Chapter 170: The First Battle of the Nan'ao Fleet

What troubled Erhe was the unknown threat.

Now that he clearly knew the Ming army's troop deployment, he no longer felt fear.

After all, it was merely three or four hundred Ming soldiers—even if they had firearms, so what? Could they possibly be a match for Jurchen horse archery?

Moreover, judging from their formation, one could tell the opposing commander was no master of war—what kind of ambush places its troops on the front line?

At this thought, Erhe spurred his horse to the front and stepped onto the main road, Jurchen cavalry following close behind, with the Han servant troops bringing up the rear.

They advanced to about four li from the Ming army's formation.

Erhe gave the order: "Wu Gouzi, take fifty men, go by the mountain path, and circle around behind the Ming army. The rest of you follow me in a frontal assault."

A Jurchen niru clasped his fists and dismounted, then jogged up the mountain carrying his bow and arrows, fifty Jurchen warriors following close behind.

After waiting a long while, Erhe judged the time was about right. He drew his bow and arrow and said to the Jurchen warriors behind him: "Warriors, draw your bows—let's kill to our hearts' content!"

A cruel smile spread across the Tartar soldiers' faces as they pulled out their bows and arrows. Just then, someone froze and pointed to Erhe's side: "Ezhen, look."

Erhe turned back in puzzlement, only to see three ships appearing inexplicably on the calm sea to the northwest—too far away to make out their size.

At that moment, a long, slender single-masted ship also appeared in view. Set against the three great ships, this single-masted vessel looked like nothing more than a toy.

Only then did Erhe grasp the size of the approaching ships. His heart gave a sudden lurch—but then he reassured himself: though the Ming ships were large, the bigger the ship, the harder it was to bring ashore. As long as they couldn't land troops, those ships could only stare helplessly from the sea.

All that mattered now was to break through the Ming position blocking the way in one concerted push, and the danger would be turned aside.

Erhe steadied himself and shouted to the soldiers behind him: "Charge!"

With that, he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and dashed out at the front, Jurchen cavalry following close behind.

After galloping no longer than the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, the Ming army's position came into view.

The Ming formation was loose and sloppy, with only low branches blocking the road junction. The soldiers all stood on the small slope beside the main road, forming an arc.

Erhe laughed out loud—such a slovenly, foolish battle formation was the likes of which he had never seen in his life.

He spurred his horse into a leap, easily clearing the branches blocking the road, and the Jurchen cavalry behind him did the same.

Seeing the Jurchen soldiers burst forth, most of the Ming soldiers showed terror on their faces—some had even begun to waver and fall back.

Erhe laughed from his saddle: "Could these be a bunch of chicks who've never seen blood?"

"Ready!" From within the Ming formation, orders rang out one after another.

The soldiers obeyed and moved the branches aside, revealing the muzzles of more than a dozen Folangji cannons.

The smile on Erhe's face turned somewhat tense.

Just then, Wu Gouzi's fifty men burst out from behind the Ming army. The Ming formation immediately fell into chaos—the Platoon Officer shouted loudly for the soldiers to form ranks and resist, his voice tinged with panic.

By now the Jurchen cavalry had charged to within a hundred paces of the Ming army—the outcome was all but decided!

"Fire!" At the command, more than a dozen cannons were touched off simultaneously.

In an instant, red light flashed from the muzzles. Then, through the white gunsmoke, grapeshot dense as black fog blasted forth.

The cannon muzzles had long since been adjusted, all aimed at the exit of the main road.

At a distance of a hundred paces, the trajectories were almost perfectly flat—not a single cannon would miss.

In a flash, Erhe saw a wall of black rushing toward him. Instinctively he yanked hard on the reins, and his warhorse reared up on its hind legs.

Then the sound of flesh and blood being torn apart by cannonballs came from every direction. His warhorse struck as if by an invisible wall—in an instant, flesh separated from bone, and shredded meat and blood splattered across his face.

Erhe tumbled from his horse and looked around in a daze. Only then did he see that more than a hundred Jurchen cavalrymen around him had all fallen to the ground.

The air was thick with the stench of blood and sulfur, filled with the screams of dying warhorses and the cries of Jurchen warriors.

