Chapter 534: Lightning Strike on Yangon (8)

A MG42 Machine Gunner, after prolonged firing, felt his arm sore and his forehead was drenched in sweat.

But he still didn't stop; he kept the trigger locked, and the dense bullets rained down on the Japanese Army like raindrops.

"Squad Leader, my arm can barely be lifted!"

He shouted to the Squad Leader, his tone tinged with fatigue.

The Squad Leader patted his shoulder, his voice firm: "Hold on! Just a little longer, the Little Devils will be crushed by us! Think of the fallen brothers; we cannot give up!"

Hearing the Squad Leader's words, the Machine Gunner's eyes flashed with resolve; he took a deep breath, readjusted his stance, and kept operating the MG42, maintaining dense fire suppression.

Not far away, several infantrymen, using the MG42's fire cover, rushed to a building; as per orders, they first tossed a Hand Grenade, then stormed inside, and after a brief melee, the Japanese Army inside was completely cleared.

"Report, Squad Leader: all Japanese troops inside eliminated, no residual forces found!" a soldier reported to the Squad Leader, his face covered in sweat and dust, yet unable to hide his pride.

The Sherman tank kept advancing along the street, encountered a Japanese bunker, and its cannon immediately locked onto the target.

"Boom— Boom—"

Two shots; the shells hit the bunker precisely, the bunker collapsed instantly, and the Japanese Machine Gunner hidden inside was buried beneath the rubble.

"Well done!"

The tank crew members cheered, then continued to drive the tank forward, crushing the Japanese defensive works and opening a path for the infantry.

Infantry wielding Mauser rifles surged into every corner of Yangon City like a tide, carefully searching each house and bunker, leaving no possible Japanese hideout unchecked.

When Japanese troops stubbornly resisted, they used Mauser rifles for precise fire and Hand Grenades to destroy bunkers; when Japanese troops raised their hands in surrender, they orderly detained them for later processing.

Jiang Anguo stood on a hill outside the city, looking through binoculars at the battle inside, a determined smile appearing on his face. He saw the Sherman tank like a steel dragon racing down the street.

He saw the MG42 spitting flames, suppressing the Japanese fire.

He saw soldiers with Mauser rifles charging forward, clearing Japanese troops street by street, house by house.

He knew the fall of Yangon City was imminent, and the Expeditionary Force's victory was about to arrive.

The Japanese inside the city, under the Expeditionary Force's air‑to‑ground double strike, had long been shattered.

Some were ground into mush by tank treads, some turned into sieves from the MG42's dense fire, some were picked off by Mauser rifles, and others were blown to bloody ruin by Hand Grenades during house searches.

The few remaining Japanese completely lost the will to resist, discarding their weapons, either huddling trembling in corners or aimlessly fleeing the streets, eyes full of despair, no longer bearing the swagger they had when they first invaded Myanmar.

Occasionally a few stubborn Japanese hid behind ruined walls, attempting to rifle‑fire the Expeditionary Force soldiers.

They were instantly engulfed by MG42 fire or precisely hit by Sherman shells, not even having time to scream before becoming battlefield dust.

The streets were littered with Japanese corpses, wrecked weapons, and collapsed houses.

The smoke still lingered, but the dawn of victory had already pierced the haze, illuminating every corner of Yangon City.

The Expeditionary Force's steps were steadily flattening this long‑occupied lone city, marching toward final victory.

Jiang Anguo found it odd; he had been searching for a big fish, namely the Japanese commander Fàn Tián Xiáng Èrláng, but the WarSystem yielded no big‑fish data.

"Can the Little Devils hide that well?" Jiang Anguo whispered.

Instead, several Lieutenant Colonels and Colonels were awarded points by Expeditionary Force soldiers.

The Japanese Army's senior commander, Tier‑3 system, granted 80,000 points.

"Kill!"

"Charge in!"

The Expeditionary Force had already stormed into Yangon's city center, occupying most of Yangon's districts.

Yet no system prompt was received.

While the Expeditionary Force's ground troops cleared Japanese forces street by street, house by house, and inched toward Yangon's core, the aerial combat did not cease.

The roar of aircraft engines filled the sky; William led the Ghost First Squadron's twelve P‑38 Lightning fighters, which did not leave the battlefield, and in fact none of William's twelve fighters fired a single machine‑gun round.

They circled over Yangon, ready to provide air support to the infantry below at any moment.

His wingman, Chen Ping, suddenly spotted several small boats at Yangon Dock emitting black smoke; without the smoke he would not have noticed the area.

Because prior Reconnaissance Plane intelligence indicated no large warships at Yangon Dock, that was why it had not been attacked; Jiang Anguo still needed this dock.

Now Yangon is the only seaport, even if not the ideal natural harbor; it must rely on Yangon Dock to complete Navy construction.

After William's P‑38 Lightning squadron linked up with Song Yunfei's bomber squadron and, after covering the bombers and withdrawing the P‑38s that carried out the bombing, his Ghost First Squadron did not immediately withdraw.

Instead, following Jiang Anguo's orders, they patrolled the skies over Yangon City, ready to support ground forces and watch for possible Japanese breakout actions.

In fact, William's First Squadron fired not a single shot nor dropped a bomb; its mission was aerial patrol.

At this moment Yangon City, ground artillery roared, aircraft screamed overhead, and every corner was saturated with the grim aura of war.

"Wingman, call the lead! Wingman, call the lead!"

Over the radio, Chen Ping's urgent, excited voice came through.

He was a capable pilot under William, flying a P‑38 Lightning.

He was cruising toward Yangon Port, his sharp eyes fixed on the sea, unwilling to miss any anomaly.

William, piloting the lead aircraft on patrol, heard the radio call and subtly leaned to the side.

William glanced at the wingman beside him, pressed the radio reply button, and his steady voice came through: "Lead received, go ahead! Chen Ping, any findings?"

"Squadron Leader, Squadron Leader, look toward the port!" Chen Ping's voice trembled with unmistakable excitement.

Chen Ping, breathless, said: "I see several small boats at the dock bearing Japanese flags, taking off amid the chaos; they seem to be trying to slip away. Should we give them a surprise and keep all these guys right here!"

William, hearing this, immediately pushed the control stick, altered the aircraft's heading, and looked out the right window, following Chen Ping's indicated direction.

At the Yangon Port dock, a few small gunboats emitted black smoke, their engines roaring "tut‑tut‑tut".

They were slowly pulling away from the dock, fleeing toward the open sea, the Japanese flags hanging on the hull flapping miserably in the sea breeze, glaringly conspicuous.

"Clear view, indeed a Japanese gunboat!"