Chapter 283: Conspiracy And Countermeasures
July 3, 1940 AD, early morning, Shanxi, outside Taiyuan city.
A major battle that shocked North China erupted with the first light of dawn.
The initiator of this first wave of attack was not any ground force, but the vast air fleet of the Shanxi Militia.
High in the sky, a massive fleet of over fifty aircraft including B-25 Mitchell bombers and SBD-2 Dauntless dive bombers, like steel vultures blotting out the sky, with the piercing roar of engines, launched a carpet bombing on the Japanese defensive line painstakingly built on the periphery.
In an instant, the entire area outside Taiyuan city was engulfed in flames, with deafening explosions resounding continuously, as if the earth itself was wailing.
The ground was like it had been drenched in countless streams of sulfuric acid rain; the originally neat defensive positions, sturdy reinforced concrete bunkers, various hidden pillboxes, tight shelters, deep trenches—all of it was mercilessly crushed and completely buried in the billowing smoke and dust under the pouring rain of bullets.
The air was filled with the pungent smell of scorched earth, gunpowder, and charred flesh mixed together.
Special mention here goes to the B-25 Mitchell bomber, which shone brightly in this bombing.
As a medium bomber highly praised in another spacetime, it demonstrated astonishing versatility.
It could not only carry various munitions to perform close air support tasks and low-altitude attacks, but also conduct precise level bombing, and even execute complex tasks like anti-ship attacks when necessary.
Moreover, its bomb load was quite impressive, with a maximum of 2.27 tons, enough to stuff all known bomb types, regardless of size, into its huge bomb bay, then pour them down without restraint, reducing everything on the ground to nothingness.
The sky outside Taiyuan city was filled with deafening roars. A bombing formation of six B-25 bombers, after completing a precise bombing run, was methodically circling in mid-air, awaiting the next attack order.
The commander of this bombing squadron, Pan Zhengyu, looked through the cockpit glass at the rising thick smoke and flames on the ground, rapidly calculating the best position and route for the next wave of attack in his mind.
At that moment, a sharp alarm suddenly blared in the cockpit, accompanied by the pilots’ tense exclamations.
“All units attention… northwest direction, altitude 3,600 meters, distance 2,000… Japanese aircraft sighted!”
That voice carried obvious trembling, clearly startled by this sudden group of uninvited guests.
Immediately after, a steady and powerful voice came clearly through the public channel—it was the overall commander of this bomber fleet, Doolittle.
“This is air commander Doolittle! All bombers cease bombing, close on me immediately, regroup immediately, regroup immediately!”
Doolittle’s orders were concise and decisive. All bomber pilots almost reflexively pulled their control sticks, the huge fuselages tracing arcs in the air, rapidly converging toward Doolittle’s aircraft, as the massive bomber fleet began rearranging in the sky into a tight defensive formation.
Under the wings, the bombs originally for ground attack now seemed to sense the arrival of aerial killing intent, trembling slightly in the bomb bay.
At the same time, another equally familiar and confident voice rang through the public channel to all pilots—it was the captain of the Shanxi Militia Pirate Squadron, Cheng Rufeng.
“All escort aircraft attention, drive off the Japanese aircraft immediately, do not let them get within one step of the bomber fleet!”
These events may seem complicated, but in reality, from spotting the enemy aircraft to issuing orders to the fleet beginning to act, the entire process took place in just over twenty seconds. The aerial battlefield changes in an instant, allowing no hesitation.
Soon, a Japanese formation of over thirty aircraft consisting of Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighters and Nakajima Ki-43 fighters appeared like dark clouds in the airspace around Taiyuan.
Their wings gleamed coldly in the sunlight, propellers spinning at high speed emitting sharp whistles, heading straight for the Shanxi Militia bomber fleet.
The commander of this Japanese formation was the commander of Japan’s 60th Air Squadron stationed in Shanxi—Colonel Iga Toraji.
This repeatedly defeated Japanese army’s highest land-based air commander in Shanxi wasted no words and immediately issued attack orders via radio. The Japanese formation instantly accelerated, pouncing on the Shanxi Militia bomber fleet like predatory eagles.
In the sky, a brutal aerial dogfight thus commenced.
Over Taiyuan, killing intent lurked everywhere.
