Chapter 705: Mounds of Corpses

Old Bai Niu: With so many miscellaneous tasks and having to write manuscripts in my spare time, I can't afford to wander online idly. But when I update my author column on schedule, I still find time to look at everyone's comments. I'm very grateful for all of your strong support, and also grateful for the high-quality book review from fellow student Hu Shuo Ba Dao. And Desheng, you're being mischievous again.

……

One Chuang army pike formation after another pressed toward the Ming army's right flank. Although they started out orderly, after marching a short while they gradually became scattered and chaotic. Some men walked faster, some slower, and the ranks began to slant and skew, forcing them to halt frequently to reorder. They utterly lacked the seamless, mountain-like presence of the Jingbian Army or the Ming New Army.

But they had numbers after all — a dark mass pressing forward layer upon layer, forests of long pikes stretching in sheets. As far as the eye could see, it was all densely packed spear points, exerting immense psychological pressure. As the distance closed, this tension grew even more intense.

From the Ming side came the sound of deliberately suppressed breathing. At this moment, the right flank was held by the First and Second Divisions of Yang Shaofan's battalion of the New Army. The Yutian Garrison New Army had first emulated the Shunxiang Army, and later modeled itself on the Jingbian Army in training and organization, so their structures had become quite similar — all were four squads to a company, four companies to a division, with each division fielding eight hundred combat soldiers.

The First and Second Divisions originally had sixteen hundred combat soldiers, but now only thirteen hundred remained. Many of these men still carried wounds. The main cause was the large number of desertions during the southward march; casualties from engagements with the roving bandits had actually been few.

However, continuous combat had steadily whittled down both divisions. Those with injuries too severe could only stay in the central army position, unable to fight.

The two divisions each covered a section of the line, both arrayed with squads grouped into blocks — firearms soldiers in front, pikemen behind — each squad's block pieced together side by side.

They leaned tightly on one another. Though it was a junction of two divisions, that face was a seamless whole. Arraying the formation this way also made it convenient for each officer to command his own area of responsibility. After all, each man was more familiar with the affairs within his own squad and division. During overall combat, it was equally effective, and the Jingbian Army did the same.

All six hundred-plus firearms soldiers had been divided into three ranks. Because there were many archers from the main camp behind the pikemen, they no longer set a firearms reserve squad.

These firearms soldiers quietly awaited their officers' orders, each clenching his teeth in silence, or watching the match cord in his hand to prevent it from burning out or extinguishing. On the battlefield, the roar of slaughter still shook the heavens, and the sound of firearms fire came sporadically from the front. But here it was relatively quiet.

The sunlight seemed to have warmed a little. Watching the bandit pike formations draw closer, now pressing within two hundred paces, from within the firearms ranks of the Third Squad of the First Division on the right, a slightly hoarse voice murmured low: "Do the roving bandits mean to take our bullets head-on with their pike formations? Their lives are worth far too little..."

Beside him, a firearms soldier's Adam's apple bobbed continuously. Unable to restrain himself, he likewise whispered: "Yeah. It's too..."

"No talking. Beware the provosts."

Standing in the first rank, a sturdy firearms soldier of about twenty-three or twenty-four gave a low bark, while casting a sidelong glance toward a position to the rear, stealthily checking for any patrolling provosts.

Like the Jingbian Army, the Yutian New Army also enforced strict military discipline. On the march and in battle, there was a whole series of rigorous regulations. In combat, anyone who turned back would be bound and flogged! Anyone who moved without orders would be bound and flogged! Anyone who made a loud clamor at the sight of the enemy, or who cried out in alarm when wounded and fled, would all be dealt with according to the law for shrinking from battle — military law, displayed before the troops!

At this moment, the battalion provosts were leading their men on constant patrol. One misstep, and you might be beheaded on the spot by them under battlefield law.

The hoarse-voiced man behind him started in fright and also hurriedly cast sidelong glances around. His head did not move, only his eyeballs swiveled — now left, now right. Many of them had trained the ability to spy on the movements of nearby officers without turning their heads; some could even scan behind them.

Seeing that the provosts were still far off and the officers were not paying attention to him, with only a few comrades turning their heads slightly and glancing sideways, he breathed a sigh of relief and continued with keen interest: "Look at those roving bandits — born to eat lead, sons of kept women. So stupid, and still they come out to be bandits..."

"Still talking!"

The sturdy firearms soldier in the first rank barked again. The man hastily shut his mouth. Seeing his expression, several people nearby chuckled softly.

Most of the men in this section were fellow villagers from Tangtou Township in Yutian Garrison. The firearms soldier in the first rank was named Tang Tinge, a squad leader. There were also young men like Tang Tingji and Tang Yanfu — all companions who had grown up together in the same village.

