“Pete, Lee has worked harder than I have in the last few hours and much of your safety has depended on his knowledge of their systems,” Carlos replied. “I’ll get him on the phone,” and he handed the phone to Lee.

“Harrow, Mr. Pete,” Lee said on the phone.

“Good evening to you, Lee,” replied the general.

“We are ready to go, sir,” stated the pilot.

“Let’s get out of here,” Pete replied to the pilot.

“Lee, here is your wife,” and he called Mrs. Wang forward to speak to her husband.

They spoke in rapid English for several minutes as the aircraft taxied to the southern end of the runway for take-off. Pete understood everything being said and he smiled as he heard Mrs. Wang going over the map of Nanjing that Lee was reminding her about. They completed their conversation as the engines began their take-off roar, and she handed the phone back, bowed, smiled, and nimbly ran back to her seat for take-off.

Within five minutes, the four aircraft were in the air and flying level at 900 feet above ground. They were able to do this with the infrared systems aboard the three gunships tracking their altitude, and the tanker cruised along behind them watching their directional changes with her radar on short-range mode. A direct route to Nanjing was fixed and they were in a loose formation with several hundred yards between each aircraft.

The general knew that with all the world’s satellite directional systems out of commission, the only real way left to find other aircraft in the night’s sky was by radar and heat scanners. They were far too close to a country that might have fully operational aircraft, but the radar screens were empty in all directions. Their flight to the coast of China over the Yellow Sea would take two hours, and many of the crew got more than an hour’s sleep, including General Allen himself.

He was awakened when the pilot told him that the radar screen showed them to be 100 miles off the China coast. The snow was gone and the stars could be seen peeking through intermittent clouds. There was a sliver of a moon that made the water sparkle beneath them.

They were coming in to the mainland 50 miles north of Shanghai in case there were Chinese fighters in the urban areas. They were very low, still skimming the waves at 500 feet. The four aircraft planned to intersect the coast; rise up to 1,000 feet just like allied bombers did over Europe during the Second World War, and meet up with the river that would take them directly into downtown Nanjing. Once they reached the second of three bridges across the river, the idea was to be at 2,000 feet, and hopefully flares would light up the area and give Mrs. Wang a chance to guide the gunships towards the headquarters building.

The flares would last for seven to eight minutes and the general wanted them dropped directly over the building. The three gunships would still be in the dark sky several hundred yards away from the building, flying in circles at 3,000 feet.

General Allen gave orders to test the guns, and all the weapons aboard the three gunships were fired to make sure everything was ready. The general asked the co-pilot to surrender his seat to him and asked Mrs. Wang to come forward and sit just behind and in between the pilots.

They reached the river and only had 60 miles to go. The city in front of them blazed over the horizon and looked weird. It was still all lit up as the pilots lowered the air speed to 200 miles an hour, which wouldn’t throw out so much noise from the engines, and the dozen crew members in each gunship got down to their tasks of readying the aircraft for battle stations.

The air around them glowed as they flew over the lighted city of Nanjing. Mrs. Wang pointed out the faintly lit silhouette of the first bridge a few miles ahead.

“We need to go through the dead center of the bridge,” the crewmember on the infrared scanner said. “Pilots, climb to 2,500 feet to be safe.” They flew over the bridge and the river began a long turn to the southwest. The aircraft followed the turn and a second bridge appeared out of the blackness several seconds later. Mrs. Wang tapped the general on the shoulder and made a motion for them to fly over the bridge and then turn south.

“Fly over the bridge and then turn 40 degrees south over the southern river bank. I want 130 knots, pilots. I don’t want to miss this building,” he ordered over the radio.

She tapped him on the shoulder again and pointed to a small river inlet going south, just past the bridge.

“Follow that smaller river inlet going south,” he ordered.

She then tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to two large buildings, a taller building next to a smaller building on the right side of the inlet only 100 yards in front of them.

“Drop flares now! Our target is the largest building right underneath us. Turn slowly to starboard. Howitzer gunners, I want the armor-piercing to go right into the middle of the roof structure and then the HE right after them. Fire now!”

As the flares lit up the sky, the two 105mm guns opened up together and began pouring heavy projectiles into the building at the rate of ten rounds per minute. “Easy Girl and all 20mm cannon gunners, use all you have on the taller building. I think the second building is also part of the complex, I can see a sky bridge linking both buildings. Rake it up and down and then transfer backwards and forwards between the taller and shorter buildings!”

“Fire!” shouted the crew each time a round was fired out of each howitzer, and they shouted it ten times a minute for the next three minutes. The flares were not necessary anymore, as the building lit up the sky and several cars and vehicles exploded around the perimeter of the building.

“Howitzers, fire 20 rounds each into the shorter building’s roof and work your way down the walls,” ordered the General flying slowly in Ghost Rider, only 600 feet above and several hundred yards away from the building.

“Fire!” went the gunners as projectiles from the two howitzers and bursts of tracer from the four Gatling guns sprayed several thousand rounds per minute.

The building was dancing like a person with its feet on hot coals, and suddenly the smaller building collapsed within itself. The larger building, now a third lower than it was, again became the target of the two big guns.

“Howitzers pour your remaining rounds into the last building! I don’t want to see pieces bigger than a quarter. All 20mm guns hold your fire and give me an ammo report.”

“Fire!….fire!…. fire!…. fire!…. fire!” continued the gunner as projectile after projectile went into the building, reducing its size by three or four floors per minute. One gunship could have flattened the building, but two just decimated it.

Within 12 minutes, the buildings’ remains were strewn over a wide area and there was just thick smoke where the tall 30-story building had once stood.

“Gunners, pour another 60 seconds worth into whatever you see remaining around the building and then we are out of here. All 20mm cannons, fire into the smoke to make sure nothing has survived,” and everything opened up, literally flattening the smoke and everything in it.

“All gunners hold your fire! Pilots, set a course for Beijing at 3,000 feet. Scanners, give me any information you see down there.”

It was hard to get any scans. The flames were so intense that nobody could look at the area without having to shield their eyes. The scanners showed intense heat and nothing standing, and then the lights in the entire city and surrounding area suddenly went dark. Apart from the massive fire, the area below them was as dark as night.

“Ammo report, gunners,” the general reminded them. After several minutes the reports came in—two thousand rounds of 20mm ammo, full magazines of 40mm ammo, and only 18 rounds of 105mm ammo left between the two gunships. One team had been a fraction quicker than the other and had fired off two more projectiles.