My name is Chenping Ching. I was born in 1918 in Putian, Fujian Province, China. I attended middle school in my hometown. When I was 13 years old, I went to Amoy (Xiamen) to study maritime navigation at Jimei Navigation Academy. Actually, I did not meet the admission requirement as I only had middle school certificate, but I sat for the entrance examination nevertheless at the insistence of my brother, and was admitted, to my surprise. I graduated three years later. I then went to Shanghai to get apprenticeship on board a Chinese mission ship.
It was 1937 and I was four months into my apprenticeship when the Japanese started bombing China. I was in Shanghai then. My brother who was in Jakarta had wanted me to join him in Indonesia, but I wanted to stay in China. During the Japanese bombings, I was deeply moved and angry, having learnt the plights of so many victims in Shanghai. So many children were killed. I wanted to become a pilot to protect our country and applied to be a pilot with the Chinese Air Force. I successfully joined and was assigned to train with the 12th Chinese Air Force Division. The Japanese had been attacking all the provinces and cities along the Chinese coast, so we had to be based more inland. We trained to fly in Kunming, Yunnan Province, progressing through primary, middle and advance levels.
In 1941, the Kuomintang government decided to secretly ask for American support; Americans would train Chinese pilots for an elite joint American-Chinese air force unit. I was selected to participate in the program. There were fifty of us. Retired US Air Force officer Claire Lee Chennault ran the program. General Chennault arranged for us to train all over again at Dale Mabry Army Airfield in Tallahassee, Florida and at the Arizona Thunderbird aviation school in Phoenix, despite having received trainings on the same courses, with the same aircraft and using the same systems in China. Naturally, we felt little insulted and were not happy.
To our bemusement, when we reached the base we found out that our American instructor announced to the press that we are talented and well trained pilots, and it seemed like American public was surprised. You see, in the 1940s, the American society was still racially charged. At that time, we learnt that many Americans regarded "brown men" and "yellow men" as third class citizens. Colored people were to sit at the back of buses and at assigned seats in the cinemas. So, General Chennault, with good intention, wanted to correct the American perceived bias by dispelling the notion that the Chinese were inferior people. We felt shortsighted for thinking he was insulting us earlier on. Needless to say, he earned our respect for his effort. He was a good leader.
I graduated from the Training Unit in 1942 and returned to China. Out of the fifty Chinese pilots, only forty-two graduated. We flew from Florida, through South America, through Africa, through India and finally reached Kunming. In Karachi, which belonged to India at that time, we flew the Vultee P-66 Vanguard parachute fighters. Each of us piloted one plane, from Karachi, through India and over the Himalayas to Kunming. Which then was the only major air base controlled by the Chinese government.
We then carried out a mission to deliver planes to Chengdu, Sichuan province. The flight from Kunming to Chengdu took almost three hours. I was in the last group of six pilots and the youngest one. It was daytime and it was raining. About two hours in, the squadron leader suddenly dove through the clouds and down to the ground, from about 1000 feet. The other Chinese pilots wanted me to force land because they were concerned I may crash into them since the route involves flying through bouts of thick clouds. But we graduated from the US Air Force. We even underwent night flight training. Regardless, I was ordered to force land. I was angry. I wanted to save the plane, so I circled the plane above to look for landing sites.
Luckily, I found a river, it was dry season and the river water level was low. The river was 5 to 10m wide. I could see the dry riverbed and force-landed there. I got hurt during the landing. My head had pounded against the instrument panel. My two legs had to bear very hard impact and felt like they broke. I felt numb. But there was no damage to the plane.
Two Chinese soldiers came over to the crash site, they thought I was Japanese. When we bought the planes, it came with American insignia - there was a white star with a red circle inside so they confused it with the Japanese insignia. I was dizzy at first so I could not talk. The soldiers cautiously aimed their rifles at me. But as soon as I spoke to them in Mandarin they lowered their guns and they quickly got me out. The plane was later repainted with a Chinese insignia. The two soldiers brought me to a military station near by. The plane of the leader was also landed on a river, and that one was damaged. The other four pilots made it to the base. My plane was later retrieved. To this day - I don't understand why he ordered me to force-land and had to do it himself. But I couldn't question or discuss the decision of any commanding officer.
After that incident, I was unimpressed with the Chinese Air Force. How could they fight the Japanese with such inferior attitude and unity?
