1942: A Life-or-Death Rescue
Authors’ Note: This is more than a legendary history and a string of heroic names; it is a story of courage, kindness, sacrifice, gratitude, and cooperation.
A scaled-down model of a US World War II B-25 bomber is displayed on the first floor of the Shangrao Museum (located in Jiangxi Province, southeastern China). With its nose raised skyward, it appears poised to take off again from an aircraft carrier deck, ready to embark on that daring mission happened 83 years ago.
With the 80th anniversary of the victory of the World Anti-Fascist War drawing near, a special exhibition on The Shangrao Rescue during the Doolittle Raid is being held here. China was among the first nations to suffer from Japan’s full-scale aggression; it pinned down a significant number of Japanese troops on the Eastern Front, thus in turn making a crucial contribution to the victory of the World Anti-Fascist War.
“Mom, why are there so many photos of Americans here? Who are they?” A child’s innocent voice broke the silence of the exhibition hall, as he tugged at his mother’s hand, asking curiously.
“They are heroes, and the Chinese people who rescued them are also heroes,” replied a spry elderly man who, hearing the question, turned with a gentle smile.
He is Professor Luo Shiping, who is also a history expert. Every word and image on this exhibition are the fruit of his painstaking research and personal dedication.
In front of a black-and-white photo, Luo Shiping stood silently, gazing thoughtfully for a long while. The caption beneath the photo reads: “In 1942, on the old street of Guangfeng (a small city under the jurisdiction of Shangrao), crew of Bomber No.14 of the Doolittle Raid posed for a group photo with the Chinese military and civilians who participated in their rescue.”
Despite the ravages of time, the Chinese and foreign faces in the photo remain discernible. The American airmen’ weary eyes reveal determination, while the young Chinese beside them radiate buoyant optimism and youthful vigor. Among the many historical photographs on display, this one is Luo Shiping’s favorite and the most storied.
Through the faded black-and-white image, he seemed to be transported back to the tumultuous year of 1942, witnessing how this transnational, life-risking rescue mission forged a profound bond between two peoples oceans apart.
A “One-Way” Daring Raid
1942 was a pivotal year in World War II.
That year, 26 nations, including China, the United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union, formally united as The World Anti-Fascist Alliance. After years of bloody resistance against Japan, the Chinese people could finally see the light of dawn at the end of the long night.
That year, history recorded not only the brutal battles of Stalingrad, Midway, and El Alamein, but also a stunning raid that would shock the world.
On the early morning of April 18, a fierce sea breeze howled and a thin mist hung over the Western Pacific. A Carrier Task Force was cutting through the waves, advancing stealthily. Around 8:00 a.m., 16 U.S. bombers roared off the deck of the USS Hornet into the air one after another, skimming the wave tops toward Japan. This was the famous “Doolittle Raid”—the first aerial assault launched by the Allies on Japan’s mainland following the attack on Pearl Harbor.
The plan was brimming with imagination—bold, audacious, and, put simply, a “one-way mission” with no return. To achieve the surprise attack effect, the U.S. carrier fleet, for the first time in its history, carried modified land-based bombers with an exceptionally long range. These bombers were launched beyond Japan’s home defense air zone, after which the fleet pulled out immediately. Upon completing their mission, the bombers would not head back to the carriers; instead, they would fly to the nearest Allied airfields in southeastern China--such as the largest in Quzhou and a smaller one in Shangrao, among others.
The leader of this “aerial suicide squad” was Lieutenant Colonel Jimmy Doolittle, an aviation hero renowned across the United States, who was the first pilot to fly nonstop from America’s East Coast to its West Coast within a day. In the film Pearl Harbor, there is a dramatic scene: after Doolittle announces that their mission is to bomb Japan, he turns to his cheering airmen and says, “From this point on, every one of you will learn a Chinese phrase: ‘I am an American.’”
Doolittle himself was the first to take off, while Bomber No. 14, the central figures in the iconic “Old Street Group Photo”, was among the last three to take off. Onboard, 26-year-old navigator and bombardier James Massia—who hailed from Tombstone, Arizona—was gripped by anxiety. The takeoff had been uncharacteristically hasty, and he could not shake the fear of what dangers lay ahead in the mission.
