Chapter 149: If We Rise to Wealth and Rank, I Will Not Forget You

A sky-darkening rain of arrows fell amid piercing screams, and the massed ranks of the layered formation rose and fell like waves under the constant volleys.

The front-rank strong bowmen had just loosed one wave of arrows and had not yet managed a second when countless howling Karakhanid light cavalry surged up before the formation.

Swinging the long spears and iron hammers in their hands, they hammered away at the chevaux-de-frise in front of the layered formation, utterly ignoring the thrusts of the formation's long-spearmen. Their task, it seemed, was to wreck the front-rank barriers.

Another wave of arrows arrived — the ordinary bowmen of the middle ranks had begun shooting. Though they used somewhat weaker bows of around seven dou draw weight, the damage was still considerable against targets that were almost entirely unarmored.

Under the ceaseless volleys of arrows and the stabbing of long spears, this group of Karakhanid light cavalry soon could hold no longer. Shouting loudly to their comrades around them, they fell back amid a chorus of screams.

But before the men could even catch their breath, another unit of armored riders — both men and horses armored — came charging over. Though their armor was nothing fine, it was at least iron armor, and their protection was far better than that of the light cavalry just now.

These armored riders carried long-handled hammers to a man. They had not come to break the formation; their target was still the chevaux-de-frise in front of the layered formation, and their long-handled hammers were far more effective than the long spears and iron hammers of the light cavalry before them.

"Conserve your strength! Bring the horn-bow crossbowmen up from the rear ranks! Regular bowmen, hold your arrows — these are armored riders, and six- or seven-dou foot bows do limited damage!"

Zhang Zhao shot one armored rider off his horse with a single arrow, then bellowed at the top of his lungs. He did not know how far his orders could carry, but he had to shout.

Fortunately, this near-suicidal effort to wreck the barriers appeared only at the front of the formation. On the left and right wings the enemy still relied mainly on light-cavalry harassment, and several tribal light-cavalry units clearly bearing Karluk features repeatedly pressed in within seventy paces to trade shots with the formation's bowmen and crossbowmen.

Because of the gap in equipment between the two sides, a tribal light-cavalry force of five or six hundred men would often collapse and flee within a quarter hour from the sheer weight of its casualties.

But before long, another cavalry unit would come to replace them. The Fengtian Army's arrows were dwindling at an avalanche's pace, and many bowmen's stamina was nearing a small breaking point.

The chevaux-de-frise before the formation were already shattered and scattered. Zhang Zhao simply set down his bow, took up a long lance, and leapt over alone.

He picked out an armored rider swinging a long-handled hammer and thrust straight at him. Though the rider saw a gold-armored figure charging toward him, habit still made him swing his long-handled hammer forward rather than bring it down on the gold-armored man.

It was by this one tiny opening that Zhang Zhao's long lance struck the armored rider in the chest like a venomous dragon. With the blood groove doing its work, a huge bloody hole opened in the rider's chest, and blood gushed out as if a dike had burst.

A second armored rider also spotted Zhang Zhao. His long-handled hammer happened to be in the middle of its backswing, so he needed only a slight adjustment of direction before the hammer came at Zhang Zhao.

But truth be told, this thing was meant for these iqta heavy cavalrymen to smash apart infantry squares. Against a nimble single target like Zhang Zhao, it was not much use.

Sure enough, the slow, heavy long-handled hammer swung wide without surprise, and it was in that one miss that Zhang Zhao's long lance thrust accurately into the left side of the rider's chest.

With a squelch, the mail armor on the rider's body could not stop a spearhead made of later-age tool steel. The lance tip drove the iron links of the mail straight into the rider's chest.

The third armored rider was clever. He sensibly threw away his long-handled hammer and instead drew a war pick from the side of his horse.

It was a thing much like a miner's pick — pointed on one end, hammer-headed on the other. The pointed end especially: no matter what armor you wore, if it pecked you once, it was absolutely deadly.

At the critical moment, Zhang Zhao simply let go of his lance shaft. There was certainly no time to pull the lance free and face the enemy again. With a great shout, he hurled himself with all his strength at the horse opposite him.

Amid the furious shout, this heavy blow — somewhat resembling an Iron Mountain Lean — unleashed tremendous power. The warhorse, already somewhat spent, was knocked violently sideways by Zhang Zhao's impact.

