Chapter 233: Return To The Old Grounds
Late February in Shanxi, the spring chill was piercing.
The wind blew from the bare distant mountains, sweeping across the vast airport lawn, carrying a chill that could seep into the bones.
Cheng Rufeng lay sprawled on a camp bed in the center of the lawn, covered with a thick woolen military blanket.
He squinted slightly, gazing at the spotlessly clear, high, and deep blue sky overhead.
On the small side table beside the bed was an item considered luxurious in this era: a bottle of Coca-Cola in a glass bottle, with fine beads of water condensing on it.
A pack of opened imported chocolate, and a few butter biscuits.
This was specially approved by Commander Su Yaoyang. In the entire Shanxi militia, only the pilots of their flying squadron could enjoy this top-tier treatment unmatched in the whole army.
But no one was jealous, because everyone knew these things were earned with their lives. Every takeoff could be a farewell, and every return flight might have comrades’ blood on the wings.
Cheng Rufeng reached out and picked up the Coke from the side table.
The ice-cold glass stimulated his palm. He deftly pried off the cap with his thumb, and with a “hiss,” the black liquid bubbled cheerfully. He tilted his head back and took a big gulp. The stimulating mix of sweetness and carbonation rushed down his throat into his stomach, making him exhale comfortably.
This taste reminded him of his days at the Hangzhou aviation school, when he and a few brothers sneaked out to a Western restaurant in the city and tried this stuff for the first time, thinking it was the most magical drink in the world.
But now, most of the brothers who drank Coke with him back then had become just names on tombstones.
His thoughts drifted to the air battle a few days ago.
That day, he personally saw a young mercenary pilot named Stephen’s P-47 get focused by three Zeros, trailing long black smoke as it plunged into the mountain, without even a chance to parachute.
The kid was usually very talkative, always boasting about how many girls he had in Chicago, and saying that after the war, he’d take the brothers to meet them.
Now, he could only go meet God.
“Squadron leader.”
A slightly immature voice interrupted his thoughts. Cheng Rufeng turned his head and saw a young pilot standing not far away, looking at him somewhat awkwardly.
It was Ma Jun, whom everyone in the team called “Little Ma.” He had just graduated from aviation school not long ago, still boyish-faced, but flew like a madman.
“Something wrong?” Cheng Rufeng’s voice was a bit hoarse, carrying the laziness of just waking up.
“No… nothing,” Little Ma scratched his head, a bit embarrassed, “I just saw you here alone and came to check.”
“The ground crew just finished overhauling my ‘Corsair,’ the cannons are calibrated, and the fuel is topped up.”
Cheng Rufeng sat up and patted the grass beside him. “Sit.”
Little Ma obediently sat down, but kept his back ramrod straight, like a new recruit awaiting inspection.
“Scared?” Cheng Rufeng took another gulp of Coke and suddenly asked.
Little Ma froze for a moment, then nodded vigorously, quickly shook his head, and finally said softly: “Scared before takeoff… Once in the air, seeing the Japanese planes, I’m not scared anymore. My mind just focuses on how to shoot it down.”
“Mm, that’s right.” Cheng Rufeng nodded approvingly. He broke off a large piece from the chocolate wrapper and handed it to Little Ma. “Try it. Good stuff from the commander.”
“In the sky, you’re an eagle. An eagle’s eyes can’t have fear.
Your life, your mount’s life, are in your own hands. Us ‘Corsair’ squadron folks either send the Japanese to hell or drag them down with us. No third way.”
Little Ma took the chocolate, and the rich bittersweet aroma made him swallow involuntarily. He carefully took a small bite, and the silky texture and rich flavor exploded on his taste buds—an exquisite taste he had never experienced before joining the flying squadron.
“Thanks, squadron leader.” He said sincerely.
“What are you thanking me for? Thank the commander if you want to thank someone.”
Cheng Rufeng’s gaze turned back to the distance, where rows of silver F4U “Corsair” fighters gleamed with cold metallic sheen under the sun, like a pack of beasts poised to strike.
