Chapter 415: Two White Banners' Cavalry Tramples the Hollow Formation

The messenger spurred his horse and rode off swiftly.

Then another volley of cannon fire erupted from the east, and over a hundred solid iron shot smashed into the Capital Camps' formation.

The Capital Camps' formation was sparse, with few dead or wounded, but those struck by cannonballs had their bodies hurled through the air, and the wounded screamed without cease—a devastating blow to morale.

The Capital Camps had already been on the verge of collapse; now they could no longer hold at all. Soldiers of the Five Armies Camp and the Divine Pivot Camp lost their wits in terror and turned to flee in rout.

The soldiers of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses cut down many men, but could never stem the tide of the rout—instead they were swept along and scattered by the fleeing mob.

Liu Yuanbin shouted until his throat was raw, to no avail whatsoever. He could only watch helplessly as the army collapsed like an avalanche of snow.

He cursed loudly, then said to his personal retainers: "Heaven's decree cannot be defied—let us each seek our own fortunes!"

With that, he shook his reins and led his score-odd personal retainers fleeing northward.

That banner bearing the character "Liu" followed Liu Yuanbin for a dozen-odd paces, then was cast aside by a retainer and fell into the mud.

Atop Guangqu Gate, the assembled ministers witnessed this scene, and despair painted every face. Already some officials near the stairway, unnoticed by the rest, had slipped down from the gate tower and were scrambling and rolling their way back toward their own mansions.

Before the window, Chongzhen's face was flushed crimson, his whole body trembling as he gazed at the carnage below, his eyes splitting with rage.

The soldiers of the Capital Camps and the Daizhou army instinctively wanted to run back inside the city, all of them crowding onto the Guangqu Gate bridge.

In the distance, gunfire and cannon fire continued unabated. Unable to discern the battlefield situation, the soldiers only assumed the Xia army was pursuing them, and they kept shoving forward, with great numbers of wounded being jostled into the moat.

More and more soldiers fell into the water, and before long the stretch of moat before Guangqu Gate was packed with floundering men, like dumplings being dropped into a pot.

The routed soldiers were so densely packed that even those who could swim could not stretch their arms and legs, dragged down by those around them to sink together to the bottom. Many sank quickly, and fresh soldiers were pushed into the moat in turn.

Bloody water flowed in, churning with mud and sand, turning the hundred-odd zhang stretch of moat into a swath of murky brownish red.

The sounds of splashing, screams, cries for help, and wails all mingled together, piercing the eardrums.

It was at this moment that Liu Yuanbin's messenger finally ran up onto the gate tower. He had ridden at full speed the whole way, knowing nothing of what was happening outside the city. Once atop the tower, he knelt and said: "Your Majesty, Eunuch Liu asks whether the Capital Camps may enter the city to rest and regroup?"

At such a sight, to say such words was virtually slapping Chongzhen across the face in front of all the ministers.

Zhu Chunchen looked into the distance—the "Liu" banner lay fallen in the mud, and Liu Yuanbin had fled beyond even a trace of sight.

Chongzhen's body trembled, hot blood surged to his head, tears swirled in his eyes, and darkness flickered before his vision.

A suppressed roar burst from his throat: "Liu Yuanbin! I was truly blind to have trusted that beast! I will have him chopped into ten thousand pieces—"

While he raged, the ministers on the gate tower continued to flee, and the tower soon emptied out in great swaths.

Not only low-ranking civil officials—even nobles, military officers, and palace attendants were slipping away. Grand Secretary Wu Zongda glanced sidelong and felt his heart chill halfway; even the Minister of Rites was nowhere to be seen on the tower.

Among officials in the capital below the third rank, nearly all had gone clean away.

Now that the Ming army had been defeated, the Xia army's entry into the city was only a matter of time. If one did not seize this moment to flee with one's family, there would never be another chance.

Wu Zongda gritted his teeth and likewise made for the stairway.

Seeing this, Zhu Chunchen sneered and said: "Where is the Grand Secretary off to?"

