On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

On the runway of Fengtian Airport, the residual heat from the Mustang fighter jet's engine still lingered in the air. Zhang Xueming stood in front of the tarmac, his gaze slowly sweeping over Zhu Wudi and Li Changkong's faces.

He was about to start outlining the next phase of the battle plan.

First, let Zhu Wudi lead the Wild Horse Squadron to do a few acclimatization training sessions, and let Li Changkong's Braggai Squadron and the Wild Horse Squadron work together to improve their formation coordination. Then, at the fastest speed, complete the preparations for the air raid on Lushun Port and the Japanese air force.

His mental timetable was three days.

Within three days, the Northeast Air Force should complete the transition from defense to offense, and then cripple the Japanese air power on the Liaodong Peninsula before the main force of the Japanese Combined Fleet moves north.

But an unexpected event occurred first.

A three-wheeled motorcycle sped from the direction of the airport gate, its wheels rolling over the gravel road at the edge of the runway, kicking up a cloud of grayish-white dust.

Before the motorcycle had even come to a complete stop, the communications officer on the back seat jumped off.

He scrambled to Zhang Xueming's side, his face deathly pale.

"Second Master! Urgent telegram from Lushun!"

The communications officer's voice trembled, "The Japanese air force has been deployed! Heading due north, target: Fengtian!"

"The first batch of at least two hundred aircraft has already flown over Fuzhou! They are expected to arrive over Fengtian in twenty minutes!"

These words were like a bucket of ice water poured over someone's head at the airport.

The air suddenly froze.

Zhang Zuoxiang turned around abruptly, his gray eyebrows furrowing, and blurted out reflexively:

"Quickly! Push the planes into the hangar! Spread out and take cover! Tow the fuel tankers away! Don't let the Japanese bomb the airport!"

He said that almost instinctively.

When the old marshal was alive, he would occasionally dare to send planes to confront him, but since Zhang Xueliang took charge, the order became "No planes are allowed to take off, no provocations are allowed, and all planes must hide on the spot."

This order had been in effect for many years and had been etched into the bones of every veteran of the Northeast Army, becoming muscle memory.

Beside Zhang Zuoxiang, Wan Fulin also panicked and shouted at the top of his lungs towards the hangar:

"Ground crew! Ground crew! Push the plane away quickly! The Japanese bombers are coming soon!"

The ground crew on the tarmac paused for a moment, then instinctively ran toward the plane.

Several mechanics had already grabbed the propeller of the Bragg 27, preparing to push the aircraft into the hangar.

The scene was about to descend into complete chaos.

"Stop right there!"

Zhang Xueming's voice exploded like a thunderclap in the airport, instantly silencing all the noise.

The ground crew who were running towards the plane stopped in unison and turned to look at Zhang Xueming.

Zhang Zuoxiang and Wan Fulin were also stunned and turned to look at him.

Zhang Xueming stood in the center of the tarmac, the hem of his Zhongshan suit fluttering in the wind.

His face showed no panic; he was even calmer than when he was arranging the battle plan.

"Li Changkong".

"Here!" Li Changkong snapped to attention.

"Immediately mobilize all pilots of the Fengtian First Flight Squadron and have them all board their aircraft."

"All Blackgay 27 fighter jets took off and assembled in the airspace southwest of the airport, ready for action."

"Do not take off for now. Push the de Havilland bombers to the spare runway next to the hangar and wait for the battle to end before taking off to pursue them."

Li Changkong's pupils dilated sharply, and then he snapped to attention and saluted again.

"yes!"

He turned around and yelled at the pilots who were standing there dumbfounded on the tarmac, "Did you all fucking hear me? Board! Take off! Fight the Japanese!"

After yelling, he was the first to rush towards the parking spot of the Blackgate 27.

As he ran, he zipped up his flight jacket to the collar and pulled his goggles down over his forehead to cover his eyes, his movements as swift as if he had practiced countless times.