Erhe simply could not understand what had happened. He had seen Ming firearms before—they could not possibly have such power.

What was this hellish carnage before his eyes? An illusion, or sorcery?

On the position in the distance, the Ming soldiers—whose morale had been wavering—let out a cheer and steadied themselves. Under the Platoon Officer's command, they methodically cleaned the cannon bores and loaded the powder.

Behind Erhe, the Han servant troops halted in their tracks, faces full of terror—more than six hundred men packed the main road from side to side.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Just then, a continuous string of cannon fire came rolling in from the sea.

Before the cannonade had even ended, the area around the servant troops had already erupted into chaos.

Solid iron shot mercilessly carved into the dense formation—every single round kicked up a thick mist of blood, severed limbs and smoke flying into the sky together.

More than forty cannonballs rained down around the two-to-three-hundred-meter-long serpentine column. The mountain forest trembled, vast clouds of dust rose, and trees snapped.

The reefs on the nearby beach were blasted by cannonballs into flying sparks and shattered fragments, chunks of rock of varying sizes hurled hundreds of paces away.

Everything happened too fast—Erhe could not react at all.

By the time he turned to look back, the servant troops behind him had already vanished into the smoke and blood-mist.

Aboard the Denglai Fleet's flagship, the Dingliao, the assembled officers and men watched the scene before them and fell into collective silence.

On the stern deck, Shen Yourong stood gripping the bulwark, his expression calm, his gray-white beard trembling slightly.

At this moment, nothing remained in heaven and earth but the rumbling thunder of cannon fire!

On the main road beside Jinjiagou, the dust rising to a height of five or six zhang stretched thirty or forty zhang front to back, thick as a wall of smoke.

As the cannon fire sounded, the smoke wall seemed to take a heavy blow and collapsed inward—that was the gale whipped up by cannonballs blasting into it.

Moments later, a bloody hue emerged from within the smoke—that was the blood vapor rising from Tartar soldiers struck by cannon fire.

On the other side, the three ships Tianyuan, Changfeng, and Yunfan continued firing without pause—even the intervals between volleys were almost perfectly uniform, so precise it hardly seemed like battle, more like students calmly practicing calligraphy in a schoolroom.

If the teacher said to practice the character "yong" a hundred times, then practice it a hundred times—even if one had already mastered the technique, one remained utterly meticulous, as if entering a state of complete absorption.

The southwest wind blew the gunsmoke of the cannon fire onto the Dingliao, and the surroundings immediately became hazy as if shrouded in clouds and mist.

The acrid smell of sulfur drilled through the airways straight up to the crown of the head, and soon people aboard began to cough.

After being steeped in the gunsmoke for a while, one could also detect a faint smell of charcoal, and the throat was filled with a bitter, metallic taste—even the surrounding air seemed much drier and hotter.

At the middle section of the main road by Jinjiagou, Yuan Chonghuan—who had been brought ashore by the Denglai Fleet—called his men to a halt.

According to the original plan, he was there to cut off the retreat of the main force at Jin Prefecture. But seeing the three war beasts on the sea firing their cannons with mad abandon, raising smoke and dust as tall as mountain peaks...

Yuan Chonghuan couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt about the battle plan.

Could the Jurchen really still have a way out after enduring bombardment of this intensity?

Had he brought his troops here to cut off their retreat, or to play spectator?

Besides, were there really Tartars still alive in that smoke and dust? Why hadn't the cannons stopped?

Aboard the Tianyuan, Lin Qian lowered his telescope and ordered, "Enough. Let's conserve some ammunition."

Bailangzai called out loudly, "Cease fire!"

On the gun deck, Lei Sanxiang shouted, "Cease fire!"

The southwest wind scattered the gunsmoke, and only then did the gunners get a breath of fresh air.

One gunner joked, "We're stopping already? I haven't even worked up a sweat!"

Lei Sanxiang laughed and cursed, "You'll have plenty of time to sweat later!"

At the end of the official road, the fighting at the marine position ended slightly later than the bombardment.

The Tartars attacking from behind had given the marines no small trouble — had it not been for the cannons and the five instructors led by Chang Lei personally holding the line, this marine force, which had never fought a major battle, might well have collapsed.