At dawn that very day, the fleet’s vanguard had unexpectedly encountered a Japanese reconnaissance vessel. To avoid detection, Fleet Commander “Bull” Halsey (a Vice Admiral who later commanded a series of famous Pacific War battles) and Doolittle made a snap decision to advance the departure time from evening to morning. This call, as history would show, safeguarded the fleet but unwittingly sowed the seeds for the dire hardships the air crews would soon face.
The original flight range was already at its limit, and an earlier takeoff would mean a longer distance to fly—along with a significantly higher risk of running out of fuel. Before departure, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hilger, deputy commander of the Doolittle Raider and also the captain of Bomber No.14, solemnly addressed his crew: “Fellows, the fuel we’re carrying might not be enough to get us to the Chinese coast. If anyone wants to back out now, speak up now.” In response, there was only a resolute silence.
Besides Massia and Hilger, the crew consisted of co-pilot Sims (an avid photographer—the “Old Street Group Photo” was reportedly taken with his camera), mechanic Elman, and gunner Bain. They had all volunteered for the clandestine mission, fully aware of its perils. Aboard the plane, they joked with one another as they talked about the harsh scenarios ahead: if they went down at sea, they might end up as shark food; they might be captured by the Japanese military; or they might luck into encountering a U.S. submarine... With such slim chances of rescue, they simply entrusted their fates to God.
To Massia’s disbelief, the raid caught the Japanese completely by surprise. On the ground, some even mistook the B-25s for their own planes and waved. The sparse anti-aircraft fire felt like mere pinpricks. Calmly, Massia dropped his bombs one by one on military barracks, oil depots, and the Mitsubishi Aircraft Manufacturing Plant in the strategic city of Nagoya. Having released its bombs, the plane then swept away towards China, suffering nothing more than a few bullet holes in its wings.
The airmen recalled that their actual bombing time was very short—two years later, this legendary mission was made into an Oscar-winning movie called Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. In stark contrast, the latter half of the flight to China was agonizingly long and nerve-wracking.
Inside Bomber No.14, Hilger watched the fuel gauge while Massia scanned the map, frantically calculating the distance to the Chinese coast. A fierce easterly wind bought them hundreds of extra kilometers, saving them from ditching in the ocean. But then night fell, and heavy rain cut visibility to zero, making their designated airfield impossible to locate.
With the fuel tank almost empty, and mountains vaguely visible outside the window, the crew presumed they had entered Chinese territory but couldn’t pinpoint their exact location. The anticipated navigation signals and ground lights never appeared. The plane circled futilely in the dark, and Massia’s spirits sank.
Why did the Doolittle Raiders successfully reach China but inadvertently fail to locate their designated landing fields? Years later, historians finally uncovered the reason. To maintain secrecy, the U.S. had not informed China of the precise landing times. Furthermore, the commander’s decision to depart half a day early meant Chinese airfields had no time to prepare, and in the darkness, they couldn’t distinguish between Japanese and American aircraft.
“We’re out of fuel! Prepare to bail out!” Around 9 p.m., the Bomber’s engines failed. Hilger's resigned voice filled the cabin.
Icy wind and rain poured through the open door. With no combat jump experience, Massia took a deep breath and followed his comrades into the void. The wind roared. His parachute deployed with a violent jerk. Two minutes later, he hit the ground hard, and his world went black.
A Friendly Glimmer in the Dark
When Massia regained consciousness, he found himself having fallen into a wood. Fortunately, he only had a few minor scrapes. His flight jacket, however, was torn; soaked through to his skin and with all his supplies lost, he was overwhelmed by frustration from hunger and cold. Huddling under a large tree, Massia pulled his parachute tightly around himself, enduring his first long night since arriving in China.
As dawn broke, Massia dragged his weary body, mustering his courage, and headed towards the village below. In the distant fields, a young man was working with his trouser legs rolled up. Massia remembered the Chinese phrase he had just learned, “I am an American”, but when he stumbled out the clumsy Chinese phrase, the young man simply stared blankly.
It turned out that his instructor had learned Cantonese dialect from a Chinese immigrant, and its heavy accent made it incomprehensible to most Chinese people. This amusing anecdote later became a running joke among the surviving airmen at their reunions.
Seeing this disheveled foreigner in a tattered leather jacket, the young man broke into a broad smile and gestured for Massia to follow him to the village ancestral hall. He brought out tea and rice cakes, built a fire, and helped Massia dry his soaking wet clothes.
