Chapter 306: The Vanished 116th Regiment

The explosions behind him grew denser, as if the thunder god roared in anger. Zhuge Mingliang suddenly stopped behind a huge boulder, turned his head, and stared at the valley engulfed in flames.

Amid the raging fire and billowing smoke, a strange glint flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curled into a tragic yet proud curve.

"Fire…" he muttered to himself, "it's a fire attack."

In a daze, he seemed to see that figure from a thousand years ago. Feather fan and silk kerchief, with a laugh he reduced masts and oars to ash. His ancestor Zhuge Kongming—what wisdom, what tactics, especially his skill with fire; whether at Bowang Slope, Xinye, or Red Cliffs, a single blaze sparked the hope of the Han revival and terrified Cao's troops.

"Ancestor, look," Zhuge Mingliang said to the void, as if talking to himself yet as if conversing across time, "You burned Cao Cao's warships back then; your unworthy descendant now uses the sky soldiers' bombs to unleash a 'Heavenly Fire' on the Little Devils!"

Although he didn't use the straw‑boat arrow trick nor have the east wind, he exploited the Japanese Army's recklessness, the forest's cover, and a tiny mirror, drawing down the "Fire God" from the heavens.

Zhuge Mingliang, as a descendant of the Marquis of Wu Zhuge, in this nation's peril, survived beneath the enemy's knee, but at the final moment he never disgraced his ancestors!

Even if the price is his own life, it was worth it.

His gaze pierced the smoke and fell back into the depths of the valley.

There it had once been an elite regiment that plotted a daring raid, but now it had become a veritable human inferno.

The Japanese Army's 116th Regiment, which had intended to strike the Allied Forces from the flank, was now undergoing an unprecedentedly devastating blow.

He Er Ji Long's proud marching route became his burial ground. Having chosen the narrow valley to evade aircraft, they instead became perfect targets, unable even to dodge or disperse.

P‑38 "Lightning" fighters swooped down like the Grim Reaper's scythe. Air‑dropped bombs hurled soil and stones like rain, burying the unresponsive Japanese Army soldiers alive. Machine‑gun fire streaked through the trees, tearing the figures that tried to make a desperate stand into fragments.

The few war horses hauling supplies were spooked, screaming and bolting through the fire, overturning their Ammo Boxes, which were instantly engulfed by the sacrificial blaze.

He Er Ji Long had now been thrown from his horse, his colonel's uniform—once a symbol of honor—smeared with mud and blood to the point of being unrecognizable. He stared in terror at the surroundings, watching the soldiers who usually bowed to him collapse in screams, and the sky‑filled barrage of incendiary bombs.

"Damn! Damn! How could this happen!"

He waved his command sword, shouting wildly like a headless fly, yet his voice was insignificant before the steel storm. The Imperial Japanese Army he had boasted of melted before his eyes, and the "lifeline" he had carefully chosen now became a fiery road to hell.

Zhuge Mingliang watched the scene, watching the regiment commander who had once looked down on him as grass now in utter disarray, feeling no mercy in his heart.

"This is retribution."

He wiped the tears from his face, then took one last deep look at the valley where fire shot into the sky—a final gift he left to the world. Then he turned and ran toward the forest depths without looking back.

Behind him, the flames rose to the heavens, reddening half the sky, like the Red Cliffs of a thousand years ago reenacted deep in the Jingmen Mountains—a "Borrowed East Wind" for later generations.

He Er Ji Long thought the aerial bombardment had ended and was preparing to gather his troops and withdraw to Dangyang.

But when he widened his eyes and watched the retreating Chinese army aircraft, why were the black dots getting closer.

It turned out the first wave of bombers that struck Xiaoting had returned to Changde for a resupply, and had received William's orders to bomb the Japanese Army in Dangyang.

No respite at all for the 116th Regiment, not a single moment to catch breath.

The smoke in the valley had not fully cleared, and the air was thick with the charred smell of meat and the acrid scent of gunpowder.

Regiment commander He Er Ji Long crouched behind a boulder overturned by the explosion, his face covered in ash and dust; his dignified cap was nowhere to be seen, and his normally meticulously groomed hair was now tangled like weeds.

He gulped breath after breath, his chest heaving violently, each inhale feeling like pulling on a tattered bellows.

Around him lay a death‑like silence, occasionally broken by the anguished moans of the wounded and the crackling of unburned trees in the distance.

"It's over... finally over..."

He Er Ji Long trembled as he scrambled to his feet, brushed the mud from his body, and though his movements were clumsy, a flash of grateful relief lit his eyes.

He Er Ji Long could not believe that one day, on Chinese territory, he would endure such a horrific bombing.

He lifted his head, squinting toward the sky. The few P‑38 fighters had become tiny black dots in the distance, flying eastward, their roaring engines fading to a barely audible whisper.

"This is God's will, the Emperor's protection."

The recent bombardment dealt a devastating blow to the entire 116th Regiment, with at least half of Imperial Japan's warriors perishing in the Chinese Air Force's attack. Had those planes lingered two more circles, the whole 116th Regiment would likely have been annihilated in these desolate hills.

They must have run out of bullets and aerial bombs, and gone back to resupply.

He knew he had to seize this brief window and quickly organize the troops.

"Company commanders! Company commanders!" He Er Ji Long waved his already dulled command sword, shouting hoarsely, "All the living, get up! Don't run around! Quickly regroup! Whole unit! We withdraw to Dangyang! Now!"

Hearing the order, the lucky‑surviving Japanese Army soldiers, dazed by the blasts, emerged from craters and grass as if waking from a dream. Their faces were pale, eyes filled with terror, yet under the pressure of military discipline they staggered toward He Er Ji Long.

He Er Ji Long watched the battered troops before him, his heart aching. The elite regiment that once numbered several thousand now had fewer than half who could even lift a rifle. Most of the precious heavy weapons and Grenade Launchers had turned into scrap in the recent bombing.

"Retreat, must retreat. This mountain road cannot be stayed on; it is a death trap," he vowed silently, "as long as I can return alive to Dangyang City and rely on the fortifications, I will never go out to die again."

However, just as he had finished reorganizing the remnants and was about to flee back the way he came, his gaze unintentionally swept eastward again.

That glance instantly froze the blood in his veins.

Why had those black dots that had already flown away returned?

No, that's not right.

He Er Ji Long's eyes bulged, the eyeballs nearly bursting from their sockets. He saw those black dots not receding but drawing nearer, growing larger, even catching a faint glint of wing reflections in the sunlight.

"How could this be... could their ammunition be infinite?!" He Er Ji Long let out a desperate wail, his legs going limp, nearly collapsing to the ground.