Chapter 418: Quiet Mandalay

Outside the window, it was as black as ink.

There was no starlight, no moonshadow, only thick smoke shrouding the heavens, and even the wind smelled of char.

Muta Kugou Lian stood before the broken bunker window, his eyes vacant, as if he were staring not at the night but at the abyss of the Imperial southward advance's collapse.

Four days have passed.

For a full four days, the Chinese Air Force bombarded like the Grim Reaper, B-25s dropping high‑explosive bombs, P‑38s strafing the streets, even the pagoda was reduced to broken columns.

But the ground was utterly silent.

No artillery fire, no reconnaissance, no charging horns.

It seemed the Expeditionary Force was content to turn Mandalay into scorched earth, with no intention of advancing further.

This kind of "silence" was more suffocating than artillery.

So far, no ground troops of the Expeditionary Force have been seen.

"Any news from the 114th Regiment?" Muta Kugou Lian's voice was hoarse, as if forced through his teeth.

Chief of Staff Kurokawa Kunisuke stood in the shadows, shaking his head slowly: "Division Commander, Hamamoto Kizaburō sent a telegram before sunset today… Apart from yesterday's air raid, no enemy aircraft were sighted today, nor any ground troop movements."

Muta Kugou Lian slammed a fist onto the windowsill, wood chips scattering. "Damn!"

He growled low, anger flaring in his eyes, then quickly dying out, leaving only ash‑like fatigue.

When did the Imperial Japanese Army become so spineless?

Not long ago, they swept Malaya with "lightning warfare", chasing down a hundred thousand British troops on bicycles.

Now, trapped in this burning city, even looking up at the sky is a luxury.

And the root of all this began with the devastating strike on June 26.

That clear morning at Yangon Airport, the Japanese forces at Myanmar's southern largest air base were suddenly ambushed by a swarm of B-25s.

The runway was blown into a honeycomb, the fuel depot detonated, and all thirty standby fighters were incinerated.

The Fifth Flying Division, the air main force that should have supported operations in northern Myanmar, lost its combat capability overnight.

There was no fighter escort, no reconnaissance warning, not even the ability to harass the Expeditionary Force's rear.

I had assumed the Chinese Air Force's target would be Mandalay, focusing the attack there, but unexpectedly, the Chinese forces struck Yangon Airport the very next day.

From then on, the skies over Myanmar changed hands completely.

"Now," Muta Kugou muttered, his voice like a blade scraping bone, "the sky belongs to the Chinese, and the land will be theirs…"

He recalled the Tokyo Imperial General Headquarters' order: "Secure Myanmar, shield Nanyang."

But now the shield is shattered, Nanyang is in peril.

What's more terrifying is that he cannot at all read Jiang Anguo's intentions.

If the goal is to annihilate the 18th Division, why not launch a strong attack while morale collapses after the bombing?

If the plan is to besiege without fighting, why pour in such massive ammunition?

Could it be…

What are they waiting for?

He spun around abruptly: "Immediately radio orders to all units—strengthen night watch! Pay special attention to the east bank of the Yi Luo Wa Di Jiang and the Hebei side of the Mi River! The Chinese may launch a night raid!"

Kurokawa hesitated: "But if they truly intend a night raid, why not even fire illumination flares? Moreover, Division Commander, the Meimu is still in our hands."

"The Chinese forces, wanting to cross the Ben Nong Mountains to strike Mandalay, why employ so many bombings?"

Muta Kugou fell silent.

That was precisely what terrified him: the enemy seemed able to see through each of his moves, yet never revealed their own hand.

A sliver of pale white broke through the sky, and finally the day brightened.

From afar, a signalman staggered in: "Report! Contact lost with the Meimu direction! The last telegram said… enemy massed T-34 tanks discovered!"

Muta Kugou felt a weight drop in his chest.

It had finally arrived.

But why now?

Why, after four days of air raids, only now deploy ground troops?

He suddenly understood.

It was not tactical delay, but psychological destruction.

Jiang Anguo spent four days not preparing an attack, but crushing the Imperial Japanese Army's will.

He made soldiers shiver at the sound of an engine, officers despair at a clear sky, and the whole city mentally collapse in silence.

Chief of Staff Kurokawa Kunisuke pleaded: "Division Commander, let's retreat; the 18th Division cannot be destroyed in our hands, the Imperial Japanese Empire cannot bear such a loss."