In an instant, all eyes turned upon Wu Zongda. His withered face immediately flushed red and swollen as he lowered his head and said: "I—I am going to change my clothes—"

"Changing clothes" was the refined euphemism for using the latrine.

At a moment of national crisis, a Grand Secretary of the realm actually sought to escape by way of a piss-flight—the surrounding ministers all found it absurd and laughable.

But with their very lives at stake, they had no time to mock him, each occupied with thoughts of how they themselves might get away.

Seizing the moment while everyone was lost in their own schemes and none dared look at the Chief Grand Secretary or the Emperor's faces, Wu Zongda fled downstairs like a fugitive, rolling and scrambling all the way.

"I have not been defeated!" Chongzhen suddenly howled.

The ministers were all startled, their gazes turning toward him.

Chongzhen stretched out a hand: "Bring me a sword!"

Wang Cheng'en wept: "His Majesty, we—"

"Bring me the sword!" Chongzhen roared.

Because the routed soldiers were too numerous, the Guangqu Gate city door had already been shut. Those fugitives who had managed to cross the bridge were all crammed before the gate, pounding ceaselessly upon it, screaming and begging without pause.

The pounding sounds traveled up through the brick and wooden beams to the gate tower, extraordinarily clear in the empty hall, urgent as a death knell.

If Chongzhen went down with a sword at this moment, there was hardly any possibility other than being trampled to death by the routed soldiers.

Thus, no matter how Chongzhen demanded a sword, Wang Cheng'en only kowtowed and wept bitterly.

"Wretched slave!" Chongzhen flew into a rage, making as if to strike Wang Cheng'en.

Just then, Zhang Fengyi suddenly cried out in a high voice: "Your—Your Majesty, reinforcements! Reinforcements have come!"

"Where?" Chongzhen forgot all dignity, rushing to the window and craning his head out to look.

Zhang Fengyi pointed to the southeast: "There, over there!"

Chongzhen followed his pointing finger and looked—sure enough, upon the vast earth, a plume of brown-black dust rose up, clearly indicating a great host of men rapidly approaching.

"It's reinforcements, truly reinforcements!" someone shouted.

The ministers on the gate tower were like gamblers who had turned around a hopeless hand, bursting with wild joy in an instant.

Zhu Chunchen rubbed his eyes again and again, certain he had not misseen, and said in a trembling voice: "Judging by this momentum, there must be nearly ten thousand men!"

"It's the Guanning Army, it must be the Guanning Army!" Grand Secretary Zheng Yiwei shouted.

"That's right, judging by the direction of the relief force, it must certainly be the Guanning Army!"

"Excellent—as long as the Guanning Army has come, all is well! They will surely drive back the rebel troops!"

Grand Secretary Wang Yingxiong said: "Drive them back? More than that—the rebels have fought long and hard, their troops are weary and their formations rigid. General Zu will surely annihilate them all in one stroke!"

Listening to the ministers' discussion, wild joy surged in Chongzhen's heart. The tears he had held back for so long finally could not be restrained, and he choked out to Wang Cheng'en: "Remember this—after this battle, General Zu must be richly rewarded! I will grant him a noble title!"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Wang Cheng'en rose from the ground, wiping his tears without cease.

That plume of dust moved with extreme speed—in the brief moment the ministers spent congratulating one another, it had already drawn much closer, and a dense black line appeared on the horizon.

Then a low, rumbling sound came rolling in.

"It's cavalry!" Zhu Chunchen shouted almost to the point of breaking his voice, "A full ten thousand cavalrymen!"

The ministers were wild with joy—even the always steady and prudent Wen Tiren could hardly conceal his delight.

The same goes for soldiers—ten thousand iron cavalry are worth fifty thousand foot soldiers in combat power, and if commanded well, they can handle even a hundred thousand infantry with ease.

The Xia army numbers only a little over ten thousand—what does it matter even if their firearms are formidable?

In open-field combat against ten thousand Guanning Iron Cavalry, they would only be waiting to die!

Moreover, the Ming army emphasizes coordination between troop types, and cavalry requires men to carry supplies—ten thousand horsemen basically cannot operate alone; infantry and support troops must follow behind them.