The hoarse-voiced man in the rear was called Tang Zhengjing. He came from a coal miner background — dark and brawny, and an enormous eater. Because Cao Bianjiao had promised when recruiting soldiers that every man could eat his fill, he had joined the army without hesitation. And because he ate far too much, he was often scolded by his squad leader and file officers.

These men could all be counted as sons of respectable families. The Ming army had originally been full of scum and ruffians, soldier-hooligans and street toughs. But because of the great victory at Songshan and the example set by the Jingbian Army before them, the common people's image of soldiers had changed somewhat.

Moreover, joining the Yutian New Army came with a settlement payment, regular pay, and even land to be allotted — good treatment that attracted many sons of respectable families to enlist. Tang Tinge and the others had joined the Yutian New Army together at that time, and later fought the slaves in a bloody battle at Wudaoling during the Songshan campaign. Tang Tinge had also been promoted from common soldier to squad leader for his merits.

Cao Bianjiao had labored painstakingly, but although the army could not match the Jingbian Army and retained some abuses — for instance, when pay was issued, officers would skim a little off the top — because discipline was strict, the greater part still reached the soldiers' hands. Compared to other Ming armies, the soldiers were already fully content.

Also because he had joined the New Army and brought home his pay, his younger siblings had eaten their fill for the first time in years. Sometimes he could even buy them a few feet of printed cloth. His weary mother's face showed a smile. There was also land to farm and pass down. What more was there to be dissatisfied about? So Tang Tinge grew ever more devoted.

He had once heard the teacher in his village say: "Regardless of rank, all may serve loyally. A man seeks only to repay his country and benefit the people."

And also: "In life, one should be a loyal minister and a righteous soldier. The physical form has its end, but the spirit is immortal."

He thought this was very true. Though he was only an ordinary common soldier, he understood that loyalty and righteousness came first. That day when he heard Marshal Cao shout "Long live the Great Ming!", he had felt indescribably stirred.

Grand Marshal Cao had also put it well: they need only sweep clean the eastern slaves and wipe out the roving bandits, and everyone could live peaceful days.

In his pack, he still carried a "Ten-Thousand-Man Foe" grenade. During the Songshan battle, heroes cherishing heroes, he had formed friendships with some Jingbian Army men, and they had given him one. He had heard that in the old days, there was a brave man in the Shunxiang Army named Li Youde, who, when surrounded deep in enemy lines, used a Ten-Thousand-Man Foe to perish together with the foe.

The Yutian Army also had its brave men. If it truly came to that, how could they let their allied army claim all the glory before them?

But thinking of his wife at home, already with child, a surge of tenderness arose in him, even as it made him grip his matchlock all the tighter.

The bandit pike formations drew closer. He could see the uneasy expressions on the faces of the enemy soldiers in front, and their rather stiff movements. Their long pikes stretched from the front beyond sight to the rear, layer upon layer of cold light glinting. The tense exhalations of the firearms soldiers came sporadically.

Tang Tinge also softly exhaled a breath of stale air. Beside him, Tang Tingfu, who had an oversized head, exhaled even more heavily, as if trying to expel all the tension and fear from his chest. He was two years younger than Tang Tinge, with delicate features. Tang Yanji, stationed as a pikeman further back, was not yet twenty.

At last, the bandit formation entered within a hundred paces. The shout of the division's Company Commander rang out: "Firearms soldiers, prepare."

"Prepare to fire."

The shouts of the various officers rose one after another.

Tang Tinge bellowed: "Mighty!"

A rustling clamor of sound. Like him, the firearms soldiers in the first rank of the right flank each braced the middle of their matchlock with one hand, using one eye to align the rear sight with the front sight, and the front sight with the man they were to hit, aiming at their targets.

They aimed with single-minded concentration, awaiting the order.

A sharp swan-whistle sounded.

"Fire!"

The officers' hoarse, straining shouts.

Battle erupted abruptly.

A string of booms accompanied the fiery flash of burning black powder spraying forth, then transformed into dense white smoke. The front edge of the first Chuang army pike square was literally thinned by a layer. Streams of blood sprayed from the bodies of the men struck, and then their bodies thudded heavily to the ground, along with the clattering of long pikes falling to the earth.

A chorus of shrieks. The bandit soldiers who had been hit writhed on the ground in agony, moans of pain issuing from their mouths.

Most of them wore no armor to speak of — at most a two-piece vest, plus a wrapped headscarf. Some wore felt caps, that was all. How could that defend against firearms? In truth, even if they wore armor — like the Qing soldiers' double-layered heavy armor — it still could not defend against fine firearms.