Massia considered himself incredibly fortunate—having neither landed in Japanese-occupied territory nor in some remote wilderness, but instead encountering friendly Chinese locals right away. Years later, he would often tell his children about that unknown Chinese youth: a figure with rolled-up trousers and a warm smile, like the first ray of light piercing through the darkness to a weary traveler.
By this time, the villagers had all gathered after hearing the news, curiosity mingling in their eyes. Massia, who liked to draw in his spare time, found a pencil. He sketched a plane and a parachute on a piece of paper, then drew an American flag and pointed to himself. Some villagers suddenly realized: “He’s an American! He’s here to help us fight the Japanese invaders!” A few even gave a thumbs-up to this American soldier who had “fallen from the sky”.
As Massia was being rescued, a stream of orders was sent out via radio waves from the War Zone Command in Shangrao. Thus began a massive rescue operation spanning four provinces in southeastern China—most of which was still under Chinese government control at the time.
Massia wasn’t the only fortunate one. Other members of Bomber No. 14 also landed in various parts of Guangfeng County. Aside from Hilger, who injured his hand and ribs in the fall, everyone else was unharmed. With the help of local soldiers and civilians, the five crew members, separated for a day, reunited in the town of Guangfeng County on the evening of April 19, arriving there by rickshaw and sedan chair.
China back then was indeed as poor and underdeveloped as Massia had pictured it. Yet what touched him deeply was that the people here did everything they could to take care of them: some gave up the only bed in their homes, others went out of their way to bring oil-paper umbrellas (a traditional Chinese rain gear) and coats, and teachers and students who understood English volunteered to act as interpreters. Massia not only had coffee but even enjoyed a surprisingly decent Western meal.
The airmen recounted in their memoirs: “That night, all of us went to sleep with a profound respect for the Chinese people. Their honesty, helpfulness, and hospitality were unmatched by anyone we had ever encountered.”
Meanwhile, news of the American bombing of Japan had spread worldwide, with media outlets scrambling to report it. On that day, Chinese newspapers prominently featured the news on their front pages: “Bombing for Bombing: Allied Air Force First Strikes Tokyo.”
Indeed, for the Chinese soldiers and civilians who had suffered terribly from the invasion, these American airmen who dared to strike directly at the enemy and bomb the invaders, provided a much-needed outlet for their anger and offered a glimmer of hope for defeating their formidable enemy. At that moment, Massia and his comrades were instantly hailed as anti-Japanese heroes, “divine warriors descending from heaven”. The people swarmed around them, parading through the town in high spirits—and this is exactly the scene immortalized in the historical photo on display at the Shangrao Museum.
Over the next few days, similar rescue stories unfolded across Jiangxi. Discovered crew members received meticulous care and were promptly escorted to gathering points in Shangrao, Quzhou, and other locations.
Of course, not all crews were so lucky. Bomber No.16, which flew the farthest, unluckily landed in Japanese-occupied territory. All five members were captured, and two were later killed by the Japanese.
The abrupt encounter between Americans who had never been to China and Chinese villagers who had never seen foreigners created a dramatic and heartwarming outcome. Within half a month, the Chinese military and civilians, driven by their simple kindness and humanitarian spirit, achieved the miracle of “saving Private Doolittle’s men”—64 out of the 75 airmen who reached China were rescued.
After a short respite, Massia and his comrades evacuated in four groups. They made their way by train and a rudimentary charcoal-fueled bus, detouring around Japanese-occupied territories, before flying from Chongqing—China’s provisional capital during the war—to India (which was under British rule). From there, they eventually returned to the anti-fascist front.
Massia knew deep down that without the help of these kind, warm, and friendly Chinese people, they could never have made such a safe departure. Yet little did he know at that moment how devastating a price this land of refuge would ultimately be forced to pay for its act of mercy.
Even before the airmen’s departing figures had faded from view, the flames of war had already engulfed the region. Determined to obliterate the airfields that had served as alternate landing sites for U.S. forces and to exact revenge on the Chinese civilians who had aided them, the Japanese army launched a large-scale assault and ruthlessly deployed germ warfare, resulting in the deaths of approximately 250,000 innocent civilians.
Villages were razed to the ground. Fleas and rats carrying deadly bacteria were scattered in and around houses, in rivers, and in wells. Towns and the countryside were reduced to ruins, with corpses littering the fields. In Guangfeng, where Massia had parachuted to safety, over 5,311 civilians died or went missing within two months, and 8,005 houses were destroyed.
