Chapter 704: A Savage and Bitter Battle

Tian Jianxiu said, "Their soldiers aren't bad either."

He was somewhat puzzled: "They're government troops just the same — why are these men so formidable in battle? Almost like that Wang Dou."

Gao Yigong suddenly said, "It's because their spirit and morale are full."

He gazed toward that side: the Ming army's formation remained strict and unbroken; wave after wave of starving refugees from Ge Zuo's side charged, only to be swiftly smashed to pieces each time. Their volley fire was also orderly — one trumpet blast, one volley of musketry; another blast, another volley. Three ranks of firelocks fired and reloaded in ceaseless rotation, like crashing thunder.

Their infantry and cavalry coordination was also excellent. Every time the refugees broke, cavalry from within the formation would charge out in pursuit. Had it not been for the large body of infantry behind them and the massed horse troops, those refugees would have scattered in a single roar long ago in such brutal fighting.

Even so, after the dead and wounded lay strewn across the ground and corpses and fresh blood covered the field, the refugees on Ge Zuo's side had lost all will to fight. Every one of them was too terrified to speak; even forcing them with blade and axe was useless.

He thought again: "No wonder the New Army's gunpowder is so durable — one shot of powder repels one wave of the enemy. Even carrying only thirty charges, they can keep fighting for a long time."

A mere ten thousand refugees were of truly limited use against the Ming New Army. When ordinary roving bandits used refugees, they did so in units of two hundred thousand or five hundred thousand.

After a drumbeat, those starving soldiers fell back, and Ge Zuo's infantry battalions advanced. The refugees, as if granted a great amnesty, retreated in panic. Some among them, the fortunate ones, would become infantry soldiers. Ge Zuo's method of selecting troops was, in truth, much the same as the Chuang camp's.

The refugees withdrew, and Ge Zuo's infantry battalions attacked.

These men were somewhat better equipped. At the very front were sword-and-shield soldiers. Behind them were some archers and firearms troops, and at the rear were pikemen. Compared to the Chuang camp, their battalions were more disorderly — some units had many men, others few; their clothing was all the more varied, and their division of arms was also rather confused.

Nor were they as frenzied as the refugees. Every one of them wore a stiff, reluctant expression. To shield against bullets and arrows, many carried door planks or held up wok lids and the like...

As Ge Zuo's infantry battalions moved out, simultaneously, on the Ming army formation's rear and right flanks, the Chuang army also launched an attack. Commanding on the battlefield was Chuang General Yuan Zongdi. His tactical application — even Li Zicheng, watching, nodded secretly to himself.

He likewise used refugees, but unlike Ge Zuo, he did not send the refugees in alone with only a small body of infantry or cavalry behind to hold the line. Instead, behind the refugees he massed a great number of archers and musketeers, and at the very rear followed a large body of sword-and-shield soldiers.

The idea was to use the refugees as human shields, but combined with long-range firepower, using volley fire to strike at the Ming army's effective strength. Those sword-and-shield soldiers could serve well to hold the line and urge the men forward, and when an opportunity presented itself, could also be used to assault the formation.

He divided twenty thousand refugees into five waves, each wave over four thousand strong. Behind each wave followed about a thousand archers and musketeers, plus another thousand sword-and-shield soldiers. Thus, one wave's offensive strength amounted to six thousand men.

Yet the Ming army had formed its camp on four sides, and the troops on one side did not number six thousand.

The roving bandits' human-wave tactics were indeed fearsome. Manpower, to them, seemed inexhaustible.

The commander responsible for the formation's rear and right flanks was Yang Shaofan. He sat motionless on his horse, merely watching coldly as the roving bandits pressed steadily closer. The officers around him wore grave expressions. Yang Shaofan's staff officer Sun Yutian cursed bitterly: "Damn their mothers, those whore-raised bastards — did Yuan Zongdi get his brains beaten open yesterday and suddenly wise up?"

He cursed furiously, yet realized how bitter his own tone was.

Mounted to his right, Morale Officer Xiao Mingfeng sighed: "The roving bandits have been fighting for years; famous commanders emerge constantly from their ranks — we cannot underestimate them."

He looked toward the army formation. Up front the fighting was already fierce, and the rear and right sides that Yutian Garrison was responsible for would also soon be plunged into bitter combat.

Yet their own camp's strength was only about 2,500 men, with even fewer firelocks — only 1,300 pieces. On one side, one layer had only 200 pieces. Fortunately, the formation also contained cavalry from the Main Battalion; their assault squads had quite a few bows and could serve as a reserve.