"Zhu Wudi".

"arrive!"

"I don't need to say anything more about your Mustang squadron. Board them all and take off as fast as you can."

"After takeoff, form up in the airspace directly east of the airport at an altitude of 3,000 meters. Await my orders."

"You get the Japanese attack planes, and you get the bombers too. I only have one request..."

Zhang Xueming paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across Zhu Wudi's face, his voice icy.

"Not a single one is allowed to be returned."

Zhu Wudi's face remained expressionless; he simply and decisively replied:

"yes!"

Then he turned around and made a brief gesture to the eighty-two pilots behind him.

He drew a circle in the air with his right index finger and then pointed it at the runway.

None of the eighty-two Mustang pilots spoke or hesitated; they all turned and ran toward their respective aircraft.

Their flight boots made a dense and orderly sound on the concrete, like a row of war drums beating at the same time.

Zhu Wudi ran to his plane, grabbed the edge of the cockpit with one hand, and jumped up. His movements were so fast that the details were almost invisible.

He pressed the engine start button before even closing the canopy completely.

The twelve-cylinder liquid-cooled engine let out a deep roar, and the propeller spun wildly, the swirling airflow sending gravel flying all over the track.

Zhang Zuoxiang stood by the track, watching the scene unfold before him, his mouth agape, trying to persuade Zhang Xueming to be patient.

But those words stuck in my throat and I just couldn't get them out.

Perhaps Zhang Xueming's confidence inspired him, or perhaps the Mustang fighter jet gave him hope.

One after another, the silver Mustangs on the track started their engines, the wind whipped up by the propellers making his white hair a mess.

Li Changkong rushed to a Blackgay 27, cursing and urging the ground crew to hang the ammunition boxes on the wings, while he himself helped push the plane.

Zhang Zuoxiang suddenly felt that he was very stupid.

Hiding? We've been hiding for so many years. The Japanese soldiers fly from Lushun to Fengtian for patrols as if they're just strolling in their own backyard. When have we ever been afraid of you?

The more you hide, the more the Japanese will think you are weak and easy to bully.

The more you dare not take off, the more brazen the Japanese will dare to fly their planes over your head and defecate and urinate.

After hiding for so many years, what has become of it?

They escaped the Wanbaoshan massacre, the Nakamura incident, the explosion on the South Manchurian Railway, and the bloody battle on the walls of Fengtian.

Now the Japanese have sent bomber squadrons directly over Fengtian. Where can you hide?

Zhang Zuoxiang straightened his back, looked up at the silver contrails in the sky, and cursed in a hoarse voice.

"You sons of bitches, fuck those Japanese to death!"

Fengtian Airport is a military airport built by the Fengtian Army at great expense. Its five runways are arranged in a fan shape, and the widest main runway is wide enough to accommodate heavy bombers.

At that moment, deafening engine roars erupted simultaneously from all five runways.

Zhu Wudi's Mustang Squadron took off first, its engines roaring as it accelerated down the runway, the landing gear wheels leaving a trail of sparks on the concrete, and the wings tilting slightly upwards as it taxied at high speed.

With the front wheels off the ground and the main wheels off the ground, the entire aircraft resembled a silver dagger piercing the sky.

The first plane to take off was Zhu Wudi's own personal aircraft, followed closely by his deputy squadron leader Zhao Feitian, and then the squadron leaders and platoon leaders.

The Mustang fighter jets took off rapidly in groups of five, with all five runways operating simultaneously, meaning that on average, one Mustang took off every half minute.

The roar of engines surged up the runway in waves, making the windows around the airport rattle.

From the moment Zhu Wudi boarded the plane to the sixtieth Mustang taking off, the entire process was extremely brief, with sixty silver contrails weaving into a giant silver spiderweb in the sky.

At the same time, Li Changkong's Braggai Squadron was also taking off at full speed.