Calculated according to the Guanning army's force composition, this is almost the entire Guanning army pouring out!

Chongzhen was deeply moved inside; tears burst from his eyes, and his vision blurred.

Since his ascension to the throne, he had been repeatedly deceived by civil and military officials, feeling that every courtier acted only for personal gain, that no one could be trusted.

Zu Dashou dominated the passes, hoarding troops and growing arrogant—he had long harbored intentions of breaking from the central government and declaring himself king.

After hearing that the Xia army had crushed the Denglai naval forces, Chongzhen had also ordered the garrisons of Liaodong, Xuanfu, and Datong to enter the passes to defend the capital, but he had not held much hope.

Unexpectedly, in this moment of crisis, it was Zu Dashou—the man Chongzhen trusted least—who came to his rescue with full force.

Truly, a strong grass withstands the fierce wind, and a loyal minister is known in troubled times!

Chongzhen watched the mighty cavalry charging from afar, weeping as he repeated: "Good! Good! Good!"

The Xia army was seen falling into a flurry, their formation contracting sharply, breaking into square formations that could not support one another—clearly waiting to die in place.

The Guanning Iron Cavalry charged to within five li of Guangqu Gate—their men and horses were mighty, their banners snapped in the wind, their armor gleamed sternly, their hoofbeats thundered like rolling drums, moving like a fierce gale—truly an elite and powerful force!

Chongzhen's heart grew ever more joyful—but suddenly he froze.

People on the city tower also noticed something wrong; the sound of conversation gradually died down, plunging back into deathly silence.

The cavalry's banners were mostly of solid colors, embroidered with dragon patterns, not a single Chinese character among them, and their armor was predominantly gray-white.

This did not quite match the Guanning army's regulations—rather, it resembled the Tartars' Two White Banners.

The Jianzhou barbarian cavalry had been drilled in imitation of the Great Ming's border troops; the two armies were highly similar in formation, tactics, equipment, and banners.

The only subtle differences could be spotted at a glance by a seasoned commander.

To the civil officials watching at Guangqu Gate, they required careful scrutiny to distinguish.

Wang Cheng'en handed Chongzhen a telescope; Chongzhen took it and saw that the cavalry's formation was loose, advancing in two wings left and right, raising large and diffuse clouds of dust—all habits of hunting-and-fishing horsemen.

Chongzhen still refused to give up, searching back and forth until he finally found a few without helmets—all of them had short hair or shaved heads, with a single braid of hair at the back of the skull swaying in the wind.

Chongzhen's hand went limp, and the telescope clattered to the ground.

Wang Cheng'en hurriedly knelt and picked it up.

The sovereign of the great Ming had mistaken Tartar cavalry for friendly troops—Chongzhen was overwhelmed with shame and fury; the gratitude he had felt toward Zu Dashou a moment ago now turned into a desire to have him sliced into ten thousand pieces.

The assembled civil and military officials were also deeply embarrassed, glaring angrily at Zhang Fengyi and Zhu Chunchen.

But regardless, they had lost all face this time—yet their lives were saved.

With ten thousand battle-hardened infantry facing Tartar iron cavalry, the assembled ministers truly could not imagine how the Great Xia could win.

Within the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry ranks.

Ajige drove his warhorse at full speed, his eyes blazing with fury, his back molars nearly ground to dust.

He had originally planned to quietly move his troops to directly behind the Xia army while the Ming and Xia forces were locked in battle.

He had not expected the Ming army to lose so quickly, so suddenly.

His original plan was to reap the spoils while the Ming and Xia sides were locked in a bitter stalemate—but it turned out there was no stalemate at all.

The Ming army collapsed at the first contact.

Ajige had misjudged the situation; what should have been easy spoils became a missed opportunity.

In his shame and rage, he ordered the cavalry to charge—even if they gained no advantage, they would salvage their pride.

"Master, the enemy has formed into squares!" the gushan ejen of the Plain White Banner shouted from his galloping horse.

Ajige glanced over—the Xia army had formed nearly twenty hollow squares—and sneered dismissively.

