Chapter 167: Has Zhu Yuanzhang Really Returned? (Tenth Update)

Something's wrong. Very wrong.

Why haven't these Nikan musketeers opened fire yet? They're already within fifty paces — why haven't they fired? Have they forgotten to load powder?

And what's that silver-glinting thing on the muzzles? It can't be a knife, can it? How do you fix such a long knife onto a muzzle? And why would you put a knife on a muzzle in the first place?

Maersai, charging at the head of the death soldiers, had already sensed something was wrong!

He had run into a very strange group of Ming musketeers. Facing three hundred Eight Banners iron cavalry thundering toward them, they had neither fired wildly nor fled. Worse still, they had actually produced long knives and fitted them onto the muzzles of their muskets!

Well then — over a thousand long spikes, flashing cold light, formed a forest of blades. Just looking at it made one's hair stand on end!

Though he knew something was wrong, Maersai did not choose to retreat. His generation of Manchus had grown up precisely when Manchu military power was at its height. In battle they advanced without retreating, won without losing. Even when occasionally checked, they never suffered heavy losses, and they would quickly win back the field.

Over time, these Manchu soldiers had formed in their minds the illusion of invincibility and a fixed mindset that retreat was shameful. Especially when facing Ming troops, they were always bold in charging, bold in seeking decisive battle — as if the mere act of charging made them the victors!

But today, charging did not equal victory!

Maersai and the Ming musketeer ranks drew closer and closer. He could now make out the faces of those Nikan musketeers ahead.

There didn't seem to be much fear there!

How was this possible? How could Nikans not fear the Eight Banners' heavenly soldiers? Where did you Nikans come from? Are you real Nikans?

Clang!

A gong sounded, cutting off Maersai's thoughts. He looked up and ahead, and found he had already charged to within twenty paces of the Ming musketeers.

That close, and still they hadn't fired. The thought had barely formed when he saw a blaze of muzzle-flashes ahead, smoke billowing up, and only then heard a thunderous roar.

Boom-boom-boom!

The roar did not sound like muskets at all — more like the bellow of Hongyi cannons!

Along with the roar came great clouds of acrid smoke that for a moment blinded Maersai. Maersai and his horse were both relatively lucky and had not been hit; they kept moving forward. Though he knew the three hundred death soldiers he led must have suffered grievous losses, he still spurred his horse onward with all his might.

Nothing could now stop the remaining Eight Banners warriors from slaughtering those musket-wielding Nikan soldiers. Just charge in, and the killing could begin! One Eight Banners warrior could at least take on ten — no, twenty — Nikans!

"Kill the Tartars!"

"Kill the Tartars!"

The musketeers' war cries rose in wave after wave. And then a scene appeared that Maersai and all the still-charging death soldiers of the Two White Banners — a hundred and some left — could scarcely believe!

A mass of Nikan musketeers had actually launched a bayonet charge straight at them!

Were these really Nikans? How had they become brave to the point of madness? They must have gone insane.

The thought had just surfaced in Maersai's mind when his horse suddenly sank beneath him, then pitched forward and straight down!

Damn it — a horse trap!

Maersai understood at once what had happened: those Nikans were neither stupid nor mad. They had long since dug a horse-trapping ditch outside the Dagukou docks, covered it with wooden frames, straw mats, and earth, and had simply been waiting for the Eight Banners' heavenly soldiers to fall for it!

No wonder they were so brave — they had come fully prepared.

Splash!

Maersai, man and horse together, had tumbled into the muddy water. By luck, he had not been impaled on the sharpened stakes planted in the bottom of the pit, but his horse was beyond saving — two stakes had pierced its body, and now only its dying whinnies remained.

Maersai was indeed fierce. Paying no mind to his horse, and giving no thought to how desperate his situation was, he drew his waist saber and, with a wild yell, clambered out of the mud pit, wanting to cut down a few Nikans to vent his rage.

At that very moment, the Ming musketeers' forest of bayonets came rolling and surging up to Maersai. A sprint of only twenty paces — even musketeers with little formation drill would not scatter too badly, and they still held their shoulder-to-shoulder close order.

Maersai's horse lance was strapped to his saddle and could not be freed in time. All he had in hand was a waist saber — not even half the length of the enemy's bayonet-fixed muskets. How was he to defend himself?

He did not know how to defend himself, but the wall of bayonets ahead was already pressing in. The clang of weapons and the shrieks of the wounded sounded at the same time — clearly Manchu warriors had already closed with the enemy in a life-and-death struggle.

But at the critical moment, Maersai lost his nerve. He truly did not know how to fight hand-to-hand against a thicket of long bayonets, so he kept backing away — until one foot found empty air and he toppled backward into the horse trap, landing on a dying horse. Several deadly bayonets stabbed down right after him! There were damn knives in front, behind, left, and right — no dodging them, no blocking them!

Maersai could only flail his waist saber desperately, trying to protect his vitals, but searing pain came from his left waist, right chest, and the root of his right thigh. Then came the secondary wounds as the blades were wrenched from his body, and blood gushed out like a spring, rapidly draining his strength.