Geng Wu, the guard captain, still felt a chill of fear recalling the battle.

Since the Nan'ao Navy had been established, it had never engaged in a proper boarding action, and its usual gun battles had all been won by overwhelming firepower — it had never experienced close-quarters, face-to-face slaughter.

The helmsman's concerns had proven justified; the marines discovered no small number of problems in just this one battle.

"Wei Zheng, the Tartars in the rear have been dealt with," a soldier came to report. "Killed fifteen of them; the rest fled."

"What are our casualties?" Geng Wu asked with a cold face.

"Eight dead, twenty wounded." The soldier's voice dropped.

"Were the deserters caught?" Geng Wu asked again.

"They were."

"Bring them up." Geng Wu's face was like ice.

Moments later, three soldiers, stripped of their armor and bound hand and foot, were brought forward and made to kneel. One remained silent; the other two wept bitterly.

Geng Wu glanced at them and was somewhat relieved to see none of his own guards among the deserters. He said coldly, "Abandoning the field in the face of battle means death! This is the rule the general set before we came ashore. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

One of them wept, "I don't want to die, I still have my old mother — Wei Zheng, spare my life, I don't want to die —"

Geng Wu drew his blade from its sheath and declared, "Had you died in battle, your mother would receive twenty taels of compensation, and your military pay would be delivered to her in full every month. A pity — a deserter gets nothing!"

The silent one spoke: "I beg Wei Zheng for one more chance. I want to die on the battlefield."

Geng Wu snorted coldly: "Too late."

Then he turned to the third man and asked, "Do you have anything to say?"

That man only wept, sobbing until he could barely breathe.

Seeing this, Geng Wu waved his hand: "Drag him off. Execute him."

Moments later, three fresh heads were brought in.

Geng Wu said loudly to the surrounding soldiers, "The general has said: deserters in the face of battle will be killed without mercy. Anyone else who violates military law will meet this same end!"

The marine soldiers remained silent. Though this battle was a great victory, everyone knew in their hearts that they owed it to the cannons and the ship's guns — their own fighting had been poor.

Geng Wu ordered the soldiers to unload the cannons and clean up the battlefield.

An hour later, Yuan Chonghuan rode on horseback past piles of shredded flesh and gore, arrived before the marine formation, and found Geng Wu.

"Wei Zheng." Yuan Chonghuan dismounted and saluted.

Strictly speaking, he, as a military supply commissioner, outranked a lowly wei zheng by a wide margin and had no need to salute at all.

But in the army, the strong command respect. In this battle, the Nan'ao Navy had almost single-handedly annihilated the main force of Jin Prefecture, and even the proud Yuan Chonghuan felt genuine admiration.

Geng Wu immediately returned the salute from horseback: "Commissioner Yuan."

Though his face showed deference, he did not kneel.

One should know that although the Ming Emperor had repeatedly decreed that officials need not kneel to one another, kneeling had become such a widespread custom in officialdom that the court simply could not stop it.

Especially since Yuan Chonghuan was a jinshi graduate and a proper high-ranking civil official — ordinary lower-ranking military officers would kneel when they saw him.

Geng Wu's unassuming yet unyielding bearing raised him further in Yuan Chonghuan's estimation.

Yuan Chonghuan asked, "Have any Jianzhou barbarian remnants fled this way? Does Muchang Post need reinforcements?"

Geng Wu replied, "Over thirty fled, but they were all broken remnants, no longer a threat. Muchang Post is well covered by my men working with General Zhang Pan. Commissioner Yuan may proceed with the original plan."

According to the original plan, Yuan Chonghuan was now supposed to lead troops to besiege Jin Prefecture city — this was the part of the plan Lin Qian had not revealed that day at the Supreme Commander's headquarters.

At the time, Lin Qian had only said they would blast open the walls of Jin Prefecture with cannons and the army would take the city.

All the generals had thought it too simple, like children playing house.

Little did they know that Lin Qian, worried about leaks with so many officers in the hall, had deliberately given only a rough outline. The detailed plan was already fully formed in his mind — he had only laid out the full "besiege the point, strike the relief" tactic when he met Sun Chengzong privately.

