Chapter 530: Lightning Strike on Yangon (4)

Inside the command post, every staff officer wore a grave expression, dared not breathe loudly, and no one ventured to speak and disturb Iida Shojirou.

Iida Shojirou slowly walked to the window, stared at the pitch‑black night sky outside, and could faintly hear the tanks' rumble from beyond the city; the sound was like a death‑calling drum, each beat striking his heart.

Iida Shojirou recalled the lofty vows he made when he first marched to Myanmar, remembered the glory of having led the Imperial Japanese Army to sweep across Myanmar, and now, seeing his troops at the city gates in a hopeless plight, felt a surge of resentment and despair.

He could never have imagined that one day he would become a cornered beast, forced into Yangon City by the China Expeditionary Force he once dismissed as a "weak troop", trembling day after day.

Iida Shojirou could not have foreseen that the once invincible Imperial Japanese Army would, within a few short months, go from total superiority to a series of defeats.

He also could not have imagined that the previously obscure Chinese general Jiang Anguo would become his greatest nemesis, gradually driving him into a corner.

The night grew ever darker, the lights inside Yangon City dimmed further, the tanks' roar outside drew nearer, and Iida Shojirou's gaze grew increasingly hollow.

Iida Shojirou knew that Yangon's defenses were precarious, reinforcements were nowhere in sight, the Japanese Army forces inside the city were limited and out‑gunned by the China Expeditionary Force, and holding Yangon was almost a fool's dream.

Because the Japanese Army's southward advance had been so smooth, even the invasion of Myanmar proceeded effortlessly.

This resulted in Yangon's defenses being insufficient, unable to repel the Expeditionary Force.

Iida Shojirou slowly tightened his grip on his sword, and only one thought remained in his mind: perhaps this was his end, perhaps here he would pay a painful price for his arrogance and carelessness.

And Yangon, the city the Japanese Army once regarded as a piece of cake, was about to meet a new fate.

Just as Iida Shojirou sank into endless despair, the roar outside the city suddenly grew violent.

No longer the faint track sounds heard before, but dense, heavy artillery fire, tearing the night sky like thunderclaps and smashing every corner of Yangon City.

The command post's window glass vibrated with a buzzing sound, and the telegrams and maps on the table slipped off. The staff officers instantly panicked, their faces full of terror.

Someone staggered to the window, looked toward the pitch‑black outside, and shouted trembling, "Regimental Commander! Bad news! The Chinese have started the attack! It's tank fire!"

Iida Shojirou shuddered, jerked his head upward toward the window, and saw a sky of fire rising from outside the city, lighting half the heavens like daylight; the blast waves from exploding shells surged through the window cracks with scorching gusts, forcing him to step back.

He knew clearly that the Huaxia Expeditionary Force's final assault had finally arrived, and he and Yangon City would inevitably face this inescapable annihilation.

Meanwhile, on the tank positions outside the city.

Jiang Anguo stood beside a Pan Xing tank, his eyes blazing as he stared at the flames inside Yangon City; he saw Zhang Bing leaning on the tank turret, clumsily pulling a lighter from his pocket, his fingertips smeared with oil, failing to ignite after several attempts.

Jiang Anguo said nothing, silently took a lighter from his own pocket, hurried forward, sparked it with a "click", handed it to Zhang Bing; the blue flame flickered in the night, dispelling some fatigue and cold.

"Division Commander," Zhang Bing snapped his head back.

Seeing Jiang Anguo's figure, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes, then he immediately straightened his back, the fatigue on his face largely vanished, and he instinctively raised his hand in a military salute, the oily fingertip smearing his hat brim without noticing.

Jiang Anguo merely gave a slight nod, pocketed the lighter, his gaze passing over Zhang Bing to the flickering fires inside Yangon City, and in a steady yet unquestionable authority said, "Zhang Bing, can your tank regiment launch an immediate attack to tear through the Japanese Army's outer defensive line?"

Zhang Bing showed no hesitation, clenched the freshly lit cigarette, took a hard drag, flicked the butt onto the ground and crushed it with his oil‑slicked boot, and said firmly without a hint of doubt, "Division Commander, no problem! The brothers are weary, but each is brimming with resolve, waiting for your order to flatten Yangon City and make the Little Devils pay!"

Jiang Anguo's face showed a hint of approval, patted Zhang Bing's shoulder, and his voice rose sharply, piercingly strong; even over the tanks' roar and the shells' explosions, it reached the ears of the surrounding tank crews clearly.

"Alright! Launch the attack immediately! Bombard Yangon! Remember, after dawn, Song Yunfei's bomber squadron and William's fighter squadron will carpet‑bomb the Japanese Army positions and command post inside Yangon City; your ground tank units must seize the momentum for a final assault, delivering a lethal strike to the devils inside Yangon City!"

"Yes! Mission will be completed!" Zhang Bing shouted, turned and climbed onto the tank turret, roaring into the communicator, "All units, attention! All units, attention! Division Commander orders immediate attack, target the Japanese Army positions inside Yangon City, advance at full speed, leave no survivor!"

Jiang Anguo stood before the tank formation, eyeing the neatly lined 48 Sherman tanks, his gaze sharpening. He thrust his hand up and roared at the troops, "Open fire! I don't want to see a single living devil still in Yangon City! Let them taste the might of our Huaxia Expeditionary Force!"

The moment the order was given, the 48 Sherman tanks' 76 mm guns swivelled in unison, steady on the direction of Yangon City, their barrels glinting coldly in the night.

Boom—boom—boom—

A series of deep, thunderous cannon blasts rang out, shattering the night's silence; shells whistled like meteors across the sky, striking precisely inside Yangon City and instantly detonating the Japanese Army's positions.

Flames shot upward, lighting the black night as bright as day; the blast waves from exploding shells swept all directions, accompanied by the Japanese soldiers' wailing cries, and the night‑long battle for Yangon City officially began.

Zhang Bing stood on the tank turret, one hand on the gun barrel, the other gripping the communicator, continuously issuing orders: "First Battalion, advance on the left wing, suppress the Japanese Army's eastern fire points! Second Battalion, concentrate fire, bombard the Japanese outer defensive works! The remaining tanks follow me, break through the Japanese First Defensive Line; the Division Commander said, push us beyond Yangon City!"

"Received! First Battalion, understood!"

"Second Battalion, firepower ready, can fire at any moment!"

Through the communicator, the platoon leaders' voices came one after another, brimming with high‑spirited resolve.

The Sherman tanks' tracks rolled over the mud, thrusting at full speed toward Yangon City.

The Sherman guns kept firing shells; each boom was accompanied by the collapse of Japanese positions, and every shell that hit the ground took a swath of Japanese lives.

Outside the city, the Expeditionary Force's infantry kept up quickly, following the tanks, using their cover to charge toward Yangon City; shouts, footfalls, tank roars, and shell explosions intertwined, forming an exhilarating, heroic battle hymn.

Inside the city, the Japanese Army, caught by the sudden artillery barrage, was already in chaos; their already low morale, under the Expeditionary Force's ferocious assault, teetered on the brink of collapse.

Japanese soldiers could only scramble into cover, launch a hasty counterattack, yet were utterly unable to withstand the Expeditionary Force's iron torrent.