This tactic of infantry shrinking into a ball when facing cavalry was already an old Ming army trick; in terms of formation discipline alone, the Xia army was even slightly inferior to the Guanning army.

Ajige paid it no mind at all. He shouted: "Use the old method!"

"As ordered!" The gushan ejen gave a whistle, and then many more whistles sounded through the cavalry ranks; the Manchu horsemen gripped their war bows and let out strange cries meant to intimidate the enemy.

Three thousand cavalry split into three groups—one took the left wing, one took the right wing, and Ajige personally led one group straight into the Xia army's center formation.

As the three thousand Jianzhou barbarian cavalry drew closer and closer, the hoofbeats grew louder and louder, the ground's gravel trembling until men's legs went numb below the calf.

Three thousand Liaodong warhorses charging—their momentum far exceeded that of Dian horses.

Even though the Great Xia soldiers were long accustomed to the sound of hoofbeats, facing the triple oppression of sight, sound, and touch, they could not help but sweat profusely.

The soldiers crouching in the outermost layer of the squares shut their eyes one after another.

In the center formation, Lei Sanxiang's face was grim; the mountains of corpses and seas of blood at Sarhu kept flashing through his mind.

Corpses stretched for over ten li, covering the entire flood valley; the river water and the setting sun were both dyed crimson red. Looking around, there was not a single living person—flocks of crows circled overhead——

"Motherf—!" Lei Sanxiang let out a pained curse.

"They're coming!" the staff officer shouted.

By now the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry had closed to within two hundred paces; the thunderous hoofbeats completely drowned out the staff officer's words—those around him could only see his lips moving, hearing nothing at all.

"Prepare!" In front of each square, the artillery squad leaders roared with veins bulging on their foreheads.

"Boom boom boom————"

A sheet of grapeshot swept toward the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry, and in an instant the front line of horsemen tumbled, men and horses falling alike.

But the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry had fought the Ming army for years and knew how to deal with firearms—their formation was very loose, so despite the grapeshot, the casualties inflicted were quite limited.

"Abandon the guns and enter the formation!" After that single volley, each artillery squad immediately gave the order; all the gunners abandoned their cannons and withdrew, entering the hollow squares from the formation's base.

This was the Great Xia's standard tactic when forming hollow squares against cavalry: six-pounder and heavier cannons were placed ten-plus paces directly in front of the squares, and after one round of fire, they retreated into the formation.

The gunners had ample time to enter the formation without disrupting its shape, and at the same time, the heavy abandoned cannons served as natural obstacles to impede the enemy cavalry.

Additionally, each square retained one or two artillery positions, mostly placed at the corners, all using light guns of six pounds or less, serving as supplementary firepower for the hollow squares.

As for volley fire over the ranks in the square formation, in past battles there had been more than one incident of artillery blowing off the heads of comrades in the front ranks, so it was expressly forbidden.

"Fifty paces!" The musketeer raised the triangular flag while screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice completely swallowed by the thunder of hooves.

Inside the square formation, the soldiers' breathing grew increasingly harsh, their hearts pounding almost as loudly as the hoofbeats, every muscle taut as they endlessly reloaded and fired.

The Jurchen cavalry rode in loose formation, and every rider was supremely skilled. When a horse in front went down from a gunshot, the soldiers behind could mostly steer clear, so that many Qing soldiers, after falling from their horses, rolled to absorb the impact and could still scramble back to their feet.

This feat alone was something the Xia soldiers had never seen before.

Soon, the Jurchen cavalry charged within twenty paces, then immediately wheeled their horses around, avoiding the bayonets, and surged toward the gaps in the hollow square formation.

The cavalry drew their bows and nocked arrows, and in an instant arrows rained down from every direction, Xia soldiers falling in rows as they were struck.

Ajige shot from both sides of his horse, killing three officers in succession. Just as he was feeling pleased with himself, he suddenly heard two thunderous booms.

He turned to look and saw that at the corners of the hollow square formation, two cannons were wreathed in smoke. Grapeshot erupted from the muzzles, shredding the dozen or so riders before them, flesh and bone carried by the shot splattering into the distance, flying a full hundred paces or more.

