Chapter 479

Inside the Ming army's position, Hong Chengchou lowered his telescope and said to Yang Guozhu and Li Fuming, "Generals, begin the assault on the hill!"

Both great generals cupped their fists and roared in acknowledgment: "Your subordinate officers accept the order!"

Seeing Yang Guozhu wheel his horse to leave, Wang Dou called him back and said with solemn emphasis, "Commander Yang, be careful in all things!"

Yang Guozhu nodded heavily, and together with Li Fuming, spurred his horse and galloped back to his own Xuanfu Army formation.

He passed the order: "Form dispersed squads, with a distance of one zhang and eight chi between each squad!"

The sound of bugles rose, and Yang Guozhu's hill-assault troops slowly extended toward the front and rear flanks, making the gaps between each soldier and each squad within the formation even sparser.

Looking over at Li Fuming's side, it was the same.

Yang Guozhu drew a deep breath and shouted the order: "Sound the horns and advance!"

"Woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo!"

The horns of Yang Guozhu's central army blared, and a tide of men and horses slowly surged out from the great Ming formation; Li Fuming's command likewise sounded their horns and marched. One on the left, one on the right, they attacked different positions on Huangtuling. Yang Guozhu's army's main assault targeted the Qing troops at the Niangniang Temple tower section.

Watching them surge out of the battle formation, all the Ming officers and soldiers who remained in place stared at them, and suddenly a tidal wave of shouting erupted from the Ming army: "Brothers, go for it!"

"Brothers, show those Tatars what we're made of!"

"Brothers of Xuanzhen and Shanxi Zhen, kill more Tatars!"

From the First Squad, Ding Platoon, Yi Company, Rear Battalion of the Right Camp of the Jingbian Army, Zhao Rongcheng bellowed: "Brothers of Xuanzhen, go for it, make the Tatars look bad!"

Amid a heaven-shaking roar of shouts, the great armies of the two garrisons emerged from the grand formation, fierce and high-spirited. Heads held high, they advanced with resolute steps, pressing toward the Qing army's position.

Accompanying the central army positions of the two garrisons were also large quantities of hill-assault equipment, as well as four wagon camps. These had been handpicked from Liaodong Garrison and the various garrisons, and contained several hundred large and small Frankish cannons, hundred-shot guns, and light portable pieces like the Barbarian-Destroyer Cannon. They would provide fire support for Yang Guozhu's two divisions when they closed in on the stockade walls.

The great army advanced in the direction of Huangtuling, wave after wave of men and horses, along with countless pieces of equipment and war wagons moving forward. All along the way, the hills rolled and undulated, the ground mostly hard, dry yellow earth, cracked and split by the sun, with only the occasional patch of fine, shallow thatch grass visible.

Taking the Qing army's artillery into account, the hill-assault force was shielded layer by layer by war wagons. The frontmost wagons had their mantlets covered with thick cotton quilts, some even wrapped in oxhide or iron sheeting. The wagons further back were also wrapped as thickly as possible with bedding.

Looking down from Huangtuling, one could clearly see that, following the rising and falling terrain, the Ming army's red armor and banners surged toward their own side, wave upon wave.

On the eastern ridge tower, Dorgon's eyes shot out a cold gleam. The Ming army had finally come.

As if by prior agreement, the Qing generals on the tower all moved to the nearby artillery position. Looking at their own rows of dark, heavy cannons, then looking at the great Ming formation pressing up the hill below, every man's face showed a cruel smile.

Shi Tingzhu laughed wildly: "At last we can give those Ming dogs a show!"

Dorgon looked with satisfaction at the massive artillery position established here. The thirty heavy cannons all fired shot of ten jin and above. Moreover, nearly every cannon could fire three to four li; once the Ming army attacked, they could inflict severe casualties upon them.

At this moment, the artillery position was filled with gunners from the Qing army's Ujen Cooha camp; many of the gunners were even Portuguese.

