Chapter 693: Faith

Watching the battle ahead, Gulu Ge, Hang Gao, and the others behind the lines all had ashen faces, gritting their teeth in silence. Hang Gao in particular shot Gulu Ge a glance, a flash of indignation passing through his eyes.

After the title abolition affair in the eleventh year of Chongzhen, the Qing court appointed Gulu Ge as the Jasagh of the Tumed Left Banner, and Hang Gao as the Jasagh of the Right Banner. Their territory was roughly bounded by the west side of Guihua City, extending eastward to places like Jining Lake for the Tumed Left Banner, and westward toward the Black Mountains and other areas for the Tumed Right Banner.

In fact, after Wang Dou issued his proclamation, Hang Gao's heart was inclined toward surrender and allegiance. In his view, after the great battle in Liaodong, the Qing state was already grievously weakened and powerless to govern the area around Guihua City. What loomed close at hand was the newly rising power of the Jingbian Army.

A wise man submits to circumstances; changing to a new master to avoid the calamity of war was, in Hang Gao's eyes, a matter of course—the unalterable law of survival for steppe peoples.

Only Gulu Ge vehemently insisted on opposing Wang Dou, and even persuaded the Hetao Mongols, the Outer Jasagh Mongols, and many other tribes to join their forces, striving to resist to the bitter end.

Hang Gao knew that Gulu Ge had deep ties with the Manchus, and had once even been a cousin by marriage to Yoto, which was why he was wholeheartedly determined to sell his life for the Qing court.

But what was the result? Their own side suffered losses in officers and men, while Jirgalang, Dudu, and the others, commanding tens of thousands of troops, had remained motionless at Hongyazi Mountain all along. Wave after wave of their messengers seeking aid returned empty-handed; the Qing state simply ignored their life or death.

From the start of the fighting until now, every tribe had suffered considerable losses. Hang Gao believed the Jingbian Army was too powerful to oppose by force, and that they should swiftly relocate—westward to Hetao, or northward to Mobei. Matters for later could be planned gradually.

Again, it was Gulu Ge who vehemently opposed this, insisting on cutting supply lines and blocking roads, and sending the main force to attack "Yuanyang Fort." As expected, this fort was not easy to take, and the warriors at the front suffered grievous casualties. Hang Gao grew even angrier: what was Gulu Ge trying to do, exhaust the entire foundation of the Tumed?

Beside the two men, the faces of those Outer Mongol princes and ministers were equally grim.

At this time, the Outer Mongols were primarily the three Khalkha Khans: the Tüsheet Khan, the Sechen Khan, and the Jasaghtu Khan. By order of the Tüsheet Khan, Gombodorji, and others, these Jasagh's assistant taijis, tabunangs, banner commanders, and so on, had led some tribal troops to assist, joining the Tumed of Guihua City to resist Wang Dou together.

Gulu Ge had put it well: when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold. Once Wang Dou seized Monan, could the many khans and princes of Mobei escape in the future?

It was these words that moved Gombodorji and the others.

Although they paid tribute and declared themselves vassals to the Qing state, in truth the three Khalkha divisions only needed to offer one white camel and eight white horses each year—the so-called "Nine Whites" tribute. Their degree of freedom was very great, and loyalty to the Qing court was irrelevant; only their own immediate interests concerned them.

So they decided to send support. There were also Mongols from West Tumed and even Qinghai who came to join the fray. All Mongols united to resist Wang Dou.

Only after the fighting began did everyone realize that the Jingbian Army's great defeat of the Qing state in Liaodong was not without reason. Their own side had come and achieved none of its objectives, only losing troops in vain. This filled them with grief, as if their hearts were being cut with a knife.

For Gulu Ge, he was now riding a tiger and could not dismount. If he retreated, all the previous sacrifices would be in vain, and when accounts were settled later, he would surely have incurred everyone's wrath.

Fortunately, the enemy was few and they were many at present. They only needed to take the fort and destroy the Jingbian Army's provisions, and their side still had a chance of victory. After all, through the dynasties, examples of Han armies winning first and losing later were too numerous to count.

