Chapter 303: The 116th Regiment That Vanished in Dangyang

In the sky.

"Altitude 1,500."

Static on the radio accompanied the reading, clear and calm. William nodded, though no one could see his motion.

He turned slightly, looking down through the oval glass window beside the P-38 "Lightning" fighter.

At a glance, the earth seemed covered by a huge green blanket. They had already flown north for over forty kilometers, the wind sounding sharp and urgent amid the engine's roar.

Through gaps in the layers of cloud, the winding river below and the dim outlines of towns were faintly discernible.

Ahead was Dangyang.

Yet, as his gaze swept, William's doubt grew like a rolling snowball.

Too quiet.

The silence made him uneasy.

Dangyang was garrisoned by the Japanese Army's 116th Regiment.

On the map, Dangyang lay just over forty kilometers in a straight line from the Xiaoting combat zone. For a well‑trained army, that was hardly a long distance.

William's brows knit tightly. He quickly calculated in his mind: the fully‑armed Japanese infantry's forced‑march speed, slower than mechanized units, but after a day and night— even accounting for terrain and logistics— they should already have reached the outskirts of Xiaoting, perhaps already linked up with the embattled 104th Regiment.

Moreover, the 116th Regiment belonged to the 13th Division, a Class‑A Division.

But now the land below was empty. Even though they deliberately flew low, they still saw no signs of large‑scale troop movements.

A regiment, at least three thousand strong, plus attached forces, meant the 116th Regiment sent over 4,000 men to support Xiaoting.

Such a force had simply vanished.

There was no snake‑like marching column, no raised dust, and none of the oppressive feeling that thousands marching together generate.

"Could the 116th Regiment have disappeared?" William muttered, his fingers unconsciously tapping the control stick.

He glanced at the instrument panel; the P-38 "Lightning"'s cruise needle steadied at 480 km/h.

At that speed, even a few minutes' lapse could cause them to miss the target.

If they flew past, the bombing run would yield nothing in the target area.

"Damn it."

William muttered a curse under his breath.

As a pilot, he had his own principles.

Their mission was clear: eliminate the living Japanese forces that had left Dangyang to reinforce, and cut off enemy aid to Xiaoting. But that did not mean he would drop bombs into Dangyang itself. Civilians lived there, innocent people. Indiscriminate bombing over a crowded city was the work of Nazis and Japanese fascists, not William's way.

It was also not Jiang Anguo's way; Jiang Anguo had ordered that William not bomb the town center.

But William had to locate the missing army.

William took a deep breath, waved his hand inside the cramped cockpit, and gave a hand signal. The radio channel immediately carried his calm command:

"All units, attention, disperse. Wingmen on the left and right, fly east and west respectively to extend the search. Don't focus only on the main road; scan every inch of ground with your eyes!"

A few short, firm replies came through the headset: "Copy."

Immediately after, he opened the channel to the second squadron: "Nick, have your second squadron spread out, broaden the search area! Don't fly too orderly; fan out like a net!"

"Understood, Captain." Nick's voice was efficient.

The next second, the previously orderly combat formation in the sky shattered instantly. The P‑38s painted in matte green camouflage burst apart like fireworks, scattering. They no longer kept tight three‑plane formations; instead they widened spacing, heading southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest, like lone wolves hunting, spreading a massive aerial search net.

Time ticked by second by second. The propellers churned the air, and William felt his eyes growing sore.

He circled, dove, and climbed in the air. Every town, road, and forest between Dangyang's outskirts and Xiaoting became his search target. Yet after half an hour, the result was disappointing— still nothing.

He couldn't even spot a decent truck, not even a small transport convoy.

This abnormal silence pushed William's doubts to the limit. He even began to consider a ridiculous possibility: perhaps the 116th Regiment heading from Dangyang never departed? Maybe they hid like turtles within Dangyang's fortified defenses for some reason.

"That can't be..." William instantly rejected the thought.

He understood the Japanese Army. They were a stubborn and fierce foe, highly disciplined in coordinated combat, never ignoring the fate of allies. Since even the 39th Division from distant Zhi Jiang and Jingzhou had already moved to assist, how could the 13th Division's 116th Regiment, as a direct and nearer unit, abandon its own 104th Regiment? That contradicted the Japanese Army's Bushido spirit and basic military logic.

So where had this entire regiment, thousands of men plus horses and logistics, vanished into thin air?

William piloted the fighter, low‑flying over a stretch of rolling forest again, shaking his head in helplessness.

Still nothing found!

At this moment, within the blind spot of William's view, among the towering mountains...

On a rugged, winding, almost untouched path of the Jingmen Mountains, a unit was laboriously crawling.

Japanese Army 116th Regiment commander He Er Jilong, leaning on his command saber, huffed as he climbed a dirt slope. His face was smeared with mud, his uniform torn by thorns, yet his narrow eyes glittered with a cunning, sinister light.

He halted, turned his head toward the sky. The few matte‑green fighters had just roared overhead, their engine roar echoing through the valley, fading away.

He Er Jilong watched the receding black specks, a cold sneer curling his mouth. The smile carried both mockery and a hint of luck.

"Stupid Chinese pilot..." he muttered silently.

At the same time he was pleased with his own cleverness, but that made He Er Jilong even more cautious, because the skies over Central China no longer belonged to the Imperial Japanese Empire.

It turned out that after receiving a rescue telegram and tactical guidance from the 104th Regiment heading from Xiaoting, 116th Regiment commander He Er Jilong did not, like the 39th Division, stride confidently from Dangyang to Xiaoting along the flat road.

He knew well that on this battlefield, stripped of air superiority, the main road was a death trap.

Those "Lightning" fighters darting in the sky were the low‑altitude infantry's nightmare.

Damn the Americans!

He Er Jilong cursed.

It must be an American fighter; Chinese couldn't have such advanced aircraft, and of course Japanese commanders also knew of the Flying Tigers and P‑40 fighters.