In October 1937, at the height of the Sino-Japanese War, Shinjuku, Tokyo' business district, Japan, hung a banner reading "Yan Haiwen, Warrior of the Chinese Air Force", and the window displayed Yan Haiwen's flight suits, parachutes, pistols, bullet casings and other relics. The Japanese people who visited continued for more than 20 days, and the Japanese who admired martial courage expressed their deep respect for this unknown enemy soldier.
It was the morning of August 17, and the watery rice paddies in the Songhu area reflected the clear sky. The overcast day suddenly turned blue. This is the weather that the farmers are happy about, and it is also the busiest season, the early rice has yellowed the ears, the late rice should also be planted, and the diamond horns in the green pond are bulging and the stomach is eager for the girls to pick. However, there was no trace of anyone in the thousands of acres of wilderness, no bird traces in the blue sky, and only countless bullets and flowers surrounded a Hawke plane.
Only to see a band of black smoke coming out of Hawke's body, and a huge pillar of fire rose from the tail of the machine. Then, a small black dot fell from the plane and turned into a beautiful large umbrella, round, white, soft, and slowly falling.
Immediately, on the fields, in the bamboo forest, and behind the piers, many short and thick Japanese soldiers poured out. They're pointing fingers and making a mess. Ignoring the commander's reprimand, he ran in the direction where the parachute was falling.
"Look at the Chinese pilot!"
"Tell him to crawl and surrender!"
……
Running, shouting, swinging short legs.
Chinese pilots appeared. He was a very young lad, only 22 years old, and the beard on his mouth was not yet strong. He should not have been a soldier, the crooked crescent moon eyes were black and white, permeated with his amorous, smooth and wide forehead gave a kind of bookish atmosphere. Only the mouth is angular, not large, tightly squeezed, and a kind of fortitude and stubbornness hang on it.
His flight suit was torn and he held a revolver in his hand. The devil shouted at him, and he smiled, his eyes bent, hidden behind a grave.
"Bang! bang! bang! ”
The three devils who ran over fell in response, their thick legs scratching wildly. The rest lay down on the ground, and some ran back to move reinforcements.
The young man rested his ass on the mound and blew the green smoke from the muzzle of the gun, and the whole mound blocked him like a shield.
At 10 a.m. this morning, he accompanied captain Dong Mingde with six bombs and eight Hawkers in a three-formation group to bomb the Japanese Marine Corps Headquarters in Hongkou, Shanghai. The enemy's artillery fire was so fierce that the fuselage vibrated from time to time in the sound of smoke, and he rotated the fuselage half-roll into an upside-down flying state, and then swooped down vertically to the ground, pouring the bombs he carried down on the enemy, all hitting the target.
Right now. Enemy anti-aircraft guns hit his landline, and smoke and fire erupted in the tail, forcing him to parachute. Due to the deviation of the wind, it fell into the enemy position.
As the young man rested, he filled the chamber with bullets, and then admired the ghosts in the distance to empty their guns. The sound of hissing was that of a bullet that flew through the air, and the sound of popping was a bullet hitting the mud near the mound.
He remembered the words he left for the captain when he was fighting for the mission in the morning: "Let me fly, I am from the Northeast." ”
The devils fought for half a day, did not see his movement here, thought he had been hit, so he got up again, and the ghosts shouted and ran towards the grave.
"Bang! bang! bang! bang! ”
The young man suddenly attacked, and four bullets put down four devils. This kind of marksmanship is simply a sharpshooter. The most urgent thing for pilots in battle is to seize the opportunity and shoot down in one fell swoop, otherwise the enemy plane will return the hand, that is, his own life will be crossed, which depends on the accuracy of shooting. Now, Xiao Fei will fold his wings, but the painstakingly trained marksmanship is still there.
In front of the grave was already lying a corpse lying on the ground, and he smiled, remembering that the people of the brigade usually said that he was too extravagant, and he had won the best score of the first 100 percent hit in the history of the Air Force Military Academy in the ground target shooting examination, so he was a hit. He was still not satisfied, and set the scale of aerial target shooting above 100 percent.
He has a creed - there is an extravagant attempt to have the hope of success!
The devil has not yet entered the best range.
He glanced at the graves of the moment, the soil was empty, and the newly arched grass was only inch high. New grave. He thought. Old people buried in graves? youth? male? female? Perhaps, like myself, he is a young man who is not yet married.
"What is Madame's consolation?" He had asked the big brother in the brigade very seriously. Big Brother laughed and didn't answer. The bachelor who used to be with him, once married, also laughed and giggled like this, as if he had suddenly changed into a person. The more difficult it was for him to understand, the more he felt that marriage was indeed a mysterious and sacred thing.
There are not many wives in the brigade, everyone lives in the singleton building, sometimes everyone talks about women, and the "mimosa" in the same room always leads the topic away. But whispering at night, often calling the woman's name. When he woke him up, he blushed and didn't admit it. So, everyone gave this guy a nickname——— "mimosa", so big mimosa.
The young man couldn't help but smile again.
Home – the name, weird and flavorful. Must be warm to those who have a home and come back every day after completing their tasks. All the rest time is spent at home, although the big brother laughs and does not answer his questions, but his face has been answered, always with a sweet smile, although still old and rough, but rough enough to have a measure, when things happen, no longer so reckless - is this the wife's emotional power?
He smiled again, and smiled and bent his eyes, like two pure crescent moons.
Life is only an infinite continuation of the journey. Accidentally stepping on a muddy road makes a deep mark, and that is memory.
That memory is heavy. At the aviation school, a classmate died in a flight crash.
The ceremony of the memorial is simple and solemn. The principal laid a wreath, a classmate choked up and read the sacrifice text, the band played mourning music again, and all the students were silent and mournful. The rhythm of the music vibrates every beating heart slowly and heavily, and it is all over. The coffin was tied to a long snake-like rope on a slowly moving car. In this black apparatus is a warrior with unpaid ambitions...
Near, closer, a row of devils pressed against him.
"Friends of the Chinese Air Force, you are completely isolated now, quickly drop your weapons, we will absolutely guarantee your life, we will treat you like friends..."
"Bang!"
The shouting traitors drew into a ball and planted there.
A few more yellow-skinned ones kicked their thick legs.
Now, there is a bullet in the chamber. The enemy gathered around again, shouting that the Chinese pilots should be captured alive.
In front of you is the enemy of the yellow tide, and the head up is the blue sky of the motherland. Looking down is the fragrant field of the motherland.
Death, that is the return of all life. For a person who often deals with death, death cannot shake his nerves.
Death is not the end, just as the autumn harvest is not the demise of rice.
The young man held up the slippery grave soil of his body with both hands, carefully cultivated it, stood up, raised his bent eyes, looked at the blue sky affectionately, held the gun to his temple, and hissed——
In the afternoon, next to the new grave, a new grave was piled up, and the wooden tombstone read "Tomb of the Warriors of the Chinese Air Force". Japanese soldiers lined up to take off their hats and stand in front of the new tomb.
On September 1, the Mainichi Shimbun in Osaka, Japan, published a newsletter about Yan Haiwen's tragic martyrdom. Author's signature: Takeshi Kimura, Shanghai correspondent of The Mainichi Shimbun, Osaka. Kimura used to be a well-known literary and artistic worker. He was very touched and admired by Yan Haiwen's tragic martyrdom, and lamented that "China is no longer the China of the past."