Chapter 498: Divine Engine Arrows

Old White Ox: During the New Year holiday, updates may be irregular — things should settle down after the first few days of the first lunar month, right?

…?

"Watch out for the Tartar horse-bows on the left flank! Heads up — Tartar troops are charging on the right flank! Shift one squad of arquebusiers from the left and rear of the wagon fort to the right flank!"

At Wagon Fort No. 9, Battalion Commander Zeng Jiuyi — serving under Qianzong Yang Guodong of the Right Battalion's Left Section, who was defending this fort — bellowed out a rapid string of orders.

The Zeng Jiuyi before them was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, his face fleshy and fierce. Yet clad in an officer's brigandine surcoat with tassets, his gleaming scale armor and arm-guards exposed, he cut a thoroughly imposing figure.

As far back as their days at Shunxiang Fort, Zeng Jiuyi, Shi Datai, and Shen Shiqi had been sworn brothers of life and death. That same year, they had even ganged up to beat Wu Zhengchun together — and endured the military cudgel together for it.

Many years had passed, and each man's fortunes had diverged dramatically. Wu Zhengchun had become a Garrison Commander, Shen Shiqi the commander of the Loyalty Battalion, and Zeng Jiuyi and Shi Datai had become Company Commanders. When talk turned to those old grudges, all they could do was exchange rueful, silent smiles.

After so many years in the army, Zeng Jiuyi had become a thoroughly qualified officer of the Pacification Army. He knew the military regulations by heart and had even mastered a fine hand of standard script. The wagon fort he was defending now was the third small fort from the left in the second line of the First-Class Army, designated Number Nine.

At this moment, war wagons stood on their sides encircling the hillock, forming a hollow square, and Zeng Jiuyi stood atop the slope.

Beside him, a standard-bearer held the Company Commander's banner, while a drummer kept up a steady beat of martial music, ceaselessly bolstering the fighting spirit of the officers and men.

There was also the Provost, whose stern gaze swept over their own troops from time to time. Occasionally, he would bend over his field desk and write with swift brushstrokes, recording the performance — good or bad — of every soldier and officer, noting whether they had slain any enemies, to serve as one basis for future rewards and commendations.

The five guards of the battalion headquarters, along with two Discipline soldiers, all bore thick shields and greatswords, tasked with protecting these officers, as well as the army's standard-bearer and drummer.

Many of their shields were densely studded with arrows. One man's shield had even been pierced clean through by a Tartar javelin. Another's had been smashed to pieces by a hurled iron mace and had to be replaced.

After the initial panic, the Tartar soldiers who had penetrated between the various forts began to steady their nerves. After all, they too were battle-hardened elites. They circled the wagon forts, shooting volley after volley of arrows and occasionally hurling javelins, throwing axes, and other weapons inside.

The First-Class Army troops in each small fort were all veterans of a hundred battles and clad in heavy armor. The Qing cavalry bows posed minimal threat to them. Many had helmets, armor, and arm-guards bristling with who-knew-how-many horn-bow arrows, which they simply couldn't be bothered to acknowledge.

Only a few soldiers — those struck by the large arrows of dismounted Qing troops, or hit by their javelins and iron maces — suffered more serious wounds. These were swiftly carried off by several medics to the tents in the center of the fort for treatment.

In the middle of Wagon Fort No. 9, atop the gentle hillock, several outward-facing war wagons with mantlets formed a protective circle. Inside, two tents had been pitched specifically for treating and resting the wounded. Those wagons also held supplies, ammunition, and other stores.

Standing atop the hillock, Zeng Jiuyi had a clear view of the activity in all directions. Through the spreading smoke all around, everywhere he looked were Tartar cavalrymen, bellowing at the top of their lungs, their expressions a wild mix of emotions.

In front of his wagon fort, two Great General Frankish cannons fired from time to time, sending any Tartar troops bold enough to charge the fort's front fleeing with shrieks of agony. Thus, the Tartar cavalry was thickest on the left, right, and rear flanks — especially the right flank, where several hundred Plain Blue Banner Tartars had dismounted to fight on foot and were charging the war wagons with frenzied roars.

