Search for the Buried Bomber

by Xu, Lei

  "What is this place?" shouted the deputy squad leader, his voice hoarse and quavering.

  But I had no idea and could only hold tightly to him. With a great deal of effort, we managed to right ourselves and began to float atop the water, though just barely. The speed of the current was astonishing. Great torrents of water rushed us toward the lower reaches of the river. Soon enough I realized I could struggle no longer. The freezing waves had sapped all of my energy. Fortunately, the deputy squad leader did not lack for strength. It was he alone who continued to fight through the water, towing me along beside him. I tried to tell him to forget about me, but I lacked even the energy to utter those few words. Who knew how long the current drove us on? At last we were both completely spent, like dry lamps with no oil to spare, when something suddenly struck my back. As the rapids flowed on around us, we were brought to an abrupt halt.

  I was already numb from the cold, so although the collision was severe, I gasped for only a moment and felt not the slightest bit of pain. We felt around. Our way, we discovered, was blocked by an iron lattice sunk beneath the rapids—a screen to keep out any stray objects floating down the river. I could feel a number of branches and twigs and other pieces of debris. Thank heaven, I thought. With tears rolling down my face, I pulled myself up the latticework and clambered desperately atop it. The deputy squad leader did the same, then pulled out his flashlight and illuminated the water around us. The lattice dam was fragmented and washed away in spots. That we'd run into it at all was truly a stroke of luck. We looked at one another, our expressions indescribable—neither joyful nor sad. How strange, I thought, that a dam had been laid here. Had the Japanese been through here as well?

  Just as I was thinking this, the deputy squad leader and I both noticed that something in the area beyond the dam seemed to be reflecting the beam of his flashlight. Angling it up, he directed it farther on. Our mouths dropped open. It was a gigantic bomber, the Japanese Shinzan, submerged in the river past the lattice dam. More than half the fuselage was underwater, leaving a great black shadow, while the nose and one of the wings stuck out above the surface. Most astounding, the plane had obviously been ruined in some terrible crash. All that remained before us was the wreckage.

  CHAPTER 28

  The Distant Mountain in the Water

  My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the huge black cross the Shinzan's wingspan formed underwater. As the flashlight beam illuminated the rust spots covering its body, it resembled some legendary animal of tremendous size, raising its head above water to breathe. It was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. For anyone other than members of the mysterious "Plan 53" unit, coming across a plane this colossal in mainland China would have been impossible in those days. Back then, when a plane flew across the sky, children would all crane their necks to catch sight of it. Now, even if a fleet of fighter jets streaks overhead in formation, no one pays them any attention.

  Stacked all around the bomber were the same corpse-filled gunnysacks we'd seen earlier, but here their numbers were even more astonishing. They formed a dense mass underwater and extended in every direction farther than the eye could see. They were piled one atop the other, some remaining in neat condition, others already caved in from decay, their appearance similar to the large seaside rocks that buffer the ocean waves. It was between these bags that the plane was wedged. We gingerly tiptoed onto the gunnysacks. Though they would sink down when trod upon, there was always some spot that would support our weight. Holding each other up, we began to make our way across. "What the hell were the Japanese doing here?" said the deputy squad leader.

  I could say nothing in reply. Neither side of the river was visible. The flashlight illuminated only a black expanse. Soon I began to question whether this wasn't in fact the middle of some giant subterranean lake. We made our way across the piles of unevenly stacked corpse bags. At last we reached the twisted length of one of the wings, rising above the surface. It was severely corroded, and rusty water covered our hands as we scaled its side. Thank goodness the top was dry. As we stepped upon it, the wing sank slightly under our weight. If Wang Sichuan were here, he probably would have snapped it in half, I thought to myself. I couldn't help but take a look around, searching for him. There was no sign of the big guy, only whitecap rapids. I didn't even know if he was alive or dead.

  We were exhausted, truly on the point of collapse, my only comparable experience being the seven-day deathwatch I kept after my father passed. After reaching the top of the wing, darkness descended upon me, and I nearly crumpled to the ground. But resting was something we absolutely could not do. To rest was to die. We removed our clothing, both of us turning away at the sight of the leeches. Our blood visibly pulsed inside them, some so filled they had turned amber. In a moment I began to vomit.

  For leeches a cigarette is best, but all that remained of mine was a thick paste in my pocket. I'd have to scald them off with my lighter. At the time, most people had only matches, but when used in the field it was too easy for them to become damp or start a forest fire. Those of us who could, made sure to buy a lighter. Old-fashioned lighters burned kerosene and were unusable while the wicks were damp. We had to let them dry for a long time before they would finally light. Then, one by one, we roasted the leeches off of us. Once they began to burn, we flicked them back into the water, blood spilling from our open cuts. With great difficulty we disposed of them all, bloodying ourselves in the process until we were truly frightening to look at. Only when we'd thoroughly checked each other, and made sure they were truly gone, did we finally relax. After wringing my clothes dry, I picked up the deputy squad leader's flashlight and went to inspect the sunken bomber.

