Inside the battle of Bawlakhe, where dreams of freedom fuel the fighting spirit of the Karenni resistance

The unit of Karenni resistance fighters edged into position on the outskirts of Bawlakhe, in eastern Myanmar’s Karenni State. A strategically vital town in the heart of state, its capture could mark the beginning of a sweeping chain reaction: the first domino to fall in a broader push toward full liberation. The men were just hours away from igniting the fight, from unleashing the opening salvo on a fortified outpost. There’s tension in the air, sharp and electric. But when they speak, it’s not fear that carries in their voices. There is a clear air of resolve in their words. Steeled by months of preparation and trust in their commanders, they made one thing clear: No matter what lies ahead, they will not retreat. Khun Hsar’s radio cracked through the stillness of the hills, shattering the quiet with urgency. “We’re in position, all eyes on the Sit-Tat,” said a calm voice that cut in through the static, referring to Myanmar’s military. The call came from the forward line, where resistance fighters had taken up positions on elevated ground, staring down at the junta’s outpost in the valley below. It was just after dawn on May 21 when the first shots of the battle for Bawlakhe rang out. Around 5am, as the morning mist still clung to the jungle canopy, resistance forces launched a coordinated assault that would mark the beginning of one of their most ambitious offensives yet. From hidden ridgelines above, the first wave came from the sky. Drones buzzing low, dropping payloads onto the military base nestled just a few kilometres from the town centre. Some struck their targets. Others were knocked out mid-air by a powerful drone-jamming system situated deep within the outpost. But the distraction had done its job. Moments later, gunfire erupted from both the front and rear of the base. Two columns of resistance fighters closed in, one group pushing up the main road in a frontal assault, the other having silently climbed the mountain in the night to hit the enemy from behind. The soldiers of the State Administration Council (SAC), as the regime calls itself, were caught in a deadly vice. Heavy machine guns rattled in rhythmic bursts, RPGs shrieked through the air and slammed into bunkers. Smoke rose in thick columns as the forest echoed with the crack of rifles and the low thud of explosions. The resistance fighters, many barely in their 20s, moved in coordinated waves, using tree cover and boulders for protection as they laid down fire. Khun Hsar, one of the top commanders of the Karenni Nationalities Defence Force (KNDF), told me that hundreds of Karenni fighters from a coalition of forces had descended on the Bawlakhe area for the offensive. The anti-junta coalition consisted of the KNDF, the Karenni Army, the Karenni National People's Liberation Front (KNPLF), and People's Defence Force (PDF) units under the command of the National Unity Government. It was a concerted effort to liberate the town from the junta’s brutal grip, and the men and women there that day knew the stakes were high. “If we fear them today, then we may fear them forever,” Khun Hsar told me. “We must fight for victory. We must win.” His main concern that morning was what awaited his troops, he said. “They are always on my mind, and we do our best to ensure the least amount of casualties as possible.” Despite their efforts, the Karenni resistance forces have taken many losses over four years of fighting, especially during Operation 1111, a major offensive launched in November 2023. But the resistance remains resolute. Every life taken strengthens their resolve. Fuelled by grief and purpose, they’re more determined than ever to push forward, bringing the fight closer to the junta’s doorstep. Resistance fighters repeatedly told me that their main aim is to drive out the military, dismantle the SAC, and reclaim their future. For Khun Hsar, it was just a matter of time before all of the military forces are pushed out of their lands. “Everything will fall into place very quickly once we take Bawlakhe,” he said. “We believe that soon we will take back our lands.” A KNDF soldier stands next to an anti-aircraft machine gun mounted on a truck (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now) A generational struggle In a small convoy of Toyota trucks we moved further towards Bawlakhe. Hours later I was embedded with the Free Burma Rangers, a non-profit that offers medical support to those fighting on the frontline. Once the outpost falls, they told me, the remaining resistance forces will be able to push even further towards the main town. Although the resistance fighters were slamming the outpost with everything they had, decimating the junta troops stationed there, they knew that soon they would be the ones on the receiving end of the slaughter. The airstrikes were on their way. Then came the sound of the first fighter jet cutting across the sky. The airstrikes hit the frontline from all angles. At least four jets were dispatched at the same time, conducting sorties and machine gun strafing before unleashing their explosive payloads. By the end of the skirmish, six resistance fighters were dead, and 25 injured. Over a dozen military troops were killed. Just a day earlier, I spoke with General Bo Kreh Mue of the Karenni Army—one of the most respected and well-known commanders in the state. Before rising to the rank of general, he earned the nickname “the ambush king” for his daring frontline tactics. In his 30s, he once led a surprise assault on a Myanmar military outpost with just seven men, breaking his leg in the process. Now in a senior leadership