Chapter 289: Heavenly Troops

Qin He, who was still just a "clerk" when they handed out gold cakes in Chang'an, had now been promoted to "Centurion." Over a hundred men were under his command, and after chasing Wang Mang and fighting at Linyi, they were all "veterans" who had seen blood. Yet facing the rocking, swaying boats, their bodies still trembled like raw recruits.

"What are you afraid of? Get on!"

Qin He himself could not stand steady on the boat either, but he had to lead his men to adapt. There were no large rivers near their hometowns; some could not even dog-paddle, and anyone who could swim a few strokes was considered a water hero. As for riding in boats, that was even more foreign — before being forcibly conscripted, many had lived their entire lives within a radius of a dozen or so li, with no use for boats or oars.

To prepare for this river-crossing campaign, Diwu Lun had specifically ordered the entire army to drill the troops by the Yellow River and the banks of the Jing, taking turns boarding boats to acclimate. Swimming you could skip, but rowing you had to learn. So these past few days, all one saw were clusters of soldiers in short jackets and calf-nose breeches gathered at the water's edge, faces full of grim resolve.

Some jumped into the water with splashes and sploshes to practice swimming. One soldier grew dizzy at the sight of the vast flowing water and hesitated, too afraid to enter. Qin He shoved him in with a hard push. He floundered for a long while before they fished him out, his belly already full of water.

But their perpetually grimy bodies did get considerably cleaner. One advantage the north had over the south: no need to worry about too many strange, bizarre parasites in the water.

The rowers were a constant source of comedy. A perfectly good little boat would end up spinning in place mid-river, and in their fluster they nearly capsized it, provoking the boatmen teaching them to curse furiously, while the soldiers on the bank roared with laughter.

Watching this scene from afar, Dou Rong, who was accompanying Diwu Lun on an inspection of the three armies, merely quipped: "Your servant recalls a story. When Chancellor Chen Ping of the Han defected from Chu and surrendered to Han, he crossed a great river. The boatmen saw his dignified bearing and fine clothes and grew murderous. Chen Ping thereupon stripped off his clothes on the spot..."

"Chen Ping stripped off his clothes?" Diwu Lun's ears pricked up. Could it be...

Dou Rong laughed: "Indeed. Chen Ping, bare-chested, helped the boatmen pole the boat. It seems extraordinary men do possess extraordinary talents. The world only knows Chen Ping for his endless stratagems, but no one knows he could even row a boat."

So that was it. Diwu Lun looked at Dou Rong: "Does the Duke of Zhou believe this campaign will go smoothly?"

Dou Rong, now living under another's roof, naturally spoke favorably, but his flattery was far more sophisticated than Shi Chen's. He laughed and said: "Back when Emperor Gao of Han wished to strike Wei Bao, he questioned Li Yiji, who had been sent as an envoy to Western Wei. He asked him, separately: Who is Western Wei's Grand General? Who is its Cavalry General? Who is its Infantry General?"

"After Li Yiji answered, Liu Bang laughed heartily and said: Their Grand General is no match for Han Xin; their Cavalry General is no match for Guan Ying; their Infantry General is no match for Cao Shen. This battle is as good as won."

"But in your servant's view, the main point was still that Wei Bao himself was far inferior to Emperor Gao."

Dou Rong shifted his tone: "The same holds true now. Though the troops under Wang Xun's command are numerous, his Grand General, Cavalry General, and Infantry General are all mediocre men, far inferior to Wan Xiu, Geng Yan, and Di Qibiao. Add to that, Wang Xun is merely a remnant of the Xin. Everyone wishes to attack him — he has lost the Way and finds scant support. The Great King, by contrast, is benevolent and righteous, possessing the Way and enjoying abundant support. This battle is as good as won!"

This was comparing Diwu Lun to Emperor Gao of Han. Diwu Lun pointed at him and laughed, but watching the officers and soldiers practice swimming and rowing, bustling with energy, the troops' morale was indeed usable.

Dou Rong added: "If Wang Xun disperses his forces to guard each crossing point, then with our army's morale and momentum, we can naturally defeat them one by one. What I fear is that he will concentrate his main army and, after our forces land separately, fix his sights on one column and attack it fiercely!"

This was indeed a point worth worrying about, but Diwu Lun shook his head: "According to those who crossed the river to bring word, when Wang Xun first entered Hedong early last month, he grew greedy and wanted to occupy Taiyuan, so he split off over ten thousand men to go north. Because Ma Wenyuan struck E Pass, he dispatched another ten thousand to resist. Geng Chun stirred up Shangdang to jointly attack this Xin remnant, which forced Wang Xun to detach another five thousand."

