Chapter 258: King of Soldiers

With a thunderous boom, a brick-and-tile house several dozen paces to Guan Dadi's left exploded, sending countless shards of brick and broken tile flying like rain onto the running column, clattering against the swaying Ming helmets in a dense, jangling din.

"Drop the torches! Forced march!"

Zhong Laosi's rasping voice howled up ahead. Guan Dadi immediately threw down his torch; the surroundings dimmed, but the distant view grew clear. North of the city, flames shot skyward, thick smoke churning and billowing in the firelight. On Dengzhou's eastern wall, over a li away, gunfire was deafening — three-eyed guns, bird guns, Frankish breechloaders, and Great General cannons all firing, bursting into brilliant clusters of flame. Though they could not possibly reach this far, the rebels had no way to judge the distance and fired wildly in their panic, posing no threat whatsoever to the Wendeng Battalion a li away. Only the occasional shot from a red-barbarian cannon made Guan Dadi's heart clench.

The firing from Dengzhou's south gate was even more intense, the shouts and battle cries louder still. Among them rang the bugle calls and other signal tones of the Wendeng Battalion — over there, the Eighth Company of the Third Company Commander Headquarters was attacking a batch of reinforcements heading from the south gate toward Mishen Shan.

From the rear flank came the sound of orders; some torches moved off toward the east gate, and bamboo whistles sounded in alternating calls. Guan Dadi could not make out those men, but he knew they were the Zhongjun Guard and the Zhongjun light cavalry — they favored these bamboo whistles most, using them for street fighting and nighttime communication.

Their torches slowly dispersed, and after a moment most were thrown to the ground. These soldiers, masters of individual skills, were heading out of Shengmen to attack. Farther back rumbled the thunder of hooves — four hundred cavalry of the Cavalry Battalion were forming ranks outside the southeast corner of Dengzhou, ready to support the fighting at the east and south gates at any moment. Shengmen had not been opened; the Wendeng Battalion's skirmishers clamored loudly outside the gate, blowing random bugle and horn calls, constantly shifting positions and firing their firelocks, so that the defending commander at Chunshengmen could not gauge their numbers or determine the direction of the Wendeng Battalion's attack, and could only keep the gate shut and hold fast.

Amid the dense footfalls, the column quickly covered the two-li stretch to the east. In the darkness, soldiers kept stumbling, but the main body never halted; comrades from their own unit pulled them up and pressed on.

Several Zhongjun relay riders bearing torches overtook the column, swiftly turned into the alley outside the water fort, and shouted up at the ramparts: "Wendeng Battalion Commander Chen has led troops to reinforce you! Request Army Supervisor Lü come to Zhenyang Gate to parley!" This set off a clamor atop the water fort's walls.

Zhong Laosi's voice rang out again: "Farm Soldier Company, advance at the run!"

Platoon leaders and squad leaders at every level immediately relayed the order to their units. The whole company shifted from quick march to a jog. Guan Dadi knew they were about to enter the alley and needed to pick up speed to pass through. The forward squad began its turn; Guan Dadi's Squad Commander shouted warnings to his men. Guan Dadi kept his eyes on the men in the front rows, saw them veer left, and followed at a run into the alley.

The moment the Wendeng Battalion troops entered the alley, the north wall erupted in chaotic gunfire. A long stretch of it had already been seized by rebels coming from the east gate, who were now attacking the barbican at the north gate. The dense footfalls below and the firelight glinting off Ming helmets told them that the Wendeng Battalion was about to enter the city through the north gate. Rebel officers howled furiously, ordering the men behind to shoot arrows and bird-gun fire down at the base of the wall, while driving the rebels in front to assault the remaining wall bastions on the ramparts.

A volley of firelocks crackled from the bastion. The rebel officers' shouts grew even more frantic and hoarse. Even as he ran, Guan Dadi could faintly make out the howl: "If they get inside, we're dead!" Then came a chaos of slogans, and from the bastion rang the clash of cold steel and the cries of close combat.

Zhong Laosi's hoarse yell rose: "Fast, fast! Don't let those sons of bitches reach the wall top first!"

