Bright Sword: The Flowers of War

Chapter 204 Arrival
Hong Kong, October 1938

This Far Eastern metropolis, which maintains a facade of prosperity despite being shrouded in the shadow of war, is actually experiencing undercurrents of unrest.

Jimmy Doolittle and Foll are running around trying to find the plane, but the job is proving to be much more difficult than they thought.

The shadow of war made everything sensitive and complicated.

At this time, Hong Kong was under British control. These British were the type of people who wouldn't act until they saw a clear benefit. They had already sensed the risk of war and were unwilling to get easily involved in this mess.

The owners of Hong Kong airlines either demanded astronomical prices or made excuses to delay or refuse to cooperate with Fore's requests to lease or purchase large transport aircraft.

As for the smugglers operating in the dark alleys, their planes were dilapidated and like flying coffins; Doolittle would never dare to risk more than a hundred lives.

As the days went by, the American adventurers gathered in Hong Kong began to feel increasingly restless.

Among these people were young pilots eager to make a name for themselves, skilled but unappreciated mechanics, and adventurers who came purely for the high commissions.

They come from different backgrounds and have different personalities, but they all have one thing in common: they are unruly and most of them are not good people.

"Jimmy, when are we finally going to leave? If we keep waiting like this, I'm afraid the guys will lose patience."

A middle-aged man nicknamed "One-Eyed Jack" was complaining to Doolittle, who had lost an eye in World War I, and was now complaining to Doolittle with some impatience.

With a cigar dangling from his mouth, his thick beard trembled slightly as he spoke.

Doolittle patted him on the shoulder, his deep eyes revealing a firm resolve: "Jack, trust me, and please give the guys a little more patience. I've got some leads, and good news will be coming soon."

His "sight" stemmed from difficult negotiations with British colonial government officials.

Initially, the arrogant British dismissed his request, fearing it would anger the Japanese and jeopardize British interests in the Far East.

But Doolittle did not give up. He used all the connections he had built in the American aviation industry to put pressure on the British through various channels.

While passionately proclaiming the righteousness of supporting China's resistance against Japan, he kept hinting at the long-term strategic benefits and potential commercial returns this move might bring.

Of course, some "lubricants" also played a significant role.

For example, promises of future cooperation on certain aviation projects, as well as some private "thank you fees," also played a subtle role.

The reason this was effective was that Doolittle had previously been a senior advisor to Shell, an American oil giant, and his network of connections spanned the entire American aviation industry. Naturally, the British had to give him face in response to his request.

Finally, after tremendous effort and sacrifice, things took a turn for the better.

The British side has relented and agreed to "lend" three Douglas DC-3 aircraft belonging to British Eastern Airlines (one of the predecessors of BOAC) to Doolittle.

These three aircraft, whose flights have been drastically reduced due to the war, are now idly sitting in the hangar at Kai Tak Airport, "basking in the sun."

The DC-3, a twin-engine propeller transport aircraft, is renowned worldwide for its robust structure, reliable performance, and impressive carrying capacity, earning it the nickname "the mule of the air." For Doolittle, this was undoubtedly a timely and much-needed boost.

"Gentlemen, we have an airplane!"

When Doolittle brought the news back to the hotel, the impatient crowd erupted in cheers.

The long-suppressed anxiety vanished, replaced by excitement and anticipation.

Late at night on August 25th.

At Hong Kong's Kai Tak Airport, the daytime hustle and bustle has long since faded, leaving only a few dim navigation lights flickering in the night fog.

Three silver-white DC-3 passenger planes, like three giant birds lying in wait, quietly rested at the end of the runway.

Most of their portholes were covered with thick blackout cloth, letting in only a few slivers of light. The engines were already warmed up, emitting a deep, even hum that conveyed a sense of pent-up power in the quiet night sky.

One hundred and twenty-seven Americans, under the command of Doolittle and several team leaders, boarded the plane in a tense but orderly manner, carrying simple luggage.