After the gunsmoke cleared, only two overlapping crimson fan-shaped patches remained on the field. Outside the kill zone, a dozen or so riders were splattered with blood and gore, their warhorses shrieking in fright and refusing to advance, while another three or four riders were thrown from their mounts.

Ajige knew the power of the Xia artillery and had assumed that since the Xia army had contracted into a square formation, they would not dare fire for fear of hitting their own men.

He never expected the Xia army to place their cannons at the four corners of the formation, muzzles angled obliquely toward the gaps outside the formation—this way they could neither hit their comrades nor fail to cover the cavalry's advance route.

Two shots fired, and the cavalry before the formation were shattered, men and horses alike, dying horribly.

Looking more carefully, he suddenly realized that the Xia hollow square formation, though seemingly chaotic, actually had considerable method to it.

Each square was spaced fifty to seventy paces apart from the others, and the orientation of each square was deliberately adjusted so that no two squares faced each other directly.

In this way, the gaps between squares could both concentrate the cavalry charge and reduce friendly fire when the muskets were discharged.

Ajige had originally thought the gaps in the formation were a breakthrough point, but now he realized they were a pocket formation deliberately set by the Xia army. Having penetrated this deep, extricating himself would not be easy.

"Bang bang bang——"

A storm of gunfire erupted like a sudden squall, and the Bayara bodyguards on Ajige's right flank screamed in agony as a swath of them was mowed down.

Ajige turned back and saw more than twenty riders collapse, the wounded writhing and wailing in the mud.

"Boom!" By now the sky had darkened to its extreme, a bolt of lightning streaked across the heavens, and thunder shook the four directions.

"Raise muskets!"

Amid the thunder, a command came from the square formation on Ajige's left. The soldiers leveled their muskets, the cold gleam of bayonets dazzling to the eye.

A string of crisp gunshots rang out. In his panic, Ajige lost his helmet, and lead balls screamed past his ears.

The Bayara bodyguards on his left collapsed in an instant, men and horses tumbling over one another.

These bodyguards were all the fiercest warriors selected from every niru, clad in double-layered armor, able to draw bows of fifty or sixty catties, each possessing valor that ten thousand men could not match.

In ordinary battles against the Ming army, losing even ten of them was rare—never did they imagine being cut down like wheat stalks in rows!

Ajige was greatly alarmed and roared: "Retreat! Retreat from the formation at once!"

The sound of gongs soon rang across the battlefield, and the Jurchen cavalry immediately wheeled their horses to withdraw, even as they galloped away, still turning back to loose arrows.

Jurchen mounted archery excelled at shooting faces at fifty paces, using powerful bows and heavy arrows. The arrow shafts were as thick as small javelins, and a single shot would penetrate three or four inches into flesh, sometimes even passing clean through—their power was immense.

The Xia soldiers, however, had a low rate of armor coverage, their bodies vulnerable everywhere, and those struck by arrows either died or were badly wounded.

At close range, bows shot far faster than muskets, and for a time, no small number of Xia soldiers were hit by arrows.

The Jurchen cavalry quickly streamed out of the formation, and the cannons at the formation's corners, seizing the opportunity, fired grapeshot in succession.

The Jurchen cavalry who had lagged behind to shoot backward over their shoulders were swept down in swaths by the cannon fire. The surviving Tartars no longer dared to be reckless, urgently spurring their horses and fleeing into the distance.

Even after running a hundred paces out, men and horses alike continued to be struck down by stray shots from time to time.

After the cavalry had galloped far away, the Xia army still did not change formation, continuing to fire in place for a while, shooting dead one by one those Tartars who had lost their mounts.

One Bayara bodyguard rolled off his horse, and the moment he rose to his feet, he was hit by more than ten shots. The lead balls tore through his cloth-faced armor, and the iron plates beneath sparked and clattered.

A Tartar had a dozen bloody holes punched through his chest and back, blood spurting out in jets, before he crashed to the ground, dead beyond all doubt.

