Chapter 673: Two Halves

The Xuanwu Army marched on for several more li like this, arriving at a flat, open stretch of land, surrounded by fine grassy meadows, scattered shrubs and thickets, and rolling hills.

Here, the current of the Yuanyang River flowed gently, the water shallow, easy for swift horses to ford.

The meadow by the river was also soft underfoot; the wheels of heavy-laden carts seemed about to sink in, especially those large Hongyi cannons, which required livestock and manpower to haul with great effort before they could advance further, leaving long tracks all the way.

In light of this, the baggage carts all kept farther from the bank, traveling over the firmer meadow ground.

At this moment, the steppe cavalry pressed in even tighter, their strange howls growing louder and louder; many roving riders had already closed to within one or two li. Judging by their momentum, they were about to launch an attack. Han Chao ordered a halt to the march and the deployment of a defensive battle formation.

He had the entire army form a square formation, with the single-wheel baggage carts and plank carts arrayed along the outer perimeter. The outer edges of the carts were densely planted with repelling spears, bristling like a forest of hedgehog quills. Not only the baggage carts and horses, but even the surrendered Mongols and the Yu Cavalry all withdrew inside the formation.

And just at that moment…

“Xiu!”

The sound of a whistling arrow streaked across the sky like a shooting star.

“Ala…”

“Hou hou hou hou…”

The Mongols outside suddenly roared in unison with strange cries, forming up in groups and beginning to charge toward the square formation, circling and galloping to intimidate.

Following this signal arrow, it seemed a cue had been given; sharp whistling arrow sounds came one after another, the strange howls never ceased, and more Mongol men and horses came galloping from afar.

From behind the hills, out of the river valleys, within the woods, their men and horses emerged; even from the opposite riverbank, wave after wave of cavalry came charging, their hooves splashing loudly through the river water with tremendous momentum.

Men shouting and horses neighing — very soon, not only in front of the Xuanwu Army’s square formation, but on both flanks and even to the rear, there were many Mongol riders galloping. As they rode, they howled loudly, attempting to exert pressure on the Xuanwu Army inside the formation.

Han Chao and the other army staff officers stood atop a hill, surveying the surrounding fields. All of them were battle-hardened veterans; the so-called pressure and intimidation from these Mongols meant nothing to them.

However, having fought many battles, they had yet to see pure steppe tactics. So the Xuanwu Army formed a square both to observe and to lure the enemy cavalry into attacking, intending to use the Jingbian Army’s most proficient musket and cannon tactics to deal them the greatest possible blow.

It was just that these Tatars, every one of them as sly as a ghost, would probably not advance unless they saw an advantage.

They did not charge directly, but only came and went in small groups, galloping back and forth, making as if to attack. Occasionally they would shoot an arrow, attempting to draw the Jingbian Army’s fire, or to make those inside the formation tense and weary, so that they might find an opening to exploit.

In years past, the great Mongol armies had used precisely these tactics to break countless strong, solid formations, a method that never failed.

Even if the Jingbian Army held tight and did not move, making it impossible to break in, as long as they could delay the army’s march, they would still achieve their objective.

Seeing the Mongol riders outside the formation growing more numerous, and considerable dust rising in the distance as if even more Mongols were hurrying over, the strange howls filling the sky, Tian Qiming frowned and said, “Could it be that for this harassment, all the Tatars of Guihua City have mobilized ten thousand riders?”

If that were the case, then fighting a decisive battle here and heavily mauling the enemy would make the subsequent march much smoother.

Xuanwu Army Center Battalion officer Lei Xianbin, Left Battalion officer Xie Shangbiao, Right Battalion officer Tian Qiming, New Auxiliary Battalion officer Zeng Jiuyi, and the Mongol commander under his battalion, Lemiege, were all gathered around Han Chao at this moment. It was because of the recent battle, in which Lemiege’s counsel had proven meritorious, that he had gained the regard of Zeng Jiuyi and Han Chao.

Lei Xianbin raised his telescope and observed carefully, shaking his head. “It shouldn’t be that many. By the looks of it, it’s a Tatar deception tactic.”

