Chapter 343: Yichang Under the Shroud of Death

On Dianjun Mountain, the atmosphere was unusually heavy.

Everyone's gaze was fixed on the sea of fire across the river.

"Division Commander!" Deputy Division Commander Luo Xianda's face flushed red as he pointed forward and asked impatiently, "The fighting over there is so cataclysmic that the Japanese's attention has been completely drawn there. When exactly are we going in?"

Hu Lian did not answer immediately.

He still held the binoculars aloft, and through the lenses a massive fireball rose from Yichang dock.

The sky‑filled destroyers and the heavy‑caliber artillery—Hu Lian, who usually hesitated to fire his 75 mm mountain gun, made the whole of Yichang tremble under the roar of those large‑caliber cannons.

He could even feel the Yangtze River's water being shaken by the massive explosions.

Hu Lian thought, with this firepower, not even a division—let alone just the troops of his two regiments—could break into Yichang city.

Hu Lian knew that Jiang Anguo was using his life to draw the Japanese fire, placing himself in the open so that their unit could deliver a fatal blow to the Japanese Army 13th Division.

At that moment, the river wind rose suddenly.

Dong!

A deep, muffled boom, without warning, pierced the continuous explosions and struck everyone's hearts hard. Then came a second, a third… The sound was low and sonorous, like an ancient beast roaring in this age, its soul‑shaking tremor echoing through the valleys.

It was a war drum! The war drum of the Huaxia people, a tradition spanning millennia!

The sound was unmistakable; it was not merely air vibrating, but like a heavy hammer striking the bones of every warrior who carries the Yan‑Huang blood.

Hu Lian slammed the binoculars down, feeling his blood boil in an instant, his heart pounding wildly to the "dong‑dong" rhythm.

The soldiers who had been peeking from behind cover now seemed frozen, then as if ignited by fire.

Listening to the drum, the fear in their eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a near‑fanatical resolve.

The drumbeats were like a call to march, awakening boundless heroism in their blood.

"Did you hear that, Deputy Division Commander Luo!" Hu Lian whirled around, his eyes reddened, the fire within no longer mere anger but a soaring zeal. He drew the pistol at his waist, its barrel glinting coldly in the sun.

"This drum is cheering us on!" Hu Lian inhaled sharply, roaring at the troops behind him, "The Japanese want to annihilate our nation? Dream on! Hear that drum—it is our ancestors watching us! As long as the drum beats, the blood of Chinese sons and daughters will never grow cold!"

He swung his arm dramatically toward the smoke‑filled Yichang city, his voice booming like thunder: "This battle—no retreat, fight to the death! Independent Regiment leads the vanguard, we shall be the sharp sword that slays demons! Brothers, unleash your blood‑spirit; we will march to the drumbeat, drive the Little Devils to extinction, and retake Yichang!"

"Kill! Retake Yichang!"

A roar rang across Dianjun Mountain, the soldiers' faces twisted with excitement, the fire in their eyes hotter than the explosions across the river.

Just as Yao Quanyi led his troops in a fierce crossing of the Yangtze River, the war drums echoing along the banks, another wing of death silently descended from the sky.

The second wave bombing formation, led by Lieutenant Nick of the Ghost Second Regiment, comprised twenty‑four P‑38 "Lightning" fighters that swooped like silver eagles through the clouds, cutting into Yichang's sky from the southeast at high speed.

This time, their fuselages no longer carried 250‑pound bombs but bore far more terrifying 500‑pound high‑explosive bombs, intended to crush fortified structures.

"Ghost Second Squad, calling ground, target: Yichang south wall and tower defenses. Release altitude 1,000 feet, free attack," Nick said, his voice calm yet tinged with long‑suppressed excitement.

"Copy, Ghost Second Squad. Ground forces have breached the beachhead and are advancing toward the city. Prioritize clearing the south‑gate fire point," came Yao Quanyi's slightly hoarse reply over the radio.

The Independent Regiment's landing operation progressed smoothly; the landing troops were already pushing forward.

The eight landing craft had also spun their propellers and set course back to Moji Shan to rendezvous with the remaining forces.

"Understood. May God bless you, and may this city… be reborn," Nick whispered, then slammed the nose down.

Dong.

The first bomb broke free from its rack, slicing through the sky.

Boom!!!

The 500‑pound high‑explosive bomb struck precisely at the center of Yichang south‑gate tower.

In an instant, bricks and stone shattered, smoke billowed skyward. The ancient tower, rebuilt through the Ming and Qing dynasties and once standing firm in the Taiping‑Qing battles, collapsed with a thunderous roar.

The wall was ripped away like paper, the watchtower turned to dust, and the dozen or so Japanese soldiers hidden behind it were torn apart by the blast before they could even scream, limbs flung, flesh and broken bricks strewn across the street.

The deafening roar, even Yao Quanyi, standing at a distance, felt his heart shudder at the sight.

Then the second, third… the twenty‑four P‑38s dove in succession, like Death swinging a scythe.

Bombs fell like rain, their impact points lining up along the wall.

The once‑impregnable defenses, in the face of modern aerial firepower, proved as fragile as a child's sandcastle.

Perhaps the Japanese never expected that Jiang Anguo, who cares little for martial virtue, would directly order the second‑wave air force to unleash a devastating bombing on the wall.

Facing death and the wall, he chose to let the Little Devils die.

Inside the city, the ground shook.

Tiles rattled down, water tanks cracked, even the deep underground air‑raid shelters trembled.

Within the Japanese Army 13th Division headquarters, Uchiyama Eitarō was thrown to the ground by the blast wave. He struggled to rise, his face covered in ash, blood seeping from his mouth.

Outside the window, fire surged skyward toward the south city, black smoke rising like a massive pillar. Signalmen rushed in, their voices hoarse: "Division Commander! The south‑gate tower… is gone!" "Third Regiment's position has been flattened!" "Chinese army has breached the outer city!"

His mind was a jumble.

Yesterday a hunter harassing the encircled points, today he had become a turtle trapped in a jar.

Air raids, artillery, landings, war drums, and now this devastating second‑wave bombing… the Huaxia army's offensive surged like tide after tide, leaving him no respite.

"Baka!" he roared, his eyes blood‑red, "Order all units! All support the south gate! Infantry, engineers, mess squads, everyone! Block the Chinese army! We must not let them enter the city!"

"Hai!" the staff shouted in unison, turning and sprinting.

The orders spread like wildfire.

Within Yichang, the remaining six‑thousand‑plus Japanese troops were reduced by a single bombing wave, sending over a thousand Japanese to their deaths in the fire. Had they concentrated forces at the dock, those two bombing runs could have wiped the entire Japanese contingent from the ground.

Outside the city, the Little Devils still held partial positions with over a thousand soldiers.

Jiang Anguo's final concession was an absolute refusal to bomb Yichang city.

All wounded and logistics inside Yichang were driven toward the south city.

Some carried rifles, some bore bayonets, and some even lugged explosives, swarming like ants toward the ruined breach in the wall.

Uchiyama Eitarō knew this was the last gamble; if the south gate fell, the city would have no defensible ground, and the 13th Division would be encircled and annihilated.

However, he overlooked one fact: when an army is forced to push its cooks and wounded onto the front line, its defeat is already sealed.