Despite such heavy costs and sacrifices, historians regard the value and significance of the Doolittle Raid as immeasurable. It not only dealt a severe blow to the arrogant swagger of the Japanese invaders but also greatly boosted the courage and determination of the global anti-fascist front to continue fighting.
Even more dramatically, this air raid, like a butterfly’s wings, created a ripple effect that ultimately generated a tidal wave in the South Pacific, decisively shifting the tide of war. Provoked by the Doolittle Raid, the Japanese decided to attack the U.S.-controlled Midway Atoll a few months later—a world-shaking naval and air battle in which four Japanese aircraft carriers were sunk, irrevocably sending Japan down the path of defeat.
A Friendship Transcending Time and Space
Though the fires of war have long receded, the stirring and unforgettable heroic stories of that era have not been forgotten. Instead, they have grown clearer through the persistent efforts of successive generations.
After World War II, the surviving airmen formed the “Doolittle Raiders Association”. Every year on April 18, they and their descendants hold memorial events, commemorating the heroic action and honoring their selfless rescuers.
“Thank you, people of Guangfeng, for your help and hospitality. This friendship will never be forgotten.” In 1987, Guangfeng County received a thank-you letter forwarded by the Beijing bureau of Newsweek. Attached to the letter was a signed group photo of the crew of Bomber No. 14 — depicting the very scene of their celebratory parade through the streets of Guangfeng that year.
This photograph, captured by a camera carried by one of the crew members, thereafter lay undisturbed for decades in U.S. archives and the pilots’ personal albums. None of the Chinese people in the photo had ever had the chance to see it in their lifetimes. It was not until over forty years later that the image made its long, circular journey back to where it was taken—China—becoming an invaluable witness to history.
In September 1990, a symbolic bronze plaque of thanks made its way across the ocean to China. On the plaque, a large blue circle with a star—the insignia of the U.S. Army Air Forces during World War II—was engraved. In the center were two roughly handwritten Chinese characters: “多谢” (Thank You). All around the margins, space was filled densely with English signatures—marks of gratitude from the 44 surviving rescued airmen at the time.
Ninety-year-old Doolittle also gladly wrote a letter to the Chinese villagers who had rescued American airmen: “I am very proud of the brave actions shown by your families, villages, and your country 50 years ago. We want to say to all of you—You did remarkably well!”
In 2016, the last living hero of the Doolittle Raiders passed away. However, the exchange and friendship across the Pacific has not ceased.
In October 2018, the small mountain village that had once rescued Massia welcomed a special guest from across the ocean—an elderly American man in his seventies. He went from door to door in search of those who had aided the airmen decades before. When it was time to leave, he gently scooped up a handful of soil from the mountainside, wrapped it tenderly in a faded silk cloth, and handed the villagers a letter of gratitude.
The elderly man was Thomas Massia (hereafter referred to as Thomas), son of James Massia — the pilot who had landed there. The cloth wrapping the soil was a fragment of his father's parachute, kept as a memento.
“Without your help, my father wouldn’t have survived, and I wouldn’t be here,” Thomas said. As a child, he often heard his father recount his incredible adventure in the distant East. What stuck with him most was his father muttering “Shangrao” and “Guangfeng” while pointing to the exact spot on a map of China where he had parachuted.
James Massia passed away in 2009 at the age of 93. Not being able to revisit China was always a lifelong regret for him.
While sorting through his father’s belongings, Thomas was surprised to discover many old photos taken in China over 70 years ago, along with a stack of slightly yellowed business cards bearing Chinese characters — most likely from those who had helped him during his time there.
The Chinese names on these cards, the smiling young man with his trousers rolled up, the villagers who had carried stretchers and pulled rickshaws to help the pilots—who were they, and what had become of them? Suddenly, it dawned on Thomas: he must go to China. He felt compelled to find the answers, to deliver his father’s long-overdue “thank you” in person, and to piece together this missing chapter of his family’s history.
It was during this trip to China that Thomas met Professor Luo Shiping, who specializes in the history of local resistance against Japanese Aggression. For seven years, they have been a great team: Thomas researching documents and finding clues in America, and Luo Shiping conducting on-site investigations and verifying facts in Jiangxi. Through nearly 600 emails exchanged across the Pacific, they gradually uncovered and illuminated this long-buried history.