Lemiege seized the chance to speak again: “That’s right, this is one of our Mongol tactics. Those barbarians over there must have some men dragging tree branches and running wildly about…”

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He continued: “And the people on horseback are not necessarily all men; there are certainly women and children mounted, and they may even set up straw men to create the illusion of overwhelming numbers… This slave dares to affirm that the total number of able-bodied young barbarians around us does not exceed five thousand…”

Han Chao’s hand holding the telescope remained perfectly still. After a long while, he lowered the telescope and passed the order: “The entire army is to remain motionless. Especially the musketeers — no one is to engage without orders. In every battalion and every unit, if small bands of Tatar slaves charge close, allow skirmisher sharpshooters to pick them off in advance. If the slaves charge the formation in great numbers, then meet them with the musketeers.”

…

Outside, the Tatars galloped and roared, while behind the rows of single-wheel carts standing on their sides, dense ranks of Xuanwu Army soldiers stood in solemn silence. Every one of them wore a cap-helmet and a blue winter coat resembling a dahu — a half-sleeved garment that provided warmth without letting the sleeves hinder combat.

The musketeers in the front row had all steadied their flintlock guns firmly atop their mantlets.

Watching the Tatars galloping outside, fierce and malevolent, many faces could not help but show nervousness.

The soldiers defending around each cart at this moment were all from the Xuanwu Army’s Left and Right Battalions. They were all Class B soldiers; aside from the officers, the ordinary soldiers were all garrison men and garrison folk from the various forts and villages. Although they drilled regularly in peacetime, this was their first time facing a real battle with real blades and real guns.

They were still new recruits; the Tatars were ferocious, and having heard many tales of them, their hearts were inevitably affected.

Moreover, those Tatars outside, howling back and forth, were indeed crude and savage; the violent, vicious intent in their eyes was startling at a glance, and they performed all manner of unimaginable equestrian feats. So it was unavoidable that the Class B soldiers were nervous.

Yet their peacetime training took effect, and with the Class A Battalion’s Yu Cavalry behind them, and even more so the battle record and prestige of the Jingbian Army, the soldiers’ hearts steadied.

In particular, the use of battle-hardened veterans as junior officers played an enormous role. Seeing their squad leaders and company officers calm and composed, even with a trace of contempt in their eyes, the soldiers beneath them naturally grew steady in heart as well.

“Without orders, no one is to move rashly!”

Chen Sheng, now a Squad Commander, said in a deep voice, observing outside. The Tatars sometimes gathered in large bands, sometimes in small ones, dispersing and regrouping at intervals.

When dispersing, they followed the direction of their officers’ horsewhips; when regrouping, they used strange, eerie sounds as signals. Their dispersing and regrouping movements were extremely agile; every tactic seemed ingrained in their very marrow, and each man’s horsemanship was exceedingly fierce and skilled.

Some roving riders galloped before the single-wheel carts, drawing their bows and occasionally loosing an arrow, merely to lure the great army inside the formation into opening fire. Behind them were some mounted archers, and further back still, armored soldiers bearing long spears, great axes, ring-pommel sabers, and other weapons.

Many of these men had round shields strapped to their arms and were equipped with both foot bows and horn bows.

Chen Sheng thought to himself, “These northern slave Tatars are still somewhat different from the Manchu Tatars.”

In Chen Sheng’s impression, for these Mongol Tatars, most of whom wore leather robes, mounted archery and arrows were their primary method of warfare; close-quarters hand-to-hand combat was only a last resort, or a measure of desperation.

Signal flags came from the army staff, and each battalion responded in succession. The sharpshooters of the battalion headquarters and the company headquarters also took up their Lumi muskets, or their nine-headed bird guns and Yingyang cannons, coming up behind the carts, each occupying a favorable position. Seeing these sharpshooters, Chen Sheng could not help but be stirred by memories of days past. Once, he too had been one of them.

The Mongol roving riders galloping outside felt something was amiss. They had been racing about for quite a long time; some had even switched horses once. The arrows they shot often stuck into the mantlets or fell behind the various carts.

Yet the Ming army on that side gave no reaction whatsoever; only the dark muzzles of their guns were aimed at them.

The Jingbian Army’s ability to keep so calm was unnerving, and it made many roving riders feel as if they were clowns — performing with great effort, yet drawing no response from the audience.

One wave of roving riders decided to draw closer.

At first, most of these Mongols galloping around the cart formation kept beyond a hundred paces. After all, the deadliness of the Jingbian Army’s firearms was something even many Tumet people, if they had not witnessed it themselves, had heard plenty about, so they were naturally cautious.

