Chapter 391: Return Voyage

Tokyo, no longer a world for humans.

The whole city is burning.

Not just one spot, not just a corner, but from the Sumida River to the Imperial Palace, the entire Tokyo is burning.

Fire linked to fire, smoke to smoke, merging into an endless sea of crimson inferno.

White phosphorus bombs fell like poisonous rain; they ignite wood on contact and burn even hotter in water.

Centuries‑old townhouses collapsed in the flames, paper sliding doors turned into ash butterflies, and tatami mats curled into charcoal;

Shop signs melted into molten iron, dripping onto the backs of refugees with a sizzle;

Tram tracks glowed red from the heat, twisted like snakes; a city tram that hadn't managed to leave halted in the road, its carriage filled with stacked corpses, flesh stripped away, leaving only skeletal white bones clutching the handrails.

On the streets, people fled like ant swarms, yet had nowhere to go.

The wind fed the flames, forming dozens of fire vortices that lifted burning beams, debris, and even strands of hair that danced wildly in the air.

Someone leapt into the river, thinking water could save them; but when they emerged, the burning spot reignited, forcing another plunge. After repeated attempts, they ran out of strength and sank to the riverbed.

Three scents permeated the air:

A pungent garlic odor—that was white phosphorus burning.

The smell of charred wood, as Tokyo's many wooden structures burned.

The most nauseating was the sickening smell of roasted meat.

The sky was shrouded in thick smoke; daylight felt like night.

Occasionally a B-29 skimmed low, its belly flashing silver before dropping another rain of death.

No one on the ground looked up; they knew it wasn't cherry blossoms, but the fury of hell.

Toward the Imperial Palace, the flames of the Fengming Hall reddened half the city.

The Emperor fled into a bunker, while his subjects wailed in the inferno.

Tokyo, the imperial capital that once boasted "never to fall",

now has only three things left: fire, ash, and cries of despair.

According to post‑war statistics, this Huaxia air force bombing of Japan killed over 130,000 Tokyo residents, and the Imperial Palace where the Emperor lived was more than half destroyed; this Tang‑style palace also perished in the raid.

In fact, the initial white phosphorus bombs detonated in the air caused limited harm to Tokyo civilians; the crucial factor was that Tokyo's houses were wooden, so once ignited they quickly set the surroundings ablaze, spreading to nearby structures.

Under the chain reaction, countless Tokyo houses were set alight, causing the casualty figure to keep rising.

The blaze burned from morning until the late night before finally subsiding.

Later, according to Japanese Army statistics, had it not been for the heavy rain that night, the death toll would have risen further, possibly reaching three hundred thousand.

This far exceeds the damage from Doolittle's Tokyo raid, which only caused dozens of deaths on the Japanese mainland.

Of course, his bombing targeted mostly Japanese military installations, which was more effective than striking ordinary civilians.

Crucially, the Americans wanted to ease their pressure in the Pacific Ocean.

And Jiang Anguo's "Sun‑Shooting" operation was primarily a threat to the Japanese Army high command; he wanted those bastards to understand that if they harmed Huaxia civilians, they shouldn't blame his ruthlessness.

Since a single bombing of Tokyo is possible, countless more can follow.

The day after Japan's bombing, it forcefully clung to the Allies' raid, and thereafter no one paid any heed to Japan.

First, Japan had already gone to war with the Allies, not only bombing Pearl Harbor but also attacking the British colonies in Southeast Asia.

Even now, no one would sympathize with Japan, even if the dead were Japanese civilians.

Even Germany remained silent.

The moment the last bomb left its rack, the weather abruptly changed.

Just moments ago the sky was clear, then black clouds roiled like an ink sea, rolling in from the Pacific Ocean. Gale winds tore at the wings, and the airflow churned like angry waves.

"Weather sudden change!" the navigator shouted, "Wind speed surged to 30 knots, cloud‑base dropped to 4,000 meters!"

William whirled around, and through the port window saw several black dots on the southeastern horizon racing toward them.

Zero fighters! At least one squadron!

His heart tightened.

Although the B-29 had heavy armor and guns, it had just finished dropping its payload, fuel was half spent, and it could not afford a dogfight.

Moreover, this was deep in Japan, where enemy aircraft could arrive endlessly.

Speed was the key; the B‑29 was too slow to escape the Zero's attack.

At that moment, a bolt of lightning split the clouds, illuminating the still‑burning Tokyo below. The flames reflected in William's eyes, sending a chill through him: this cursed weather might be heaven's aid!

"All divine birds, attention!" he grabbed the radio, his voice firm, "Bombs released! Climb immediately to 8,000 meters, full speed into the clouds! Repeat, into the clouds! This is our cover!"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Understood! Stay with the formation!"

Twelve B‑29s roared in unison, noses lifted like silver leviathans diving into rolling black clouds. The airframes shuddered violently, ice crystals striking the windows with crackle. Visibility in the clouds dropped to zero, only the instrument panels' dim glow illuminating the crew's pallid faces.

"Maintain heading 240, speed 320 knots!" William stared at the gyro, "Chen Jie, keep eyes on the radar! The devils may be firing blind!"

Before the words finished, a muffled explosion sounded below the clouds; Japanese Army anti‑aircraft guns fired blindly, shells detonating in the clouds and shaking the B‑29 like a leaf in the wind.

In fact, it all occurred in an instant; William's bombing mission was completed the moment the bomb bay opened.

"They can't see us now," the bombardier gasped, a hint of a smile in his voice.

William dared not relax. He knew that as soon as the clouds cleared, or a Japanese plane climbed to the same altitude, the hunt would resume instantly.

The only hope was Nick's P‑38.

"Calling 'Ghost'," he switched channels, speaking rapidly, "Divine bird has left the target area, heading southwest. Expected arrival over Izu at 7:20. Your position?"

The radio emitted only static.

He clenched his teeth. Nick's mission was to suppress Nanjing, Shanghai, and Hangzhou airfields; now he might be in fierce combat, or perhaps... unable to arrive.

"Then we rely on ourselves," he whispered, his gaze sweeping over the fuel gauge at 59%.

Enough to fly back to Dangyang, Front is, not being intercepted again.

Deep in the cloud layers, twelve B-29s slipped like ghosts.

For a moment they could not contact the Ghost Battalion, giving William a slight unease.

Having confirmed that all bombers have sufficient fuel.

William issued a strange order, saying over the radio, "We will fly north."

Indeed, when William arrived it was in a straight line, from Kyushu Island, flying over Mount Fuji, bombing Tokyo.

The Japanese Army fighters over Kyushu Island were definitely on his retreat route, with other fighters following behind.

William must slip through the sea between the Korean Peninsula and Japan, evading all Japanese Army surveillance, and return smoothly to Huaxia.

It must be said, William's move was very useful.

The Japanese Army fighters preparing to ambush William's bombing squadron, after a search, suddenly found the enemy bombers vanished in the sky; even when the search radius was expanded to two hundred kilometers, they still could not locate them.