Wafangdian.
The name of this land had been spoken by the White Bear, and by the Japanese. Now it was part of the Kwantung Leased Territory, a nail driven into Fengtian by Japan, and a bridgehead for defending Lüda Port.
Today was a special day.
The twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month. The Emperor's Birthday Festival.
The birthday of Japan's Emperor Hirohito.
The city's Japanese Overseas Chinese and garrison troops were immersed in a feverish atmosphere of celebration. Their Hinomaru flags hung everywhere along the streets, the soldiers had changed into brand-new military uniforms, and celebratory slogans stood outside the shops.
The festivities reached their climax in the central square. The garrison Commander was delivering an impassioned speech, boasting of the Imperial Nation's flourishing military fortunes and looking ahead to the Holy War of conquering the entire continent.
The soldiers and Overseas Chinese below listened, enraptured, raising their arms and shouting "Long live His Majesty the Emperor" over and over.
Amid the feverish din, a distant rumble came from the horizon.
At first, no one paid it any mind.
"Is that one of our planes? Here to add to the festivities?" an Overseas Chinese asked with a smile, glancing up at the sky and turning to the soldier beside him.
"Maybe." The soldier also gave it a casual glance. "But that sound... why doesn't it seem much like one of our Army Aviation planes?"
The rumble grew clearer, sharper.
It wasn't the leisurely drone of an old biplane. It was a howl that tore through the air, bearing an ominous pressure as it rushed closer and closer.
At last, someone realized something was wrong.
The plane burst out of the clouds to the north and hurtled down toward the center of Wafangdian at a terrifying angle!
Its fuselage was impossibly sleek, and there was no familiar red sun emblem on its wings!
"Enemy attack! We're under attack!"
A sharp-eyed officer let out a hysterical scream.
But it was already too late.
Before the celebrating crowd could recover from their shock, the fighter jet Zhang Xueming had named "Jian-1" swooped over the main street like a hunting falcon.
"A Yong, hold on tight!"
Inside the cockpit, Zhang Xueming's expression was terrifyingly calm. Only the bloodthirsty excitement in his eyes gave him away.
He didn't give Feng Yong a chance to respond. His thumb pressed hard on the red button on the control stick.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The four West Ting large-caliber aircraft machine guns roared in unison!
Four chains of Tracer Bullets, like the reaper's scythes, plunged from the sky and lashed into the crowded street!
In that instant, time itself seemed to freeze.
A Metal Storm of bullets swept past with irresistible force.
The marching soldiers fell in droves, like wheat cut down by a scythe. The Overseas Chinese who had just been cheering were torn apart with ease, their blood and flesh flying everywhere. The Hinomaru flags hanging high were shredded by the storm of bullets.
Screams.
Shouts.
Chaos.
With just one strafing dive, the once-festive main street had become a hell on earth.
"Xue Ming! You... you..." Feng Yong's face had gone deathly pale. He clutched the seat as his body rocked violently under the tremendous g-force and jolts. He wanted to stop Zhang Xueming, to make him cease fire, but when he saw the hellish scene below, the words caught in his throat.
Zhang Xueming ignored him.
He yanked the control stick. Jian-1 roared, its nose lifting as it pulled away from the ground and shot back into the sky.
A graceful climb, followed by a sharp roll.
The plane lined up on the ground once more.
This time, its target was the central square, where the crowd was thickest and the celebration was underway!
Feng Yong's pupils contracted sharply.
He saw the panicked Japanese soldiers and Overseas Chinese in the square, rushing about like headless flies.
He saw the garrison Commander, who had just been spouting grand words from the stage, now surrounded by guards and trying to flee.
The humiliation of the past, the occupied land, the blood shed by his countrymen... Scene after scene flashed through his mind.
The fear and compassion in his eyes slowly gave way to a cold, frenzied madness.
Suddenly, he grabbed Zhang Xueming by the arm and shouted in a hoarse voice.
"Xue Ming!"
"Forget the machine guns!"
"Drop it on the square where the crowd is thickest! Drop that thing called a 'gift' for me!"
"Let them get a taste of what it's like to have their homes burned down!"
Zhang Xueming turned his head and looked at his sworn brother.
He smiled.
"Sure thing!"
He casually flicked a switch and pressed the bomb-release button.
Beneath the fuselage, the "gift," filled with viscous fuel, broke free of its mount. Spinning, it whistled down toward the raised platform at the center of the square.
Boom!
There was no earth-shaking explosion.
The canister hit the ground and shattered, splashing thick, dark-green liquid in every direction.
Then a mass of orange-red flame suddenly ballooned outward, like a little sun rising out of nowhere on the ground.
The flames swept over everything.
Those splashed by the liquid instantly became burning torches. They let out shrill, inhuman screams and rolled across the ground, but could not put out the flames clinging to them like maggots burrowing into bone.