Chapter 887: Overwhelming Force

(Gentlemen, all feasts under heaven must end — let the lingering notes drift a while. Some readers wished the story to continue, but by then Wang Dou would have become an old man. Better to freeze the great general’s image at this moment of his prime and glory. The saddest things in the world are a hero growing old and a beauty’s hair turning white. Still, what needs to be told will be told. In truth, this book has written everything it should; it is already quite complete.)

“No!”

Liu Xiyao’s eyes nearly split with fury as he watched the battle ahead. The brothers in his camp were being brutally slaughtered, the losses catastrophically heavy — these were all his most elite veteran camp soldiers.

Earlier, when they discussed whether to charge the formation, Li Zicheng had hesitated endlessly. Only when the Jingbian Army’s infantry formation had marched to within three li and the situation could no longer be delayed did he finally make up his mind, adopting Liu Zongmin’s strategy of using elite cavalry to assault their infantry formation.

They divided into two waves: Liu Xiyao led the Right Camp’s elite cavalry as the first wave, Li Guo led the Rear Camp’s elite cavalry as the second wave, and depending on the situation, Liu Zongmin would lead the Central Guard personal troops as the third wave.

They never imagined the enemy infantry formation would be so deadly, especially with the coordination of cannons and rockets. Their own formation was first scattered by several rocket volleys, then the enemy cannons fired in unison — particularly the close-range canister shot — and the casualties in his camp were too horrible to behold.

Then the enemy fired volleys in ranks; after three volleys, of the ten thousand armored cavalry in his camp, the losses had probably reached half.

And their pikemen and musketeers coordinated seamlessly, still relentlessly reaping and harvesting his veteran camp.

It was over. His veteran camp was finished. Finished. His Right Camp was finished.

Liu Xiyao was so consumed by grief and fury that he nearly wept tears of blood. He frantically ordered the bugler beside him to sound the retreat.

The remaining horse troops over there, unable to endure the terror, were already shouting and turning their horses to flee on their own. When they heard the retreat signal, the Right Camp’s elite cavalry ebbed away like the tide, while from the Jingbian Army’s infantry formation came deafening cheers.

On this side, Li Zicheng, Li Guo, Liu Zongmin, and the others stared dumbfounded. They watched in disbelief as their own elite cavalry were beaten into a panicked rout by the enemy infantry formation — seeing their terrified expressions, it seemed they had no thought other than fleeing.

Liu Zongmin’s face burned with shame. He murmured under his breath, “Why are their foot soldiers deadlier than cavalry? This defies all reason.”

The disastrous defeat and losses of the Right Camp were connected to his earlier counsel. Had he, Liu Zongmin, not proposed charging the formation, the Right Camp’s losses would not have been so great — especially since the losses were among the elite cavalry of the veteran camp. When Liu Xiyao returned, he would likely bear a life-and-death grudge against him.

Abruptly, the cheering on the other side ceased. After several fierce commands, the rhythmic infantry drums — “Dong dong dong, dong dong dong” — sounded again. Then the foot soldiers over there once more advanced in step with the drumbeats, their musket-swords and long pikes undulating in waves, reflecting the metallic gleam of their armor like a rippling silver-red wave.

The Azure Dragon Army’s soldiers once again took the offensive.

Watching them come on like a wall, bearing an unstoppable momentum, Li Guo said anxiously, “Uncle, they’re coming again. What do we do?”

Li Guo had originally prepared to lead the Rear Camp’s elite cavalry in the second wave to charge the formation, but after seeing the ghastly state of Liu Xiyao’s Right Camp, he had slammed on the brakes. Yet if he did not attack, the Jingbian Army was now attacking on its own — this left him at a loss.

Li Zicheng’s expression was extremely grim. Today’s battle had unfolded beyond anything he could have imagined. He had brought several hundred thousand troops, brimming with confidence — yet first, Wang Dou’s strength had exceeded his expectations, and then the so-called Great Qing had appeared, once again exceeding his expectations.

Then Wang Dou fought two at once and, in a short time, routed his own front line. So far, he still had no word of Gao Yigong; he feared Gao had been swept up in the chaos and was likely dead or dying. Then Yuan Zongdi had suffered severe wounds and probably could not hold on much longer.

Without realizing it, he had already lost so many troops and officers — in particular, he might lose several great generals in succession. This was something he could not bear.

Moreover, the predicament before him was no longer about how to defeat Wang Dou, but about how he, Li Zicheng, could preserve his own strength.

Watching the approaching Jingbian Army, Liu Zongmin gnashed his teeth in helpless fury. He ground out, “Should we withdraw to the stockade and fight another day?”

Li Zicheng shook his head. The Jingbian Army had heavy cannons and those deadly, bizarre rocket weapons. Holding the stockade would be useless.