Ajige galloped five hundred paces out, reined in his horse, and turned back to look. To the east of the Xia army lay scattered corpses of cavalry; to the west lay the corpses of Ming infantry.

The bodies stretched seven or eight li from north to south, piled unevenly, in places half a man's height—the Xia army seemed to be arrayed atop a mountain of corpses.

He looked at his own troops: most of the soldiers wore looks of fear, their warhorses panting heavily and pawing the ground restlessly with their hooves.

Their white cloth-faced armor was covered in splattered blood.

He made a rough count and was deeply shaken—in the space of a single exchange, his own side had suffered over seven hundred dead and wounded.

Of these, the central cavalry he had personally led into the formation had nearly five hundred dead and wounded!

Fully half of them had died!

Since last October, when he had led his troops through the pass, the total Qing casualties had not even reached seven hundred!

This single encounter, brief as the smoke of one pipe, had more than doubled the casualties of the Two White Banners since entering the pass.

Was the Xia army using sorcery?

The most astonishing thing was that of the more than two thousand cavalry who rode back alive, almost none were wounded—anyone struck by Xia firearms had basically died in that single exchange.

Could their firearms truly be so devastating?

Though terror gripped Ajige's heart, his face remained cold and stern, straining to project an image of complete control.

A personal guard at his side said in a low voice: "Prince, your ear is wounded. Let me stop the bleeding."

Ajige reached up and touched it, finding his hand covered in bright red blood. Only now did a searing pain like fire spread from his left ear—it had been hit by a stray shot in the formation, the entire ear shredded, only a bit of skin and flesh still connecting it to his head.

Ajige pushed away the guard who was trying to stop the bleeding, reached up and tore the ear off, stuffed it into his mouth with the blood, chewed a few times, and swallowed.

Jurchen custom honored such fierce valor, and for a moment, the soldiers around him were all awed into silence by his act.

Half of Ajige's face, along with the corner of his mouth, was drenched in blood, savage and terrifying. He gave a low roar: "The shame of this battle, I will repay it one day! Withdraw!"

At his command, the Jurchen retreated in the direction of Zhuozhou.

Guangqu Gate tower.

Chongzhen stared fixedly at the battlefield, his eyes vacant.

"So this is defeat?" His face had lost all color, his lips trembling as he spoke.

In his impression, Nan Xia and Li Zicheng were both of the same ilk as sea bandits and horse brigands; it was the Jianzhou cavalry's ferocity that made them the true power on land.

Now that the two great threats to his heart had met, in but a moment one had already suffered defeat—the Jianzhou iron cavalry fled like a punctured wineskin, vanishing in a puff of dust.

This Jianzhou army couldn't be real!

Based on over a decade of battle experience, the ones who should collapse at first contact were the Jianzhou vanguard.

Even the White Pole Soldiers at the Battle of the Hun River had only managed to avoid breaking apart under repeated Jianzhou assaults.

And today, this iron cavalry that made the entire Great Ming tremble in fear like tigers and leopards—they fled without even shaking the Xia army's battle lines?

"Boom—!"

Another clap of thunder, and a torrential rain suddenly poured down.

On the open ground outside Guangqu Gate, the remnants of the Ming army were still scattering in panic, the Jianzhou cavalry had already withdrawn without a trace, and the Xia army was adjusting its formation, seemingly preparing to attack the city.

"Just like that—defeated?" Chongzhen's lips trembled. He had originally hoped that Jianzhou and Nan Xia would fight like two tigers, with one surely falling, allowing the capital to hold out a while longer while he thought of another way.

But now, his last shred of hope shattered thunderously along with Jianzhou's retreat.

For a long while, no one on the city tower answered.

Long Chengen wept, saying: "His Majesty, His Majesty, the rain is heavy—let us return to the palace."

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, its light shining through the window into the city tower, revealing that the chamber was already more than half empty.

A few court tablets lay scattered on the floor, and several black gauze hats were piled in the corner by the wall.

Wen Tiren, Zhu Lechen, Zhang Fengyi, and the other civil and military officials and nobles—all had slipped away without a trace.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen