Chapter 807

The old battalion soldiers in the rear felt their legs go weak just the same, their bodies trembling. No one did not fear death, especially this kind of utterly meaningless death.

Tian Buzong felt a shudder run through him. The scene before his eyes was too horrifying, and he could not help secretly regretting that he had come down to supervise the battle. But now he could only steel himself and press on, besides which he still had to deal with that man he so bitterly hated.

The first low wall of Jiawuhao was roughly halfway up the slope. The men cautiously crept close, stopping at about seventy paces. Old Hu swiftly gave his orders, and the soldiers dispersed toward the slopes on either side of the road, using the terrain to shield themselves as they went. The various battalions of the Chuang army were already well practiced in this set of trench-assault tactics; this way they could spread their forces as much as possible. Otherwise, if they swarmed forward along the road in a single mass, the outcome would absolutely be certain death and a crushing rout.

The low wall was utterly silent, letting the Xunshan Battalion men carry out their movements. Very quickly the Xunshan Battalion soldiers dispersed to both sides of the road, then lay prone on the slope as best they could. Among them, the sword-and-shield men and cold-weapon fighters lay in the first row, the matchlock men lay in the second row, divided into two tiers, and the archers lay in the third row.

Old Hu, with his personal officers like Batiao, gathered at one spot on the slope, constantly shouting orders and making arrangements. Not far from him were Tian Buzong and some of the old battalion soldiers. Tian Buzong remained utterly silent, watching Old Hu with only a cold, dark gaze.

Those famine refugees pressed together on the road in squads, a dense mass of heads winding along the mountain path close to the trench. Every face was taut with tension, many people trembling all over. Everything before their eyes was a nightmare to them.

Finally, the remaining portion of the old battalion dispersed to the rear of the slope to supervise, watching those famine refugees and Xunshan Battalion soldiers with covetous, tiger-like stares.

At last Old Hu finished his arrangements. He ordered the matchlock soldiers to light their matches, then drew a deep breath and commanded the famine refugees in the rear to come forward. At once a chorus of the most harrowing cries and wails rang out.

There were five squads of famine refugees on the road, one hundred men per squad. The front three squads carried earth sacks on their shoulders, while the rear two squads carried short ladders and planks. With the fighting having reached this point, even though the Chuang camp kept those famine refugees who had seen battle separated from those who had not, there were no walls in this world that did not let the wind through — everyone had heard something of the battle's brutality. Moreover, the cruel scene before them could not be faked. This vista of corpses covering the ground and blood flowing all over the slope was something that had not appeared even in the deepest nightmares of any of these men.

Seeing that it was about to be their turn, and that they might very well become one of the corpses on the slope — how could it not make men tremble and shake?

They wept and wailed as they were driven forward by the Xunshan Battalion foot soldiers and the old battalion troops, step by faltering step, like lambs about to be sent into the tiger's mouth. Yet whether old battalion or Xunshan Battalion soldier, at this moment none showed the slightest pity. Any famine refugee who walked a little too slowly, or even wept a little too loudly, was cut down by them without the least mercy. Hearing the dying shrieks of those victims, those piercing, mournful cries, the remaining famine refugees were so terrified that their whole bodies shook, and they quickened their steps unconsciously, even forgetting to weep.

Old Hu's face was expressionless. He declared in a ringing voice, "I won't say much. Throw your earth sacks into the trench and you live. Anyone who dares retreat — kill!"

He swept his hand forward, urging the famine refugees to quicken their pace. Those famine refugees had no retreat left to them, and having heard Old Hu's words, each of them, just like their predecessors, began to wear a twisted expression.

They came among the sword-and-shield men and the others, and hearing the officers' commands, they suddenly let out a single shout, and the foremost squad charged forward.

Old Hu fixed his gaze on the movements beyond the low wall and barked, "Send up another squad."

Another squad of famine refugees carrying earth sacks charged forward.

The taut thrum of bowstrings. Abruptly a volley of arrows came from behind the low wall. The famine refugees at the front were shot down in swathes; the survivors howled and continued their charge.

Old Hu roared, "Up, up, up!"

He ordered his own archers to fire overhead in suppression, while at the same time the last squad of famine refugees carrying earth sacks charged.

Arrows kept coming from the low wall. A rain of arrows went back the other way just the same.

Arrows whistled through the air. From time to time famine refugees were shot and went tumbling down, but some also charged close, successfully hurled their earth sacks into the trench, and returned safely. They could withdraw directly from the battlefield and go back to camp to rest. Barring accidents, after three such runs they could be selected to join the foot soldiers.

