Chapter 499: Courage

Old White Ox: Happy Spring Festival, brothers.

……

Gunpowder smoke still hung thickly between the war-wagon squares. The armored soldiers of the various banners, thrown into utter chaos by the all-directions firepower of the Jingbian Army’s A- and B-class musketeers, were beginning to think of retreat.

Suddenly they saw the musket fire ahead cease, and then that great line of war wagons pushed open, revealing dense ranks of Ming spearmen before their eyes.

To the urgent beat of war drums, they advanced in tight formation. Their red armor flickered in and out of the smoke. Dense thickets of long spears glinted coldly in the sunlight piercing through the gunpowder haze, and the bobbing sea of helmeted iron caps struck chill into the heart.

“Dismount and fight!”

The many Manchu officers of the Plain Blue, Plain Yellow, and Bordered Blue Banners were first astonished, then shocked and furious. How dare the Jingbian Army be so bold as to come out and fight them hand-to-hand! Relying on their firearms was one thing — if they couldn’t break into the wagon formation, so be it — but to use their weakness against our strength was simply courting death!

Mingled with their shock and fury was a fear in their hearts. They did not deny their dread of the Jingbian Army’s muskets and cannon, and they had heard more than enough tales of those firearms. But for them to dare close-quarters battle against their own side — such martial valor caught them completely off guard.

If all Ming armies possessed the courage to trade life for life, where would the future advantage of the Eight Banners lie? After all, their own population was small; producing warriors who dared to fight was difficult, and replacing soldiers was not easy.

Although the Shunxiang Army had also fought the Qing soldiers in hand-to-hand combat at the Battle of Julu, the Eight Banners soldiers generally believed that was a case of cornered beasts fighting desperately, with no other choice. Even in Ming defensive city battles, there were always moments of wall-top melee. The banners generally held that the Jingbian Army still relied on firearms; without them, they were toothless tigers.

So seeing the Jingbian Army take the initiative and attack, the Qing soldiers of the assaulting banners could well imagine the shock, fury, and panic in their own hearts.

Ignoring the ceaseless musket fire still coming from the wagon formation to the rear, their officers bellowed and roared, ordering the men to dismount and fight. The mounted armored soldiers of each jiala and niru moved forward, bearing tiger-spears, saber-and-shield; the light-armored followed with bow support.

But the Jingbian Army spearmen had come so suddenly and swiftly. In the chaos, how could they have any organizational strength? Some cavalry dismounted, some did not, and many were still galloping between the formations. With difficulty, some armored soldiers dismounted, took up saber, shield, and long spear, and moved to meet the Jingbian Army — with no formation to speak of.

To the drumbeats, rank upon rank of B-class spearmen quickened their charge. Even at a run, they maintained strict formation; their heavy footfalls pounded the earth with a unified roar.

The officers constantly barked orders to stay alert. Each squad, each file, was not to outpace or lag behind.

“Mind the battle line!”

“Keep a single line!”

Zhao Rongcheng held his armor-breaking long awl-spear and saw that within his squad, Wu Dingguo and Liu Lie had already run too fast, making the squad’s line uneven. He immediately shouted for the two to pay attention.

He knew that both men bore a deep blood-feud against the Tartars, but the battlefield was no place for reckless individual bravery. They had to advance in formation — the brave must not rush ahead, the timid must not fall back. Only thus could they preserve themselves and kill the enemy. Reckless individuals often died the fastest, and their deaths were meaningless, and would harm their comrades.

Quickly, the dense ranks of spearmen drew near those Qing armored soldiers, their armor and long spears flashing a dazzling, chilling light.

Seeing these Jingbian Army spearmen closing in formation, wave after wave surging through the curling white smoke, their killing aura boiling, those Qing armored soldiers moving to meet them felt even greater fear.

They too howled long cries, brandishing their soldier knives, or short-handled axes, or tiger-spears, even long-handled slicing blades and tiger-tooth blades, and charged to meet them.

The great drum at the central army reached its most intense pitch; the spearmen’s charge reached its maximum speed.

Another sharp swan-cry sounded, and Zhao Rongcheng and the others roared: “Kill!”

Amidst the hoarse, straining battle cries, in the blink of an eye, the charging Ming tide and the onrushing Qing torrent collided.

The first to meet Zhao Rongcheng and his men were several saber-and-shield soldiers of the Plain Yellow Banner, skilled in the use of their weapons. Beside Zhao Rongcheng was the young soldier Han Kaihui. Using his charging momentum, he aimed for the Tartar soldier’s throat and, with a howl, thrust fiercely with his armor-breaking long awl-spear — but the Tartar soldier suddenly raised his shield, and the spearhead immediately glanced off it.