The weight of the armored rider, the weight of the man-and-horse armor, and the force of the violent collision — the horse could not take it. With a pitiful neigh, its left foreleg buckled, and then the whole horse toppled to the ground.

Zhang Zhao drew his hengdao saber and drove it in a single thrust into the throat of the armored rider whose leg was pinned beneath the warhorse.

Hot, rank blood sprayed onto Zhang Zhao. Without the slightest pause, he kicked off the warhorse's belly, and using that force he sprang lightly upward, driving his hengdao saber straight at a spot on another warhorse not covered by its armor plates.

Horse blood, far ranker and gamier than human blood, shot skyward in a jet. The wounded warhorse screamed in terror and turned to flee, and the once-orderly ranks of armored riders were thrown into even greater chaos.

"Young lord! Get down!" Shan Zhu'er yelled frantically. The horn-bow crossbowmen had arrived. Zhang Zhao immediately dropped into a crouch.

The humming flight of crossbow bolts filled the air densely overhead. The armored riders who had just been so fierce collapsed in droves. The other cavalry pressing the attack around them saw the situation turn and hastily fell back. This wave of assault was finally over.

"Have the laborers on the hill come down and carry the wounded up. Start boiling the butchered donkey meat now — plenty of salt, boil it until tender, and feed it to the soldiers one by one.

All two hundred men of the reserve are to reinforce the long-spear square at the front. The next wave — the Karakhanids will throw everything they have at us.

Hold out, and gold, silver, and pretty girls will all be yours. Fail to hold out, and they won't spare us either — then I'll just die here with all of you."

Zhang Zhao walked and shouted as he went, and before long he reached the middle of the formation. He placed the command flag in Yin Yaozi's hands.

"Cousin, I must steady the long-spear square at the front. I leave the command to you. Remember — arrange proper rotations, and ration the drinking water. I reckon the Great Sage Son of Heaven's army will not come quickly, so we must be prepared to hold out."

"Yes!" Yin Yaozi gave a chashou salute, then took the command flag and strode quickly toward the rear of the formation.

Combat on the battlefield had never been Yin Yaozi's strong suit, but commanding and coordinating from the center — that he could manage passably.

What he was truly best at, however, was logistics and supply. Though Zhang Zhao's supplies were held by old Zhang Zhong, the supply plans were all Yin Yaozi's responsibility.

"Yan Jin, still holding up?" Taking advantage of the lull, Zhang Zhao ran over to the left wing of the layered formation.

Yan Jin was leaning back against something like a folding chair — another of Zhang Zhao's inventions, one that let armored men save their strength as much as possible without removing their armor.

The original form of this thing would not appear until the middle-to-late Northern Song. It was basically a support frame one could lean back against, and after Zhang Zhao's improvements it was even better suited for use on the battlefield.

Yan Jin tossed Zhang Zhao an arrow and made to stand, but Zhang Zhao quickly gestured for him not to move.

Yan Jin nodded, then pointed at the fletching end of the shaft. Zhang Zhao looked closely: on this somewhat crooked arrow, the fletching end was carved with the name "Orghuchak Khan" in Uyghur script.

"This is an arrow from Orghuchak's era. Poor quality — and it was shot at us by the armored riders over there.

Lord of the Commandery, this is very likely the secret behind Satuq's caution — why nearly twenty thousand iron cavalry dare not attack two or three thousand men.

His riders' equipment has all been dug out of reserve storehouses, and the quality is wildly uneven. If he keeps attacking, he is a dead man!"

"Commandant Yan is right. Satuq looks powerful, but in truth he is at the end of his strength. They crossed the great snow mountains and came down the Naryn River in the fourth month, and that long ago exhausted the vigor of his army. Time is on our side as well. If he cannot take us today, tomorrow is the day he dies!"

Bai Congxin broke into a smile, his eyes shining. This was the first time he felt that Zhang Zhao was certain to accomplish great things.

The armored soldiers of the Hanshan Du around them all smiled and greeted Zhang Zhao; morale was extremely high.

Zhang Zhao smiled and nodded back. He had not expected that while his own heart was heavy, these armored soldiers of the Hanshan Du saw things far more clearly than he did. He raised his hands and gave a solemn bow of respect to the armored soldiers all around him.

"When wealth and rank come one day, I will never forget you! Together with all of you, I will shatter the mighty foe!"

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