Chapter 161: 29th, the Price of Arrogance

Myanmar's sky, after all, never shed tears that summer.

Everyone underestimated the terrifying power of the rainy season on this land, the torrential rain that could turn jungle into swamp and completely dissolve a man's will, which ultimately did not become a footnote of this battle.

Because, even before the first raindrop fell, this brutal Myanmar Campaign had already come to an abrupt halt.

When the dust of the war settled, the sounds of each side's calculations hitting the table were completely different.

The Japanese Army's headquarters was immersed in the euphoria of achieving its strategic goals; their 'mechanized corps' ravaged the jungle, seemingly securing a total victory. Meanwhile, Huaxia Expeditionary Force's main units withdrew to the Myitkyina and Bamo area.

Although the strategic stronghold of Myanmar could not be held, in this deadly clash with the Japanese Army, Jiang Anguo succeeded in preserving the Expeditionary Force's main units.

Those soldiers bearing the smoke of battle are the backbone of the Chinese nation; as long as that seed remains, a future counter‑offensive to retake Myanmar and recover lost ground is only a matter of time.

It was a tactical retreat, but a strategic lifeline.

The United States also realized they needed such an ally in Southeast Asia to tie down more of the Japanese Army for them.

A nation's household has only interests, not any sense of loyalty.

Therefore the Roosevelt administration is considering increasing material aid to this ally, but now all sea routes have been cut off, and the only option is to air‑lift from India to Myanmar.

However, in this game of chess, the most heavily loss‑bearing and thoroughly defeated party was undoubtedly the British.

That defeat almost destroyed the British Army's foothold in Myanmar. The fully formed British forces in Myanmar, under the Japanese Army's pursuit, chose to surrender, with tens of thousands of soldiers becoming prisoners of war. What pained the British even more was not only the loss of personnel but also the mountain‑high stockpiles of materiel.

This scene was practically the biggest "moving day" in World War II history, because following the retreating troops into Kalewa surged not only the British‑Myanmar regulars but also a great number of British merchants and colonial aristocrats who had long done business in Myanmar and lived a lavish life.

These people, even while fleeing for their lives, still carried the belongings they regarded as treasures.

From boxes of rupees to exquisite silverware, from costly antique jewelry to large European solid‑wood furniture, and even a dining car filled with red wine.

These oil‑rich British, along with their treasure‑laden convoy, were like a flock of fat sheep awaiting slaughter, handed over without reservation to the Japanese Army. The Japanese Army, looking at the dazzling spoils before them, could hardly believe their eyes; this was not warfare, it was a robbery of a moving gold mountain.

But beyond the loss of materiel, what shamed the British Empire most was that person's name—Harold Yalishanda.

Churchill originally placed great hopes on him, hoping that the general who had staged a "miracle" at Dunkirk could perform another miracle in the distant East, adding a moment to the British Empire's face. But reality dealt London a harsh slap. Dunkirk was a devil's mistake, a gift from God, whereas Myanmar was a sheer crushing of strength. Yalishanda not only failed to create a miracle, but instead delivered himself into a Japanese Army POW camp.

The afternoon in Mandalay was eerily extreme.

Southern Army Commander Terauchi Hisaichi sat upright in the grand tent of the Mandalay marching camp, which was essentially the former Myanmar Allied Forces headquarters.

Although the frontline reports indicated his ace Quinary Fifty‑Six Division had not fully achieved the preset assault objective, the Japanese Army staff officers present discovered that the usually stern and austere commander wore a near‑fanatical excitement on his face.

Not long ago, his subordinates presented a list of captured officers, which glaringly bore the name 'Harold Yalishanda'.

Terauchi Hisaichi's fingers lightly tapped that list, his mouth unable to suppress a smile, his eyes flashing with the arrogant light unique to a victor. To him, that tactical objective that had failed to be completed was now irrelevant.

Capturing an Allied commander alive, especially one bearing the "Dunkirk Hero" aura like Yalishanda, held far greater political propaganda value and military honor than seizing another city.

"Yo! Heaven aids me," Terauchi Hisaichi murmured softly after setting down the list, as if he had already seen the shocking headline on the front page of Tokyo Asahi Shimbun.

Upon the ruins of Mandalay, he not only won the war but also won the British's dignity.

With such a feat, Terauchi Hisaichi believed his rank of Grand General could be promoted to Marshal.

April 29th, yesterday's downpour and today's blazing sun made the whole air extremely humid and hot.

For Imperial Japan, this day is the sacred, inviolable "Tencho Festival", the birthday of Emperor Showa.

Terauchi Hisaichi has already figured out how to humiliate Yalishanda, making him sign his name on the defeat treaty, then give him a 'friendly' handshake.

However, on the other side of the globe, in the Prime Minister's office at 10 Tangning Street, London, the atmosphere was as cold as a bitter winter night.

Churchill stared intently at the newspaper and urgent Telegram that had just been delivered onto the table, his cigar in hand already crushed to powder. The face that usually radiated unshakable confidence was now covered with anger.

In the photograph, the Japanese Army officer's arrogant expression contrasted sharply with the British Army commander Yalishanda's sallow face, which for him was more mortifying than Nazi Germany's bombers.

It must be that Japanese Army officer is Southern Army Commander Terauchi Hisaichi; Churchill is not familiar with this man.

But he knows that the British Empire's Southeast Asian colonies have fallen into this man's hands.

"Bastard! Yalishanda, you complete bastard!"

Churchill snatched the silver ashtray from the table and smashed it against the wall, producing a huge muffled bang. He paced the office like an enraged lion, his roar shaking the windows.

"You should go meet God! In this world, why do you still live? If you have even a hint of a British gentleman's sense of honor, you should shoot yourself right now!"

Churchill halted, both hands braced on the table edge, gulping breath after breath, his eyes filled with deep helplessness. He recalled Dunkirk, that retreat the British Empire had boasted as a 'miracle'.

That was a devil's mistake, the abrupt halt of German armored troops that gave them a lifeline.

But miracles are a candy God occasionally bestows.

In this brutal war meat grinder, how could one expect a miracle to happen a second time?

"If in Myanmar… if you lot could have organized an effective counterattack earlier!" Churchill lamented, his finger hammering the Myanmar spot on the map, his knuckles whitening from the force, "If you had agreed earlier to let the Chinese Expeditionary Force enter, cooperated sincerely instead of using allies as cannon fodder, how could the situation have deteriorated so badly? The Japanese Army's supply line is as long as a dead snake; they simply cannot endure attrition!"

His gaze swept over the military map on the wall, where red arrows marked the Allied Forces' deployments, each arrow representing the most advanced weaponry of the time.

Yet reality was so ironic and ugly.

The British, holding these finest weapons, possessed the smallest courage in the world. They began planning retreat before the Japanese Army even appeared, hesitated when air support was fleeting, and when blood was truly needed, they behaved like rats in a gutter, only thinking of how to save their own lives and abandon comrades to flee.

Churchill sagged back into his chair, watching the gloomy sky outside.

The surrender ceremony in Mandalay was Terauchi Hisaichi's personal victory, another triumph for Imperial Japan's Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere, and a resounding slap to the British Empire's Royal Army. That slap was so heavy, so fierce, that the glory of that moment sent a bone‑chilling cold through him, even though he was far in the rear.

Weapons set the lower bound, but courage sets the upper bound.

When the best gear rests in the most cowardly hands, it is nothing more than loot handed to the enemy.