Gulu Ge stubbornly persisted. The remaining Mongol jasaghs and taijis also felt that retreating now would mean their previous warriors had died for nothing. Even Hang Gao admitted they could not abandon the effort halfway, and could only grit their teeth and endure.

From morning when the attack on the fort began, until the shen hour in the afternoon, the Mongol army launched dozens of assaults on "Yuanyang Fort." Yet the defenders' resistance was extremely tenacious, and the fort's winding, twisting structure also exhausted the attackers greatly.

It was not just firepower from the front, but also firepower from the left and right, always making one feel that no place was safe, and hiding behind shields was useless.

The Mongol troops attacking the southern and northern fort gates in particular also had to face that triangular palisade a hundred paces before the gates. Without eliminating this point, arquebus fire and "ten-thousand-man bombs" would strike from behind, causing unbearable misery. The watchtowers erected at the fort gates and the four corners fired bullets from time to time, making defense impossible.

The hardest pressed were the Mongol troops attacking the east side of the fort. The wooden houses and palisades together formed three layers of firepower: arquebuses above and below, arquebuses and ten-thousand-man bombs to the left and right, plus cannons firing canister shot from time to time. The Mongol troops attacking this side suffered grievous casualties; every man was utterly exhausted.

At the exact shen hour, the east, south, and north sides of "Yuanyang Fort" were already strewn with corpses. The bodies of Mongol soldiers lying every which way stained the grassland blood-red. The fresh blood they shed flowed like streams, and shattered wooden shields and weapons of every kind were scattered everywhere.

Gulu Ge and the others roughly estimated that their side had lost at least over a thousand brave warriors in battle, along with more than two hundred warhorses.

This was an extremely shocking figure. Although their total strength here was over twenty thousand men, for the tribes beyond the frontier, this loss was already considerably grievous. After all, their populations were small, and training warriors was exceedingly difficult.

Looking at the fort's side, how many losses could they have suffered?

The palisades were sturdy; their own bows and arrows were utterly useless against them. The defenders hid behind firing ports and shot with composure. What kind of archery skill would it take for an arrow to pass through a firing port? Even if it did, they all wore fine armor—could any harm be done to those Jingbian troops?

If they fired volleys, there were wooden sheds behind the palisades. Though arrows fell like weeds in clump after clump, could they harm the defenders either?

Especially when the main army was filling the moat, even the cover of wooden shields was impossible. The casualty rate then was even more horrifying. One brave warrior after another fell before their firearms, or was blown apart by their ten-thousand-man bombs, or blasted to death by cannon canister shot.

To conceal the main force's movements, Gulu Ge and the others had already slaughtered all the Han people inside and outside Guihua City, so they could not even find cannon fodder to fill the moat. Unlike the Central Plains heartland, the steppe had no Han commoners to coerce; they had to send their own tribal warriors in person.

In the end, the attacking army even used some Mongol women and children to throw earth and fill the moat, hoping to stir the defenders' compassion. But they were all mercilessly shot dead before the moat by arquebuses and cannons, without the slightest pity.

During the wei hour, the Mongol troops attacking the east side once managed to fill the moat and pulled out over a dozen palisade timbers. At that moment, the Mongol troops cheered exultantly; large numbers of armored soldiers bearing swords and shields swarmed toward that spot, intent on breaking through, while behind them rolling waves of cavalry stood ready to charge at any moment.

Yet the defenders were not only fierce with firearms, their spearmen were equally valiant. They bravely blocked the assaulting armored soldiers; their dense thicket of long spears prevented any advance. At the same time, ten-thousand-man bombs rained down like drops, exploding among the crowd and blasting apart flesh and corpses in swathes. In the end, their own side collapsed and fled...

The troops were utterly exhausted. Gulu Ge and the others were equally anxious and uneasy. The difficulty of taking the fort and the casualties among their men caused the various leaders to begin quarreling fiercely, blaming one another. Hang Gao no longer concealed his fury toward Gulu Ge, mocking and ridiculing him. The Outer Mongol princes and ministers likewise harbored considerable resentment toward him.

