Chapter 561: The Great Collapse, The Capture (Part 1)

The continuous thunderous roar of cannons drew the attention of many on the left-wing battlefield.

Among the Jingbian Army, whether soldier or officer, worry surged in every heart, fearing that something had happened to the Grand General. The Han Eight Banners, on the other hand, hoped that the Ujen Chohao Artillery Camp would display its full prowess—best of all, blasting that Wang Dou to death with a single shot.

Zhong Xiancai kept turning to gaze at the hills behind them, anxiety written plainly on his face.

At this moment, the spearmen of the Jingbian Army and the Xuanzhen New Army were locked in fierce combat with the soldiers of the four banners under Shi Tingzhu, Liu Zhiyuan, and others, engaged in brutal cold-weapon slaughter.

The Han cold-weapon troops behind the four-banner musketeers were originally many of the elite household retainers of men like Shi Tingzhu. Their individual combat skills were outstanding, and in personal fighting ability they surpassed the matchlock men in front—though in formation battle, they might not necessarily defeat them.

After submitting to the Qing state, compared to when they had been in the Ming army, their treatment had improved somewhat, and they had also received more formation drill. Yet after only a short engagement with the Jingbian Army and its allies, a chill of terror rose in every man's heart.

Too strong, too ruthless—that was their entire impression. The Xuanzhen spearmen were manageable, but those Jingbian Army spearmen came charging wildly; every thrust and stab aimed deliberately at the eyes, throat, heart, and other vital points. Fierce and fearless in the face of death, they cowed their opponents by sheer momentum from the start.

Their formation coordination was incomparably practiced; they could always skillfully create situations of many against few. Their comrades' rescue and support were precise and timely. Their squads, in inverted-triangle formations resembling small three-talent arrays, swept forward like a hurricane. Many Han cold-weapon fighters who had prided themselves on their skill were stabbed to death on the ground, unwilling and unresigned. The casualty exchange ratio was staggering.

Especially those Jingbian Army A-class spearmen wearing red waist badges—not only were they ferocious in single combat, but their transitions between various formations were utterly fluid and effortless. To face them could only be described as a tragedy.

Amid the war drums, their front and rear ranks alternated in combat to recover strength. Because they had formed a horizontal line, the Han troops' depth was thin to begin with. Very quickly, the A-class spearmen tore open multiple gaps, and the B-class spearmen soon slaughtered until the ground before them was empty.

The ground was covered with wailing wounded. The Korean troops had already fled first. Those Goryeo men ran like rabbits, scattering all over the fields. Most fled toward the rear army, but many others ran off to who knows where.

The remaining Han troops, even with Shi Tingzhu and the others roaring furiously to hold them steady, were still cut down and driven steadily back. Following close behind the musketeers, they too faced the brink of collapse.

Zhong Xiancai whipped his head around and said urgently to Han Chao, "Brother Han, the slave bandits' cannon fire is now concentrated on bombarding the main body of the central army. To guard against the worst, our troops must defeat the enemy as quickly as possible. Once their infantry collapses, their gunners have no fighting strength and will surely be at our mercy."

Han Chao's face was calm, but inwardly he was extremely worried. Everything on the eastern route—everything of the Jingbian Army—was built on the foundation of Wang Dou. He dared not imagine what the future would be like without the Grand General.

He surveyed the battlefield. The defeat of the Han Eight Banners' forward army was already inevitable. Their rear army was now advancing in formation, hurrying to the rescue. If they pressed harder and routed the forward army completely, they might use the fleeing troops to break the enemy formation and, in one surge of momentum, utterly defeat all the Han Eight Banner forces and win victory on the left wing.

The shrill sound of the swan-whistle once again spread across the battlefield. All the great drums of the battalion headquarters pounded with desperate effort. At the same moment, all the surviving great drums of the central army division also thundered. The rousing sound of war drums shook the fields in every direction, completely overwhelming the cannon fire of the Han Eight Banners.

A voice shrieked fiercely: "For the Grand General!"

All the warriors roared: "Certain victory!"

The grand and mighty roar rippled across sky and earth, forming a vast torrent of sound.

"Advance!"

"Kill!"

"Slaughter the Second Tatars!"

Amid the dense metallic torrent, Han Kaihui shouted madly. Ignoring the pain of his wounds, he thrust his long spear forward in a sudden lunge and stabbed a Han soldier of the Plain White Banner through the throat, toppling him to the ground.

