Wang Yan took this band of routed soldiers and, after just one battle, won their wholehearted admiration. They might not have been utterly devoted to him yet, but they were not far from it.
A considerable number of them were recruits who had barely seen combat. They were nothing like the men under Wang Yan's command, who had spent over a month trekking through Myanmar's jungles and mountains, fighting dozens of battles large and small. To meet their combat objectives through forced marches, everyone among the more than four hundred survivors—except Wang Yan—had worn their feet raw, and every man was wounded.
By now, they barely needed commanding in battle. Tell them where to go and when to attack, and they would carry out the mission well. The instant fighting began, each of them became slippery as eels, constantly moving and seeking cover. Their shooting was accurate, and the web of interlocking fire they formed was naturally well coordinated.
Wherever the Japanese had strong, fierce firepower, they would instinctively concentrate their own fire there. In an instant, their overwhelming barrage pinned down the Japanese troops. Then there were the mortars, booming out precise explosions one after another—truly savage stuff.
When had these routed soldiers ever seen such a fierce unit? After fighting alongside them once, they felt invincible. The Japanese who had chased them all over the place suddenly seemed like nothing much, even downright easy to crush.
Of course, that was a false impression. But as long as they followed Wang's lead, obeyed orders, and followed command, making the enemy easy to crush was not impossible.
There were two reasons for this. First was Wang Yan's top-tier command ability. Second was that Japan had opened up the Pacific Ocean battlefield, marking the beginning of Japan's inability to sustain itself.