Chapter 367: Fierce Battle

"Halt! Face front! Dress ranks! Raise muskets!"

Liu Shiquan casually tossed his musket to the ground, drew his waist saber, and charged toward the disordered square formation while screaming hoarsely; the drummer swiftly pounded the war drum, while the bugler and two personal guards followed close behind him.

Though the soldiers who heard the drum still found themselves engulfed in tremendous fear, the instinct ingrained in their bones to obey military orders nonetheless drove them to make the corresponding movements.

Liu Shiquan, his eyes bloodshot, sprinted to the front of the formation, roared once, and with a swift stroke of his blade lopped off the head of a soldier who had been darting about like a headless fly. He then bent down in a flash, snatched up the severed head—its face frozen in utter terror, blood still dripping without pause—and bellowed at the Ming soldiers: "Whoever disobeys orders shall be beheaded!"

In that brief interval, the third rank of Dutch musketeers had already taken position facing the Ming army and fired their third volley. Amid the crackling reports mingled with the faint, shrill whistling of bullets, six more Ming soldiers were struck down. Fortunately, Liu Shiquan himself was not hit, though one of his personal guards fell to a bullet and made no further sound.

Liu Shiquan cast aside his saber and the severed head, picked up the musket of the soldier he had just beheaded, blew on it to find the match cord still burning, and saw that both ball and powder were already loaded. He immediately turned, dropped to one knee in the front rank, and leveled the musket at the Dutch.

Another personal guard knelt beside Liu Shiquan, raising his musket level as well, while the bugler knelt on the other side and brought his horn to his lips.

Under the stern military law and the example of their officer leading the fight to the death, the Ming soldiers' morale surged. Following the rhythm of the drum, they swiftly formed the three-rank volley formation according to their usual drill—and by this time the Dutch fourth rank had already stepped forward and raised their muskets.

"Fire!"

With the brief snapping sound of the triggers, the Ming and Dutch fired their muskets almost simultaneously. Cries of agony rose from both formations alike, and several men on each side were struck down. But the one difference was that the Ming rear ranks swiftly stepped forward to fill the gaps, while the Dutch, after lowering their muskets, prepared to withdraw to both flanks.

At that moment, the Ming's second volley rang out. Seven or eight Dutchmen who were shifting sideways crumpled to the ground, and the remaining Dutch, in their panic, hurriedly scattered to both sides to escape the sustained punishment of Ming firepower.

Because the winter wind was feeble, the smoke generated by several successive volleys from both sides hung thick before the formations and refused to dissipate, greatly hampering visibility on both sides. During the wait for the smoke to clear, the two opposing forces on this front actually fell into a tacit, brief calm.

Just as Liu Shiquan's left wing was taking continuous punishment from Dutch cannon fire and musketry, Chen Dashuan's right wing encountered a similar situation—and one even more dire than Liu Shiquan's.

After the Dutch's first ranging shot, the next two shells both landed squarely within the Ming formation, and the successive explosions inflicted terrible casualties.

The two shells caused more than twenty Ming soldiers to be killed or wounded and utterly shattered the Ming formation. This also allowed the Dutch musketeers, without facing any return fire, to calmly fire three volleys, costing another twenty-odd Ming soldiers their lives.

Chen Dashuan's end of the line had not come under Dutch fire, but watching his men fall to bullets one after another and wail in agony, his heart felt as though it were being twisted by knives.

Amid the frantic shouting of Chen Dashuan and several Company Commanders, the right-wing Ming troops finally shook off their confusion for the moment and, after the Dutch's fourth musket volley, formed up in the three-rank volley formation.

As the Ming muskets rang out, Dutch casualties also began to mount rapidly. The sense of safety they had enjoyed over the first four volleys—like mere target practice—vanished at once, and both sides settled into an exchange of fire.

Just as Liu Shiquan's left wing was enjoying its temporary calm, the Dutch's second round of cannon fire erupted once more.

Of the three explosive shells, one landed before the Ming formation, one sailed over the Ming square to land behind it, and one burst directly amid the crowd, blasting seven or eight Ming soldiers to the ground. The formation that had just been restored fell into chaos once more, and the morale the Ming had only just recovered suffered another severe blow.

As the smoke gradually thinned, the Dutch fifth rank of musketeers spread out in a line and delivered another volley. Several Ming soldiers collapsed and did not rise. The musketeers could hold on no longer—some soldiers in the front ranks turned and began to flee to the rear.

