cicada

Chapter 1475 Sacrificing the Small for the Great

On December 18, 1944, at 8:27 a.m., American bomber pilots approached the city of Jiangcheng, and Japanese anti-aircraft sentries in the surrounding area frantically shook their air raid sirens and field telephones.

"Moses? Moses?"

"This is a high ground along the river! Enemy planes are approaching, numbering over a hundred, and are advancing eastward along the Changjiang waterway!"

The Japanese army deployed a dense air defense observation network near Jiangcheng, which could detect enemy aircraft from tens of kilometers away, but this distance was too close for aircraft.

Just as the air defense forces hung up the phone, the deep roar of engines could be heard on the horizon. Fishermen on the riverbank rowed their boats ashore and disappeared into the reeds.

At the position of the Type 88 75mm anti-aircraft gun, Japanese soldiers shouted slogans as they carried shells to the position, large beads of sweat streaming down their necks.

On the right side of the position, the sergeant in charge of command held a sword in one hand and binoculars in the other, staring intently at the western sky.

Before long, a dense formation of aircraft appeared intermittently in the clouds. The sergeant lowered his binoculars, pointed his knife at the formation, and reported its altitude and location.

The gunner quickly rotated the fuse on the shell head to the designated mark according to the height, and then forcefully sent the shell into the breech. Upon seeing this, the sergeant shouted the order.

"Fire!"

Boom ~ boom ~ boom ~
One shell after another flew out of the 75mm single-barrel cannon and exploded at the set time, instantly illuminating the sky with clusters of metallic flames.

On the American bombers, the pilots cursed as they looked out at the flames, desperately adjusting their formation to avoid anti-aircraft fire.

Fortunately, the Type 88 75mm anti-aircraft gun had a very low hit rate against high-speed aircraft and could only serve as a deterrent and drive-away weapon. The American pilots quickly regained their composure.

On the lead plane, the captain remembered the telegram from the Nationalist government and subconsciously turned to look out the window. When he saw what was happening on the ground, he immediately opened his mouth wide.

From the air, multiple large fires have broken out in the three towns of Jiangcheng, and these flames are shaped like arrows, pointing to different locations.

"God, have the people of the Republic of China gone mad?" The captain couldn't believe his eyes.

The navigator also peeked out, and after comparing his findings with the map and other identifying objects, he reported his discovery to the captain.

"Sir, the direction the arrow is pointing is the target. I think we can proceed."

The captain paused for two seconds, then picked up the throat communicator and pressed the call button: "Guys, drop the bombs according to the location indicated by the flame arrows. God bless America."

With shouts of "God bless America!" echoing through the air, the B-29 formation changed course and flew rapidly toward their respective targets, following the arrows.

Seeing the American planes turn, the Japanese anti-aircraft forces on the ground opened fire wildly, their gun barrels glowing red-hot, leaving a thick layer of shell casings on the ground. But they were immediately met with a new round of attacks.

Multiple US P-51s swooped down toward the air defense positions, their 12.7mm Browning heavy machine guns spewing deadly flames, turning the Japanese soldiers at their positions into pieces.

Compared to the European theater, the anti-aircraft firepower in Jiangcheng and even the Southeast Asian theater was negligible, and the Japanese Type 88 anti-aircraft gun was far inferior to the German 88mm anti-aircraft gun.

The air raid sirens had already sounded over Jiangcheng, their piercing sound cutting through the morning air, and pedestrians scattered and fled in all directions.

Unlike before, the citizens of Jiangcheng did not go to the air-raid shelters, but fled to the suburbs as quickly as possible, deliberately avoiding Japanese warehouses and garrisons.

The reason is simple: rumors have been circulating since last night that the Kuomintang army and the Americans are going to bomb the Japanese and air-raid shelters today.

What has happened now proves the truth of the first part of this message, so people naturally stay away from these two places and also remember to inform their relatives and friends.

Of course, if it were just a spontaneous action, the citizens' reactions would not have been so consistent; the guidance from underground party members and Kuomintang agents was indispensable.

At an intersection, a member of the underground Communist Party in Jiangcheng City waved to several panicked civilians, signaling them to follow him.

On another street, Kuomintang agents mingled among the crowd, creating panic and leading them to the planned evacuation route.

Although the methods used were different, both sides had the same goal, and a large-scale evacuation was rapidly carried out under the organization of both parties.

In the most chaotic shantytowns, both Chongqing and Northwest China deployed a large number of personnel to guide residents, so the evacuation work in these areas was carried out the fastest.

"Run! The plane is coming!"

