Chapter 258: A Naganuma in Terror

The formation flew smoothly above the cloud layer, the engine's monotonous roar the only sound in this sky. Yet when the flight path was about to sweep over Nanchang, William's gaze suddenly sharpened.

Nanchang, one of the Japanese Army's most important air bases and troop concentration points in Central China.

"Ghosts, attention, prepare to descend altitude. I'm conducting visual reconnaissance. Baby Bottle, continue to hold altitude unchanged." William's voice rang over the channel, breaking the prior stillness.

"Copy, Captain." the wingman Pilot replied immediately.

As William gently pushed the control stick, his P‑38 "Lightning" elegantly rolled its fuselage and began a slow descent from ten thousand meters. The remaining 17 "Lightning" aircraft followed like shadows, forming a perfect attack wedge, shielding the C‑47 transport formation above more tightly. The altimeter digits raced, and when the formation descended to a height where the ground's outline became clear, a massive city's silhouette appeared below the view.

It's Nanchang.

William lowered the nose, almost skimming the lower edge of the cloud layer. Through the cockpit glass, he could clearly see the city's streets, Bridge, and… the neatly lined Japanese Army fighters on Nanchang Airport, their cold glint flashing in the sunlight.

What made his heart pound even more was that in several open patches of the city and within the barracks, countless tiny black dots were gathering, arranged in square formations like writhing ant colonies. Though distant and indistinct in serial numbers or equipment, William's seasoned experience instantly judged—this was a large‑scale Japanese Army troop assembly!

A surge of rage and murderous intent rose from William's core. He seemed to hear the arrogant shouts of the Little Devil (Japanese soldier) on the ground. His fingers instinctively brushed the weapons control panel; a light press would release the bombs and rockets mounted under the wings, sending those dense crowds skyward.

"Captain?" the wingman's voice came, tinged with a hint of inquiry and barely contained excitement. All the Ghost squadron pilots had seen the scene below; they were like sharks smelling blood, yearning for a hunt.

William took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the impulse within.

What was his mission? The Baby Bottle operation, escorting the C‑47, delivering 1.4 million rounds of ammunition safely to Quzhou.

The brothers in Quzhou were eagerly awaiting these life‑saving munitions.

The Japanese Army in Nanchang was indeed detestable, but they were a future target, not the present one.

Nevertheless, now that they had reached Nanchang, a sly grin curled at William's mouth.

"We'll go scare them," William said over the radio.

As expected, the Japanese Army below, seeing William's fighter, fled in panic, their formation breaking into chaos.

"Maintain formation, continue climbing," William's voice returned to steel‑like calm, "Our target is Quzhou. Don't be fooled by the roadside scenery."

"Copy."

The P‑38 formation pulled its noses up again, like a prideful flock of hawks, soaring back into the clouds, leaving the murderous city behind. Yet every Pilot firmly retained the scene they had just witnessed.

Nanchang, this ledger, they will settle it sooner or later. Today, they simply noted it.

Inside Nanchang city, at the assembly grounds of the Japanese Army's 3rd Division and 34th Division, a clamor reigned. Soldiers shouldered rifles, officers brandished sabers; everything proceeded in tense yet orderly fashion. Suddenly, a low, continuous engine roar rolled in from afar, drowning out all ground noise.

A seasoned veteran instinctively looked up, his pupils snapping shut.

"Air raid! Enemy aircraft!" he shouted hoarsely.

The entire assembly erupted instantly. The previously orderly lines were shattered, soldiers scattering like frightened ants, seeking any possible cover. Chaotic shouts, officers' beratings, and the thud of leather boots on the ground mingled together.

No one would think these were their own planes; yesterday's bombing was still vivid.

Inside the Japanese Army's 11th Army forward command, Lieutenant General A Naganuma faced the map, troubled by the stalemate toward Changsha. The turmoil outside the window jolted him upright; he rushed a few steps to the window and looked up at the sky.

The sunlight was harsh, yet he instantly recognized that distinctive twin‑fuselage silhouette.

"P‑38… it's the American's 'Lightning'!" A Naganuma's complexion turned ashen.

Those damned planes again! A sense of helplessness surged within him.

Nanchang Airport had been crippled in earlier raids; the few remaining fighters were mere ornaments. Anti‑aircraft guns in the city were scarce, and against such high‑altitude, high‑speed fighters they were essentially scrap metal. Now Nanchang resembled a naked beauty, vulnerable to slaughter.

But there was a difference: the aircraft escorting yesterday's bombing were the American P‑40s; today they were P‑38s.

A Naganuma subconsciously clenched his fists, bracing for the imminent, gut‑wrenching explosions and flames. He could already picture the assembled soldiers turning into blood‑splattered fragments under carpet bombing.

Yet one second, two seconds, ten seconds…

The expected explosion never came.

That massive formation of nearly twenty Lightning aircraft merely glided over Nanchang with an extremely arrogant and insulting demeanor. They even lowered altitude slightly, as if inspecting the ground chaos, then turned away without looking back, heading east, soon vanishing on the horizon.

No one bothered to count exactly how many Lightning fighters were in the sky; everyone was only concerned with the frenzied kill.

A Naganuma was stunned, slowly releasing his clenched fist, his face full of bewilderment and a hint of being toyed with anger.

They… just left like that?

Why didn't they drop bombs? That doesn't match the American way of fighting. They always like to pour fire onto every possible target.

"General, they… they left?" a staff officer, equally incredulous, ran in.

A Naganuma gave no answer, hurried back to the map, his finger tracing the direction where the Lightning vanished.

Nanchang… east…

His finger suddenly stopped on a region of the map.

"Zhe‑Gan…" he muttered, a chill flashing in his eyes.

A terrifying hypothesis rose in his mind. These P‑38s had ultra‑long range; they weren't there to bomb Nanchang—perhaps Nanchang was merely a "sightseeing spot" on their route.

Their target was the Zhe‑Gan war zone further east!

Could it be… something they didn't know was happening there? The Chinese army planning a massive offensive there?

A Naganuma immediately grabbed the telephone, his tone urgent as he shouted, "Connect all units on the Zhe‑Gan front! I need to know the latest situation in the eastern war zone right now! Immediately!"