{The Past— December 23, 1941. Yunnan China.}

Robert never thought he would be fighting in a war. He just wanted an adventure where he could make some extra money.

A few months ago, Robert joined the American Volunteer Group, an unofficial air squadron, and went to Southwestern China to aid in their war. He was excited. It was his first ever trip overseas.

Before the U.S. declared war on Japan, Robert and his fellow American pilots had to pretend to travel to China as non-military civilians.  It had to be done under-the-table, because they were not at war.

  Like a spy, Robert was given another U.S. passport with a fake name. On that little booklet, it claimed that he was a musician. Laughable, because he couldn't read any musical notes, let alone performing anything. What he could read very well was maps, radar signals, weather and clouds. And obviously, he could maneuver the hell out of a fighter. That was why he was commissioned.

The training in China started right away, and he quickly got a nice tan under the persistent sun in that part of Asia. His assignment was to fly Warhawks to protect the China-Burma-India border in the war against Japan. He enjoyed flying over the mountains. It was a breath-taking scenery he had never seen before.

This job paid him well— twice as much as his original military post in the U.S. The money was part of why he wanted to come here. Technically, he was just another mercenary in a foreign country that he knew nothing about. But after the attack on Pearl Harbor two weeks ago, Japan was now really the enemy to the U.S..  He now indeed was fighting for his own country, but from far, far away.

He forgot how much bonus he was promised to get per air-to-air combat victory. The money didn't matter to him now. He had only one thought, and that was to shoot down even more Japanese planes. And, he believed he shot two of them down by now.

He didn't have time to calculate his prize anyway, because he was soon attacked by an anti-aircraft fire from Japanese. The bullets killed his engine and perhaps hit him somewhere. He wasn't sure, he just knew he might be dying.  As he ejected himself from the fighter and was falling down from the sky, he felt oxygen sucked out of him and his head splitting. He could tell his consciousness leaving him, and then, everything faded to black.

Back at the air base near Kunming in China, no one saw Robert returning.

"Where is Robert?" The squadron leader asked.

"Which Robert, Sir?"

"Robert Smith."

"Robert T. Smith or Robert B. Smith or Robert H. Smith, Sir?"

"B."

"He's not back, Sir."

"Someone said his P-40 was shot, Sir."

Robert B. Smith of Brooklyn, New York, one of the three Robert Smiths in this air corps, was then declared K.I.A.— killed in action. Their squadron leader made sure they notified the correct Smith family about his death.

What are the odds? Out of all the eligible young men fit to serve in the U.S., there were three Robert Smiths, all joined the Air Corps, and they were all willing to volunteer to move to the Far East. Unfortunately, this Robert Smith wasn't going to make it out alive.

At least, that's what everyone thought, including himself.

His body was floating on the river when he was found by Duan, a Chinese tea farmer. Duan was shocked when he first saw Robert. Duan spit out the water that he was drinking from the river. He watched the body, wondering where it came from. As Robert was drifting away on the river, Duan suddenly decided to fish him out of the water and take a look. He was just curious.

Curiosity killed the cat, but what harm could it do by just a look?

Duan saw that there was a name embroidered on Robert's uniform. But Duan didn't know any English. Suddenly, he believed he saw Robert's chest going up just a little.

"So he's not dead. He's breathing!" Duan thought. He dragged Robert onto his old wooden wheelbarrow and transported Robert all the way back to his backyard. Duan hid him behind a giant ceramic water jar that was used for storing water. Duan told his wife he found a Westerner.

"We must quickly bury him," his wife was nervous.

"But, I don't think he is dead," Duan held Robert's left wrist to his ear, "I felt a pulse earlier."

"It's probably your own pulse."

"Let me just leave him here. No one will see him here. He might come back to life."

"And then? What are we supposed to do with him?"

Suddenly, there was rapid loud banging on their almost broken-down wooden door. At that rate and with that kind of force, the door might just fall apart.

"Go answer the door, I'll cover him up quickly for now!" Duan's wife turned around to find a tarp.

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P.S. The American Volunteer Group is a real thing in history.  American pilots were sent to China secretly.  And, in case you don't know, Pearl Harbor attack is also real in history.