The Manchu warrior Maersai slumped to the ground, yet his mind remained utterly clear. He heard screams without end and the thud of bodies falling one after another. The three hundred death soldiers he had led had been shattered in a single volley by the Ming's thousand-odd musketeers!

This was truly absurd. Maersai felt a sense of unreality. This could not be real, could not possibly be real! It must be a dream.

War cries rose again. Across the battlefield, mud and water flew, and the ground itself trembled like thunder — that was the shock assault of the elite troops led by Duolong, the foremost warrior of the Manchus.

Maersai stretched his neck with the last of his strength to look, and saw the Nikan musketeers who had just been so fierce now falling back in droves. It seemed they were beaten.

The Eight Banners' heavenly soldiers were invincible after all! With that thought, he closed his eyes in peace.

When Duolong, the foremost warrior of the Manchus, saw the three hundred death soldiers he had sent out shattered by a thousand-odd Ming musketeers, he nearly toppled from his saddle in shock.

How was this possible? Was this not a nightmare?

The Ming musketeers in the front rank were superb marksmen, with an extremely high hit rate even within a hundred paces! And the musketeers in the two rear ranks were even more terrifying — they had actually held their fire until the Eight Banners cavalry had charged to within twenty paces!

And not a single Ming musket had burst its barrel! What kind of muskets were these? Where had they bought them?

That was not even the most outrageous part. The most outrageous thing was that a mass of musketeers, after firing, had charged straight at the Eight Banners' heavenly soldiers and gone at them hand-to-hand!

True, they had played a trick, digging a horse-trapping ditch in front of their own position. But they were musketeers, after all! How could they personally charge and fight hand-to-hand? That was work for pikemen and sword-and-shield men! How much pay was that Crown Prince — the reincarnation of Zhu Yuanzhang — giving them, to make them fight so desperately?

The foremost warrior of the Manchus did not stay stunned for long. He quickly decided to launch the elite shock assault.

Because he had thought it through: that "reincarnation of the Great Ancestor, the Exalted Emperor" was very likely real! Otherwise how could the Ming's utterly worthless musketeers suddenly have become so formidable? This would not do. He had to eliminate this Ming Crown Prince, the reincarnation of the Great Ancestor, the Exalted Emperor, at once — otherwise the Great Qing was surely doomed.

Besides, reloading a musket was troublesome. Those musketeers had fired one round and then charged, with no time to reload. This was the opportunity!

Seeing the opportunity, the foremost warrior of the Manchus made his decision on the spot and launched the charge!

Another six hundred Eight Banners iron cavalry came howling in!

Meanwhile, on the other side, Hao Yaoqi genuinely did not think the Tartars were all that formidable, nor did he think his own musketeers were all that amazing.

Wasn't it just letting the enemy come within twenty-some paces, firing one volley, and then a bayonet assault? Very easy! Easier than using bows — you can't fix such a long knife onto a bow! So after loosing arrows, you either had to fall back or switch weapons, and either way it was a flurry of confusion.

Moreover, the killing power of arrowheads was limited. Against a charging mass of armored cavalry, it was hard to inflict enough casualties. But a volley from over a thousand muskets was enough to stun several hundred iron cavalry. Hao Yaoqi saw it clearly: after his musketeers fired their close-range volley, the Tartar cavalry had already broken. Fewer than a hundred riders were still coming on by sheer momentum — and with so few riders, badly scattered and with no formation left, how could they possibly break over a thousand musketeers drawn up in ranks?

With that experience behind him, Hao Yaoqi was now even more certain. First he ordered the gong sounded, letting the musketeers who were in the midst of the kill fall back a little, and only then did he shout the order: "Beat the drums!"

Boom-boom-boom.

The drums sounded at once.

For the musketeers of the Hard-Work New Army, the drums meant: form ranks, load, fix bayonets, and aim.

The first drum roll was to form ranks, the second to load, the third to fix bayonets and aim. Then, upon hearing the gong, they fired; once they had fired, they charged. They did not charge far — twenty or thirty paces at most. If the enemy was beyond that distance, they did not charge at all.

It was just such a simple tactic, worked out jointly by Zhu Cilang, Pan Shuchen, Wang Zhou, and Johann Adam Schall von Bell. On today's battlefield, it had actually displayed its might to the full.

At the sound of the drums, the musketeers immediately began to reform their ranks. Because they had not charged too far and their formation had not scattered, they quickly restored their lines as soon as the drums sounded.

Once the formation was set, they no longer feared a cavalry charge. A formation of more than a thousand bayonets was not so easily broken by cavalry, and besides, in front of the bayonet line there was still a ditch to trap the horses.

Then the second roll of drums followed hard upon the first!

The musketeers at once began loading. Their loading was not skillful, for after all their training time had been too short, and with several hundred cavalry galloping toward them, the musketeers were somewhat flustered.

But their use of fixed cartridges to some extent made up for the inexperience of the rank and file under Hao Yaoqi. Very quickly, most of the musketeers finished reloading and once more stood ready in strict array, waiting for Duolong, the foremost warrior of the Manchu, to come and throw his life away.

(End of Chapter)