Chapter 271: The Charge

"The Ming troops across the way don't look like Zu Dashou's men—the Jinzhou garrison doesn't have that many muskets, and they wouldn't dare come out for open-field battle with us. Could they be reinforcements sent from inside the passes?"

Shang Kexi, lean and wiry with sharp triangular eyes that gleamed with cunning, studied the neatly arrayed Yongwei Camp two li away and spoke with a note of puzzlement.

His Vice Regional Commander Lü Sanchun replied at his side: "Indeed, my lord. This Ming force has fine armor and tight formations, and carries real presence. They show no panic at the sight of our Eight Banner army—quite unlike the Ming troops of old. I judge this lot will not be easy to handle. Prince, what should we do?"

Though he had followed Shang Kexi in surrendering to the Qing for several years now, Lü Sanchun had never grown accustomed to the word "slave," and so he always referred to himself as "this minor general" before his old superior.

"What use is just looking at their formation? For all we know they're a pewter spearhead that looks good but won't pierce—all show and no substance! Still, there do seem to be quite a few cannon up on the wall opposite. Our red barbarian cannon were all taken by the Obedient Prince to Songshan. If we charge straight in, the casualties could be heavy! Prince, should we notify the Eight Banner lords and have their cavalry probe the Ming flank? Then we strike from the front and catch them in a pincer!"

Another of Shang Kexi's old subordinates, Vice Regional Commander Jiang Yongzhong, picked up the thread.

Jiang Yongzhong's proposal drew Lü Sanchun's endorsement: "Little Jiang is right, Prince. We're about even with them in numbers. If these were Zu Dashou's men, we wouldn't fear them—but since we can't tell where this lot came from, best to have the cavalry charge once and test their mettle before we commit!"

Shang Kexi pondered a moment, then gave the order: "Very well! Hold your positions and make no move. I shall go over and have a word myself!"

With that, Shang Kexi spurred his horse and rode off toward the Eight Banner cavalry on the left flank, several guards in tow.

Dobi, who had been studying the Ming formation alongside Bayanga, saw Shang Kexi approaching and immediately rode up to meet him: "Prince Zhishun, what brings you here? Why have you not led your men in a charge?"

Shang Kexi reined in his warhorse and smiled: "Gentlemen, I have come to ask for aid. There is something strange about the Ming troops across the way. I feared that if I threw my whole force in rashly and took heavy losses, it would break our morale—so I wished to ask the elite Eight Banner troops to charge first. Once the Ming formation loosens and shows a gap, I shall lead my men in to strike!"

Dobi exchanged a glance with Bayanga, who had ridden up, then said with a smile: "Prince Zhishun, please return. In the eyes of my Eight Banners, all Ming men are the same. Wait while I break open their line for you—then you may lead your men in swiftly!"

Shang Kexi smiled, clasped his hands in salute, and rode back with his guards to the Han Banner position.

Dobi and Bayanga rode back to the front of their formation. Dobi spoke: "Tanggudai and the thousand-odd men of the Bordered White Banner must have died at this lot's hands. That score we must settle! In a moment I'll take a hundred riders as the first wave. The moment you see me break the Ming line, you bring the second wave in! If I can't break it, you take the remaining men and ride off to harass!"

Bayanga heard the finality in Dobi's words and hurriedly urged: "If the charge doesn't work, pull back—no need to force it! Revenge needn't be rushed. If anything, let me lead the first wave!"

Dobi said nothing, but shouted loudly: "Shengkehun, bring your squad and follow me!"

Dobi, who could not let go of the death of his cousin Tanggudai and a thousand of his clansmen, burned with hatred. He wished he could slaughter every Nikan across the way, even at the cost of his own life.

Dobi yanked the reins and wheeled his horse toward the left flank of the Yongwei Camp, a hundred Eight Banner riders close behind. Under Shang Kexi's direction, the Han Banner formation in front had also begun to advance slowly, ready to surge in and cut down the Ming troops once the Eight Banners broke their line.

The Yongwei Camp's formation had the musketeer battalion at the center, while the left and right flanks were shielded by square formations mixing sword-and-shield and longspear companies. Feng Jun and the bugler relaying his orders stood on a simple platform built atop an oxcart at the rear, with several dozen personal guards arrayed around the cart for protection.

When Feng Jun saw a squad of Eight Banner cavalry charging straight at the left flank, he immediately issued orders. At the sound of the bugle—two long blasts and one short—the three leftmost ranks of spearmen and one rank of shield-bearers turned left under their company officers' direction. The front-rank soldiers pressed shoulder to shoulder, planting the butts of their spears into the ground and bracing them with their feet, both hands gripping the shafts. Spear after spear gleamed coldly as they angled upward. The shield-bearers hefted their great shields, ready to step forward and cover.

The ten Folangji cannon on the left wall had also been loaded. When the lookout saw enemy cavalry moving on the left flank from afar, he gave the order with a single command. The muzzles of the ten cannon swung left, and the gunners gripped the handles of the fire tongs glowing red in the braziers, ready to press them to the touch-holes and ignite the fuses.