Originally, the wagon fort's left and right flanks were each defended by thirty arquebusiers. Seeing the heavy pressure on the right, Zeng Jiuyi immediately shifted one squad of arquebusiers from the left flank. Spearmen temporarily serving as grenadiers also massed several squads over.

The marksmen within the headquarters also shifted their attention to this side. Three of them used flintlock Rumi muskets, while two others operated a Nine-Headed Bird gun and a Soaring Hawk cannon respectively. Since both the Nine-Headed Bird and the Soaring Hawk required two men to operate, each had an assistant loader.

The ferocity of the Tartar troops on the right flank exceeded Zeng Jiuyi's expectations. After several volleys had killed or wounded dozens of them, and the headquarters marksmen had swiveled the tripod mounts of the Nine-Headed Bird and Soaring Hawk to aim from behind the wagons and fired two shots, the enemy still fought to the death without retreating, charging forward with savage howls.

He immediately transferred another file of arquebusiers each from the wagon fort's left and rear flanks to the right, roaring at the same time: "All marksmen, target their officers!"

The headquarters officer loudly repeated his orders. The morale officer shouted encouragement, boosting the spirits of the troops within the fort. The adjutant at Zeng Jiuyi's side was also tensely analyzing the enemy situation.

"Fire!"

The fire-arm platoon officer commanding the right flank barked the order. Instantly, the fifteen arquebusiers sheltered behind the war wagons pulled their triggers. The thunderous crash of the volley sent another thick cloud of white smoke billowing out, and from outside rose the agonized screams of Tartar soldiers.

Having fired, these arquebusiers didn't pause to observe the results. They immediately passed their empty guns back and took freshly loaded arquebuses from the gunners behind them, firing again. The arquebusiers massed on this flank employed the empty-gun rotation tactic: one rank fired while the two rear ranks passed guns and reloaded, ensuring a continuous stream of fire. The remaining five men served as replacements for casualties.

By now, the Plain Blue Banner Tartars charging the fort, driven by the bellows of Gioro Goko, had closed to within thirty paces, heedless of their losses. They loosed volley after volley of sharp arrows and also hurled javelins and throwing axes. The Qing infantry bows were both accurate and deadly. The arquebusiers in the front rank grunted — many were struck by arrows.

Though they were sheltered behind the war wagons, the mantlets mounted on each wagon, positioned to facilitate shooting, only reached chest height, like a breastwork. The Qing bowmen were numerous and shot with precision. Even with the haze of smoke and unclear targets, and even though the gunners ducked back swiftly after firing, a few inevitably got hit.

However, the Pacification Army's brigandine surcoats offered excellent protection, especially across the chest and abdomen — comparable to the iron armor of the former spearmen. Even when the Qing army's keen arrows had the force to pierce heavy armor plates, most of the arrows that struck the gunners embedded shallowly. They stayed in the fight with light wounds, stubbornly continuing the battle.

Only one gunner was struck full in the face by a javelin. It punched through his armor and out his back, sending him staggering backward to collapse.

Another gunner took a hurtling iron mace square in the chest. Boom! His armor shattered, and the gunner sprayed a great mist of blood, staining the iron mask on his face crimson.

The fort's medics swiftly carried them away for treatment. The gunners behind them silently filled their positions, and the five reserve arquebusiers likewise stepped into these men's places.

Another javelin sailed over the war wagon, hurtling toward the fire-arm platoon officer. A heavy-shield-and-greatsword guard beside him, with sharp eyes and quick hands, slashed the javelin down with one stroke of his blade.

Unexpectedly, out of the smoke, a spinning throwing axe came whirling straight at the platoon officer's head. The officer only had time to sweep his left arm up in a block. A thunderous crack rang out — the plates of his arm-guard shattered. The officer felt a numbing shock run through his left arm; the limb was likely injured.

Cursing under his breath, he waved off a medic who approached and urged him to go have the wound examined, snarling furiously: "Firearms — fire!"

