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

Chapter 360: Battle for Chittagong (12) Lay down your weapons and leave the road so as not to block

"Putdang sprayed from outside! Hanji Apu!"

"Sanuandaer!"

The smoke gradually dissipated, and the motorized infantrymen of the People's Army who jumped off the Bobcat assault vehicles quickly formed a battle formation, holding rifles and submachine guns, shouting the poor Ansa language learned from the emergency pre-war training, trying to make the John officers and soldiers who were beaten dizzy surrender.

The battlefield was still filled with the pungent smell of burning diesel and gunpowder smoke. The shell craters, broken steel debris, and shattered sandbag positions on the ground told the disadvantaged British armored troops a reality: they had been completely defeated.

Some of John's troops were retreating in a hurry, while others were looking for cover after abandoning their weapons and armor.

As for the dozen or so paralyzed heavy tanks of Prime Minister Qiu, some of the turret sides were blown off, some of the tracks were broken, and the gun barrels were pointing crookedly at the sky.

The armored soldiers of John's army who had just climbed out of the car were stunned and at a loss when faced with a strange language and a strange army.

The Anmin Army infantrymen were getting more and more impatient as they shouted. Their Angsa language was limited, and seeing the other side standing still, they began to wonder: Are these guys stalling for time? Are they planning some trick?

A squad leader, holding a submachine gun, shouted anxiously: "Sanuander (surrender in Angsa language)! Get down quickly!" His finger was even on the trigger, and he was about to fire.

At this moment, a Chaffee tank arrived, with half a figure visible on the turret. Major Nong Yuanming, commander of the 138th Armored Battalion, held an electric bullhorn in his hand and shouted loudly:

The Anmin Army infantrymen shouted more and more anxiously. A squad leader pointed a submachine gun at the John armored soldiers who were standing there in a daze, and was about to open fire.

At this time, Major Nong Yuanming, commander of the 138th Armored Battalion, finally arrived. Half of his body was exposed above the Chaffee turret, and he shouted with an electric bullhorn in his hand:

"Drop your weapons! Get to the side of the road and don't block the way! The infantry behind us will handle your surrender!"

"I promise you will be treated fairly! We are not devils, we do not abuse prisoners!"

Nong Yuanming is a Chinese born in Southeast Asia and has studied in the White Eagle Country. Although his Angsa dialect is not the noble royal accent and even has a bit of Southeast Asian accent, it is at least clear and fluent. Especially the sentence "We are not devils" made many John people tremble in their hearts.

They swept their gaze across the battlefield. Burning John tanks lay everywhere, the air lingering with the strange smell of burnt protein. John soldiers, riddled with machine gun fire, lay scattered across the road. Some of their bodies were still twitching, while others were completely motionless...

Finally, someone couldn't hold on any longer.

An officer wearing the uniform of a major in the John Army had a depressed look on his face, but still maintained a rigid officer's dignity.

He unhooked the Webley MkVI revolver from his waist, silently threw it to the ground, then raised his hands and shouted:

"I am Major Smedley Archer, Commanding Officer of the 14th Independent Royal Heavy Tank Battalion, 50th Armoured Brigade, Great Britain."

"Dear Major of the Security Army, I request to be treated as an officer worthy of my status."

His tone was a little bit unwilling, but more of a sense of relief.

This scene reminded him of his past in North Afrika.

The same thing happened to the Eighth Army back then. It was defeated by the armored blitzkrieg and suffered a crushing defeat.

However, at that time they were facing the "Desert Fox", but this time, their opponent was the Anmin Army.

To be honest, he was used to losing to the Armored Blitzkrieg.

Nong Yuanming smiled slightly and waved his hand, signaling the infantrymen to step forward and take good care of this "big fish".

"Don't worry, Major Achir." He raised his hand, pressed his palm downward, signaling his men not to be too rude, and continued, "We are not the Japanese devils. We are not engaging in death marches."

Hearing this, Major Archer's expression softened a little.

He knew that if it were the group of fanatical Japanese people in the east, they would probably have been tied up in a row and driven into the concentration camp with bayonets.

Nong Yuanming's mouth corners slightly raised, and he was already calculating the "economic value" of this group of prisoners of war.

What about 'treatment of officers commensurate with their status'? As long as you have money, everything is easy to talk about.

Isn't it reasonable that a cigarette in a prisoner-of-war camp costs ten times the market price?

Don't think it's too expensive. If you don't have money, you can send a telegram back to your home country and ask them to mail it to you. By the way, telegrams are charged by the word.

In Nong Yuanming's opinion, since Achilles was able to become a major in the armored forces at such a young age, his family must be aristocratic. If he didn't squeeze out some money from him to help the Chinese build a new home, wouldn't he be a prisoner in vain?

----

Inside the 50th Armored Brigade headquarters, the air was filled with anxiety and despair.

The staff officers in the tent ran back and forth, shouting anxiously in front of each radio device, constantly adjusting the equipment in front of them, trying to contact any subordinate unit.

"Hello, hello, hello? Can you hear me? 99th Regiment, please reply if you hear me!"

"100th Regiment! 100th Regiment! Please report your situation as soon as possible!"

"Calling Aloha Squadron? Calling Beta Squadron? Any unit, please respond!"

However, all they heard in their headphones was a dull electrical noise, like a dead silent quagmire. No matter how they adjusted the frequency, there was no feedback from the battlefield.

Outside the tent, several specially modified command-type Cromwell tanks belonging to the brigade headquarters were parked there. The antennas on the vehicle bodies were motionless, and the tank hatches were open. No one cared about them.

Communications had been operating normally just a few hours ago, but now the entire 50th Armored Brigade seemed to have suddenly lost its central nervous system and completely lost control of the front line.

The brigade commander, Major General Elvis, had a dark face and paced back and forth, as anxious as an ant on a hot pan.

He had personally given the order to cancel the attack today earlier, and everything was working smoothly on the radio at that time. But now, the entire front line has completely lost contact?

"Sir, not only can we not contact the two armored regiments, we can't even call the squadrons (company level) and detachments (platoon level) under each regiment." (The Johns' armored organization is different from the mainstream)

The chief of staff's voice trembled a little, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.

Elvis slammed his fist on the map table, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart.

His troops would not be silenced collectively. The only explanation is that the radio was jammed!

But how could this be possible? The enemy was just a newly rising army, a group of ignorant yellow monkeys. How could the Anmin Army master such advanced electronic warfare methods?

However, whether he was willing to accept the reality or not, the sound of artillery fire outside was gradually approaching, and the deafening explosions were accompanied by flames. It was obvious that the battle was very fierce, which made him even more uneasy.

Apart from being able to communicate with the 14th Army headquarters in the rear via telephone lines, he could not get any news from the front line.

"Sir!"

At this moment, an engineer officer covered in mud staggered into the tent, his face pale and his lips trembling:

"Some fleeing soldiers just returned in trucks. They said...our...our armored regiment is in a tough fight! They're surrounded by the enemy!"

Elvis' pupils shrank sharply, as if a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

"Damn it!"

He suddenly grabbed the landline phone next to him, the only wired phone that was still working properly, and dialed the 14th Army Headquarters.

"We need air support! Send bombers immediately! Even just one round of bombing can stop the enemy's attack!"

Before, he had no choice but to send the Royal Heavy Tank Battalion to protect the brigade headquarters.

But now the heavy tank battalion has also lost contact, and all the troops seem to be caught in a tough battle. The 50th Armored Brigade is isolated and helpless, and he can only rely on the Air Force.