position, he focuses on mentoring the next generation of fighters, helping them navigate the complexities of this evolving war. General Bo Kreh Mue of the Karenni Army said that the new generation of fighters are more effective than ever, attributing their success to a deep sense of purpose (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now) “The military thought we were weak, they thought we would just let them get away with their coup. But we immediately decided to take action, to start fighting,” he told me. “We have not forgotten what they have done to us.” Kreh Mue and other commanders told me that transportation, resources, and diplomatic engagement with Thailand are absolutely crucial—not just for Bawlakhe, but also for Hpasawng and Hpruso, two other key towns in the eastern part of the state. They believe that if they can secure Bawlakhe, the rest of Karenni will come under their control quickly. They feel very prepared for this attack, they said, noting that they have plenty of strong new soldiers. Now, it all depends on maintaining momentum. According to Kreh Mue, the younger generation joining the revolution is fundamentally different from those who came before. Unlike in the past, they are deeply motivated, driven by a strong sense of purpose, and more willing to take up arms in pursuit of change. He described them as courageous and full of determination, possessing both discipline and a belief in the possibility of a better future. He added that while these new fighters are capable and resilient, the experience of older comrades remains crucial. That’s why he is actively supporting them in the fight for Bawlakhe: passing on knowledge about ambush tactics and offensive strategies to help them sharpen their combat skills. He also noted a stark contrast between resistance fighters and the junta’s soldiers, saying the latter are often conscripts who have been coerced into battle. “We fight for freedom and justice,” he said. “The military troops serve only the oppressive rule of Min Aung Hlaing.” He also had a clear message for those in the West who could potentially help to bring about change. “We are fighting for our people to be free,” he said. “And we want to ask the world to support the resistance. China and Russia are helping the Myanmar military, so we hope that those in the West will choose to help us and support our struggle.” ‘We want justice’ Again, the sound of a fighter jet roared overhead, a menacing hum that felt like it never left the air. I had moved to a casualty collection point—known among fighters as a CCP—hidden about two kilometres from the front line. The hidden area, swallowed in thick green cover and some concrete and earth, gave some protection while the medics worked. Inside, the atmosphere was frantic but focused. Blood pooled beneath the beds, soaking onto the floor. The stench of iron and sweat filled the air. One man screamed out the name of his wounded comrade, standing over him with pain in his eyes, his voice cracking: “Stay awake! Don’t close your eyes, don’t go to sleep!” A young soldier thrashed on a stretcher, his shin split open from a piece of fragment, his face wincing in pain. Another froze as shrapnel was delicately pulled from his chest. IV bags hung from anything they could be tied to. The steady drip of fluid into broken bodies marked time in a place where seconds felt like hours. Then came the rumble of another vehicle. Tires kicked up red dust as a truck skidded to a stop outside. Instantly, heads turned as they realised another patient had arrived. A group of men sprinted to the tailgate, pulling down a limp figure and rushing him down the narrow dirt path into the CCP. Through it all, Yo Yo and Bu Boo moved with startling calm. The two young Karenni medics—famous among their comrades not just for their skill, but also for their wartime romance—were a study in composure. Calculated, quiet, and unemotional, they are among the most senior medics working near or on the frontline, in charge of leading various medical teams across the state. Bu Boo leaned into a chest wound, suturing under a headlamp, while Yo Yo pressed a gauze into a man’s abdomen with a steady rhythm. Their assistants scrambled to keep up, handing them surgical tools, adjusting IV drips, and wiping away blood with cloths that turned crimson within seconds. “First of all, I was worried about my medics team, including Yo Yo and all the brothers fighting at the outposts,” Bu Boo told me. “As you know, we’ve been doing this job for a long time, so we need to stay calm in any situation—because if we panic, the rest of the medics will become unsettled too,” he said. “But you know, as human beings, we’re also afraid of fighter jets, Y-12s, and the sound of 120mm shells. When the jets fly over our heads, we lie low for a while—and then get back up to save our brothers’ lives.” A KNDF resistance fighter is wounded during an offensive in Bawlakhe (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now) Their calm said everything. While the rest of the room pulsed with panic, Yo Yo and Bu Boo had long since made peace with the horror. They were disciplined, working under intense conditions with the knowledge that that hesitation could mean another death. And so they moved, precise, relentless, tending to one wounded body at a time and saving hundreds of lives over the last four years. Troops told me that the Karenni forces successfully seized the junta outpost, capturing artillery rounds, drones, machine guns, and even an anti-drone jammer vehicle and SAC car. But it had come at a significant cost, and not just in terms of combat casualties. The terrain on the frontline was brutal, with fighters climbing mountains