Another wave of gunfire crackled like popping beans. The white smoke of gunpowder hung thick before the war wagons. The heavy arquebuses blasted out pellets one after another at close range. The shields of those Plain Blue Banner Tartars were easily torn open with gaping holes, and behind those shields, bursts of blood mist erupted!

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

Amid the volleys, the Qing troops charging the fort, at distances of a few paces or a dozen-odd paces, were mowed down row after row, shrieking as they fell.

A marksman drew a bead on a Fende Boshoku. Crack! His Rumi musket spat flame, and a mist of blood bloomed from the Fende Boshoku's chest as he staggered backward and collapsed. Boom! A Soaring Hawk cannon belched a great dense burst of flame, and a wave of charging sword-and-shield men went tumbling away just ten paces out, howling in agony.

Boom, boom, boom! Another wave of Ten-Thousand-Man Foes grenades was hurled out, and the thick, acrid smell of gunpowder and sulfur filled the air before and behind the war wagons.

The scene was indescribably bloody. Soaked in gore, the ground ahead seemed to have turned to mire.

The Qing soldiers had gone berserk as well. Despite their horrific casualties, some sword-and-shield men and tiger-spearmen still charged up the hillock with frenzied roars, reaching the very front of several war wagons.

The rate of fire from the arquebuses, it seemed, could not keep pace with the speed of their charge. Several Tartar sword-and-shield men hacked through the chevaux-de-frise in front of the wagons in just a few strokes, desperately trying to shove aside the war wagons standing on their sides. Zeng Jiuyi was somewhat startled. He roared: "Right-flank arquebusiers, fall back! Spearmen, forward!"

With a thunderous battle cry, the dozens of spearmen on the wagon fort's right flank, as the arquebusiers rapidly withdrew, leveled their armor-piercing long awl pikes and swiftly moved to the front. They too were arrayed in several ranks, a dozen-odd men per rank, staggered top to bottom to create an offset formation, with some held as reserves. A spear company officer took over command.

Unlike the arquebusiers, these spearmen, when entering melee, had flipped up the iron masks they normally wore, to broaden their field of vision.

The spearmen had barely finished forming up when several Plain Blue Banner Tartars shoved aside a war wagon and surged inside.

Every one of them bore heavy shields and greatswords or short axes — all lethal close-combat weapons — and their faces wore savage, ferocious expressions. The Ming army's firearms might be formidable, but in close-quarters combat, they were usually no match for them. Soon they would butcher these damned Pacification Army soldiers and vent the fury that had been building up.

The moment the two sides faced each other, every man was grinding his teeth in hatred. On the battlefield, no extraneous thoughts existed — the sole thought was to kill the enemy before one's eyes.

Those who could serve as Qing sword-and-shield men or tiger-spearmen were, at minimum, Death Soldiers or Mounted Armor from the various banners, or even elite Bayara. Steeped in battle, the instant they saw the Ming army's spear formation before them, they immediately knew how to respond.

Greatsword and shield against spear: the first rule is, do not panic. Do not move first yourself. When the spear thrusts, advance with the spear; when the spearhead retracts, halt. When advancing, defend against the spear at every step — no need to defend against the man. Angle the shield to deflect the spear, swing the blade to cut the man. This was also what Qi Jiguang had emphatically stressed.

Though these Qing Tartars had never read Qi Jiguang's military treatises, the principles of sword-and-shield combat were universal. They glared fiercely at the eyes, shoulders, and arms of the Ming soldiers before them, paying no attention to their spearheads — clearly, their sword-and-shield skills were extremely seasoned.

"Thrust!"

The commanding spear company officer bellowed.

"Kill!"

Amid the furious roar, several Plain Blue Banner Tartars had not yet steadied their footing when multiple long spears stabbed viciously at them from left and right.

A burly Mounted Armor wielding a large shield and heavy axe let out a bellowing cry. In that lightning-flash instant, just as the shoulders of the two Pacification Army soldiers opposite him began to move, he had already lunged a great step forward, narrowly slipping past a spear thrust aimed at his throat.

With a heavy thump, his shield deflected another spear stabbing at his legs. His heavy axe was about to come chopping down on a spearman's head.