But Lin Qian was, after all, a naval commander with little understanding of land warfare. The strategy was excellent, but the tactics were a complete mess.

So Sun Chengzong had summoned Ma Shilong, Yuan Chonghuan, Zu Dashou and others to deliberate at length before filling in the gaps and making it workable.

When discussing the plan, Lin Qian said he would ambush here with the Nan'ao Navy, and the generals were somewhat distrustful.

After all, a navy specialized in naval warfare — how could it manage on land?

Seeing Lin Qian's insistence, Sun Chengzong agreed. For safety's sake, he sent Yuan Chonghuan with troops to cut off the retreat of Jin Prefecture's main force.

In the Supreme Commander's thinking, even if the Nan'ao Navy's land fighting was weak, it could at least hold the Jin Prefecture Tartars for a moment.

That would be enough time for Yuan Chonghuan to arrive with his troops.

But unexpectedly, Yuan Chonghuan, the main reinforcement, ended up watching the show — the six hundred men of Jin Prefecture's main force were indeed wiped out in one pot by the Nan'ao Navy.

Yuan Chonghuan even felt grateful he hadn't pursued too quickly; otherwise, with that volley of cannon fire, he would have been wiped out along with them.

After ascertaining the situation, Yuan Chonghuan had intended to ride off, but he saw that the officers and men at the Nan'ao Navy position were all in low spirits, not at all like men who had just won a great victory.

Yuan Chonghuan's heart sank. He thought to himself, "This is bad — could the Nan'ao Navy's commander be dead?"

He hurriedly asked, "How many casualties did your forces suffer in this battle?"

Geng Wu: "Eight dead, twenty wounded."

"What?" Yuan Chonghuan was startled.

Even for an ambush with artillery support, fewer than thirty total casualties was far too few.

Yuan Chonghuan pressed further: "Then why do the soldiers show no joy on their faces?"

"Oh, perhaps because the battle wasn't fought well, and everyone feels bad about it." Geng Wu thought for a moment, then seeming to realize how absurd that sounded, added, "Had this battle lacked the cannons and ship guns, our forces might have suffered a disastrous defeat. Just now I personally beheaded three deserters."

Yuan Chonghuan stared wide-eyed, not knowing what to say, feeling as if a breath was stuck in his throat and couldn't come out.

First, since when could weapons and soldiers be counted separately? If you broke it down that way, wouldn't the Jurchen cavalry's prowess be entirely the credit of their warhorses and bows?

Second, could three deserters even be considered many? When had Ming forces ever fought the Tartars without eight or ten men fleeing? Without a few deserters, could it even be called a battle?

Feet grow on a person's own body—did they think they were on a ship with nowhere to run?

Finally, after winning such a great victory, even the biggest mistakes should have been smoothed over and forgiven. But the Nan'ao naval forces did the opposite—because of some unsatisfactory performance during the battle, they smoothed over a great victory and withheld commendation.

Yuan Chonghuan was stunned for a moment, then could only offer an awkward consolation: "Don't be too harsh on the soldiers either."

Geng Wu clasped his hands and said, "The Intendant speaks wisely."

Yuan Chonghuan glanced at the Nan'ao naval forces again, seeing that the soldiers cleaning the battlefield were only picking up bows, arrows, sabers, swords, gold, and silver.

The Jurchen's shoes, clothing, animal hides, and such were disdainfully ignored without even a glance.

Wasn't it just stained with some Tartar gore? Washed, couldn't they still be worn?

One should know that most Liaodong commoners—families of seven or eight—had to take turns wearing a single cotton coat in winter.

Were the Nan'ao naval forces so wealthy that they looked down even on animal hides and cotton coats?

Yuan Chonghuan rode off with a heart full of questions, past the ground littered with Tartar corpses and gore, heading toward the main road.

As he rode up to his own soldiers, Yuan Chonghuan felt that something was different about them compared to the Nan'ao troops.

One of his subordinates said, "Intendant, if you have orders, please issue them."

Yuan Chonghuan snapped back to attention: "Rear ranks become the vanguard—march on Jin Prefecture city!"

The next evening, Geng Wu led his forces to Mucheng Post Station and made camp.