Piloting a Zero fighter and flying like an arrow at the front of the formation, Colonel Iga Toraji stared deadly through the cockpit glass at the cloud of silver metal below… that dense, orderly bomber fleet.
Sunlight reflected off the smooth fuselages of the B-25 bombers, flashing blinding light, their massive bodies and orderly formation silently proclaiming an absolute sense of power.
Seeing this scene, Iga Toraji’s heart suddenly tightened, a familiar chill rising from his spine.
Over the past year or so, he had clashed with this flight squadron called the “Shanxi Militia” countless times.
Though the empire’s propaganda machine always touted victories of bushido spirit, he knew full well in his heart how dismal the actual results were.
Precisely because of this, his understanding of this mysterious and powerful opponent had grown deeper… and more fearful.
The fighters equipped by the Shanxi Militia crushed the empire’s latest and proudest Zero fighters in firepower, power, and armor thickness.
He had personally witnessed countless times how comrades’ Zeros were instantly shredded like paper under the P-47’s eight .50 caliber machine guns’ wall of fire.
He had also been easily shaken off by F4U Corsair fighters using “Immelmann turns,” then dived on from above and forced into a wretched retreat with absolute speed advantage.
Just from last June to now, on the Shanxi battlefield alone, the Imperial Air Service had lost no fewer than a hundred aircraft.
This number was already painful enough for Japan, and these hundred-plus aircraft losses accounted for thirty percent of all aircraft losses by the Greater Japanese Empire on the China battlefield.
At this time, Japan had not yet fully shifted to a wartime economy, so last year’s total national aircraft production was a mere pitiful 4,768.
This mere hundred-plus fighters lost might seem like an insignificant number on reports to those bureaucrats in Tokyo’s Imperial General Headquarters, but only frontline commanders like them knew it had seriously weakened Japanese local air superiority in North China, more profoundly impacting the empire’s force reserves on the entire China battlefield and into the future.
It must be known that the Imperial Army and Navy Air Service had always implemented the strictest elite soldier policy.
Training a qualified Navy aviator took a full three years; they selected from teenage aviation cadets aged fourteen to sixteen or from military academy graduates, with a terrifying seventy percent elimination rate.
While Army aviators’ training cycle was slightly shorter at one and a half to two years, it similarly emphasized extreme flight hours and brutal dogfighting skills training.
Under such rigorous screening and lengthy cultivation, Japan could produce only one to two hundred qualified pilots annually.
Each one was the empire’s most precious asset.
And now, in just Shanxi province alone, at the hands of this “Shanxi Militia,” seventy to eighty such precious elite pilots had already been lost.
For Japan, this blow was undeniably heavy.
This was no longer a simple tactical failure, but a strategic-level continuous bloodletting of the empire’s war potential.
In the instant Iga Toraji’s emotions surged, his peripheral vision caught dozens of black dots diving from higher altitude—P-47s and F4Us! They were here!
Cold reality yanked him back from his reverie. He took a deep breath, gripped the control stick tightly, and his gaze turned calm again.
He understood that no matter the cost, he must tear open a bloody path for the Imperial Army below.
Through the radio, Iga Toraji’s cold and resolute voice reached every Japanese pilot’s ears:
“Warriors of the Empire, prepare for battle!
Remember my earlier words: disperse then destroy, First Squadron, strike first!”
As his words fell, a formation of eight Ki-43 Hayabusa fighters painted with the Rising Sun emblem detached like blades from the main body, abruptly nosing down and charging first toward the silver sea of bombers below.
This squadron of Ki-43s had a clear and brutal mission… they were bait, rabbits to attract the hounds’ attention, using their flesh and blood to lure the powerful escort fleet into surrounding them, creating a precious window for the main force to attack the bombers.
But evidently, the Shanxi Militia’s air commander was also a battle-hardened veteran.
Cheng Rufeng watched those eight obviously sacrificial Ki-43s coldly from his P-47 cockpit, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.
He had seen plenty of such petty tricks back in his Central Air Force days.
He didn’t take the bait at all, merely issuing calm dispersal orders via radio.
Immediately, twelve F4U Corsair fighters, like sharks smelling blood, detached from the escort fleet, tracing twelve elegant yet deadly arcs to meet those eight Ki-43s.
