Chapter 678: Feathered Cavalry, Ten Thousand Victories

Opportunities in battle are fleeting; once a decision is made, it must be executed at once.

Swiftly, Han Chao assembled the Company Commander-level officers of the First Battalion and announced his decision, drawing an enthusiastic response.

Truth be told, every officer and soldier of the Feathered Cavalry was rather furious at the moment. They were all First-Class soldiers, battle-hardened veterans who feared nothing less than a fight, but the Tatars' current tactics left them unable to ride properly and with no chance to dismount and fight, making this mounted-infantry role feel utterly incongruous.

This time was their chance to prove themselves in cavalry combat.

They were all soldiers of many years; obedience to discipline was long ingrained in their very bones, and they knew perfectly how to execute a mission flawlessly. The moment Han Chao announced it, they understood how to achieve the best result — these mid- and low-level officers were also the guarantee of the Jingbian Army's hundred victories in a hundred battles.

However, charging straight into the enemy line was not a task everyone could undertake.

Within the First Battalion, a portion of the soldiers were Second-Class troops who had been brought in as replacements after the great Liaodong campaign. Their fighting ability on foot went without saying, but their horsemanship could not guarantee a tight, orderly formation. After all, drilling cavalry skills was not something that could be accomplished in a short while just because one wished it.

Thus, roughly two companies' worth of troops were left behind, along with the army headquarters and battalion headquarters personnel — medical officers, staff advisors, quartermasters, clerks, and the like — who were clearly unsuited to joining the charge. They stayed behind together and also guarded some of the horses, baggage, and supplies left in this area.

Of course, although these soldiers who remained lacked in horsemanship, their fighting strength on foot was formidable, and they would certainly be able to protect the rear baggage perfectly.

Han Chao personally led the charge and placed himself in the very first rank. Lei Xianbin could not dissuade him; when Senior Commandant Han grew stubborn, he was as obstinate as a bull. Fortunately, the army headquarters guard company went into battle alongside him, which set Lei Xianbin's mind somewhat at ease, while he himself took the rear in the very last rank.

In the disposition, over three thousand cavalry went into battle, with one company of two hundred riders forming a rank, for a total of fifteen ranks.

In truth, according to cavalry battalion drill, it was better for each rank to have more men and for the number of ranks front to rear to be fewer, but if a single rank had too many men, it became difficult to keep the formation even. After all, they were not regular cavalry battalion soldiers.

The troopers' weapons were basically thick-backed cavalry sabers, and they would charge with blades in hand when they fought. However, the twenty riders on the far left and far right of each rank would use flintlock pistols to cover the flanks and guard against possible Tatar flank harassment.

To guarantee their firepower, the flintlock pistols of each company were concentrated heavily on these men, so that each man had at least five flintlock pistols in the leather holsters on his saddle. When the formation charged, it would also take on a slight goose-wing formation to facilitate their opening fire.

To ensure the assault power of the battle formation, the riders on the left and right of the first three ranks did not use flintlock pistols. After all, given the Feathered Cavalry's horsemanship, they did not possess the skill of regular cavalry or Night Scouts — firing a pistol with the left hand, wielding a saber with the right, and controlling the horse purely with waist and seat.

The First Battalion were all elite soldiers. Once the superior officers gave the order, they completed every preparation in a short time. They expertly formed ranks, arranging themselves into tight formations across the grassland. The company commanders of each unit and the squad commanders of each company kept shouting: "Tighter, tighter still! Man to man, horse to horse!"

Rank after rank of battle formations took shape, row upon row of upright cavalry sabers glinting with silver light. As if sensing the impending battle, many horses began pawing the ground, and some warhorses snorted.

Han Chao sat astride his horse; the mount beneath him stirred restlessly. He looked beside him — all soldiers of the guard company, along with standard-bearers and trumpeters, forming a long rank of a little over two hundred men. He turned his head back: row after row of soldiers behind him, beneath their bowl helmets, nothing but firm, resolute faces.

He gripped the hook-sickle spear in his hand and suddenly recalled the night raid to kill slaves alongside the Grand General all those years ago; a feeling of bygone days drifting like smoke rose unbidden within him.

The trumpeter beside him sounded the signal to advance: "Myriad hearts as one..."

From Han Chao on down, every soldier going into battle chanted in a single mighty voice: "...the very mountains can be shaken!"

Just as with the infantry, the cavalry's advance signal was also Qi Jiguang's Song of Triumph — one had to admire those trumpeters, able to produce such a rich variety of notes.

At the signal, the banners in each rank tilted forward at an angle. The moment the trumpet call ceased, Han Chao abruptly raised his hook-sickle spear and roared: "Feathered Cavalry, ten thousand victories!"