Every officer in the column was urging them on. The inhuman torment Zhong Laosi had put them through since assembly training proved its worth now. These soldiers, inured to hardship and toil, had built a solid physical foundation. The Farm Soldier Company, after a ninety-li forced march in a single day, still had the stamina to keep running. The Ninth Combat Company, clearing the way at the very front, had already passed the contested street barricade and was racing desperately for the city gate.

Arrows and lead balls from the wall to the left kept pelting the rooftops on either side of the alley, sending tiles clattering noisily. Ahead of Guan Dadi, a cry of agony rang out — a musketeer had been hit by a bird-gun ball fired at an angle. His Squad Commander dragged him by his belt to the roadside and, without pausing to bandage him, rushed to catch up with the unit.

Guan Dadi, panting heavily, stole a glance as he passed the musketeer. The soldier was pressing one hand to his left chest, while the other struggled to open his cotton-bandage medical kit. Guan Dadi could not stop to help him; he could only silently pray to the Old Lord on his behalf.

He finally reached the wall bastion himself. Only seventy paces remained to the barbican. On the narrow defensive line atop the wall, fierce hand-to-hand combat had already erupted. Rebel figures kept clambering over the bastion, then fought savagely against the defending Wendeng Battalion troops.

Out of the corner of his eye, Guan Dadi saw the Ninth Combat Company up ahead already reach the barbican gate. Several huge torches blazed at the entrance. Two men in Ming army uniforms were waving frantically at the gate; one of them grabbed the Ninth Company's squad commander and, running alongside, talked without pause.

From the gate tower, men were also shouting down, ordering the combat troops to pass through the barbican immediately and reinforce the tower. Officers in every unit began warning their soldiers to prepare for battle. Amid the cacophony of shouts, Guan Dadi's platoon leader also yelled: "Remember the briefing — Zhenhaimen Street can only deploy eight men abreast. Each squad will spread into two ranks."

The platoon leader's voice came in fits and starts. Having to keep issuing orders while running like this was clearly taking its toll on him too. Just as he finished speaking, a panicked scream erupted from the bastion on the wall. Guan Dadi whipped his head around — several round, black objects flew out from behind the defenders and smashed onto the bastion. Right after, a torch was hurled up. With a whoosh, flames shot up, and the dense mass of rebels near the bastion was instantly swallowed by fire.

One by one, silhouettes writhed desperately in the blaze, letting out screams of agony more terrible than any Guan Dadi had ever heard. Two human torches leaped from the wall top, slamming into the ground below with two heavy thuds, scattering a spray of sparks. The two fiery figures twitched a few times, then lay utterly still.

Guan Dadi's heart hammered wildly. Fortunately, his Squad Commander kept roaring. This Squad Commander was a veteran transferred from the combat troops — a voice Guan Dadi had dreaded during training, but now it steadied his nerves like a calming pill.

His mind went almost numb, his body moving on conditioned reflex to the Squad Commander's commands. Soon, the light dimmed before his eyes — they had entered the side gate tunnel of the barbican. Guan Dadi gripped his pike tightly. Battle was right before him.

A wounded assault team member sat by the city gate, laughing loudly. "You bastards finally made it! I'm going to make that Li Jiucheng pay for my left hand ten times over."

At last, the darkness overhead cleared. The column turned left, and the open space of the barbican appeared before them. The surrounding walls formed a vast, square courtyard. Over the heads of the comrades ahead, he could already see the wide-open gate of Zhenhaimen. In the long street beyond the gate tunnel, flames flickered, and the firelight was full of shifting figures. From atop the gate, guns and arrows fired steadily downward — the rebels had already pressed close to the gate.

"So this is Zhenhaimen," Guan Dadi said to himself. His company commander had personally briefed them during the rest at Pingshan. Zhenhaimen was the Farm Soldier Third Company's primary objective. Zhong Laosi had repeatedly explained the importance of Zhenhaimen and the features of the barbican. Guan Dadi was not quick-witted, but he had grasped that the barbican was a small fort, capable of independent defense. With the Wendeng Battalion's combat strength, once they were properly deployed in the barbican, the rebels would never take it.