Meanwhile, the remaining massive main force of P-47 Thunderbolts and more Corsairs didn’t even glance at the bait, maintaining high speed and formation as they charged straight at the Japanese main force led by Iga Toraji!
Seeing the enemy not taking the bait and responding so calmly and precisely, Iga Toraji sighed lightly, his last shred of luck vanishing.
He knew the opposing air force commander today was definitely a seasoned veteran.
He hesitated no longer and roared into the microphone with all his strength:
“Warriors, follow me—fight while closing on the bomber fleet!”
Iga Toraji’s idea was simple, even somewhat rogue—you won’t let me near the bomber fleet?
Fine then, I’ll drag the entire battlefield right up to those huge, fragile bombers! I want to see if, under their own people’s noses, your bullets still dare fly wildly!
His idea was correct, and extremely effective.
As the opposing fighter fleets collided like two surging steel floods above and on the flanks of the B-25 bomber fleet, the entire sky instantly turned into a chaotic meat grinder.
Tracer rounds wove like red fire chains in the air, mingled with engine roars, cannon bellows, and the sharp sounds of metal tearing.
At this point, the machine gunners on those B-25 bombers instead became somewhat hesitant.
They gripped their machine gun handles tightly, sweat beading on their foreheads, watching a Zero fighter streak through their field of fire yet not daring to fire easily.
Because right on that Zero’s tail was a shark-mouthed P-47 biting tight! They feared a burst might miss the Japanese and hit their own allies.
Conversely, the Corsair and Thunderbolt pilots also became cautious.
Piloting superior performance fighters, they held the upper hand in the dogfight, but whenever they locked a Japanese aircraft in their sights ready to squeeze the trigger, a massive silver friendly bomber would flash in their view.
If they slipped and a burst accidentally hit those bomb-laden “babies,” their sin would be grave!
In an instant, the entire battlefield fell into a bizarre stalemate.
Iga Toraji had successfully bound the Shanxi Militia Air Force’s claws with a near-suicidal tactic.
Facing Iga Toraji’s almost “rogue hooligan” fighting style, Doolittle, the overall commander of this bomber fleet, pondered briefly before this legendary pilot swiftly adjusted his countermeasures.
“All bombers, execute ‘dispersal formation’! Repeat, all bombers, execute ‘dis-per-sal for-ma-tion’!”
Doolittle’s clear voice reached every B-25 and SBD-2 cockpit via radio.
The instant the order was given, that massive bomber fleet dense as storm clouds seemed stirred by an invisible giant hand, beginning an orderly and rapid dispersal.
One by one, the bombers precisely widened distances like chess pieces on a board; the originally compact formation instantly became sparse.
Intervals between wings expanded rapidly from dozens of meters to hundreds, even farther.
Thus, Iga Toraji’s plan to bind the entire battlefield around the bomber fleet and make the Militia Air Force hesitate fell flat!
Japanese pilots stunnedly discovered their just-exploited “hostages” suddenly scattered in flight, depriving them of cover. The originally chaotic battlefield instantly clarified.
Freed from the “human shield” constraint, Cheng Rufeng and his ace pilots erupted like unchained tigers with astonishing combat power.
“Brothers, hit ’em hard for me! Shoot down all these sons of bitches!” Cheng Rufeng’s roar echoed on the public channel.
With restraints lifted, both sides reverted to the most primal, brutal traditional air combat—head-on clash of performance, firepower, and skill.
In an instant, the intensity of combat over Taiyuan skyrocketed!
Blazing barrages from cannons and heavy machine guns streaked like the Grim Reaper’s scythes through the sky. Tracers drew long, vivid red trails, shattering the blue sky into fragments.
Almost every moment, one or several aircraft spewed rolling black smoke from their fuselages, like birds with broken wings trailing long, desperate wakes, spiraling down from altitude.
Fuselages disintegrated in mid-air, debris raining like a storm, pilots’ screams drowned in engine roars and explosion blasts.
In this pure contest of performance and firepower, the Japanese with Zeros and Ki-43s were clearly at an absolute disadvantage.
Their fighters had thin armor, weak firepower; facing the P-47’s eight heavy machine guns’ “flying shotgun” and the F4U’s powerful engine and sturdy frame, they crumbled on contact.
Japanese losses began mounting at a visible speed. One after another Rising Sun fighters turned into brilliant but fleeting fireworks in the sky, vanishing forever.
