Chapter 123: Breaking the Formation

One hundred fifty paces. The government troops made no move.

One hundred paces. The government troops made no move.

Liu Guoneng's formation began to run. They ran faster and faster — a mere hundred paces could be crossed in twenty or thirty breaths.

Their advance was even catching up to Zhang Tianlin on the right wing.

Every man sprinted, spear leveled or blade raised, and this filled them with strength — far more exhilarating than standing in place being shelled by artillery, every man shrouded in the shadow of death.

They did not fear dying in battle; they feared waiting to die.

Suddenly, someone crossed that invisible line.

"Breech-loading cannons — fire!"

The four breech-loading cannons loaded with canister shot had long since been adjusted for angle, awaiting only the officer's command. The powder scattered outside the chamber was ignited; the surrounding gunners simultaneously turned aside and covered their ears. In the successive booming roars, the front of the line was swallowed by gun smoke.

Hundreds of projectiles burst forth in the firelight spewing smoke, carrying countless sounds of air tearing, blasting a cone-shaped clearing through the panicled millet before the formation.

At the far end of that cone-shaped clearing was Liu Guoneng's running square formation.

Lead balls and iron pellets tore through body after body, punching out clouds of blood mist.

Rows of men were cut down, bodies struck by shot mid-sprint, upper bodies slammed backward while lower bodies still stepped forward — the motion finally sending them tumbling through the air to the ground.

Those lucky enough not to be hit were stunned dumb by the sudden catastrophe, skidding to a violent halt, gasping, eyes wide with terror, searching around them in blank helplessness.

Liu Guoneng was just as blank. An iron pellet had torn through the hem of his clothes; his left leg ached with piercing agony, driving him to his knees with a howl. He crawled laboriously on the ground, patting this one, nudging that one.

Every face clutching chest or belly and vomiting blood, every man weeping in terror with piss and shit streaming down — all were his kinsmen and brothers, his neighbors, uncles and elders.

The men behind ran out of the millet field only to see the ground covered with twisted, struggling kin struck down by cannon fire, and, several dozen paces beyond, the government troops' cannon muzzles aimed straight at them.

Those struggling men stretched out their hands toward them, pushing from afar, using all their strength: "Don't come! Run! Run!"

Splash!

The gunners pulled water-soaked cloth from buckets and laid it over the blackened chamber. With a hiss, they yanked the chamber up and tossed it aside, then dropped the scorched cloth back into the water bucket.

The waiting gunners immediately slotted a prepared chamber into the cannon breech, then began cleaning the used chamber.

The artillery officer revised the order; signal soldiers on both flanks waved the command flags.

The four breech-loading cannons adjusted their muzzles — two left, two right — facing the still-advancing forces of Li Wanqing and Luo Rucai.

Li Wanqing was still turning his head in a daze. He had watched Liu Guoneng's force change shape after the cannon roared — the men in front were gone, those behind stood frozen in place, and some were fleeing.

He understood soon enough.

Bang! Bang!

Bang! Bang!

At the left and right corners of the formation, two more cone-shaped clearings were blasted out. Along the projectiles' flight path, millet stalks were severed like wheat under a scythe, flying and scattering — along with the men advancing through the millet field.

The left corner of his formation looked as if sliced by a blade. Twenty or thirty men were scythed down by lead balls and iron pellets; a sky-obscuring din of wails and curses erupted all at once.

Within that cloud of blood mist, for a few seconds, the entire formation was stunned senseless.

Li Wanqing's troops were not his kinsmen. He looked down at himself — all his parts were still quite intact — then ran forward, snatched the simple square banner from the terrified, stunned-stupid standard-bearer, and waved it as he roared: "Form up! Charge them while they reload!"

Luo Rucai's side had also taken a cannon blast, his situation similar to Li Wanqing's. However, a dozen or so of his men had eaten themselves to death the night before, so their formation stood more spread out and less gruesomely mauled.

