Chapter 262: Third War Zone

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

One by one, the C-47s' cargo doors opened, and huge parachutes were thrown out of the aircraft.

Below the parachutes hung heavy crates, swaying as they drifted down to the ground.

The crates were filled with the ground troops' most needed items: boxes of neatly stacked ammunition, boxes of precious medical supplies, and bags of food that could fill the soldiers' bellies.

The Air Drop locations were carefully calculated, all behind the 86 Army Defensive Line, ensuring absolute safety.

"North of Jinhua, not allowed," William thought silently as he looked at the map in the cockpit.

That area is now occupied by the Japanese Army and is an extremely dangerous rear zone.

He would never risk these precious supplies and the lives of the C-47 crew.

On the ground, officers shouted orders as soldiers rushed to the Air Drop points, released the parachute cords, and swiftly moved the supplies to concealed spots. Cheers and the shouts of material handling intertwined, dispelling the battlefield's deathly gloom.

William watched the scene below, and the tight line of his mouth finally showed a faint, barely perceptible curve.

The mission was half completed.

"Milk Bottle 4th Squad, you may return first," William said over the radio.

"Roger!" Five C-47 transport aircraft, after completing the Air Drop mission, turned around and headed toward Changde.

Frontline supplies were completed, and more materiel still had to be sent to the rear of the Third War Zone.

He glanced at the fuel gauge and then issued a new order: "Ghost Squadron, maintain escort formation, we are returning!"

The massive formation traced a magnificent arc in the sky, turning west.

Behind them lay the revitalized Chinese Army positions, and a stretch of the Japanese Army's retreat shrouded in mustard gas, dead silent.

Parachutes blossomed in the air like huge white flowers, slowly descending into a relatively safe area behind the 86 Army positions.

The soldiers rushed forward as if greeting a miracle, eagerly using Bayonets, engineer shovels, and even their bare hands to pry open the sturdy wooden crates.

When the crate lids opened, everyone inhaled a cold breath.

On top were rows of neatly stacked 7.92mm Mauser rifle cartridges, wrapped in oilcloth, gleaming with fresh metallic luster.

For soldiers who were about to run out of their last bullet, this was more precious than gold.

"Ammunition! It's ammunition!" a Platoon Leader shouted, his voice trembling with excitement as he hoisted a crate like a child, "Quick! Distribute! Everyone fill their ammo belts first!"

In the Third War Zone, supply logistics were already extremely difficult.

First, rear supplies must guarantee the th War Zone, then the Third War Zone.

Next, more crates were opened. Medical Packs bearing a huge red cross were carefully taken out.

For field aid stations lacking medicine and forced to bandage with cloth strips and herbs, these Sulfonamide powders, bandages, and painkillers were lifelines snatched from death's grasp.

However, when the last crate was opened, everyone fell silent. Inside there was no cold steel, no pungent medicine smell, only rows of tin cans.

A young soldier named Xie Xuan, who had attended school for a few years and was one of the few "cultured" men in the company, picked up a can and, by the sunlight, carefully read the English printed on it.

"This is... Canned Beef!" he shouted almost.

"Beef?" the surrounding soldiers gathered, eyes full of disbelief.

How long had they gone without seeing meat? Before the war, beef was something only the landlord's family could afford.

On the battlefield, this was practically legendary food.

The officers quickly arrived, collected and logged all the supplies, then began distribution.

Ammunition and medical supplies were dispatched immediately to the places most in need.

As for those cans, they were to be centrally managed as war reserves.

But orders are orders, and humanity is humanity.

In corners unnoticed by the officers, there were always one or two quick‑handed soldiers who slipped a can into their own pockets and covered it tightly with clothing. The officer in charge of receipt saw it but merely turned a blind eye, pretending not to notice.

On this land that could be sacrificed at any moment, amid scarce supplies and relentless high‑intensity combat against the ferocious Japanese Army, a single can of Beef that could bring a brief warmth and satisfaction was a tiny hope that kept them alive.

Such "stashing" was insignificant and went unpunished, because everyone knew that those who got to eat the can were heroes who had just crawled back from hell.

The supplies from five transport aircraft were naturally insufficient for an entire army's needs.

But it at least gave the warriors of the 86 Army a sigh of relief.

From high above, overlooking the revitalized Chinese Army positions below, William's mood was not eased. His gaze swept over the weapon hardpoints beneath his wing, which were empty.

It wasn't that he didn't want to continue striking the Japanese Army on the ground, but he couldn't. To escort the C-38 transport aircraft and ensure enough range to fly from Changde directly to Quzhou and return safely, his P-38 Lightnings only carried auxiliary fuel tanks and fully loaded cannon ammunition. For speed and range, they sacrificed the ability to carry bombs.

After the recent air battle, the Ghost Battalion had its firepower fully unleashed, so ammunition was scarce, and the fully loaded P-38 Lightning fighters carried only a little over two thousand rounds.

William still couldn't take down an enemy with a single bullet.

Compared with other fighters, the P-38's payload was terrifying!

Thus, they lost the chance to effectively bomb the Japanese Army on the ground. At this moment, the Ghost Squadron was like a pack of razor‑sharp but disarmed hawks; their deterrence remained, but they could no longer deliver a lethal strike.

What weighed heavier on his mind was the recent loss. That sudden air battle, though a decisive victory, left the Ghost Squadron not entirely unscathed.

A P-38, during the dogfight, had its engine hit by a Japanese aircraft's suicide attack; the pilot parachuted out successfully and vanished among the endless mountains.

Whether alive or dead, no one knew. William could only pray that the ground forces would find him quickly.

He must ensure the Milk Bottle Battalion could return safely to Changde. From Japanese Army airfields in Shanghai, Nanjing, Hangzhou and elsewhere, new interceptor squadrons could take off at any moment, and they were now like walking a tightrope.

William switched frequencies in the channel, trying to contact the Third War Zone command post on the ground. After several calls, a slightly hoarse and surprised voice finally came through the radio.

"This is the Third War Zone command, which unit are you?"

"Hello, sir," William said in clear Chinese out of respect, "I am the Milk Bottle Battalion, Colonel William. Our unit has been ordered to supply Air Drop ammunition to Quzhou. May I ask whether Quzhou Airport can currently accommodate transport aircraft takeoffs and landings? Is the runway cleared?"

The radio on the other end fell silent for a moment, clearly shocked by the sudden news.