Chapter 553: The Ming-Portuguese War (VII)

Boom—! A thunderous roar erupted as a Frankish cannon spat out several dozen lead balls. At a high muzzle velocity, the projectiles mercilessly tore into the horizontal rank-and-file formations arrayed beneath the city walls.

Although the Pioneer Army squads deployed below the walls were dispersed, the lead shot still inflicted casualties — seven or eight soldiers directly facing the cannon's muzzle were smashed to the ground on the spot.

Immediately after, an uneven chorus of cannon fire rang out in succession. The large heavy cannons, cumbersome to reposition due to their sheer footprint, had already been abandoned by the Portuguese. Every gun now in action, without exception, was a three-inch caliber piece.

Yet under these circumstances, these were precisely the most suitable cannons. The Portuguese soldiers, crouched behind the crenellations, could reload quickly; only a handful of men needed to expose themselves for a brief moment to push the muzzle through the embrasure, roughly aim in a direction, and fire rapidly. And with their targets just below the city walls, the weakness of the cannons' limited range was also circumvented.

The Pioneer Army's first assault had met a ferocious counter-blow.

Although the strong sea wind sweeping in from the flank swiftly dispersed the gunpowder smoke, it could not stop the Portuguese from ceaselessly firing cannons and guns from the tower. The attackers below lacked firepower; volley after volley of suppressing fire from smoothbore guns directed at the battlements produced sluggish results and fell short of expectations.

Fortunately, the earlier training paid off. After withstanding two rounds of frontal cannon fire and flanking firearm volleys from the barbette, the Pioneer Army, though showing signs of unsteadiness, had not collapsed. The majority were still fighting according to orders.

Meanwhile, Yu Mingjie, positioned behind the lines, observed a scene through his telescope — yet his face showed not a trace of dismay. Instead, he looked quite gratified. Turning his head, he issued the order: "Good. They can withdraw now."

Soon, a sound of an instrument familiar to later generations rang out from the front — the bugler was sounding retreat.

From the very start, Yu Mingjie had never expected the Pioneer Army to take the Fortaleza do Monte.

Unlike a bandit stronghold that only hurls stones and ash bottles, Fort São Paulo, defended by colonizers, was a fully gunpowder-era modern barbette. Its garrison had defended against desperate native assaults all over the world — a colonial force rich in combat experience and high in morale.

And the Pioneer Army, in essence, was no more sophisticated than the colonial army facing them. In truth, they were the same: the Pioneer Army was a yellow-skinned colonial army forged by the Transmigrators.

Same caliber, and no generational gap in weaponry — so the Pioneer Army could not possibly take a fortified enemy holding the city the way they took bandit strongholds, with fire suppression, wall-scaling, and demolition in three quick strokes.

What gratified Yu Mingjie was the Pioneer Army's discipline.

Compared to a regular army, the Pioneer Army was clearly undertrained, yet when suddenly struck by cannon fire and massed volleys, they could steady their footing and keep fighting — that alone was commendable. After all, this was the first time since the army's founding that they had faced organized gunpowder weapon strikes. To endure two rounds of cannon fire without routing, and retreat only when the order came from the rear — this filled Yu Mingjie with confidence in the Transmigrators' military institutional construction.

Thus, strictly speaking, in this plane, with natives as the protagonists and no generational gap in weaponry between the two sides, the first East-West collision, the first gunpowder ground war, ended with the Ming side's withdrawal.

Just as the Field Commander, his face bearing gratification, ordered the retreat, atop the Gate Barrier tower to the rear, one man, his expression dark, slowly lowered the twin-barreled Thousand-li Lens in his hands.

This man was He Rubin.

Historically, He Rubin — whether leading troops into battle or writing books — fulfilled the fundamental duties of an ancient general. His work Records of Military Affairs was encyclopedic in scope, a veritable military encyclopedia of the Ming dynasty. Crucially, the Records contained numerous introductions to and tactics for firearm cannons, showing that He Zhen was a man who kept pace with the times, not some old relic clinging to obsolete ways.

So when he witnessed the first round of attack and defense today, he immediately grasped the lethal ingenuity of the barbette.

Before this, He Rubin and the other native officers had mostly known of the barbette as a thing — and only that much: the Franks weren't the only ones who built them; the Dutch had constructed them too. And this type of brick fort, which to Ming eyes had "irregular" lines and several protruding angles, had not initially drawn anyone's attention.

But once gunpowder weapons were used in actual face-to-face combat, the barbette's advantages became crystal clear.

He Rubin had seen it clearly just now: Ming soldiers who charged between two projecting bastions were instantly struck from the flank and rear by firearm soldiers on both sides, utterly helpless to retaliate. And the troops attacking the bastion's front face, because the assault frontage was too narrow, could only stand in confrontation with the defenders above, unable to generate any shock momentum.

"So the fortresses built by these barbarians have such utility!"

Seeing was believing — He Rubin instantly understood the crux of it. The defenders' firearm and cannon counterattacks had given him much inspiration. At once, his thoughts branched out, connecting a whole series of applications for firearms in barbette defense, and he recognized the lethal power of this combination.

The moment he lowered his telescope, his face dark, He Rubin suddenly felt a chill rise from his tailbone. As if guided by some unseen will, a vision appeared before his eyes: himself commanding a great army, smashed beneath some barbette by cannon fire, chariots overturned and men thrown down, troops lost and officers wounded, and in the end, denounced by the imperial court and cast aside as a "discarded general" — a doomsday scene.

