The expeditionary force began to dominate Southeast Asia by recruiting defeated soldiers

Go back a few minutes.

As the elite force that first entered Yangon, the soldiers of the Sakagami Battalion demonstrated their so-called "Bushido" spirit at this moment.

Even though the reinforced concrete fortress they relied on had been shattered by the fierce artillery fire, the ruins collapsed in the flames. The wooden sentry tower with a machine gun was also burning in the flames, making it particularly dazzling.

Even the deep trenches were blown down. Even so, the elite Fuso 56th 'Dragon' Division's 148th Infantry Regiment's Sakagami Battalion was still unwilling to surrender easily.

They were not some second-rate unit cobbled together from rural soldiers and high school students who had never seen blood.

Under the command of sergeants and corporals, the Japanese soldiers who barely survived the anti-artillery holes and trenches began to regroup and tried their best to build three sparse and simple lines of defense behind the dilapidated bunkers.

"Hayaku, get into battle position!"

The sergeant's shout pierced the thick smoke, and the piercing sound of the whistle echoed across the battlefield. (The elite Japanese sergeants could even use the rhythm of their whistles to control the firing rhythm of the heavy machine guns, maintaining suppression.)

The Japanese soldiers lay on the ground, looking at each other silently. They nervously gripped the Type 99 rifles in their hands, waiting for the outline of the independent regiment's tanks to appear in their sight.

Suddenly, the familiar roar of the Type 94 37mm anti-tank gun was heard on the battlefield, and a glimmer of hope suddenly emerged in the hearts of the Japanese soldiers.

However, when the smoke cleared, the leading Matilda II infantry tank continued to advance unscathed.

The morale of the Japanese soldiers plummeted, and their brief hope burst like a soap bubble.

As the Matilda tanks drew closer, they felt the shadow of death grow heavier.

Countless devils began to wear white turbans (鉢巻) silently, as if this symbolized their final determination.

Holding cluster grenades and explosive packs tightly in their hands, they were ready to launch a crazy suicidal charge at the cost of their lives.

Unfortunately, their intention to die together with the independent regiment's tanks was once again ruthlessly crushed.

A sharp whistling sound was heard in the air - this sound was like the death knell of fate, pushing the remaining Japanese devils into deeper despair.

80 114mm rockets fired from the Sherman "Organ Pipe" multiple rocket launcher fell from the sky.

The timing of the launch chosen by Zhang Chi was undoubtedly fatal.

This round of covering fire happened to coincide with the time when the Japanese thought the shelling was over and were entering the front-line positions in large numbers.

The advantage of multiple rocket launchers in terms of large single-shot projection volume over traditional barreled artillery was fully utilized at this moment. Before the Japanese soldiers could hear the whistling sound in the air and hide back in the anti-artillery caves, they were greeted by a feast of death made of steel and explosives.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The endless explosions on the battlefield were like a symphony from hell.

The culprit, the conductor of this hellish music - Zhang Chi, was now sitting comfortably in the Sherman tank, clapping his hands comfortably, looking at the kill notifications that kept flashing on the system screen, with an evil smile on his face.

The unburned propellant in the rocket and the high-explosive charge in the warhead continued to explode, like waves of raging waves, destroying the Japanese's fragile flesh and remaining fortifications.

Orange-red flames bloomed on the battlefield, and the loud noise of the explosion tore through the air. Many Japanese soldiers' bodies were instantly torn apart in the flames and explosions, turning into fragmented blood mist, floating in the burning air with their last fear.

-------

By the time the battalion commander Hao Yi's military boots stepped onto the Japanese positions, the scattered remaining Japanese soldiers had completely lost their organization and could only flee into the surrounding mountains while firing.

"Old Guapiao, take your men to search the position and collect the devil's stuff."

Hao Yi shouted and led the follow-up troops into the mine.

"I understand," the old platoon leader from Sichuan responded in his native dialect without even raising his head, without any pause.

Holding an M3 submachine gun in his hand, he led his vanguards forward steadily on the Japanese position, carefully checking every corner to prevent the Japanese from leaving any "big surprises".

The ground beneath their feet was no longer hard soil, but sand loosened by the fierce artillery bombardment. Every step seemed to sink into the mud, making it difficult to walk.

"Damn it, the air is full of the smell of burnt meat, it's really annoying..." The old platoon leader had a look of disgust on his face, his nose wrinkled, and he was on guard against any possible danger.

His eyes swept over the Japanese corpses lying on the ground, ready to shoot at any time, to prevent the Japanese from pretending to be dead and fighting back.