Under the present circumstances, only by charging closer could they provoke some reaction from the Ming army on that side.

Just as this wave of roving riders charged within fifty paces, at that very moment, a thunderous boom erupted, and behind one of the single-wheel carts, a dense cloud of white smoke burst forth.

Warhorses screamed; two Mongol roving riders howled as they tumbled from their horses, rolling all over the ground. Their horses were also riddled with bloody holes, fleeing with pitiful shrieks.

It was a nine-headed bird gun that had fired a round of canister shot at them; although these roving riders were spread very wide, two men still met disaster.

Another thunderous boom rang out, a burst of flame appeared, and yet another roving rider was struck by a Yingyang cannonball; his body was a mess of mangled flesh and blood, nearly blown into two halves.

Gunshots rang out one after another; the Jingbian Army sharpshooters behind the cart formation kept pulling the triggers of their Lumi muskets, or the firing mechanisms of their nine-headed bird guns and Yingyang cannons. Puff after puff of white smoke billowed into the sky, and miserable screams never ceased. Many Mongol roving riders, even beyond a hundred paces, were struck from time to time.

But the gunfire seemed to ignite the prelude to an attack by the Mongol cavalry outside the formation. In the direction facing Chen Sheng, a wolf-tail banner was suddenly raised high.

Roars rose from all sides; many Mongols raised their ring-pommel sabers and long spears, shouting in unison. From the surrounding area, wave after wave of Mongols came galloping, converging around this wolf-tail banner, faintly forming a fish-scale assault formation.

“Ala…”

Soon, a force of several hundred Mongol cavalry from the left wing within the formation let out an extremely intimidating roar and launched a charge without hesitation. They swiftly surged within a hundred paces, each with a horn bow in hand, then accelerated further, preparing to loose arrows from horseback at forty to fifty paces out, borrowing the speed of their mounts.

Yet at that moment, a swan-call sounded. Behind the wheelbarrows in that direction, at least several hundred matchlock guns fired a single fierce volley. Amid the crack of volley fire and the dense, billowing smoke, a chorus of screams rang out — many Mongols were thrown from their horses, along with the agonized shrieks of the mounts.

The disciplined volley fire of the Jingbian Army’s firearms, combined with a low misfire rate, possessed unimaginable power. These Mongols, before they could even launch their mounted archery attack, died with their bows drawn but their purpose unfulfilled.

This Mongol cavalry unit straggled across the front of the formation, but soon after, more Mongol cavalry charged up, seemingly fixated on this one spot.

Han Chao lowered his telescope and thought, “The cavalry encirclement and breakthrough tactic?”

He watched as wave after wave of Mongol cavalry spurred their horses in a frenzied charge at that section of the formation, accompanied by strange, bizarre howls. The momentum was considerable, and even the attention of many within the army’s formation was drawn in that direction.

Yet Han Chao knew this was a Mongol tactic. They attacked one corner — though the assault was fierce and the noise great, their true intent lay elsewhere, often on the flanks and rear.

Sure enough, Han Chao saw that many Mongol riders had already stealthily begun to outflank them left and right. Even across the river, a considerable number of cavalry had gathered.

He barked, “Send orders to all commanders: watch your own defense lines.”

Another volley of gunfire rang out. The musketeers in Chen Sheng’s unit, together with soldiers in the left and right sections, launched another volley. More Mongols and horses screamed and toppled. Yet these mounted Mongol archers also loosed waves of arrows, and some musketeers were struck.

But they had good armor protection and at most were wounded. The Mongols opposite, if hit by gunfire, generally could not survive.

And after pulling their triggers, these second-class soldiers rapidly matured, growing more adept with every shot.

Seeing their own casualties mounting, the side with the wolf banner seemed rather anxious. However, they believed the Ming army’s attention should now be fully drawn to this side. Suddenly, from outside the formation, a strange cry sounded, and from all directions, a variety of eerie whistles rose.

The massed Mongol cavalry roared and launched simultaneous attacks on the front and both flanks of the opposing formation. Battle cries shook the heavens, the momentum fierce.

All around the square formation, gunfire crackled in one volley after another. Smoke hung thick. The battle instantly intensified.