Back when Kong Youde captured Dengzhou, that place had been the Ming army's base for manufacturing new-style cannons and training artillerymen. There were nearly a hundred Portuguese and other foreign cannon masters and craftsmen, as well as large numbers of trained gunners, all of whom fell into the rebel army's hands. Therefore, in terms of artillery and gunnery skill, the Qing army was not lacking; in fact, it was extremely formidable.

Although the nominal commander of the Ujen Cooha artillery camp was Kong Youde, and day-to-day matters were handled by Kong Youde's subordinate generals Cao Shaozhong, Liu Chengzu, and others, the actual command of artillery combat was still in the hands of the Frankish officers like Eduardo and the Frankish soldiers captured along with them.

Subconsciously, everyone in the Qing state still felt it was more appropriate for pure Franks to command artillery combat; after all, the Ming army's gunners had mostly been trained by them in the past.

Their artillery camp likewise possessed telescopes and used instruments such as quadrants and sighting rules. Some of the red-barbarian cannons on the middle ridge were even pieces produced by the Bocarro cannon foundry back in the day, their barrels bearing the shield and wind-sail crest.

The dense, dark mass of cannons pointed straight at the great Ming formation below the hill, while the ox teams that pulled the cannons were concentrated behind the ridge, where the Qing army's encampments also clustered thickly.

Gazing at these heavy cannons, the commander of the Korean army, Right State Councilor of the State Council Kim Ja-jeom, had a look of terror flash through his eyes. Seeing his expression, Dorgon was very pleased. He summoned the artillery camp commander Eduardo and asked, "Ai-de Jia-la, can our Great Qing's cannons inflict maximum casualties on the Ming army?"

When facing others, Eduardo always maintained a refined and amiable expression; whether his attire or the mustache at his lips and the hair at his temples, everything was groomed impeccably, without a single hair out of place. As he put it, his ancestors were nobility; how could he lack the image and bearing of a nobleman?

Toward the appellation "Ai-de," Eduardo inwardly felt revulsion. His own noble and richly meaningful name had become a joke in the mouths of these Orientals. On the surface, however, he still wore a courteous and polite demeanor, as if he did not mind in the slightest.

Dorgon used Chinese. Eduardo had spent many years in Macau and was quite keen on Chinese affairs; he had naturally long since mastered the local language.

He gave a slight bow and said, "Esteemed Excellency, the cannons of the artillery camp were sighted in long ago at one thousand five hundred yards—no, at three li. Markers were placed every twenty paces thereafter. Especially in this stretch of just over two li, as long as the Ming army advances, whether the cannons on the main ridge or those on the middle ridge, they can deliver overlapping, layered bombardments. Their own cannons are far beyond four li away, and their light cannons cannot reach us. Their infantry has no ability to fight back. Under our cannon fire, they will certainly suffer severe casualties, dealing a heavy blow to their morale. The closer the Ming army gets, the greater their losses will be."

Seeing Dorgon's pleased expression, Eduardo added cautiously, "Of course, the terrain below the hill also has disadvantages for us, namely the many hills and ridges. If their formations are masked behind hills, due to the slope, our camp's cannons will pose less of a threat to them. If their formations crest the hills, ricochets cannot spread, and the threat is likewise small. Only when they are exposed on flat, open ground is the time when our cannons can exert their maximum power, when a single shot might even cause a dozen or more casualties!"

Dorgon said, "I have also considered this point. However, the greater part of their formation is exposed right under the nose of our artillery camp, is it not?"

Eduardo bowed: "Esteemed Excellency, your wisdom fills me with profound admiration!"

Dorgon laughed heartily: "Ai-de Jia-la, serve our Great Qing well. In the days to come, when our Great Qing enters and rules the Central Plains, if you render great merit, perhaps being enfeoffed as Duke or even Prince will not be a difficult matter."

Eduardo inwardly sneered: "Enter and rule the Central Plains. Is it really that easy to enter? Defeat these Ming men before us first, then talk."

To him, however, whether Ming men or Qing men, they were all heathens, souls of evil. The more who died, the better.

