Mud Figures

Chapter 184: Mud Figures

Mountain rain, quiet and deep.
The great Buddha of the Yueping Grottoes sits in peace atop the peak, its gaze piercing through layer upon layer of rain, looking toward the battlefield where cannonballs fly and slaughter rages.
Huang Shengxiao did not know which Buddha sat upon the lotus throne in that cliff-face shrine, but he knew that even a Buddha would be horrified by the battlefield at this moment.
Gunpowder smoke dispersed in the rain. The two sides stood firm and exchanged thirteen cannon shots, ending when the Ningxia army's forward gun shed was shattered by a ball and their cannons were soaked useless by the rain.
The Lion Battalion rear sentry began its advance. Seeing this, the Ningxia government troops had no choice but to abandon their cannons and move forward to meet the attack.
In eight years of soldiering, Huang Shengxiao had never seen such ferocious cannon fire.
His earliest name was Huang Xiao — Xiao as in "small." He was a watchtower soldier at Baichengzi, beyond the border wall of Yulin Garrison.
In the second year of Tianqi, when he was conscripted, he was already fifteen.
That watchtower fort was empty of men, so they conscripted him and six exiled convicts from Yulin Garrison. He was the youngest among them, so they called him Huang Xiao.
No one had any interest in knowing anyone else's real name. Out on the watchtowers beyond the border wall, no one lived long anyway.
Among them, only Huang Xiao, the youngest, was a true soldier.
There had been seven men in the tower before them. All dead.
Two of them were night scouts, both Mongols.
One colluded with mutinous deserters from beyond the pass and killed the tower soldiers. The other, after being shot, risked death to deliver word to the border wall — and still could not be saved.
None of them were soldiers.
The leader of the mutinous deserters was a Mongol tribal chief who had summoned herdsmen to go seize territory. The herdsmen came to the foot of the Great Wall and asked Han military households to help tend their sheep, then stayed beyond the border and became herdsmen themselves.
The two Mongol night scouts at the watchtower came because a Han general needed to muster troops to Hua Ma Pool for autumn defense. The Jingbian Battalion's banner troops, afraid of missing the harvest, borrowed herdsmen from the Mongol tribe to come help bring in the grain.
Born on the frontier, glorious deeds belong to generals and Borjigins. Herdsmen and farmers are just numbers.
When the generals and Borjigins give the order, they go and fight to the death. Blood feuds passed down through generations, irreconcilable. The struggle for survival, right before their eyes.
They are like raindrops, falling from the sky to seep into the earth. The span between heaven and earth is their life — brief and hurried.
Tower soldiers — soldiers who guard the watchtowers beyond the Great Wall.
A watchtower is a tall, square platform with no door at the base. To enter or leave, you must climb a rope ladder. The mission is to fire the cannon and light the wolf-smoke.
Once the cannon is fired, the watchtowers and forts behind will hear it. After that one shot, the mission is complete.
From then on, his life was hardly worth recounting.
Many things became impossibly distant — a long life of a hundred years, taking a wife and raising sons, the emperor's rewards, the world inside the border wall.
His world shrank to six exiled convicts in the tower who could do nothing but boast, and Mongols who came by the hundreds and thousands.
Those convicts sent into military exile were the goddamn worst.
One of those exiled scoundrels actually claimed there were places where it rained by season, raining so long your clothes grew moldy from the damp.
He even said there was water in the world so vast you couldn't see the other side — called the sea.
Huang Xiao thought, isn't that bullshit? Little grandpa here is a Yulin man, with the sea right at his doorstep.
What he stood on was the Mu Us Sea, and apart from sand and Mongols, there wasn't a damn thing here.
And you're telling grandpa the sea is full of water?
And some other idiot even backed him up.
It'd be easier to wring piss out of you exiled scum than to wring water out of the Mu Us Sea.
They just thought grandpa was young and easy to fool.
Later, it all worked out. The Mongols came a few times and shot every last one of those exiled convicts dead.
In the tower, only Huang Xiao remained — the one true tower soldier of proper border-defense military household stock.
Pulling out the arrows took him two whole days. Five hundred and thirty-two arrows — iron, copper, stone, bone; every kind of arrowhead there was.