On March 7, 1943, I was asked to report to the 14th Air Force, the Chinese-American Composite Wing. There were twelve of us Chinese pilots selected, the only few who graduated from the US air force operation unit. We were later known as the "Flying Tigers" and we flied the Curtiss P-40 Warhawk. The plane is culturally iconic because of the painted shark face on the engine cowling. To my knowledge, only President Chiang Kai Shek, his wife Madam Soong and the Commanding General knew of our existence. My family must have thought I was killed, as I couldn't contact them for more than six months of missions.
There were three squadrons: 74th, 75th and 76th. I was assigned to the 75th squadron. The squadron base was in Guilin and another one in Kunming. I was based in Liling in Hunan Province. The Japanese were based in Hankou, Hubei Province, with over 100 fighters to attack Hunan Province, and also 150 fighters in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province to attack Guilin. To attack Kunming, the Japanese would use their Hanoi base in Vietnam.
The Japanese were crafty and strategic. They had challenged us to engage them in air battles. Somehow, via small transport aircrafts, they managed to drop these letters at our air bases. The letters basically said this: "if you have guts, meet us tomorrow morning 9:30am about the river". The Japanese called these the "Letter of Challenge".
But General Chennault was at least equally wise, strategic and cautious. He knew that it would be futile for us young Chinese pilots to engage in these dogfights with more experienced Japanese pilots. So he ordered the more senior American pilots to fight instead. He also instructed to attack the Japanese planes from a higher altitude and above them because the American planes would lose to the more agile Japanese planes if they were below them. He said to strike at higher altitude once and then return. As a result, for every one of our planes the Japanese managed to down, we shut down three of theirs. So in a way, we were winning.
When the Japanese challenged us the third time, General Chennault ordered us not to take up the challenge. That day, we were all ordered back to Kunming air base. All the pilots were angry as it gave the impression to the Japanese that we had chickened out of the battle. When we arrived in Kunming, the fighters from Guilin pilots also came back. The next morning, 40 Japanese planes attacked Kunming. I think they must have been surprised that more than 50 pilots had return to defend Kunming. General Chennault once again had been wise and could see through the Japanese intentions. It severely deterred the Japanese attack. Again, we were shortsighted for he was proving himself a great leader.
I could still recall my last mission. Yunnan province was an important target for the Japanese because Kunming airbase is the terminus for the "Hump route", a major and only military materiel supply line from Assam in India, which passes through the Himalayas. It was an important source of external support for the Chinese war effort. Chennault sought priority to protect Kunming. The Japanese had wanted to cut this strategic supply line, but realized they could not attack Yunnan Province from Burma. They had difficulties moving the tanks across the country. So they changed their base from Hanoi to Haiphong in Vietnam, which had a rail connection to Kunming. So the Japanese started to concentrate their air force, navy and army there with intent to attack Yunnan province.
We studied the situation in Vietnam intently for two months and prepared an action plan. On October 10, 1943, we decided to embark on a pre-emptive strike to bomb the Japanese navy and their warehouse infrastructure at the harbor in Haiphong. My mission as a P-40 fighter pilot was to escort the big B24 bombers. For the past five missions, fifteen unescorted bombers were downed. This time round, we had learnt our lessons. The bombers had to be escorted. We went with forty planes: twenty-one of B24 bombers, seventeen of P-40 fighters, and two of P38 fighters. After we finished bombing the harbor, we headed back to Kunming.
When we flew over Northeast Hanoi we engaged in an air-battle with more than 30 Japanese planes. I managed to hit one Japanese fighter, but it did not go do down, though I reckon the pilot was shot dead. However, soon after, my plane was hit by the artillery. I realized that a fragmented bullet had hit me on my right shoulder. I did not feel pain at first but it became increasingly pronounced. I continued flying. About ten minutes later, white smoke appeared from the back of my plane. It indicated that the engine cooling system was in trouble. I realized I had no choice but to bail out on the situation as more white smoke emanated. I parachuted out and landed on a big tree.
My parachute covered the tree. I used the knife to cut the parachute and to free my bag. My bag contained medicine, fishing net and a water sterilization filter. When I tried to reach for my bag, the tree branch suddenly broke. I tried holding on to the tree with my legs, but eventually felt head down. I lost consciousness for some time and when I woke up, my body was in pain. I realized I had fallen on a big pile of dead leaves, which had definitely mitigated the impact of my fall. I found a dried out creek so I walked along that creek. Then unsuspectingly, I stepped into a pile of green leaves and fell into a hole - it was some sort of an underground cave. Luckily, there were some branches inside that I was able to grab on and climb out. Even after 50 years since that happened I still have recurring nightmares about falling in that hole.