Encouraged by this, the last two squads of famine refugees carrying short ladders and planks also advanced. The sword-and-shield men and cold-weapon fighters lying prone on the slope also rose to their feet. Using the famine refugees as human shields, and raising their shields to protect their own vital areas, they crept forward on tiptoe behind them.

They were the main close-combat force. Some of them also gripped long ropes with iron hooks in their hands, with which they could scale the wall and fight without relying on short ladders.

Suddenly a chain of explosions rang out atop the low wall. Great clouds of white smoke billowed up, and the charging Xunshan Battalion men at the front toppled over in a huge swathe, neatly mown down.

This volley was ferociously powerful. Not to mention that over a dozen of the short ladders and planks carried by the famine refugees were sent flying, even several of the famine refugees throwing earth sacks were shot down. Among the sword-and-shield men following behind, some had their shields shattered by the gunfire, misty sprays of blood bursting from their bodies as they staggered and crashed to the ground.

They howled in agony. Being hit by a bullet was not like being hit by an arrow; that kind of pain was hard to describe. They lay on the ground, and their final fate was simply to become one more among the dead and wounded on the slope. They were not New Army men; no one was going to come and rescue them.

Old Hu bellowed, "Matchlock men, shoot them down!"

The matchlock men lying prone in two tiers immediately had the rear tier stand up. They fired a single volley, a thunderous roar of explosions, and a chorus of agonized screams rose from the low wall. Old Hu estimated they had hit a dozen or more men, though he could not tell how many of them were New Army and how many were garrison troops.

"Fire again!"

The matchlock men lying prone in the rear tier also stood up, and another fifty matchlocks spewed surging clouds of thick smoke. The screams from the low wall grew more numerous. Old Hu noticed one soldier atop the low wall take a bullet in the chest; clutching his wound in agony, his body swayed a few times, and then he tumbled off the low wall.

"Close-in cover!"

Old Hu roared the order. The Xunshan Battalion archers and matchlock men all rose from the slope and began to press toward the low wall.

Two more rank volleys were fired from the other side. More Xunshan Battalion soldiers and famine refugees fell to the ground, becoming one more among the layered heaps of corpses. But they immediately drew return fire from the Xunshan Battalion archers; from time to time men were struck by arrows and fell. Some Xunshan Battalion matchlock men who had finished reloading also fired in succession, likewise posing a threat to the defenders on the low wall.

Arrows shrieked sharply through the air, most of them flying from the slope below up toward the low wall. The defending archers were neither as numerous nor as well-equipped as those of the Xunshan Battalion, and the fire arrows issued to them had long since been exhausted; they were even less able to suppress the enemy archers.

Though fire arrows were deadly, they were consumed far too quickly — several dozen would be shot off in the blink of an eye, and no matter how large the stockpile, it would not last long. Because of the intensity of the fighting, not only had the large fire arrows been used up all along the defensive lines, but the fire arrows of the various garrison troops' trident-and-rocket men had also long been exhausted.

Matchlocks, moreover, had an inherent weakness in rate of fire, and besides, there were quite a few matchlock men on this side as well.

— Although their matchlocks, like those of the garrison troops behind the low wall, mostly had quality problems — barrel walls of uneven thickness, muzzles of varying sizes, and they could only be loaded using powder flasks and lead bags. Still, they were firearms after all, and posed a certain threat. In particular, some of the matchlocks under Old Hu's command were originally support weapons obtained from Kaifeng and other places, and were fairly fine quality.

Under their fire, the casualties among the defenders on the low wall grew heavier and heavier.

Bullets and arrows whistled, men on both sides fell dead or wounded in an unending stream, and amid the roiling gunpowder smoke, large numbers of Xunshan Battalion soldiers closed in on the low wall. Dense rows of short ladders and planks were about to be set in place. Old Hu watched tensely, an indescribable feeling in his heart, but he knew that matters were not so simple.

Sure enough, just as his own men drew near, a continuous string of explosions rang out. Great gouts of dense white smoke erupted atop the low wall, fierce muzzle-flashes linking into a single line. Dozens of three-eyed guns on the wall fired as one, all three barrels discharging together, and the charging Xunshan Battalion soldiers fell in a dense, vast swathe, thick mists of blood bursting from their bodies.

Although the three-eyed gun was inferior to a fine matchlock in power and range, at close quarters its single-wave blast was fearsome indeed. Each barrel was loaded with three or four lead balls, and the fuses were linked together; a single three-eyed gun could spew out nine lead balls. Several dozen three-eyed guns firing together had a power comparable to several Crouching Tiger cannons.

This was also the moment when the garrison firearms men were at their most ferocious, and the damage they dealt the enemy at this moment was no less than that dealt by the New Army musketeers using fine matchlocks.