"Hu!" The forward combat troops gave a great shout. The first ju burst out of the Zhenhaimen gate tunnel. After a fierce volley, the musketeers fanned out to both flanks. The killer banner team charged into Zhenhaimen Street with a roar, clashing with a group of rebels there. Unable to withstand these ferocious combat soldiers, the rebels immediately fled southward and into the alleyways on either side.

The combat troops did not pursue, but stayed in place on guard. The two ju behind the Ninth Company also began exiting the gate, climbing the wall stairs to the ramparts. They soon appeared atop the barbican wall and deployed along the wall in both directions.

The Farm Soldier Company began nervously reforming ranks. Although Zhenhaimen Street was called a main street, the colonnaded buildings on both sides had mostly been illegally enclosed by residents into sealed shopfronts. These unauthorized structures not only narrowed the street but also enclosed the original drainage ditches indoors — one reason for the abysmal sanitation of Ming-era cities. As a result, the street could only deploy a front of eight to ten men. Their task was to prevent the rebels from massing on the main street.

"Eight men in one rank, two ranks per squad." As the strongest soldier, Guan Dadi was always in the front rank for every two-rank formation. And since their platoon's sequence number happened to be First Platoon, First Squad, he became the vanguard of the entire Farm Soldier Company.

Not far ahead of him, two men in Ming army uniforms were gesturing at the street with Zhong Laosi. After they finished talking, Zhong Laosi immediately called over several platoon leaders and detachment commanders and began assigning tasks using a simple terrain map.

By now, all the combat troops ahead had exited the gate tunnel, and the ju on guard would soon ascend the wall. Zhong Laosi came before the first rank and swept his gaze over his soldiers, his eyes lingering a moment on Guan Dadi. Then he bellowed: "I beat and cursed you on ordinary days so that you could survive moments like this. We were originally pikemen — these street jobs aren't easy, but if we're assigned, we go, until the Eighth Company relieves us. The Intelligence Bureau men want us to hold fifty paces in front of the gate tower. I say, forget about how many tens or hundreds of paces — otherwise, with those pikes, you'll just be sitting ducks waiting to get shot. I hear the rebels even have Frankish guns, so you definitely can't just stand around. Each assault will use one pike platoon of forty-eight men and one firearms platoon. Let the pike squads charge. If there are men in front of you, you hit them until they run out of sight. After one charge, return to the barbican to rest. Do you all understand?"

"Understood!"

Just then, a bamboo whistle sounded by the gate. Zhong Laosi turned his head — the combat troops' company commander on the street was looking this way. Zhong Laosi immediately signaled. Guan Dadi's platoon leader shouted the command, and the First Firearms Platoon and First Pike Platoon stepped forward in orderly march. The combat troops withdrew up the wall stairs on both sides; they would defend from the ramparts.

Guan Dadi passed through the gate tunnel. The northern city, thick with rolling smoke, appeared before him. This was also his first time in the prefectural seat — the legendary, incomparably prosperous great city turned out to look like this.

The fires on Zhenhaimen Street had died down. Some figures began appearing in the street, slowly gathering amid shouts in Liaodong accents. Their voices were extremely frantic; they must have known the Wendeng Battalion had already reached the north city.

From that direction soon erupted a roar of battle cries. Countless figures surged down the long street, and from the eastern alleys, men kept joining their flow. The edges of every kind of weapon left trails of bright light in the night as they rushed madly toward Zhenhaimen.

Standing in the front rank, Guan Dadi's mouth felt dry. He suddenly wondered how his younger brother had died — had it been in dense, chaotic melee just like this?

"Firearms platoon, ready!" The firearms platoon leader's calm voice rang out. Guan Dadi tightened his grip on his pike and crouched slightly.

Seizing this brief interval, Zhong Laosi roared from behind: "Pikemen, charge! Not half a step behind, not half a step ahead! Slaughter this rabble of mutinous soldiers!"