These Tartar sword-and-shield soldiers were truly formidable — in an instant they had closed inside the reach of the two long spears, and it looked like the spearmen would be dead or wounded in the next moment.

"Squelch!"

A long spear pierced through his throat like a venomous snake, and with a twist and a pull, the Tartar's neck blood gushed out like a fountain. Unbelieving, he collapsed to the ground, convulsing violently.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a Ming spearman in the rear rank, holding a blood-dripping spear tip, withdraw back into position. He had fended off the two Jingbian Army long spears to his front left and right, but he had not guarded against the spear thrust from the second rank's staggered position. Life and death were but an instant — no matter how many regrets he had, he was dead.

The greatest fear of a long spear is overextension. If you miss the enemy and they close in with sword and shield, it becomes a tragedy. Though there are techniques for using a long weapon at short range, most cannot employ them in time.

The Jingbian Army's long spears had this same weakness, so they used the method of staggering the front and rear spear ranks — if the front rank overextended, the second rank could take over. Of course, this required extremely close coordination among the soldiers, because the window of opportunity was only an instant.

In the past, the Shunxiang Army's coordination between left, right, front, and rear had not been tight. By now, they had practiced it to flawless proficiency. Especially the spearmen of these First-Class troops — in battle, their rapport was instinctive. They could fully trust the comrades at their front, rear, left, and right, and entrust their backs to them.

Squelch, squelch — the sound of long spears piercing flesh was incessant. Blood gushed wildly, streaming down the spearheads. In the blink of an eye, every one of these Tartar sword-and-shield soldiers was either dead or wounded. Brave as they were, how could they fend off several spears thrusting simultaneously from left, right, and behind? They did not have three heads and six arms. Amid howls, each fell unwillingly.

Two Tartar soldiers whose internal organs had been pierced, in particular, did not die immediately. They merely rolled frantically on the ground, unable even to cry out in pain, their hands clawing desperately at the earth until their fingernails peeled back.

Watching their agony, the men inside the wagon formation felt only satisfaction, with no guilt over fighting many against few. Why form battle formations? Precisely to make it easy to overwhelm the few with the many! Nor did they have any thought of stepping forward to finish them with a spear or blade — they wanted them to suffer like this until they died in pain!

The Jingbian Army's long spears were also particularly suited for bloodletting. The blood of these dead and wounded Tartar soldiers seemed to flow even more copiously than that of the Tartars shot in front of the war wagons. Their blood gurgled and streamed, seeming to soak the yellow earth on this side of the wagon formation until it was thoroughly red.

In just a few breaths, the Plain Blue Banner sword-and-shield soldiers who had surged into the breach were swept clean. There were still some Tartar soldiers squeezing between the war wagons, trying to pour in, and the front rank of spearmen stepped forward and thrust at them.

These Tartar soldiers had no space to display their martial skills, and by the terrain, the Ming troops were above and they were below — the situation was even more unfavorable for them. Amid the chilling sound of flesh being pierced, one after another let out heart-rending howls, shuddered, and collapsed paralyzed to the ground. The blood at that section of the wagon formation flowed even more.

It was the same even when some Tiger Spear soldiers tried to squeeze in — long, armor-piercing awl spears kept stabbing into their bodies, opening huge bloody holes in them one after another.

No one knew how long it had been. The corpses between these war wagons were already piled layer upon layer, blood gurgling endlessly, and some wounded still howling desperately.

At last, these Plain Blue Banner Tartar soldiers awoke from the brutal fighting. They realized they had been wrong. They had previously believed the Jingbian Army relied only on the advantage of firearms, but now, in this close-quarters melee, they discovered the Jingbian Army was in no way inferior to them — and even surpassed them.

They were deeply terrified. They had not retreated before firearms, yet facing the Jingbian Army's long spears, they no longer had the courage to keep fighting. Screaming, they fled backward.

Watching the warriors of his niru fleeing back howling, Gioro Guoko, who had already advanced to within twenty paces of the war wagons, was stupefied. He roared, "No retreat! Charge again!"