With all that, the forces he had left by the river numbered no more than forty thousand, and he still had to split them up to occupy each county to forage for grain and suppress resisters. So Wang Xun's army, once dispersed, was hard to pull back together. At most, he could lead around ten thousand mobile troops to hover near the great river.

"Wang Xun can only hope to catch our main crossing force and strike before we land, to drive us back into the river. But little does he know that our forces will cross at multiple points, blooming on multiple fronts. Let us see which point he chooses to defend then!"

Diwu Lun instructed the Palace Gentlemen beside him: "The crossing is imminent. Have Ren Guang procure some meat and let the soldiers have a good meal."

On the nineteenth day of the seventh month, Qin He and his company did not drill rowing or swimming. Instead, the evening meal was served early. That day's supper was exceptionally lavish. The hundred-odd men were divided into ten squads, and each squad fetched back from the supply officer a large basin of meat soup, a basin of mallow and tofu, and another basin holding two Yellow River fish. There were even two jugs of wine — something even harder to come by in these chaotic times!

The stuff went down without much sensation, but its aftereffect was strong. A few gulps of wine and faces began to flush, spirits rising along with it. The soldiers grew more talkative. Having trained so long, they knew a river-crossing battle was coming, and they all turned to ask Qin He.

"Centurion Qin, we hear you're an old hand who's followed the Great King since the days in Xin Qin!"

Qin He's face was red too. This was a point of pride in their service record. Now that the King of Wei had ascended the throne, they shared in the reflected glory. But the soldiers' next question made him awkward: "We hear the Great King once crossed the Yellow River to fight the Xiongnu. The Centurion was there too, right?"

"Was there. Of course I was there." Qin He's tongue tied in knots. He had been left behind to guard the camp at the time. About that affair, he could only listen to the comrades who came back with Xiongnu heads dangling from their waists boast about routing the Xiongnu cavalry in the irrigation ditches, throwing men and horses into utter chaos!

Too embarrassed to tell the truth, he could only speak vaguely about things he had heard. He was somewhat clearer about the crossing from the east bank to Puban over two months ago — though they had taken a pontoon bridge then, which was nothing like rowing across themselves...

Fortunately, the soldiers just wanted to hear something lively. Someone even asked: "Once we get to Hedong, can we get land?"

After two months of fighting and having seen the splendor of Chang'an, some were already weary. The rewards Diwu Lun had promised when they first raised troops had been fulfilled with the distribution of gold cakes and silk. But what about that promise, made back then, of giving each of them a plot of land and a home — when would that be carried out?

Someone in the know shook his head: "I hear Hedong is even more crowded than Guanzhong. I'm afraid it'll be hard."

"There'll be a place somewhere, anyway." Qin He said with conviction: "We've followed the Great King through so many commanderies. There's bound to be a place with plenty of land and few people."

The men nodded to one another. A large portion of them were refugees. They were far from their old homes anyway; any place they could settle down in the future would do — ideally with a climate and terrain somewhat similar to their hometowns. Otherwise, men used to farming on the plains, if sent off to the mountains, truly wouldn't know how to farm there... That said, they began missing their old homes again. If only they could be allotted land back there someday.

A night of fanciful thoughts. The next day, just past cockcrow, Qin He roused them and they set off eastward. While garrisoned at Chang'an, with no battles to fight, Diwu Lun had them drill formations whenever he had a spare moment. Once they reached Weibei, they drilled to gongs and drums. Time was too tight; weapons could only be practiced in real combat...

The training had indeed had some effect. On the march, they were no longer as scattered and disorderly as before, and could move with something resembling the look of an army. They encountered more and more units — brother troops, and also surrendered soldiers pushing supply carts hauling grain and other goods. Most were prisoners from the Battle of Linyi, who had been told they would do hard labor until autumn's end before being released.

For a time, the roads were jammed full. The unharvested millet in the fields could not be trampled, so they could only squeeze along and advance slowly.

They reached the crowded banks of the Yellow River at dusk and were assigned a temporary camp. Qin He and the others were summoned by the Colonel to be assigned the boats they would board the next day.

"My luck is just that good!"