Yet to the Mongols’ disappointment, the Jingbian Army’s formation was tight and strict. The earlier tactics seemed to have no effect on them whatsoever. They heard the volleys of gunfire, one wave after another. Many brave warriors, screaming, fell beneath their matchlocks.

Why was this so? Back then, Genghis Khan had used this very tactic to break through so many army formations!

From the side of the square formation near the river, a sudden string of explosive cracks rang out. Some Mongol riders who had come across the river were blasted into the water by volley fire, groaning in agony. The Jingbian Army’s fierce gunfire hammered at the hearts of these Mongol riders; their assault lines fell into utter chaos.

Many withdrew beyond the matchlock range and milled about outside the square formation, at a loss.

On the right flank of the square formation, a wave of Mongol riders, seizing a lull in the matchlock fire, dismounted one after another. With round shields hung on their arms, each took up his own foot bow. An officer drew a long arrow — a whistling arrow. He stood with feet splayed, stance wide and waist crouched, and suddenly drew his bow and loosed.

“Xiu…”

With the sharp shriek of the whistling arrowhead, this arrow pierced the throat of a Jingbian Army musketeer, who staggered backward and fell.

“Hu…”

Arrows fell dense as rain. These dismounted Mongols then loosed their arrows in unison toward the direction of the whistling arrow. Their rate of fire was extremely fast, wave after wave, all concentrated on the same area. Under the fierce arrow storm, many musketeers in that sector were shot down one after another.

These heavy arrows had strong penetrating power. The musketeers struck were wounded one after another, and some were even killed.

However, under the officers’ organization, they quickly reacted, concentrated their fire, and fired one round from their matchlocks. Amid the thick white smoke, the muzzle flashes behind the wheelbarrows seemed to link into a single sheet of flame. At the same time, a red-barbarian cannon was brought over and let out a deafening roar.

Several mists of blood burst forth, and countless fragments of debris flew up from the grassland. The spray of canister shot and lead made the screams in this area shake heaven and earth. The dismounted Mongol archers gathered here were either rolling on the ground, a bloody pulp, or scrambling and crawling away, howling as they fled…

Le Miege and the other Mongols gathered inside the formation, each with an unreadable expression. Had it not been for their fear of the sharpness of the Jingbian Army’s firearms and cannons, they would not have submitted to Wang Dou. Yet every time they witnessed the Jingbian Army’s gun formation, they were shaken anew.

…

The Mongol cavalry’s harassing attacks came quickly and left just as fast. Soon, with a single whistle, they scattered like the receding tide.

The nomads of the grasslands, when unable to gain an advantage, generally would not press a hard attack — especially when every kind of assault tactic had been exhausted.

The square formation before them was clearly a tough bone to crack; they had no interest in throwing away more lives.

Han Chao stood atop the hill, watching the dead and wounded Mongol riders and horses on all sides, his expression unmoved.

He raised his telescope, gazed for a long while, then passed the order: “Concentrate the cannons and bombard that direction.”

…

The wolf banner furled and drooped once more. But in this vicinity, scout riders came and went continuously, constantly under orders to maintain contact with somewhere in the rear, exchanging battle intelligence.

Around them, some Mongol cavalry still gathered. The recent attack had wearied them. Many sat on the ground, drinking water, resting, eating some dry rations, all the while watching the army formation two li away with hate-filled eyes.

Several leaders were engaged in heated debate over whether to withdraw immediately or remain in this area to continue harassing.

In the end, one man’s opinion prevailed: “…We now know the situation of their formation. When they are arrayed, we have no way to deal with them… But can they keep this up forever? They will have to move. As long as they are not in formation, there will always be a way to handle them…”

“From now on, this is how it will be: when they form ranks, we do not move; when they are not in formation, we move again. Their cavalry is not as nimble as ours, and their matchlocks cannot reach us. Keeping far away, what can they do to us? … Hmph, detestable turtle-shell army…”

He sat on the ground, speaking loudly as he took out a leather waterskin and drank noisily, gulping it down.

Just then, the sound of a cannon shot was suddenly heard. Everyone started. This man also involuntarily looked up and saw a cannonball, trailing a line of smoke through the air, heading straight for him.

His eyes widened, and suddenly, a desperate, hoarse howl burst from his mouth.

With a thunderous boom, shattered limbs, flesh, and armor fragments scattered in all directions. Half of this man’s body was ripped away alive by the five-jin cannonball, leaving only his lower half sitting on the ground.