Although the firearms unit also had over a thousand three-eyed guns, the powder for three-eyed guns was easily expended. Unless the situation grew critical, the cavalry's three-eyed gun squads would not advance.

In terms of troop strength, the enemy indeed outnumbered them heavily.

Watching the refugees press forward in a dense, dark mass — ordinarily they were just common, decent folk, but now every face was savage, every countenance twisted, hardly human. Where was the look of ordinary people? He could not help but sigh inwardly again.

"Kill the government troops!"

With a sudden drumbeat, the first wave of refugees closing within two hundred paces of the rear flank roared as one, raised their motley weapons, and charged forward madly.

The Ming side still stood ready in strict formation. The musketeers in every rank held their firearms aloft, jaws clenched tight, awaiting the order. Many gripped their pieces so hard the veins on their hands stood out.

They only watched. They knew that many of the roving bandits before them had been coerced. Perhaps not long ago, those men had only yearned for a life of a warm wife, children, and a heated kang bed — just like themselves before they joined the army, ordinary people struggling to stay alive. But now, those men were bandits, and they were soldiers. Killing them brought no guilt.

The dense mass of refugees charged closer. In the blink of an eye, they rushed within a hundred paces.

Yang Shaofan suddenly raised his hand. The bugler beside him blew the trumpet with all his might; the sharp swan-call sound pierced the clouds.

The roar of a firelock volley erupted. On the rear flank, the first rank of two hundred musketeers fired as one. Even with the wind-blown dust, the fine Eastern Route firearms gave them a discharge rate exceeding ninety-five percent. On the refugees up front, spurts of blood mist burst from one body after another; over a hundred and sixty roving bandits toppled headfirst to the ground.

"Ah!"

In an instant, a great swath of their comrades fell around them, and flecks of blood with a raw, metallic smell spattered onto their faces. Though this wave had over four thousand refugees, just like Ge Zuo's side, their courage vanished in that same instant.

Fierce as they were and easily roused to hot blood, that hot blood also came quickly and left quickly. Those refugees charging at the very front felt the terror of death most keenly of all.

So, screaming madly, they threw down their weapons and fled desperately to the rear, dragging the men behind them into rout as well.

But unlike Ge Zuo's side, the Chuang troops holding the line immediately drew their blades and cut down the fleeing men one by one. In the blink of an eye, over a hundred were hacked to the ground. Amid piercing wails, pleas for mercy rose in a chorus.

One young fellow, about seventeen or eighteen, had just thrown down his club in a daze and turned to run a few steps when a saber stabbed into his belly, then withdrew. He stared dumbfounded at his own gaudy, multicolored intestines spilling out, then let out a heart-rending howl.

He frantically tried to stuff his intestines back into his stomach, but they only spilled out more and more. He rolled on the ground, wailing desperately, and finally, in unbearable agony, called out for his mother as he died.

Another youth tried to flee and was viciously struck on the head from behind by a supervising three-eyed gunner. Dizzy and disoriented, he fell to the ground, yet still crawled, trying to put some distance between himself and danger.

That three-eyed gunner, cursing, chased after him and struck him several more times with force. The heavy iron head of the three-eyed gun smashed down on his skull again and again until his head was beaten into a mushy, unrecognizable mess.

Seeing the terrified looks of the refugees nearby, a trace of smugness crossed his face. Then, his features twisting savagely, he roared: "Anyone who dares retreat — dies!"

Under the suppression of the supervising Chuang soldiers, the refugees continued forward. But the Ming army's volley fire sounded without cease, along with the uniform sounds of passing and clearing barrels.

Wave after wave of refugees was shot down before the fifty-pace mark in front of the formation, yet never could they advance a single step beyond. The blood they shed seemed to form small streams; the smoke of gunpowder and the stench of blood made men retch.

Many who were not yet dead lay struggling in pools of blood, or crawled ceaselessly across the ground, all the while crying out loudly and pleading, desperately stretching beseeching hands toward the crowd — yet not a single person spared them a glance.

This scene, this sight, was like hell itself.

The Chuang army archers following behind the refugees also kept loosing volleys in arcs toward the front. One wave had not yet ceased when another rose. With every advance, arrows flew in like locusts. Using the refugees ahead as shields, they fired continuous volleys for many rounds.

Though their accuracy was poor, and the Ming musketeers all wore fiery red padded armor that offered fairly good protection against arrows, the arrow fire was simply too dense, and the incoming arrows flew very fast. Still, some musketeers grunted and fell, arrows lodged in them.