And now, with casualties in the army so immense, the only reason they still held on was sheer momentum from their past string of victories. If they retreated, they would likely collapse entirely, and the whole army would be routed in a great defeat.

Li Yan said, “My King, perhaps we could withdraw to the capital. Once our army leaves, Wang Dou and the Qing forces will surely fight each other to the death. Our army, defending a strong walled city, might sit back and reap the fisherman’s profit.”

Li Zicheng pondered. Perhaps this was indeed the wisest course — but there were two problems. With the Jingbian Army eyeing them like a tiger, could they truly withdraw? Would it turn into a great rout?

And having marched here with several hundred thousand troops in soaring spirits, if they now slunk back in defeat, with morale crushed, could the capital even be defended? Would they have to become roving bandits again, or even, as Niu Jinxing had suggested, set the capital ablaze and retreat far back to Henan and Huguang?

Was his grand achievement truly just a flower that bloomed for a single morning?

No — he, Li Zicheng, could not accept this!

But what should he do now?

…

Beside him, the strategic advisors Qin Yi, Wen Shiyan, and others gathered around the sand table analyzing the battle situation, occasionally raising their telescopes to survey the fighting. On the desk beside them sat an hourglass. The sundial was useless without sun, and clocks of the time were bulky and inaccurate, so they generally used hourglasses to tell time.

From his position, Wang Dou could observe both battlefields simultaneously — whether the roving bandits or the slave brigands, the entire situation lay clearly before his eyes.

He glanced at the hourglass’s markings, feeling how truly inconvenient it was without a wristwatch. He stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray, rose from the large tiger-skin chair, and said flatly, “About time. Defeat the two brigands, and then we can have lunch.”

Seeing Wang Dou rise, those beside him — Zhong Diaoyang, Li Guangheng, Wen Daxing, Xie Yike, Chi Dacheng, Huang Shibian, Li Jinpei, Qin Yi, and the others — knew the decisive moment of the battle had arrived. Every face was solemn.

Wang Dou gave a sharp command: “Tiger-Fierce General.”

Li Guangheng hurriedly responded, “Your subordinate is here.”

Wang Dou said, “You will lead your mounted lancers and ten thousand reserve infantry. Proceed at once to Wen Fangliang’s southern battlefield, link up with the troops there, and with the force of a thunderbolt — rockets, cannons, and all — strike fiercely and swiftly defeat the roving bandits. Afterward, the Loyalty Battalion on the Azure Dragon Army’s side, the Shaanxi-Gansu contingents, the Elite Cavalry, the Hunter Cavalry, the great fighters of the armed escort companies, and the second-class troops will mount up and pursue the roving bandits. You and Wen Fangliang’s first-class battalions will immediately turn and attack the slave brigands, enveloping them from the right flank.”

He pointed to a position below the ridge: “Behind the cavalry, another twenty thousand reserve infantry will follow in the attack. You must quickly smash the roving bandits’ right wing and the slave brigands’ left wing, then link up with Han Chao’s cavalry on that side. After a fierce bombardment with rockets and cannons, engage the slave cavalry in a great battle. The infantry will follow close behind the cavalry, split and encircle the Tatars on that side, and finally annihilate them!”

Li Guangheng shouted, “Your subordinate accepts the order!”

He swept the scarlet cape behind him and resolutely descended the ridge.

Zhong Diaoyang also continuously dispatched relay riders to convey the central army’s orders to Wen Fangliang, Han Chao, and the others, as well as to the infantry battalions deploying for battle.

Wang Dou watched the constant movement of men and horses on the ridge. The wind before the coming storm filled the tower, yet his expression remained calm.

From morning until now, Wang Dou had seen clearly: whether the Tatars or the roving bandits, even the two combined, compared to his Jingbian Army forged over ten years, none could even glimpse its dust. He already held a completely overwhelming advantage over them.

The two sides no longer possessed the same era’s combat power.

Therefore, all of this should end now.

Still, he kept ten thousand reserves on hand for unforeseen needs.

He raised his telescope and gazed for a while toward Changping, then asked, “How goes it with Sun Sanjie’s side?”

Xie Yike hurriedly replied, “According to the Night Scouts’ reports, Brother Sun is still locked in fierce battle with the Tatars and the second-rate Tatars. But they are firmly holding the defense line; the Tatar soldiers cannot advance an inch.”

Wang Dou nodded. “On that side, we seek no great merit, only no mistakes — just securing our rear line is enough. Once we defeat the Tatars here, that side will certainly collapse as well.”

…

“Pikemen forward — thrust!”

“Kill!”

The Khorchin cavalry were firmly blocked before the iron line. Countless horses reared up on their hind legs before the forest of icy musket-swords, neighing in terror and leaping into the air, throwing their panicked riders to the ground.

