[center][i]Collaboration with [@Dinh AaronMk][/i][/center] [h3]Siberia[/h3] [b]2:36 PM[/b] "Tempura Six to NEF air control... Tempura Six to NEF air control." Nagumo cursed as only static greeted his attempts to reach someone in Urajiosutoku. What had started as a normal patrol turned into something else. Bored, Nagumo had gone beyond the usual patrol area and let his mind wander. He was now... where was he, exactly? He'd gotten lost in all the Siberian wilderness. From this high up, he only saw the green lush wilderness and rolling hills and a body of water that could only be the Amur. Though he was not sure if it was Japanese territory on the other side of the river or not. After another fruitless attempt to reach air control, Nagumo started to descend and adjust course. The compass in the cockpit said he had been traveling in a northwest direction. A quick calculation let Nagumo know he was somewhere above Siberia in Cossack held territory. He let out a sigh of relief at the revelation. The Cossacks didn't have anti-aircraft weapons or planes like the Chinese. Plus, flying into Cossack airspace wouldn't create an international incident. His fuel gauge read half a tank, a little over an hour of fuel at the current speed. Nagumo lowered his altitude further and started east. He knew that if he headed that way he would eventually find the ocean and Japanese held territory. He cruised a thousand feet above the ground, dipping even lower, so low that his wings came close to clipping the tops of the massive trees. Nagumo slowed to get a look as he approached a clearing among the lush wilderness. "Chikushō!" The first thing he saw was the encampment. After that were the men. They were busy clearing trees and creating a path through the Siberian fores. Even from a distance, he knew they were Chinese. All Japanese pilots were trained to identify communist ships, tanks, planes, and men from long range. The wool and fur hats were easy to pick out, not the same color and size as the Russian Cossack hats. The path they were forging started at the Amur. A pontoon bridge reached across the river and into China where a collection of Bào16's were parked in a semi-circle facing the river. Nagumo knew that he was witnessing invasion, or at least the beginnings of it, but he didn't have time to worry about the political implications of his finding. Survival was on his mind. Nagumo began to climb and accelerate. He knew he was too close and too low for them to have not noticed them, so the best thing he could do was pick up speed and distance before they could open fire. He heard hard metallic pings against the fuselage of his plane as he elevated. "Japanese! Wukou!" the yells came in alarm. At the sound of an incoming airplane the soldiers on the ground had turned from what they were doing. At first to languidly see what new thing had come to disturb their day, believing it at first to be an unannounced air reconnaissance craft to assist them. But dull bored feeling had quickly turned when they saw the marking of the aircraft and the officers on the ground had jumped into action leading their men to make some sort of response. The commanding officer of the engineers, Man Wu threw himself out of his canvas tent and threw his gaze skyward. Dressed in slack field pants and a tank top he shouted and demanded to know answers. "We don't know, it just arrived!" shouted a sergeant. Rifle fire was already popping in the warm afternoon and the deep guttural booms of the tank guns helped to punctuate the gunfire as the Chinese ground troops engaged. "The hell is it, a spy plane?" he sneered, watching the Japanese airplane rise into the blue. The bullets against the fuselage began to fade as Nagumo gained more altitude. He saw one rip through his starboard wing, creating a small hole that posed no threat to the R-77's flight capabilities. A tank shell exploded somewhere from below, rattling the cockpit and peppering his windshield with bits of shrapnel. Nagumo didn't realize it but he was smiling from underneath his oxygen mask. He'd been a naval aviator for almost ten years, and this was his first true taste of enemy combat. The Russians five years ago had no real aerial power, their old and slow crop planes were blasted out the sky with ease. But the Chinese? They were a real threat, a real challenge. And he was in the thick of it and-- The sudden explosion on his starboard side sent Nagumo and the little craft spinning. He felt the heat of explosion, followed by the shattering of the cockpit canopy. He shut his eyes to avoid being blinded by the glass. The next thing he felt was the air blowing on his face and the sensation of fast spinning. He peeled his eyes open and saw the starboard wing was a fiery stub. He fought with the controls as he began to plummet to the ground. "Tempura Six to NEF air control," he yelled over the roar of the sky. "If you're receiving this message, then I am going down." Nagumo reeled over the coordinates as best he could remember as the R-77 spun into the thick Siberian forest. Man Wu and many of the men raced towards the river as they watched the airplane plummet from the sky. A long trail of black smoke drawing a thick heavy line as it came crashing down. There were cheers and applause as men hoisted up their rifles