Chapter 1161: How Did It Turn Into Being Besieged at the Point and Struck by the Relief?

The Marquis of Gaspala was already in his fifties and his energy was beginning to flag. These past days he had been bustling about after Don Juan José without a proper rest, and tonight he had to fight a night battle on top of it all — he was utterly exhausted. Even riding on horseback on the march, waves of drowsiness kept washing over him. Fortunately, this old man had spent half a lifetime in the saddle and his horsemanship was superb — even if he dozed off on horseback, he would not fall.

And most of those traveling with the Marquis were likewise men of some years, half-old and all somewhat down on their luck. Had they not been down on their luck, they would not have come all the way from Europe to the New World at this age to scrape together a knight's status. Had it been ten or twenty years earlier, these men would have been fierce and vigorous on the battlefields of the Thirty Years' War — even fighting three days and three nights straight, they would not have faltered. But now, they truly could not hold up.

In truth, it was not only the Marquis of Gaspala and the cavalry guarding him who could not withstand the fatigue. Don Juan José's corps was cobbled together from old men of the Old World and peasant soldiers of the New World. The former possessed rich military experience and were the backbone of the army, holding nearly all the posts of officer, non-commissioned officer, cavalryman, and artilleryman — but they were generally advanced in age, and their long years of intemperate living had left them without the energy and stamina to endure prolonged, grueling combat. The latter, though young and full of vigor, lacked training and had no desire whatsoever to fight.

Why should they fight? For land? Could the whites and mixed-blood whites of the New World possibly lack land?

For titles? Could the native-born whites and mixed-blood whites of common origin ever lay their hands on such things?

For pay? In truth, the whites and mixed-blood whites of the New World were hardly short of money, and had little need of it — at worst they still owned a stretch of rich, fertile land, and the land supplied everything their daily lives required. So no one cared about the few coins of military pay doled out by the Kingdom of New Spain.

For God? That was at least a reason. The Catholic Church of the Kingdom of New Spain had spared no effort in stirring up fervor. But most of the "Americans" whom Don Juan José had brought to the California front had been forcibly conscripted by the New Spain authorities.

Riding on horseback, drowsy and on the verge of sleep, the Marquis of Gaspala somehow found himself thinking of those "Americans" who were utterly devout at prayer and utterly shirking at drill. That lot was far inferior to the German mercenaries.

If only they could all be replaced with German mercenaries.

"Contact!"

Just as the old man was thinking of Germans, he heard a shout in German — and it brought back the feeling of his days in the Thirty Years' War.

The old man was still half-asleep, unable to tell dream from reality, when a thunderous boom — a sound like a clap of thunder — echoed through the narrow, elongated valley, jolting the Marquis of Gaspala awake at once.

With that explosion, thirty or forty flashes of fire suddenly burst from the slopes on both sides, and then gunfire erupted — lead balls poured down like rain upon a company of German mercenaries marching at the front!

The fierce volley swept through, and instantly four or five mercenary cavalrymen tumbled from their horses. The ones firing were a platoon of Young Guards infantry that had just infiltrated into position. Thirty-some soldiers, led by Platoon Leader Liu Haoyong, had circled around the camp held by the Spanish, dispatched several Spanish sentries guarding the northern exit of the long valley, and finally climbed the slopes on both sides to set an ambush — and so they had run straight into the Marquis of Gaspala and his men.

Because the night was too dark, the ambush had not gone especially well. The first grenade thrown at the outset had failed to hit anything, and when it was lit, a German mercenary had caught sight of the flash. Afterward, using the light of the grenade's explosion, they had fired a wild volley and brought down four or five cavalrymen. But the cavalry company escorting the Marquis of Gaspala numbered seventy or eighty men, all equipped with flintlock pistols and swords, and all wearing half-plate armor. If they dismounted and charged up the slope, Liu Haoyong and his thirty-some soldiers would most likely be unable to hold — in order to carry more marching rations and ammunition, none of them had brought helmets or breastplates, and in a true melee they would be no match for those Germans.

"Grenades! Throw grenades!" Liu Haoyong, who had graduated from the Nanjing Military Academy only the year before, lived up to his ten-odd years of military education. At this moment he remained calm and made the most correct decision.

His post as a Squad Leader–grade platoon leader could be said to have been "hard-won." He was a second-generation member of the canal militia that Lu Zhenfei had raised for Zhu Cilang. His father had served fifteen years in the Hard-Working New Army and retired as a Vice Chiliarch, and was now living out his retirement in Pukou. Liu Haoyong himself had come up through the Army Middle School and then the Military Academy, and before receiving his Squad Leader's commission he had already undergone some ten years of military education!

He had long since been drilled into a professional and cold-blooded career officer!

And what this cold-blooded career officer led was a group of equally professional, equally cold-blooded career soldiers — and they were very young and full of vigor. Even after marching eight hundred li of mountain roads, they were still in excellent condition!

Even rarer, these Young Guards soldiers, during their six to eight years as boy scouts, had not only trained their bodies and drilled hard in every skill for killing the enemy, but had also received an education — they were a body of professional soldiers with at least an elementary-school level of learning, and they had undergone non-commissioned officer training. They not only knew how to fight, but also knew how to think about fighting.

Before Liu Haoyong gave the order to throw, all of them except a few "sharpshooters" who were deftly reloading had already taken out grenades and fire-strikers. On hearing the order, they immediately lit the fuses and threw!

The rain of grenades and the string of explosions at once gave the Marquis of Gaspala and his German mercenaries a false impression.

What they had encountered was not a small enemy force, but a rather large body of troops — and an elite grenadier unit at that!

This force had somehow so quickly bypassed the camp of the New Spain Provisional Third Regiment and seized the northern exit of the long valley. This was bad — the Provisional Third Regiment was now surrounded by the Ming army!

The old Spanish marquis was stunned. From his experience in the Thirty Years' War, the Eighty Years' War, and the Franco-Spanish War, he was certain he had run into the enemy's main force. If he did not retreat at once, he feared he would soon be meeting God.

Though he loved God, he was in no hurry to meet Him — a few years' delay would be just fine.

"Retreat! Retreat at once!" the old man roared.

On hearing the order to retreat, the German mercenaries guarding him all breathed a great sigh of relief. One after another they wheeled their horses and, crowding around the old marquis, galloped off toward Don Juan José's main camp.

And with that flight, a perfectly good "besiege the point, strike the relief" operation turned into "being besieged at the point and struck by the relief."

For an entire regiment of New Spain army officers and men was now surrounded. Would Don Juan José rescue them or not?

"What? The northern exit of the long valley has been seized by the enemy?"

Don Juan José, still groggy with sleep, was roused from his bed and immediately heard a piece of bad news that made him want to vomit blood.

How had it come to this? He had only slept a little while, and already one of his regiments was surrounded by the enemy?

"Duke," said the weary-faced Marquis of Gaspala, offering his counsel, "we must retake the valley at once. Otherwise the Third Regiment is finished!"

"At once? But it is night now!" said Don Juan José. "Marquis, do you think our men can fight a night battle?"

"Duke!" The Marquis of Gaspala shook his head. "Have you forgotten that the Third Regiment carried a good deal of food and livestock into the middle of the Flood Valley?"

Don Juan José's face instantly turned ashen. Because they had not known how many days they would have to wait in the Flood Valley, José's Third Regiment had passed through the long valley carrying half a month's rations, and they had also brought several hundred head of large livestock to carry baggage, tents, and provisions. Those large animals, once slaughtered, were all meat! Together with the rations the Third Regiment carried, they would probably let the ten thousand Ming troops who had come from afar eat comfortably for ten days.

(End of Chapter)