Chiwuti, the niru janggin overseeing the battle alongside him, also bellowed and personally cut down a deserter. Yet the fleeing men paid no heed whatsoever to their orders.

Gioro Guoko was still raging when he heard the crack of firelocks from the Jingbian Army's war wagons again. A wave of fleeing armored soldiers tumbled to the ground. With a thunderous boom, Niru Janggin Chiwuti's head exploded. Alongside him, several armored soldiers were also hit, their faces covered in bloody pockmarks, shrieking miserably as they rolled and howled on the ground.

Immediately after, another wave of iron lumps was hurled over. Several round objects landed right in front of Gioro Guoko, at his feet.

"Ah!"

Gioro Guoko let out a loud cry. Just as he rose to flee — Boom! Boom! Two Myriad-Man Bombs exploded beneath his crotch.

Gioro Guoko was blown to death just like that. He could never have imagined that in the future he would become the Minister of Works of the Qing Empire, and would even rout the forces of Li Zicheng, Zhang Xianzhong, and Ming Governor-General He Tengjiao. But at this moment, he died just like any common soldier.

Those like Gioro Guoko who dismounted to fight on foot were only a minority. Most of the Qing troops rode and shot from horseback. Their scattered horse bows inflicted negligible casualties on the Jingbian Army inside the various wagon formations. Javelins, throwing axes, and the like — with each unit shielded behind war wagons and smoke thick in the air — could also hit only a few.

But their own density was high, and their horses were large targets. Under the seemingly omnipresent firepower striking from all directions, the Qing troops assaulting the formations suffered heavy casualties for a time. The power of Wang Dou's concave formation was beginning to show.

At Wang Dou's central command position, Army Supervisor Zhang Ruoqi, Ningyuan General-in-Chief Wu Sangui, and Divine Machine Battalion Forward Division Vice-Commander Fu Yingchong, who were observing the battle alongside Wang Dou, were already too astonished to speak.

When the Qing cavalry formation had surged forward like a tide, they had been deeply worried. No matter how they looked at it, each small formation the Jingbian Army had deployed seemed extremely fragile, as if every wagon formation would be broken through in a single charge. The result exceeded all their expectations — like boulders in a torrent, every Jingbian Army wagon formation stood utterly unshaken.

Moreover, their all-pervasive firepower strikes had opened everyone's eyes. Accompanied by the roar of cannons and the crack of volley fire, gunpowder smoke billowed thickly among the wagon formations. And within that smoke, the various banner Tartars were thrown into utter chaos. Wang Dou's concave formation left them completely helpless to retaliate.

"Truly an eye-opener!"

Zhang Ruoqi thought to himself, "The Loyal and Brave Count's strategies and tactics are truly inexhaustible!"

At the same time, he was inwardly delighted. Right now, he and Wang Dou were leeches on the same rope — the stronger Wang Dou became, the more military merit he himself would reap in the future. If they could achieve a great victory at Jinzhou, he would possess boundless capital for future promotion. With the situation looking optimistic at this moment, he was naturally overjoyed.

Wu Sangui watched without blinking. The Great Ming's wagon camps deployed on all four sides, forming a square fortress — at most an outer wagon wall and an inner secondary wall — but once breached by Qing cavalry, the result was often total collapse. Perhaps he could learn this formation and promote it within the Ningyuan Army in the future.

"This formation of Wang Dou's..."

On Breast Peak Mountain, Hong Taiji's expression was grave. He stared intently at the Jingbian Army's wagon formations below the mountain, pondering how to break them.

On Loess Ridge, Dorgon was likewise lost in thought, racking his brains for a countermeasure.

At this moment, Ajige was personally leading cavalry to attack the Jingbian Army's cavalry formation. Those remaining behind the army formation were Hooge and Jirgalang.

Seeing the situation ahead, Hooge was stupefied, unable to believe his eyes. Jirgalang nodded, thinking to himself, "This kind of wagon formation Wang Dou has deployed is indeed troublesome. Truly worthy of being the Ming Empire's strongest army! If we cannot devise a way to counter it, in the future, Wang Dou's formations like this will drain the blood of our Great Qing's warriors dry."