Qin He returned beaming with joy. His comrade, another Centurion, was downcast. As it turned out, because there were not enough boats, aside from the assault vanguard, whether the remaining units would ride in boats or crude sheepskin rafts and wooden gourd floats was decided by drawing lots.

Qin He had drawn a boat. The soldiers were all delighted. The day's rations were also quite good. They all remembered: the Hongmen uprising, the crossing of the Ba, and the Battle of Linyi had all followed this same pattern. Whenever a major battle was coming, they got to eat meat. They were all rather stirred up. Fear was there too, but it was mainly about the rowing they just could not get the hang of, not the enemy on the opposite bank.

Because the wind direction on the twentieth was unfavorable, the attack plan was postponed to the twenty-first. This morning, a west wind rose. As Wan Xiu issued the order and it was passed down level by level, the soldiers filed out of camp to assemble.

Bedding and other items were tidied but not taken. Each man made his mark and handed them to the baggage troops. They did not even wear their armor. Carrying only their weapons, they went to the assembly points assigned over the past two days. Order was still chaotic — jostling, crowding, walking and stopping. Some were burning with impatience, eager to cross the river and fight as soon as possible. More were hoping to be placed further back in line.

By the time Qin He's turn came, their position was neither front nor back. By now the sky was fully bright. They could see the vanguard units had already crossed the river. On this stretch of the river, boats filled the water like a school of carp crossing a river, white sails like a tide. Everyone was amazed. Where had they gotten so many boats?

"The canal boats that usually haul grain from the Capital Granary to the Grand Granary on the Wei River. Fishermen's little boats. Even some built on the spot."

Qin He's words had barely faded when a boat broke apart mid-river. Soldiers tumbled into the water, able only to cling to the boats coming behind, squeezing their way across. Quite a few also met their end at the river bottom.

Watching this scene, even soldiers who usually boasted of their swimming skills gulped. The boat they were to board was also old and broken. Would it sink too? At most they could swim a few dozen paces, but if something happened mid-river here, they would have to swim several hundred paces back. That was far too hard!

"Board the boats! Board the boats!"

But behind them stood military judges with stern, piercing gazes. As the drumbeats thudded, their turn had come. Like a flock of ducks driven into the water, over a hundred men boarded two boats, all squatting or sitting in rows. An old, seasoned fisherman found from the Yellow River took the tiller, his head beaded with sweat, stripped to the waist.

Qin He remained standing. He counted heads again. Two men were missing. He counted twice more — still the same. He did not know if they had foolishly run off or gotten separated in the crush. Qin He was anxious, but there was nothing he could do. His direct superior was ordering all boats to set out at once!

As the waist-drummer standing at the stern struck the drum hard, the boatman began working the scull. The soldiers seated at the oar positions had to row along with him, following the drumbeat and the work chants. Inch by inch, they left the dock and advanced toward the east bank!

Nervous, they truly were nervous. Their hands were stiff. But the half-month of rowing drills, besides leaving their hands aching every day, had at least had some effect. The speed was not particularly fast, but the sharp prow cut through the yellow waves and advanced steadily.

Reaching mid-river, under the morning breeze, the water surface grew somewhat choppy. Having adapted to the rocking these past few days, the men did not wail for their mothers. Most kept their lips tightly pressed. As the oar blades stroked, the Yellow River water splashing into the boat was like a passing rain shower, clinging to their clothes and mixing with sweat — clammy, chilly, and deeply unpleasant. After holding it in for a long time, someone finally threw up his meal with a splat onto the boat. The smell was a bit odd. This would be the scent imprinted in their memories.

The journey was nearing its end. Qin He braced himself against the gunwale and stood up to look ahead. Through the thin mist over the river, he heard the shouts of battle coming from the shore.

The vanguard had already landed. He heard they were under Colonel Zheng Tong's command — men who had fought at the Dragon Head Canal, forged into a death-dealing shock company. They received the richest rewards and specialized in assaulting strongpoints.

Because they could not dock at a pier and the boats had to return to ferry the next wave, they could not run aground. So upon reaching the shore, the men still had to jump into water that reached their waists and slowly wade up. Qin He was a bit on the short side; the water nearly reached his neck. He could only tilt his head back, eyes wide, warily watching everything on the shore. If enemy troops suddenly appeared at this moment and shot at them with crossbows, the casualties would be devastating.

But perhaps because the vanguard had already cleared the riverbank, they met no attack and climbed ashore smoothly. Everyone was soaking wet and utterly exhausted.

