Chapter 420: Iron Flow Before Dawn

June 29, 1942, 4:00 a. m.

Expeditionary Force Tank Regiment Regiment Commander Hu Xianqun, Colonel, stood beside a T‑34/76 tank painted in matte green camouflage, his hand gripping the command baton that seemed somewhat superfluous in this position.

Hu Xianqun's gaze pierced the sparse trees and fell on the black night sky to the West.

Behind him were thirty‑six freshly resupplied Soviet‑made T‑34 tanks.

These steel behemoths now lay quietly in ambush; their diesel engines had been shut down, yet the faint clacking of metal heat‑dissipation sounded like the breathing of a sleeping beast, making hearts race.

"Regiment, all vehicle‑unit radios calibrated, fuel topped up, ammunition at full capacity," the adjutant whispered, his voice pressed low as if fearing to disturb the distant Japanese Army.

Hu Xianqun nodded; his expression appeared especially resolute in the night. "Tell the brothers, at first light the fierce battle begins. Bin Ben Xi Sanlang's 114th Regiment is a hard bone; this time we will not only crush it, but also bury all the Little Devil (Japanese soldier) on the soil of Myanmar!"

Not far from Hu Xianqun's position, at the assembly point of the st Division tank battalion, battalion commander Zhang Bing was half‑emerging from the turret of an American‑made Sherman tank.

Compared with the low, fierce Soviet tanks, the Sherman appeared taller and sturdier. Zhang Bing patted the long 76‑mm gun beside him; as for why it was also a 76 mm gun, of course it was the Soviet‑supported model.

These twenty‑four Shermans were his prized assets and the key force for cooperating with Hu Xianqun's tank regiment in this battle.

"Old Zhang, why aren't you taking a break?" Regiment Commander Gao Jiren of the Regiment, clad in a military coat, walked over.

As infantry regiment commander, he knew that tonight's infantry‑tank coordination would decide victory or defeat.

His soldiers were curled up in the mud beside the tank tracks, clutching rifles and dozing, waiting for the fatal moment to arrive.

The recent infantry‑tank joint training gave every officer and soldier a foundation; at least both sides now recognized each other.

"The battle will sound off any moment; how can anyone sleep?" Zhang Bing leapt from the tank, stamping the soggy ground. "Regiment Commander Gao, can your troops keep up? In this terrain tanks surge fast; if infantry fall out of sync, we become live targets for the Japanese Army."

Gao Jiren grinned, showing a set of white teeth. "Don't worry, my Regiment isn't a vegetarian. Keep rolling your Shermans forward; I'll handle the rest of the Little Devils. You should know that back at Kunlun Pass, the terrain was far steeper than at Meimou."

Gao Jiren recalled that battle; had they possessed today's firepower and heavy tanks, Kunlun Pass would not have been fought so disastrously.

Hu Xianqun also came over; the three Frontline Commanders gathered in the darkness before dawn. At that moment, the hour hand on his watch pointed to 4:30.

"Almost there," Hu Xianqun lifted his wrist, glanced at the watch with luminous hands, "The Lashu and Taunggyi air‑force brothers should be arriving now."

Hu Xianqun felt a bit anxious; the sky remained silent.

4:50 a. m., over Meimou.

The sleeping town of Meimou was shrouded in a thin morning mist.

On the position of the Japanese Army's 18th Division 114th Regiment, regiment commander Bin Ben Xi Sanlang, Colonel, had just finished a night‑long patrol.

This commander, who had been fighting from the start of the Southern Army, marching from Malaya through Singapore and into Myanmar, now felt an inexplicable flutter in his chest.

He raised his binoculars, trying to pierce the heavy night veil, but all he saw was endless darkness.

"Those Chinese… when will they finally act?" he muttered to himself.

The Chinese had already carried out massive strategic bombing of Mandalay, and after Meimou endured a round of bombing, it suddenly fell silent.