Huang Xiao was only wounded on half an ear.
With half an ear, he traded for a chance to become a garrison soldier at Yanshui Pass.
There he lived another seven years, until Feng Rang climbed the city wall and made him an artilleryman of the Lion Battalion.
His name was changed too. Feng Rang said a big, burly man called Huang Xiao didn't sound right.
So he gave him a name: Huang Shengxiao.
In truth, Feng Rang's original intent was "sulfur rising to saltpeter."
But among all the characters for "rising saltpeter," Huang Xiao chose "victory over the night."
Now he belonged to Cao Yao's cannon sentry. With the rank of former squad leader, he led eleven men, carrying four Crouching Tiger cannons, trudging through the mud along the slope on the left flank of the battle formation.
Officer Cao's order was for them, after the two formations engaged, to find a way from the mountain slope on the left to provide support for their own infantry.
Whether by bombarding the enemy infantry directly, or using their small cannons to strike enemy artillery attempting the same — either was fine.
That same mission again.
"Don't be afraid, any of you. The order is what it is. We go up, fire one shot, then run for the mountain."
Huang Shengxiao was bare-chested, cradling the cannon in his arms wrapped in his armor coat. The cold rain pattered against his body, freezing him until his lips turned purple.
At first, the support soldier beside him could hold a shield over his head to shelter him, but as they climbed the mountain slope, the support soldiers struggled to keep their balance. One careless moment and they would slip and fall, even tumbling down onto the official road and crashing into the rear sentry formation.
The combat soldiers behind looked much the same, cradling their Crouching Tiger cannons. Some had support soldiers to steady them; others, like him, staggered onward alone.
They were not as fast as the rear sentry infantry. The shouts of killing already pierced through the heavy curtain of rain. Two armies in identical armor clashed violently on the official road, just ten paces wide, and bloody slaughter unfolded.
Beneath the ridge on the left flank, Sentry Leader Feng's men were gathering in the ravine, tying the ropes they carried to tree trunks. Soldiers pulled themselves up the ropes, scaling the mountain slope.
But Huang Shengxiao thought they wouldn't make it. Past the halfway point, there was a cliff face on this ridge — smooth rock with no foothold. They couldn't get up there.
The ridge on the right flank, though — that was Officer Gao's unit. They were already nearly atop the ridge and would soon be able to support the center army with bow and arrow.
Amid the sounds of blades striking armor and arrows whistling through the air, several muffled booms rang out through the rain.
Huang Shengxiao knew that sound all too well — it was the report of a bird gun.
He reckoned the government troops were better prepared; their bird guns probably had rain covers fitted over the locks.
Huang Shengxiao looked ahead, his gaze steely. Beyond the curtain of rain, two columns of government troops were also climbing the slope.
One unit had already taken up a slanted position on the hillside — about thirty-odd men drawn up in three ranks facing the gap torn in the Rear Post formation. Two trees stood among their ranks; they did not look orderly.
But they were using bird guns. After the front rank fired, the rear rank would step forward to shoot. The gunpowder smoke, just bursting from the muzzles, was scattered and washed away by the rain.
Still, even with rain covers, the wet weather greatly affected the firearms. Nearly half the bird-gunners went through the motions perfectly, yet their powder was damp and would not ignite.
At first, the flank of the Rear Post formation had left a corridor open for the baggage unit, allowing the wounded to be carried one by one to the rear. But once the two formations clashed, officers on both sides were shifting troops to the wings, trying to half-envelop the enemy and create a greater advantage.
Soon soldiers were spilling crookedly across the entire official road, densely packed, using shields and armor as cover, confronting one another with long spears — the fighting even spread up the hillside.
Men fought desperately to hold formation, but chaos was inevitable. Soldiers battling on the slopes on either side kept tumbling down into the center, rolling and crashing into the legs of their own comrades or the enemy, bringing down even more men.
When the men in front fell, those behind lunged forward, hacking and stabbing with spears and waist-swords, roaring as they fought.
At this rate, the ground directly ahead of the small squad would soon be overrun by the battling soldiers.
He could not speak — he held the match cord in his mouth — and dared not raise his head, for the rain would douse the match.