A Han sword-and-shield man scrambled and crawled, trying to flee. Wu Dingguo and Liu Lie, following close behind, caught up and stabbed fiercely at his back. Amid his shrill screams, they stabbed him down. The sharp spearheads pulled free, drawing streams of blood.

Squad Leader Mou Dachang directed the advance of his squad, now short a few men. Platoon Officer Zhao Rongcheng commanded another platoon forward. Dozens of blood-dripping long spears thrust forward in dense array, like the flickering tongues of venomous serpents.

They stormed forward. The Han troops in the front line had already completely collapsed. Musketeers and spearmen alike fled screaming.

In the panic, chaos intensified. Encountering obstacles like field ridges and mud, many men stumbled and fell, only to be trampled by countless great feet. They screamed loudly until they were trampled alive into bloody pulp.

The Jingbian Army spearmen and their comrades pursued relentlessly, from time to time stabbing to death in the fields those Han soldiers who fled too slowly, further heightening their terror.

The fields were covered with chaotic footprints. Wildflowers and grasses had been trampled into a wretched mess. Countless terrified figures fled, scattered all across the fields ahead.

A routed army of over twenty thousand men—how vast it was. Screams, wails, roars of fury, cries for mercy formed a mighty, surging flood of fleeing troops.

Advancing in formation ahead, the great rear army array of fourteen thousand—Ma Guangyuan's Bordered Yellow Banner, Geng Zhongming's Plain Yellow Banner, Shang Kexi's Bordered Blue Banner, and Kong Youde's Plain Red Banner—had already been forced to halt two hundred paces away to prevent the fleeing troops from crashing into their formation.

Compared to Shi Tingzhu and his men, these bannermen were more elite. Many of their cold-weapon fighters were veterans of the former Dongjiang army. In particular, Kong Youde's three thousand musketeers had once fought a great battle against Wang Dou's army at Pinggu and were reputed to be fierce and daring in combat.

However, Kong Youde was not in the formation at this moment. He was still on Yijia Ridge with Gabshiyan Janggin Loosa, Kim Jajeom, and others, directing the Ujen Chohao Artillery Camp's bombardment of Wang Dou's central army. The Plain Red Banner was commanded by his subordinate generals Cao Shaozhong, Liu Chengzu, and others. Behind the rear army's great formation, over two hundred Gabshiyan armored soldiers served as a blocking force.

Staring at the fleeing troops ahead, Geng Zhongming's expression was savage: "We cannot let them crash into our formation."

Shang Kexi said coldly, "Correct. The Jingbian Army is right behind them. If the great army falls into chaos, we will all die without a burial place!"

Ma Guangyuan's face was pale and hesitant: "Should we wait a moment longer? Send picket riders forward and order them to move aside?"

Shang Kexi shook his head indifferently: "If they were going to move, they would have done so already. It's not as if we haven't ordered them to take heed."

His expression turned grim: "Have the musketeers prepare. Anyone who dares charge the formation is to be shot without exception!"

"What? Shoot them down?"

Shi Tingzhu roared, pointing furiously ahead: "Those are brothers of every banner!"

At this moment, he was covered in dust and grime, his appearance utterly wretched. Beside him, Liu Zhiyuan, Zu Zerun, Wu Shoujin, Jin Yuze, and the others were also ashen-faced, pale with panic and fear. Some trusted personal officers at the edges stood dumbstruck, still not recovered from the shock of the rout.

When the forward army had collapsed so quickly, Shi Tingzhu and the others, seeing the situation turn dire, had been the first to flee with some trusted men. Along the way, they had gathered some scattered troops and rushed to the rear army. As seasoned veterans, they knew full well the consequences of crashing into a formation, so they had all taken detours to get there. Now they were gathered together.

In his haste to flee, he had not watched the ground. Shi Tingzhu's horse had stumbled, and even his helmet had fallen off. His slender queue, the coin-pigtail, had come loose and scattered. With his hair disheveled, his appearance was utterly unsightly. Yet upon hearing Shang Kexi and the others' words, he still roared in fury.

Liu Zhiyuan and Wu Shoujin also hurriedly urged, "We cannot fire! They are all warriors of the Great Qing, brothers-in-arms of the banners!"