Wang Dou was not surprised by this outcome. If the hollow square formations he had deployed could not even withstand the first wave of Qing cavalry assaults, there would be no point in fighting. "The caitiffs often use sharp formations in their tactics — one formation retreats, another comes, each wave heavier than the last." The test for the wagon formations was still to come.

He scanned the Qing army's positions through his telescope. It seemed that soon after their cavalry began assaulting the infantry formations, the cavalry formation showdown between the two sides was about to begin as well. From the look of it, a dark mass of five or six thousand cavalry was pressing forward all at once, intent on smashing through their own cavalry formation with full force.

Their deployment was still light armor on the two wings, with heavy armor and heavy troops concentrated in the center. At the very front were densely packed double-horse death squads. The main forces were the Manchu Plain White Banner, Bordered White Banner, and Plain Blue Banner.

But Wang Dou had his own arrangements. The Ming cavalry at this position consisted of two thousand Jingbian Army cavalry, one thousand of Wu Sangui's elite riders, and two thousand Ningyuan cavalry as the vanguard. Then another one thousand Jingbian Army cavalry, plus one thousand of Wu Sangui's elite household retainers, and one thousand Ningyuan cavalry as the rear force.

His tactic was to use cannon and rocket fire to inflict maximum casualties on the enemy's first wave, then concentrate artillery to cut off their follow-up forces, concentrate superior strength, and devour one portion of them as thoroughly as possible. Wounding ten fingers is not as good as severing one!

He watched their cavalry surge forward like a tide, closing to within two li of their own great cavalry formation. At this moment, the Divine Machine Battalion's twenty-five Divine Might Great General Cannons and the Jingbian Army's seventy Red Barbarian Cannons were arrayed in strict readiness, waiting only for them to enter the two-li range before opening fire.

In front of the great cavalry formation, the Divine Machine Battalion's two hundred rocket carts, thirty large-caliber mortars, and fifty small-caliber mortars were likewise awaiting orders.

Watching the Qing cavalry bearing down like a black cloud, a strange light shot from Wu Sangui's eyes. He abruptly cupped his fists toward Wang Dou and Zhang Ruoqi and said, "Loyal and Brave Count, Supervisor Zhang, this general is resolved to personally lead the cavalry into battle and deal the thieving slaves a crushing blow!"

Wang Dou knew that in this era, military officers took pride in personally charging into the enemy formation. Although he could not possibly go to the front line himself, he was supportive in spirit.

Whatever Wu Sangui's thoughts were at this moment, Wang Dou could only encourage him. He shouted, "Good! This count shall oversee the battle here for General Wu and await tidings of victory!"

Zhang Ruoqi also praised him: "With General Wu's martial valor, why worry that the eastern slaves will not be exterminated?"

Watching Wu Sangui, leading some personal attendants, ride off in a billow of dust toward the cavalry formation's vanguard, Wang Dou shouted, "Pass the order to the infantry formations: Second-Class Army spearmen, advance and form ranks to press the attack!"

The Qing cavalry on the infantry formation side were already in chaos — this was the perfect moment to close in for melee combat. And close-quarters melee would chill the enemy's courage and force them to retreat even more. It would also let the Tartars know that the Jingbian Army was not only deadly with firearms — face to face in close combat, they possessed extraordinary courage as well!

Zhong Diaoyang, the Central Army General standing solemnly nearby, immediately relayed Wang Dou's order.

At this moment, in Zhao Xuan's artillery camp, the observation officers were constantly adjusting their gun sights, measuring and reporting the distance of the surging Qing cavalry. Watching them charge past the two-li mark in an instant, Wang Dou shouted, "Open fire!"

"Open fire!"

Zhao Xuan and Fu Yingchong beside him roared.

"Open fire!"

The officers of the artillery camp echoed the bellowed command one after another.

"Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!"

"Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!"

"Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!"

"Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!"

