Chapter 524: Iron Fist Strike (3)

The devastating white‑phosphorus bombardment lasted a full two days and two nights.

The lingering drizzle finally ceased, the dark clouds cleared, and blinding sunlight pierced the sky, spilling over Pingmana's charred ground and laying bare the battlefield's horror and desolation.

The positions once shrouded in rain now lay in utter silence.

Only scattered, unextinguished white‑phosphorus flames still leapt and burned on the ground, belching thin white smoke; the acrid char smell and the pungent odor of phosphorus mingled in the air over Pingmana, lingering for a long time.

The transport vehicle convoy in the deep rear continuously ferried white‑phosphorus shells to the front.

Artillery pieces fired in succession, white projectiles streaking across the sky, repeatedly striking the Japanese Army's remaining positions and underground tunnels; each explosion was followed by a brief, mournful wail, then fell back into silence.

The Japanese Army's resistance grew ever weaker; the once‑arrogant clamor had long been replaced by desperate cries.

In the Expeditionary Force's trench, the soldiers sat together, gazing at the distant hills of Pingmana.

Their faces bore complex expressions—satisfaction at victory, sighs at the war's cruelty, and remembrance of fallen comrades.

They could not believe a war could be fought this way; many veterans had endured the Japanese Army's poison‑gas shells, yet none matched the power of this special bomb.

A young soldier leaned against the trench wall, clutching half a ration, and whispered, "This white‑phosphorus bomb is unbelievably fierce; in just two days a solid position has been turned into ruins, and the Japanese Army's presence is almost invisible."

Even now their hearts still tremble.

An older veteran beside him took a drag of his portable dry tobacco, exhaled a slow smoke ring, and said gravely, "It's impressive, but far too cruel. Didn't you hear the Japanese Army's wails all night for several nights? Just thinking of it makes my heart race."

A soldier nearby added, "That said, if it weren't for this white‑phosphorus bomb, we'd have no idea how many brothers' lives we'd have to sacrifice to take Pingmana—over seven hundred brothers' blood from the 93rd Division, the casualties of the First Battalion of the 600th Regiment; at least it wasn't in vain."

Everyone nodded.

"Indeed," another soldier continued, his voice tinged with a choke, "we once dug tunnels and fought with bayonets, many brothers fell under the Japanese Army's fire; now we can finally breathe a sigh of relief."

"Yet looking at that charred ground still hurts; whether our brothers or the Japanese Army, all are victims of this war, but they invaded our land and slaughtered our people—this is the retribution they deserve."

Not far away, several artillerymen were polishing their guns, fatigue on their faces but pride in their hearts.

A gunner patted the barrel and laughed, "These past few days have worn us out; shell after shell has left our arms trembling, but watching the Japanese Army's positions crumble and their soldiers scatter makes it all worth it."

"Before we were constantly suppressed by Japanese artillery; now we have powerful weapons to let them taste the feeling of being under fire themselves!"

The Expeditionary Force entered Myanmar, its arms and equipment were largely standard‑issue, with a portion of Soviet‑type weapons.

As for United States aid or United Kingdom aid, they simply did not exist.

British weapons could arm at least two hundred thousand troops, but frustratingly the British preferred to lock the gear in warehouses rather than supply the Expeditionary Force.

"Don't just revel in it,"

the artillery squad leader said gravely, "Although the Japanese Army's resistance has weakened, we must not be careless; who knows if they still have remnants or hidden schemes."

"Moreover, Commander‑in‑Chief Du and General Stilwell are already on their way; they want to see the white‑phosphorus bomb's power firsthand, so we must stay on guard and make no mistakes."

The soldiers, hearing this, all nodded, stifled their smiles, rallied their spirits, and watched the forward positions warily.

Soon, the distant roar of engines echoed.

Du Yuming and Stilwell's command vehicle rolled slowly to the front, followed by a few staff officers and guards, and proceeded straight to the high ground where Dai Anlan and Tie Quan stood.

Du Yuming flung open the door, hurried onto the heights, and gazed at the scene of Pingmana, his eyes filled with shock.

The Japanese Army's once‑iron‑clad positions are now only charred ruins, with no intact structures in sight.

The ground is littered with craters and blackened wreckage, scattered white‑phosphorus flames still burn, and the air is thick with a pungent odor.

He inhaled deeply, his voice tinged with awe, "I never expected the white‑phosphorus bomb to be so powerful; in just two days it turned Song Jing Xiu Zhi's elite regiment into this, Division Commander Dai, Regiment Commander Tie Quan—you've achieved a great feat!"

Stilwell, trailing Du Yuming, wore a complex expression; through his binoculars he surveyed the barren ground, faintly hearing a few weak wails—the desperate cries of surviving Japanese soldiers that sent shivers down his spine.

He frowned, unable to hold back, and said to Dai Anlan, "Dai, isn't this too cruel? Even on a battlefield, such a weapon is excessively brutal; those soldiers' screams are unbearable."

Dai Anlan had already anticipated Stilwell's reaction; his demeanor was calm, and he said firmly, "General Stilwell, I'll pull my troops back and let your United States forces take over."

"Consider this: without the white‑phosphorus bomb, how many brothers' lives would we have to sacrifice to capture Pingmana? The 93rd Division has already lost over seven hundred soldiers, and my First Battalion of the 600th Regiment has also seen many fall in the charge. If we keep stalemating, we won't take Pingmana and will lose the ability to push south toward Yangon; then all the sacrifices would be in vain."

The Expeditionary Force's southward strength is limited this time, so if the cost at Pingmana is too high, the ensuing campaign cannot be completed.

Stilwell fell silent; he knew Dai Anlan was speaking the truth.

Though he despised such a brutal weapon, he also understood that victory in this cruel war demands a price.

Du Yuming patted Stilwell's shoulder and said steadily, "General Stilwell, Division Commander Dai is right; the battlefield tolerates no mercy. Our goal is to take Pingmana and open the road south to Yangon; as long as we can reduce our casualties and achieve victory, any weapon is justified."

Tie Quan, standing nearby, added, "General, the white‑phosphorus bomb is cruel, but it is the only way to break the current stalemate."

"Now the Japanese Army's underground defenses are completely shattered, their surface positions reduced to ruins; their soldiers are either burned alive or suffocated, and the survivors are terrified and have lost the will to resist. Soon we will fully seize Pingmana and clear the path for the main force's southward advance."

Stilwell stared at the scene, slowly nodded, and offered no further objection.

He set down the binoculars, his expression still grave, yet he understood that Dai Anlan's decision was the most correct one at present.