Chapter 450: What a Fine Encounter Battle! (Second Update)

The Qing army's right-wing musketeers did not keep up their half-hearted firing for long, because Feng Sizhong's cannon had already "flown" over!

Once the twenty-four cannon were set up, they opened up with a rattling bombardment, and in less than the time it takes to burn a stick of incense they had sent over a hundred iron balls flying out, wrecking a good part of those snail-crawling shield carts. The shattered wood turned into "grapeshot," flying wildly about behind the shield-cart formation and striking the Eight Banners soldiers in the head and face, and at once a chorus of wailing rose up.

Yierde, who was supervising the battle from the rear, was also stunned. Unlike Oboi, he did not lead from the front but shrank back to direct the fight. He was fairly far from the front line, and with the sky now dark, he had not noticed the Ming army's cannon coming up. All he saw was a fine great wooden shield suddenly burst apart with a boom — what was going on?

How had it blown up for no reason? Could it be... sorcery?

He had thought of sorcery too!

Sorcery was not something the sons of the Eight Banners could contend with, and Yierde's courage at once weakened by several degrees. Just then someone beside him shouted, "Jalan commander, Oboi on the left wing seems to have withdrawn first!"

What? Oboi withdrew? He was the foremost warrior of the Manchus! Yierde sucked in a breath of cold air, and at once lost all will to fight.

Just as he was mulling over whether to fall back first, Hooge had already made the decision for him. The metallic sound of the gong signaling retreat came from behind Yierde.

The Qing army's shield-cart assault had not even touched the edge of the Ming position before it was beaten back by Ming cannon and musket fire.

After gathering his troops together, Yierde immediately went up Daqiang Ridge toward Hooge's central command. Before he even arrived, he heard someone wailing loudly.

He hurriedly spurred his horse forward, and only when he drew near did he discover that it was Oboi's younger brother Murima who was weeping! Hooge sat on a folding camp stool, his face looking dreadful... Could it be that Oboi, the foremost warrior of the Manchus, had also been killed?

Yierde's heart gave a start! Last year the foremost warrior of the Manchus, Duolong, had died, and this year the foremost warrior of the Manchus, Oboi, had died as well... This title of foremost warrior of the Manchus was somewhat unlucky!

Who would be next, he wondered? Ebilun? Suksaha? Or himself? He was a warrior too!

"Yierde is here? Come quickly!" Hooge had by now spotted Yierde, who had just dismounted, and beckoned him forward.

Yierde ran up before Hooge and kowtowed to beg forgiveness. "This slave Yierde begs the Prince's pardon!"

Hooge waved his hand. "What pardon? It was merely an initial setback... and besides, we have now sounded out the enemy's strength!

Murima, stop crying too! Oboi is blessed by heaven and will come to no harm; he will pull through... It is only a split-open head, is it not? Would the foremost warrior of the Manchus fear that?"

Oboi was not dead yet; he had merely been struck into a concussion... and was still unconscious! Who knew whether, once he woke, there would be after-effects like amnesia?

Murima wiped his tears. "This slave obeys the Prince; this slave will not cry... This slave asks to fight, to avenge his brother and the warriors who have died!"

Hooge looked at Murima. "Murima, how do you want to fight?"

Murima was taken aback. How would he know? He had always followed along with his brother Oboi; wherever Oboi said to strike, he struck.

Looking at Murima's foolish expression, and then glancing at the cringing Yierde, Hooge sighed and turned to look at another of his favored generals, Arjin. Arjin was the foremost warrior of the Plain Blue Banner and now served as the Plain Blue Banner's bayara guard commander, so he was naturally skilled in battle.

Arjin stepped forward and said, "My Prince, at present we are locked in a narrow encounter, and only the brave can prevail!"

"Well said!" Hooge nodded. "Arjin, you are the foremost warrior of my Plain Blue Banner! This battle rests entirely on you. If you can win, you shall be the foremost warrior of all the Manchus!"

Foremost warrior of the Manchus? Arjin suddenly felt, just as Yierde had, an ominous premonition! Of the last two foremost warriors of the Manchus, one was already dead and the other had been knocked unconscious — who knew whether he would survive?

But Arjin could not shrink back; his master Hooge was expecting great things of him! He gritted his teeth and continued, "I ask the Prince to muster the booi bondservants of all the banners, with the Eight Banners' crack troops driving them forward, to attack the Qingliu Creek front again! This slave and Commander Murima will each lead Eight Banners iron cavalry around the southern bandits' left and right flanks and storm their wings!

