Chapter 213: Canister Shot

The flickering flames merged into a single line. Six crouching-tiger cannons and three four-pounder guns erupted simultaneously with a deafening roar. Over eight hundred 5-qian and 1-liang canister balls and more than three hundred 8-qian lead balls sprayed forth. Stray canister rounds kicked up countless clouds of dust on the slope. Jets of blood mist burst across the Jianzhou bandits' battle line. Over a hundred Jianzhou soldiers in the first two rows collapsed to the ground in every conceivable posture. The slope was filled with uncontrollable shrieks of agony. Those Later Jin skirmishers, being even closer, suffered equally devastating losses in this volley — more than thirty skirmishers fell, a mangled mess of blood and flesh.

The Jianzhou soldiers in the rear ranks, poised to shoot, were stunned by the sudden blow. Amid the chaos all around, they could not wait for a signal. They hastily drew their bows and loosed light arrows, greatly diminishing their accuracy. A dense swarm of arrows continued to fly, arcing toward the Ming army line opposite. In their panic, their rate of fire actually increased, and for a moment, the sky filled with shafts like a plague of locusts.

The Wendeng Battalion's line was blanketed by the Jianzhou arrow storm. A pattering of clinks rang out like raindrops. The wildly flying arrows quickly studded the ground around the Wendeng Battalion, as if a patch of weeds had sprouted.

Flintlock soldiers in the front rank, in the midst of loading, kept falling. They had only helmets, brigandine vests, and thigh armor. The pointed light arrows posed a threat to them, but killing them outright was not easy. Many musketeers, after being wounded, struggled back to their feet. The six ranks of musketeers from the Peasant Soldier Company were firing in rotation, employing the classic fall-back-to-load tactic. The ninety-six musketeers on the two flanks of the pike formation fired sixteen men at a time, maintaining continuous firepower.

In the rear rank, Chen Ying ducked his helmet. A clang rang out against it — a light arrow struck the rounded Ming helmet and glanced off to one side, knocking the helmet askew. Before Chen Ying could straighten it, another light arrow struck his shoulder guard with a ping. Because the angle of impact was too shallow, it did not damage the armor plates, wobbling as it fell to the ground.

From the front rank came a chorus of pained groans from the musketeers. Several medical corpsmen, wearing cotton armor under white outer coats, ran past hunched over. They carried back several musketeers who had been hit in the face from the front rank. One man had been struck in the eye by an arrow; he likely would not survive.

Chen Ying had fled from Dongjiang Town. He was very familiar with the Jianzhou bandits' methods of warfare. Their archery was extremely proficient. In the past, for every one time a combined-force musket was loaded, the Jianzhou could loose seven to ten arrows. Now, the musketeers' loading speed was three times what it had been, but loading under a rain of arrows was a different matter. The several musketeers in front of him were noticeably slower than usual.

The Wendeng Battalion had also discovered this problem during numerous drills. A musketeer's first volley was the most effective; once battle began, all sorts of errors would occur under enemy attack. Although the Wendeng Battalion's training could be called brutal, it could not solve this problem. Therefore, they still retained the crouching-tiger cannons. These small artillery pieces could greatly enhance the Wendeng Battalion's firepower.

The crouching-tiger cannons did not disappoint Chen Ying. Before the firearms unit had even finished reloading, the front rank's crouching-tiger cannons fired another volley. Another six hundred lead balls slammed into the Jianzhou bandits. Then the four-pounder guns fired a round as well. A swath of Jianzhou soldiers on the slope collapsed with a crash. Several dropped round shields tumbled down the slope, hit a small earthen mound, and flipped crookedly onto the ground.

The four-pounder gun of the First Combat Division had just fired. A loader, braving the arrow fire, ran out from behind the protective shield. He wore a mail shirt and a Ming helmet on his head. He skipped the step of swabbing the bore and directly shoved a pre-packaged canister round into the muzzle. This canister round was heavier than an iron ball, using the same two pounds of powder. It contained seventy-two 1-liang canister balls, with a wooden disc separating the powder and projectiles. The entire round weighed eight pounds, with an effective range of ninety paces.

During rapid fire, a skilled crew could fire a four-pounder bronze cannon two to three times per minute. During sustained bombardment, the gun captain generally controlled the rate to one round per minute to allow the barrel time to dissipate heat. In fact, in emergencies, the artillery crew could achieve an extreme rate of four rounds per minute, provided the step of swabbing the bore was omitted — which posed a great risk to the loader...

