Chapter 240: Section Fifty-Five: Iron Wall

The head before his eyes drew nearer and nearer — brows arched high, a gaping maw baring a mouthful of white teeth. Zhang Chengye still held motionless, taking aim. Nearer… nearer still…

Countless recruits had once asked Zhang Chengye: on the battlefield, how does one fire a matchlock with a hundred shots and a hundred hits?

And Zhang Chengye would always answer them the same way: "Do not open fire — not until you can smell the stench of the breath from the enemy's mouth right in front of you."

His eyes locked dead ahead on that Ming army officer, Wu Nege gripped the reins in his left hand to steer his horse, his waist bowing fiercely toward the rear flank, his right arm — clutching the horse lance — straining back behind his head with all his might. So great was the force he exerted that the muscles of his right chest sent up a pain as if they were about to tear apart.

The horse surged forward at full speed; the distance of a few dozen meters vanished in the blink of an eye. Wu Nege clamped his legs tight, stood in the stirrups, and threw his whole body backward with explosive force. With a fierce, exhilarating roar, the moment he expelled breath and opened his voice, he meant to thrust the horse lance forward with all his strength.

Ahead, the warhorse's hind legs tensed — already making the preliminary move to leap the barrier. In that very instant before the enemy general, horse and rider together, was about to crash into the cheval de frise —

"Fire!"

The white mist at Zhang Chengye's lips and the white smoke from his gun muzzle erupted at the same instant. The command was drowned out by the report of his own pistol. The lingering echo of the pistol, not yet fully faded, was swallowed in a flash by the roar of a hundred matchlocks firing in volley.

On both sides of the sharp-angled bastion, and along the two parapet walls running parallel with Zhang Chengye, countless matchlocks poured thick streams of gun smoke toward the center with abandon. The middle zone was blanketed in an eye-blink by the fiercely spurting white mist. Beneath that roiling smoke, Huang Shi saw masses of men and horses rolling on the ground, drenched in blood. The panicked warhorses, as if gone mad, leaped and bucked wildly.

Not a single matchlockman paused to admire the results. Each man calmly turned around and passed his matchlock to the comrade behind him. The soldiers of the second rank, taking the matchlocks with one hand, simultaneously raised the matchlocks they had been holding to their chests and thrust them firmly into the shooters' hands.

Taking the already-loaded matchlocks, the Longsheng soldiers responsible for firing turned in unison and set their guns in place — not one word of needless talk, not one extra battle cry. There was only the heart-stirring sound of guns being mounted to shoulders, only the sound of barrels being cleared and powder being added.

Though he wore a thick helmet, the roar of the volley still set Zhang Chengye's ears ringing. The pistol he had fired was already tucked into his belt. Zhang Chengye stood ramrod straight, still holding the sideways stance with one foot forward and one foot back. In his hand he gripped the spare pistol; the ramrod in his left hand gave another hard shove.

"Ready —"

Though he knew the command was unlikely to be heard, Zhang Chengye, raising his pistol, still spoke it out of ingrained habit. He glanced left and right: the matchlockmen on both sides had all changed weapons, each man leaning forward, wholly intent on aiming ahead.

Once more he slowly leveled his arm. Zhang Chengye closed one eye and took aim at the Later Jin cavalryman nearest to him. The man was clinging tightly to the neck of his maddened mount, struggling with all his might not to be thrown from the saddle.

"Open fire!"

The thunderous crash of the volley rang out again. Inside this narrow zone hemmed in by two bastions and a horizontal wall; inside this modest trapezoidal area; inside this funnel-shaped death trap — white smoke once more spewed densely inward, and the thick gun smoke instantly blanketed the entire combat zone, as if swallowing up everyone within it.

Almost at the same moment, the other two passageways also sounded their first volleys. Zhang Chengye opened his mouth wide and drew a breath. His eardrums ached, making him shake his head involuntarily. He bent his arm to draw back the pistol, then raised it again beside his ear, and softly uttered a command that was no longer necessary: "Fire at will."