When the Eight Banner cavalry was less than two li from the Ming left flank, they began deliberately closing the gaps between riders, forming a wedge and gradually picking up speed. The several dozen riders in the front ranks had already drawn their javelins, throwing axes, and broadleaf sabers, ready to hurl them when they reached about twenty paces from the Ming line.

Dobi, serving as the arrowhead, pressed hard with both legs, feet braced firmly in the stirrups, crouching low in a half-squat. One hand held a tiger-fang spear, the other a short axe. His whole body lay flat against the horse as the warhorse steadily accelerated.

At roughly two hundred paces from the Yongwei Camp's left flank, the Eight Banner cavalry had reached full speed.

Dobi, clad in a white button-front lamellar armor, felt only the roar of wind past his ears as he silently counted the distance. In perhaps a few dozen breaths he would crash into the Ming line. Then he would hurl his short axe, yank hard on the reins to leap over the heads of the front-rank Ming soldiers, and plunge straight into the ranks behind. A warhorse weighing several hundred jin, plus nearly two hundred jin of armor and weapons, would kill or wound several of the Ming soldiers in the rear ranks. Even if he himself died, he would throw the Ming formation into chaos, and his clansmen behind could punch a gap through it. Then, under the successive impact of the second and third waves, the Ming troops would have no choice but to rout and be cut down in pursuit.

Though he had also noticed the Ming cannon atop the fort wall, Dobi, who had fought the Ming for years, knew that cannon could only fire one round and had terrible accuracy. The second round would not come for several hundred breaths—by then the battle would already be over.

Only a hundred-odd paces remained—in twenty breaths he would be upon the Ming troops. Though he had long weathered many battles, this blood-stirring sensation still set Dobi's heart racing with excitement.

Just then, it was as if the thunder god himself had descended upon the sky. Earth-shaking explosions rang out one after another. Before Dobi could even wonder how the Ming had so many cannon, a one-jin cannonball screamed down from above. With a sharp crack, Dobi's head was smashed to pulp like a rotten watermelon. The shot, its force undiminished, then shattered his warhorse's tailbone. With a mournful whinny, the horse tumbled to the ground carrying Dobi's headless corpse. The warhorse immediately behind stepped squarely onto the fallen animal's body; its forelegs found no purchase and buckled, pitching the horse forward and flinging its Eight Banner rider clear. Before he could react, the galloping horses behind trampled his body into a pulp.

Each Folangji cannon carrying nine chambered shots reloaded with great speed. In a continuous roar, the ten Folangji cannon each managed roughly three rounds. Nearly thirty one-jin projectiles sent the hundred Eight Banner cavalry charging the left flank tumbling—men and horses alike thrown down. The ground was strewn with fallen horses and corpses. Thirty-odd Eight Banner riders were dead or wounded. The riders in the rear, seeing the situation turn bad, wheeled their horses and veered to either side. But more than ten riders ahead had dodged the barrage and charged on toward the Ming spear line.

When they closed to within a dozen-odd paces of the Ming troops, a dozen-odd short blades and throwing axes flew from the Eight Banner riders' hands toward the spearmen. A burst of screams and grunts rang out—not one of the thrown weapons missed its mark, all striking the densely packed Ming formation. A dozen-odd Ming soldiers were killed or wounded, and the previously tight formation became somewhat disordered.

After hurling their short weapons, some of the dozen-odd Eight Banner riders yanked their reins, wheeled in an arc before the spearmen, and galloped off to the sides. But most of the fearless Eight Banner soldiers spurred their horses straight into the dense, gleaming forest of spears before them.

The warhorses, seeing the blades ahead, instinctively tried to shy away—but momentum carried them forward regardless. A tremendous crash accompanied a tumbling of men and horses. Dozens of long spears pierced the horses even as their shafts snapped under the overwhelming impact. The soldiers holding them either spat blood and collapsed, or were sent flying by the sliding horses.

The Eight Banner riders were either run through along with their horses, or pinned beneath the fallen animals, unable to move.

A few of the more skilled Eight Banner riders rolled off their horses before they fell, and charged at the Ming soldiers before them with spear and saber.

Before they could close, dozens of spears over a zhang long thrust in from the sides and front. These Eight Banner riders were each run through from multiple angles—they died without even a cry.

As the Eight Banner soldiers pinned under their horses were stabbed to death one after another, the first wave of the Eight Banner cavalry charge ended in failure.

Bayanga, who had been holding his horse to a slow walk behind the first wave, reined in and raised a single hand. The hundred riders behind him all halted. The Eight Banner soldiers from the rear of the first wave, blocked by cannon fire and forced to wheel back, also circled around and rejoined.

Bayanga watched the distant scene with a grim face. The Ming troops were carrying their dead and wounded to the rear, while the Jianzhou barbarian corpses lay untended. The rear-rank spearmen stepped forward to fill the gaps left by the fallen, and the whole formation quickly tightened up again.

The Ming cannon fire was far too dense—an extreme threat to any charging cavalry. The second wave of Eight Banner troops had originally planned to dismount at fifty paces from the Ming line and use heavy arrows to kill at range, but now it was clear that plan could not work. Once dismounted and formed into an archery line, they would be easily blanketed by Ming cannon fire.

"Send someone to fetch Prince Zhishun! A hundred riders on watch—the rest dismount and rest!"

Bayanga gave the order coldly, his face set.