Some warhorses, carried by momentum, crashed forward and bowled over some musketeers; then these horses and their riders were skewered to the ground by the ferocious four-edged musket-swords.

Some warhorses also broke through several ranks of musketeers, only to be firmly stopped by the pikemen behind.

Han Chao had also committed some first-class battalion troops, and the situation was quickly stabilized. It seemed as though the tens of thousands of Khorchin cavalry were merely circling and howling before the musket-swords.

Then Han Chao decisively ordered the pikemen to advance and engage in close combat.

Two ranks of pikemen moved forward, accompanied by the rhythmic drumbeats. Their front rank shouted in unison and thrust their long pikes with full force at their targets — the pikes like lightning, the armor-piercing long awl-pikes driving deep into the hearts, throats, faces, and other vital points of those Khorchin Mongols. Where it was inconvenient to strike the man, they struck the horse.

Their long spears thrust in, then withdrew in unison; a mist of blood rose, followed by a chorus of shrill, wretched screams. Those Khorchin Mongols stabbed in vital spots collapsed to the ground in unbearable agony, many twisting their bodies violently, clearly suffering to the extreme.

Another burst of urgent drumbeats — the spearmen in the rear ranks surged forward and roared as one: "Kill!"

Again they thrust their armor-piercing long awl-spears in perfect unison, then twisted, pulled back, and withdrew together. Countless jets of blood sprayed forth amid piercing howls, and many more Khorchin Mongols had enormous bloody holes punched through their bodies.

Drumbeats sounded one after another; they advanced by rotation, occasionally exploding forward with a sudden thrust, like the flickering cold gleam of a striking viper. And to the drumbeats, the four ranks continuously rotated, preserving the soldiers' full physical strength.

Then all four ranks attacked simultaneously — the front rank thrusting unceasingly while the rear ranks' spearpoints glinted coldly through the gaps, coordinating with one another, shielding one another, moving as one, as if a single man.

Facing such a long-spear battle formation, those Khorchin Mongols either roared from horseback or dismounted to fight, drawing their shields and great blades to do battle — only to be stabbed to the ground by the densely pressing spear formation. Some even had their shields pierced through and were nailed dead to the earth by the armor-piercing long awl-spears.

The battlefield was filled with the chilling sound of long spears piercing flesh, and the death screams of the dying.

The stench of blood grew ever thicker, mingling with the earlier reek of gunpowder smoke into an indescribably strange and pungent odor.

"Arquebusiers, forward!"

To a burst of urgent drumbeats, the four ranks of arquebusiers, who had long since loaded their ammunition, surged forward. The front rank raised their arquebuses, bayonets fixed, aimed at the panicked enemy before them, and fired.

"Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang..."

The muffled detonations merged into a single line. A dense bank of white smoke dispersed, and a great swath of the Khorchin Mongol riders clustered chaotically ahead collapsed. Countless men rolled on the ground, screaming their hearts and lungs out, while bullet-struck horses neighed in frenzied fury.

The crashing reports of arquebus fire came wave after wave. After the four ranks had all fired their volleys, the men and horses ahead seemed nearly swept away. The ground was strewn with Khorchin men, their innards and bodies mangled by arquebus balls, howling in unbearable agony.

The men and horses advancing from the rear grew even more disordered because of it.

"Spearmen, forward!"

The tactic of the Jingbian Army was the dense coordination of spearmen and arquebusiers.

Once the arquebusiers finished firing, the spearmen advanced to attack, exploiting their close-combat advantage while screening the reloading.

Once the spearmen finished, the arquebusiers advanced to attack, exploiting their firearms advantage.

Over these years, the two had achieved seamless, intimate coordination.

To urgent drumbeats, the dense ranks of spearmen advanced again, jogging in rhythm. Through the gunpowder smoke, their massed long spears flickered in and out of view, scattered points of cold light; the uniformly swaying red tassels atop their iron helmets were like a surging crimson tide.

"Breathtaking."

Watching the Jingbian Army's spear formations and arquebus formations slaughter those Khorchin Mongols as easily as killing chickens, Wang Pu could not help but sigh to Chief of Staff Tian beside him, "Earlier I was still anxious — with the Tartars' thousands upon thousands of horses, would this thin battle line be broken through by them? Now it seems, let alone Mongol Tartars, even Manchu Tartars could not break through our formation either."

Chief of Staff Tian said, "Indeed. In this world, no one is a match for the Jingbian Army anymore. Actually, I feel that if they switched entirely to bayoneted arquebuses, their combat power might be even sharper."

On this, Wang Pu dared not make a rash judgment. He said, "Perhaps."

He looked ahead, watching his own New Army Battalion soldiers basically keeping pace, and could not help feeling a surge of intense pride.