The Ming troops on the two flanking passageways had also finished their second volley. Under the stimulus of the gun smoke and the thunderous noise, horses that were ordinarily docile had turned more savage than lions. Some horses, drenched in blood, leaped again and again several feet into the air; others, snorting madly, rolled wildly across the ground. And the Ming troops kept pouring more white smoke down into the field, further intensifying the chaos among the horses.

Chen Guang's post was on the inner wall of the third bastion. He closed one eye, tilted his head, and took aim at a Later Jin man who looked like a leader. His finger pressed the trigger, and a dense cloud of white smoke blotted out his field of vision. Though the stand absorbed most of the force, the massive impact transmitted to his shoulder still made him rock heavily backward.

"Do not observe the results."

Years of training had burned this sentence firmly into Chen Guang's memory. But this time he did not need to bow his head and load the powder and shot himself. Borrowing the thrust on his shoulder, Chen Guang spun around to face the comrade behind him. Holding the matchlock, Chen Guang waited in silence for his comrade to finish loading. Not one of the firing soldiers uttered an impatient urging.

Loading complete. That comrade shoved the matchlock forcefully straight into Chen Guang's arms, then took away the empty gun. Chen Guang turned back in silence, set the matchlock in place, and pointed the muzzle at an enemy soldier fleeing in utter disarray. The matchlock in his hands swiveled, tracking the enemy's steps… Another burst of white smoke shot forth. A matchlockman has no time to check the results — keeping this firmly in mind, Chen Guang turned once more to wait for loading.

Loading complete again, gun in hand again, gun set in place again… An enemy soldier scrambled and crawled behind a shield cart. Chen Guang waited a moment; not only did the man behind it not come out, but two more men followed him in and ducked behind it. He took a final careful aim at the shield cart and pulled the trigger hard.

The matchlock of twenty-four-millimeter bore spat out a heavy ball. Wrapped in gun smoke, it shot straight for that shield cart. Against the point-blank blast, the cotton quilt draped over the cart was easily pierced through with two holes. The instant the ball struck the wooden plank two decimeters thick, a teacup-sized breach burst open; on the rear face, the breach had widened to the size of a bowl. On the second cotton quilt laid behind the plank, a disc of fabric the size of a plate was reduced back to cotton fluff, scattering to the ground along with the flying splinters…

Less than two hundred meters behind the battle line, the people standing on a cliff on Dongshan watching the battle were already too stunned to speak. The four bastions spread before their eyes in a single line were like four monstrous beasts ceaselessly spewing poisonous spittle. Though separated by over a hundred meters, the unbroken rattle of gunfire and the shouts from there still drifted downwind, reaching the ears of these onlookers.

The Zhao sisters were also among this crowd of onlookers. When they had just seen the Later Jin cavalry surging forward like a flood, the elder Miss Zhao could not help covering her eyes with her hands. Only now, after so long, did she stealthily part her fingers a crack, cautiously hiding one eye behind them to look.

When she saw the dark, dense torrent charge up to the Ming army's position, the younger Miss Zhao had also been so startled that she covered her mouth, about to cry out — but the change that followed forced that cry of alarm back down into her belly. The Ming army's battle line had looked fragile, but in reality it was extraordinarily solid. The younger Miss Zhao could not resist standing on tiptoe and craning forward to look, her heart tense as she watched that Longsheng Island officer standing at the very front.

"Shattering the keenest edge at its sharpest, stemming the wildest flood at full surge." One small hand rested lightly over the younger Miss Zhao's lips. She swept her gaze across the Longsheng Island officers' and soldiers' defensive line. The shock delivered by those several Longsheng Island officers who had just directed the volleys struck so hard that the younger Miss Zhao felt weak beneath her feet. Such valiant generals she had only ever read of in books. Whether from all she had seen and heard in Guangning, or from helping her elder brother handle official business these past few years, she could be said to have seen quite a lot — but she had never heard of any valiant generals comparable to these few Longsheng Island officers… not a single one.

The younger Miss Zhao turned her head again to look toward the command platform at the Ming army's center. Huang Shi's general's banner was flying proudly in the wind. Her beautiful large eyes filled with bewilderment. Softly, she spoke to herself the question in her heart: "That Huang Gongbao should have under his command so many crack troops and fine officers — from a tiny speck of land like Longsheng Island, how could there be so many talents?"