The Tartar crouched low, quickly pushing his shield against the spear shaft, about to force his way beside Han Kaihui — when a long spear, whistling with force, grazed the lower edge of the shield and with a squelch pierced through his lower-crotch armor. The Tartar soldier’s balls were torn open; his shield clattered to the ground. His ferocious face twisted in agony, and he let out a piercing howl.

From behind, a long spear flashed coldly past; its sharp awl-point, ghost-like, stabbed into his throat. The spearpoint pierced through his throat and out; with a twist, it swiftly withdrew, bringing out a spray of blood-mist. The Tartar soldier could cry out no more; he shuddered and rolled to the ground, his body convulsing violently, the blood from his throat gushing like a fountain without cease.

It was Zhao Rongcheng who had pierced this Tartar soldier’s balls. Luo Liangzuo, the squad leader of the second squad in the staggered rear rank, had nimbly darted forward, stabbed the Tartar in the throat, and then withdrawn. Though Luo Liangzuo was fat, his agility and reflexes went without saying.

The moment this saber-and-shield soldier fell, a tiger-spear from behind was already thrust viciously toward Zhao Rongcheng’s chest. This tiger-spear bore an iron collar with antler prongs; its blade had multiple ridges and was a deep red color, chilling to behold. Its wielder was a short, stocky Plain Yellow Banner Tartar soldier.

His eyes were red, and he roared something in Manchu. Clearly, he and the Plain Yellow Banner Tartar saber-and-shield soldier now struggling on the ground were kin or friends.

Zhao Rongcheng’s gaze was as sharp as a hawk’s. He neither dodged nor flinched; his long spear, carrying the wind, thrust toward this tiger-spear soldier’s throat.

The ferocity of this Tartar soldier just now had made Han Kaihui freeze for a split second. When the Tartar attacked Squad Leader Zhao, he should have immediately attacked the Tartar’s left flank — relieving the siege by attacking the besieger — but his heart jumped, and he froze for an instant.

Seeing the razor spearpoint about to pierce Zhao Rongcheng’s chest, Luo Liangzuo roared: “Old Zhao!”

He thrust his long spear forward and rushed up from the rear rank.

But with a clang, the tiger-spear soldier parried Zhao Rongcheng’s long spear and rapidly retreated.

It turned out that, though he was desperate to avenge his elder brother, these Ming spearmen were so fierce and brave. Seeing the stance of the Ming soldier opposite him, both sides were about to perish together — but he lacked the courage to trade life for life, so he hastily parried and retreated.

Han Kaihui let out a great roar. The squad leader had nearly died; his heart was full of self-reproach. All his fear and panic were thrown to the winds. Everything from his training surged into his mind.

He raised his long spear, stepped forward, and fiercely stabbed at the Tartar soldier’s left ribs. He knew that these Tartar tiger-spear soldiers were all battle-hardened veterans. As a new B-class soldier himself, he feared he could not kill them in one thrust; his main role was to pin them down.

Sure enough, Luo Liangzuo had already rushed forward, thrusting fiercely at the Tartar soldier’s chest. Zhao Rongcheng shook his long spear and stabbed even more viciously at the Tartar soldier’s right eye.

Though that Tartar soldier was battle-hardened, he did not have three heads and six arms. Facing three closely coordinated long spears — even if he was highly skilled and fearless of death — how could he evade them all? He only managed to parry Han Kaihui’s long spear. With a howl, Luo Liangzuo’s long spear had already pierced his chest.

He wore a cotton armor lined with iron plates, its surface studded with brass nails, and a heart-protector mirror. But Luo Liangzuo’s armor-breaking long awl-spear, driven by inertia, nudged slightly; the awl-point slipped in at the edge of the heart-protector mirror, broke through the cotton layer and the iron armor within, and stabbed deep into his body.

A great mouthful of fresh blood welled from the Tartar’s mouth. Before he could react, Zhao Rongcheng’s long spear whistled in and savagely stabbed into his right eye, piercing so hard he toppled straight to the ground. Zhao Rongcheng’s spearpoint had stabbed deep; as he pulled it out with the motion, a mix of blood and brain matter sprayed from the Tartar soldier’s right eye socket. He lay on the ground, merely convulsing desperately.

Luo Liangzuo twisted his fat body and nimbly withdrew, not forgetting to drop a word by Zhao Rongcheng’s ear: “You’re treating at the Haoke Inn when we get back!”