Behind the refugees, squad after squad of Chuang army three-eyed gunners or matchlock soldiers also flickered into view, firing repeatedly toward the army formation.

Even though their firearms were poor and their training substandard, with bullets flying wildly, musketeers still suffered casualties from time to time. Even unlucky pikemen behind the musket formation were struck down.

On the formation's rear flank, a Company Commander was shouting orders when suddenly he saw musket fire erupt among the enemy troops ahead. Amid the white smoke rising from that side, he felt his helmet suddenly fall off. A guard beside him hastily picked it up, and they saw a clear bullet hole in the top of the helmet.

The Company Commander could not help but feel a surge of lingering fear. Fortunately, he had been wearing an iron conical hat; had it been a phoenix-wing helmet, he would likely have been done for on the spot.

"Whore-raised bastards."

The more the Company Commander thought about it, the more he broke out in a cold sweat. Taking the helmet his guard handed back, he could not help but curse in his native dialect.

The guard said with a grin, "Lian Jin'er, you really are lucky as hell. This is what they call 'survive a great disaster, and blessings are sure to fol—'"

Abruptly he toppled to the ground — a bullet, by sheer deadly chance, had struck him in the throat. His eyes bulged wide, and large clots of blood gushed from his mouth. He struggled, and finally slowly uttered a single word: "...blessings..."

"San'er..."

The Company Commander let out a great roar. This guard was his clansman, had followed him through life and death, escaping doom time and again. He never imagined this one hurdle he could not cross. He bit down fiercely on his lower lip, his body trembling, blood dripping freely, yet he was utterly unaware of it.

Yang Shaofan’s face was cold. The roving bandits truly had talent. Compared to the Ge-Zuo Five Battalions attacking the front, their tactics were properly applied, and their combat strength was clearly a level higher. Under their organization, the first wave of famine refugees charging the formation actually suffered six or seven hundred casualties and only retreated after enduring four volleys of arquebus fire.

They sandwiched archers and firearm troops behind the famine refugees, a tactic that also caused considerable trouble for his own men.

Even if their killing power was insufficient, the archers’ rate of fire was far too fast. For every one shot his own side fired, they could loose several arrows. Their three-eyed guns and bird guns, even firing chaotically with no accuracy and poor firearm quality, still inflicted constant casualties, and men on his side kept falling.

What was especially brutal was their wave attacks. One wave had barely stopped when another arrived, creating immense pressure on his own side. During the third wave, they also launched rockets from who knows where, carrying out blanket fire against the entire military formation.

Ordinary rockets were even more powerful within a hundred paces. Caught off guard, his own arquebusiers and spearmen were shot down in swathes…

The corpses in front of the formation piled higher, and the battle dragged on. The wounded lay covering the ground, spilled blood everywhere. But just as the rear wing had repelled the third wave of roving bandits, their fourth wave began.

This wave of famine refugees withstood two ranks of firing casualties. Just as the Chuang army overseers behind them were about to force them onward, Yang Shaofan ordered the spearmen to advance.

“Kill the bandits!”

“Hu!”

The rear-wing spearmen roared in unison. To the sound of drums, they stepped out from the ranks. Amid drumbeats that grew ever more urgent, they leveled their spears and advanced at a jog. Their cloud-wing helmets, red mandarin-duck inner garments, and indigo waist-length armor gleamed conspicuously under the slightly chilly sunlight.

They advanced in dense formation, charging forward in overlapping layers. The roving bandits opposite, seeing the Ming army take the initiative to charge out, appeared somewhat panicked. Some famine refugees turned and fled, some wanted to fight to the death, and some Chuang-camp foot soldiers rushed out, firing arrows or arquebuses at these spearmen.

Cao Bianjiao’s financial resources could not compare to Wang Dou’s, so he could not equip every common soldier with long-body chainmail armor and arm guards. The protection of his garrison’s long-spearmen seemed somewhat lacking. Some men were wounded in the arm by arrows or fell after being hit, but the remaining spearmen still pressed forward without hesitation.

More roving bandits fled in terror. Even though Ming army firearms were deadly, the damage from long-range bombardment and the pressure of close-quarters melee were completely different. Many armies could fight with vigor and color in long-range exchanges and endure high casualties, but when it came to close-quarters combat, they often fled at the mere rumor of the enemy.

Thus, as the spearmen closed in, this wave of roving bandits scattered by more than half, impossible to suppress no matter what. The remainder either could not flee in time or attempted to resist desperately, but layer upon layer of spear points were already closing before their eyes.

“Kill!”