and sub-machine guns and cheered. The air smelled of cordite still, but the fight wasn't over. Man Wu realized as much. The wreckage would need to be recovered, command would like it. The men in Beijing would like it. If the pilot survived, he would be needed. He squinted his eyes at the bright blue yonder to see a dark shape separate from the crashing wreck. "Someone get on the phone and call back to command!" Wu ordered, bounding back towards his tent, "We were attacked by a hostile air-craft! It was shot down! A retrieval team is en'route to retrieve the wreckage and the bodies!" His men acknowledged the request. A young private was quick to peel off from the group and head towards communications. The others were assembled by the officers for a hasty recovery mission. --- When Nagumo came to, he found that he was suspended in the trees. His legs dangled about ten feet above the forest floor. His mind drew a blank on how he got there. The last thing he remembered was going down in flames in his fighter. Looking up, he saw his parachute had become tangled in the branches of a tree. The sight of the parachute brought it back. He'd bailed out just before the fighter took its final dive into the forest. The parachute caught on the wind and slowed him down, but the branches and leaves he caught on the way down managed to do a number on his body. The fact that he was still alive was a small miracle. But he wouldn't be alive much longer if he kept dangling above the ground like a target. No doubt the Chinese were already heading his way. After doing a quick inventory, Nagumo found that he had his sidearm and Guntō still on him, along with an emergency compass that was sewn into his flight suit. His canteen must have been blown away after bailing out the plane. Water would be a problem later, but for that to happen Nagumo needed to make sure there was a later. He reached across his body and pulled the short sword from its scabbard on his waist. With a deep breath, he sliced the cords holding him up and fell to the ground. The fall seemed to go on forever, but was suddenly stopped by a burst of pain from his left shoulder. He landed on it with a loud pop that, coupled with the pain, almost made him vomit. Nagumo willed himself to stand and looked at his left arm and how it dangled uselessly by his side. Cursing, he took the sword in his right hand and attempted to get his bearings. He had been flying east when he'd been hit and the compass on his lapel said that his plane had continued that way even after he jumped out. There was a boom, followed by an intense burst of heat from somewhere nearby. That had to be the plane's engine exploding after the crash. If the plane was east of him, then he had to head that way to at least make an attempt to get back home. But the crash would also be a focal point for the Chinese so he had to hurry. Nagumo wiped sweat away from his forehead and started to run through the forest towards the crash. Shouting echoed in the forest. A motley group of soldiers running through the underbrush. Twigs snapped under their boots. There was an air of excitement, goaded by the earlier sound of an explosion. The airplane was this way! They were on the trail. Holding a pistol in one hand Man Wu took point. His blood rushed with excitement as they ran along. He wondered if they would find the pilot dead or alive. What was the worth of either? The question though would be soon answered as he saw beyond the brush ahead of them the fiery glow of the wreckage smoldering through the trees. The air smelled thick of oil and burning rubber. Would it set the forests on fire? If it did he imagined, less worth for them to do if it spread. They came into the crash site. Nagumo crouched among the foliage as the Chinese soldiers entered the clearing. He assumed they were the soldiers but he couldn't be sure. The smoke from the fire was so thick he could only make out the shapes of people moving. To his right was the burning plane, its fuselage nearly consumed by the flames. The wings had broke off during the fall, leaving the body of the plane looking like a sad, burning log. Nagumo felt a pang of sadness watching the old girl burn. She'd gotten him safely through the invasion of Siberia and the rest of his time here. She deserved a better end than this. But if the fire could make the Chinese think Nagumo was in the cockpit, burning alive, then her sacrifice would be worth it. Blood was beginning to drip down his face. With his right hand, Nagumo felt the gash on his forehead and winced. He had sheathed his sword and carried the pistol with the one working arm he now had. He started backwards as the Chinese figures fanned out in a semi-circle and began to approach the crash and the surrounding area. He'd have to make his break shortly in order to get away. Whether he could get away for good was to be decided, but he had to at least try. Man Wu entered the clearing. The thick smoke clouding his vision and scratching at his lungs. He held a part of his shirt to his mouth while holding his pistol. The rest of the men were fanning out, searching the scene. Approaching the wreckage of the plane he stepped up alongside a soldier prodding the wreckage and shifting things with his rifle as tongues of flame sprang out from newly