Chapter 428: The Altitude of Mandalay Is Dropping

Boom! Boom! Boom—!

First, the 75mm mountain gun opened fire, its shells screaming through the air like meteors, slashing the sky and smashing hard into the Japanese Army's exposed machine gun positions and mortar positions.

Immediately after, twenty‑four 105mm howitzers roared together, their massive recoil shaking the ground.

High‑explosive shells weighing over ten kilograms were violently thrust from the barrels, trailing long white smoke.

With thunderous force, they hurled toward the Japanese Army's core artillery positions.

The dense battery fired in unison, creating a terrifying barrage coverage.

In the sky, countless shells poured down like a torrential rain, instantly engulfing the Japanese Army's once‑frenzied counter‑attacking positions in a sea of fire and smoke.

On the Japanese position, the veteran artilleryman operating the mountain gun hadn't time to load a second shell when a howitzer round struck directly, shattering the gun barrel and spraying the soldier's severed limbs and earth.

The Type 92 heavy machine gun positions that had just exposed their barrels became prime targets; 75mm shells landed precisely beside the machine‑gun emplacements, instantly collapsing the heavy fortifications and snuffing out the flames.

The front‑line commander of the Japanese Army's 18th Division, hidden in a concealed command post, watched the forward positions when a deluge of artillery fire suddenly struck.

His face turning iron‑blue with rage, he slammed a fist onto the command table: "Baka! When did the Chinese artillery become this fierce?! Quickly, order the artillery to relocate, now!"

But at this moment, everything was already too late.

Jiang Anguo's artillery strikes were precise and swift, completely locking onto every point the Japanese Army had just exposed; the barrage left no blind spot.

In their haste, the Japanese had no time to relocate and could only passively endure the devastating blows, with cries, explosions, and the clatter of shattered equipment intertwining in chaotic disarray.

Meanwhile, at Lashu Airport.

On the runway, twenty‑four P‑38 "Lightning" fighters lined up neatly, their distinctive twin‑tail design glinting in the sun, fuselages painted with conspicuous United States insignia, propellers already turning slowly, emitting a low rumble.

William, the commander of Jiang Anguo's Ghost Battalion, a tall United States man fluent in Chinese, was seated in the cockpit, wearing goggles, a cigar perched at his mouth corner. Hearing Jiang Anguo's urgent request over the radio, his previously lazy gaze instantly sharpened.

"Received, Commander! Your request is my order!" William laughed heartily into the radio, his voice rough and confident. "All twenty‑four P‑38s, take off! The Little Devil artillery on the outskirts of Mandalay, today they'll taste the power of Lightning!"

As his words ended, William yanked the control stick; the engine roar surged instantly, the P‑38's propellers whirring rapidly, stirring a strong airflow as the aircraft slid slowly toward the runway start point.

"All units, attention, take off! Target: Japanese positions on the outskirts of Mandalay!"

Following William's command, the twenty‑four P‑38s started in succession, their engines' roars echoing across Lashu Airport and into the heavens.

On the runway, the fighters accelerated rapidly, tires screeching against the ground; within a few dozen meters they lifted, noses up, soaring straight into the sky.

The P‑38 "Lightning" fighter was one of the United States' most advanced aircraft of the era—fast, heavily armed, equipped with multiple machine guns and aerial bombs, a true weapon whether in dogfights or ground attacks.

The twenty‑four aircraft formed a tight formation, wings cutting through the clouds toward Mandalay, leaving white contrails like drawn swords, their momentum majestic.

From Lashu Airport to Mandalay's outskirts was only two hundred kilometers; the P‑38 squadron raced at high speed, reaching the Mijie River position's airspace in under half an hour.

On the ground, Jiang Anguo looked up at the appearing squadron, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

"It's here!"

He raised his hand toward the sky; the ground position immediately fired signal flares—three red flares rose, precisely marking the Japanese positions.

In the sky, William piloted the long‑range aircraft, clearly seeing the ground signal markers, and instantly ordered over the radio: "All aircraft, attention, Japanese positions spotted, lower altitude, prepare for dive bombing! Drop every bomb onto the Little Devil's heads!"

"Received!"

"Understood!"

The pilots responded in unison; the twenty‑four P‑38s instantly adjusted their attitude, noses down, beginning a rapid dive. Their speed increased, air friction screaming sharply like the Grim Reaper's scythe, slamming toward the Japanese positions.

Japanese soldiers on the ground looked up at the swarming fighters and were instantly terrified, faces turning deathly pale, screaming as they fled in all directions seeking cover.

"Air raid! It's a Chinese air raid! Take cover quickly!"

"Baka! Get into the air‑raid shelter quickly!"

But it was already too late.

"Drop bombs!"

At William's command, aerial bombs were released from under the wings, dozens of them falling like rain onto the Japanese positions.

Boom—!!!

Earth‑shaking explosions rang out in succession; 100‑kilogram aerial bombs struck the ground, instantly raising fire waves dozens of meters high, hurling soil, rubble, and Japanese equipment into the sky, forming massive craters.

The Japanese's meticulously built artillery positions, machine‑gun nests, and concealed works crumbled instantly under the bombs, as if made of paper.

After the dive, the P‑38 pulled up, its wing‑mounted machine guns firing "rat‑tat‑tat," the gunfire echoing across the sky; dense bullets swept the ground like a hailstorm, Japanese soldiers hit falling dead, their cries endless.

Jiang Anguo stood on the position, watching the opposing Japanese line engulfed in fire, artillery raining down, smoke filling the air, his inner fury finally vented.

The Japanese 18th Division, once a proud, invincible Class A Division that had boasted in Southeast Asia, now, under his precise deployment, the artillery's fierce counter‑attack, and the air force's thunderous bombing, was wholly forced into a defensive plight.

All forward fire points were destroyed, artillery positions suffered heavy losses, soldiers were heavily casualties, the once‑arrogant aura instantly extinguished.

Jiang Sanpao's artillery positions continued to roar, the 75mm mountain guns and 105mm howitzers firing incessantly, shells continuously hammering the Japanese lines; in the sky, William's P‑38 squadron took turns diving, bombing and strafing, giving the Japanese no respite.

At the Mijie River position, Chinese soldiers stood in the fortifications, watching the Japanese line's devastation, waving their weapons and shouting thunderously.

"Well fought!"

"Bomb the Little Devils to death!"

"Commander, mighty! Artillery, mighty! Air force, mighty!"

The cheers pierced the battlefield smoke, echoing across northern Myanmar's sky.

Jiang Anguo gazed at the victorious scene, slowly releasing his clenched fists, his eyes flashing with steadfast light.

What of the Japanese 18th Division? What of the Class A Division?

On this northern Myanmar soil, as long as Jiang Anguo is present, with blood‑soaked soldiers fighting, and artillery and aircraft covering, the Little Devils won't dare to be arrogant even a step!

The fires on Mandalay's outskirts have only just begun, and the initiative of this counter‑offensive is already firmly in his hands.