Despondent and dejected, Gulu Ge finally admitted that he could not take this fort, and that the main army could not remain gathered here for long. They had to leave tonight, or else when the Jingbian Army's western expedition cavalry arrived, or the main force gathered at places like Shacheng Fort reached them, they would be unable to escape.

As he departed, riding on horseback, he could not help turning his head to gaze back at the fort slowly sinking into the evening curtain.

A day of bitter fighting, over twenty thousand men besieging one tiny fort, yet the result was their own side's defeat, with losses in officers and men and grievous casualties. He murmured under his breath, "Wasn't it said that every three hundred years comes a cycle? The Central Plains has declined; why then has a powerful Han army emerged?"

He rode away in disquiet, leaving behind a bellyful of resentment and bewilderment.

They were not resigned. In the days that followed, they struck at several other army forts like lightning. But having learned from past lessons, they only made superficial attempts. The moment they saw a fort was hard to take, after leaving behind a dozen or a few dozen corpses, they immediately departed, unwilling to exert such deadly effort as they had at "Yuanyang Fort."

By this time, Gulu Ge finally began to entertain thoughts of retreat. Those Outer Mongols of the three Khalkha divisions also warmly invited him to come to their own tribes.

Hang Gao knew that surrender was now impossible, and also decided to go with Gulu Ge to seek refuge with the Outer Mongol Tüsheet division.

They were brewing a move to Mobei. Meanwhile, news of the Mongol cavalry army flowed in a steady stream to Wang Dou's side.

Although they moved swiftly, staying no more than a day at each fort they attacked, they still left many traces. Based on intelligence gathered from all sides, deducing the location of their lair was only a matter of time.

On the fourth day of the ninth month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen, a group of Jingbian Army night scouts traveled through the Guanshan mountain range. The man leading them was the Night Scout Unit Officer of the Sharp Sentinel Battalion, "Xi Zi," whose real name was Kong Shijue.

After the Battle of Jinzhou, many men in the Sharp Sentinel Battalion had been promoted, and Kong Shijue was no exception. On the second day of the month, he had set out from Jining Fort under orders to search for the main Tatar force, and following certain traces, had been trudging through the Guanshan mountains for several days.

This place already belonged to the eastern foothills of the Great Qing Mountains. Crossing over the mountains, one would find an unbroken stretch of hilly highlands.

To the south and north of the mountains, the Great Ming had once established multiple guard battalions and thousand-household offices such as Guanshan, Shibaochi, Wuhuacheng, Woluhunu, Yanzhi, and Wengjila. But with the gradual southward advance of Mongol power, these thousand-household offices had quickly withered away.

At this moment, "Xi Zi" was dressed the same as the brothers beside him, all looking like herdsmen of the local tribes: large sheepskin coats, tattered and torn, wearing leather hats.

Yet he still carried his flintlock Lumi arquebus on his back, and on his saddle were holstered several flintlock pistols. The other brothers were variously equipped. This party of ten possessed outstanding mounted archery skills; five used foot bows or horse bows, several others used heavy treaded crossbows, and each man had at least three warhorses.

They rode their horses onward, climbing a ridge to gaze far. The wilderness was empty of men, the mournful wind bleak and desolate. These mountains often had not a single tree, but many stone cliffs, small rocks perched atop large ones, layered high and low as if placed by human hands, quite different from the mountainous terrain they had passed westward, yet a common sight near the great desert and barren wastes.

Every time they climbed high, gusts of wind came from the north, carrying a distinct chill. Perhaps before long, it would snow.

"Xi Zi" studied the mountain terrain, calculating that they would soon be able to leave this mountainous region.

In the afternoon, the party entered a valley. The mountains were layered, their tops all stone. At the foot of the mountains was a spring, its water a ditch of exceptional clarity. Beside the spring grew abundant lush grass, and the ground was covered with shed antlers. The men dismounted to rest, watering their horses at the spring. Xi Zi examined some traces and said coldly, "Do you see? These are traces left by a large cavalry force passing through."

