44: Chapter 44 Air Raid! Death from the Sky

"Planes! The government army's planes are here!"

On the Wa State front line, some soldier shouted, his voice cracking as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. At that single cry, the previously orderly fortifications erupted into chaos. Some instinctively ducked their heads and scrambled into bunkers, while others looked up at the sky, forgetting to level their rifles. Several recruits were pale as paper, their legs trembling uncontrollably.

"What are you panicking for! Those are our reinforcements!"

A Wa State battalion commander leaped out from behind a bunker, clutching a pitch-black pistol. The fat on his face twitched—three parts fear, but seven parts uncontrollable excitement. He roared at the top of his lungs, spittle flying everywhere: "The Commander-in-Chief invited them here to bomb those bastards in Kokang! Everyone, open your eyes wide and watch clearly! Watch how our air force sends them to heaven!"

These words acted like a shot of adrenaline, slightly calming the commotion on the front line. A few veteran soldiers peeked out, their eyes filled with skepticism.

In the distant valley, that coalition force, which had been "struggling to trek forward," now "discovered" the movement in the sky. The unit suddenly went into a "panic"—soldiers "frantically" hid behind rocks, vehicles "clumsily" turned around, tires gouging deep ruts in the mud, and the dust kicked up was thicker than before. This entire performance was caught perfectly by the binoculars of the Wa State observation post on the high ground.

"I see them! They're in chaos!" the scout holding the walkie-talkie said, his voice trembling with excitement. "They're looking for cover! The vehicles are having trouble turning!"

When the news reached the temporary command post, the hand holding Division Commander Zhao Yan's binoculars trembled—not from fear, but from uncontrollable excitement. His mouth curled up, revealing teeth stained yellow by smoke: "Good! They're here! They really came!" He seemed to have already envisioned the scene of bombs falling, with flesh and blood flying across the valley. Naypyidaw really couldn't sit still anymore; Commander-in-Chief Bao's efforts hadn't been in vain!

Above the clouds, two MiG-29s, painted with the Myanmar Air Force insignia and with slightly chipped paint on their fuselages, slowly adjusted their posture like two vultures eyeing their prey. The lead pilot glanced down; the "marching column" in the valley looked dense and panicked, no different from living targets in his eyes. In their line of work, they usually dealt with local militias who just fired rifles blindly at the sky. This kind of mission was as easy as going out for target practice on the weekend.

"Eagle's Nest, Eagle's Nest, Falcon One has arrived at the target area, spotted a suspected rebel main column, requesting authorization to attack." The tone was routine and lazy.

"Falcon One, Eagle's Nest received, authorization for free engagement granted. Repeat, free engagement. Happy hunting."

"Copy that." The lead pilot gestured to his wingman, "Falcon Two, follow me down, dive and drop bombs, wipe them out in one wave."

He gently pushed the control stick, and the fighter jet let out a dull roar. The nose dipped, the silver-gray fuselage sliced through the clouds, and it dove toward the valley. Sunlight grazed the wings, reflecting a cold, icy light.

On the ground, T-03—the commander of the Death God Legion's Third Battalion—was holed up in a carefully camouflaged semi-underground command post. Camouflage grease painted his face so that only his eyes were still bright. Seven or eight screens flashed in front of him: real-time footage from drones, electronic signal spectrum charts, and status indicators for various squads. When the two light dots representing the enemy planes turned into the designated airspace, his eyes didn't even blink.

"Attention all units, the 'guests' have entered the restaurant." His voice traveled through the encrypted channel, flat and cold, like a piece of frozen iron. "Prepare the 'cutlery.' Wait for my command."

On the Wa State front line, the cheers were almost enough to blow the roof off the bunkers. Zhao Yan even put down his binoculars, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag, preparing to enjoy the grand play he had personally "directed."

Just as the two MiG-29s dove to the optimal bombing altitude and the pilot's index finger rested on the launch button—

"Whoosh—!!"

"Whoosh—!!"

"Whoosh, whoosh—!!"

Several blinding trails of white smoke, like fangs suddenly piercing out from cracks in the ground, surged up from several unremarkable hillsides and rock piles on both sides of the valley! The sound was sharper and more piercing than the jet engines, carrying a mechanical precision as they lunged straight at the two iron birds in the sky!

"Missiles! Surface-to-air missiles! Evasive maneuvers!!" The lead pilot's exclamation exploded in the channel, his voice cracking. On the dashboard, the radar warning light flashed like crazy, and the piercing "beep-beep" sound pounded against his eardrums. Instinctively, he yanked the control stick while simultaneously deploying a large cloud of infrared flares. The fighter's airframe groaned under the G-force, and it forced a sharp barrel roll.

It was too late.

The leading voroshilov-2 man-portable air-defense missile, like a nimble viper that had scented blood, lightly bypassed the brilliant but useless curtain of flares, its slender body locking onto the struggling MiG-29.

"No—!!!"

"Boom—!!!"

An orange-red fireball wrapped in black smoke and metal fragments exploded over the Mengmao valley! The sound was as loud as a thunderclap in the sky, making people's chests feel constricted. The fighter jet, which had been so majestic just a moment ago, was torn into countless burning fragments in the blink of an eye, trailing black smoke as it scattered like a meteorite.