“It’s him who gave us these best machines, gave us dignity, and gave us… a chance for revenge.”
The wind blew, kicking up a few dry yellow grass blades.
In the distance came the roar of engine tests—the ceaseless background noise of war.
Cheng Rufeng and Little Ma said nothing more, just sat quietly, sharing this moment of peace and the slightly bittersweet chocolate.
The two sat quietly like this, enjoying the rare calm before the big battle. Ma Jun looked at the majestic row of “Thunderbolts” in the distance, and finally couldn’t hold back his question: “Squadron leader, you say… since the F4U ‘Corsair’ is so good, why did the commander equip us with P-47 ‘Thunderbolts’ too? Using both types won’t increase the logistics burden?”
Hearing this question, Cheng Rufeng seemed amused. He burst out laughing, his laughter ringing especially clear across the open lawn.
“You kid, you don’t know about this, huh?”
He patted Ma Jun’s shoulder and eagerly took on the role of instructor. “‘Corsair’ is our treasure sword—sharp, deadly, a born assassin, specially for taking down Japanese fighters.”
“But the ‘Thunderbolt’…”
He paused, took another swig of the now-not-so-cold Coke, as if searching for the perfect metaphor.
“‘Thunderbolt’ is a sledgehammer! Don’t think it’s not as agile as the ‘Corsair’ in flight, but in terms of toughness, it’s sturdier than our ‘Corsairs’ by a lot!”
“Let me tell you, last time Old Wang was swarmed by three Type 97s, his wings got huge holes shot in them, but he still flew it back. Any other plane would’ve fallen apart!”
His eyes sparkled with love and trust for his mount.
“And this guy’s a jack-of-all-trades! Its eight .50-caliber machine guns, when firing, are like a chainsaw—great for planes or mowing down Japanese infantry on the ground! Plus it can carry bombs and rockets, can fight, take hits, and even moonlight as a bomber. So good, how could the commander not use it?”
Ma Jun nodded repeatedly, finally understanding that every weapon had its irreplaceable value and role.
Just as Cheng Rufeng was talking enthusiastically, ready to explain the pros and cons of the two engines to Little Ma, a staff officer hurried over from the distant command tent, his leather boots rustling on the grass.
“Squadron Leader Cheng!” The staff officer ran up, snapped a crisp salute, and handed over a manila folder.
The smile faded from Cheng Rufeng’s face. He knew that anyone rushing over at this time wouldn’t bring news of a dinner invitation. He took the folder, flipped it open casually, and quickly scanned the orders.
His pupils contracted sharply.
“What? Relocating in a few days? To… Yichang Airport?!”
Cheng Rufeng’s voice was full of shock. He shot up from the camp bed, his lazy demeanor vanishing instantly, replaced by sharpness and gravity.
“Yes, squadron leader. This is the commander’s order.”
The staff officer’s reply was brief and firm. He then handed over a freshly translated copy of the telegram. “Not only that, the order requires that starting today, you must mobilize all available transport planes to coordinate with logistics, preparing to airlift Regiment Commander Huang Guantao’s 2nd, 3rd, 4th Regiments, Artillery Regiment 2, and a large amount of strategic supplies to Yichang urgently, to assist the 5th War Zone in resisting the impending large-scale Japanese offensive.”
“Mm…”
Cheng Rufeng drew in a sharp breath.
Relocating to Yichang… airlifting that many troops and supplies… assisting the 5th War Zone… These words together meant an unprecedented major campaign was coming.
And the Shanxi militia flying squadron would no longer be a flanking force in Shanxi, but thrust into the storm center of the entire Chinese battlefield!
Thinking of clashing with the Japanese in Yichang, Cheng Rufeng felt not fear, but hot blood surging—finally a chance to go all out…
February 25, 1940, Tanggu.
Icy sea wind carrying coal dust blew across the heavily guarded Tanggu train station. On the platform, an olive-green military train had just pulled to a stop, white steam hissing from under the wheels and quickly dispersed by the cold wind.
The platform was filled with Japanese soldiers in khaki uniforms, carrying Type 38 rifles. They formed neat company lines, boarding the waiting boxcars one by one under the shouts of officers at all levels. The air held only the steady tramp of boots and monotonous clinks of metal.
A Toyota sedan drove onto the platform. The door opened, and an officer wearing lieutenant general insignia stepped out slowly, escorted by several staff officers.
This lieutenant general wore a Type 5 uniform, draped in a dark general’s overcoat, with riding breeches and gleaming black knee boots, a Type 98 sword at his waist.
He was Ichiro Nanada, division commander of Army 20th Division, newly appointed just a few months ago.
Ichiro Nanada was not tall, but had broad shoulders. His face was etched stern by years of military life, his eyes showing a calm ferocity.
After getting out, he glanced around, then habitually reached back to rub his aching lower back—his old ailment flared up from the long sea voyage.
“Sir, please take care of your health.”
The chief of staff, Colonel Kijimura Hisazo, immediately stepped forward solicitously.
Wearing rimless glasses, his eyes were sharp, but his face now showed undisguisable fatigue.
After all, over a week on a ship would wear down even an iron body.
“No matter.”
Ichiro Nanada waved it off, his gaze sweeping over the tense, pale faces of the young soldiers on the platform, his eyes profound.
“Kijimura-kun, after all the twists and turns, we’re back on… this land.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kijimura Hisazo followed his gaze and sighed, “From the Korean Peninsula to the home islands, then reassigned here. What a journey, back to North China. Just didn’t expect we’d be heading to that damned Shanxi place again, to face our ‘old opponent.'”
He emphasized “old opponent” deliberately.
At the words, a hard line appeared at the corner of Ichiro Nanada’s mouth.
“Shanxi militia… Su Yaoyang… A name that shames the Imperial Army.”
Kijimura Hisazo was silent for a moment, as if recalling unpleasant memories, then said lowly: “Lieutenant General Meizumi Kiyoshi was transferred to Kwantung Army chief of staff by a single order from GHQ because of his failure in Shanxi.”
His tone held both contempt for the former commander and an indefinable complex sentiment.
Contempt for throwing a Type A division’s honor into the loess, and sigh for how uncanny that opponent was—uncannily beyond reason.
“Hmph, Meizumi-kun’s failure was the inevitable result of his rigid command and reckless overconfidence!”
Ichiro Nanada snorted coldly, his words unmasked disdain:
“He always thought the Imperial Army’s valor and will could conquer all, ignoring the enemy’s true nature. What he faced wasn’t a traditional Chinese army!”
“You’re right, sir.”
Kijimura Hisazo adjusted his glasses, a glint of wariness behind the lenses.
“According to intelligence, Su Yaoyang’s troops have equipment that’s simply outrageous. Their artillery density and accuracy even exceed our division’s full barrage.”
“Their planes, those monsters called ‘Corsair’ and ‘Thunderbolt,’ are completely dominant in the sky.”
“Our recon planes can’t even approach their zone. Meizumi… perhaps he truly didn’t lose unjustly.”
“A loss is a loss—no excuses!”
Ichiro Nanada cut him off, tone resolute. He turned westward, toward Shanxi.
“This time, I, Ichiro Nanada, command the 20th Division. I’ll see for myself what this Su Yaoyang is made of! Order the troops to rest tonight, full speed to the Shanxi front at dawn tomorrow!”
A cold gust blew, flapping the hem of his general’s overcoat with a hunting sound.
“Wooo…” At that moment, the train let out a piercing whistle, white steam surging from the smokestack.
“Division commander sir, time to board.” Kijimura Hisazo reminded.
“Mm!”
Then a major waiting nearby stepped forward: “General sir, please follow me.”
With that, he briskly led Ichiro Nanada to a nearby car. “This is the officer’s car prepared specially for you. Please board and rest first. This car is for your exclusive use—no one will disturb you.”
“Yoshi… thank you for your trouble.” Ichiro Nanada nodded satisfied and boarded quickly.
Soon, with a steam whistle, the train slowly departed, heading southwest…