The Kuomintang agent pointed to a small path and shouted, then disappeared in a flash at the end of the path, vanishing without a trace.

Driven by herd mentality, hundreds of shantytown residents, without thinking, hurriedly carried their luggage and dragged their families to follow the others.

B-29 bombers continuously dropped incendiary bombs, which landed not only on Japanese targets but also on ordinary civilian houses, and bursts of intense flames engulfed the entire shantytown.

He Yijun led the last group of residents on the evacuation route. After walking several hundred meters, a huge airplane shadow was suddenly cast on the road.

Without thinking, she grabbed the child beside her, pulled him into her arms, and fell to the ground, followed by a loud crash.

An M69 incendiary bomb landed on a rooftop not far away. The sticky incendiary material ignited with the explosion and flew in all directions. One of the flames happened to drift onto the leg of the person at the back of the group.

In the blink of an eye, the flames grew countless times larger, turning the other person into a human torch.

Driven by the instinct to survive, the injured man rolled on the ground repeatedly, trying to extinguish the flames on his body, but no matter how much he rolled, the fire did not change.

As he rolled, the man rolled into a sewage pit that was common in the shantytown. Instead of shrinking, the flames ignited the sewage.

The burning material floated on the water's surface, instantly boiling the sewage. The nauseating smell, combined with the odor of the incendiary bomb itself, made everyone dizzy.

The pitiful wails gradually subsided, and He Yijun raised her head to silently gaze at the still-burning corpse, a wave of fear washing over her.

She knew that incendiary bombs were incredibly powerful, but she didn't expect them to be so destructive. If they hadn't been prepared, tens of thousands of residents in the shantytown would probably have died in the fire.

Two days ago, after confirming that the Japanese defenses were too strong and that bombing could not bypass the residential area, He Yijun decided to set fires in advance to cause chaos.

This approach forces people to leave dangerous shacks and uses fire to guide the bombing. So far, it seems to be working well, at least without causing large-scale casualties.

Sacrificing the small for the great, or sacrificing the part to preserve the whole, is a helpless move, but also a necessary price to pay.

Above them, B-29s and the B-24s that followed looked like a flock of hungry vultures circling over the city, occasionally opening their bomb bays to drop bombs.

Nearly 500 tons of incendiary bombs rained down, engulfing several square kilometers of Hankou city in flames. Even the railway tracks along the way were scorched into molten iron, flowing into the river and emitting plumes of white smoke. He Yijun stood up and urged everyone to leave quickly. She carried her child and rushed to the front. She had done everything she could; the rest was up to luck.

Not only Hankou, but the other two towns of Jiangcheng were also engulfed in flames, with Japanese warehouses, airfields and military camps being particularly severely damaged.

Several Japanese fighter planes that had scrambled to the air approached the bomber formation, but the escorting P-51s shot them down. Disappointed, the Japanese civilians watching the battle took refuge in air-raid shelters.

As required by the Japanese army, the Japanese living in Jiangcheng and the people of the Republic of China lived separately for the purpose of easier management.

For this reason, the Japanese expatriates did not leave the city with the citizens of Jiangcheng, but instead all entered the air-raid shelters reserved for Japanese people.

After closing the heavy steel door, the expatriates were no longer afraid and began to whisper among themselves about air raids and war.

After a while, some people noticed that the air was getting thinner, and some elderly people and children even fainted because of lack of oxygen.

"Baka! Open the door! We're all going to suffocate underground!"

The teachers in the expatriate community shouted, and the people in the front row reached out to turn the turntable on the steel door, but their hands were burned as soon as they touched the turntable and cried out.

The Japanese soldiers panicked and tried with all their might to open the door, but the high temperature warped the steel door. Once the oxygen inside the cave was depleted, the air-raid shelter fell into complete silence.

The explosion-proof lights emitted a dim light, and the Japanese expatriates who had been suffocated to death lay quietly on the ground like fallen wheat, their faces a strange cherry red, and not a single wound could be seen on their bodies.

After dropping all its bombs, a B-29 bomber flew around the burning city again and again, with aerial cameras under its belly constantly taking pictures.

Half an hour later, the US military aircraft formation flew away from Jiangcheng one after another, leaving behind only devastated ruins and corpses everywhere.

At the border between Hankou city and suburbs, He Yijun and several junior agents were escorting more than ten civilians out of the city, but unfortunately they were trapped in a sea of ​​fire. They tried to escape the burning area from several different directions but failed.

Faced with the rapidly approaching wall of fire, the people were the first to break down, with many sitting on the ground and weeping. Even some of the junior agents showed signs of despair.

It's not that they're cowardly; humans have an innate fear of fire, and being burned to death is the most painful way to die.