The spearmen thrust their spears in unison. A chorus of screams rose before them. The famine refugees in front collapsed at the first touch, exposing the Chuang-camp archers and arquebusiers caught unprepared behind them. Then, after some of these ranged troops were stabbed to death, they wailed and fled in a great rout.

Some Chuang-camp saber-and-shield men attempted to resist, but facing massed spears and fierce soldiers, how could they be a match? After a chaotic, brief resistance, they were all routed and fled.

One Chuang soldier holding a leather shield, relying on his own valor and strength, still wanted to fight against the row of long spears before him. He crouched low, his leather shield covering his vitals, and swept his right-hand broadsword horizontally, hoping to cleave through the spear shafts in front of him.

This move was his hard-won experience. He had once been a member of the Ming army and had always looked down on those long-spearmen. In his view, one only needed to close in and the opponent’s long spear became mere decoration. Even if one tried to use a long weapon at short range, few could do it well. Did they think Lord Qi’s techniques were so easy to learn?

He also had his own calculations. While the mass of troops was routed, if he fought fiercely, cut down one government soldier’s head and brought it back, he might not just join the cavalry but even enter the Old Camp. With military merit, when King Chuang won the realm in the future, he could return home in brocade robes.

In truth, with his valor, if not for his inability to ride a horse, he would have joined the horse camp long ago. Why would he still be stuck here in the foot camp?

His calculations were excellent, but unexpectedly, just as his broadsword began to swing, a long spear thrust heavily into his throat. The force was such that it sent him staggering back several steps. As if unable to believe this outcome, the saber-and-shield man’s eyes widened, and his broadsword hand subconsciously tried to swing again.

He could not accept it. What of his military merit? What of his return home in brocade robes?

Thrust! Thrust!

The sound of several more long spears piercing into flesh rang out. Two more long spears stabbed in — one into his chest, one into his right eye. Cao Bianjiao’s New Army also studied the Jingbian Army, which in turn studied the Qi Family Army. In battle they coordinated with each other, specifically stabbing at the throat, heart, eyes, groin, and other vital points.

Extreme unwillingness kept this saber-and-shield man from dying. His face covered in blood, his expression fierce and ghastly, he swayed for a moment, then rolled on the ground, his broadsword hand still trying to flail.

Several more thrusts rang out. Multiple long spears came down, stabbing chaotically at his body — stabbing in and pulling out, pulling out and stabbing in. Each thrust brought forth a spray of blood. At last, the saber-and-shield man stopped moving, only his body occasionally twitching a few times.

His left eye was wide open — he died with his eyes unclosed. His right eye was a huge bloody hole, a sight of terror to behold.

Then the massed spearmen stepped over his corpse and continued advancing. No one in this wave of roving bandits was resisting anymore. Each man screamed and ran as fast as he could. In any case, it didn’t matter if you couldn’t outrun the enemy, as long as you could outrun your comrades…

Yet another wave’s attack had failed — already the fourth wave. Ahead, blood flowed like a river, and it seemed that piercing smell of blood could be smelled even from far back here. Yet Yuan Zongdi’s expression behind the lines showed no change.

Not just him — the various Chuang generals beside him also looked perfectly composed. To them, people dying was long since a commonplace matter. Every one of them was hard-hearted as iron.

Yuan Zongdi waved his hand lightly: “Send the next wave.”

His gesture was gentle, as if what died ahead were not people, and his wave of the hand merely brushed away a swarm of fleas.

He said: “Let the fifth wave go up, then start again from the first wave. Cycle endlessly, attack without pause.”

…

Cao Bianjiao rode his horse amid the military formation. All around, officers and soldiers surged like a tide, the smells of gunpowder smoke and blood assailing the nostrils. Yet no matter how the roving bandits attacked, his own formation always stood firm on the open plain. It was just that his officers and men kept suffering casualties. Letting the roving bandits wear them down like this — the situation was not good.

He looked around. Directly ahead, the Ge-Zuo foot camp was easy to deal with. The difficult ones were the Chuang bandits, who attacked either the rear wing, or the right wing, or both wings simultaneously. Moreover, the bandit cavalry on the opposite bank of the Xiangshui River also required attention. Though separated by river water, if they relaxed their vigilance, the enemy could charge across the river and strike their left wing.

What made him anxious was that in this short time, it seemed yet more roving-bandit foot soldiers and famine refugees had arrived. Their troop strength was almost inexhaustible. Even if they inflicted more casualties on them, they could still keep attacking wave after wave without cease.

No matter what, today they had to beat the surrounding foot bandits until they lost their nerve before they could march on. Hold fast, he told himself.