to reach the target. Poor conditions led to 30 comrades falling ill from expired rations, suffering from nausea and difficulty breathing. Medical care was made harder by rain, intense heat, and the challenge of transporting the severely ill across rivers to jungle hospitals. To make matters more difficult, during the operation, Yo Yo and Bu Boo both tested positive for malaria, suffering from severe headaches, body aches, and high fever. However, the situation in Bawlakhe was now under control, said Bu Boo, with the junta troops trapped there and essentially neutralised. “We’ve surrounded them in the town,” he said. “Their only way to get food or supplies is by air—they’re using Y12 aircraft to airdrop everything in. We’ve cut off all supply routes and control the roads surrounding the town.” As the initial push started to come to an end, a KNDF medic named William told me that the operation went well for the first hour, with the resistance pushing some 100 troops from the military outpost into flight. They were caught totally off guard, he said. “We came from the mountains, attacking from higher ground,” William told me. “The enemy didn’t see us coming. We surrounded them first, then opened fire.” But then the junta troops scrambled up a hill and into a large concrete bunker partly built into the hillside. The location was almost impossible to reach without taking massive risks, and the military could pick off resistance troops with their snipers from inside or just outside of the bunker. Once the military established their location, everything changed. Mortar shelling started ringing out from every direction. And within an hour, four Myanmar military fighter jets were dispatched to carry out bombings and machine gun strafing. “The bombs from the planes were missing us by just 40-50 metres,” William said. “I’m a medic with the KNDF. And I took shrapnel to my hand, so I couldn’t do as much as I should have. I could have helped more people, but I was injured. That weighs on me. The worst part is knowing some of their troops are still there, and we couldn’t push all the way through. That stays with me. It feels terrible.” Karenni resistance combat medic, known only as William, said the operation to secure and surround Bawlakhe was a success—though it cost the lives of six fighters (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now) “I want the international community to know that we want justice,” William said. “The world needs to see what’s happening here. The military is supposed to protect civilians, but instead, it’s attacking and killing them.” Days later, word got to me that the resistance had successfully cleared out the bunker, sending about 100 junta troops fleeing for their lives into the forest areas en route to the main town. The resistance have taken up various positions all around the town, effectively cutting off the junta’s ability to operate. The Karenni resistance also destroyed small bridges that led to the town, cutting off military supplies, and also making it difficult for the junta troops to flee. A resistance fighter stands on a hilltop overlooking a Myanmar military base, where he and his unit lay hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now) Returning with ammo After the initial success at the outpost, the anti-junta forces set their sights on the last remaining village connecting the outpost to the town—Yay Ni Pouk. But before they could move forward, they were forced to pause. Ammunition was running low, and they needed fresh supplies brought to the front to keep up the momentum. In the dead of night, a silent Karenni commander drove truckloads of ammunition toward the front lines. The commander, who is anonymous for security reasons, hauled the shipment for days. Sleepless but undeterred, he pushed deeper toward Bawlakhe to make the delivery. “This will change everything on the front,” he told me. While they have no shortage of fighters or technology, it’s the basic problem of ammunition, and the sheer logistical challenge of moving it into Karenni State, that has been slowing them down. But now, that gap is closing. With this latest resupply, their fighters could apply even more pressure, no longer needing to conserve each round. Again and again, I heard the same message on and off the frontlines: Even though the SAC has planes and artillery, the Karenni resistance has something stronger: a purpose, a spirit, and a belief in what they’re fighting for. And that, they believe, is what’s carried them this far. Once the commander arrived at the front, the fighters quickly moved into position to launch the second phase of their operation, taking Yay Ni Pouk. Within hours, they made significant advances against junta forces, pushing steadily through the area. On the frontline with the Karreni resistance I saw that the platoon leaders remained calm and focused, giving clear orders on where their men should position themselves and how to close in. As they crept forward, the distinct boom of artillery echoed from the town. “Get down, take cover!” a commander shouted. We dove under a small concrete bridge as shelling landed in heavy, rhythmic thuds somewhere in the distance. Caked in dirt and mud, he brushed himself off and kept moving. The offensive on Bawlakhe is still ongoing. It’s unclear when the Karenni resistance will retake the town, but what is certain is the unwavering determination of the men and women fighting for it. They are not backing down. Not until their land is free. A KNDF fighter shares a laugh with his comrades moments before launching an assault on a Myanmar military outpost (Photo: Caleb Quinley / Myanmar Now)

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