  The flashlight had already dimmed considerably, but even still, from atop the wing I had a much clearer view of the plane's lower half. The Shinzan must have hit the water unevenly, tail end first. The nose still rose above the surface. The tail was some distance off, too far away for me to see clearly. I stood atop the broken wing between its two giant engines. I could make out the twisted shapes of the three-bladed propellers below, sunk halfway into the river and already too rusted to spin. The front of the plane was divided into upper and lower sections. The bottom section, just above the nose, was the machine-gun cabin. Its glass-and-steel exterior was smashed to pieces, leaving only the frame, half of which was underwater. Above this was the cockpit, its windows at least partially intact. A rotating gun turret sat atop the plane in the middle of its body, seemingly undamaged. The parts of the plane that had sunk underwater were already so rusted none of their original green coating could be seen. Holes had opened in the walls of the engine room. It had been sitting here for more than twenty years, getting water-washed the whole time. Above the surface it still looked all right. I could see a vague "07" written along the nose in huge characters, though the rest of the marks were unclear. I had seen this plane on a filmstrip just three days ago, the image smaller than a fingernail. Standing upon it now, deep beneath the earth, I couldn't believe it. There really was a giant plane! That's what I said to myself at the time. My God, I thought, there really is a bomber down here!

  But we were told it had been disassembled before being moved into the cave. Why did it appear to have crashed down right here? Had the Japanese tried to fly it over the underground river and failed in the attempt? I craned my neck and shined my flashlight upward, trying to see how high the cave went. The beam failed to illuminate the ceiling, but it was obvious there wasn't nearly enough room for a plane to take off. Why on earth would the Japanese have wanted to fly a plane down here?

  CHAPTER 29

  Exploring the Shinzan

  My perspective of the plane was limited from my perch atop the wing. Moreover, the flashlight was gradually dimming and would soon go out. I had no choice but to stop and figure out my next move. By now I had regained my strength, or should I say that in my curiosity I forgot the terror and exhaustion I had just felt? I also knew that we'd be done for without a light
down here. I proposed to the deputy squad leader that we climb into the plane and take a look around. Perhaps there'd be something inside we could use to light our way. At the very least we needed to see if it would provide us with some shelter from the wind. To remain bare to the waist out on the wing was a terrible idea. The deputy squad leader had used up far more of his strength than I. He was out of his mind with exhaustion, as if comatose. I asked him what was the matter, but he just nodded and said nothing. I had no choice but to knead his body to warm him up. Only after his skin had reddened was I comfortable letting him stay behind. Then I headed for the cabin.

  The section between the wing and the nose had sunk into the river, forcing me to wade across. I cautiously stepped from one gunnysack to the next. Once more I caught sight of that massive "07," as well as the smaller characters written underneath, but they were much too vague and I had no time to closely examine them. After wading all the way to the machine gunner's cabin, I wriggled in through a gap in the twisted steel.

  The cabin interior was pitch-black, but it felt different from the darkness outside, not as hopeless. In here at least there were objects for my flashlight to illuminate. I could feel the distorted steel plates of the cabin walkway through my shoes. The first thing I saw was the ruined remains of a machine gunner's chair, its leather cover already unrecognizable, leaving only a rusted iron form. All around me the inner walls of the plane were riven with cracks and hung with snaking electrical wires, the majority of which had already bonded together into a dark and indistinct mass. In front of the seat was the half-destroyed remnant of some kind of stand—probably a mount for the machine gun, but now all that was left was the frame. Standing on the machine gunner's seat, I looked back down through the plane. The passenger and cargo compartments were too flooded for me to proceed, but the iron ladder to the pilothouse overhead was somehow still intact. Taking great care, I began to climb.

  The tail end of the plane had received the brunt of the impact. The pilothouse was therefore relatively undamaged. After climbing in, I first came upon the copilot's seat. A layer of rust and shattered glass had fused together across the floor. I shined my flashlight around the cockpit. Leaning over the top of the captain's seat was a leather aviation helmet of the Japanese air force.

  It was the pilot's shriveled corpse, as I had expected. As the body rotted it had melded with the seat behind it and now they were stuck together, a single form. Its mouth was especially distended, gaping wide open. This corpse was indeed Japanese, and from many years past. I shined my flashlight slowly along its length, inspecting it in detail. I gasped. Looking around the pilothouse, I could tell there hadn't been a fire, but the corpse had somehow turned bluish black and was covered all over in deep hollows. At first glance, it resembled nothing so much as a honeycomb. Initially I assumed the hollows were caused by machine gun fire, but after taking a closer look, I realized I was wrong. These things weren't "hollows" at all. They were holes opened by the contracting flesh as the body rotted away. This corpse had decomposed very unevenly—some parts of its body had rotted very severely, while others seemed almost untouched.