The Gabshiyan guardsman who had been watching them all with an arrogant, disdainful look spoke: "The fleeing troops must not be allowed to crash the formation. Prince of Wisdom, Prince of Cherished Obedience, pass down the order: any fleeing soldier who dares charge the battle formation is to be shot without exception!"

Having received the Gabshiyan guard's affirmation, Shang Kexi and Geng Zhongming felt greatly assured—even though their respective official ranks and noble titles were worlds apart.

Shi Tingzhu and the others were also left speechless. Since the master had spoken, how dare they, as servants, disobey?

They could only pray that the fleeing troops ahead would have the sense to go around both flanks of the great formation to the rear and then regroup.

But with the Jingbian Army and its allies in hot pursuit, the fleeing soldiers' only thought at this moment was to head toward where there were many people and safety. The consequences of crashing into the formation did not occur to many of them right now. Moreover, the rear army had deployed in a horizontal line, its left and right flanks extremely long. In the rush, it was no easy matter to circle around to the sides.

The tide-like flood of fleeing soldiers still surged toward the great formation, heedless of the roaring from the army ahead. Many men screamed all the way, throwing their weapons, armor, and other gear all over the fields. In the shoving and jostling, men kept falling to the ground. The unlucky ones were trampled alive by those rushing up from behind.

Amid the crowd, the shapes of dense brimmed helmets and cloud-winged helmets could be glimpsed, along with the gleam of sharp long spears.

The Jingbian Army warriors and their comrades pursued relentlessly. Sometimes, running too fast, men also fell on the fields, but they scrambled up and continued the chase. Some felt short of breath but still pressed forward bravely. The chance to wipe out the Second Tatars in one surge of momentum was right before their eyes—how could they let it slip?

Not far behind the spearmen, the musketeer fighters and the battalion banners also hurried to keep up, ready to support the combat.

In the heat of the pursuit, the warriors' formations had become somewhat disordered, but they still maintained their overall, platoon, and squad organization.

"Ready!"

At the command of Geng Zhongming, Shang Kexi, and the others, the Han musketeers of the rear army's four banners raised their matchlocks toward the dense, dark mass ahead and blew the smoldering matches alight.

Since it was now late autumn, a cold gust of wind sometimes blew. Some men also had to take care that the priming powder at the touchhole was not blown away by the wind. Due to limitations of technique and craftsmanship, within the Qing state, apart from Kong Youde's musketeers, not every musketeer had an automatic touchhole cover.

Of the fourteen thousand men in the rear army, there were now about eight thousand musketeers and six thousand cold-weapon troops. The musketeers were divided into five ranks, roughly fifteen hundred men per rank. They raised their guns toward the fleeing troops ahead. On some men's faces, a cruel expression of pleasure faintly appeared.

It was the look of slaughter and bloodlust—even though many of those they were about to slaughter were brothers-in-arms of the various banners.

The fleeing soldiers still came charging with loud cries. In the blink of an eye, they rushed within a hundred paces.

"Fire!"

The Han army musketeers in the front row mercilessly pulled their triggers. From the fields and open ground ahead rose a chorus of screams. The volley of firelocks struck home, surging gunpowder smoke spewed from the muzzles, and one by one, shot Han army routed soldiers sprawled to the ground, falling in every posture, then writhed and struggled in agony.

They had never imagined the friendly troops would actually open fire. Those routed soldiers froze for a moment — some halted — but the vast, jostling tide of men, driven onward by the Jingbian Army and others, still came rushing this way like a burst nest.

Routed soldiers are routed precisely because they have no formation. If they could flee in a tight, orderly line, perhaps there would be no trampling or crushing — but that is impossible. Once a rout begins, every man flees at his own pace, scrambling to escape death, and inevitably the crush becomes unbearable.

After the first rank of Han troops fired, they hastily withdrew to the rear to reload. The Jingbian Army was about to charge up; if the bird guns in their hands held no ammunition, they would be nothing but useless fire-pokers.

"Fire!"

Amid the howls and chaos, another great wave of routed soldiers surged forward. The Han army musketeers in the rear ranks unleashed another volley. More routed soldiers toppled to the ground, rolling everywhere in agony; the fresh blood they shed steamed and billowed with heat in the cold wind.

By this time, many of the Han troops had come back to their senses. Some fled howling to either side; some fell to their knees. Yet driven by primal terror, vast numbers of routed soldiers still screamed and charged toward the great formation.