"Drop your weapons, stand up on your own, don't think about running, my bullets don't have eyes."
Miao Lun shouted, his eyes wary as he watched the Indian soldiers. There were too many of them, if they really tried to run, Miao Lun couldn't kill them all, at least half would get away.
But the result astonished Miao Lun. On hearing this, the Indian soldiers didn't hesitate, they directly dropped all their weapons.
Rifles, rocket launchers, anti-tank missiles, heavy machine guns, anti-material sniper rifles...
The abundance of weapons showed that the Indian soldiers weren't without the means to fight back, but they decisively chose to surrender.
One by one, the Indian soldiers dropped their weapons, squatted on the ground with their hands on their heads, showing no intent to resist at all.
Not sure who the smart ass was that suddenly shouted, but the Indian soldiers on the ground began to count off voluntarily.
"1, 2, 3... 341, reporting to the officer, we have 441 prisoners, awaiting orders."
The Indian soldier who started the count stood up, reporting obsequiously with a fawning face.
Miao Lun's mouth twitched slightly as he looked at the Indian prisoners, lined up in front of him as if he were their commanding officer.
Miao Lun had an urge to rant, he hadn't expected this operation to be so easy, like a joke.
Clearly, before the airdrop, Miao Lun had been worried that he would be surrounded and would need to use the Silliguri Corridor's environment to wage guerrilla warfare. The Indian soldiers' performance dropped his jaw.
Although India has its own national conditions, this phenomenon of immediate surrender was too much, it was even faster than those Chan Country drug dealers and warlord soldiers whom Miao Lun had previously subdued, shattering Miao Lun's worldview. This was, after all, India's regular army.
Miao Lun looked at the henchman who came up to speak, speaking in English. India used to be a colony of the Great British Empire, English is widely spoken in India, many Indians can speak it.
"Jawaharal, my name is Jawaharal."
Jawaharal stood up straight, loudly stating his name.
"You, where is the nearest camp?"
Miao Lun's communication equipment was broken by a bullet during the airdrop, he had no idea where he had landed.
"It's five kilometers away, sir, I'm willing to lead the way, the direction is here, the camp also has a few tanks and armored vehicles, and the number of soldiers is roughly..."
Jawaharal hurriedly said, also thoughtfully expressing his willingness to act as a guide, revealing the details of the camp.
Miao Lun's expression was skeptical, this guy agreed too quickly, could he be leading him into a trap?
But after asking a few others and finding their answers roughly the same, he believed they had genuinely surrendered.
"You're responsible for leading the way and managing these prisoners, if there's any trouble, I'll shoot you."
With one order, Miao Lun got Jawaharal nodding and bowing in agreement. Jawaharal turned around and changed his tone towards his compatriots.
"What are you still standing there for!? Didn't you hear the officer!? Line up right now, anyone who dares to run, I'll shoot them first."
Jawaharal slapped a few dazed Indian soldiers and roped in his friends from the army as assistants. Soon, the somewhat disorganized group was neatly arranged.
Facing Jawaharal's bullying, these Indian soldiers were extraordinarily compliant, which astonished Miao Lun.
Involuntarily, Miao Lun thought of the ingrained hierarchical view in India.
Though India officially abolished the caste system, in reality, the caste system still prevailed and was a rule everyone had to follow. Social mobility was like stagnant water, lower castes could never be on equal footing with higher castes.
India was so easily ruled by the Great British Empire, becoming the jewel in their crown, colonized for two hundred years, and even not feeling resentment but rather gratitude, longing for them, rooted in this caste view.
For the common Indian, the British were high caste, ruling over them was natural, low caste should serve as beasts of burden for life.
These Indian soldiers now looked at Miao Lun with eyes that held not only fear but also reverence.
Who knows if Miao Lun had triggered some innate servility in these soldiers, subconsciously equating Miao Lun's image with past British soldiers, making them naturally feel inferior, weak, needing to serve and be loyal.
Miao Lun advanced with this group of prisoners, his mission was the strategic Silliguri Corridor, and with these prisoners, the subsequent tasks would be much easier.
Over an hour later, Miao Lun reached their camp with the dragging prisoners, it was a military camp with several hundred stationed soldiers, including several tanks and armored vehicles.
But when Miao Lun appeared with the prisoners, killing a dozen to establish authority, and with the renowned reputation of the Genetic Warriors, the Indian soldiers in the camp chose to lay down their arms and surrender to Miao Lun, including the armored vehicle and tank crews who climbed out without firing a shot.
Using the camp's communication equipment, Miao Lun finally contacted other Steel Camp Genetic Warriors.
Upon contact, he learned that the battle in the Silliguri Corridor was nearly over.
Each Genetic Warrior had parachuted in and faced a situation similar to Miao Lun's.
The Genetic Warriors launched a slaughter against the Indian soldiers, and the initially excited Indian soldiers who intended to shoot the paratroopers suddenly realized they were the prey and scattered immediately.
When they found that fleeing also carried the risk of death, the Indian soldiers began to surrender to the Genetic Warriors.
Throughout the Silliguri Corridor, more than 10,000 Indian soldiers were captured, while the death toll among Indian soldiers, not including those bombed by the air force, was a mere 500.
In other words, with a casualty rate of only 1 in 20, the Indian soldiers had been utterly defeated.