The pilot of the other wingman was terrified out of his wits. He hadn't even seen how his comrade had been taken out; he only saw a flash of fire before his own warning system began screaming like a death knell. Survival instinct overrode everything else. He no longer cared about dropping bombs, pushed the throttle to the max, and the fighter surged almost vertically upward while dumping all the remaining flares, the fuselage twisting in the air in various desperate maneuvers.

The second missile grazed his tailpipe, the high-temperature exhaust scorching the tail red, and the fighter jolted violently. Cold sweat soaked the pilot's back. He didn't dare look back, fleeing for his life toward Naypyidaw, unable to hear a word of what the command post was shouting over the channel.

The sky suddenly went quiet. Only the dissipating black smoke and the slowly drifting, charred-smelling fragments remained, silently telling the story of what had happened in those last dozen seconds.

On the Wa State front line, there was a deathly silence.

All the cheers, all the anticipation, all the twisted smiles they had forced out, froze on their faces. The binoculars in Zhao Yan's hands fell into the mud with a "clatter." He opened his mouth, and a strange "hissing" sound came from his throat, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. The staff officers and guards beside him were pale as ghosts, staring hollow-eyed at the black smoke still spreading in the sky.

Weren't they supposed to... bomb the people below? How... how was our plane shot down? Surface-to-air missiles? How could Zhang Cheng's troops have that stuff? Isn't that something only regular armies are equipped with? A sense of absurdity mixed with a deeper fear, like a cold snake, crawled up their spines.

Almost simultaneously, in the valley below, that coalition force that had been "panicking" suddenly erupted into deafening, synchronized cheers:

"Great shot!!"

"Long live the Sovereign! Long live the Death God Legion!"

This cheering was like a loud slap, fiercely striking Zhao Yan and all the Wa State soldiers in the face. Only now did they vaguely realize what was happening—they might have fallen into a trap from the very beginning. The unit below wasn't some panicked prey at all, but a hunter hiding its fangs, calmly waiting for them to take the bait!

T-03's voice rang out in the channel again, still flat and without a ripple: "Enemy aerial threat neutralized. Artillery group, follow predetermined coordinates, areas one through seven, five-round rapid fire, covering enemy front line and suspected command post. All infantry squads, rely on existing fortifications, conduct fire reconnaissance and harassment, hold the enemy firmly, and don't let them escape easily."

The order was as short as it could get. The "guests'" entertainment program had flopped, so it was time to serve the main course—although the purpose of this main course wasn't to annihilate the enemy here, but to act like the most clinging vine, strangling this beast that had been lured out of its den.

The next second, on the coalition front line, dozens of mortars and grenade launchers, which had long since calibrated their firing parameters, simultaneously let out a dull and continuous roar!

"Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!"

The whistling of shells piercing the air merged into one, like a comb wielded by the Grim Reaper, precisely plowing through the front-line positions the Wa State army had hastily dug, as well as a few spots where radio signals were particularly active.

"Boom! Boom, boom, boom—!!"

The fire of explosions burst in a chain across the Wa State front line, soil and stone mixed with severed limbs flying high into the air. The Wa State soldiers, who had just recovered from the shock of seeing the plane shot down, were stunned again by this overwhelming artillery fire.

"Counterattack! Counterattack, damn it! Don't let them pin us down!" Zhao Yan was tackled into a bunker by a guard, choked on a mouthful of mud, scrambled up, and roared hysterically into the walkie-talkie. He couldn't retreat; the Commander-in-Chief's order was to be nailed here, waiting for the "victory report" from Pangkham. Although he was becoming increasingly panicked, he could only suppress his fear and force his troops to push forward.

The Wa State army was an established force after all. Under the pressure of officers kicking and cursing them, after the initial panic, they began to organize a counterattack. Tongues of fire from light and heavy machine guns erupted from the hilltop fortifications, and mortar shells also fell sporadically toward the valley.

The sounds of intense firefights filled the Mengmao valley once again. Gunfire, explosions, shouts, and screams mixed into a chaotic mess. The troops commanded by T-03, relying on superior equipment, familiar coordination, and favorable terrain, stood like a welded reef, steadily blocking every tentative assault and breakout attempt by the Wa State army, yet they were in no hurry to launch a full-scale attack, using only precise firepower to grind away the opponent's manpower and morale bit by bit.

This battle, from the very beginning, was not about winning or losing.

Its significance lay in "being here," in "entangling," in making Zhao Yan and his 17th Division unable to move, unable to turn back, and forcing them to weld all their attention to this valley that was gradually being soaked in blood.

And in the distance, where they couldn't see, the real, fatal storm had already quietly pounced toward the north, over the capital they had sworn to protect—Pangkham.

T-03 glanced at the time digits jumping on the screen, then looked at the image transmitted back by the drone, showing the unusually calm scene in the direction of Pangkham. In those cold electronic eyes, a stream of data flashed slightly.

"Sovereign, the fish has taken the bait, the line is pulled tight."