And what was eerie was that though these scenes were blurry, his opponents were unmistakably Ming people — wearing front-buttoned short jackets, with Kun hair and yellow skin.

The next moment, He Zhen, struck by revelation, slapped his thigh hard and then, losing all composure, cried out: "Ah! No! This stronghold cannot be taken by brute force!"

Cao Zong, who was beside him using a walkie-talkie to communicate with the forward Command Post, was startled. When he turned his head and looked closely, he saw He Zhen's face was deathly pale, cold sweat rolling down, eyes blank — as if his soul had wandered beyond. Cao Zong hurriedly rose and made a gesture of support: "My lord, are you feeling unwell somewhere?"

At Cao Zong's touch, He Zhen finally broke free from his trance-like state: "Ah, nothing, nothing. This general was merely careless for a moment and became fixated. My apologies, my apologies!"

Seeing He Zhen's soul return, Cao Zong said with genuine feeling: "My lord's concern for your subordinates — Cao Chuan understands! But please rest assured, my lord. A mere barbette — if not for the intention to train the troops, we would have taken it in a single word."

"Oh, if that is so, then good, good."

He Zhen lowered his head slightly, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a square, gray-checked, pure-cotton, machine-woven men's handkerchief produced in Taiwan. Wiping his sweat, he stole a lingering-fear glance at Cao Zong.

Cao Zong, of course, had no idea of the complex psychological turmoil He Zhen was experiencing at that moment. He was busy calling to his Orderly: "Quick, bring the tea! We'll eat and rest first — fight the Red Hairs on a full stomach!"

At these words, the Orderly reached to a nearby table and picked up two large, military-green painted tea mugs, then went to a similarly green large iron canister to fill them with tea and served them to the two senior officers.

The tea supplied to the army was, naturally, the bitter and astringent low-grade large-leaf variety. But the Transmigrators had money, and with Taiwan already producing sugarcane this year, the tea mugs had sugar added, making the tea considerably less unpalatable.

Everyone atop the tower today was a commanding officer, and including He Zhen and Cao Zong, all who received a tea mug drank deeply. The only exception was a group of officials in the corner — some among them, of course, could not stomach such coarse tea. But given the circumstances today, no one dared be fussy; every last one of them obediently smiled and drank the army-issue tea.

Once the tea was finished, it was time to eat.

The order for the entire army to rest had been issued by Yu Mingjie at the forward Command Post. Considering that the Pioneer Army had just suffered a setback and needed to pull back for rest and reorganization, and that it was already past noon, he gave the order to stand down.

Soon, steaming hot meals were delivered to every position.

The frontline troops' meals were carried up in buckets by the Logistics Squad. The soldiers queued up, filled their personal mess tins, and began eating.

Those atop the Gate Barrier received the same treatment, except the food was pushed over on carts, already portioned into containers. When the officers opened their dark-green iron mess tins and looked inside — whoa, what a battle feast!

The lower half of the tin held gleaming white rice; the upper half held large chunks of red-braised pork, glistening with an enticing red sheen, exuding a sweet, rich aroma, the skin glossy and the fat abundant.

Scooping up a large chunk with a spoon and putting it in his mouth, one found the red-braised pork melted instantly — sweet, fragrant, tender, and soft. At once, everyone's appetite surged, and they ate ravenously.

Using red-braised pork for the first battle meal had, in fact, been a logistical consideration. Because this was the first formal combat operation, and considering that soldiers under stress might unconsciously gulp their food, the meal had to exclude anything like chicken bones that could easily cause non-combat casualties.

That made red-braised pork the optimal choice. These high-calorie, delicious chunks of meat were truly the finest battle meal material... aside from being a bit expensive, requiring a lot of sugar, and needing proximity to Guangdong — that wealthy province where you could buy a pig just by paying — there were no other drawbacks.

After finishing the battle meal and resting for an hour, accompanied by the steady afternoon sea wind, the Pioneer Army's second assault began on schedule.

Having learned from the previous experience, this time the Pioneer Army's attack was more purposeful, and their fire suppression was better executed. Yet none of this was enough to shake the Portuguese defenders' advantage. Under flanking volley fire and rapid cannon ambushes, the Pioneer Army's second assault was once again beaten back.

Next came the third assault.

Seeing the situation settle into a de facto stalemate, the officers atop the tower were now openly discussing the battle's progress. And what would astonish later generations was that at this moment, the majority of the officers believed: our side held the advantage.

Their reasoning was ample: though the attacks appeared to be stalling, in terms of the exchange ratio, our side was winning. Yes — a 5-to-1 exchange ratio in siege warfare, in the eyes of medieval officers, was a profit...

Moreover, our side now had the logistical advantage, while the Red Hairs were isolated and without support — so the officers were generally quite optimistic.

Listening nearby, Cao Zong could only roll his eyes... expending painstakingly trained troops like this was not the Transmigrators' style.

Fortunately, the Command Post was also making adjustments. As the Pioneer Army rotated units to experience the battlefield, the gates of the Lotus Stem Pass Gate swung open, and from behind the pass marched out a fresh column of soldiers. These soldiers carried long guns on their backs, wore steel helmets, and marched in formation as straight as a knife's cut.