The battle formation seethed; wave after wave of cheers erupted: "Feathered Cavalry, ten thousand victories!"

"Ten thousand victories!"

"Ten thousand victories!"

"Feathered Cavalry, advance!"

Rank after rank of cavalry moved forward in unison, beginning to ride at a slow gallop.

"Gentlemen, let us fight shoulder to shoulder!"

Han Chao bellowed.

One officer after another also shouted at the top of his lungs: "Keep the formation tight, do not loosen! Crush the Tatars, squeeze them to pulp!"

They closed ranks even tighter. Even when they later gave their horses free rein to gallop, they remained tightly united from start to finish, row upon row of cavalry sabers pointing only obliquely forward.

Hearing the thunderous rumble and then seeing row after row of iron pagoda-like figures, unshackled, bearing down like a wall before them, the Mongols besieging the New Auxiliary Battalion were stunned. The Mongols in the rear were stunned as well. Zeng Jiuyi was overjoyed; Le Miege and the other New Auxiliary Battalion Mongols were also overjoyed.

At this moment, many Mongol riders were swarming in a siege. Zeng Jiuyi was directing the New Auxiliary Battalion Mongol troops, formed into a circular defensive formation with long spears and bows, while his own company of Jingbian Army soldiers provided support from time to time.

Among them, his one hundred arquebusiers, each with a four-edged bayonet fixed to his arquebus, fired outward at intervals, while the pikemen covered them from behind.

"Fire!"

A large band of Tatars outside had now dismounted and were shooting on foot, their arrows coming down like a driving rain. Quite a few of the New Auxiliary Battalion Mongols on this side of the defense were shot down; the situation was critical. Zeng Jiuyi directed the Fourth Company's arquebusiers to rush over. They employed the two-rank volley technique, the front and rear ranks staggered, the rear rank's arquebuses with fixed bayonets thrusting out through the gaps.

Forty arquebuses fired in a volley, the explosions merging into a single continuous roar, the muzzle flames dazzling the eye. This firepower was of an unprecedented intensity; when had those Mongols ever witnessed such a thing?

Amid the thick gunpowder smoke, dozens of Mongol archers were seen being hideously blasted to the ground. They let out piercing, wretched howls, clutching their wounds and rolling about, soon covered head to foot in blood. It seemed that even from this distance, one could smell the thick, heavy stench of blood wafting from them.

"Ah!"

The Mongols in the vicinity fled in panic until not one remained, then began circling and shooting from a distance once more.

A thought stirred in Zeng Jiuyi's mind, and an idea suddenly occurred to him: in future battles against the Tatars, perhaps he could use mounted infantry to charge straight into the enemy lines, let them swarm around and attack, and with his own side's defensive strength and powerful firearms, they would surely achieve considerable results.

This kind of horse-against-horse cavalry battle, like the one before him now, made Zeng Jiuyi very uncomfortable. Perhaps he still had the typical infantryman's mindset, accustomed to the Qing army's style of warfare where the enemy took the initiative to attack.

Hoofbeats thundered. Han Chao and his three thousand-odd Feathered Cavalry bore down like wall after towering wall, reaching close range in the blink of an eye. Their dense thicket of cavalry sabers thrust forward, a sight that chilled the heart. Seeing this situation, the Mongol riders on this side, even as they were stunned, scrambled frantically to wheel their horses and flee.

The few remaining who were blind to the danger were engulfed by the cavalry wall in an instant, and finally lay sprawled on the ground, men and horses overturned.

Because the cavalry formation attacked from the right wing, the Mongol riders besieging Zeng Jiuyi and his men — especially the Tatar soldiers on this rightward side — scattered in a wild, headlong rout. Seeing the encirclement instantly broken and his own Feathered Cavalry unstoppable as they charged straight into the enemy line, Zeng Jiuyi's blood boiled.

He roared out his order: "New Auxiliary Battalion, follow and advance! Take care to disperse and harass the Tatar riders. Guard the rear and both flanks of the Feathered Cavalry!"

As the Feathered Cavalry advanced like a wall, the Mongol riders along the way parted like the tide; none dared to meet that imposing might head-on. However, once they recovered their senses, they swiftly scattered toward the flanks and began employing every harassing tactic they were adept at, preparing to block the great army's advance or cause their formation to break apart.

They galloped in bands, sweeping past not far from the flanks, loosing arrows like raindrops.

Only, these Mongol soldiers had miscalculated.