opened cavities. He coughed as plumes of smoke spat forth. "He has to be around here somewhere!" Wu shouted. Dead or alive, that is. Then he remembered the parachuting form, he looked up searching the trees. Many had been torn bare from the crashing aircraft. There was a clear gash through the pines from where the airplane had come screaming through. More than wrecked airplane littered the forest floor and there were smoldering pine needles and large splinters of wood. And hanging from a twisted and shattered pine was the tangled and matted fabric of a parachute. The chords had been cut. The man was alive. "He's here." he said to himself, "He's here! He's somewhere around here!" he shouted. Nagumo cursed when he heard the shouts in Chinese. He could only make out a few words, but he got what was being said. Somehow, he'd left proof of his survival. He took in a deep breath of the bitter, smokey air and flipped off the safety of his handgun. He could hear the crunching of boots on leaves and sticks. Twelve shots were all he head. Eleven for the soldiers and then one for himself. Nagumo was young, but he knew what happened to Japanese who were captured by the Communists. Better to die than to wish he were dead. Another deep breath to gather his courage. He was preparing to stand when another explosion rocked the clearing. The fuel tank of the Mitsubishi had caught fire and exploded. The Chinese yelled and scattered as the fire intensified. With the cry of "Banzai!" stuck in the back of his throat, Nagumo began to crawl through the underbrush away from the flames and the soldiers. He gritted his teeth as he crawled one-handed. Man Wu was far enough back, but others had not been so lucky. His back was turned when a fuel tank in the airplane ignited and exploded and he had been tossed to the ground like a doll cast aside. He could feel the solar heat of the flames lick his back, it was brief and stinging but he did not think he was burned as he lay in the cool and discarded pine needles. But others had been closer. The cries of pain after the fact returned him to reality and posed a new problem for him as he scrambled to his feet. Several men had been injured. A shard of metal had embedded itself in a young soldier's arm and the one who had been poking in the wreckage had been torn and horribly burned in the latest explosion, his body lay cracked against a tree, lifeless and burned chili red. "Don't try to pull that out now!" Wu boomed to the men helping the injured soldier, "Get him back to camp, get someone out here to isolate this scene. We have a downed Japanese fighter, and its living pilot somewhere." "Yes sir." the response came. The injured man was raised by the good shoulder and helped back to camp. Man Wu turned back to the rest of his men. "He's not going to be here anymore. Someone, find a trail. There has to be something." --- According to his wristwatch, Nagumo had been walking almost an hour. He had no idea how much time he'd covered at that point, his injuries and the thick forest slowing him down. He was thankful that the forest was so thick that no vehicles could navigate through it. He was in no condition to run away from any truck or car. The fire and its smoke were gone and according to his compass, he was heading in the right direction. Eventually he would find the Amur and what he hoped was Japanese territory on the other side. Nagumo stopped short. He heard voices somewhere. They were distant shouts in Chinese. He reckoned he was maybe a kilometer away from whoever it was that was shouting. Whatever it was, it sounded like an order. He wiped blood away from his eyes and started to hurry towards the river. The voices were growing louder by the time Nagumo could hear the sound of running water somewhere nearby. After arriving to the plane crash, Man Wu had retired into his command tent. The situation was developing, but now he figured was an ample moment to send word to command and to brief them on the situation. Seated at a table next to the communications equipment he pressed a telephone receiver to the side of his face as he was patched through directly to his commanding superior, Aiwen Wu. It was only a moment, and his voice suddenly rang in clear from the other side. "I understand you had an incident." Wu said on the other side, his voice was neither genially or scolding. "Still having it." Man Wu corrected, "A single Japanese aircraft flew over the encampment roughly half an hour to an hour ago. We shot it down, and the plane crashed on the Siberian side of the river. Search teams have been dispatched." "I see. I take it then the pilot has not been found, or any crew members? Do we know what the airplane is? Has anyone been injured?" "We've identified what might possibly be a single surviving crew member. On arriving to the crash scene there was a parachute tangled in the trees. The cords had been cut so it's possible the pilot survived and is wandering the woods. I remained on scene until we found the first bit of a trail, a young enlistee reported finding blood on the ground and against some leaves. I put him in confidence to help guide the search party and came to issue the debriefing. "Per what the airplane is: I can't identify the exact model at the moment, the wreckage is fairly badly damage