Now the capable men in the ranks were busy stabbing the gravely wounded with their blades, giving them a quick end.

Then they left behind twenty-odd lightly wounded and the remaining two hundred-plus men continued advancing.

Zhang Tianlin spurred his horse across the right wing. Amid the several cannon blasts, he raised his riding crop and looked back; from his height, he took in the full wretched sight of the three formations.

He cursed under his breath, lifted his gaze to the distance, and waved his men into a dispersed formation. He personally led the charge against the government skirmishers circling outside the formation, while the auxiliary troops rode their warhorses straight for the government troops' rear.

His mission was to break through the government skirmishers' blocking line on the outer flank and deliver the warhorses to Liu Chengzong.

The mounted troops hunted and skirmished in every direction along the battlefield's periphery, screening the auxiliaries as they brought the warhorses across the battle line.

Gao Yingxiang sat his horse on the left wing. His Mongol cavalry company skirmished in all directions, while the border-army cavalry company stood behind him. Half the cavalrymen dismounted, set down the five mule-pack cannons, and observed the battlefield alongside him.

He said to those beside him: "Clear out the government skirmishers. Once Lion Liu's troops arrive, all three formations charge his line together!"

Liu Guoneng's formation had not collapsed under the first dense volley of canister fire, but it was shattered and routed by shock when the four breech-loading cannons turned on their allies.

The entire formation — over three hundred men — fled to the rear, shouting the news that Liu Guoneng had been killed.

They were subsequently halted by Cao Yao, who fired his three-eyed gun into the air, and were kept in the rear where Liu Chengzu reorganized them.

Cao Yao, meanwhile, pressed the cannon company onward. But this old fox was not the least bit heroic — he called out to the hundred-odd gunners of the battalion artillery squad, and every one of them hunched low, using the millet field to hide their forms, half a helmet exposed, advancing with the cannons.

It was bizarre. The ripe millet was all bent under its own weight, so there was no way for them all to hide completely in the field. Each man poked forward with half a helmet showing.

Every so often, Cao Yao would straighten his back and glance ahead to check whether the column had veered off course or the enemy had advanced, then duck back down — like a band of dwarves threading through the millet field.

Cannons boomed ahead of the line. He had no idea who exactly was taking the hits, and he kept urging those around him: "It's not hitting us. Keep moving forward. This battle rests on us!"

Suddenly — crackle-bang, a volley of gunfire.

Li Wanqing had engaged the government troops. He drew his bow and loosed an arrow at the government line; then the arquebusiers ahead fired a volley, withdrew, and the bowmen and crossbowmen loosed their arrows.

Several government troops fell, and they returned fire with bows.

He dared advance no further. After loosing another arrow, he looked urgently to the right and cursed: "Where the hell is Monk Wang?"

Monk Wang was in the rear, reorganizing the ranks.

Those common folk who had come from all over, drawn by his rallying call, had never witnessed a battlefield and had never been prepared for combat.

Liu Guoneng's men had been unable to hold back and charged forward after taking the cannon volley; these men walked slower and slower the moment they heard cannon fire. When Liu Guoneng's unit routed, they all stopped dead in their tracks.

It was only because Wang Ziyong was back there inviting the Six Ding and Six Jia deities, summoning the gods down upon them, that they did not rout as well.

Otherwise, with so many men routing, Gao Ying'en in the rear formation would never have been able to stop them.

Now the ritual was complete, and the thousand-strong contingent, each man clutching a farming tool, advanced once more brimming with confidence.

Only Wang Ziyong, amid the formation, wore a face full of helplessness. He felt the common folk were no fools — a few genuinely believed in this, but not many. They all just wanted to use it to slow the advance a little, so they wouldn't have to go up front and take cannon fire.

But this was all he could do. If he didn't, his men would fall back just like Liu Guoneng's formation.

Liu Chengzu could absorb the rout of Liu Guoneng's unit, but he might not be able to absorb the rout of over a thousand men. So even if this force advanced slowly, Wang Ziyong could not let them flee.

