The Sage in the Cathedral of Books. Yang Sun Yang

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      Min Lee completed his advanced pilot training at Barksdale Field U.S. Air Training Command in Louisiana, December 10, 1946.

      The task of intelligence gathering was formidable for the squadron members who flew these RB-17s, usually leaving Hsinchu Air Base around 4:00 p.m. and entering the mainland’s air space after dusk. Flight duration varied from time to time and could last more than ten hours for each flight. Relying on the most advanced electronic detection devices and superior piloting skills, Black Bat Squadron crews were able to fly as low as one hundred to two hundred meters—the minimum safe-altitude zone—in the dark. In some cases, a crew had to break out of the safety zone and fly the aircraft as low as thirty meters off the ground in order to avoid radar detection.

      On the other side of the Taiwan Strait, the Communist air force received a counter-reconnaissance order from Mao Zedong attached with a special award to whomever shot down a reconnaissance aircraft from Taiwan. Under the order, a network of anti-aircraft guns and searchlights were deployed in strategic locations waiting for planes, their targets, to fly over. This increased the risk to the Black Bat Squadron’s RB-17 bombers and their crews. Every mission was a battle against death. General Kuang-Yue Ko, former vice chief of the air force of Taiwan, said: “Each mission was targeted by more than ten missiles, more than ten attacks by fighter planes, and more than ten attacks of artillery fire.”⁴

      Min, a highly skilled pilot, had been able to return safely every time from his mainland air expeditions for two years until his final trip on May 29, 1959. That day, two hours after returning from one reconnaissance mission, Min received an order to back up a sick pilot on the next trip. Hsiao-Po Meng, Hwa-Wei’s sister-in-law, recalled that it was a hazy day, which made her a bit worried.

      Min comforted his wife by saying, “It is actually safer to fly through haze. This will be my last trip this month. And I shall be able to take a good break upon returning tomorrow.” Prior to the assignment, Min had taken out his military uniform with full medals from his suitcase and polished his leather shoes because May 31, just two days away, would be a big day to him as a professional airman. On that day Chiang Ching-Kuo was scheduled to pay a visit to the Hsinchu Air Base and offer his praise and encouragement in person to the squadron members.

      On May 29, 1959, Taiwan’s Air Force Intelligence Agency sent off two RB-17 bombers—nos. 835 and 815, successively—to southern China. Min was the pilot on bomber no. 815, taking shifts with two other pilots, Yin-Kuei Hsu and Yan Han.

      In addition to the three pilots, eleven other crewmen were on board including three electronics officers, three navigation officers, two mechanics, one communication officer, one airdrop officer, and one airdrop soldier. The mission’s final destination was the southwest region of China. But to get to the region, Min and his crew had to fly over southern Guangdong Province, a risky flight-path considering the strong air defense system in the region.

      At about 11:10 p.m., bomber no. 815—returning from Guangxi to Guangdong—was about to fly over a mountain to the sea on the other side. At this moment the aircraft was detected by a radar station of the Guangzhou Military Zone and was shot down, crashing into the mountain in the border area between Enping and Yangjiang Counties. All fourteen crewmen were killed.

      Min and Hsiao-Po Meng were married in 1949.

      Hwa-Wei and his brothers in Taichung, 1950: (left to right) Hwa-Ming, Hwa-Wei, Min, and Hwa-Tsun.

      In this last photograph of Min Lee, taken in 1959, he stands with his wife, Hsiao-Po (back row, second and third from right), and several of his siblings. His son, Hao-Sheng (front, far left) stands alongside his grandparents. By then, Hwa-Wei was in the United States.

      As soon as the aircraft was hit, the crew was able to get in touch with the Hsinchu Air Force Base, reporting the fatal shot and pledging to die together with the aircraft. Back then, Taiwan’s air force had a stringent regulation for its airmen: no one should be allowed to become a captive of the Communist army, and every crewman should be willing to die for his country. Obeying the regulation, the entire crew rejected the use of parachutes to escape—their only opportunity for survival—and chose to crash into the mountain with their bomber.

      The weather was slightly muggy in Hsinchu. The night of the tragedy, Min’s young wife, Hsiao-Po, felt worried and could hardly fall asleep. She had always been on tenterhooks every time her husband Min was out on duty, but never so much as on that night. The dawn finally arrived. Hsiao-Po opened the window and saw a round hole with a diameter of seven inches that had been dug by Lucky, the family dog. She was shocked. Believing that dogs have an incomprehensible capability of sensing a master’s misfortune, air force family members had always feared seeing a family dog crying or digging a hole. This foreboding sign left Hsiao-Po instantly breathless; she did not know what to do.

      It did not take long for the tragic news to spread throughout the Hsinchu Air Force Base. Min’s colleagues and classmates showed up unexpectedly. Their grieving faces suggested something bad had happened. Among them was a friend of Min who had been on the same reconnaissance trip with Min just one day earlier on May 28. He started to cry as soon as he was seated. Seeing the seasoned air warrior fail to control his sorrow, Hsiao-Po came to realize that a family tragedy had happened.⁵

      According to an official military announcement, bomber no. 815 was lost in the air space over Guangdong during its mission; it was then unknown whether the crew members were alive or dead. The Air Force Command covered up the truth to the families of the victims, allowing them to believe that their loved ones were missing while a full search was still going on. Family members clung to any small ray of hope: perhaps their loved ones had made a safe parachuting or had been captured.

      Handsome and strong, Min was the idol of his siblings and the pillar of his family. When Lee’s family first moved to Taiwan, Min often helped his father, Kan-Chun Lee—who earned a meager salary as a college professor—with the family expenses by using a part of his monthly income from the air force service. A good husband and father in his own household, Min managed with limited resources to accompany his wife each weekend to dances at the Officer’s Club or to movies at a local theater. He would also take his son out for snacks and pastries. His son, Hao-Sheng Lee, recalled that many pieces of the family’s furniture, СКАЧАТЬ