Many companies landed together, and the east bank was somewhat chaotic. Each unit struggled to raise its small banner and gather its own men. Qin He counted heads again. During the assembly, another three or four men had gone missing, making him hop with fury.

The other units were no better. Plenty of men had gotten separated and randomly attached themselves to other squads. There was no time to search slowly; the priority was to assemble first.

A company was finally pulled together with difficulty. The Major led their batch of over a thousand men slowly inland from the shore. Along the way, they passed a camp. A few corpses lay there — likely the vanguard's work. But aside from that, there were no further signs of battle. Entering the camp, they saw discarded earthenware cauldrons everywhere, and even campfires still burning. The soldiers quickly crowded around them, at least drying themselves off a bit.

"They fled."

Qin He kicked over a bowl — half-eaten coarse rice still inside, a water flask filled — clear signs of how hastily the enemy had fled.

Crossing the river had taken the whole morning, and everyone was hungry. They had brought dry rations: hou — millet cooked, pounded, mixed with water, kneaded into balls, and sun-dried, ready to eat as is — but for now there was no need to bring them out.

Because after a quick search, they found the enemy's provisions were actually quite good. Half a side of pork hung in the barracks, along with ducks snatched from who knows where — all to their advantage. Those quick with their hands promptly slaughtered and plucked them, roasted them over the fire, and shared them out.

Some men also searched out a pile of women's clothing from the camp. A young soldier picked one up, sniffed it, and exchanged glances with the others, snickering — until Qin He gave him a hard slap on the back of the head and cursed them out, warning them not to get any wicked ideas once they reached Hedong.

As for the owners of those clothes — perhaps the shallow-dug pits just outside the camp, and a single hand protruding from the earth, gave a hint of what had happened. That Wang Xun's troops had been raping and plundering freely in Hedong was all too true. They were New Army too, but their discipline was far worse than Tian Kuang's men.

A short while later, the Major sent scouts and made contact with the Colonel ten li downstream. The gist was that the several thousand men of Wang Xun's force guarding this stretch of riverbank, on discovering the Wei army crossing, had abandoned camp and fled. Colonel Zheng Tong had already taken the vanguard in pursuit; the remaining units were to follow and support, in case the enemy was laying a trap.

Hearing it was to be a marching battle, everyone groaned in misery — Qin He most of all. He had already lost ten men; after all this running and chasing, he might well lose half by the end.

But there was no help for it. While there was still daylight, the unit ate, dried their clothes by the fire, and set out at once. By then another company had crossed over; the campfires were left for them.

Qin He had guessed right: as they advanced, the men under him grew fewer and fewer — all stragglers fallen behind. Corpses, though, were not many. What they often came upon were prisoners squatting on the ground, weapons thrown aside, guarded by a few Wei soldiers. Asking around, they learned these were the shock troops of Zheng Tong's vanguard. The New Army had become birds startled by the mere twang of a bow, fleeing east with no will to resist — some even surrendering by the hundreds.

The guards said, with no small pride, "We got separated from our unit — but three of us took over a hundred prisoners!"

Though there had been no fighting, Qin He and his men could go no further, nor could they afford to. If this pursuit went on, their own force would scatter entirely. Better to halt, guard the prisoners, and wait for the stragglers to catch up. Gazing at the footprints left by the vanguard, he could only curse under his breath: "That Colonel Zheng — just how far does he mean to chase?"

That same question puzzled every unit that had crossed the river nearby. Only after the whole battle was over did they learn: Zheng Tong, with eight hundred men, had covered over a hundred li in a day and a night after crossing, routing several companies in succession and capturing three to five thousand of the enemy. In one breath, from the Yellow River's edge, he had fought all the way to the vicinity of Anyi — Wang Xun's main base!

Qin He and the others waited to gather their troops. As night deepened, with the soldiers not yet fully reassembled, a body of horsemen approached bearing torches — startling them into immediate assembly, hurriedly forming ranks for battle.

"Friendlies!"

This time it was not the Yue Cavalry taking point, so there was no friendly-fire mishap. The newcomers drew near with their torches, took in the sight of the "Wei troops" before them and the dejected new recruits squatting on the ground — men who had been shattered and scattered in a confused retreat — and cupped their hands toward Qin He and his comrades:

"I am Zhang Zong of Yangquan Village, Xie County, here to respectfully welcome the Wang…"

Realizing the term "Wang's army" had been utterly debased, Zhang Zong switched to a different phrase.

"Joyfully welcome the Heavenly Host!"

……

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