Among them were pilots, navigators, radio operators, mechanics, ground support personnel, and even several military doctors and nurses.

In order to carry as many people and necessary equipment as possible, most of the seats in the cabin were removed, and people were crammed together shoulder to shoulder and back to back, with the air filled with a mixture of sweat, tobacco and engine oil smells.

Doolittle himself sat in the cockpit of the first aircraft, serving as the captain.

He put on his flight cap and headset, skillfully checking the various data on the instrument panel. His co-pilot, a young man named Tom King, wasn't particularly experienced in flying, but he was technically sound, bold yet meticulous.

"Attention all crews, this is the navigator, codename 'Polaris'," Doolittle's voice came clearly over the radio to the other two aircraft. "Check all systems and report readiness."

"Orion received, system normal, ready!"

"Sirius received. Everything is ready and we can take off at any time!"

The captains of the other two planes were also experienced veterans. They knew the dangers of this night flight and dared not be negligent in the slightest.

As the takeoff clearance signal was issued by the control tower (after special coordination), Doolittle took a deep breath and steadily pushed the throttle valve.

"boom--"

The roar of the engines suddenly intensified, and the powerful thrust propelled the heavy fuselage as it began to taxi on the runway. The scenery outside the window rushed past, and the plane accelerated, accelerated!
"Take off!" Doolittle shouted in a low voice, gently pulling up the control stick.

The massive DC-3, as if defying gravity, rose nose up, gracefully leaving the ground and roaring into the inky black night sky. Following closely behind, Orion and Sirius also took to the skies.

Three giant steel birds, carrying 127 adventurous Americans from thousands of miles away, eager for a hefty commission, flew northwest towards the distant and unfamiliar land of China. Their journey was over 1,600 kilometers long, and their destination was Wutai County in Shanxi Province… a tiny place that was hard to find even on a map.

Long-distance night flights are no easy feat in this day and age; they are a tremendous test of a pilot's skills and courage.

They lacked advanced GPS navigation systems and could only rely on rudimentary radio beacons, astronomical compasses, and vague memories of landmarks.

In order to evade Japanese radar and patrol aircraft, they had to maintain low-altitude flight and radio silence throughout the entire flight, which undoubtedly increased the difficulty and risk of the flight.

Inside the cabin, the light was dim. Most people were uncomfortable due to the turbulence of the journey and the cramped space. Some people were dozing off against the cold cabin walls, while others were talking in hushed tones, trying to dispel their tension and fatigue.

The incessant noise of the engine was like a lullaby, yet it also unsettled the mind. Through the occasional gaps in the blackout curtains of the portholes, blown open by the wind, one could see the deep night sky and sparse stars outside.

Doolittle and his crew were completely focused. They stared intently at the fluctuating needles on the instrument panel, listened carefully to the faint signals in their headsets, and adjusted the aircraft's attitude and heading from time to time.

Sweat soaked their foreheads and backs, but their hands remained firmly on the joysticks.

Time ticked by in the long wait and agony. They flew over the turbulent South China Sea, skimmed over the rolling Nanling Mountains, and crossed the mighty Yangtze River.

As the first rays of dawn broke on the eastern horizon, dispelling the heavy darkness of night, it was already the morning of October 26, 1938. After a harrowing and arduous eight-hour journey, the three DC-3s finally reached the airspace of SX Province.

"Jimmy... Jimmy... I got the signal!"

Mike, the radio operator for the lead aircraft "Polaris," a short man, suddenly shouted excitedly, his voice trembling with excitement, "It's a radio positioning signal from the ground! It's very weak, but it's definitely there! The bearing... northwest by north, it shouldn't be far from us!"

This news was like a shot in the arm, instantly injecting energy into the hearts of everyone in the three crews! The intense tension and exhaustion of the past eight hours seemed to vanish in that moment.

"Well done, Mike!" Doolittle couldn't hide his excitement either. He immediately ordered, "Lock onto the signal source! All crews, prepare to descend, we're almost there!"

Three planes began to slowly descend, piercing through the thin morning mist. The scenery below gradually became clearer. It was a typical Loess Plateau landscape, crisscrossed by gullies and rolling hills. A winding river, illuminated by the morning light, flowed through the valley like a silver ribbon.

"Look! That river! It should be the Nine-Bend River marked on the map!" Tom, in the passenger seat, shouted, pointing downwards.

On the south bank of the Jiuqu River, a clearly man-made, open area suddenly appeared in their view. Two long, tan-brown running tracks stood out starkly in the rising sun. At the end of the tracks and on both sides, some low, newly built houses could be seen, along with many tiny figures moving about.

“That’s right! That’s our airport!” Doolittle’s voice was filled with a sense of relief and joy. He could even see people on the ground waving at them.

Under clear guidance from ground radio and Doolittle's steady command, the three silver-white DC-3 passenger planes adjusted their attitudes in turn, aligned themselves with one of the main runways, and gracefully lowered their landing gear.

"call--"

The first aircraft, the North Star, piloted by Doolittle himself, touched the solid dirt runway lightly, like a weary bird returning to its nest.

The tires rubbed against the ground, producing a slight whistling sound.

After taxiing smoothly for a distance on the runway, the plane came to a steady stop in the designated area.

Following that, the Orion and Sirius spacecraft also landed safely.

When the three massive transport planes came to a complete stop, their propellers slowly ceased spinning, and the roar of their engines completely faded into the tranquil morning air, the new airport on the banks of the Jiuqu River, which had been built less than two days prior, erupted in jubilation!

Su Yaoyang, Pi Ruoyu, John, and the main officers and soldiers of the militia, who had been waiting at the airport for a long time, erupted in thunderous cheers and applause. They waved their hats and flags, their faces beaming with barely suppressed excitement and joy.

This humble airport, built with countless hands and sweat, finally welcomed its historic first visitors at dawn!
The cabin door slowly opened, and the gangway was lowered.

The first person to disembark was Jimmy Doolittle. He was wearing a brown flight jacket and, although slightly tired after a night's flight, he was still in high spirits.

He stood on the gangway, took a deep breath of the fresh morning air in Wutai County, which carried the fragrance of earth and a faint smell of gunpowder, looked around at the unfamiliar land and the enthusiastic Chinese soldiers, and a happy smile appeared on his face.

Following closely behind, 126 American pilots, mechanics, navigators... they were of different skin colors, heights, and builds, but at this moment they all carried a sense of relief after going through hardships and the fatigue of the journey as they disembarked from the plane one after another.

They looked curiously at the simple yet vibrant airport, and at the Chinese soldiers who wore German-style uniforms but carried American weapons.

Su Yaoyang strode forward, a sincere and warm smile on his face, and extended his hand to Doolittle, speaking in somewhat broken American English.

"Gentlemen, welcome to a thrilling and adventurous world!"

"I am Su Yaoyang, the head of the Shanxi militia. On behalf of the Shanxi militia and the people of Shanxi, who are suffering under Japanese aggression, I welcome your arrival!"

Doolittle looked at the general before him, whose expression was resolute yet who was excessively young, and gave him a solemn salute, saying loudly, "General, greetings... Jimmy Doolittle reporting for duty!"

"I……"

Upon hearing Doolittle's self-introduction, Su Yaoyang nearly popped his eyes out.

He asked, somewhat incredulously, "Jimmy Doolittle? Born in Alameda, California? Doolittle, who graduated from MIT with a master's and doctoral degree in aeronautical engineering?"

Every time he asked a question, Doolittle on the other side would nod.

He then asked with some doubt, "General, do you know me?"

"Of course... ah... I've heard of you." Su Yaoyang nodded, trying to appear calm, but inside he was overjoyed.

He originally just wanted to recruit a group of skilled workers, but he never expected to fry such a big fish in the water.

This is Doolittle! Even in the 20th century, a time teeming with talent, he would be a renowned genius. With this great man joining his team, he alone surpasses everyone else!

(End of this chapter)