He could only make his own way higher up the hillside.
The Rear Post soldiers were pulled back squad by squad, then thrown in squad by squad. First the squads held in reserve, then the lightly wounded who could still fight were sent to the front line.
Then Squad Leader Gao's two squads joined the fray as well, pushing the battle line westward.
Only by pushing the line forward could the baggage post rescue the wounded in the rear.
Huang Shengxiao kept moving forward. They stood higher than the others and walked far more cautiously.
They were now nearly parallel with the front line where the infantry clashed.
Twenty-some paces to the north, below the slope, was the front line where the Ningxia government troops were locked in combat with their own infantry.
To the northwest lay the horizontal rank of the government troops' bird-gunners.
Huang Shengxiao drew a deep breath. The cold made his whole body tremble. They could set up the cannons here.
They propped up a frame with several shields. He took the match cord from his mouth — and was utterly disheartened.
His match cord had gone out.
Suddenly a cry of alarm — an auxiliary soldier, tripped by the mud, went tumbling a dozen paces and slammed sideways into a tree with a heavy crash.
From the ridge behind them to the side erupted shouts of battle. Now that the match cord no longer restricted his neck, Huang Shengxiao turned his head and realized they had pushed rather too deep into the enemy lines.
To their left rear, Ningxia troops were scaling the ridge on that side. They had now crested it and were shooting arrows down at Feng Rang's unit on the other side.
To their right rear was the front line where the two formations clashed.
At this very moment, Huang Shengxiao had four loaded, dry Gushing Pearl cannons in his hands. No matter which direction he fired, he could inflict heavy casualties on the enemy.
"A match cord! Whose match cord isn't out?"
One by one, water-soaked match cords were held out before Huang Shengxiao.
The entire squad — wiped out. All hope was lost.
The eleven combat and auxiliary soldiers of the cannon post stared at one another in dismay.
Huang Shengxiao suddenly stretched his arm forward.
The bird-gunners.
The government troops' bird-gunners.
Their match cords had not gone out.
The combat and auxiliary soldiers looked at him with shock in their eyes. Thirty bird-gunners — and they were only eleven men.
"Set the cannons in place first, prop up the frame. A few of you, come with me — we're going to seize some muskets."
As he spoke, Huang Shengxiao began stripping off his clothes. He was already bare-chested; now he took off his padded trousers and under-trousers too, rolled once on the ground, drew his waist-sword and smeared it with mud, then bared his teeth in a grin, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"Circle around from higher ground — they won't see us!"
All the shields and armor were propped under the trees to form a small cannon shed. Huang Shengxiao made a final check of the four cannons. The muzzle of one was slightly damp, but that probably would not affect firing.
Eleven bare-assed gunners, painted into mud-monkeys, their tackle swinging as they gripped their swords and climbed toward a higher slope, using the trees, the brush, and the rain to slip deep behind enemy lines.
Cao Yao had already forgotten about the cannon squad he had dispatched.
He was wholly absorbed in his struggle with the snail — the loaded red-barbarian cannon was moving slower than a snail behind the army formation.
Warhorses and mules could no longer pull from the front. Over thirty soldiers were hauling and shoving the red-barbarian cannon from front and back. Everyone, Cao Yao included, was barefoot, pushing with shoulders, shoving with hands, their feet slipping with every step on the muddy dirt road.
The men in front fell, the men behind lunged — they simply could not put their strength into it.
But Cao Yao was determined to get this cannon to the front line.
He absolutely had to fire one shot at the government troops' formation. Several hundred iron pellets, sweeping across five zhang — it would mow down every government soldier before the line. They would surely win.
The front-line squad leader, Wang Wenxiu, was gone.
Big Beard had been directing the battle at the front all along, brandishing his saber and shouting to rally the soldiers' morale. But then someone rolled down from the hillside and knocked him to the ground.
After that the enemy surged forward, and his own soldiers pushed up to meet them. Spear formations clashed on both sides, while saber-and-shield men crouched and fought beneath the spear shafts.
Wang Wenxiu crawled on the ground. A dozen long spears thrust back and forth above his head; he could not get up at all.
All he could do was grip his short blade and slash at the countless calves before him.