Zhang Chengye, acclaimed by the younger Miss Zhao as one of those valiant generals, was still standing on the front line at this moment — standing where every soldier could see him. He was leisurely and contentedly reloading his pistol. Ahead, another enemy soldier came staggering over, his whole body covered in blood and grime, his face full of a dazed expression. He blundered dizzily toward the Longsheng Army's defensive line. Long before his hands could touch the cheval de frise, several long spears darted out like venomous serpents, simultaneously plunging deep into the man's body.

The scream had barely begun when those several long spears, as if by prior agreement, twisted clockwise in unison, then wrenched backward violently. With a thud, the dead man pitched headfirst to the ground. The blood gurgling out from beneath the corpse swiftly merged with the blood flowing from the others.

This warm blood melted the frozen surface soil. The greedy earth thirstily sucked in pool after pool of hot blood. But the flowing blood was always more than it could swallow. On the ground, red ponds formed first, then rivers that spread in every direction, until at last a sea of human blood rose, steaming with heat.

This sea steadily extended its boundaries, until it had submerged Wu Nege's entire body within it, then flowed along his outstretched arm — from shoulder to palm, from fingers to horse lance — and finally swept past the line of life and death drawn by the cheval de frise and the wooden palisade.

The red that flowed to the front of his boots did not make Zhang Chengye shift his feet a single step. He took aim with his pistol at another enemy soldier… then, while loading powder, searched for a new target. Only when the pool of blood had soaked through the hem of the great scarlet cloak that hung to the ground did Zhang Chengye finally find another new target.

Moats had been dug in front of all the parapet walls. The four bastions, as the core of the defense, had moats before them that were especially wide and deep — the widest points a full three meters across, the deepest around two meters — mainly to prevent the enemy from using human ladders to charge straight up the bastion walls. After the cavalry had just charged through, the Later Jin infantry surged toward the bastion walls in a rush. When Duolonga leaped down into the moat on the right, he thought he was already safe. Holding his shield over his head, he quickly felt his way toward the corner of the wall.

As long as he could reach the foot of the wall, then unless the defenders leaned out to attack, nothing could hurt him. Duolonga had already taken part in many siege battles; he knew that as long as he pressed himself tightly enough against the moat wall and kept his shield properly over his head, even falling rocks and rolling logs would find it hard to injure him. Ahead of Duolonga were a few Han bondservants; the moment they reached the moat wall they would start digging at the base. Everyone knew that if they could dig out a hole, they could safely shelter on the spot, and could soon begin demolishing the fortifications above their heads.

Only this time, the small squad Duolonga commanded had just begun digging at the wall base when a fierce burst of fire poured in from the flank. Duolonga crouched low and glanced to the side. On a distant parapet wall, a row of gun muzzles was aimed this way; the Ming troops there held the high ground and were firing volley after volley down at the base of the bastion wall. And above Duolonga's head, not only did no one lean out to attack, but no wood or stones were thrown down either. When he looked up, all he saw were stream after stream of gun smoke shooting toward the horizontal parapet wall, killing the soldiers who had crept along the moat to the base of the horizontal wall one after another in the very holes they had just begun to dig.

The fire pouring in from the left flank grew fiercer and fiercer. The comrades to Duolonga's left were struck down in swathes. Duolonga scrambled on all fours toward the bend of the moat. Shot after shot whistled past his side or over his head. Duolonga crawled forward with all his might. Beside him and ahead of him, comrades kept screaming and falling, writhing in agony among the other corpses as they choked out their last breaths.

The bend was right before his eyes. Duolonga threw himself forward in a diving leap, rolled once on the ground, and shot past the corner. Two bullets chased along the path he had just taken and slammed into the earth before Duolonga's eyes. Having escaped death by a hair's breadth, Duolonga looked at the holes in the ground and let out a long breath. He had just raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead when he felt a tremendous force strike him, as if someone had given the back of his head a violent shove.

He pitched forward and ate a mouthful of mud. Dizzily, Duolonga shook his head to fling off the mud on his lips, feeling only a chill on the top of his head. When he looked up, he discovered that his helmet had rolled several meters away, a hole gaping in its crown. Duolonga thought for a moment, and instantly broke out in a cold sweat. He spun his head around sharply to look behind him.