At the same time, his heart thumped with sudden excitement. His ancestor had been but a baron. If in his own generation he could truly be enfeoffed as Duke or Prince... just how high a rank of nobility would that be, when he calculated it?

Although it was only a title among the Tartars, the West had always been curious about the East and did not much care about the distinction between Han people and Tartars. Take the Yuan dynasty of old, for instance—was it not also ruled by Tartars? Look at how Marco Polo had boasted. Perhaps one day, he himself would become a legend, and upon returning to Europe, become the object of pursuit by countless noblewomen and maidens.

He bowed deeply to Dorgon: "Thank you for your auspicious words, my noble Excellency. I shall certainly serve this empire loyally."

The Qing artillery position closely watched the approach of the great Ming formation, and Eduardo also nervously threw himself into service for the Qing state.

Telescope in hand, he observed the various artillery markers below the hill, his mouth continuously reporting the Ming army's distance data. Finally, the Ming army's front line of war wagons passed a series of piled stones, where markers had been sprinkled with lime. They had entered three li.

Watching all the gunners standing by in full readiness, Eduardo drew a deep breath and bellowed in strange-accented Chinese: "Ming army distance one thousand paces—fire!"

The Qing army position likewise used bugles; the shrill sound of swan-voiced horns blew. Immediately, at the thirty heavy cannons in the Qing position, gunners stepped forward one by one, using long linstocks to ignite the fuse of each great cannon. The fuses hissed and sputtered with sparks, some burning fast, some burning slow.

At last...

The thunderous roar of cannons on Huangtuling was unceasing; great billows of dense white smoke rose, and one after another, cannonballs screamed toward the Ming army's position.

Booming sounds rang out continuously as round after round of shot slammed into the hard earth, then bounced up forcefully, hurtling madly forward.

Boom!

A Ming army war wagon was struck squarely by a Qing cannonball. The twelve-jin shot smashed heavily into the mantlet at the front of the wagon. Even though the mantlet was covered with thick cotton quilts, it was instantly smashed to splinters; the quilts burst into flying cotton fluff, and the mantlet and shield boards made of hardwood became countless sharp, hurtling wooden spikes.

Several civilian laborers pushing the wagon tumbled to the ground, howling. Blood streamed from them; clutching their heads and faces full of sharp splinters, they wished for death, regretting that they had coveted the reward silver and come to push these damned war wagons.

Further back, several soldiers following behind—new army troops of Yang Guozhu carrying matchlock guns—were also hit, either struck by the sharp wooden spikes or hit by shattered chunks of wood. They wore cotton armor inlaid with iron plates and were slightly farther from the wagon; if they were lucky and were not hit in the head or face, the wooden spikes did not penetrate deeply into their bodies, but the pain still made cold sweat pour from their entire bodies.

Only one soldier was struck in the lower abdomen by a long, thick wooden spike that drove deep into his body. Added to that, the blood of those civilian laborers had splashed all over him, making him look as though he had been soaked in a pool of gore.

He was in so much pain that his whole body went numb; he curled up on the ground, convulsing violently.

Cannonball after cannonball screamed through the air. Because the Ming army's formation was arrayed sparsely, and also because of the undulating terrain, many of the Qing cannonballs missed or found it difficult to bounce. Still, some soldiers were clipped by cannonballs that bounced and tumbled wildly, instantly losing hands or feet.

One ten-jin cannonball in particular happened to strike the front ranks of the marching pikemen in a company of Yang Guozhu's new army camp.

The ground there was hard and flat. The cannonball ricocheted two meters in front of this file of soldiers, then, under the terrified gaze of the leading squad leader, bounced up forcefully and hurtled straight toward his body.

The shell seemed slow but was actually fast. The armor squad leader instinctively tried to dodge, but the shell had already pierced through his chest, carrying dripping fresh blood. Amid a crackling burst of shattering bone, it knocked down several soldiers behind him.

Even so, the shell's momentum was not yet spent. After bowling over the soldiers of this armor squad, it bounced and skipped into the rear armor ranks, where another round of snapping legs and breaking bones rang out, brutally smashing through the leg bones of several soldiers...

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