This loader was carrying out just such a rapid-fire sequence. Not only was there the danger of the powder charge being ignited by residual embers, but he also faced the Later Jin army's arrow storm. The protective shield was already studded with Later Jin light arrows. Just as he raised the ramrod, two light arrows struck him. The light arrows failed to penetrate the mail shirt and the brigandine vest beneath. The loader only felt a shove of force and a sharp, searing pain in his back. He endured the pain, rammed twice with force, then threw down the ramrod and stumbled back toward the protection of the shield. Before he could duck behind it, an armor-piercing heavy arrow from a Later Jin skirmisher tore through the air. With a ping, it pierced the mail shirt and brigandine and embedded itself in his back. The loader tumbled head over heels to the ground. The two layers of armor had absorbed most of the arrow's energy, and the penetration was shallow. He scrambled on all fours and crawled behind the shield.

The moment the loader disappeared, the original bore-swabber had already run out carrying another canister round. He crouched beneath the gun barrel, waiting to load. The four-pounder roared, and a canister round left the muzzle. Over ten more standing Jianzhou bandits opposite were struck. Several shields were blasted into pieces, scattering everywhere.

By now, the slope was a continuous din of agonized screams. The over nine hundred Jianzhou bandits had already lost nearly two hundred men. Their first rank of archers poised to shoot had been almost swept clean. The battle line seemed to have been instantly thinned by one layer.

On the right flank, Mandarhan's forehead was gashed by a flying shield fragment. Blood trickled down along his brow. Mandarhan drew his bow frantically and continuously. He no longer bothered to choose between light or heavy arrows; he grabbed whatever he could and shot toward the opposite side.

When he had stopped earlier, he had happened to be on his way to the rear to supervise the formation, leaving the most dangerous front rank. He had brushed shoulders with death. The Ming artillery opposite filled him with deep terror. The canister rounds they used were even more lethal than solid shot, and their rate of fire was faster than solid iron balls. His own niru had lost another six or seven men.

Mandarhan no longer knew what to do. According to their usual practice, the skirmishers alone should have thrown the Ming formation into chaos. Then, when the main formation reached seventy or eighty paces and loosed several volleys of arrows, the Ming army would already be in complete disarray. They would then close to thirty or forty paces and concentrate heavy arrows on the front ranks. The Ming army should have fled by then. Even a slightly more resolute Ming force would be on the verge of collapse. They would only need to pick up their long spears and greatswords for a single charge, and then they could leisurely harvest those Ming heads. It was even simpler than their hunts in the mountain forests, because wild beasts, when cornered, would fight back madly, whereas those terrified Ming soldiers would only submit to slaughter.

This time was completely different. The Ming army had held the advantage in long-range striking power from the very beginning. He could see that dozens of soldiers had also fallen in the Ming front rank, but their formation remained perfectly intact. On his own side, however, chaos reigned. If they let the Ming cannons keep blasting like this, they would collapse.

Urgent drumming erupted from the Later Jin central army. It seemed Kakduli knew the situation was dire. He was indeed a veteran of many battles and made the most correct choice: to close the distance. Mandarhan let out a habitual bellow, howling to drive the armored soldiers forward. They truly needed to close the distance, to use dense volleys of heavy arrows at flat trajectory to shatter those musketeers, or to charge the formation directly. But by the same token, the closer they got to the Ming army, the more accurately those musketeers and artillerymen could shoot.

Charging directly at an enemy formation while it remained intact was the last thing any commander wanted to do. But Kakduli had no choice. All Later Jin commanders knew that on land, they could scatter and retreat, using their mobility advantage to regroup in the rear. Even when they lost a battle, their losses would not be too great. But on this island, it was impossible. Once they scattered, it meant annihilation.

A sense of superiority and self-confidence built up over many years sustained the last shreds of the Later Jin army's morale. Spurred on by the drumming, they began to advance rapidly. Mandarhan loudly urged his men on, their pace growing faster and faster. The formation inevitably became even more disordered. They had walked just ten paces when the cannons opposite fired another volley. Several armored soldiers at the front of Mandarhan's niru tumbled and fell to the ground. The men behind simply trampled over them. Many armored soldiers, in their terror, let out bestial howls...

A small number of elite archers kept stopping to shoot arrows, then running forward, then stopping to shoot again. But overall, the arrow storm had weakened considerably. The Ming musketeers opposite, having finished loading, all stood their firelocks upright on their right sides, staring straight ahead without a sideways glance.

Chen Xin stood on a wooden plank laid across two stones, his attention utterly focused on the Later Jin ranks. Shooting a bow required setting one's stance and drawing power from the legs. The advancing Jianzhou bandits could not loose dense volleys of arrows. A small number of shafts came flying, and men kept falling in the musket ranks, but the entire formation remained as steadfast as a boulder. He was waiting for the Later Jin army to stop, or to close to the optimal range, so he could deal them a crushing blow. He firmly believed that the brutally trained musketeers could withstand the impact of a limited number of arrows.

