter first-level combat readiness and conduct targeted air defense drills!”
“And…” Su Yaoyang’s gaze turned to Doolittle, “Tell your lads to hurry and familiarize themselves with the new aircraft models and surrounding airspace. I’ll give them three more days; after three days, they must be ready to scramble into combat at any time.
As for flight cadet training, it can be moved to a relatively safe rear backup airport, secretly using existing primary trainers.”
He said firmly: “I absolutely do not want our air force, on which we pin great hopes, to be strangled in the cradle by Japanese bombs before it can truly soar into the blue sky!”
“Yes!” Doolittle and Pi Ruoyu responded in unison.
…………
At dawn, with just a faint white on the horizon, on the runway of Jiuju River airport, two brand-new P-47 “Thunderbolt” fighters gleamed with metallic cold light in the morning glow.
The robust fuselage, powerful Pratt & Whitney R-2800 “Double Wasp” eighteen-cylinder radial engine, and four .50-caliber Browning M2 heavy machine guns at the wing roots all proclaimed its formidable firepower.
Beside the cockpit of one P-47 stood a burly American pilot with a black eyepatch over his left eye.
He was the hot-tempered “One-Eyed Jack,” and at this moment, he was meticulously performing the final pre-flight check on his mount.
Jack bent down to carefully check the tire pressure, tapped the wing skin with his hand to feel the metal’s quality.
Then, he agilely climbed onto the wing, opened the canopy, and got in. Inside the cockpit, instrument panels and control sticks abounded, emanating the unique smell of new machinery.
He deftly flipped switches, checking fuel levels, oil pressure, control surface movements; then his gaze swept over the ammo indicators under the wings, confirming the eight heavy machine guns were fully loaded.
A young Chinese ground crew mechanic, after One-Eyed Jack finished his check, stood under the wing and gave him a thumbs-up, a trace of tension on his face.
This was his first time independently maintaining such an advanced fighter; every step was taken with utmost care.
One-Eyed Jack grinned, showing white teeth, returned the thumbs-up, and said in heavily accented Chinese: “No problem! Good job!”
After getting the mechanic’s confirmation, One-Eyed Jack took a deep breath, his gaze sharpening. He began following procedures to start the powerful radial engine.
“Buzz… buzz… click… ROAR——!”
With a low starting rumble, the P-47’s massive four-bladed propeller began turning slowly, then faster and faster, ultimately becoming a blur of a disk, emitting a deafening roar. Powerful airflow surged from behind the propeller, blowing ground dust and weeds backward.
Jack felt the surging power from his mount, a ferocious smile creeping onto his meaty face.
He then released the brakes, and the P-47, like an awakening beast, began rolling down the runway, speed building. Moments later, the nose lifted slightly, and the heavy fuselage left the ground lightly, stabbing straight into the sky.
Right behind, the other P-47 emitted the same roar.
Piloting it was the young American pilot named Tom King.
Though Tom lacked One-Eyed Jack’s seasoned experience, he had a steady personality and quite proficient flying skills.
Tom carefully completed his pre-flight checks, and upon getting the ground crew signal, smoothly taxied his “Thunderbolt” onto the runway, following One-Eyed Jack’s path, howling into the sky.
The two silver-gray P-47 fighters, in the morning glow, like two arrows loosed from strings, one after the other, rapidly climbed altitude.
Their agile forms traced graceful arcs in the blue sky, engine roars echoing through the valleys.
This was the Shanxi Militia Air Force’s P-47 fighters on their first air patrol mission under combat conditions.
Soon, the two planes climbed to the planned 6,000-meter cruising altitude. At this height, the sky seemed purer and vaster, the mountains and earth below like a miniature sand table.
One-Eyed Jack flew the fighter, occasionally rocking the wings left and right to scan the airspace. Tom, as wingman, stuck closely to his side-rear, maintaining standard combat formation.
Over the radio came One-Eyed Jack’s slightly hoarse voice; he seemed in good spirits:
“Hey, Tommy boy, how’s it feel? This ‘Thunderbolt’ packs way more punch than those ‘Wildcats’ we flew on the ‘Hornet,’ right?”
He was referring to the F4F “Wildcat” fighters they had previously flown on the aircraft carrier.
Tom’s voice came over the radio, laced with youthful excitement: “Yes, sir! This beast is like an air monster! Power’s insane! During climb, felt like someone kicked my ass!”
“Haha, exactly!” One-Eyed Jack laughed. “But don’t get too excited, kid. Remember the boss’s orders: this is an alert patrol. Main tasks are familiarize airspace, test plane performance, monitor any suspicious air targets. Don’t forget, those Japanese planes could pop up like flies anytime.”
“Understood, sir!” Tom’s tone turned serious at once. “I’ll keep eyes on my sector, won’t miss a single suspicious target!”
