Chapter 367: Attack on Dangyang

June 1, 1942, dusk, the sun set.

Inside Dangyang City, dead silence was like a tomb.

The streets and alleys were empty, shop doors and windows were nailed shut, and even the dogs dared not bark.

Two days earlier, the Huaxia Air Force's formation loomed like black clouds, dozens of silver‑gray fighters skimmed low, their engines roaring so loudly the roof tiles shattered; the civilians curled up in cellars, covering their children's mouths, fearing any sound would draw the "Iron Bird" to drop bombs.

Someone whispered: "The planes in the sky can spot the enemy's caps and bomb only military camps!"

Even though it was rumor, it plunged the whole city into suffocating fear.

The distant explosions from the Jingmen Mountains were heard by Dangyang's residents as well; it was truly terrifying—boom, boom, boom—hitting straight to the heart!

Everyone feared the Air Force's "Iron Egg" falling on Dangyang, but in fact it was William's Ghost Battalion searching for the Japanese Army's 116th Regiment's movements, circling back and forth many times.

But the truly on the brink of collapse were the Japanese Army in the city.

The main force of the original 116th Division that garrisoned Dangyang had long been redeployed south to Yichang; now only a crippled company remained, led by Company Captain Shanben Wufu, Captain, and the total personnel of Dangyang attached to the 116th Regiment numbered fewer than three hundred.

In addition, two independent infantry battalions were temporarily left behind during the retreat of the Independent Mixed 17th Brigade:

Independent Infantry Battalion 90, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Zhongcun Xinsuo;

Independent Infantry Battalion 91, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Xiaolin Zhengxiong.

The three were supposed to coordinate the defense, but at this moment the command structure had completely collapsed.

Just an hour earlier, Zhongcun and Xiaolin simultaneously received an urgent Radio Order from Wuhan:

"The 17th Brigade was surrounded at Zengjiagang, Brigade Commander Major General Nanshan Xiuji was killed, the entire brigade was wiped out."

The message was brief, yet it rang like a funeral bell.

Zhongcun's hands trembled so much he could barely hold the paper; Xiaolin slammed a fist onto the operations table, sending a teacup crashing to pieces. "Impossible! Commander Nanshan was leading the main force, over four thousand men; how could they be completely annihilated in a single day…?"

Before the words finished, a Messenger ushered Shanben Wufu into the room.

Shanben's face turned ashen, his voice trembling: "Two officers, a deserter just fled back saying… the 116th Regiment south of Huyashan was bombed by a swarm of Chinese Air Force. The whole regiment, three thousand eight hundred men, almost none survived. The regiment commander and Colonel Er Jilong… also fell."

"What?!" Zhongcun sprang up, "The regiment commander Er Jilong is also dead?"

The conference room fell into dead silence.

Outside, the dusk was heavy, and distant cannon fire seemed to echo, but it was only an auditory hallucination—there were no cannons at all.

The three stared at each other, hopelessness reflected in their eyes.

They knew clearly: Dangyang had become an isolated island.

That day, William's Ghost Battalion not only bombed the 116th Regiment, but also demolished the bridge from Dangyang to Jingmen, leaving no bridge over the Dujhang River for them to escape.

To the north, no aid from the Xiangyang direction; to the south, Yichang had fallen; to the west, Huaxia forces advanced on three fronts; to the east, the Yangtze River waterway was blocked.

Inside the city, the garrison numbered fewer than three thousand, with no heavy artillery, no anti‑air fire, and food ammunition sufficient for only seven days.

More deadly was the morale, already shattered.

Even though the higher command had strenuously tried to control the flow of information, it was still discovered by those with ill intent.

Since yesterday, soldiers had fled under cover of night. This morning, a Private First Class committed suicide at his post with a bayonet, leaving a note that read: "I don't want to die beneath the Chinese Air Force."

"Should we request aid from Wuhan?" Xiaolin's voice was hoarse.