Suddenly, screams rang out in the squad line: several Plain Yellow Banner saber-and-shield soldiers and tiger-spear soldiers were attacking in coordination.

Wu Dingguo and Liu Lie had just jointly killed a saber-and-shield soldier when one of the burly mounted armored soldiers pressed forward. Roaring, he used his heavy shield to parry the long spear thrust from Wu Dingguo on the left, and his heavy axe in the right hand swept aside Liu Lie’s armor-breaking long awl-spear thrust from the right.

A spearman from the second squad in the staggered second rank stepped forward, about to seize the chance to stab at his throat — but unexpectedly, a tiger-spear soldier flashed out from behind him. Striking first, the tiger-spear in his hand shot out like lightning and, with a hiss, stabbed into that spearman’s lower abdomen.

How razor-sharp that tiger-spear was! In an instant, the blade sank in completely, stopping only at the two short antler prongs, deeply piercing into that spearman’s body.

That spearman instantly felt a chill all over his body. The moment the tiger-spear soldier pulled out the blade, he collapsed limply to the ground, blood and internal organs gushing from the wound.

Amidst furious roars, the long spears of the spearmen to his left and right, as well as those in the staggered third rank, thrust simultaneously at this Tartar soldier. But the tiger-spear soldier, the moment he succeeded, rapidly retreated, seeking the protection of the saber-and-shield soldier.

And at that moment, Wu Dingguo’s long spear, like a venomous snake, had already seized the timing and, without warning, pierced deep into his right ribs.

The tiger-spear soldier howled in agony and struggled desperately. Wu Dingguo’s gloomy face grew even colder, as if about to drip water; he pressed the long spear down relentlessly, pinning him to the ground.

The mounted armored soldier beside the tiger-spear soldier let out a furious roar and brought his heavy axe in his right hand chopping down toward Wu Dingguo’s head. The axe blade was barely a hand’s breadth from Wu Dingguo’s head when a long spear pierced through his throat — it was Han Kaihui, on Wu Dingguo’s left, who had given this mounted armored soldier a spear thrust!

“Die, Tartar, die!”

A long spear came forward, stabbing madly at this mounted armored soldier — it was Liu Lie, howling, his long spear thrusting repeatedly at the mounted soldier’s lower abdomen and chest.

This mounted armored soldier’s throat had already been pierced through by Han Kaihui, and he could no longer cry out. As blood gushed wildly from his body, he slumped limply to the ground, his eyes lifeless.

“Maintain the battle line…”

Zhao Rongcheng’s roar had not yet faded.

“Ah!”

A scream rang out. Liu Lie, who had been stabbing ceaselessly, froze. Around him, men were already roaring: “A-Chong!”

"Little Tian..."

First Lance Chen Chong of Jia Squad had just skewered a Plain Yellow Banner sword-and-shield soldier when, without warning, a tiger lance thrust viciously toward him.

That tiger lancer was exceptionally skilled — he swept aside a long spear between the staggered second file. Liu Lie was not in position to support at that moment, the spearman to Chen Chong's right was angled wrong and could not reach him in time, and Chen Chong himself could not react. The tiger lance pierced his body in an instant. When the opposing blade was pulled free, he slumped softly to his knees.

Liu Lie roared, his long spear stabbing desperately at the tiger lancer. Two more long spears followed — one beside him, one behind. The tiger lancer flailed in panic; in moments, no one knew how many thrusts had struck him. Howling, he toppled unwillingly to the ground.

"It hurts so much... it hurts so much..."

Liu Lie cradled Chen Chong. The lively young man who had always been the heart of Jia Squad was now shivering, unable to speak. He had been stabbed through the internal organs — a pain truly beyond words.

He looked at Liu Lie, blood clots welling from his mouth from time to time, and trembled: "...Brother Lie, it really hurts so much..."

Liu Lie wept: "It's all my fault. All of it is my fault."

Chen Chong's body convulsed without stopping. Haltingly, he said: "...Brother Lie, it's not your fault."

His head lolled to one side. He had already breathed his last.

Liu Lie let out a thunderous roar and shouted: "Medic! Medic!"

Han Kaizheng's eyes brimmed with tears: "A-Chong."

Chen Chong had been cheerful by nature, sweet-tongued, the joy of Jia Squad. His fall pierced the heart of every man in the squad.

Zhao Rongcheng bit his lower lip and barked: "Hold the battle formation! Keep pressing the attack!"