I continued walking along the creek and it was getting darker. On the first night, I slept in the middle of the creek on two big rocks surrounded by water because I was afraid an animal can attack me at night. I felt vulnerable as I had lost my pistol and knife.
I kept walking along the creek. On the third day, due to exhaustion, thirst and hunger, I began hallucinating. I began to imagine a woman with a child on top of hill nearby. I remembered repeatedly trying to climb the steep slopes only to find there was no one. For the next couple of days, I would follow the creek. In the evenings, I would find shelter and security in hollowed out trunks of old trees where I would sleep.
On the sixth day, I was extremely weak and very tired. I have had no proper food and water for six days. I was resting and sleeping on in a field when suddenly I saw something moving. I thought there was an animal so I stood up. But it was a naked old man with long hair wearing grass and animal skin, a native wild man. I was afraid he could kill me, so I pretended to have a gun, holding my belt, and partially showing him my empty holster.
I think he was scared too, but he motioned me to come with him. We headed south for an hour, crossed a big river and then turned right. He led the way and I held on to his left shoulder, as I was afraid he would run away. Finally we got to a cottage, a grass house. I went around the house to check if anything seemed suspicious. By the time I was done checking and wanted to thank the old man, he was already gone. A woman opened the door and I gestured that I wanted to eat. She cooked me a big bowl of rice. After eating I felt tired and felt asleep. It was very hot outside. I then awoke to the sound of a rifle recharge. It was a French army officer. I felt relieved - they were our allies. I showed him my jacket with the Chinese-American insignia; he understood and then hauled me up with his rifle. He offered me more food, a chicken, but I told him I was full. It seemed that the cottage belonged to the French intelligence.
Outside I noticed some mules, twelve of them there by the cottage. Apparently, the French officer had heard of my plane crash. It took him two days to get to his headquarter from the cottage, two days to report the crash and prepare the mules, and then two days to walk back to the cottage. They thought there would be casualties, hence the mules to carry the bodies.
From the cottage, we headed to the French headquarters. On the way there, we bumped into a Japanese soldier. I was very nervous. I tried to hide myself, but I had no hat and my face was covered in blood. The kind French officer assured me not to worry. He told me not to run away and just keep quiet. I spent a night at the French station and some nights at their hospital. After six days, I was told I would be transferred to the Japanese. My heart sank, I strongly protested. The French officer apologized, explaining that they are subjected to give any prisoners to the Japanese since they are technically located on their territory. I accepted the reality as there was nothing I can do. I was transferred to a Japanese hospital.
I developed a strong fever shortly. The Japanese only sent Vietnamese medical officers to attend to me. They placed ice packs on my head. After four days, my fever subsided. Then I was sent to an airport where I met an American pilot from the 76th squadron. He was captured at the Port of Hanoi. We were flown from Hanoi to Nanjing as the city was occupied by the Japanese at the time.
We were placed at the Nanjing military prison, in a small cell, three stories underground. Each meal was a bowl of rice mixed with earth. After four days, they sent me to the hospital to operate on the bullet wound on my shoulder. But two days later, it got worse. There was a bad smell, the wound got infected. It seemed they had operated without applying any medicine. I learnt later that they had treated others similarly, leaving them to rot to death. It was a dirty policy.
After the hospital I was transferred to an American Concentration camp in Jiangwan, Shanghai. There were 850 Prisoners of Wars there from Wake Island in the South Pacific captured by the Japanese. The Japanese thought I was American, so I was sent there as well.
I was already very weak when I got there. On the sixth day, I was so motionless they thought I was dead. They were prepared to bury me, but found I was still warm. The American doctors attended to me and gave me blood transfusion. It felt like an out-of-body experience. I remembered seeing a bright light and seeing my own body from a corner of the room. I only learnt later from others with similar experience that I had probably briefly died, but was resurrected. The American doctor and assistant said I was lucky to have survived, usually those with blood level below 32% would not. My blood level was 28% and I survived. Finally, after three weeks, the Japanese asked me if I am an American or a Chinese. I said I was Chinese. The next day, they sent me to a Chinese war prison in Nanjing.