Suddenly, a low, dense roar came from the clouds—not thunder, but a force more destructive than thunder.

It was the roar of a high‑power aircraft engine.

Buzz——!!!

From the eastern horizon came a low, thunder‑like engine roar, drawing nearer, shaking the rubble into a shudder.

"Enemy aircraft!" the sentry shouted.

Bin Ben Xi Sanlang flung his binoculars aside, his face turning ashen. "Enemy attack! Prepare anti‑air!"

There's no time.

The first screeching wave came from P‑38 "Lightning" fighters out of Lashu Airport.

These bizarre twin‑tail aircraft were feared by the Japanese Army and called "Twin‑body Demon."

They dove like hunting hawks, bursting from the clouds, the 20 mm cannon and four 12.7 mm machine guns on their wings instantly spewing flames.

The P‑38 did not rush to drop bombs; instead it first unleashed a frenzied sweep on the Japanese Army's exposed anti‑aircraft positions. Tracer rounds, like red whips, struck the enemy's AA guns hard.

A few Type‑96 25 mm AA guns that had just tried to raise their barrels were instantly reduced to scrap, their crews' screams drowned by the aircraft engines' roar.

Immediately after, a heavier buzzing rose from the sky.

It was a formation of B‑25 "Mitchell" medium bombers from Taunggyi Airport, flying in neat box formation under P‑38 escort, swaggering over Meimou.

"Release bombs!"

At the command of lead pilot Song Yunfei, the bomb bay doors flung open.

Countless 250‑kg and even 500‑kg heavy aerial bombs rained down like hail.

"Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!"

The ground trembled, as if Meimou were being violently shaken by an invisible giant hand.

The massive explosions merged into a deafening roar.

Flames shot upward, tearing the pre‑dawn darkness to pieces.

The Japanese Army's barracks, command posts, and makeshift fortifications vanished in the blasts.

Orange‑red fireballs rolled upward, the shockwaves lifting tons of earth and stone into the sky before hurling them down hard.

Bin Ben Xi Sanlang was flipped onto the ground by the blast's shockwave, soil filling his mouth and ears. His command post, a once‑sturdy teak building, was now ablaze.

"Regiment commander! The enemy's fire is too intense! We can't hold!" a blood‑smeared officer shouted as he rushed forward.

Bin Ben Xi Sanlang struggled to his feet, drew his command sword, his eyes bloodshot: "Baka! Why shout nonsense before seeing the enemy! This is a Chinese attack! Everyone, take positions; the Chinese are advancing!"

Bin Ben Xi Sanlang was absolutely certain that this bombing differed from previous ones; according to the recollections of 144th Regiment soldiers who escaped from the second Tonggu battle, the Chinese had launched the attack at dawn, with countless bombs falling from the sky just as the Chinese had dropped bombs on Meimou.

He keenly realized this bombing was different—the Chinese were about to assault Meimou!

"Yes, Colonel!" the adjutant began to relay the order.

Another wave of B‑25s swept by, this time dropping cluster bombs and napalm.

The forest surrounding Meimou instantly turned into a sea of fire; Japanese infantry hiding there for an ambush, before they could fire, were engulfed by the scorching flames, emitting a harrowing scream.

The air was thick with gunpowder smoke, charred wood, and the sweet, acrid scent of scorched flesh.

It was nauseating, yet it lingered.

The surviving Japanese Army curled up in the ruined shelter, eardrums ruptured, faces smeared with blood and grime.

Someone muttered, "It's not the army… it's the Air Force… how could the Chinese have so many aircraft?"

"Too terrifying!"

In the sky circled 48 P38 Lightning fighters, and 36 B25 Bombers led by Song Yunfei, forming orderly formations and taking turns bombing Mei Miu.

The bombing lasted a full hour.

During that hour, the Japanese Army's 114th Regiment's defensive system was completely thrown into chaos, communications cut off, positions shattered.

The Air Force is crushing the Japanese Army's psychological Defensive Line.