Between the two closing main formations were those skirmishers still locked in mortal combat. Chen Xin inwardly praised the performance of the Central Army Guard and the Night Scouts. The individual combat skills of these handpicked soldiers were not inferior to those of the Later Jin armored soldiers, effectively thwarting the Later Jin harassment tactics.

The Ming skirmishers had by now fallen back to the artillery positions. Many of them had arrows sticking out of their bodies, with no time to pull them out. They kept exchanging arrows with those frenzied Later Jin skirmishers. The focal point of the struggle between both sides centered on the three four-pounder guns. The iron crouching-tiger cannons, suffering from poor heat dissipation, had fallen silent after two rounds of firing. Only these three four-pounders continued to pour ammunition into the Jianzhou bandits.

The nearest Later Jin skirmishers were now only twenty-some paces from the cannons. Using the corpses of two armored soldiers as cover, men kept darting out from behind to loose arrows this way. The Ming Central Army Guard and Night Scouts did the same, shielding the most dangerous direction, using their bows and bodies to protect those artillerymen.

The loader of the First Division ran out again, raising a canister round to load into the bore. Two Jianzhou skirmishers watching this spot darted out. The Ming Night Scouts were prepared and shot one down. The other Jianzhou skirmisher accurately hit the loader. The armor-piercing arrow struck the loader's thigh. The fierce force spun him around and sent him crashing to the ground. That loader was a Liaodong refugee who had fled to Dengzhou, his hatred for the Jianzhou bandits deep as the sea. He was already wounded in multiple places, his mail shirt stained with blood. Yet he still struggled to his feet, intent on continuing to load. The Jianzhou skirmishers grew desperate too. Disregarding life and death, they all surged out, shooting at him. Though the Ming skirmishers tried their utmost to block, the loader was still struck in the chest by two heavy arrows. Coughing blood, he staggered back a step, seemingly about to fall again. Suddenly, with an angry roar, he threw his arms around the gun barrel. A sizzling sound rose from the scorching hot barrel. Using this to steady himself, enduring the intense pain in his body and hands, he let out a great cry. With one hand, he raised the canister round and dropped it into the muzzle, then collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The gun crew's bore-swabber ran out from behind the shield. His face, too, was a mask of ferocity from multiple wounds. Yelling, he picked up the ramrod from the ground and rammed it down the bore. That four-pounder cannon slowly rotated its direction, its muzzle turning toward the position of those Later Jin skirmishers.

The Later Jin skirmishers, seeing the cannon aimed at their side, could no longer bother with slowly advancing behind corpses. Without waiting for the cannon to finish aiming, the last of the Later Jin skirmishers drew their shun sabers and charged straight forward. Six Ming skirmishers shot one down, then also drew their Qi-family sabers and short-handled axes to meet them. At ten paces, both sides simultaneously hurled short axes and throwing blades, then collided violently with hoarse, desperate war cries. Neither the shun sabers nor the Qi-family sabers posed much threat to heavy armor. Both sides, equally berserk, quickly entered close-quarters grappling. Drawing more lethal daggers or short knives, they paired off in mortal combat, wrestling and rolling on the ground in life-or-death struggles.

The Ming skirmishers were two men fewer than their opponents, and it looked as if they would be at a disadvantage. At that moment, the two gunners of the four-pounder and that loader grabbed the handspike, ramrod, and powder scoop. Shouting loudly, they charged over, desperately fighting those two Later Jin armored soldiers. Both Later Jin soldiers had shun sabers. Struck repeatedly by the long poles, they retreated a few steps before finally finding an opportunity to close in on the gunners. The sharp shun sabers sliced through the gunners' thin clothing. The two unarmored gunners were wounded repeatedly, but they did not yield, doggedly tangling with those two armored soldiers...

This most brutal close-quarters fight raged right beside that four-pounder cannon. It was only a dozen or so paces from the Wendeng Battalion's battle line. Every soldier on the left flank and in the center could see it. But no one in the Ming army could leave the line to help them. Everyone's heart burned with anxiety; the palms gripping their weapons were slick with sweat, hoping the order to attack would come quickly so they could go to the aid of these comrades.

From over the heads of the combat soldier ranks, Chen Xin watched this struggle before the battle line. As the commanding officer, he would not alter the plan for the lives of a few soldiers. But the last gunner behind that four-pounder caught his attention. That gunner paid no heed whatsoever to the desperate life-or-death fight raging beside him. He crouched behind the cannon, peering between the two protective shields at the oncoming Later Jin main formation, holding the linstock with its burning match in his hand.

The four-pounder gun crew now consisted of five men: a gun captain, two gunners, a loader, and a bore-swabber. Originally there was also a horse handler, but there were no horses this time, so the handler had not come. Judging by the color of his clothing, this man should be the gun captain. Looking from behind, he faced the ever-closing Later Jin main formation almost entirely alone, yet he exuded an aura of utter calm.

He ignited the priming powder in the touchhole. The cannon fired its canister round, knocking down seven or eight men in the Jianzhou main formation opposite. He laboriously returned the cannon to its position, then picked up a canister round and circled around to the front. He acted as if he could not see the men grappling at his feet, and unhurriedly began swabbing the bore with a water-soaked wool sponge. After swabbing, he even waited a moment for the moisture inside to evaporate before beginning to load. Then he calmly returned to the rear of the cannon. During this time, several arrows flying from the Later Jin main formation whisked past him, thudding into the protective shield with a buzzing sound. This unarmored gun captain remained as leisurely as if he were out for a stroll.

Chen Xin was astonished that a man's nerves could be so thick. He made a mental note of this man, then immediately shifted his attention back to the Later Jin main formation.

The Later Jin main formation had advanced to within fifty paces, and was only thirty-some paces from the cannons. Eyebrows and eyes were now clearly visible. Their arrows were flying with increasing accuracy. The cries of agony coming from the musket ranks began to grow louder.

"My lord!!!" Liu Pojun's voice came, tinged with urgency.

Chen Xin stared fixedly at the Later Jin ranks and slowly raised his hand.

Liu Pojun bellowed, "Central Army firearms command flag: flourish the flag! Sound the dispersal horn!"

The horn sounded. Nearly three hundred raised firelocks flipped down in unison. They had finally waited for the second volley. The Jianzhou bandits opposite all saw the Ming army's movement. Still haunted by the Ming firearms, some soldiers halted to ready their bows, while others continued advancing.

Forty paces. Chen Xin slashed his hand down. "Fire!"

The clear, bright swan-call rang out. Another fierce volley thundered across the entire formation. Over a thousand lead balls swept through the Jianzhou battle line like a storm. The closer range made the Jianzhou losses even more devastating. The howling Jianzhou soldiers in the front rank were mowed down by the screaming lead. Almost no one in the first rank remained standing. In an instant, the Jianzhou bandits lost over one hundred sixty men. Their forward momentum halted once more. In these several rounds of bombardment, many Jianzhou junior officers had been killed, and their command was now in chaos.

The Ming central army's red triangular flag representing the firearms unit waved. Then came the sound of a gong. All the musketeers on both flanks began to withdraw through the gaps in the killer squads. The Peasant Soldier firearms detachment in the center left the front rank and fell back along both sides of the pike formation.

The pace drums beat. The Wendeng Battalion had drilled this offensive tactic countless times in peacetime. The killer squads and firearms units moved in opposite directions, one advancing, one retreating. Although some firearms soldiers were slightly nervous, causing jams in a few spots, overall it was orderly.

The formation change was quickly completed. Four hundred close-combat soldiers deployed in a single line. Stepping to the beat of the pace drums, they marched in unison to meet the disordered Jianzhou bandits opposite. The dense clinking of iron armor plates merged into a sound like flowing water.

Despite the chaos, many armored soldiers still loosed continuous volleys of arrows. Occasionally, a combat soldier struck in the face cried out in agony. The firearms unit of the Ming Peasant Soldier Company continued its rotating fire, maintaining sustained firepower. After each volley, several more Later Jin soldiers fell, keeping the Later Jin soldiers' nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Before Chen Xin's eyes, a reserve platoon stood in solemn silence. Over thirty Peasant Soldier musket detachment soldiers who had fallen back were reloading. A dozen or so surviving Central Army Guards and Night Scouts returned to the central army banner. Many bore light wounds, their bodies and faces stained with blood. They hastily picked up their heavy weapons from the ground and assembled under the banner, their faces fierce as they awaited the order to attack again. Further ahead, the pikes of the Peasant Soldier Company were being leveled, row by row.

The Later Jin soldiers had suffered repeated heavy blows. Of the over one thousand pure Jurchen who had arrived on the battlefield, fewer than seven hundred remained, three hundred of whom were supernumeraries. Casualties exceeded thirty percent, yet they had unexpectedly not collapsed. Chen Xin also found this somewhat strange, guessing that they were simply not yet accustomed to losing a field battle against the Ming army.

At that moment, the Later Jin central army's great drum pounded in rapid succession. Perhaps realizing there was no way out, the Later Jin formation actually erupted with unprecedented war cries. Commanders at all levels shouted fervent encouragement. Though their losses were grievous, these cornered Jurchen hunters, spurred by the bloodshed, unleashed their savage nature. Howling wildly, they surged across the gaps in the battlefield, charging straight toward the Wendeng Battalion. The bloodiest hand-to-hand combat was about to begin.