Meanwhile, the Dutch pikemen, under their officers' orders, had already raised their sharp pikes, advanced past the musket square, and were marching forward in unison, ready to seize the moment and utterly crush the Ming troops a few dozen paces away.

Seeing this, Liu Shiquan had no choice but to rise and loudly order the musketeers to fall back and reform, commanding the two hundred spearmen to close toward the center and array themselves to meet the enemy.

He knew full well that in a musket duel, his side was not at a disadvantage—on the contrary, their advantage was growing ever greater, and a few more volleys would surely defeat the Dutch.

But the Dutch cannon were far too formidable. These shells that burst upon landing and wounded men were something his own soldiers had never witnessed before.

Under the immense terror of this unknown thing, even soldiers who drilled with exceptional rigor and observed strict discipline showed signs of cracking—and even he himself was shaken to the core by these shells.

The right-wing Ming troops likewise suffered the Dutch's second round of bombardment. After losing many men to the shells, they barely managed to hold their formation, but the soldiers were visibly far more flustered while loading their ammunition—many, as they loaded, cast fearful glances toward the Dutch artillery position off to one side, dreading that those terrible shells might fall again.

At this critical juncture, the gate of the Ming camp suddenly swung wide open. Cavalry Company Commander Hu Yong, riding at the very front, led more than forty horsemen charging out of the camp, then split into two groups that galloped separately toward the Dutch artillery position two li away.

Close behind the cavalry came several hundred Ming soldiers—blade-and-shield men, along with a scant few dozen archers and grenadiers. Wu Qun personally led the charge toward the left wing, where the situation was most desperate.

"Damned Ming people! They actually still have cavalry!! Order the pikemen to close on the artillery! Order the artillerymen to abandon the position at once! Hurry!"

Van Dyck, observing the battlefield from a high vantage point, turned deathly pale at the sudden appearance of the Ming cavalry. After rapidly issuing his orders, he could only pray inwardly that the pikemen would reach the precious artillerymen in time to protect them.

The Ming camp lay only about four li from the Dutch artillery position. Before the Dutch pikemen could even turn to lend support, the Ming cavalry had already swept around one side of both squares and were charging at the artillerymen, who were frantically preparing for their next salvo.

Hu Yong, galloping at the very front, crouched low over his horse's neck, a gleaming saber in his left hand and a flintlock pistol gripped in his right, legs clamped tight against the horse's flanks to steer—man and mount moving as one.

More than twenty cavalrymen equipped identically to him rode close behind, hooves thundering like rolling thunder, and under the gaze of soldiers on both sides they swept like a gale toward the Dutch artillerymen, who had already spotted them.

Though they had received no order to retreat, the artillerymen—who had tasted the bitter lesson of cavalry on European battlefields—abandoned their position without hesitation and scattered in all directions to flee.

Such flight did not violate military discipline.

As the most prized arm of every European nation, artillerymen had no means whatsoever of resisting enemy force that had reached right before their eyes.

Every European army had an unwritten rule: under circumstances of overwhelming force, artillerymen were permitted to abandon their position to save their lives.

For when the enemy had already reached the artillery position, it meant the main battle was already lost or in dire straits—at such a time, the cannon no longer mattered; what mattered most was that the artillerymen find a way to preserve their own lives.

The Ming cavalry from both sides reached the Dutch gun position in the blink of an eye, one after another.

Hu Yong clamped his legs hard against his horse's flanks; the warhorse, startled by the pain, lunged forward and bowled over a Dutch gunner who was desperately fleeing.

With the horse's own weight of several hundred jin, plus Hu Yong's hundred-odd jin, compounded by the immense momentum of gravitational acceleration, that gunner's bones shattered and sinews snapped on the spot. Spitting blood from his mouth, he lay sprawled on the ground without moving.

The warhorse surged onward. Hu Yong pulled the trigger and fired his pistol—with a thunderous roar, a Dutch gunner struggling to flee a few paces ahead was struck at close range, a great hole blown through his back as he slammed flat onto the ground, torrents of blood pouring freely from the wound.

Hu Yong casually hurled the pistol at another Dutch gunner off to his right front, then transferred his saber to his right hand, gave the reins a tug with his left, and the warhorse lunged forward with the motion.

As he swept past that Dutchman, Hu Yong, saber in his right hand, added the horse's momentum and gave a light horizontal flick—the man's head parted from his neck in an instant, blood spurting from the neck cavity like a fountain. The headless body, carried on by inertia, ran several more paces before crashing to the ground, while the severed head, its face frozen in an expression of utter horror, rolled along the ground with a clatter before finally coming to a stop.