A whole patch of men before them was instantly blasted empty. The remaining Xunshan Battalion soldiers howled at the top of their lungs, many of them deafened by the thunderous roar of the three-eyed guns at such close range.

Amid the chaos, loud shouts came from behind the low wall, and then a great swath of dark, heavy objects came hurtling outward.

These objects were round and rolled as they landed on the slope, even tumbling downward. The panicked men cried out again in alarm — they knew perfectly well what these were: the defenders' "Ten-Thousand-Man Foe" grenades. Powerful and easy to use, their fame had long spread throughout the Chuang camp, and their very name made men turn pale.

Sure enough, these dark, heavy objects soon burst open. Amid thunderous booms, dense clouds of smoke erupted in waves, and all manner of shattered iron fragments and shards flew in every direction, blasting the men nearby into howling, wailing chaos.

Some men were even blown into a bloody pulp of mangled flesh, their bellies torn open and entrails mangled. They rolled on the ground, shrieking in agony.

Old Hu saw one foot soldier desperately clutching his own lower abdomen, from which a mess of multicolored intestines hung down. Screaming, he ran wildly about the slope like a headless fly, until finally he tripped over a corpse and tumbled into a heap of bodies, where he lay still.

It was not only these ordinary Ten-Thousand-Man Foe grenades. When some of them burst, clouds of white powder spread out. Some soldiers caught in the white mist immediately clutched their eyes and screamed in agony.

Still other grenades burst and strange, eerie clouds of dense smoke spread. Those who accidentally inhaled it immediately felt a splitting headache, dizziness, and even difficulty breathing.

This threw them into utter terror and chaotic disarray. Compared to the ordinary Ten-Thousand-Man Foe grenades, these lime bombs and poison bombs had an even more powerful intimidating effect.

"Those who retreat die!"

Suddenly some old battalion soldiers charged forward, swinging their blades at the Xunshan Battalion soldiers fleeing in panic. Old Hu watched as those soldiers screamed and were cut down like slaughtered pigs. The rest were driven forward like herded sheep. His eyes nearly burst from their sockets with fury, and he glanced instinctively at Tian Buzong, only to see him smirking coldly, watching him with smug satisfaction.

He ground his teeth, hatred burning in his heart, and suddenly let out a furious roar: "Forward!"

He ordered his archers and matchlock men to intensify their covering fire. The battle had reached a point where retreat was no longer an option.

The Xunshan Battalion archers shot with desperate effort, wave after wave of arrows shrieking as they poured down upon the area of the low wall. The matchlock men also quickened their reloading and kept blasting toward the wall.

Arrows and bullets whistled through the air, battle cries rang out unceasingly, and at last, some short ladders were raised before the low wall, and planks were set in place one after another.

Some Xunshan Battalion sword-and-shield men also flung their iron hooks, and just like that, gripping the ropes, they climbed up the low wall.

…

An iron hook flew up and caught onto the earthen wall just like that. A bandit with a waist-sword clenched in his teeth had just poked his head up when the Jingbian Army Squad Commander supervising the fight thrust his long blade straight at the man's head.

"Splat!"

The fine-steel blade pierced through his forehead and burst out the back of his skull — the weapon skewered his entire head in an instant. He yanked it back out with force, and with a fountain-like sound, blood droplets mixed with yellowish-white brain matter sprayed forth, splattering across his face and body.

The Squad Commander of the Jingbian Army swept his long blade through the air in a graceful arc and brought it crashing down onto the neck of a foot-bandit who had just poked his head over a short ladder. A great gout of blood splashed out, and the bandit's headless corpse toppled slowly backward off the ladder.

Then his gaze swept around; with an angry roar, he struck down a garrison soldier who was trying to flee.

"Those who retreat — die!"

He barked in a harsh voice.

On the terrace behind the first ladder rampart stood several officers. As they watched that garrison soldier's head fly into the sky, a few of them wore awkward expressions. They glanced down below, then stole a look at Han Kaihui beside them.

The defenders of Jia-5 were no longer the original batch, but the men overseeing the battle were still Han Kaihui and his group. After all, the Jingbian Army only had so many men — they could not be shuffled back and forth endlessly.

At this moment, besides the headquarters adjutants, morale officers, and disciplinary officers, standing beside Han Kaihui were the newly rotated Sun Company Commander of the Front Battalion New Army, as well as Mobile Corps Commander Li and others under Gao Jie's command.

Mobile Corps Commander Li watched the fighting below, his expression grim. His own troops fought passably at a distance, but the moment they closed to hand-to-hand combat, their true colors showed. They were far inferior even to the newly trained troops who had drilled for only a short time — how could that not be humiliating? When he looked at Han Kaihui, his gaze could not help but turn awkward.