The left wing also joined battle. Luo Rucai was brutally direct — he drove the famine refugees, shield-bearers and spearmen, forward. After advancing twenty paces, a volley of government arquebuses and fire lances cut them down like wheat, exposing the skilled fighters behind, who promptly drew bows and loosed.

His role in the force was actually much the same as Wang Ziyong's — both were there to buff the troops.

Only his method had no mystical theory to it; it was the same wheedling talk over and over, luring them with profit.

He told the famine refugees their lives were worthless anyway, that if they died, parents, wives, and children would all be cared for, so they had nothing to fear — survive this one battle and they would never have to endure this misery again.

This worked extremely well on famine refugees with no other way to survive. Three ranks of shield-bearers stood like a wall, one rank pressed tight against the next, so that even the dead kept blocking bullets with their corpses.

They could even stop the canister shot from falconets — it just meant a few more dead in the second or third rank.

Dozens of skilled fighters behind them crouched to nock arrows, rose to loose, with no rhythm whatsoever, yet they managed to trade blows evenly with that corner of the government force.

He was still directing from within the formation, reinforcing the right side facing the government falconets while opening up the left, hoping to lure the government troops into shifting formation and sending men to strike him, thereby creating a breakthrough chance for Gao Yingxiang's cavalry.

But the government right wing hauled two Crouching-Tiger cannons out from their ranks, and two shots sent his men wailing for their mothers.

That put an end to that notion.

Liu Chengzu's troops were also advancing rapidly, following behind Cao Yao and attempting to plug the gap left by Liu Guoneng.

Cao Yao poked his head out from the millet field. The ghastly sight of rivers of blood on the ground made him suck in a sharp breath. He quickly pulled his head back, ordered the three falconets to be lined up side by side, then poked his head out again.

He spotted Liu Guoneng on the ground clutching his leg and struggling. He wiped a hand across his face and cursed under his breath: Damn you, I thought you were dead.

"A few of you, drag the wounded back."

Several soldiers from the battalion artillery squad set down their firearms and, together with Cao Yao, ran crouching at a quick trot into the danger zone. Immediately a volley of arquebus fire came their way.

Cao Yao dodged and ducked, scooped up a shield along the way, dashed forward, tossed the shield into Liu Guoneng's hand, grabbed him by the back of the collar, and hauled him backward.

Of course, he didn't forget to lift Liu Guoneng up a bit — as a human meat shield.

Another volley followed, and Liu Guoneng let out another muffled grunt.

The human meat shield had worked.

Dragged back and examined — another arrow lodged in his right thigh.

Cao Yao dumped him beside the falconets. Once all the men who had gone out to pull back the wounded had returned, he readjusted the cannon muzzles, stood up to take a quick glance, then crouched back down like a field mouse.

A volley struck, and several artillerymen grunted and fell.

He said to those beside him, "The general has mounted up. Prepare to fire."

He had just seen, in the distance, the cavalry column galloping in a wide arc around the rear of the government formation — three cavalry columns were about to complete the encirclement.

Liu Chengzong had led his troops to the battlefield.

Soon, Liu Chengzu's troops formed ranks behind the artillery. Cao Yao judged the moment had come and gave the order: "Falconets — fire!"

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three solid cannonballs, from a few dozen paces away, bored into the government formation, ramming through and smashing down several men.

The battalion artillery squad soldiers used padded cloths to remove the breech chambers. Soon, three more solid shot boomed out.

After two rapid volleys, the falconets' loading ports were glowing red-hot. The artillerymen immediately abandoned the big guns and carried fifteen small cannons charging out past the battle line. Carrying their arquebuses, each man fired one shot at the enemy formation before crouching down on the spot to set up the small cannons.

Government arrows fell like rain, but the artillerymen, armored, showed no fear. One by one the small cannons roared in succession — nine solid iron balls and hundreds of small pellets flew into the enemy ranks.

The government battle line, steady as a mountain until now, finally showed signs of turmoil and wavering.