He Yijun raised his hand to wipe the soot off his face and calmly observed the surrounding situation. Just then, a high-explosive bomb exploded, and the shock wave blasted a small gap in the flames.

"Come with me."

Shouting behind him, He Yijun led the charge towards the crevice, kicking two opportunistic scoundrels into the flames along the way, causing the fire to leap high into the air.

In a mountain city a thousand miles away, Zuo Zhong paced back and forth in his office. The wall clock ticked faster and faster, and before he knew it, it was 1 p.m.

As soon as the bell rang, a junior agent came in to report: "Co-sir, the American aircraft group has landed, but has lost two B-29s and four P-51s."

Zuo Chong waved his hand, indicating that even if all the Americans died, it had nothing to do with the Military Intelligence Bureau. He then asked in a stern voice, "Is there any news from Jiangcheng?"

“Report, no,” the junior agent replied loudly.

Zuo Zhong's face darkened. "If you don't have it, you don't have it. Why are you shouting like that? I'm not deaf."

Just as he was becoming increasingly agitated, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door. Wu Chunyang pushed the door open forcefully and reported the latest situation.

"Co-pilot, a call from Jiangcheng Station: Director He and all the brothers have been safely evacuated, with only three people sustaining minor injuries."

Zuo Zhong gave a soft "hmm," turned around, and walked back to his seat. Seeing that the little spy and Wu Chunyang hadn't left, he immediately questioned them.

"What are you two standing here for? Is your job too easy?"

Wu Chunyang shrank back and quickly took his leave with the little agent. As he was leaving, he vaguely heard a sigh behind him, but when he turned around, he only saw the calm-looking deputy director.

"Is there anything else?" Zuo Chong frowned.

"It's alright, it's alright, please continue with your work, Vice-Captain."

Seeing Wu Chunyang flee in disarray, Zuo Zhong smiled, feeling a great sense of relief.

Before the bombing, he wanted to call the communications department to ask them to notify He Yijun to evacuate in advance to avoid being affected by the American bombing, but he gave up in the end because it would affect the mission.

Working in intelligence often involves facing similar choices. After all, people aren't cold, emotionless machines; there will always be times when they feel conflicted.

A week later, He Yijun and his team returned to the mountain city safely. During this time, the US military launched another airstrike on Jiangcheng.

When the year turned to New Year's Day in 1945, someone gave a radio speech announcing the convening of a "National Assembly" to "return power to all the people."

Putting aside these hypocritical statements and political deceptions, the military intelligence station in Jiangcheng has also released its latest statistics on the results of US airstrikes, with both good and bad news.

The good news was that 21 of the 50 Japanese aircraft at the Hankou base were destroyed in the bombing, and the fire also destroyed a large amount of living and combat supplies, greatly reducing the combat effectiveness of the Japanese forces in the Jiangcheng area.

Optimistically, it was predicted that the Japanese would be unable to launch any more large-scale military operations before the spring of 1946, and Zuo Chong and others would no longer need to go to Tibet to wage guerrilla warfare.

The bad news is that the bombing by American planes caused thousands of casualties in Jiangcheng, and destroyed more than 15,000 houses, with an estimated value of 3.6 trillion yuan (in devalued legal tender).

Somehow, the relevant data fell into the hands of the underground Communist Party. The official newspaper in the Northwest published the matter, which aroused strong dissatisfaction among the people with the Nationalist government, leaving the person in a very embarrassing situation.

Zuo Zhong, who kept his achievements hidden, chose to observe this farce from the sidelines and began to consider retiring while he was still at the peak of his career, preparing to focus his main energy on FIRC.

The closer they get to that critical juncture, the more bleak the future of the Military Intelligence Bureau becomes; only Lao Dai is still dreaming of becoming the Navy Commander.

This seasoned official completely forgot the ironclad rules of officialdom: be mindful of danger when things are going well, consider changes when the future is uncertain, and think of retiring when one's achievements overshadow one's master. If he doesn't run into trouble, who will?

As someone surnamed Gao once said, "How high a position is considered 'great'? The key is to know your place correctly."

One day, Zuo Zhong, who was busy with internal work at FIRC, suddenly received a telegram from SOE. A familiar place name appeared in the telegram.

【The Bridge on the River Kwai】

As he looked at the line of English, a melodious whistling sound echoed in Zuo Zhong's mind. He thought for a moment, then picked up the microphone. He still remembered how that bald guy had slandered his boss to his face.

Once the call connected, Zuo Shenzhong, who never held grudges, smiled and said in an unusually amiable tone, "Youguang, come to my office."