No more shooting arrows either; charge straight in with cavalry. If the charge cannot break through, then simply dismount and fight hand to hand... Our Eight Banners warriors are heaven's invincible soldiers. As long as we are willing to spend one or two thousand casualties, why should we fear we cannot take the position?"

"This..."

Hooge thought to himself: You, Arjin, are truly muddled! The men fighting tonight are mainly from the Plain Blue Banner and the two Yellow Banners — all loyal subjects of the Great Qing. If our losses are too heavy, who will restrain that traitorous scoundrel Dorgon?

Boom, boom, boom...

Just then, dense cannon fire rang out again, and the sound came not from the far bank of Qingliu Creek but from the western slope at the foot of Daqiang Ridge.

The Ming army had evidently already fought its way there. If they crossed over the ridge, Hooge would be caught between two fronts!

"My Prince," Arjin went on, "the southern bandits also have several thousand cavalry, and they are rather formidable! Moreover, their infantry moves very quickly. If we try to withdraw, they will surely pursue, and our losses may not be much smaller!"

That was true! This Ming army moved extremely swiftly. Though it was mainly infantry, it ran not much slower than the Eight Banners cavalry.

Hooge's brow furrowed as well. It seemed this battle could not be lost!

"Can it be done?" Hooge said thoughtfully. "Can we break through their musket formation?"

Arjin said, "Not much of a problem; it is merely a matter of more men dying... as long as there is no cannon battery!

My Prince, what is truly fearsome is the cannon battery. Twenty or thirty cannon firing are worth three thousand muskets, and they reach much farther!"

"Their cannon battery is on the move..." Hooge said. "I will personally oversee the battle and drive that pack of booi forward to draw off the southern bandits' cannon!

Arjin, Murima, each of you will lead ten — no, lead fifteen niru across Qingliu Creek to attack the southern bandits' two wings! Remember, you must first probe and make certain there is no cannon battery before you attack!"

"Yes, sir!"

Hooge abruptly stood up and issued his orders in a loud voice: "Pass on my princely decree: all booi bondservants shall take the field and fight today. Whoever dares not give his life in loyal service shall be executed without mercy! After today's battle, so long as they do not die, they shall all be raised into the Plain Blue Banner Han army!"

Raising the banner!

Of all the booi bondservants willing to sell their lives for the Great Qing, who did not dream of being raised into the banners and becoming a master? This time Prince Su had truly shown grace — as long as one survived... one could be raised into the banners!

"We thank the Prince for his grace..."

"Ten thousand victories for the Great Qing!"

"Kill all the southern barbarians..."

The cheers of the Eight Banners Han army rose up, shaking heaven and earth, sweeping across Qingliu Creek and reaching all the way to Zhu Cilang's central command.

"Thousand Years," Wu Sanfu said, cocking his ear to listen, "it is all Liaodong accents — the Han army and the booi are shouting."

"What are they shouting?" Zhu Cilang sat with his arms folded behind a shell-proof shelter built of sandbags, his face full of a pleased smile.

The Qing army's first wave had already been easily beaten back... It looked as though this battle was already won!

"It sounds like 'We thank the Prince for his grace' or something of the sort," Wu Sanfu replied.

"Thanking the Prince?" Zhu Cilang gave a mocking laugh. "Hooge must have painted some grand promise for these Han traitors, hasn't he?"

"Right, that must be it!" Wu Sanfu said with a laugh. "And it is just as well these foolish Han traitors actually believe it."

Zhu Cilang chuckled, and was just about to say something when the rumbling of cannon fire rang out again.

This was not Hooge's four Hongyi cannon firing, but Feng Sizhong directing the twenty-four 3-pounder battalion guns in bombarding the slope of Daqiang Ridge across Qingliu Creek, where the Qing army was entrenched.

The reason for this bombardment was that Hooge had played a trick. When he moved the thirty niru under Arjin and Murima away from the slope of Daqiang Ridge, he had them leave behind many torches, all tied to the butt ends of long spears whose points were thrust into the earth. From a distance, it looked as though a great army was drawn up in formation on the slope.

Add to that several thousand booi bondservants, all thinking of nothing but being raised into the banners, making a great racket, and Zhu Cilang was misled into thinking Hooge's main force was about to charge down from the slope, so he ordered Feng Sizhong to open fire to disrupt them.

And the roar of the twenty-four cannon exposed the position of the Ming artillery battery, allowing the eight thousand Eight Banners troops under Arjin and Murima to cross the river in safety.