…

The battle raged from the hour of Chen all the way to the hour of Si. Near noon, Yuan Zongdi specifically deployed long-spear square formations.

The famine refugees on his side had been expended past the point of further use. No threat whatsoever could make them take a single step forward. They would rather be killed right there by the Chuang soldiers than face those terrifying government troops again.

They could not understand that the Great Ming actually had such an army. Even more, they could not understand that if the Great Ming had such an army, why were roving bandits still flourishing?

Li Zicheng also sent down an order: the famine refugees on the Chuang camp’s side, together with those on the Ge-Zuo side, were all to withdraw from the battlefield and go upstream on the Xiangshui River to dig trenches. The role of cannon fodder on the battlefield would be handed over to the newly arrived famine refugees.

However, he also believed that the famine refugees currently on the battlefield were still too few. To employ famine-soldier tactics, they should wait until at least a hundred thousand famine refugees had arrived.

Earlier, when attacking the formation proved difficult, a Chuang general had a wild idea and suggested that Yuan Zongdi organize specialized firearm units and archer units to exchange fire with the Ming arquebusiers under the cover of saber-and-shield men. To improve the soldiers’ protection, they would also have some saber-and-shield men carry shields made of door planks, tree trunks, and the like as they advanced into battle.

This suggestion greatly interested Yuan Zongdi. He immediately gathered the three-eyed gunners, bird gunners, archers, rocket troops, and so on from the foot soldiers in the formation, forming a firearm army of about three thousand men. Shielded by a thousand saber-and-shield men, they advanced in a mighty procession to attack the right wing of the Ming military formation.

But though everyone had thought it out well, they only realized it was not that simple once the fighting started. When they marched to within eighty paces of the Ming formation and still wanted to advance — since, given the power of their firearms, the ideal combat distance should be fifty or even thirty paces — the Ming arquebusiers, who had been silent all along, went into action. Three volleys from them routed their own side completely.

In truth, these men’s courage and fanaticism were not even equal to the famine refugees’. They should have been routed after a single volley; they were mainly stunned senseless and only reacted after taking three volleys. Some of them had previously overseen the battle from the rear and had thought nothing of it when they saw famine refugees enduring Ming arquebus fire. Only when it was their turn did they understand the taste and the pain.

The shields, door planks, and so on that the saber-and-shield men in front carried were also of little use. Not only did they block their own line of sight, they likewise could not withstand the bombardment of the Eastern Route firearms. As they were blasted apart, the flying splinters and spikes also caused secondary injuries to the soldiers behind and beside them.

So they retreated, and Yuan Zongdi was unwilling to send them forward again.

These were all elite troops within the army. Although they were poor in close combat, they were still essential for ranged combat. And their inadequacy was only relative to the New Army. Against ordinary Ming troops, even ordinary archers could still put up a fight.

Therefore, Yuan Zongdi deployed the long-spear units.

Whether in the Ming army or the Chuang army, long-spearmen were cheap, low-cost expendable troops. In the minds of Li Zicheng and others, the long-spearmen in the foot camp were an expendable troop type second only to famine soldiers. A bit of casual training could produce a huge mass of them.

Among the Chuang army foot soldiers gathered here, their long-spearmen were also very numerous. A casual tally by Yuan Zongdi counted over twenty thousand. He assembled fifteen thousand of them, divided into five waves of three thousand men each, preparing to concentrate their attack on the Ming army’s right wing. That side was flatter, more favorable for spear formations to advance.

Yuan Zongdi and everyone beside him believed that fifteen thousand spearmen concentrating on one face was sufficient in troop strength. After all, the Ming army had only a little over a thousand New Army soldiers on one face, and even those were half arquebusiers and half spearmen. Three thousand men per wave, pressed forward wave after wave, each wave separated by only a few dozen paces — there was no reason they couldn’t overwhelm them.

Yuan Zongdi knew that Cao Bianjiao still had a main-force battalion as a reserve unit. Even if he drew reinforcements, because he had to guard against the righteous army attacking his other faces, he couldn’t draw many. Yuan Zongdi understood these old-style soldiers very well: without mounting horses, they were not much stronger in combat than the Chuang army.

Yuan Zongdi arrayed his troops. One spear formation after another assembled. This time, Yuan Zongdi did not even want to assign covering saber-and-shield men to these spearmen.

In his mind, saber-and-shield men were clearly more important than spearmen.

After a blast of the horn, the war drums sounded, and one Chuang army spear formation after another began to advance.

Their long spears were all raised upright, like thicket after thicket of a hedgehog forest.