These French-imported fighter jets, while inferior in speed and firepower to the Mustang, were numerous enough.

All 56 Brygmus 27s took off and circled in formation in the airspace southwest of the airport, awaiting combat orders.

Just as the Mustang squadron was taking off at full speed, another engine sound came from the southern horizon.

The sound wasn't deep and powerful like a Mustang's engine; instead, it was sparser and harsher, like a swarm of giant mosquitoes flying through the clouds.

But with so many of them, the sound of one aircraft is very weak, but the sound of two hundred aircraft combined becomes a dull and oppressive buzzing sound, slowly pressing down from the horizon.

The Japanese air force has arrived.

More than two hundred planes filled the sky.

The Japanese troops' tactical formation for this mission was a two-tiered structure.

At high altitude were eighty Type 89 carrier-based attack aircraft, tasked with escort and air superiority missions.

At low altitude, there were nearly 140 Type 87 light bombers and Type 93 heavy bombers responsible for ground bombing.

The entire formation resembled a giant, yellowish-brown locust cloud, slowly pressing down across the sky over the Liaodong Peninsula from south to north, with the Japanese flag on the wings clearly visible in the morning light.

Their targets were the fortifications of Fengtian city walls, the airport, the Beidaying barracks, the Fengtian arsenal, and the headquarters of the Northeast Border Defense Army.

Onizuka Ichiro, the commander of the Japanese air force, sat in the cockpit of the lead plane, holding binoculars and looking north.

He is thirty-seven years old and one of the most experienced attack aircraft commanders in the Imperial Naval Air Force. He has participated in a series of combat operations and has accumulated more than two thousand hours of flight time.

But when he put down the binoculars, his brow furrowed slightly.

He saw the numerous silver dots hovering above Fengtian Airport.

Those points of light reflected a dazzling metallic luster in the morning light, quite unlike any Chinese aircraft he had ever seen.

He had seen the Northeast Army's Blackgay 27 many times; he could recognize the outline of that aircraft even with his eyes closed.

But the planes that appeared over Fengtian today had a completely different silhouette.

"Did the Chinese plane take off?"

Onizuka Ichiro muttered to himself, a hint of surprise in his voice.

Vice-captain Kawakami sneered, his voice filled with contempt, and said:

"So what if they took off? Do they think their few dozen old French planes can stop the Imperial Air Force's bombing?"

Onizuka nodded and gave the order in the channel:

"Order the first and second attack teams to descend to 2,000 meters and maintain their escort formation."

"The bomber formation will maintain an altitude of 3,000 meters and drop bombs in sequence according to the original plan, starting with the airfield!"

"If we encounter Chinese aircraft intercepting us, our escort attack planes will be responsible for driving them away. We will tell them that we will bomb Fengtian City into ruins today."

"Hai!" came the responses from the squadron leaders over the radio.

The Japanese troops began to adjust their formation according to Onizuka's orders.

Eighty Type 89 carrier-based attack aircraft separated from the high-altitude formation, divided into two attack teams, and descended to an altitude of about two thousand meters to form a fan-shaped cover formation in front of and to the sides of the bomber formation.

These attack aircraft were the standard carrier-based aircraft of the Imperial Navy. Although they were not as agile as the later Zero fighters, at this point in time, they had hardly encountered any decent opponents on the East Asian battlefield.

Ichiro Onizuka piloted a modified Type 89 attack aircraft, equipped with a more powerful engine and additional armor protection.

A huge red dragon pattern was painted on the nose of the plane; it was his personal symbol.

However, before he could finish adjusting the formation, a scream came over the radio.

That was the scream of the observer responsible for high-altitude surveillance, his voice filled with unbelievable terror.

"Lieutenant Colonel! At the twelve o'clock position! A large number of unidentified aircraft are approaching at high speed! Extremely fast! Extremely fast!"

The observer's voice cracked from nervousness, and when it came through the radio, it was painful to hear.