Unlike in the concentration camps, the Chinese prisoners were managed by Chinese officers. I learnt that about a quarter of the prisoners die of hunger and sickness every month. But I was relatively lucky. As a pilot, I was well respected and so was well taken care of. The prisoners also grew to respect me because of my defiance to the Japanese. Every time the Japanese came, I would decline to bow to them, and they would use rifles to hit me on my back. The Japanese threatened to punish the entire batch of prisoners whenever I undermined them, but I stood my ground. I thought everyone was suffering already, what more do we have to lose, why do we give in? My fellow prisoners understood this code of honor.
The Chinese high officer managing the camp assigned me as the Chief Secretary for the prison. In reality, it was just a title without any duties, so that I can get more food - three bowls of rice for each meal. But since I could not eat that much, due to my degenerated stomach, I only had one bowl and gave away the rest. I was also assigned a young helper to take care of me, to put my clothes on, etc., as I could not move my right arm.
Those working outside in the field would sometimes hide wild rats, cats and vegetables in their clothes and sneak back to cook in the kitchen. Sometimes, the Japanese would ask the prisoners to bury dead horses, so the prisoners would also sneak in horsemeat. They would make sure I have more than my share.
There were some Taiwanese nurses working in the prison for the Japanese. They were kind too. Once, there was a Taiwanese nurse who helped me with a fever. She requested the Chinese doctor to give me an injection. Had a Japanese found out about that, that nurse would have been probably killed.
On 22nd of August 1945, the Chinese prison high officer informed me and some others to prepare ourselves to meet Japanese officers the next morning. When morning came, the head of the Japanese army saw us and bowed silently for about 10mins. I thought they were going to kill us. I was resigned, ready to accept my fate. But to my surprise, he told us we would be released. He told us to place our hands near our hearts on the way out. This symbolized a no-revenge pact. The Japanese officers wanted us to keep good conscience and did not want us to haunt them even in spirit after we die. The gate then opened and just like that we were released.
A car by the road picked us up. The driver was a representative of the Chinese intelligence. We were told that the war had ended. The Chinese intelligence knew the Japanese were going to release us, so they were there. I had been imprisoned for twenty-one months by the time the war ended.
We were sent to the Nanjing airport where I boarded an American C- 46 transport plane. At first I was rejected onboard as they did not know who I was and did not believe I was a pilot. I was angry and thought they were impolite. Then an American pilot came. He tested my knowledge of flying and I easily convinced them I was indeed a pilot.
I was eventually sent to Chongqing to report to the Chinese Air Force headquarters. I met with the Deputy Commander General of the Air Force who nonchalantly told me to go to the hospital across the river by the mountain. I felt no one cared that I had nothing to eat and no money to spend, and no possessions to keep. One month later, I was given honorary medals and a $50,000 reward - I was credited for downing a Japanese plane. But at that time, $50,000 was of little value. I exhausted the money quickly on hospital fees and five months of food. There was no other support for me thereafter. That was when I decided to leave the KMT government.
I could have returned to the "Flying Tigers" and join the American military if I had wanted to, but I had dedicated and sacrificed so much of my life to China and I remained patriotic even if the KMT government was conspicuously corrupt. Once a Chinese, always a Chinese.
After eleven missions risking my life fighting for the country I love, I chose to move to Hong Kong as a civilian in 1963. I married a Hong Kong wife and became a merchant with a small business. I did not want to expose my background, so I changed my name.
Regardless, the Chinese government in Mainland China, by then the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), knew who I was. They treated me much better than the KMT government, that is now in Taiwan. The CCP sent a representative to visit me in 1975, asked me how my health is and if I needed government assistance. When my mum died in 1985, I went home to Putian. A Chinese Colonel was even there to represent the CCP. Traveling through Mainland China then, reminded me that all Chinese have black hair and brown skin. We are from the same family, of the same blood. I hope can China get stronger and that all Chinese will love their country.
Personally, I have nothing else to wish for. I am blessed with a good family. My wife is 90 years old now. I am lucky to have such a beautiful and understanding wife. She is from a large family and did not care about my background of a poor Chinese air force pilot. My son has retired. My daughter is still working.
I am 98 years old. I am ready to go. I was born in China and I am a Chinese - so when I die, I will also be a Chinese in spirit. That is my unchanging philosophy.