A chill rose on his handsome face: "We're finally about to find the Tatars' nest. Then we'll see how they die!"

The brothers were all stirred. They rested for a quarter of an hour, then continued mounting and traveling north. After advancing over ten li, the mountains turned deep and secluded. They climbed high again to look, and saw a vast, boundless highland, and an endless expanse of grassland. "Xi Zi" pointed down the mountain: "Once we descend this mountain, follow the traces, then turn northwest."

The party of night scouts rode on again. Rounding a mountain spur, they saw a valley below, its slopes quite gentle, with spring water still gurgling as it flowed.

Just at that moment, from the northwest direction came rolling clouds of dust, mingled with faint shouts and curses; it seemed riders were heading this way.

"Xi Zi" immediately ordered concealment. He drew out his spyglass to observe the movement. After a long while, he lowered the spyglass: "It's brothers from the Intelligence Division. Five Tatars are chasing them... They're coming this way... Ambush!"

Immediately, the group silently concealed themselves, each either taking up a strong bow or a heavy crossbow, drawing poisoned bolts from their quivers, stringing them, and without a sound, merely watching the situation over there.

The clattering of hooves drew nearer and nearer. "Xi Zi" and the others could easily see a lone rider ahead, galloping desperately, pressed tightly against his horse as if wounded. Behind him, five riders gave chase, constantly bending their bows and nocking arrows as they pursued, shooting at the man ahead.

Closer and closer they came, these men entering the valley. As the man ahead rushed past, "Xi Zi" suddenly shouted: "Loose!"

With a few whistling sounds, the two Tartars in front screamed miserably, each tumbling from his horse, struck in the body by the powerful crossbow bolts.

The three men behind reacted very quickly, immediately trying to wheel their horses around. Again came the whistling of arrows, a dense volley of powerful shafts raining down. Two more men cried out and fell from their horses. The last man's horse was hit by an arrow; he nimbly leaped up, but had only run two paces when a sharp arrow skewered him diagonally to the ground.

"Xi Zi" and the others reached the spot below. Most of the Tartars were twitching and struggling. Two were even struggling to stand. Two Night Scout warriors, with a clang, drew their waist sabers and thrust them straight through their hearts.

At his feet, a Tartar soldier had been shot in the chest by a crossbow bolt. His fading eyes looked at "Xi Zi," revealing a pleading expression. "Xi Zi" looked at him, slowly drew his own head-taking knife, and abruptly stabbed it down into his throat. With a pull, a jet of blood spurted out. This Tartar was dead beyond dead.

"Xi Zi's" expression remained unchanged. A Night Scout came over and said in a low voice: "Master Kong, come this way…"

Kong Shijue nodded and came beside a mountain boulder. The man from before had already been helped off his horse and was leaning askew, merely gasping for breath.

Looking again at his wounds, everyone was secretly shocked. Not only had he been shot in the back by an arrow, but his body also bore many other wounds. He had lost too much blood; it seemed he would not survive.

No one knew what conviction had kept him holding on.

This man watched the Night Scouts gathered around him, saw their concerned expressions, and tears streamed down from his eyes.

With difficulty, he reached into his bosom, took out a wax pill, and placed it in Kong Shijue's hand. Haltingly, he said: "Intelligence Division, Northern Barbarian Section, scout soldier Guo… Guo Fusheng, ordered to infiltrate and reconnoiter… Inside here is the Tartars' lair… You must, you must…"

He suddenly grabbed Kong Shijue's hand with a death grip: "…You must get it back…"

Kong Shijue's eyes reddened. He gripped his hand firmly: "Brother Guo, rest assured, I will definitely deliver this intelligence back."

Guo Fusheng murmured: "That's good… that's good…"

Seeing that he was fading fast, Kong Shijue probed: "Brother Guo… is there anything else you wish to say?"

Guo Fusheng's voice grew fainter: "Yes, I have many things to say…"

Kong Shijue quietly waited for him to speak, but at some unknown moment, Guo Fusheng had already breathed his last. (To be continued…)