Chapter 389: Bombing Tokyo

Nanjing, June 6, 1942, 02:16 a. m.

The night had not yet faded, and the Yangtze River wound through the city like a black ribbon.

Twelve B-29 "Superfortress" aircraft silently swept over the summit of Zijin Mountain at six thousand meters altitude; their engines' low growl was swallowed by the clouds, stirring not a single blade of grass in the city.

In the cockpit, William stared down.

The outline of Zhongshan Mausoleum was hidden in the thin mist, Xuanwu Lake resembled a black mirror, and the Zhonghua Gate, which had once witnessed the blood and tears of three hundred thousand compatriots, now lay silently in darkness.

"Nanjing…" he whispered the name, his voice barely audible.

Even as a soldier of the WarSystem, William knew well how this city had howled in bayonet and flame during the bitter winter five years ago.

But he also knew that this time the target was not here, and the Commander would not permit bombing the city.

"Maintain altitude, six thousand meters," William ordered, his tone calm yet weighted with a thousand pounds, "We will not bomb this place."

Jiang Anguo wielded an air force with absolute superiority, no longer the weak force once cut up at will.

William's target lay to the East, in the heart of the Imperial empire that had started the war.

The vengeance for Nanjing must be offered with fire upon Tokyo.

The navigator reported softly, "We have passed Nanjing, heading 085, expected arrival at Kyushu at 05:20."

William cast one last glance at the ancient city sleeping beneath his feet.

He knew Japanese Army troops still garrisoned the city, and traitorous collaborators still lay in drunken sleep, but at this moment he chose to fly over in silence.

The forces stationed in Nanjing were the Japanese Army's 15th Division, a Class A Division; its division commander Jiu Jing Zhi Ci had, during the previous Zhejiang–Jiangxi campaign, guessed the Landmines of the Third War Zone's troops, and was the highest‑ranking commander killed by a Landmine.

"Tell each crew," he suddenly said, "as we pass each fallen city, swing the wings left and right. Consider it… a consolation."

A low response crackled over the radio:

"Understood."

One after another, the B-29 right‑wing navigation lights flickered briefly, like stars shedding tears.

A faint glow skimmed over Rain Flower Terrace, over the Confucius Temple, and over Jiangdong Gate.

On the ground, no one knew where these twelve steel giants were heading.

Even the Japanese garrison that looked up saw only a flashing red dot, moving fast and high.

Only the Yangtze River flowed silently, as if saying: Go, children. Seek justice for us!

The engine roar faded, and Nanjing fell back into silence.

Pacific Ocean.

June 6, 1942, 05:18 a. m.

Morning light pierced the clouds, turning the sea surface into a sheet of shattered gold.

Twelve B-29 "Superfortress" aircraft, like steel albatrosses, swept over the rugged coastline of the Izu Islands.

Below the wings, the Kanto Plain unfolded dramatically, rivers like silver ribbons, fields like a chessboard, and the once‑imperial capital now lay quietly beneath the shadow of Mount Fuji.

"Battalion Commander, I think I see a snow‑capped mountain!" co‑pilot Li Ke said to William.

William looked to the left side of his window; indeed, it was a snow‑capped mountain, pure and flawless, yet the people here were filled with darkness in their hearts.

"Divine Bird One, enter the target zone," the navigator said hoarsely, bloodshot eyes.

Having taken off from Dangyang over six hours ago, crossing 2,600 km of the East Sea, the crew was already exhausted, but no one dared to slack.

William gripped the control stick tightly, his knuckles whitening. He glanced down at the instruments:

Altitude: 7,200 meters

Fuel: 61%

Wind speed: west wind 10 knots — tailwind!

"Open the radio, all crews, attention," he pressed the microphone, his voice steady as iron, "We have arrived. Tokyo is right beneath us."

The cabin was dead silent, save for the engine's low growl and the hiss of oxygen masks.

The bombardier crouched before the Norden sight, his hands trembling slightly.

Through a gap in the clouds, he clearly saw the streets below like a spider's web, rooftops undulating like waves; that place was Japan's capital, Tokyo.

Before takeoff, none of them had imagined a day when they would carry out a mission to bomb Tokyo; even with only twelve aircraft, that was enough.

All the pilots were brimming with excitement.

"Target acquired!" the observer shouted suddenly, "Xia Guan! the Army Provincial Building!"

William squinted and looked down.

That gray‑white Western‑style building stood out sharply in the dawn, the nerve center that had planned the invasion of China. Nanjing, Wuhan, Yichang… countless orders emanated from there.

"Maintain formation, descend to 2,500 meters," William ordered, "Prepare to bomb. Only military and government targets, no civilian houses."

Jiang Anguo's indiscriminate attack order was given to William, yet William did not follow it; perhaps he still yearned for that knightly spirit.

"Battalion Commander, what if we make a mistake?" a pilot asked over the radio.

"Then let them meet God," William growled.

William knew clearly that the gift they carried could not leave any survivors.

Twelve B-29s slowly spread out, their silver wings glittering in the sunrise. Their sudden appearance set off ground alarms, and the Japanese Army's senior command in Tokyo could never have imagined aircraft coming from the West; they had always assumed planes would arrive from the Pacific direction.

The shrill anti‑aircraft alarms made countless Japanese civilians feel as if a great enemy loomed.

"Quick… quick… sound the combat alarm! Sound the combat alarm!"

"Nani? Enemy formation?" the surrounding soldiers were stunned; they knew the last Doolittle raid on Tokyo had been only two months ago, and the casualties had not been great.

But when the next bombing came, many people still stood in place, not knowing what to do.

Perhaps they thought this bombing would be no worse than the previous one.

Seeing the surrounding troops freeze, Mu Cun, fuming, roared and slapped the officer in front of him: "Baka ya lu, you fool, I said sound the combat alarm immediately, didn't you hear? The aircraft that just flew over weren't Imperial planes, they were a Chinese flock!"

Mu Cun's eyesight was sharp; he saw the insignia under the wing, not American but blue‑white, that was the Chinese flock.

Japan Tokyo Imperial General Headquarters Operations Command.

"Moshi Moshi, this is the Headquarters Operations Command. I am Zhong Jing Sanlang, may I ask what you want? Nani… the Chinese warplanes are flying toward Tokyo? What are you kidding? You should know that falsifying military intelligence will land you in a military court!"

Zhong Jing Sanlang's first reaction was that this must be a prank call from some bastard, and as he was about to continue speaking, a harsh alarm sounded nearby…

"Bzzzz…"

At that moment, a deep rumble came from the sky; the sound was so powerful it made people's ears buzz, and everyone couldn't help but look up at the heavens with curiosity.

Suddenly, a middle‑aged man pointed at the sky and shouted, "Oh my God, those airplanes are huge!"

"Indeed, these planes are really big, but why have I never seen them before? Could they all be the Imperial's newest warplanes?" The surrounding crowd began to chatter.

On the ground, a Tokyo citizen who had just gone out to buy a newspaper looked up and saw a silver giant bird circling in the sky; the Morning Sun Newspaper in his hand slipped to the ground.

"Enemy… enemy aircraft?!" he muttered, unable to believe his eyes.

The crowd on the ground only realized, upon hearing the air‑raid siren, that these were not their own aircraft but the enemy's.

The crowd began to panic, scrambling for places to take cover.