But his soldiers fought with extraordinary spirit. Even with their commander missing, they maintained high morale and kept fighting — that was the hope that sustained him as he lay on the ground and fought on.
But that hope, in truth, had nothing to do with him.
The moment he learned Wang Wenxiu had vanished from the front line, Liu Chengzong rushed down from the hillside and led his household guards to take over command of the front-line fighting.
The Rear Post combat and auxiliary soldiers might not recognize any squad leader in the camp, but they could not fail to recognize the Lion General who gave them spending money.
The soldiers still able to fight gladly forgot the vanished Squad Leader Wang, and their morale soared as they fought shoulder to shoulder with the general.
The left wing could barely hold on. The government troops, holding the high ground, attacked up onto the ridge, while Feng Rang's unit was stymied by the cliff face and could only advance upward under a rain of arrows from the enemy above.
Then the government troops seized the cliff edge, and the two sides engaged in close-quarters combat across the hillside.
Gao Xian's troops on the right wing had also finally fought their way onto the ridge, but there they met government forces head-on — two exhausted armies, stumbling through the rain, clashed fiercely upward; at every moment, soldiers from both sides tumbled off the ridge.
Liu Chengzong and the Han brothers were the sharpest spearhead of the entire formation. Shielded by the frontline shield-bearers, they loosed volley after volley, striking one enemy face after another.
They tore a gap through the center and pushed the battle line forward a full seventeen paces.
Until Liu Chengzong's bow snapped from the strain.
Wang Wenxiu, on the ground, had been trampled several times before he finally scrambled free from his own formation in a sorry state. He saw blood on Liu Chengzong's face and a gash on the inside of his arm, and shouted to him, "We can't keep fighting like this."
Liu Chengzong looked back — Cao Yao's cannon was still over thirty paces from the front line.
Before Wang Wenxiu could react, Liu Chengzong grabbed him by the clothes and demanded, "Can we pull back thirty paces and steady the formation?"
Pulling back was easy; steadying the formation while pulling back was hard.
Especially on such muddy ground.
But Wang Wenxiu said, "We can!"
Then the order passed down to each squad leader, and from the squad leaders to the sergeants locked in combat, until word reached the ears of the two sentry commanders, Gao and Feng, on the left and right wings.
Throughout this, the soldiers of the supply sentry under Chengzu strained to carry the wounded — lifting them from the ground, dragging them toward the rear formation. Men fell again and again, and rose again and again, until every one of them was caked in mud.
Only when word came back did Liu Chengzong issue the order from the central army to withdraw ten paces.
The battle line shifted eastward, greatly heartening the government troops fighting at the front. The Ningxia soldiers, seeing hope of victory, pressed their fierce assault forward.
The Lion Battalion could not steady their footing within ten paces. Liu Chengzong's household retainers once again took over the defensive line, one after another closing in with short weapons to fight, yet still they could not halt the retreat.
The battle line fell back another fifteen paces before it barely managed to hold.
By now, Liu Chengzong stood together with Cao Yao. The red-barbarian cannon was halted before the formation, eight shields layered over it to block the rain from muzzle to breech.
Old Cao pulled his own clothes from the muzzle, wiped the barrel fiercely, and, gritting his teeth, gripped the wooden rod with the slow match tied to it, his eyes fixed dead ahead. "Lion, get farther back — your ears will be ruined."
The front-formation soldiers withdrew in good order as the government troops launched a furious assault ahead.
One pace, two paces — the combat and support troops streamed back in file on either side of the red-barbarian cannon like the tide, and the hideous muzzle was at last laid bare before the government soldiers' eyes.
The government troops faltered. They desperately wanted to retreat, but were blocked by comrades behind them who had no idea what was happening.
With a thunderous roar, the red-barbarian cannon recoiled heavily. Hundreds of iron pellets sprayed forth, sweeping across the government front line and blasting the fiercely charging soldiers onto their backs.
At the same moment, from the flank of the left-wing government troops, four cannon reports rang out in quick succession — several dozen one-ounce balls tore sideways into the government reserves.
Liu Chengzong saw several mud-caked figures dancing and leaping about, brandishing their blades.