Muta Kugou Lian turned his back on him, staring at the night sky outside, devoured by smoke, without saying a word.

"The 18th Division cannot be destroyed here!" Kurokawa's voice trembled, almost pleadingly urgent, "The Empire has already lost the 56th Division at Lashu; if our 18th Division is further damaged, an entire Type‑A permanent division, the headquarters will never forgive! You… you shouldn't even think of promotion to General, even the rank of Lieutenant General may be lost!"

Those words cut like a knife, stabbing straight into the deepest fear in Muta Kugou's heart.

Muta Kugou Lian had been vying with Iida Shōjirō for command of this Myanmar campaign, but he lost; now it seemed that neither Iida Shōjirō nor he would have a chance to be promoted to Imperial Army General.

He knew that all too well.

Since the disastrous defeat at Jianghan, the Tokyo military headquarters has been enraged over the Myanmar situation.

If Mandalay falls again and the 18th Division is annihilated, Muta Kugou Lian will become one of the greatest criminals in Imperial Army history, a light punishment being seppuku apology, a severe one a legacy of infamy for ten thousand years.

Retreat?

Muta Kugou Lian turned slowly, a bleak wry smile appearing on his face: "Kurokawa‑kun… the Chinese never give us a chance to retreat."

He walked to the map, his finger thrust heavily toward the Mi River: "For three days, the engineer regiment has erected pontoon bridges, boat bridges, even linked trucks into temporary passages… Yet each time they were completed, within two hours B‑25s and P‑38s arrived."

Muta Kugou Lian's voice lowered: "The bombs were so precise they seemed to have eyes, striking the center of the bridge decks and the anchorage piles. The third time, the entire engineer regiment lost more than half its strength."

Kurokawa's complexion turned ghastly.

"What's even more terrifying," Mukoda Koya continued, his tone exuding unprecedented helplessness, "Do you really think we can run?"

He pointed to the South: "According to earlier intelligence, our opponent under Jiang Anguo commands at least two tank battalions of Soviet‑made T‑34 tank M3, fast and fierce. If we abandon the city and retreat south, forming a long dragon march, we become a living target!"

"They have stockpiled fuel, ammunition, spare parts in Lashu precisely for this moment, to crush our backbone with steel tracks!"

"South of Mandalay, once we cross the Mi River, it's a plain, even more favorable for tank movement."

"As long as the Japanese Army dares to cross the river, that would be a tremendous piece of good news for Jiang Anguo; Mandalay not only has defensive works built by the Japanese Army, but also defensive works jointly built by the British Army and the Expeditionary Force."

"If the Japanese Army relies on these defensive works, they can hold back the Expeditionary Force."

He paused briefly, his gaze like ash: "Do you think I want to hold the line to death? Yet retreat means personally sending eighteen thousand lives straight into tank gun barrels."

Silence fell dead within the tent.

Hei Chuan lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly.

He finally understood: it wasn't Mukoda Koya who didn't want to retreat, but that there was simply no way out; they had already lost any chance of withdrawal.

South of Mandalay, the broken bridge over the Mi River lay like a shattered bone;

To the east, the mountain ridge may already have been infiltrated by enemy forces;

Northward, the Yi Luo Wa Di Jiang stretched as wide as the sea, with no boat able to cross;

And the sky… had long become the enemy's hunting ground.

The 18th Division, the "Chrysanthemum Corps" that once swept Malaya and bloodied Singapore, is now trapped in a burning solitary fortress, even escape has become a luxury.

"Division Commander…" Hei Chuan's voice was weak, "Then we… can only shatter like jade?"

Mukoda Koya gave no answer.

He simply slipped off his cap slowly, placed it gently on the table, his movement almost reverent.

Then, he picked up the telephone, his voice returning to icy cold: "Order each regiment to destroy the Code Book, burn the battle flag, distribute the last ammunition. From tonight onward, Mandalay is our grave. It is also the Chinese's grave!"

He hung up, looked at Hei Chuan, and a hint of relief appeared in his eyes: "Hei Chuan, perhaps you are right… the Imperial cannot bear such losses. But at this moment, the only thing we can do is make the Chinese step forward each step onto the Imperial Japanese Army's corpses."