In the distance from Duolonga was another horizontal parapet wall, similarly lined with Ming matchlocks, firing fiercely into the moat ahead of him. Inside this very moat before Duolonga's eyes, the bodies of slain Later Jin officers and soldiers were piled layer upon layer, no different from the moat he had just fled.

Fierce fire swept toward his face. Duolonga curled his body into a ball and hid behind several corpses. All around, many men were milling about the moat like headless flies, trying to find a safe haven — but they were all ruthlessly struck down. The Later Jin officers and soldiers inside the trapezoidal zone, unable to hold their ground, were still instinctively jumping into the moat one after another. An unknown Later Jin company commander was frantically tugging at his men, who refused to obey orders.

"You can't go down into the moat — that's walking into dea—" Before he could finish the sentence, a lead ball shot into his neck from the side. The company commander's head, mouth agape, flew into the air, tracing an arc as it sailed a dozen meters away. The headless corpse stood for a moment longer before toppling forward unwillingly to the ground.

Expressionless, Huang Shi observed the enemy's movements for a while longer, then raised his eyes to gaze into the distance, where Nurhaci's royal banner stood. For a time, Huang Shi had noticed that the opposing commander's great banner seemed to be waving urgently, and the war drums were beating with ever greater intensity. It seemed the opponent was trying to use the influence of the royal banner and the war drums to rally his army's courage once more and rescue them from their panic.

As Nurhaci saw it at that moment, if they could just close in and begin a war of attrition with the Ming army, then before long the Ming army's entire battle line would start to collapse from lack of troop strength — and if they halted now, the sacrifices just made would have been in vain. Nurhaci still believed that the defenses here could be taken by assault, and seeing that the vanguard was already very close, he was all the more reluctant to give up.

When he saw the main army halt and refuse to advance, the sixty-eight-year-old man anxiously urged the banner and drum men to spur them forward, and even dispatched several squads of scouts in one breath, ordering them to go straight up and relay the command. But his efforts were wasted. The main army could not keep pace with the vanguard, and those individual companies that did answer his call were, together with the vanguard, mercilessly shot down in the open ground before the bastions.

"Withdraw the troops. Withdraw the troops. Let the lads pull back."

Nurhaci forced out these words with difficulty. The shrill, mournful sound of the gongs rang out. This sound crossed the battlefield several li wide and faintly reached the front line. Stationed on the right wing, Hong Taiji turned his head to glance at Nurhaci's banner signals, then looked at the ghastly state of the battle in the center, and finally cast his gaze toward his own right hand: "The center collapsed far too quickly — there simply wasn't enough time…"

On the gun bastion, the squad commander of the six-pounder calmly watched the passageway ahead. The Later Jin vanguard troops had begun fleeing backward; discarding their armor and weapons, they ran as fast as they could. The men at the very front had already run past the first layer of gaps and were bolting frantically toward the west. In the squad commander's field of vision, every Later Jin soldier still able to move was shouting and fleeing at top speed. From the bastions, matchlocks fired volley after volley downward; from time to time a man struck by point-blank fire was hurled into midair, but the enemy troops still surged toward the gaps, heedless of everything.

"Canister shot loaded." Behind the squad commander came the gun captain's calm voice, followed by another: "Muzzle correction complete."

The interdiction fire to split the enemy battle line had long since been completed. The enemy's main army was withdrawing beyond the range of the Ming artillery. Now was the time to pursue and slaughter the fleeing foe. The squad commander looked at the heads surging along the low-walled passageway and, without turning his head, bellowed: "Fire."

The six-pounder roared dully once more, spraying the canister packed in its barrel toward the passageway a few dozen meters away. Tens of thousands of pellets turned into a rain of metal, drenching the Later Jin officers and soldiers in that passageway.

"Fire."

The other cannons also spewed canister shot toward the passageway one after another. Several dozen more fleeing Later Jin soldiers were struck down in the crowded passageway; the rest trampled over the corpses of their comrades and charged madly outward. The cannons pounded the target zone at close range without pause. After several rounds of interdiction fire, the bodies of over a hundred dead and dying formed a human wall across the passageway.