Chapter 305: Unleash a Heavenly Fire

All along the way, Zhuge Mingliang watched this well‑equipped Japanese Army unit, to avoid aircraft, scurry into the god‑forsaken deep forest like rats, abandon their vehicles, and crawl on two legs in a miserable fashion.

He knew this was a once‑in‑a‑thousand‑years chance.

He wanted this Japanese Army unit to accompany him to hell, to turn these invaders into wandering lonely ghosts in the deep mountains.

But how could he make the pilots in the sky notice?

The canopy in these mountains was too thick; even if they wriggled like ants, the aircraft high above could barely see them.

Zhuge Mingliang thought left and right, his heart nearly leapt into his throat.

He wasn't sure it would work, but perhaps it was his only chance for redemption, the only way to make this bunch of devils bear the brunt. Instinctively, his subordinate slipped a hand into his pocket, his fingertips touching something cold and hard.

It was a small portable round mirror, usually carried to tidy his slick, powdered hair.

Zhuge Mingliang's heart sank sharply, then he risked everything and pulled it out.

He pretended to stop and tie his shoes, turned his back to the nearby Japanese Army rear guard, and slipped into the shade of a large tree. He drew a deep breath, clenched the small mirror tightly in both hands, adjusted its angle, and aimed at the few distant P‑38 fighters in the sky.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, sprinkling down.

Zhuge Mingliang gritted his teeth, his wrist shaking forcefully.

A flash, a flash, another flash.

The tiny mirror reflected an intensely dazzling beam. In the dim, deep forest of the Jingmen Mountains, the beam seemed out of place, like a pleading eye frantically blinking.

"Did you see? Please, look back one glance…" Zhuge Mingliang shouted wildly in his mind, cold sweat seeping from his forehead into his eyes, burning painfully, yet his hand never ceased its motion, frantically sending this silent signal to the sky.

Zhuge Mingliang stared fixedly at those fading black specks, his heart pounding violently against his ribs as if it would burst out. The reflected beam had trembled on his wrist countless times; his arm went numb with fatigue, yet his gaze remained steadfastly fixed on the sky.

Even if there was only a one‑in‑ten‑thousand chance.

Just as he was about to despair, believing the faint beam would be swallowed by the mountain shadows, the rear P‑38 fighters suddenly changed.

They had been flying straight, as if on routine patrol. But the next second, their wings tilted slightly, the fuselage traced a graceful arc, and they abruptly turned back in mid‑air!

It wasn't an illusion.

Zhuge Mingliang's ever‑spinning little eyes widened into circles, his pupils reflecting the turning silhouettes of the fighters.

"It's successful..."

He exhaled a long breath of stale air, his body feeling as if its bones had been pulled out, slumping weakly against the tree trunk. It was the exhaustion of a narrow escape, and the release of vengeful exhilaration.

Meanwhile, at ten thousand meters altitude.

【5】 At the rear of that flight formation, in a P‑38 tasked with rear‑area search, the Pilot was routinely scanning the dull green below. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a slight oddity among the forest below.

At the rear of the flight formation, inside a P-38 aircraft assigned to rearward search, the Pilot was routinely scanning the dull green below. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a strange spot among the forest below.

It was extremely faint, yet in the dappled shadows it appeared strikingly glaring—a flickering flash.

Logically, it could have been a stream's reflection or an exposed rock, but the Pilot's wartime instinct told him the rhythmic glint resembled a distress signal.

"Captain, possible target detected, northwest forest area showing light!" The Pilot's actions tensed instantly, his voice rushed over the radio.

The radio on the other end was silent for less than half a second.

"Received!"

William's voice came through, carrying an uncontrollable excitement and cold sharpness. It was the reaction of a hunter finally tracking his prey.

"All aircraft, follow me!"

With that order, the atmosphere of the entire aerial formation changed instantly. The previously loose search formation tightened, and the twenty‑one P‑38s in the sky roared like sharks smelling blood, their engines emitting deafening howls.

They suddenly climbed, noses pointed upward, piercing the heavens, then executed a standard 360‑degree rightward roll. The maneuver was not merely tactical adjustment, but a declaration of war.

Above the clouds, William looked at the mountain range below that had yielded him nothing, a cold smile curling his lips.

"The cat‑and‑mouse game is over. I've found you."

He silently paid the highest respect in his heart to the unknown signal sender. He didn't know who it was—a brave hunter or a humbled civilian—but the reflected light, produced by something unknown, guided the entire squadron's direction.

"Give those Japanese hiding in the mountain ravines a taste of color."

William thrust the control stick forward, the P‑38 diving like a meteor.

In an instant, a mournful howl ripped through the Jingmen Mountains' silence, the sound sharpening, like the scream of Death.

On the ground, He Erjilong was riding his horse, listening to the strange noise overhead; before he could react, it turned into a deafening explosion.

"Take cover! Quickly, take cover!"

The squadron leader's roar was instantly drowned out.

The P‑38's fierce machine guns and bombs poured down like a torrential rain. The once‑quiet forest instantly became a sea of fire, soil ripped up tens of meters high, trees snapped at the waist, turning into swirling splinters.

Those Japanese soldiers who had been trudging, believing they were safe hidden in the deep forest, were instantly plunged into a furnace.

Zhuge Mingliang crouched in a crevice of a massive boulder, watching the nearby Japanese troops blown into chaos, watching the Imperial Japanese Army caps soaring into the sky, and on the face that always wore a false smile, a genuine, exhilarating grin finally appeared.

Divine retribution finally descended.

Zhuge Mingliang ran wildly through the forest as if mad.

He paid no mind to thorns tearing his cheek, to his shoe soles slipping off, even to the prized Imperial Japanese Army cap snagged and flung by a branch; he mechanically, desperately drove his legs, climbing toward higher ground away from the blast.

Two streams of hot tears mixed with cold sweat carved winding furrows across his dust‑covered face.

In those tears lay release, pain, and a post‑cathartic exhilaration.

"Father... Mother... Sister..." he choked, his voice shattering in the wind, drowned by the deafening explosions behind him.

He recalled the home burned by the Japanese Army, the relatives who perished under Bayonet, the countless days and nights he had to beg like a dog before the enemy to survive and seek a chance. Those humiliating days gnawed at his heart like countless poisonous snakes, yet he endured, waiting for this one chance.

Now, the chance has arrived.

National vengeance, familial hatred—at this moment, amid the all‑encompassing flames, they are avenged together!