"Don't mention it. It tastes just like fried luncheon meat slices. What on earth is this 'Maillard reaction' that the commander-in-chief is talking about?"

Lin Laisheng held a hunting knife in his hand and a sniper rifle on his back, and spoke expressionlessly the terrifying words that only "Hannibal" would say.

Suddenly, a faint gasp came from the pile of corpses in front, attracting the attention of several people.

The sound was faint, like the low moan of someone struggling to survive.

"Ss... ss..." Listening carefully, the moaning sound could be clearly heard by everyone.

The old platoon leader immediately assumed a vigilant posture and waved his hand to signal the vanguard platoon to approach carefully.

They walked around the corpses on the ground and found a Japanese officer lying on his back in the trench.

Half of the officer's body had been burned to charcoal, and the only intact half of his face was twisted in pain. He let out a low roar from his mouth, his eyes were unfocused, but he was still struggling.

This half-"Carbonized Lang" devil was the captain of the Sakagami Battalion. He bravely stayed in the position with his subordinates at the last moment, and was then seriously injured by the propellant of the rocket.

"Oh, you're a major, a big officer." The old platoon leader recognized the military rank on the other half of the uniform, opened the safety of the M3 submachine gun in his hand, and prepared to send Major Sakagami on his way.

"Don't waste bullets." Lin Laisheng interrupted coldly, his expression unchanged. He leaned over, the knife flashed, and he chopped off Major Sakagami's head with a swipe of his hand.

The major's struggle came to an abrupt end, and blood splattered on the scorched earth, like a red flower blooming in the desolate battlefield.

The air was still filled with smoke and the smell of blood, but all the noise gradually faded into silence.

Lin Laisheng stood up straight, looked down at the knife in his hand, and wiped it clean casually, as if all this was just an ordinary daily operation.

He looked up, glanced at the platoon leader, and left.

The old platoon leader shook his head, said nothing more, waved his hand and led everyone to continue forward.

------

Soon, watches, compasses, banknotes, various sabers, and the Japanese's epaulettes, medals, pistols, rifles and other supplies were gathered in an open space.

The old platoon leader stood in front of everyone, his eyes firm and his voice calm but with irresistible power.

Already in his thirties, he deliberately slowed his speech, addressing the soldiers in front of him in official Chinese, word for word: "Brothers, although we haven't received any pay since our independent regiment was established, the regimental commander provides us with three meals a day, cigarettes, and sweet water every day. We have no shortage of weapons and ammunition, and when we're sick, we have Doctor Hao to see us, and we have plenty of expensive medicine. Life is pretty good, isn't it?"

He said this plainly, but with a deep sense of pride in his words.

Although the old platoon leader didn't know that the greenbacks serving as military pay were already on their way by air, he knew that these veteran soldiers in front of him had long been accustomed to the life of "relying on oneself for everything on the battlefield."

"The commander has only one request." The old platoon leader's voice rose slightly, his eyes sweeping over the group, "and that's 'captured goods belong to the public.' This rule, every one of us must abide by."

He paused, then added, "I'm turning around now. Brothers, if you accidentally take something extra and throw it on the ground, I won't hold you responsible."

After saying that, he turned around and faced the soldiers.

At this moment, the entire venue fell into a brief silence. A gentle breeze blew, bringing gusts of dust. Occasionally, the soft ground beneath their feet could be heard with the sound of falling objects. No one said a word, and no one tried to hide anything.

The old platoon leader put his hands behind his back, listened to these subtle movements, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He knew very well that the commander's request was correct.

If this team wants to truly become an iron-blooded force capable of fighting against the Japanese, sufficient material supplies alone are far from enough, and strict military discipline is also needed.

The achievements of Yue Family Army and Qi Family Army were not only due to their sophisticated weapons, but also to their strict discipline.

Zhang Chi is trying to gradually instill this discipline into this young independent group.

A few minutes later, the old platoon leader finally turned around. The familiar faces were still in front of him, but everyone's expression seemed to have a little more determination and silence.

He nodded silently in his heart, knowing that these soldiers had understood the truth.

"Okay." He said softly, his voice filled with a long-accumulated sense of relief and confidence.

All of this is indicative of one fact: this independent regiment is already on the road to becoming a strong army.

“When the granaries are full, people know etiquette; when they have enough food and clothing, they know honor and disgrace.” The old platoon leader silently recited this ancient saying in his heart. He knew that this sentence was no longer empty talk in this land, but a belief that was truly practiced.