Chapter 322: Weakling, Going to Steal the Glory!

Just as William grew a bit anxious, a sudden scene below caught his eye.

It was a red light trail, glaring against the green backdrop, precisely pointing to a narrow valley.

"Ha! That's our ground guidance signal!" William exclaimed, slapping the control stick, "God bless!"

William thrust the plane hard to the right; a rightward push of the stick sent the massive P-38 carving a graceful arc in the sky, white vapor from torn airflow visible beneath the wings.

The aircraft dived toward the direction indicated by the signal flare.

On the radio channel, William's voice rang with zeal and murderous intent: "Ghost First Squadron, all hands, attention! Follow me! Charge down with me!"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Acknowledged, Captain!"

Several P-38s followed closely, adjusting their attitude as the engines roared ever more ferociously.

As altitude plummeted, the ground scenery expanded rapidly before William's eyes. Through the sight, he clearly saw the panicked unit on the mountain path, even the trembling yellow‑skin uniforms—yes, that was the Little Devil.

"Target acquired! Those guys can't escape! Release the bombs!" William transmitted the final attack order over the radio.

Since the target was already spotted, there was no need for further search and confirmation. For dense targets on a narrow mountain path, an indiscriminate carpet bombing would suffice to send them to hell.

This sortie's P-38s were equipped with two 250‑pound high‑explosive bombs to tackle fortified works and dense infantry. Such bombs could demolish any reinforced concrete structure, let alone flesh and simple trucks.

William pulled the bomb‑release lever.

Clack!

The airframe lightened slightly as bomb after bomb whooshed down from the P-38's belly.

The ground began to tremble.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A series of deafening explosions echoed through the valley, as if the very mountain itself were collapsing at that moment.

A massive fireball rose, black smoke instantly engulfing the entire path. Countless thick trees were ripped from the roots or snapped at the waist, soaring into the air.

The soil was hurled skyward, mingling with the Japanese Army's shattered limbs and artillery fragments, creating a horrific "blood rain".

The once‑lush land was once again ignited by ruthless fire, turning into a furnace.

In the middle of the path, Sen Xie Kangyan was about to duck behind a rock, but when he saw the growing black shadow, all Bushido Spirit dissolved into nothing, leaving only primal fear.

"No—!"

Sen Xie Kangyan let out a desperate scream, raising the staff officer's command sword, but the sound was instantly drowned by the massive explosion.

In his final moments, the commander who had intended to use Poison Gas Shells against China's troops and civilians wore only deep terror and disbelief.

"Baka! The Chinese forces are too audacious! … How could this be!"

The surviving Japanese Army soldiers on the ground cursed in despair amid the flames.

Even in death, they might never grasp that the Huaxia, which they imagined as poor, backward, and unable to build aircraft, possessed such formidable air power, able to descend like the Grim Reaper and reap their lives.

The smoke over the Cloud Pool had not yet cleared, and the air still reeked with a nauseating bitter‑almond scent—the lingering odor of Little Devil Poison Gas Shells.

Mi Long crouched behind a leeward earthen slope, still wearing a Gas Mask.

Mi Long watched the battlefield's movements warily.

Suddenly, a mournful howl ripped through the clouds, followed by a red signal flare rising over the southeastern forest.

Immediately, the P-38 "Lightning" fighters that had been circling aloft seemed to receive the signal, yanking the control levers; their engines roared deafeningly, diving toward the flare like a hawk swooping on prey.

The massive explosions could be heard clearly even over several ridges, and the ground beneath seemed to quiver faintly.

Mi Long ripped off his Gas Mask, inhaled a breath of fresh air, squinted toward the airstrike direction, and a grin spread across his mouth.

"That's the defense zone of the third platoon Xiahou Ping... No, that kid isn't that fast, nor has he gone that far," Mi Long ran through the deployment map in his mind, quickly locking onto the target, "That's Luo Dashan's route!"

The third platoon's Xiahou Ping was also tasked with Cloud Pool; when the Japanese Army dropped Poison Gas Shells, Mi Long ordered them to retreat to a safe distance.

He slapped his thigh and shouted excitedly, "Ha ha! That weakling, he's hit the jackpot! He let Luo Dashan's hillbillies run into the Little Devil's main force!"

In Mi Long's thief‑bright eyes, greed flashed instantly. He recalled the Japanese regiment commander's command sword—crafted from fine steel, its hilt red, normally worn only by colonel‑rank officers. If he could get his hands on such a treasure and bring it home, what prestige! Though he had seized many fine items in Myanmar—British telescopes, Little Devil pistols—they sat gathering dust in Lashu's depot, nowhere near the tangible bragging rights of a command sword, a concrete war merit he could hang on his belt.

The main point is still that he didn't bother that kid; in Tonggu he killed a Japanese regiment commander, the Fifty‑five Division's 144th Regiment commander Nan Sai Zhengxiong. Good fellow, that'll make the old Chanda veterans who came out together utterly envious.

Not bothering that kid, he's already a deputy battalion commander; that kid truly is a Sniper, even a deputy battalion commander would be a waste.

"No, we can't let Luo Dashan the big fool steal the credit!" Mi Long, hot‑tempered, couldn't sit still as the prize dangled before him. He sprang up, shouting, "Second platoon leader! Gather your brothers, rest on site, evacuate the wounded to the rear quickly, don't let the Poison Gas Shell harm them again!"

Second platoon Wang Dezhi's unit, the main force attacking Cloud Pool, was truly damaged by the Little Devil's Poison Gas Shell.

Wang Dezhi felt angry, but could do nothing; he still had to tend to the wounded soldiers.

In fact, Jiang Anguo was also careless; the Little Devil, when faced with difficulty in attack or defense, tends to resort to such despicable tactics.

Finishing his speech, Mi Long turned to the people beside him and said, "First platoon leader, and the guard squad, all follow me! Head toward the bombing zone at full speed! Anyone who falls behind, I'll kill them!"

"Weakling, this credit can't be let Luo Dashan snatch!"

This time, Mi Long made an extremely decisive judgment. The Japanese troops bombed now were very likely the artillery unit that had just dropped Poison Gas Shells toward Cloud Pool. That was their evidence of guilt and a foe that must be eradicated. Since they'd been stunned by the air force, they must not be allowed a breath to flee.

The main force, led by Mi Long, surged toward the northern forest like a pack of hungry wolves.