Although the Feathered Cavalry lacked the ability to shoot from horseback, they had firearms. Apart from the first three ranks, the two flanks of every rank each had twenty riders using flintlock pistols, and the slightly curved goose-wing formation also made it easier for them to open fire.

One wave of Mongol riders had just charged over; before they could even enter within twenty paces, and while the various Tatars were still nocking arrows and taking aim, a chilling burst of firearm reports rang out. At close range along the edges of several cavalry ranks, pistol after pistol spat deadly flame.

Amid the smoke billowing swiftly backward, some Tatars tumbled from their horses in disbelief, or the horses beneath them screamed pitifully as they were hit, rearing up in violent fury and throwing their riders.

The crack of pistols rang out unceasingly; men shouted, horses screamed. Many of the harassing Tatars were struck by bullets and howled in agony. To increase their power, the Jingbian Army's pistols were made with very large bores, capable of piercing heavy armor at twenty or thirty paces. Many Mongol soldiers lacked not only iron or cotton armor but even leather armor was scarce; struck by a lead ball, how could they possibly survive?

And the Feathered Cavalry on the flanks might have been short on other things, but they had plenty of horse pistols. After firing one, they tossed it aside and had another in hand. Wave after wave of pistol fire seemed to belch flame and smoke without cease, plaguing the harassing Tatars until they were utterly miserable and rued their miscalculation.

Of course, some Feathered Cavalry men and horses were also hit by their arrows. The Jingbian Army's excellent armor and clothing effectively protected them; being struck by cavalry bow arrows generally did not even result in light wounds.

Moreover, the Mongol soldiers were accustomed to mounted archery, mostly limiting themselves to shooting arrows from horseback; phenomena like throwing flying axes or iron maces were rarer than among the Manchus, posing an even smaller threat.

Nevertheless, some Feathered Cavalry horses on the flanks were struck by arrows. Maddened by pain, the horses reared up violently, throwing some soldiers from their mounts to tumble into the dust.

As more and more Tatar men and horses collapsed along the path the Feathered Cavalry took, gradually, many dared no longer cling closely and harass. The Jingbian Army's firearms were too terrifying; they had thought the enemy helpless on horseback, never imagining that those short pistols could be so dreadful as well.

Furthermore, soon afterward, Zeng Jiuyi led the New Auxiliary Battalion Mongols to catch up, protecting the Feathered Cavalry's rear and flanks, making the Tatar soldiers' harassment even more difficult.

There were also some Tartar soldiers who didn't know any better. Seeing that most of the cavalry from the main Jingbian Army camp had gone out to fight, leaving only a small force to guard the baggage and horses, they rushed over at top speed, hoping to pick up an easy advantage — only to be met head-on with a fierce counterattack from the soldiers left on guard.

These soldiers were no good at horsemanship, but they were experts at other things. They formed a square formation, the firelock soldiers firing in two ranks at a time. This style of fighting, with tighter formations and fiercer firepower than matchlock volleys, hit those Mongols who had come looking for easy pickings like a club to the head.

Apart from leaving behind some corpses of men and horses, they fled far away with hearts full of regret, not daring to approach again.

……

The hoofbeats grew ever more urgent, merging into a single rumbling roar. The Feather Cavalry's decisive charge, still in that same formation, left the Mongols who had not yet engaged utterly stunned.

They watched the Ming cavalry's momentum surge like a rainbow, charging all the way from front to rear. No one along the path dared to block them, and the harassment tactics that had always worked before now showed no effect, as they rapidly closed in on their own side.

They dared not hesitate, nor dared they delay. The remaining two thousand-odd riders all charged out!

Only...

Looking at the opposing Ming cavalry, like a wall before them — they were arrayed far too densely, practically man to man, horse to horse. How were they supposed to fight this? Were they supposed to just collide head-on? This did not match their Mongol tactics or style at all.

Moreover, as the Feather Cavalry came surging forward, they seemed to carry the momentum of toppling mountains and overturning seas. For the first time, many Mongol riders' faces changed color; many looked as pale as dead ashes. Their earlier smugness vanished completely, and some even wheeled their horses around, wanting to dodge away.

Like a tide, the cavalry surged across the great earth, the pounding of hooves like rolling thunder. Many of the horses beneath the Feather Cavalry snorted in rapid bursts, and like the warriors on their backs, they had entered their highest state. Perhaps after this day, some of these horses could be counted among the ranks of fierce chargers.

Just as the two sides were about to collide, Han Chao raised his hooked-sickle spear and roared at the top of his lungs: "Kill!"

"Kill!"

Beside him and behind him, the Feather Cavalry soldiers roared with equal, throat-tearing fury, a sea of saber blades flashing cold light, dazzling the eyes. (To be continued...)