and I can't make out any details. A fuel tank exploded shortly after our arrival and injured one man and killed another. But for my eyes and knowledge it's too badly disfigured to tell what model it is. But it's a single-crew prop airplane to be certain, possibly a fighter or a reconnaissance vehicle. May I speak my mind, commander?" he asked, finishing. "You have my permission." "The appearance of the aircraft was rather sudden to say the least. If I had to give any thoughtful pointers on it I would suggest that it's possibly a scouting mission from the Japanese, that perhaps they caught wind of the invasion and are keeping an eye on it. I can't be certain how to confirm or deny it, outside of locating the pilot. But that's an active situation now." "I understand why you'd be cautious." Wu said, "You're doing good work, keep it up and keep me appraised of any changes. I'll notify the general secretary to put you on priority. I'll need to know what's going on. Beijing will want a report of this as soon as possible." "Yes sir, thank you s-" Man began, before being interrupted by a breathless runner. He stood painting in the flap of the tent. Man Wu looked up at him astonished and inquiring. "The path he was on changed direction. He's turned south-south east, towards the river!" he said. "Dispatch boats! Get someone out to run down the river! I want that man!" Man Wu insisted, boomingly. "Something's changed?" Commander Aiwen asked. "Seems our man is headed towards the river, probably looking for a clear way back home. I'll give the full report later. Colonel Man Wu, over and out." Nagumo heard shouts as he ran out of the forest and towards the river banks. He looked over his shoulder and saw two soldiers step out, rifles raised and yelling at him in Chinese. He took two potshots at them with his pistol, causing them to scatter back into the woods. Nagumo holstered his pistol at the water's edge and went in. He started wading until he was neck deep and then swimming as best as he could with one arm. He cursed as the current began to make him drift downriver. Shouts from the shore were followed by gunshots, the bullets nowhere near hitting him. He struggled to keep his head above water, and any attempt to use his left arm sent shooting pain through his body, so intense he saw black spots in his field of vision. He kept swimming as fast as he could, not bothering to raise his head. The sound of a trolling motor rapidly approaching filled with both hope and dread. Hope that he would be rescued, but dread at the realization that the boat and its crew would be Chinese. Someone from the approaching boat shouted at him in Chinese. Nagumo was too tired to even attempt to make sense of what he was saying, but he knew it was some kind of warning to surrender or be killed. Nagumo resolved then and there to either die or escape. Death or disgrace was all that waited for him in the hands of the Communists. And he would rather die in the wilderness than become like the Defeated. More angry shouts that he ignored. Finally, there were warning shots that peppered the water around him. "Banzai," he rasped, taking a deep breath before diving under the water. Nagumo held his breath as the current began to take him. Bullets whizzed through the water all around him as he dove deeper and deeper. He turned and looked up at the hull of the boat as he began to drift away from it. Even as an aviator, he was trained in the IJN's extreme underwater survival regiment and could hold his breath for almost four minutes if he moved as little as possible. If the current moved fast enough, he could put a lot of distance between himself and the boat. --- The Chinese soldiers fired into the water. But nothing turned up. They waited, nothing but the gentle rush of the Amur river and the low hum of the engine singing in the afternoon. As the moments slipped, nothing turned up. But he had just been there. "If he's not turning up now, he will later." a sergeant called from the boat, looking downriver, "Dead or alive he's gotta come up sooner or later." Nagumo counted to one hundred and eighty and started swimming. He pointed his body towards the opposite shore from where he'd swam in. His lungs were burning, a tingling that started in his chest was now coursing through his upper body. He slowed as the water began to become more and more shallow. He doubted that he'd put enough distance between himself and the boat to avoid their shots, but he had to try to make a run for it. There was a grouping of reeds on the river bank as he emerged. He slowly inhaled the fresh air, making sure that everything below the nostrils stayed submerged in the waters. The motor of the boat was beginning to grow louder as it approached. The reeds would be the first spot they searched. Nagumo started to slowly wade towards the shore, careful to not make too much noise. Slowly churning, the boat plied down the river searching. The men on the shores turned in land, fanning out into the trees as they passed Nagumo, hiding now on the Chinese side of the border. He watched them continued downriver. He let out a sigh of relief as he slipped out of the water and started back into the forest, what he thought was friendly territory. Little did Nagumo know that his journey home was just beginning.