After resting for one night, at dawn, when the sky had just begun to lighten—

The cannons roared. Ten Folangji cannons fired rapidly in unison, and the city gate of Mucheng Post Station collapsed in an instant.

Then the marines entered in mandarin-duck formation, using muskets and spears to precisely pick off the Tartar soldiers.

Facing complex terrain, the soldiers would adjust their formation on their own, clearing building after building in sequence—careful and efficient.

It seemed less like storming a city and seizing territory, and more like going room by room doing housecleaning.

The marine soldiers were all holding in a breath of determination, resolved to wash away yesterday's shame, showing no mercy in their attacks.

The Tartar soldiers defending the city were skilled archers, but the marines had, first, cotton armor, and second, muskets.

However formidable the bow and arrow might be, could it be more formidable than a musket?

Even if a single musket couldn't match a bow, the marines could still gather over a dozen muskets at once.

Over a dozen musketeers lined up and fired in volley.

The last thing the Tartar archers saw before death was the dark-red matchcord falling onto the powder pan, followed by white smoke billowing out.

By the time Zhang Pan had assembled his men and rushed over to provide support—

The fighting at Mucheng Post Station was already essentially over; the Tartar soldiers had all been shot into sieves by muskets and spears.

Following the original plan, Zhang Pan joined forces with the marines and together they eliminated several more Tartar strongholds south of Jin Prefecture.

Bringing along the Han Chinese they had rescued, they withdrew toward Lushun Harbor.

Afterward, the marines would board the Tianyuan, while the rest of the Han Chinese would be received by the naval forces.

Meanwhile, beneath the walls of Jin Prefecture city, Yuan Chonghuan had his soldiers drag tree branches along the ground, raising a sky-filling cloud of dust to create the appearance of an enormous force.

He also ordered each soldier to hold a command flag, standing upright amid the dust and smoke, as if thousands upon thousands of troops were concealed within.

They also hauled over many corpses of Tartar soldiers and warhorses, piling them beneath the city walls.

At the same time, employing the strategy of "besieging three sides and leaving one open," they left the north gate of Jin Prefecture unguarded.

The Jala Ejen of Jin Prefecture, Erhe, was absent, leaving the city without a leader.

Moreover, since they were all Han Chinese conscript troops with naturally low morale, seeing the Ming army's overwhelming display filled them with terror. They managed to hold the city for only one afternoon—and as soon as the sky darkened, they fled in haste through the north gate.

Northeast of Jin Prefecture city was Dahei Mountain, and to the northwest was Bijia Mountain, with the official road passing between the two.

The conscript troops fled in panic, with no time to think things through, and rushed onto the main road—right into the cavalry ambush laid in wait there by Man Gui and his men.

Transporting warhorses across the sea was no easy task, so Man Gui's cavalry numbered only a little over fifty.

But Man Gui himself and his men were all surrendered Mongol soldiers who had grown up on horseback, naturally skilled in archery and horsemanship. Hunting down four hundred infantrymen who had lost all will to fight was practically child's play.

At Man Gui's command, the cavalry charged out from the mountain slopes on both sides toward the main road. In a single clash, over a dozen conscript corpses lay on the ground.

The remaining fugitives, terrified, scattered in all directions—some ran along the main road, others scrambled up the slopes on either side.

Man Gui swung his steel saber and shouted in Mongolian: "Split up and pursue! Don't let a single one escape!"

The cavalrymen around him whooped and hollered as they spurred their horses, galloping wildly in every direction.

The ambush site Man Gui had chosen had gentle slopes all around, so the cavalry faced no obstruction—pursuing up the mountains was no different from pursuing along the main road.

An hour later, the fifty-odd cavalrymen returned one by one, every man drenched in crimson, even their horses' manes soaked with blood and dripping.

Man Gui's entire body—except for his eyes—no longer had a single spot of black on it, and the steel saber in his hand had been chopped until its edge was curled.

He asked his subordinates in Mongolian: "Gouzi, did your squad kill all the fugitives clean?"

Gouzi said: "Chased them two or three li out—not one left alive."

Man Gui asked again: "Ludan, how about your side?"

Ludan grinned and said: "Not only did I kill them all clean, I also captured over a dozen prisoners."