Listening to the sound, Cao Yao felt a few of the cannons hadn't fired, but there was no time to worry about that now. He turned his head and shouted, "Captain Liu, you're up!"

As the government troops were thrown into chaos by the point-blank cannonade, the kinsmen soldiers under Liu Chengzu charged out from the millet field in formation — first firing arquebuses, then loosing arrows, and finally pitting spear against spear, tearing a gap in the wavering government front line.

The unceasing thunder of their own cannons heartened the allied forces. Li Wanqing's unit also seized the moment and slammed fiercely into the enemy, engaging the government troops in close combat.

Battle cries shook the heavens.

Zhang Tianlin's unit regrouped on the flank. The mounted troops, having just fought the government skirmishers, all bore wounds — even Zhang Tianlin himself had two feathered arrows lodged in his armor. He rested his goose-quill saber against his right shoulder, riding at the head of several dozen cavalry, his eyes sweeping over every face of those who followed him.

Then, without a word, he wheeled his horse around, rose slightly in the saddle, and his mount understood, stretching out its four long legs and moving forward in a rhythmic gait.

The several dozen cavalry sheathed their sabers, each taking up bow and javelin, following step for step, gradually picking up speed.

A hundred paces.

The warhorses galloped faster and faster, drawing closer and closer to the enemy line. The government small cannons boomed — cannonballs landed beside them, yellow earth splashed, warhorses screamed.

Fifty paces.

Zhang Tianlin's saber, which had rested on his shoulder, now dropped, pointing straight ahead. The cavalry began to slow, advancing at a moderate speed toward the rear of the left side of the government square formation.

Arrows flew thick in the air. Behind him came the screams of warhorses crashing to the ground and skidding forward by momentum.

Twenty paces.

The government formation began to waver, but the line had not yet broken.

Zhang Tianlin began wheeling his horse to the left. A stray arrow struck his helmet with a bright, ringing clang, dazing him, but his outstretched arm and the gleaming goose-quill saber did not drop.

The cavalry, galloping, formed a single line, turning left along the path their leader had ridden. Twenty paces from the enemy line, each man loosed arrows at faces and hurled javelins.

The formation's arquebus volley fired — cavalrymen toppled, warhorses fell, and the riders behind continued advancing down this road of death.

Feathered arrows flew into the enemy ranks. Retreating arquebusiers clutched their faces and fell; the spearmen behind stepped forward to fill the gaps, only to be struck in the chest by flying javelins, stumbling backward a few steps before being tripped by the comrades behind them.

Several more javelins were hurled — the gap grew wider and wider.

Zhang Tianlin, galloping in a ring, had barely completed half a circuit when he saw the gap torn open at the tail of the enemy formation. He immediately reined in his horse and raised his saber, pointing straight at the breach.

The entire cavalry column wheeled accordingly. Men sheathed their bows and drew sabers, joining their leader's column mid-course, charging straight for the gap.

At the breach, government troops frantically plugged the hole — officers shouted at the top of their lungs, soldiers and armor clashed together.

At last, as they watched the cavalry come charging through the trampled millet, rolling up yellow dust, their silhouettes growing larger and larger before their eyes, the infantry on the line scattered with a roar. Then the warhorses broke the formation, sabers rising to hack down.

On the other side of the battlefield, Gao Yingxiang raised his guandao and roared, "Break their formation!" Several hundred riders followed the Chuang banner, charging the government battle line with an unstoppable momentum that would never turn back.

Watching the government square formation collapsing on three sides, Liu Chengzong, mounted on his horse, smiled.

The government rear line facing him had already been broken apart by the tide of routed soldiers pressing in, and now came surging toward him.

With a light turn of his wrist, his goose-quill saber traced a flourish and pointed straight ahead. Liu Chengzong urged his horse forward at a walk, his cavalry forming up in four great columns, the Marshal's banner of the Four Directions raised high, and launched the charge against the routed troops!

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