Chapter 236: Target: Japanese Army Airport in Central China

When he saw the Yangtze River, William was extremely excited.

"I've found the Yangtze! Everyone, pay attention—do you see that silver river? That's our beacon!" William shouted excitedly.

The bombing formation almost went off course, but fortunately they found the Yangtze.

The whole formation—eighteen fighters and twenty-two bombers—like having found a mother, followed the lead aircraft, lowered altitude, clinging tightly to the winding giant dragon, racing toward the northeast.

The wings nearly brushed the white foam churning on the river surface; the wind roared in their ears, and villages and trees on both banks rushed backward. This ultra‑low‑altitude flight thrilled every pilot, sending adrenaline soaring.

They were no longer direction‑lost ghosts, but assassins striking along a fixed route.

"Look! Ahead!"

Suddenly, at the far end of the darkness, a faint halo appeared. The halo was pale, like a thin veil, yet in the endless black it stood out sharply.

It was neither a star nor the moon.

It was the city's lights.

"Wuhan!" William's heart hammered. "All units, prepare to attack! Target: the airport north of the most densely lit area ahead!"

Forty warplanes, like a pack of sharks sensing blood, throttled up.

The roar of the engines grew wilder as they followed the Yangtze's precise navigation line, charging toward the light source that signified death and destruction.

Darkness was no longer their enemy, but their best camouflage.

The deepest night before dawn would become their perfect battle cloak.

Wuhan, the sleeping river city, was about to be violently awakened by fire and explosions.

At the same time, Wuhan Wangjiadun Airport.

It was the Japanese Army Air Force's most important forward base in Central China.

The defenses were also quite strict, yet they would never have expected the Chinese Air Force to launch a sudden pre‑dawn strike on the Japanese Army's Central China airport.

Ground crew were working through the night repairing returning aircraft, while Japanese pilots rested in the barracks, gathering strength for tomorrow's mission.

The airport's searchlights were off, only a few dim navigation lights flickered on the runway.

Sentinels at the anti‑aircraft gun positions clutched their rifles, yawned, and shivered in the pre‑dawn cold wind. For them, it was another boring, tranquil night.

No one could have imagined a disaster descending from the sky, hurtling toward them at five hundred kilometers per hour.

"Attention, we're approaching the target area. Prepare to enter the attack route," William's voice rang in every pilot's headset.

The formation lowered its altitude, almost skimming the treetops. The ground rushed away below as the Yangtze curled eastward like a black giant python.

"Thirty seconds remaining."

"Twenty seconds."

"Ten seconds!"

"Release bombs!"

At William's command, twenty‑two B-25C bombers opened their bomb bays almost simultaneously.

Each five‑hundred‑pound aerial bomb, whistling sharply as it broke free from the aircraft, surged like a flock of black death birds toward the sleeping airport below.

The first wave of bombs hit the airport's tarmac and hangars with precision.

"Boom—!!!"

A series of earth‑shaking explosions ripped Wuhan's night sky in an instant! Huge fireballs shot upward, lighting the entire airport as bright as day.

Dozens of Type 97 and Falcon fighters parked on the tarmac were shredded in the first blast; burning aviation fuel created a sea of fire that devoured the wreckage.

Next came the hangars.

Inside were the prized land‑attack aircraft—Japanese bombers—and planes awaiting repair; the entire hangar was blown skyward.

Shards of steel, splinters of wood, and human limbs rained down like a horrific downpour, scattering everywhere.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The mournful alarm finally echoed through the sky, but it was all too late.

Japanese soldiers at the airport were jolted awake, scrambling out of their barracks in panic, confronted with a hellish scene.

Flames leapt skyward, thick smoke billowed, explosions rose and fell; their comrades wailed and ran through the inferno, then were swallowed by the second wave of bombs.

"Baka! Anti‑aircraft guns! Open fire!" a officer shouted hoarsely.

But the anti‑aircraft positions had already been heavily targeted in the first raid. A few surviving gunners scrambled to fire at the sky, their shells blind and feeble in the darkness.

At that moment, William, circling high above, issued a second order: "Thunder Team One, Thunder Team Six, clear the ground! Go! Go! Go!"

The surge of adrenaline made William ecstatic.

Eighteen P-40E "War Axe" fighters, like tigers descending a mountain, bore a snarling shark‑mouth paint scheme as they dove.

Their targets were all moving objects on the ground and the Japanese aircraft that had just managed to take off and were preparing to meet them.

Several Zero fighters forced takeoff amid the chaos, but they faced a numerically superior force with altitude advantage: the P-40Es.

William led the charge; two streams of flame shot from under his wings, and 12.7‑mm Browning heavy machine‑gun rounds, like a death god's whip, instantly struck a Zero's fuel tank.

The Zero exploded in the air into a brilliant firework; the pilot didn't have time to bail out.

"Yee, got you, little mouse!" William shouted excitedly over the radio.

"Sir, I'm being bitten!" a P-40E pilot suddenly shouted over the radio.

It must be said that the Japanese response was extremely swift; even in this surprise attack, they could get one or two little mice airborne, showing the pilots' mental toughness.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" William yanked the stick, the fighter tracing a graceful arc that instantly looped behind the attacking Zero.

"Goodbye!" William pulled the trigger, a stream of bullets striking the Zero's cockpit with precision.

The Zero plunged toward the Yangtze; William pulled back the stick, waved his hand as if saying farewell to the Zero.

The other P-40E pilots, like sharks smelling blood, each locked onto a target. Exploiting the P-40E's rapid dive speed, they struck and fled, never engaging the agile Zero in a dogfight. One after another, the Japanese aircraft that tried to resist were shot down in desperation.

More P-40Es turned their fire toward the ground, using cannons and machine guns to rake the runway's Japanese soldiers, the anti‑aircraft positions, and any moving target, conducting a ruthless slaughter.

On the ground, the Little Devils let out desperate cries.

"Help! Mom!" A young Japanese soldier was hit in the leg by shrapnel, fell into a pool of blood, stared at his burning aircraft, and let out a mother‑tongue‑like wail.

"Long live the Emperor!" An officer drew his katana, charged wildly toward the sky, and was riddled by a volley of bullets, turned into a sieve.

"Medic! Where is the medic!" Cries, pleas, and curses intertwined, forming a symphony of apocalypse. The entire airport had become a huge, burning slaughterhouse.