Even if the shot did not penetrate their double-layered heavy armor, the immense impact of the ball, so long as it struck the body, would still shatter and rupture the bones and internal organs at the point of impact. Wearing armor was, more than anything, a kind of psychological comfort.

"Fire!"

Another fierce volley. Great sheets of smoke sprayed forth. Unending screams. The roving bandits ahead tumbled down in another swath. Piercing, wretched wails filled the ears in dense chorus.

Many of these roving bandits were experiencing the power of Eastern Route firearms for the first time. The sensation of being hit was truly unbearable.

Tang Tinge saw a roving bandit ahead vomiting clots of blood. With one hand clutching his wound and the other using his pike to prop up his body, he knelt on one knee, threw back his head, and howled with all his might, as if in unspeakable agony. Around him, many others writhed chaotically on the ground.

Tang Tinge could not be sure if that bandit was the one he had hit. White mist spread before his eyes, his vision growing ever more obscured. As before, he had no time to look more. After firing, he passed his empty gun backward, then extended his right hand forward. From behind, Tang Zhengjing forcefully shoved a loaded matchlock into it, his movements swift and nimble.

Though the coal miner could eat, his combat ability was decent enough. And because this whole section was made up of fellow villagers and kinsmen, they coordinated with tacit understanding, and the passing of firearms was orderly and smooth. When the empty guns reached the very back, the soldiers in the last rank swiftly loaded them.

The Shenji Camp's firearm-passing tactic had many advantages, but of course also drawbacks. If the coordination between front and rear was poor, or if the firearms soldiers in the front rank suffered casualties, chaos would ensue. Moreover, it placed high demands on both the guns and the powder. If the guns and powder were not standardized, each matched to its own, how could they be loaded?

Tang Tinge had heard that the Shenji Camp's firearm-passing tactic had been lost for a long time. Only after the emergence of standardized Eastern Route firearms had this method of warfare reappeared. He had also heard that this tactic was quite popular among the Jingbian Army, but that their recruits were dispersed after enlistment.

Tang Tinge did not understand. Wasn't it better for fellow villagers and kinsmen to be grouped together? Setting aside everything else, just in terms of speech alone, it was more convenient.

Though the dialects of the north were not as diverse and hard to understand as those of the south — there was once a case during the Republic era when a Zhejiang merchant and a Fujian merchant discussing business finally had to communicate in English — if you really listened, you could still understand. But in the rush of the moment, mishearing was inevitable. With them dispersed like that, wouldn't even the training of the soldiers be inconvenient?

Or perhaps there was some mystery within that he simply could not understand?

As soon as the loaded musket was in his hands, Tang Ting'e immediately aimed forward again and continued waiting for the order.

The bandit army ahead was already in utter chaos — some were shouting, some were at a loss, some looked ready to flee, while their officers desperately tried to hold them in check, along with the wounded beneath their feet. Every one of them was screaming with all their might.

Crack!

Another sharp swan-whistle sounded.

"Fire!"

Without a second thought, Tang Ting'e pulled the trigger again, unleashing the third volley. Smoke billowed, as if about to swallow Tang Ting'e and his comrades whole.

……

Amid the incessant crack of gunfire, the Chuang army's spear formations were mowed down layer by layer before the battle line, each formation shaved flat one after another, crushed, then replaced by another. Yuan Zongdi, who was organizing the troops, showed no pity — perhaps, to him, the lives before his eyes were merely subjects for his experiment.

Such a horrifying slaughter. Even the ever-composed Yang Shaofan was visibly moved. Consolation Officer Xiao Mingfeng also murmured, "Are they truly using human lives to fill the gap? In that bandit general's mind, is one of their lives worth only one musket ball?"

He was muttering to himself, unaware that at some point, Regional Commander Cao Bianjiao had come up and was staring transfixed in the direction of the roving bandits.

Of course, the Chuang army soldiers were not unfeeling automatons. After the third square formation collapsed under four Ming volleys, the spearmen of the two rear formations were already terrified beyond measure and absolutely refused to advance any further.

Even so, with three spear formations toppled, nearly two thousand bandit wounded or corpses already lay before this battle line. Fresh blood covered the ground, anguished wails shook the heavens — a ghastly sight.

Perhaps, for these wounded, dying on the spot would have been better. To live on like this was more agonizing. In this era, without antibiotics, gunshot wounds were difficult to clean thoroughly; the slightest residue was enough to prove fatal. Even if one did not die immediately, the death that followed later would be far more painful.

Not to mention that in the Chuang army, knife-wound medicine and the like were extremely scarce. Even if there were any, ordinary foot soldiers could forget about getting any.

