Chapter 426: The 18th Division Trapped in Desperation

Mandalay, Japan's 18th Division, headquarters.

Division Commander Mukoda Koya, Lieutenant General, stood by the window, his uniform soaked with sweat, his brows knit together like a knife edge.

He had just received news that the 114th Regiment on the front line had been "Jade Shattered"!

All over three thousand men of the regiment were almost completely annihilated on the east bank of the Irrawaddy River, leaving only a few fragmented radio bursts that finally fell into dead silence.

This news left him still unable to process why the Chinese army's speed could be so rapid.

When did the Chinese forces approach Mei Miu and manage, in such a short time, to annihilate his own elite regiment?

"Chinese army… how could they have such combat power?" he muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the hilt of his waist sword.

Since the war broke out in 1937, he had always regarded the Chinese forces as a ragtag mob, and the Imperial Japanese Army had constantly chased the Huaxia Army.

Even after encountering several fierce resistances on the Burma–Myanmar front, his belief that the Imperial Japanese Army was invincible never wavered.

But now, the destruction of the 114th Regiment struck his proud spine like a heavy hammer.

At that moment, a signalman staggered into the headquarters, tripping over the threshold and collapsing in front of Mukoda, his helmet rolling off, his face covered in dust and panic.

"Baga!" Mukoda Koya shouted angrily, "Your… Japanese Imperial warrior is not! Stand up!"

"Yes, yes! Division Commander!" the signalman stammered as he rose, his voice trembling like autumn leaves, "Chinese troops… have appeared south of the Mijie River!"

"Nani?!" Mukoda Koya spun around sharply, his eyes wide open, as if hearing the most absurd joke.

South of the Mijie River?

That is the core area of the 18th Division's rear supply line! It should have been a safe depth zone—how could Chinese troops be there?

"Division Commander, the Chinese army bombed the bridge over the Mijie River a few days ago; perhaps they are encircling us," Chief of Staff Kurokawa Kunisuke said.

"Yo, Kurokawa, you make sense!" Mukoda Koya said.

He snatched the binoculars, hurried out of headquarters, and climbed the hastily erected observation tower. Below, the staff exchanged glances, none daring to speak.

Mukoda Koya raised the binoculars, aiming at the south bank of the Mijie River.

In an instant, his breath halted.

On the south bank, the Blue Sky, White Sun flag stood like a forest, fluttering under the scorching sun, stinging his eyes with pain.

It was not a scattered detachment, but a full‑strength main division!

Landing craft docked one after another, soldiers disembarked in orderly rows, moving as swiftly as machines.

They wore gray‑green uniforms, sharply cut, with distinct shoulder insignia, donned German‑style M35 steel helmets, chest rigs laden with ammo pouches and water bottles, and slung Kar98k rifles on their backs—standard issue of the German Army!

What shocked him further was that several 75 mm mountain guns and 105 mm howitzers had already been emplaced on the shore, their barrels grimly pointing toward the north bank.

Engineers were constructing fortifications, the silhouette of a T‑34 tank appeared on the south bank of the Mijie River, signalmen were laying field telephone lines, and the entire landing area was orderly, resembling elite German troops on a European battlefield.

"This… this isn't the Chinese army!" Mukoda Koya murmured, "Is this… the German Wehrmacht?"

He knew, of course, that according to Burmese intelligence, the Expeditionary Force included a special unit: the st Division under Jiang Anguo, formerly an Independent Regiment, fully equipped with German arms, and staffed with many foreign instructors; Burmese locals could not approach the camp, but could see many foreigners from a distance.

Previously, in Tonggu, Bamo, and Myitkyina, Japanese units had been defeated after encountering that division; even the 56th Division, which had fought alongside them, fell at Lashu, and Watanabe Masao's whereabouts were unknown. Survivors of the Japanese army reported that they all referred to this unit as "like facing the German army."

But Mukoda had always scoffed, deeming it exaggeration. Yet now, seeing with his own eyes, he had to admit: this army was strictly disciplined, superbly equipped, and tactically coordinated—far beyond the rag‑tag, poorly armed Chinese warlords of the past.

He set the binoculars down, his hand trembling slightly.

Of course, Mukoda Koya could not show any of this; as a Lieutenant General of the Imperial Japanese Army, he could not reveal weakness!

"Report, Division Commander!" a staff officer panted as he ran over, "From the north, an urgent telegram from the Bamo direction: the Chinese Fifth Army's main force, the 96th Division, is moving south from Bamo, apparently to attack Mandalay! To the east, the Chinese Expeditionary Force's main unit, the 200th Division under Dai Anlan, has broken through the Mei Miu defensive line, advancing rapidly toward Mandalay! And on the south bank of the Mijie River… is the newly appointed Chinese st Division!"

Mukoda staggered back a step as if struck by lightning.

He finally understood.

This was not a localized counterattack, but a meticulously planned strategic encirclement!

The Huaxia Expeditionary Force used the st Division as a spearhead, forcing a crossing of the Mijie River and cutting off the 18th Division's last route for retreating toward Yangon.

To the north, the 96th Division of Yu Shao; to the east, the absolute main force of the Fifth Army, the 200th Division; to the west, the Irrawaddy River's natural barrier; to the south… under the Blue Sky, White Sun flag, a torrent of steel surged forward.

He looked around; the Chinese Air Force's relentless bombings had depleted Mandalay's food supplies, the city was littered with wounded, morale was low. Yet the enemy surged in from all directions like a tide, each wave bearing vengeful fury and modern weaponry.

"We… are surrounded," Mukoda Koya whispered, his voice dry as sandpaper rubbing.

At that moment, Mukoda Koya felt fear for the first time.

Not fear of death, but fear of "failure," fear of the collapse of the Imperial Japanese Army myth.

He recalled his own boast: "With just three divisions, we could strike Chongqing!"

But now, a single division was being driven into a desperate corner by a "Chinese army" he had once despised.

Of course, Mukoda Koya had already sent a telegram requesting "tactical guidance" to the commander of the 15th Army, Iida Shojirou, but that would take time.

If the Chinese army now launched a general assault on the 18th Division, Mukoda Koya had no idea how to respond.

On the south bank, soldiers of the st Division had already begun constructing positions.

Through the binoculars, Mukoda Koya saw a Chinese officer standing on high ground, raising his binoculars to look back toward the north bank.

It was Jiang Anguo; he had also spotted Mukoda Koya. He appeared to be a senior Japanese officer, not young, presumably the commander of the 18th Division—Mukoda Koya—this old devil, don't think you'll walk out of Mandalay alive.

Mukoda seemed to feel the cold resolve in that gaze.

It was not hatred, but the cool composure of a professional soldier, like a hunter locking onto prey.

On the south bank of the Mijie River, the Blue Sky, White Sun flag billowed in the evening breeze, like countless soaring eagles.

Mukoda Koya knew the Chinese would soon launch an attack, and artillery would tear this land apart. His 18th Division might, like the 114th Regiment, become just a string of numbers in the dust of history.

He slowly removed his cap and took a deep breath.

Myanmar's hot wind, laced with gunpowder and the scent of death, filled his lungs.

"Relay the order," Mukoda Koya's voice rasped, "All divisions shift to defense, prepare for 'Jade Shattered.'"

But deep inside, he knew this 'Jade Shattered' held no glory—only disgrace, buried together with the empire's ambition on this foreign soil.

At this point, retreat was clearly impossible; even a desperate scramble for survival left the 18th Division with no way to withdraw.