Han Kaihui paid no mind to the garrison officers' expressions. His face cold and stern, he stared down below. He recognized these roving bandits — they were the same ones who, two days earlier, had broken through two of his low-wall defense lines in succession. Caught off guard, Yang Company Commander of the Left Battalion New Army, with whom he was close, had died on the spot. Mobile Corps Commander Gao of the garrison troops had run fast and barely escaped with his life.

At the time, he had been atop the plateau. Upon learning of the battle situation, he had ordered the Jingbian Army reserve force to strike and only then retook the defense line. The final tally showed that the Jia-5 defenders had suffered devastating casualties, so he had taken a particular interest in this band of roving bandits.

Today, when he spotted this band's banners again and saw them coming to attack once more, he had personally rushed to the nearby vantage point to oversee the battle. Sure enough, now they were putting forth their full strength.

He saw that some of the New Army troops below had already plugged that breach from earlier, but more and more roving bandits were still climbing up, engaging the defending New Army and garrison troops in close-quarters blade combat. Those garrison soldiers were held in place entirely by the battle-supervision squads, their will to fight low. The New Army troops, by contrast, were fired up, fighting with desperate valor.

Their musketeers frantically loaded powder and shot, then fired. The spearmen stabbed with all their might, or used ramming poles to overturn the short ladders the bandits pushed up against the wall. Some, finding their long pikes unwieldy in close quarters, threw them aside and drew their waist sabers to fight.

Around the low wall, shouts rose in a din; blood sprayed wildly. From time to time came the hoarse, dying screams of soldiers from both sides, their voices shredding as life left them.

Yet the more bandits climbed up, even though the New Army fought bravely, they were after all few in number. Deducting the dead and wounded, the spearmen now numbered less than a hundred. Their pike formation held no advantage in the chaotic melee. Had the battle-supervision squads not forcibly held the garrison troops in place, they would have long since collapsed and fled.

There was an element of fear of death in this, but Han Kaihui had also received intelligence that the brutal fighting of recent days had bred deep resentment among the various battalions. Rumors were already spreading among the garrison soldiers that Viceroy Sun intended to secretly weaken each battalion's strength, so as to achieve the goal of having the New Army replace them without anyone noticing.

The effect on the battlefield was that they were extremely passive in close combat.

Watching the defense line below teeter on the verge of collapse, held up only by those Jingbian Army battle-supervision squads, everyone beside Han Kaihui wore expressions of frantic anxiety. The headquarters adjutant also said urgently, "Squad Commander Han, the battle is critical — may we order the troops to fall back to the second low-wall defense line?"

"Squad Commander Han…"

Those garrison officers also looked anxiously at Han Kaihui.

Han Kaihui's expression was harsh and severe. He watched below for a moment, then finally shook his head. Although the second low-wall defense line was strategically strong, the plateau surface there was very narrow and could not accommodate many men. In normal times, only a few dozen musketeers defended it. If they retreated to that point, he feared they would retreat again and again, until finally they could only fall back to the third low-wall defense line.

He bellowed, "Hold the defense line! Anyone who dares retreat will be executed! Order: Jingbian Army reserve force, strike! Flank them from the pinch point and hit their side!"

Jia-5 had two squads of Jingbian Army — one for battle supervision, one in reserve. For the purpose of fostering the New Army's combat strength, the reserve force would only strike in critical situations. That moment had now come.

Then his hand pointed, singling out a figure on the slope who moved with a crafty, furtive air. The man hid among the crowd, protecting himself well, flickering in and out of view amid the gun smoke — it was Old Hu.

He said harshly, "Order the sharpshooters to take down that scoundrel!"

PS: Old Bai Niu:

I've read the book friends' comments. Many are worried about a botched ending or a rushed conclusion. Actually, when I first started writing Little Soldier, I already considered what kind of ending it would have. Several years have passed, and it's still more or less the ending I originally envisioned. I've also thought it through carefully — that ending is very fitting, achieves the original intent in my heart, the earliest vision, and I think many book friends will like it too.

Everyone needn't worry that I'll be careless. This is, after all, my own heart's blood — I care about it more than anyone. And I'm a logic-driven writer; what I value is rigor and reasonableness, as you can see from the work itself.

Nor should everyone think that I'm resuming updates just to build hype or advertise for a new book. I'm not someone who makes a living off fan economy. Thousand-Household initially had a 24-hour subscription of 1,200; Little Soldier had 1,400 — a mere difference of 200 subscriptions. Later it rose to a peak subscription of 15,000 and an average subscription of 7,000. What it relied on was still hard work and ability after the fact.

Once a new book starts, everything begins from scratch. When that time comes, everyone, just treat me as a newcomer. But before that, I will finish Little Soldier properly.