Chapter 146: The Fifth Army in the Rain Curtain

Myanmar's rainy season is like a nightmare.

From Yingdu to Myitkyina, then toward that unnamed great mountain, heading north.

The sky seemed to have a leak; it was clear a moment ago, then suddenly a downpour.

Regarding Myanmar's rainy season, the Expeditionary Force was unprepared, or rather no commander had prepared for a prolonged war during the rains; not only the Expeditionary Force, the Japanese Army also was unready to launch another offensive in Southeast Asia's rainy season.

This once‑ambitious force now sees only a sense of desolation.

Du Yuming stood on a muddy height, his eyes now rimmed with blood vessels.

His officer's uniform was also caked with yellow mud.

In the downpour, the large Expeditionary Force behind him had no flags, no slogans.

The roads in northern Myanmar's mountainous region were mire‑ridden; soldiers stepped from one puddle to another, occasional donkey and horse brays and the suppressed moans of the wounded rose up.

From time to time a warrior fell, but quickly rose again with comrades' help.

The Expeditionary Force's preparation was insufficient, so the troops lacked enough raincoats.

The few raincoats could only be given to the wounded first.

The eight 105mm howitzers, on the muddy northern Myanmar roads, were a burden, yet everyone knew they were the nation's heavy weapons, more important than their lives, so no one ever considered abandoning them in Myanmar.

Du Yuming's gaze turned forward, as if trying to see the road ahead, but the path ahead still left him despondent.

Guilt was Du Yuming's feeling at this moment.

The pride from the historic blood battle of Kunlun was now wiped out by the heavy rain in northern Myanmar.

Two months ago, Myanmar was still in the dry season; he led a hundred thousand elite, marching grandly out of the country.

At that time, the cannon fire of Tonggu still rang in his ears, such a display of vigor.

The Expeditionary Force was still pondering how to stage a meeting battle at Tonggu against the Little Devil.

Du Yuming had vowed to make a name on this foreign soil, to open the Dian‑Mian Highway, and to give the Little Devil in Myanmar a taste of resistance.

However, reality dealt him the harshest slap.

Tonggu, because its rescue route was blocked by the retreating British forces, caused the newly formed 22nd Division under Liao Yaoxiang to be unable to reinforce the 200th Division in time.

The first meeting battle was shattered.

Ren'ankiang's rescue turned into a botched farce, even featuring British spreading false Japanese Army intelligence.

The Pingman Na Battle became an empty paper, and the defense of Mandalay dissolved into a bubble.

Everywhere they hit walls, every step was hard.

Allies' betrayal, superiors' indecision, and increasing constraints around them, as if everyone at the headquarters could command this elite Expeditionary Force.

The rapidly changing battlefield made the Expeditionary Force, from the moment they set foot in Myanmar, seem trapped in a massive spider web.

Now, retreat.

Those two words are so glaring, yet unavoidable.

"Commander, the rain is too heavy, the road ahead is even harder to traverse. Should we accelerate the retreat to get out of this cursed place early?"

The deputy's voice sounded thin amid the rain. He brushed rain off his face, watching Du Yuming's silhouette cautiously. He knew the commander had hardly slept these days, and his temper grew increasingly irritable.

Du Yuming did not look back, merely waved his hand slowly, his movement exuding deep fatigue.

"No need to hurry."

His voice was hoarse, yet carried a commander's calm and helplessness.

"The Japanese Army behind us has few troops in pursuit. We are exhausted, and likewise the Japanese are equally weary, having endured battle for too long. Marching in such rainforest, moving a large force, has never been simple. Moreover…"

Du Yuming paused, his gaze falling on the railway that had been ruined beyond recognition, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes.

"Moreover, as we moved north, any rails we could dismantle have already been destroyed by us."

This is a scorched‑earth policy.

Of course, the only thing the Expeditionary Force can do now is to pull up the railway, slowing the Japanese Army's northward advance.

Du Yuming acted decisively, even leaving no room for retreat.

Just yesterday, as the Engineer Battalion swung their big hammers, prying up the last rails one by one, the accompanying British liaison officer—a ruddy, thick‑necked major—leapt up on the spot, pointing at Du Yuming's nose and shouting, "Barbaric," "Destroying allied assets."

Du Yuming merely stared coldly at the fool‑like British man, saying nothing.

A tiny major, in the face of national interests and the army's life‑or‑death, amounts to nothing. In such a situation, what use is his objection? The British can betray allies, abandon Yangon without firing a shot, even casually leave the Chinese army to die; so Du Yuming tearing up a few rails to trouble the Japanese is no big deal.

Du Yuming already held the British major in very low regard.

At this point, Du Yuming also knew the British situation; British‑Myanmar Forces commander‑in‑chief Yalishanda had, at Kalewa, made a world‑shocking decision, surrendering directly to the Japanese 33rd Division. Nearly forty thousand British, Myanmar troops, and accompanying families laid down their arms and became prisoners.

The general who had forged the Dunkirk miracle ultimately lost his last shred of dignity in Myanmar's tropical jungle.

Du Yuming naturally knew the British were surrounded again, but he was too lazy to care. A few hours earlier, he radioed Sun Liren of the newly formed 38th Division and Liao Yaoxiang of the newly formed 22nd Division, issuing a death order: ignore the British; their fate is irrelevant to us; each unit should withdraw directly to India.

The stance had been set; the rest was the British's own business, and Du Yuming had not a single cent of involvement.

In response, Stilwell, who had constantly lectured the Chinese army, fell silent. Unaware of the Expeditionary Force's private communications, regarding the surrendered British, Stilwell, staring at Roosevelt's Telegram, fell into silence; trying to rescue those pigs was futile—better to lead this combat‑ready Expeditionary Force back to northern Myanmar, seeking a chance to counter‑attack.

The rain kept falling.

At that moment, through the rain curtain ahead, a low rumble was faintly heard.

"Commander, there seem to be vehicles ahead!" the deputy's sharp eyes shouted alertly.

Du Yuming snapped back, squinting forward. At the end of the muddy road, several dark specks sharpened into trucks—American‑made ten‑wheel big trucks roaring toward them.

"Are those Japanese armored vehicles?" the Guard Company soldiers instantly raised their guns, fingers on the triggers, nerves taut.

"No!" the deputy stared for a moment, then shouted excitedly, "There's a flag! Flying the Nationalist flag! Blue sky, white sun, crimson earth! It's our own!"

"Our own?"