Zhongcun gave a wry smile: "Commander A Naganuma's Radio Order yesterday: 'Each unit to turn inward, preserve any surviving force.' He won't send another soldier for a city doomed to fall."

In reality, A Naganuma also had no troops to dispatch; if he had to choose between preserving Wuhan or counter‑attacking Yichang, he would certainly prioritize keeping Wuhan, the bridgehead of Central China.

As long as Wuhan remained in the hands of the Imperial Japan, there would be a chance to counter‑attack Yichang.

Shanben lowered his head, his fingers clenched around his military sword. He knew that he, the "last lone sprout of the 116th Regiment," was merely a lamb awaiting slaughter. The regiment's flag was nowhere to be found, its honor erased, leaving only death.

Suddenly, a howl rang from the sky.

A shrill anti‑aircraft alarm suddenly tore the dead silence.

"Wooo—Wooo—Wooo—!"

Inside the city, the Japanese Army scattered like startled birds; sentries rolled and crawled into shelters, and the few remaining patrol soldiers in the streets hurriedly dropped to the ground.

Civilians slammed the cellar wooden doors shut, clasped their hands, praying that the planes above would not drop bombs.

In the sky, dozens of P‑38 "Lightning" fighters streaked by like silver shuttles, their engines roaring so loudly the city walls shed dust. The formation did not circle but surged straight toward Dangyang's southwest corner, the Japanese field airstrip's outer defenses.

"It's the Chinese Air Force!" Zhongcun Xinsuo burst out of the command post, raising his head and shouting, "Quick! Get into the air‑raid shelter!"

But it was already too late.

William's piloting P‑38 Lightning gently dipped its nose, and the belly hatch opened.

Boom!

A 500‑pound high‑explosive bomb whistled down, striking precisely at the center of the defensive works on the east side of the airfield.

Boom—!!!

Flames shot upward, the blast wave sweeping a hundred meters.

Sandbag fortifications were lifted like paper, concrete shelters shattered, three Japanese machine gunners along with a Type 92 heavy machine gun were blown apart, limbs hanging on the broken Barbed Wire, a rain of blood spilling onto the runway's edge.

Immediately after, the second and third waves of bombs followed in succession—

targeting anti‑aircraft gun positions, fuel depots, command posts, barracks,

but deliberately sparing the runway and the main hangar structures.

William completed his bomb run, circling in the air, scanning the ground targets.

Amid the explosions, William's voice rang over the radio to the formation: "Remember! The commander orders, do not bomb the runway! We will use Dangyang airfield!"

The P‑38 squadron struck with surgical precision; within fifteen minutes the outer defense system of the airfield was completely crippled. Anti‑aircraft guns fell silent, communications were cut, and over half the defending troops were killed or wounded.

The runway, however, remained intact.

Inside the city, Shanben Wufu lay behind the ruins, his face covered in blood. He saw an old soldier whose half of the body had been sliced off by shrapnel, intestines hanging on a sandbag still twitching. He tried to vomit but could not, the terror crushing his stomach.

"They… aren't here to bomb the city…" he murmured, "They're here… to take over the airfield."

Zhongcun sank to the ground, staring at the rolling black smoke to the southwest, finally understanding: the Huaxia forces not only do not want the city of Dangyang,

They still want to use this city's airport!

The three Japanese Army officers from Dangyang clearly understood the Huaxia Air Force's intention, but they had no anti‑aircraft weapons, and in this wave of air raids countless Japanese Army soldiers died under the Chinese Air Force's aerial bombs.

"Fire at the Japanese Army's positions outside the city at will."

"Received, Captain."

"Understood."

William piloted his fighter in another steep dive and pressed the launch button.

Rat‑a‑tat!

Machine Gun Bullets swept the ground Japanese Army positions.

A cloud of dust rose from the ground, mingled with the smell of blood.

Until late at night, the civilians still lacked the courage to go outside.

As night fell, the P‑38 formation pulled up its noses and vanished into the West horizon.

It left behind a crippled airport and a group of garrison troops awaiting death.