Chapter 39: Stearman PT-17 Trainer

The cockpit of the Stearman PT-17 biplane trainer was significantly more spacious than that of the Tachikawa Ki-95c, likely due to the larger physical stature of Westerners. Its control stick was notably thicker and positioned closer to the pilot's knees between their legs, set further forward as well. The throttle on the left was painted a bright, eye-catching red. Compared to the refined instrument panel of the Tachikawa Ki-95c, the Stearman’s dashboard appeared somewhat rugged and utilitarian.

Because of the differences in cabin design, the placement of instruments varied between the two aircraft. In the Stearman, the seating, instrumentation, throttles, and control sticks in both the front and rear cockpits were identical, with the exception of an auxiliary control system and a disconnect switch in the instructor’s cockpit. When the instructor engaged the disconnect switch, they took over flight control; when disengaged, the student operated the aircraft independently.

The fuselage, wings, and tail of the Stearman, aside from the metal nose, were crafted from solid timber processed through special techniques. This made the structure exceptionally sturdy and highly adaptable in the air. Steel cables remained exposed where the wings connected to the fuselage; these were linked to the control stick. As the aircraft gained altitude and lift increased, the effort required for the pilot to manipulate the stick grew, and the cables themselves generated drag, reducing flight speed. In terms of manufacturing detail, the Japanese aircraft held the advantage. Sometimes, details determine success or failure.

Unlike the Tachikawa Ki-95c’s forward-shifted landing gear, the Stearman featured a fixed rear-tricycle landing gear shifted toward the back, equipped with shock absorbers. The aircraft required a very short distance for takeoff and landing, making it suitable for operation on various rugged surfaces—even sandy, dirt, or potholed muddy ground. In terms of takeoff and landing performance, the Stearman outperformed the 95c.

The propeller blades of the Stearman bore the American flag, as did the tail, which resembled a fish tail. When the flaps were deployed, the tail section formed a triangle, which helped cut through the air during flight and reduced drag. The takeoff procedures for both trainers were identical: fasten safety belt, turn on the power switch, activate the instrument panel switch, press the engine start button, push the throttle, and release the brake trigger on the right side.

As the Stearman PT-17 climbed to 2,950 meters, Zhou Zhihan could distinctly feel a slight lag in the aircraft's power. At altitudes above 3,000 meters, comparing the two aircraft, the Japanese Nakajima Kotobuki 38 air-cooled engine clearly held the upper hand. Although the Japanese airframe began to shudder at 3,000 meters, its rate of climb remained steady, whereas the Stearman’s Continental R-670-5 engine suffered from a clear lack of power. Consequently, in the final 300-meter climb to the service ceiling, the Stearman lagged two seconds behind its Japanese counterpart.

One should not underestimate those two seconds. In a dogfight, if both sides climbed simultaneously to vie for the advantageous position, the Stearman would be preemptively struck by the opponent's cannons before it could even adjust for an attack. In aerial combat, those two seconds represent the difference between heaven and hell.

After performing a few dives and climbs, Zhou Zhihan pushed the throttle forward, pulled back on the stick, and initiated a steep climb. He leveled off in the distance, applied left rudder, and as the Stearman reached the apex of a 180-degree turn, the aircraft executed a clean, sharp half-roll to the left before leveling out, its massive yellow wings shedding rainwater as it resumed level flight. Without a robust physique, a pilot’s arms would be aching and numb after just a few dives, maneuvers, and rolls in aerial combat.

In terms of handling, the 95c remained superior to the Stearman. Apart from short-field performance and operation in harsh environments, the Stearman was thoroughly outclassed in every other category. On paper, the performance, dimensions, and structure of the two trainers were evenly matched, but once airborne, the Japanese machine held the edge. As for the Type 96 carrier-based aircraft, its paper specifications already completely crushed the P-26 "toy gun," and in the air, the former would surely steamroll the latter.

After completing another four hours of flight, Zhou Zhihan exited the "Air Overlord" manual, closed the system, and lay in his room, lost in thought. Following the comprehensive "clash" between the two seemingly equivalent trainers, he concluded that in actual combat, the Japanese Type 96 would also completely defeat the American P-26.

It was now April 1936. By August of next year, 1937, the Battle of Shanghai—a conflict of extreme brutality and immense scale—would break out. With the Chinese military lagging behind the Japanese in the quantity and quality of fighter aircraft, pilot training levels, logistical support, and mechanical expertise, Chinese pilots would have to use their own flesh and blood to hold up a sky stained red with smoke and slaughter.

He glanced at his watch; it was seven in the evening. Feeling his stomach rumble, Zhou Zhihan left his room. The old cowboy was still sitting behind the counter, where three guests with Asian faces were asking for directions. They wore student uniforms and sounded Japanese, though they could easily pass for Chinese if they remained silent.

After getting their directions, the three Japanese students left the hotel. One of them caught sight of Zhou Zhihan, who was dressed in a Zhongshan suit and wearing a student cap. The student’s gaze turned sharp, lingering on Zhou for two seconds before he followed his companions.

Zhou Zhihan accepted a cigarette from the old cowboy. "Were those three Japanese students?"

"Yes, Japanese students. Though I don't know which military academy they're from," the old cowboy said, having developed a deep and favorable impression of Zhou. "As long as you're staying here, rest assured, no one will dare cause trouble."

As he spoke, the old cowboy tapped his right hip.

Zhou Zhihan curled his lip. "Don't put on an act. Your gun is under your left armpit; the one at your hip is a fake."

"How did you know?" The old cowboy looked at Zhou with surprise. He hadn't expected this young man to spot the hidden weapon.

Zhou Zhihan felt the old man wasn't a bad person. "When you stand up, your right arm, which you think looks natural, is actually quite stiff. When you rub your big belly with your right hand, your right elbow opens inadvertently. An expert would see at a glance that you’re hiding a pistol under your left armpit."

The old cowboy’s mouth twitched. He had thought that hiding the gun under his left arm and keeping a roll of paper at his right hip would trick people, but his plan seemed incredibly naive. Experts didn't waste time guessing where a gun was hidden; they observed the subconscious movements that gave it away.

"Kid," the old cowboy said, "I'll buy you a drink tonight."

Zhou Zhihan replied, "If you want to buy me a drink, you have to agree to one thing first."

The old cowboy’s mouth twitched again. "Fuck, damn it. I have to agree to something just to buy you a drink?"

Zhou Zhihan raised an eyebrow.

The old cowboy stood up to retrieve a bottle and ice from the liquor cabinet. "Fine, tell me, what is it?"

"I want to borrow someone from you for a few days."

"Borrow someone?" The old cowboy paused, hand still on the cabinet, and turned back with curiosity.

"Yes, borrow someone. A woman."

"A woman?" The old cowboy returned to the counter with the bottle, glasses, and ice. "Fu...cks! Who?"

"I want to borrow Candy Duff for a few days."