Hearing the heart-rending screams of those wounded, few could remain unafraid. Throwing aside their long spears and fleeing at full speed was the only natural response.

Yuan Zongdi and the others summed up their experience and realized that in order to maintain the strict order of the battle formation, that slow, plodding advance into musket fire was the chief culprit!

Every time the Ming army fired a volley of two hundred muskets, a single spear formation would be blasted at least three or four times in a short period. With only three thousand men in one formation, losing four to five hundred, even five to six hundred in the blink of an eye — how could it possibly not collapse?

Advancing formation by formation so sluggishly — how could they ever survive until close combat? So he decided it would be better to launch a tidal-wave assault, like starving refugees, and let the spearmen swarm forward in a single mass.

After the commanders conferred, through a mix of threats and inducements, they organized some of the more ferocious spearmen and sword-and-shield men to take the front, with the two formations that had not yet faced musket fire following close behind, and then the three formations of spearmen who had already been shot at bringing up the rear. Yuan Zongdi did not believe that a charge of fifteen thousand men could fail to break through even one side of the Ming army.

Blood and madness played out once more. After a single great drumbeat, countless Chuang army spearmen surged toward the right wing. Their dark mass of heads, the dense forest of long spears — even though Tang Ting'e had become a hardened warrior, he felt a chill in his hands and feet. A phrase rose in his heart: "Roving bandits beyond killing."

These tidal-wave-like Chuang infantrymen lunged forward viciously. They had all gone mad. After charging within a hundred paces, even as row after row were shot dead before the position, their eyes remained bloodshot, utterly unyielding. Layer upon layer of spear points came straight for the musketeers.

Tang Ting'e and the comrades beside him only managed to fire two rounds — six volleys — before they were forced to retreat. Their madness made even the somewhat foolhardy Tang Zhengjing tremble. As he fell back, he cried out in alarm, "Those motherless curs, these bandits have gone mad…"

Tang Ting'e was equally shaken. For the first time, muskets could not hold back the roving bandits. It was like that saying: when the density of human heads surpasses that of machine-gun bullets, human-wave tactics succeed.

"Kill the bandits!"

The right-wing spearmen also roared madly, charging straight forward past the musketeers. Tang Ting'e only caught a glimpse of Tang Yanji's figure flashing by before he was gone. Among their fellow townsmen and clansmen, casualties had already begun to mount one after another. He did not want anything to happen to the young Tang Yanji.

Tang Tingfu also shouted, "Aji, be careful…"

The madness of the right-wing roving bandits even alarmed Cao Bianjiao, who was directing the overall battle. Although the bandit troops were attacking on all fronts to support the right wing, and even the bandit cavalry on the opposite bank of the Xiangshui River had launched a feint, he still organized some Regular Battalion soldiers and prepared to send reinforcements.

"Kill!"

The two sides crashed together in an instant, and countless agonized screams rang out. In this dense tide of men and forest of spears, there was almost no room to maneuver. It was nothing but thrusting forward and thrusting again — a contest of sheer willpower and tenacity.

The sound of long spears piercing flesh was unending. The front-rank spearmen on both sides each collapsed in great swaths in the blink of an eye. Although the New Army paid attention to coordination, the Chuang army spearmen were simply too many, and they were in a frenzied state. A good man cannot fight four hands; both sides thrust back and forth with no room to dodge at all.

Cold-weapon combat was brutally cruel. The agony of being stabbed in the body was unimaginable. Dying on the spot was still a stroke of luck. If one's internal organs were pierced, the suffering was truly beyond what ordinary people could endure. If stabbed in the lungs, even without other injuries, the expansion of the lungs drawing in fresh air would cause one to slowly suffocate to death.

Tang Yanji charged in the very first rank. Their six hundred spearmen were divided into six rows. In the blink of an eye, the space around him had emptied out considerably. The few roving bandits he faced head-on seemed to be novices. As he stabbed one bandit dead, a spear tip scraped past his ribs and thrust into empty air. Another spear grazed past his cheek — whether a patch of skin or a chunk of flesh was gone, Tang Yanji had no attention to spare to notice.

He seized the chance, using the long weapon at short range, and drove it with force into a bandit's chest. Because this technique required gripping the middle of the shaft, the power was not strong, and the spear nearly got stuck in the opponent's body, unable to be pulled out. When he looked for the other bandit, he had no idea where he had gone.

Opportunities as lucky as his were rare. The dense thicket of spears came from both sides, dense spear thrusts went back. The comrades beside him could only endure with their flesh and blood. At his feet, a fellow townsman surnamed Tang had been stabbed in the abdomen. With one hand he tightly gripped the spear shaft embedded in his body, while from his mouth he coughed up blood-flecked foam. Though he was still struggling to breathe, he was clearly beyond saving.