On the hill ridge, the Divine Machine Battalion's twenty-five Great Divine Might General cannons and the Border Pacification Army's thirty-three six-pounder cannons fired in sequence. There was no wind at the moment, and they needed to fire rapidly, so every cannon used priming powder directly on the vent. Amid the thunderous roar, flames burst from each cannon's vent, and muzzle after muzzle spewed thick, dense clouds of fire smoke.

Like ceaseless thunderclaps, even the Ming cavalrymen and horses arrayed before the cannon formation stirred in waves of agitation. Counting them up, there were fifty-eight cannons behind the cavalry formation firing two li or more. Just these alone, firing five-jin shot or heavier, took a long time to complete a single volley.

There were also nearly a hundred mortars in front of the cavalry formation. Whether the large-caliber mortars firing two li or the small-caliber mortars firing over one li, they all opened fire as well. They did not need to hit the enemy — they only needed to form a smoke screen. When the Qing troops and horses charged over, merely inhaling the dense smoke would inflict enormous harm upon them.

With so many cannons firing, the deafening roar in everyone's ears seemed to go on and on without end.

Cannonballs shrieked one after another. Amid the densely packed Qing cavalry, men and horses were constantly torn open in bursts of bloody mist, and the pitiful cries of men and horses rang out in an unbroken chain.

To charge a formation, one must keep ranks tight — this principle was not lost on the veteran Qing cavalry. Though they could not ride man against man, horse against horse, knee touching knee, the density of men and horses in their charging formation was still extremely high.

Every cannonball that struck into their formation went crack-crack-crack. Even a glancing touch from a cannonball meant screaming men, shrieking horses, and flesh and blood flying through the air.

Especially the poison shells and lime shells fired by the Divine Machine Battalion — they exploded continuously among the men and horses, sometimes bursting right above their heads.

Wave after wave of acrid, choking smoke spread out, sending the Qing soldiers who inhaled it into fits of coughing. Many were still charging, but black blood was already streaming from their noses. The horses, in particular, upon inhaling it, neighed wildly and bolted in chaos.

When some of the lime shells exploded, the stinging white mist of lime spread, throwing the Qing cavalry charging into the fog into utter disarray.

"Incoming artillery!"

The roar of the cannons never ceased. Before each cannon, acrid powder smoke already hung thick, white fumes rolling. And not only the Divine Machine Battalion's gunners, but the Border Pacification Army's gunners as well were urgently and rapidly loading ammunition, the constant hiss of steam as they swabbed the cannon barrels clearly audible.

In the midst of this frantic activity, Fu Yingchong glanced at the Border Pacification Army's cannon formation. Good heavens — their cannons firing five-jin shot could reach over two li, and they fired both fast and accurately. Their cannons could even fire several rounds before needing to cool down.

When the Qing army entered two-li range, their smaller cannons firing three-jin shot opened fire too, and could actually reach nearly two li — truly an eye-popping surprise.

With both sides engaged in an artillery duel, the disparity was starkly evident: the Divine Machine Battalion's gunners were far inferior to the Border Pacification Army's gunners.

Through his spyglass, Wang Dou could see that under the sustained bombardment of nearly two hundred cannons of various sizes on their side, the Qing cavalry were suffering grievous casualties. In particular, the ceaseless volleys of poison smoke shells and lime shells had thrown their formation into chaos; their originally tight ranks were now visibly thinned and disordered.

Yet they still pressed on with their charge. The artillery fire alone was not enough to halt their advance. Urging their horses on desperately, they soon charged within one li.

At that very moment, countless trails of fire and smoke rose into the air, accompanied by an unending hissing sound. What seemed like a sky-covering swarm of rockets shrieked as they soared into the sky — it was the Divine Machine Battalion's rocket carts in front of the hill mortars opening fire.

The Divine Machine Battalion's three-layer tactics were ingrained in their bones. When firing rockets, they likewise arranged the rocket carts in three rows, staggered and offset from one another, so that the front row could withdraw after firing. Now the first row of Divine Machine rocket carts launched. From the arrow windows of seventy tall war carts, flames blazed like sunset clouds, and what seemed an endless cascade of fireworks shot forth. So many rockets hurtled skyward in rapid succession that the very sky darkened.