The rebels across from them drew closer and closer. The firearms platoon leader shouted, and the firearms soldiers on the street front and at the alley mouths on both sides delivered a fierce volley. The front rank of rebels collapsed like rolling gourds. The rebels behind still surged forward.

"Anyone half a step out of line dies! Pikemen, advance without retreat! Charge!!" Zhong Laosi bellowed at the top of his lungs, and the bright charge call rang out.

"Kill!" The pikemen roared in unison, leveling their pikes. The Pike First Platoon's forty-eight pikemen, formed in six ranks, ran forward in a flat line. As he had done in training, Guan Dadi watched his Squad Commander from the corner of his eye. They had drilled this running charge dozens of times a day; it was pure conditioned reflex. Several rebels darted out of a side alley and fired bird guns at the Wendeng Battalion. A man to Guan Dadi's left was hit; the man behind quickly stepped up to fill the gap, keeping the front rank even.

Guan Dadi had no mind to look at that comrade. The platoon leader's commands quickened, the pace gradually increasing. All around was the pounding of comrades' boots, the dense clanking of iron armor clashing. The formation ran faster and faster, until his pike plunged with a thud deep into the chest of a rebel across from him. In the narrow street, no one could dodge; the dense pikes needed no skill to find a target. The rebel front rank halted all at once, twisting and collapsing to the ground.

The opponent Guan Dadi had stabbed wore no armor — just a rioter clutching a weapon. His face contorted savagely, he grabbed the pike shaft tightly. Guan Dadi wrenched his pike free and watched the jet of blood spray from the man's chest. He actually felt a trace of savage satisfaction. Without pause, his pike thrust again, killing a rebel behind who wore a padded cotton jacket.

The charging rebels kept coming on sheer momentum. The pikemen in the rank behind Guan Dadi raised their hands higher, their pikes extending past the shoulders of the front rank. The dense thicket of pikes thrust and retracted without cease. The solid triangular-iron, blood-grooved steel pike heads claimed a life with every strike. The poorly equipped and chaotically organized rebels simply could not breach this line of pike points. Bodies piled higher and higher. The men in front tried to retreat, but those behind blocked the road, forming a jammed, disorderly mass of humanity.

Guan Dadi roared furiously. His initial tension had vanished. All he could think of was his dead younger brother, as if every enemy before him was his brother's murderer. The powerful physique forged by years of harsh mountain life made his long spear the fiercest killing weapon. He only needed to thrust his pike out with all his strength, again and again, to reap lives effortlessly. One unfamiliar face after another fell in agony, becoming corpses crisscrossed and heaped upon the ground. A strange, thrilling sensation possessed his mind. Even when a thrown waist-sword clanged off his iron armor, he felt nothing at all.

At last, the space before him cleared. The rebel remnants turned and fled. The platoon leader's order to pursue came. Guan Dadi strode over the bodies on the ground, trampling the newly dead as he chased forward. The wind whistled past his ears. He had forgotten the formation, pressing forward without stop. His formidable stamina carried him far ahead of all his comrades as he stabbed down one fleeing back after another.

The stabbed rebels screamed in agony. The other routed rebels panicked even more. Their shattered spirits left them with no will to resist, not even time to glance back. More and more men behind were swept away by the fleeing tide, and no one noticed that only a single man was chasing them so closely.

Guan Dadi pursued and stabbed without pause. He had no idea how many he had killed. Finally, he came to a halt beside the Grass Bridge. He bent over, panting heavily. Charging several hundred paces in iron armor had exhausted even his stamina. His fevered mind began to clear. Ahead, the rebels' ragged, fleeing backs crossed the Grass Bridge and disappeared southward. The street was a scene of utter devastation. The rebels' abandoned Erjiangjun cannon and Frankish gun lay toppled to one side; even the gunners had been swept away by the routed troops. The street was strewn with rebels trampled unconscious or dead by their own side.

Guan Dadi suddenly spun around to look behind him. Within his line of sight, there was not a single comrade from the Wendeng Battalion. His mouth agape, he stood stunned for a moment, then let out a yell and turned to flee back toward Zhenhaimen.