There was also a comrade in the unit who had been stabbed in the internal organs between chest and abdomen and was rolling on the ground. His whole body was curled up like a shrimp, convulsing, his facial features contorted. Known in the unit as a tough man, even he clearly could not endure this pain that reached the very extreme.

The gaps in the first rank were quickly filled. The New Army soldiers thrust forward with all their might. More died or were wounded, and more filled in. It was the same on the roving bandits' side. Men kept falling on both sides, a chorus of wails rising. Many who were not yet dead struggled on the ground. Blood underfoot was slick and slippery, and from time to time one would stumble upon the wounded and the corpses.

But after all, the fighting space was only so wide. In the frenzied exchange of thrusts, no matter how many more roving bandits there were, they could only wait anxiously in the rear. And during this time, their mad fervor gradually cooled, and some began to show hesitation and fear.

Even if the spearmen did not kill as many as the musketeers, the brutal, shocking intensity was no less, if not more. It was too ghastly, too cruel. Whenever one saw someone stabbed, trembling and collapsing to their knees, the sight was truly chilling to the bone.

Moreover, because the New Army constantly filled its gaps while the Chuang army's side was comparatively chaotic — many men had trained, but coordinating in actual battle was clearly not so simple. Often when the front rank died, those behind still hesitated. The New Army began using their forest of spears to counter individual reckless bravery, and the casualty ratio between the two sides rapidly widened.

Thus, as one side waned and the other waxed, more and more of the Chuang army spearmen who had awakened from their frenzied state showed terror on their faces and tried to push their comrades forward. In doing so, their battle line grew even more chaotic and increasingly lost its combat capability.

This was also the drawback of swarming. If they had advanced formation by formation, at least the front formation could withdraw and the rear formation could fight on. In the situation before them, that was clearly difficult to achieve. No matter how many Chuang army spearmen there were, they could not bring their numerical advantage to bear.

Finally, some in the Chuang army could bear it no longer and fled back screaming. Like a spreading plague, they swept more men along, which in turn triggered even more to rout. The New Army began pursuing and driving them, and the Regular Battalion soldiers within the formation also seized the chance to charge out in pursuit, further sending those Chuang soldiers into a massive rout.

Tang Yanji was drenched in blood, unsure whether it was his own or the enemy's. He felt a burning sting in many places on his body but had no attention to spare for it. Gritting his teeth, only one thought filled his mind: kill more roving bandits, avenge his fellow townsmen and comrades.

Only now did he have the chance to grieve. An indescribable sorrow welled up in his heart. So many of his brothers, so many of his comrades were dead. When he returned, how would their families grieve? So many of them had treated him like their own kin.

"Aji… Aji…"

He remembered a fellow townsman reaching out a hand to him before dying, while he himself could only take care not to step on him.

His eyes blood-red, he suddenly charged out.

"Kill!"

He drove his spear into a bandit's throat.

"Kill!"

He nailed a bandit to the ground through the back.

"Kill…"

Tang Yanji's hand, raised with the long spear, hesitated slightly. Before him, a bandit soldier scrambling away on all fours turned his head back, revealing a terrified face. He was very young, with only a faint fuzz at the corners of his lips, perhaps only in his teens — younger than himself.

He pleaded, "Don't kill me, I was forced into this too. I still have my mother at home…"

"Mother."

Tang Yanji paused even more, thinking of his own mother at home. Then the faces of his dead fellow townsmen surged into his heart. They too were young, they too had mothers.

He roared viciously, "Die, roving bandit!"

The long spear in his hand drove fiercely into the young bandit soldier's belly. The young bandit wailed loudly, crying out, "Ma, Ma…"

Tang Yanji pulled out his long spear. The man's blood instantly sprayed out, and then he coughed up blood-flecked clots from his mouth.

Watching him struggle, Tang Yanji suddenly lost all desire to pursue. Looking out at the battlefield of blood and flesh before him, he felt a sense of bewilderment. He lowered his head again to look at this young bandit soldier, who was still twitching, murmuring something from his mouth. Tang Yanji listened for a while — it was just a few words: "Mother... little sister..."

In the end, this bandit soldier died. His corpse, with eyes wide open, blended inconspicuously into the pile of bodies, because corpses like this were everywhere, lying crisscrossed and spreading far into the distance. (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, welcome to Qidian to cast your recommendation votes and monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation. Mobile users please read at m.)

〖∷Fast Updates∷∷Plain Text∷〗