Chapter 444: Ruins

A gray, misty sky drizzled with cold, pattering rain, and the rain grew heavier as time went on.

It washed the ruins of Mandalay into a soggy mess, diluting some of the foul stench in the air, yet it could not disperse the bone‑deep sorrow and grim brutality.

Jiang Anguo rode a landing craft slowly ashore, the ground beneath still bearing the charred marks of artillery bombardment, with broken stones and rubble littering the streets.

The once‑prosperous Mandalay City now consists only of broken walls and ruins, crooked beams propped atop the debris, and countless colonial buildings and temples shattered by shellfire.

Occasionally, unextinguished flames curled black smoke, struggling in the cold rain before finally fading away.

The landing craft steadied, and Jiang Anguo stepped onto the muddy ground, his combat boots crunching over the stones with a creaking sound.

He lifted his hand to brush rain from his shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the ruins before him, his expression calm and unruffled.

Since entering the Myanmar battlefield, he has seen countless scenes like this—broken walls, corpses strewn everywhere—etched into his memory, no longer able to stir any emotion.

Jiang Anguo has also killed more than twenty beasts with his own hands, and he has become accustomed to it.

On the battlefield, the soldiers were methodically clearing Japanese Army corpses, their uniforms soaked with mud and blood, faces bearing post‑battle fatigue, yet their movements remained swift and without a hint of slack.

Several squads had clear duties; some kept watch, because no one knew whether any bodies were still being staged, so everyone also performed supplemental firing on Japanese Army corpses.

Some were tasked with moving the bodies, piling the Japanese Army corpses beside the ruins for later incineration; others crouched by the bodies, meticulously searching every corner, fingertips gingerly turning over debris, fearing to miss any paper document.

"Move lightly, search carefully! Anything made of paper, even fragments, must be collected!"

A squad leader crouched beside a corpse, rummaging while sternly reminding the nearby soldier, "These documents might be Japanese Army intelligence that could help us discern their deployments; we can't be careless!"

Next to him, a young soldier still wore a hint of childish innocence, his hands stained with soil and blood.

He carefully fished a notebook from a Japanese Army officer's pocket, wiped its stains, and shouted excitedly, "Squad leader! Look! I found a notebook, all in Japanese; it must be intelligence!"

The squad leader hurried over, took the notebook, flipped through it, and smiled with satisfaction, "Good kid, well done! Pack it quickly and hand it to the intelligence unit. Remember, anything made of paper, whether legible or not, must be gathered; no sloppiness allowed."

"Don't worry, squad leader!" the young soldier nodded firmly, placed the notebook gingerly into his canvas bag, and resumed his low‑head search.

Not far away, another soldier pulled a fountain pen from a Japanese Army backpack, weighed it, smiled faintly, and said to his comrade, "Hey, look, this pen still works; I lost mine on the battlefield, so this is a lucky find."

"You're lucky," his buddy laughed, patting his shoulder, "but be careful—aside from paper documents, you can collect other items freely; just don't let it delay the intelligence search."

"Got it!" the soldier replied with a grin, slipped the pen into his pocket, and threw himself back into the cleanup.

In the air, the scent of blood mingled with a faint charred meat odor—the smell left by artillery‑burned corpses—sharp and foul; many young soldiers couldn't help but furrow their brows, and some even leaned against the ruins to vomit.

Yet no one halted their tasks; they knew that clearing the battlefield was not only to bury the dead but also to gather intelligence, preparing for future fights, and every scrap of paper could affect the lives of more comrades.

Jiang Anguo walked slowly among the ruins, occasionally stepping on scattered shell casings and stones, rain sliding down his cheek, indistinguishable from mud.

His gaze swept over the busy soldiers, watching their weary yet resolute silhouettes, feeling no extra emotion, only a heavy sense of responsibility.

"Anguo." A steady call came from behind; Jiang Anguo turned and saw Dai Anlan trudging through the mud, his uniform soaked through by rain and mud, his face showing a hint of fatigue, yet his brows still bore a soldier's resolve.

Dai Anlan stepped beside Jiang Anguo, his eyes fixed on the wrecked Mandalay, sighing softly, his tone tinged with reflection: "I never imagined Mandalay would look like this. We captured the city, but at a heavy cost."

Jiang Anguo gave a slight nod, his gaze still on the ruins, his voice calm: "War is like this—either destruction or rebirth. Mandalay's ruins will be rebuilt someday, but for now we have more pressing matters."

Dai Anlan turned, looked at Jiang Anguo, his eyes asking, his tone solemn: "Anguo, do we keep fighting? Mandalay is taken, the troops are exhausted, but the Japanese Army still has forces in Myanmar. Should we seize the chance to move south and expand our gains, or pause to regroup?"

The Expeditionary Force suffered heavy losses in this battle, with the th Division losing over 2,100 soldiers; its casualties mainly occurred after the Japanese Army retreated into Mandalay, when they were pursued and forced into a desperate last‑stand.

On the st Division's side, the infantry regiment bore the heaviest losses, with over five hundred killed and everyone wounded.

When Iron Fist launched an attack on Mandalay's Southern Theater, the Japanese Army fought back recklessly, as if their lives mattered not.

Yet the victory was glorious.

The Japanese Army 18th Division was annihilated, including Division commander Mukoda Koya, with almost all its officers wiped out.

Jiang Anguo reached up, brushed rain from his face, his fingertips cold, then looked up at the gray sky, the rain striking his cheek and sharpening his thoughts.

"Now is not the time to rush south," he said slowly, his tone firm and steady, "we should first consider Myanmar's weather. You know it's rainy season now; the roads are mud‑ridden, unsuitable for large troop movements, and rain hampers aircraft takeoffs and landings, limiting our air support."

An offensive at this time was never advisable; the logistical strain was indeed massive.

Jiang Anguo paused, then continued, "More importantly, the Japanese Army 33rd Division is already on the way. If we rashly push through the center now, deep into enemy territory, we could be cut off by the 33rd Division, leaving us surrounded and our supply line severed—dangerous indeed."

Jiang Anguo did not mention splitting forces, because he had already learned of it from Hu Dali.

Hu Dali's mission this time was to transport weapons and ammunition, ensuring the th Division could fight smoothly.

The consumption was huge; of the nearly 250 tons of artillery shells prepared before the battle, about 78–80% were used up.

Thus, if the th Division were to operate alone, Jiang Anguo would still need to provide a strong logistical unit to accompany it.