Chapter 337: Second Crossing of the Yangtze River: Battle of Yiling

Moji Shan.

May 31, afternoon.

The air was suffused with a suffocating, stifling heat, and even the river wind seemed to carry the smell of gunpowder.

Jiang Anguo stood on the high ground of the temporary command post, slowly raised his Left arm, and glanced down at the watch on his wrist.

14:59:59.

The slender second hand ticked extremely slowly, step by step, and as it precisely swept past the top of the dial, the time froze at exactly 15:00.

"It's now!" Jiang Anguo snapped his head up, his gaze flashing like lightning toward the distant wide River Surface.

On the glittering Yangtze River Surface, several previously indistinct dark dots were rapidly closing in.

As time passed, the dark dots expanded, revealing their ferocious true forms—warplanes belonging to Jiang Anguo's Air Squadron.

Led personally by William, the First Battalion's 24 P-38 fighter aircraft, like silver swords, tore the silence of the sky.

Jiang Anguo squinted, watching their elegant and domineering posture, and couldn't help silently praising them in his heart.

He had to admit, this truly was a genuinely excellent aircraft; its twin tail design exuded a violent aesthetic, not only ferocious in firepower but also rugged, with ground‑attack capability that was first‑rate.

First crossing of the Yangtze River to assault Xiaoting, second crossing of the Yangtze River to battle Yiling.

The Battle of Yichang, or as Jiang Anguo called it, the "Battle of Yiling", had begun.

Adrenaline surged within him, Jiang Anguo felt his blood boil, and a heroic resolve to command thousands of troops across the Yangtze River rose spontaneously.

He spun around sharply and shouted at Yao Quanyi beside him, "Yao Quanyi! Prepare to launch the attack! Cross the Yangtze River, capture Yichang, and annihilate the Japanese Army 13th Division!"

"Yes, Commander!" Yao Quanyi had been ready for action; upon hearing the order, his voice rang so loudly it made his eardrums buzz.

He turned swiftly, and the Messenger's flag in his hand fluttered, signaling the already prepared Second Battalion and rd Battalion to launch.

At this moment on the Riverbank, the motors of eight landing craft roared, their propellers churning the river and raising white spray. These were LCI landing craft obtained through WarSystem Exchange, each equipped with five seasoned crew members.

Their sole mission was, on this raging Yangtze River, to endure any possible artillery fire and safely transport the Independent Regiment's main force to the opposite bank.

The infantry began boarding; according to standard organization, each infantry battalion comprised 653 men, and the dense gray figures quickly filled the decks of the eight landing craft.

Although the cabins were cramped, the soldiers' faces were written with resolve.

They knew the journey was extremely perilous, yet for the sake of the nation and ethnic dignity, and to drive out the Japanese invaders, each person was unwavering. Their eyes revealed a thirst for victory and a resolve to protect their hometowns and loved ones.

Even though the hull swayed slightly with the river's surge, they stood steady, weapons clenched tightly in their hands.

Jiang Anguo strode like a meteor to the Riverbank, the river wind slapping his face, making his coat's hem rustle.

He did not board with the first wave of landing soldiers; Yao Quanyi stopped Jiang Anguo.

Jiang Anguo truly stood on the high platform of Moji Shan, and the yellow‑skin Japanese Army uniform on his body was shed the moment the warplanes reached Yichang's sky; that yellow skin, if not for concealment, would be an outright insult to Jiang Anguo and the soldiers behind him.

Jiang Anguo's gaze swept over those young and resolute faces.

Yet, just as the massive force was about to press forward, a sharp sting suddenly flashed through Jiang Anguo's mind.

He glanced toward Xiaoting, then at the transport vessels; Jiang Anguo's personnel allocations had been exhausted in Myanmar, and the now‑available slots were for the Xiaoting front, where he could clearly see which unit the fallen soldiers belonged to—Mi Long's First Battalion, First Company, which had lost over half its strength in a very short time.

Jiang Anguo didn't know what had happened at Xiaoting, as the radio remained silent, but he knew these beloved warriors would forever remain on this land, guarding it and bravely fighting the invaders.

Sometimes, in the hateful system, he wondered why every soldier's photo was uploaded into the system; Jiang Anguo couldn't bear to look at these fallen warriors.

The personnel slots freed on these eight landing craft were precisely the warriors Mi Long lost at Huyashan.

Jiang Anguo thought of Mi Long in Chanda, that usually carefree fellow who could throw himself into danger at critical moments, and Jiang Anguo's fists unconsciously clenched.

One could imagine how fierce the battle was on Mi Long's side.

The afternoon sun blazed, twenty‑four P-38 "Lightning" fighter aircraft ripped through the clouds, emitting a deep, continuous roar as they closed in on Yichang city by the Yangtze River's banks.

The engines roared, the orderly formation sliced the clouds, and the bombs hanging beneath the wings could annihilate any enemy.

Inside the cockpit, Captain William, looking through the slightly reflective canopy glass, stared at the gradually clearer Yichang ahead.

"This is Ghost 1, approaching the target," William's voice came over the radio, steady and unquestionable, "All aircraft, heed the preset plan: execute indiscriminate bombing of the Yichang dock area. Repeat, target area, indiscriminate bombing."

"Roger, Captain." The reply came immediately from "Ghost 2", his deputy, his voice bearing the usual calm.

"Captain, I will stay right beside you! Let them taste the power of the 'Lightning'!" This was "Ghost 11", a young pilot full of vigor.

William's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Yesterday's low‑altitude reconnaissance flight, the camera beneath the fuselage had turned Yichang dock's layout, warehouse locations, and anti‑aircraft fire points into clear markings and notes on his navigation chart.

Of course, yesterday's target was primarily the Japanese Army heavy artillery positions north of Yichang, a key area for the Little Devil's defense against the Huaxia Army.

The formation began to descend, clouds whisking past both sides of the aircraft.

William tilted slightly, looking down from the aircraft's side window. The winding Yangtze River was so magnificent; let the Yangtze bear witness to this bombing.

His gaze, sharp as an eagle's, quickly locked onto the target area.

Suddenly, at the edge of his left‑front view, a slight change caught his attention.

A once‑boastful Japanese Army Rising Sun flag was slowly descending the flagpole.

Immediately after, a blue‑field, white‑sun flag rose steadily against the morning breeze with an almost solemn speed.

Below the flag, a few ant‑sized silhouettes stood; one figure, dressed in a uniform different from the surrounding soldiers, stood tall and gazed upward.

It was the commander; William could be certain—that was the commander.