Chapter 574: Thai Campaign (1)

Mielong led the infantry battalion, using the tank's artillery as cover, like a fierce tiger descending a mountain.

They charged toward the Japanese Army positions; the soldiers surged forward, MG42 machine guns in hand, firing at the Japanese, sweeping the fleeing Japanese soldiers with fierce fire, sparing no stubborn enemy.

Of course, the infantry did not detach from the tank; they knew their combat positions clearly.

While protecting the tank, they also advanced slowly.

Mielong rode at the forefront, MG42 in hand, being the first to storm the Japanese positions, killing a Japanese soldier who tried to resist with a single shot, shouting, "Brothers, charge! Take Beilanpo, march on Manggu!"

"Damn it! I want to see the sea!"

Come to think of it, Yao Quanyi's Independent Regiment had been fighting inland and did not take part in the assault on Yangon, so Mielong has never seen the sea!

The remaining Japanese forces tried to make a last stand, relying on a few intact shelters, counterattacking with rifles and hand grenades, but they could not halt the Independent Regiment's offensive momentum.

The tank company's tanks closed in on the Japanese core positions, launching a final barrage against the remaining defensive works, completely destroying the Japanese stronghold.

The infantry battalion swept through streets and alleys, clearing the remaining Japanese, engaging in a life‑or‑death fight; each soldier was bold and fearless, fighting the enemy with vigor.

The fierce battle lasted a full three hours; the Japanese defensive positions were utterly destroyed, the remaining Japanese either annihilated or fled in panic, and the Independent Regiment successfully captured Beilanpo.

Yao Quanyi stood on the high ground of Beilanpo, looking at the battlefield shrouded in fire, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

"Damn it, feels great!" Mielong cursed.

Mielong leaned against the tank, wiping the smoke and blood from his face, a bright smile at the corner of his mouth, still gripping his machine gun tightly, his eyes full of exhilarating joy.

Capturing Beilanpo not only opened the crucial route south to Manggu.

It also tied down Japanese forces in the north, adding another victory to the overall plan of Nanko's four‑route offensive into Thailand.

It also made Yao Quanyi's Independent Regiment the sharpest knife on the northern front.

Singapore.

Jiang Anguo looked at the news coming from the north and showed a faint smile.

It seemed the fastest to reach Manggu would be Jiang Zhiyuan's Nankai Fleet; traveling by sea, a 2,000‑kilometre (1,100 nautical miles) journey, three days, and the Nankai Fleet could arrive at Manggu.

In Manggu, inside the Prime Minister's Office hall, the atmosphere was oppressive, as if frozen.

Prime Minister Luan Piwen sat rigidly in a solid‑wood chair, clutching an urgent military telegram that had just arrived; the paper was slightly creased by his grip, and it starkly reported that the key central‑Thailand city's Beilanpo position had completely fallen.

A few short lines of text struck his heart like a heavy hammer.

He sat dumbfounded in the chair, eyes vacant, his complexion drained of color, a palpable sense of despondency radiating from him.

Beilanpo was a crucial transportation choke point in central Thailand, guarding the essential route from Qinglai south to Manggu; originally a full regiment of Japanese troops and Thai co‑defense forces were deployed there.

Confident they were as solid as a gold‑filled soup, no one expected that within just one day the Independent Regiment of Yao Quanyi would brutally breach the defenses, leading to total collapse.

Luan Piwen felt a chill in his heart; the northern gateway was open, and the enemy could surge along the main road straight into Manggu.

Leaning against the chair back, his fingertips trembled slightly, and for a moment he seemed dazed, his mind a chaotic haze of defeat.

Yet this was not the deadliest blow.

The heavy wooden office door was gently pushed open, and a middle‑aged officer in uniform, his face solemn, walked in slowly; he was Thailand's Defense Minister Naraong.

Naraong's steps were heavy, deep worry etched in his brows, and he also held an urgent battle report.

As soon as he entered, he reported to Luan Piwen in a low voice, "Prime Minister, the situation is dire; two pieces of bad news have arrived. The Expeditionary Force's main body has already moved from Moulmein into Thailand's southern border, advancing northward inexorably; moreover, from the Malaya Peninsula, the Nanko Army is steadily moving north, pressing step by step, three fronts of troops all pointing straight at our interior."

His words thundered through the hall like a sudden lightning strike, making the already shaken Luan Piwen shudder and plunge into deeper panic.

Beilanpo fallen, Moulmein enemy forces entering, Malaya enemy troops advancing north, three fronts encircling; Thailand had already fallen into a desperate situation pressed from all sides.

What worried him most went far beyond the land‑based troops.

Previously he had relied on Japan, and from Japanese high command learned that the rising Nanko possessed a well‑equipped, formidable main fleet, bristling with warships and fierce artillery, its strength many times that of the Thai Navy.

But even now he could not discern where this Nanko fleet was or what its intentions were.

Across the boundless sea, it was as if a dormant giant beast lay hidden, ready to emerge at any moment and crash onto Thailand's coast.

This unknown threat weighed on Luan Piwen's heart like a massive stone, leaving him restless day and night.

On land three armies pressed in, and at sea an unidentified powerful fleet lurked, eyeing Thailand; the nation was trapped with no way out.

At this moment, Luan Piwen's heart swelled with endless regret and resentment.

Back then, to secure his own power and seek external backing, he resolutely chose to side with Japan, willingly attaching himself to the Japanese military's wing, believing Japan's overwhelming might could safeguard Thailand's stability.

But today he finally sees the truth: the Japanese Army is not as invincible as imagined.

Since the battlefields in Myanmar, the Japanese Army has suffered successive defeats, retreating from Yangon to Singapore, from Moulmein to Beilanpo, loss after loss, the once‑unrivaled prestige now completely vanished.

What began as a bid to cling to a strong power for national preservation has instead shackled Thailand to Japan's war machines, sinking it into a fiery quagmire, becoming a lamb caught in a crossfire.

He stared blankly at the Thailand map on the table, his gaze sweeping over Myanmar, the Malaya Peninsula, and the northern Qinglai area, each landmark signifying a collapsed front.

Defense Minister Naraong stood nearby in silence, watching the Prime Minister's despondent state, his own heart equally filled with despair, yet powerless.

Luan Piwen still did not know that an even more terrible piece of bad news had already arrived.

The Expeditionary Force and the Nanko Allied Fleet had already seized Singapore, fully controlling the Malajia haixia choke point.

Jiang Anguo further reorganized the forces, assembling a far larger, more terrifying Combined Fleet, cutting through the waves at full speed along Thailand's coast toward Manggu.

On land the massive army pressed in, at sea the giant warships approached, with no troops to use inside and no reliable reinforcements outside.

Luan Piwen slumped in his seat, his heart filled with endless helplessness and remorse; he had personally driven Thailand into the abyss of war, and now could only watch helplessly as the situation collapsed, powerless to salvage any fraction.