Their initial shared goal was to find the owners of those business cards. Luo Shiping noticed that one card had the name “Chen Baocong” printed on it, along with “Dr.Chen” in English, but no title or position, just an address. He posted this information on his WeChat Moments (a popular Chinese social media platform, similar to Instagram). To his surprise, the very next day, he received a clue from a friend—Chen Baocong’s daughter was still alive and lived in Shangrao.
It turned out that Chen Baocong was a renowned doctor in Shangrao at the time and had treated James Massia’s injuries. Upon hearing this, his daughter was deeply moved, remarking that her father, a benevolent healer throughout his life, had never once mentioned this past event.
Subsequently, through the tireless efforts of media and experts, names that had only existed in historical records were brought back to life, their stories pieced together into flesh-and-blood individuals based on the clues from the business cards.
However, what made Thomas regretful was that none of the ordinary villagers who had directly helped his father—especially the young man his father had always kept in mind—left their names.
“Luo, I’m going to use the inspiration from these photos to paint something for you, to commemorate those kind villagers,” Thomas excitedly messaged one day, sending a sketch depicting his father’s rescue scene.
“Thank you, Thomas. But some details in your painting aren’t quite right. At that time, Jiangxi villagers wore coarse cotton undershirts with padded long robes over them, and people working in the fields typically didn’t wear shoes; they'd roll their pant legs up to below the knee...” In his email, Luo Shiping offered his old friend many suggestions for revision.
After several revisions, Thomas finally completed his oil painting, My Father and the Villagers of Guangfeng, and specially sent it to Shangrao. In the painting, over 10 villagers gather around the pilot, children playfully romping nearby; the young man James Massia never forgot, though unnamed, is painted by Thomas beside his father, holding an oil-paper umbrella over him…
Years ago, James Massia, unable to speak the language, had to use drawings to communicate. Decades later, his descendant picked up a brush once again, paying homage to his father’s rescuers on his behalf.
In return, Luo Shiping had a porcelain plate custom-made in the distinctive style of Jiangxi and sent it to James. Fired from Shangrao’s local kaolin clay, the plate was engraved with the very scene from that “Old Street Group Photo.”
Yet the biggest surprise—and the most exciting discovery for them both—was finding a villager who had directly met the rescued airmen.
“Luo, do you know who this girl is?” Thomas shared several treasured historical photos. One was especially fascinating — it was taken when co-pilot Sims of Bomber No. 14 was taking a selfie as a memento, and accidentally captured the astonished expression of a Chinese girl in the background. Perhaps experiencing a camera for the first time, she stared wide-eyed at the lens, her mouth open as if uttering a amazed “Wow!”
Through his search, Luo Shiping was thrilled to discover that the shy yet curious little girl in the photo, Guan Dongxiang, is still alive today, making her one of the very few surviving witnesses of the Doolittle Raid’s Jiangxi rescue.
“My father, Guan Wenqing, was one of the few literate people in the village. He and other villagers brought the Americans down the mountain,” recalled Guan Dongxiang, now over ninety years old. The elderly woman recounted how the American soldier devoured the steaming hot sweet potato, then pulled out a handful of colorful, bean-shaped candies from his pocket and shared them with everyone. That sweetness remains vivid in her memory to this day.
The cross-ocean quest by Massia and Luo Shiping to trace these historical connections drew widespread media coverage and was adapted into a documentary titled Echoes Across Time: A Quest for Memories. Last year, it was screened at a memorial event hosted by the Chinese Embassy in the United States. Watching his father’s—and his own—journey unfold on screen, Thomas was moved to tears on the spot.
“This is the story of the Doolittle Raid’s rescue in Jiangxi. What we commemorate is not only the bravery of the American airmen but also the selfless rescue and great sacrifice of the Chinese people.” In the museum, Luo Shiping concluded his day’s volunteer guiding, his voice hoarse with emotion. In his view, this friendship forged in sacrifice has long transcended national borders, becoming an indelible memory in the history of the World Anti-Fascist War.
Back home, Luo Shiping sat down at his computer and couldn’t wait to email Thomas the good news about the exhibition in Shangrao. He concluded the message with heartfelt warmth: “Over 1,350 years ago, a Tang Dynasty poet named Wang Bo wrote a famous line to a dear friend: ‘If you have friends who know your heart, / Distance cannot keep you apart.’ Dear Thomas, seven years have flown by since we last met. Please always consider Shangrao your home, and feel free to come back anytime!”
来源：江西日报
作者：朱华 李芸
编辑：熊睿
审核：刘毅 甘晶莹
监制：郑颖