Man Gui questioned several more squad leaders to make sure no stragglers had escaped.

Then Ludan said, "General, what should we do with these prisoners?"

The Denglai naval warships were limited—they weren't even enough to carry the civilians, let alone have room to transport these prisoners.

So Man Gui said in a cold voice, "Kill them."

"Yes!" His subordinates obeyed without hesitation, raising their blades and cutting down the prisoners—a dozen or so bodies fell into pools of blood.

Man Gui looked toward the north. The fighting in the south was now concluded; what remained depended on Liu Xingzuo in Fu Prefecture and the Nan'ao naval forces.

Fu Prefecture (present-day Wafangdian, Liaoning) lay roughly one hundred twenty li due north of Jin Prefecture and about forty-plus li from the coast—an inland town.

Moreover, the surrounding terrain was mostly plains, convenient for troop movements and cultivation, so the Tartars had not relocated the local soldiers and civilians. Instead, they had even moved some of Jin Prefecture's residents here.

The current defender of Fu Prefecture was none other than Liu Xingzuo.

This man was a Han Chinese from Liaodong who had surrendered to the Jianzhou barbarians in his early years. Brave and resourceful, fluent in Han, Mongol, and Jurchen speech, he was highly capable and deeply valued by Nurhaci, who specially bestowed upon him the Jurchen name "Aita" and appointed him Vice Regional Commander, commanding the four southern Liaodong prefectures of Jin, Fu, Gai, and Hai.

Liu Xingzuo held no examination degree—under the Ming he could not become an official, and a military career held no future either. The Jurchen Great Khan Nurhaci treated him generously, even marrying him to the daughter of Great Beile Daishan's wet nurse.

That connection sounded distant, but in truth it had already drawn Liu Xingzuo into the imperial clan.

Had nothing else intervened, Liu Xingzuo might have served Nurhaci for life. But ever since the fall of Liaoyang and Shenyang, Nurhaci's bloodthirsty and cruel nature had begun to show itself, as he slaughtered Liaodong's Han Chinese on a massive scale.

After the Battle of Zhenjiang, he grew even more wary and defensive toward the coastal towns of all Liaodong, carrying out large-scale coastal evacuations and sea bans that displaced countless Han people.

The contradictions between Jurchens and Han Chinese intensified day by day.

Liu Xingzuo was, after all, a Han Chinese. He had read the sages' books and knew of "loyalty, filial piety, propriety, righteousness, integrity, and shame." Unable to stomach the Jianzhou barbarians' cruel methods, he took the initiative to contact Mao Wenlong, Sun Chengzong, and their commands, hoping to return to the allegiance of the Great Ming.

During the time he was preparing to defect to the Ming, he also served as a spy, faithfully reporting everything he learned of the Jianzhou barbarians' affairs of state and military.

That was how Sun Chengzong obtained his Jurchen intelligence.

Unfortunately, he held high position and great power, and he was deep in Jianzhou barbarian territory—returning to the Great Ming was no easy matter. Even if he himself could escape, the Jianzhou barbarians would not spare his family and subordinates.

Given Nurhaci's cruelty, he might even slaughter the Han civilians of Fu Prefecture to vent his rage.

Thus, though he had been in contact with Sun Chengzong for a long time and had sent out countless pieces of intelligence, Liu Xingzuo's plan to defect to the Ming had yet to make any progress.

That evening, when the night had grown deep, Liu Xingzuo was just about to undress for bed when suddenly a guardsman's voice came from outside the room: "General, a merchant has arrived from the south requesting an audience."

Liu Xingzuo jolted awake, his drowsiness swept away in an instant.

The so-called "merchant from the south" was the code name he and his men used for envoys from their homeland.

"Quickly, invite him in." Liu Xingzuo didn't have time to put on his clothes—he rolled straight off the bed.

A moment later, a man pushed open the door and entered.

This man had a square face, a full beard, and sharply defined features. Though dressed as a merchant, he could not conceal his air of rugged competence.

"May I ask the Ming envoy's name?" Liu Xingzuo was the first to cup his hands in salute.

The man smiled and returned the salute, saying in a low voice, "This humble officer is Zu Dashou, Assistant Regional Commander of Liaodong. Greetings, General."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen