Chapter 243: Emergency Landing On A Rainy Night
March 9, 1940, Wuhan.
On the docks of the Yangtze River, the wind was very cold, blowing the Japanese army’s Rising Sun flag with a snapping sound.
The commander of the Eleventh Army, Lieutenant General Okamura Yasuji, known as the “wise general,” was about to leave his long-managed central China headquarters and head to Beiping to take up the higher position of commander of the North China Area Army.
The farewell scene was solemn and oppressive. Rows of generals and officers stood at attention with hands at their sides, no one speaking, only the sound of the icy cold wind and boots stepping on the ground.
Okamura Yasuji wore a straight trench coat, his face expressionless, his hawk-like sharp eyes scanning the subordinates who had come to see him off; wherever his gaze fell, no one dared meet his eyes.
He did not give any lengthy farewell speech, only leaving a bone-chilling sentence to those who had come to replace him and the staff who were staying on, just before getting into the black sedan.
“After I leave, the first thing the Eleventh Army must do is carry out a large-scale retaliatory operation.”
As the words fell, he no longer looked at anyone, bent down and got into the car. The car door slammed shut with a “bang,” separating the inside and outside worlds.
The convoy slowly started up, kicking up a cloud of dust, and soon disappeared at the end of the street.
The generals and officers left behind still stood in the cold wind.
Several days later, Nanjing, China Expeditionary Army headquarters.
Commander-in-Chief General Nishio Toshizō was staring at a huge map of China, lost in thought. His thick fingers traced over the map and finally landed heavily on a strategic point in the middle reaches of the Yangtze River… Yichang.
“This is the place…” he muttered to himself.
In his view, the passivity and embarrassment of the Eleventh Army during last winter’s offensive ultimately stemmed from failing to pose a real, fatal threat to the Chongqing government entrenched in the mountain city.
Their fists were hard, but they always hit cotton.
And Yichang was the dagger that could be held to Chongqing’s throat. Once Yichang was taken, Yangtze River shipping could be cut off, threatening Chongqing’s flank, and the entire strategic situation would be completely reversed.
Therefore, he made up his mind. In 1940, at an appropriate time, assemble heavy troops and launch the Yichang Campaign!
March 20, Nanjing, an elegant reception room at headquarters.
Lieutenant General Sonobe Kazuo, newly transferred from the Kwantung Army to take command of the Eleventh Army, sat upright, his expression tense.
Across from him was the supreme ruler of the entire China battlefield, General Nishio Toshizō.
Nishio Toshizō personally poured him a cup of tea, his movements slow and steady.
“Sonobe-kun.” Nishio Toshizō spoke, his voice deep and resonant, “The strategic position of the Eleventh Army is crucial; you must take good care of yourself.”
“Hai!” Sonobe Kazuo jerked his head down.
“I recommended you for this command position, and it met with great resistance.”
Nishio Toshizō changed his tone, his eyes sharpening, “Many people think that you’ve been in Manchuria all along, dealing only with bandits and second-rate Soviet troops, and you don’t understand the complexity of fighting the ‘China’ central army at all.”
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Sonobe Kazuo’s forehead; he knew this was the commander-in-chief warning him and also waking him up.
“The Kwantung Army has always been arrogant, thinking itself the elite of the Imperial Army. Little do they know, the situation in the interior battles over these years has changed greatly!”
Nishio Toshizō’s tone grew heavier, “Now that you’ve come from the Northeast to central China, the first thing you must learn is to keep your tail between your legs! Do not show off your edges!”
“Hai! This subordinate understands!”
“The 3rd and 13th Divisions are both Imperial elites that have been fighting bloody battles in central China since the start of the war.
Their division commanders, Yamaasshi-kun and Tanaka-kun, surpass you in both seniority and battle achievements. In front of them, you must not be arrogant, and certainly not put on the Kwantung Army’s airs, lest you cause resentment among subordinates and hinder the flow of orders!”
Every word Nishio Toshizō said was like a small hammer striking Sonobe Kazuo’s heart.
He was teaching him the way of being a general, and even more so, the way of being an official.
Finally, Nishio Toshizō’s tone softened; he stood up and patted Sonobe Kazuo on the shoulder.
“The Empire is in a time when it needs talent; it all depends on you. The Eleventh Army is a good place to temper oneself—it has won victories and suffered defeats, and every soldier there is a treasure of the Empire.
You must not fail them, and even more so, not fail His Majesty’s expectations.
The Eleventh Army bears heavy tasks, and its forces are slightly insufficient.
I have prepared to draw troops from the Thirteenth Army and other places under your command, and three squadrons of the 3rd Flying Group will be transferred to Wuhan to assist you.”
With that, Nishio Toshizō turned and left.
Sonobe Kazuo remained in his upright sitting posture, his whole body rigid. After a long while, he slowly raised his head, his eyes brimming with hot tears.
On April 22, Sonobe issued the order to the Eleventh Army to begin the offensive on May 1. Because he was the new commander, Sonobe did not dare to remotely control the command from Wuhan like his predecessor Okamura Yasuji; on April 26, he advanced his command post to Suixian, and the Yichang Campaign officially began.
Boom—rumble!
A ghastly white bolt of lightning, like the axe of a heavenly god, fiercely split the pitch-black night sky in two. Immediately after, deafening thunder rolled in, as if to crush the entire earth.
Torrential rain—no, it should be called a heavenly deluge—poured down crazily from the heavens like the Milky Way bursting its banks, turning the entire world into a chaotic, waterlogged swamp kingdom.
Raindrops smashed into the ground, splashing water half a person’s height, while the gale mixed with rain roared like a wild beast.
Logically, in this extreme foul weather with near-zero visibility and wind shear strong enough to tear wings apart, all airports should be closed, and all planes should obediently stay in their hangars.
But strangely, tonight’s Yichang Airport was doing the opposite.
On both sides of the runway, rows of dim yellow guide lights stubbornly glowed against the storm and rain, casting a blurry, hazy light band through the dense curtain of water, like guiding lights to the underworld.
Amid this violent heaven and earth, a black dot was wobbling out from the thunderclouds.
It was a Douglas DC-2 passenger plane.
This twin-engine airliner, in the turbulent airflow, was like a helpless leaf; the fuselage shook and rocked violently, emitting groans of unbearable strain. At times it was suddenly lifted high by a massive force, at others slammed toward the ground, as if it might disintegrate out of control at any moment.
The plane aligned with that faint light band and dove down in a near-suicidal posture, wobbling.
“Screech—!”
A piercing, teeth-gritting friction sound rang out as the plane’s tires finally touched the slippery runway! Huge splashes of water were pushed to both sides by the tires, forming two spectacular water walls.
The pilot was clearly locked in a desperate struggle with the out-of-control plane; it zigzagged wildly in an “S” shape on the runway, its wings nearly scraping the ground several times, and finally came to a dangerous halt just before running off the runway.
Before the plane’s engines had fully stopped, three black Ford sedans, like leopards long in ambush, suddenly switched on their headlights, engines roaring as they charged out from the shadows of the apron, kicking up clouds of water mist, and stopped precisely beside the passenger plane.
“Click.”
The passenger plane’s cabin door was pushed open from inside.
A figure appeared at the doorway. It was a soldier in a straight army general’s uniform, the three stars on his shoulders gleaming gold in the dim light.
Rain instantly soaked his military cap and shoulders, but he paid it no mind, merely scanning below with lightning-like eyes.
Several officers already waiting by the cars immediately crowded forward, opening umbrellas to shield him from the rain.
“No need!”
He said only three words, his voice not loud but carrying an unquestionable authority. He waved away the umbrella and strode down the gangway straight into the muddy rainwater.
The officers dared not say more and immediately clustered around him, escorting him to the back seat of the middle sedan.
The car door slammed shut with a “bang.”
The three sedans did not pause for a moment, immediately turned around, floored the accelerator, and sped away, soon vanishing into the endless curtain of rain and darkness.
The entire process, from the plane landing to the convoy departing, took no more than three minutes.
As the convoy left, the lights on the Yichang Airport runway went out one by one.
This heaven and earth were once again swallowed by the violent thunderstorm and boundless darkness, as if that heart-pounding scene had never happened.
“Creak—”
The heavy wooden door of the Yichang city defense headquarters operations command room was suddenly pushed open, bringing in a gust of cold wind mixed with the scent of rain and earth.
A figure walked in against the light.
He was soaked through, his dark general’s uniform clinging tightly to his body, outlining solid and rugged lines.
Rainwater dripped continuously from his cap brim, hair tips, and chin, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the ground he passed.
Despite his disheveled appearance, his back was ramrod straight, and his eyes, exceptionally bright in the dim corridor, instantly swept across the entire room.
“Attention!”
Accompanied by the duty officer’s vigorous shout, a crisp “whoosh” sounded in the operations room as uniformed movements rang out in unison.
Chairs were pushed back, boots clacked on the floor, and the more than ten generals, some sitting, some standing, some whispering by the map, all snapped to attention at the same moment, chests out in salute to the newcomer at the door.
“Greetings, Commander Li!”
The resounding voices echoed in the smoke-filled operations room, instantly igniting the previously heavy and oppressive atmosphere.
The newcomer was none other than the commander of the Fifth War Area, Li Zongren.
He casually waved his hand, signaling everyone to be at ease, then strode straight to the head of the long conference table.
He ignored the towel offered by the orderly, instead casually removing his dripping military cap with a “snap,” flinging it with a spray of water onto the table covered with the huge operations map.
This simple, rough action made everyone’s hearts skip a beat.
Li Zongren sat down at the head position, hands braced on the table, body leaning slightly forward. He scanned his solemn-faced, expectant generals and, without a word of nonsense, broke the brief silence with his booming voice laced with a heavy Guangxi accent.
“Speak up, everyone?”
His gaze finally fixed on the huge map before him, his finger heavily tapping on the words “Yichang,” “What’s the situation in Yichang right now?”
