It was still a journey from New York to China, but in 1941, there was no such thing as a direct flight.
Luo Xia had gone to considerable trouble to find three tickets. And in this day and age, you couldn't expect much comfort on a ship, either. Just making it there safely was more than enough.
Luo Xia had always felt he'd been born too late, missing his homeland's bloodiest war. Whenever he listened to the older generation recount what had happened back then, he wished he could have joined the fight himself. If he didn't kill at least a hundred Japanese soldiers, he wouldn't deserve the uniform he wore.
Unfortunately, by the time he left the military, he still hadn't encountered those "old enemies" on the battlefield.
After all, by the time Luo Xia had served, that once fanatically militaristic country had become one of the United States' dogs. It couldn't even bark twice without its master's permission.
But now, Luo Xia knew he'd finally get to fulfill that old dream.
As soon as he stepped off the ship, Luo Xia stretched his limbs. He was worried his bones might have rusted.
He breathed in the air of his homeland in this era. It wasn't particularly fresh or sweet; it had the faint scent of American influence. But that was just right. It meant he'd made it in time for this war.
He glanced back at the ship and hollered, "Hey, did you two skip breakfast? Move it!"
Two burly white men came down from the ship. Besides being exceptionally muscular, they shared another trait: their faces were both covered in thick hair, like werewolves.
The two men exchanged a glance, seeming to see the frustration in each other's eyes. They looked around at the crowded docks. Passengers