  I grabbed a sheet of iron from beside me and used it to cover the body. Then I returned to the wing, hoisted the deputy squad leader, and carried him back to the pilothouse. Once there, I gathered together everything I could find that seemed as if it might burn—the corpse's leather helmet and shoes, things like that—and set them alight. Luckiest of all, amid the wreckage of the cabin I found a hydraulic pressure tube. The oil inside had completely dried, leaving only a layer of black mudlike substance. After I scraped it out and burned it together with the tube itself, the temperature in the pilothouse became quite satisfactory. The flame was small, but for us it was some kind of salvation. Our cuts stopped bleeding, our clothes began to dry, and the two of us gradually warmed up.

  I still hadn't decided what our next move should be. Given the situation we were in now, nothing we did would really be of much use. All we could do was wait to be rescued, but who knew whether that was even a possibility. After a while we could find nothing else to keep the fire going. Fortunately our clothing had dried by then. After picking out the leeches that were still inside and throwing them into the coals, we got dressed, crowded around the fire, and lay down. Despite the strangeness of our surroundings and the hundreds of things that might have kept me awake, though my mind was filled with question after question, I fell asleep immediately.

  When I opened my eyes again, I saw only darkness. I had no idea how long I'd slept. The fire was out. I'd been warm the whole time I'd slept, but as soon as I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong. Why had I awoken so abruptly and what was this pain in my ears? From outside the wrecked plane came a series of incredibly loud, droning, weng-weng-weng wails. What kind of noise is that? I wondered. After listening for a moment, I realized—it was a siren! What was a siren doing here? I felt the blood drain from my face. What the hell was going on? Could the power have been restored? During our Attack Preparation classes we'd become all too familiar with this sound. Wasting no time, I climbed through a hole in the pilothouse and on top of the plane.

  Darkness was all around me. Resounding over the river from some dark and distant part of the cave came the wail of the siren, like the voice of some evil spirit. The air had begun to vibrate, as if with a kind of extreme restlessness. I had no idea what was about to happen. The deputy squad leader had been startled awake as well. He climbed up and asked me what was going on. I listened to the sound of the alarm. The noise, I suddenly realized, was speeding up, becoming more and more urgent. All at once an extreme foreboding burst forth in my mind.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Siren

  The siren resounded through the vast cave, the noise continuing to intensify, but we could see nothing within that darkness. A great unease filled us, the kind that makes one want to flee at once, but there was nowhere to run. All we could do was stand anxiously atop the plane and await the arrival of whatever danger the siren was warning us about.

  After sounding for roughly five minutes, the alarm abruptly went silent. Before we could react, there was a tremendous roar, as if some piece of machinery had been twisted apart. From the darkness downriver, the sound of water became audible once more. I looked uneasily in the direction of the machine sound, knowing neither what it was nor where it had occurred. The wreckage of the plane underfoot began to tremble slightly. I looked down. The force of the current had picked up and the water level had unexpectedly fallen. A dam! It suddenly became clear to me. The siren and crash were a dam's sluice gates opening. Had the Japanese actually dammed the underground river? At first, this was hard to believe, but if a bomber could "crash" deep beneath the earth, then to build a dam down here seemed comparatively reasonable. The deputy squad leader and I looked at one another, then back down at the river. We were both at a loss.

  The water level fell rapidly. After half an hour it was already below the gunnysacks. Together with the rest of the fuselage, countless corpse bags were now revealed. It was a terrifying thing to see. In the darkness it was easy to feel that the water level hadn't dropped, but rather the corpses had floated to the surface. They extended in an unbroken expanse across the cave. Looking at them, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

  A previously submerged road of planks and wire mesh appeared amid the gunnysacks. It was still underwater, but the water was no more than thigh high. We didn't know whether the decrease in water level was manually operated or some automatic mechanism, but we saw an opportunity to escape. We climbed down from the plane at once and clambered along the gunnysacks until we reached the plank road. Although seriously decayed, it was nonetheless able to hold our weight. Quickening our pace, we hurried onward.

  The water level had soon dropped beneath the plank road, and we no longer needed to wade along. Once we'd run for about three hundred feet, the roar of the water became much louder. We could feel the dam nearby. We couldn't see the plane anymore, though. A pa
ir of giant iron rails then appeared along the river bottom, more than ten times as wide as ordinary train tracks. As I looked at them and at where the plane had been, I could tell they'd been the latter's transport. Huge electrical transformers, the kind used in large-scale hydraulic power generation, appeared on either side of the tracks. Some of them seemed to be in operation, the crash of their components blending with the sound of the rapids. They were indistinguishable if one failed to listen closely. There was also a crane, a searchlight, and a collapsed sentry tower. As the water level swiftly diminished, all sorts of heavily corroded structures were revealed. Never would I have expected so much hidden beneath the waves. Why had all of it been built in the middle of the river? Then, up ahead, we finally caught sight of the dam.

  In fact, calling it a dam would be somewhat misleading. Only one long section of concrete with rubble remained, towering overhead and laced with cracks. Still, on an underground river it would be impossible to build too tall of a structure, and this "dam" had probably been developed for only temporary use. At the foot of the dam we saw a massive iron loudspeaker, though who knew if this had actually produced the siren? At the end of the plank road was a rickety-looking iron ladder that led to the top of the dam.