Chapter 346: Dividing Forces

When the frontal formations finally crashed together, the panicked, panting native soldiers were no match for Basang's well-rested tribal troops lying in wait. One by one, the small units waving chieftain banners shattered against them like clods of earth striking stone.

The flank attack further deepened the native soldiers' unease. When volleys of heavy musketry erupted on the flank and the pounding of charging hooves drove straight at their side and rear, formation after formation collapsed like crumbling earth.

One by one, the rampart-gun carts swept across the battlefield from behind the enemy lines. Sixty large lead balls rampaged across the field, punching through and felling column after column of native soldiers on the verge of breaking — the final hammer blow.

Rout, too, is a kind of accumulated momentum. Every man carries a scale in his heart; past a certain threshold, he may want to flee but might not yet do so. But when everyone wants to flee, and one man runs, then all will begin their frantic, scrambling escape.

Xie Erhu's Mongol horse troops spread across the battlefield like a black cloud, galloping, loosing arrows, and brandishing curved blades.

The horse units still adhered to the traditional Mongol three-rider squad: one suit of armor, two sabers, four quivers of arrows, and one hook-sickle spear.

If one of their own fell from the saddle, they would hook him up. If none of their own had fallen, they would search among the routed enemy for a high-value target and hook him instead.

Though relations between men shift unpredictably — yesterday's mortal foe may fight shoulder to shoulder today — the entrepreneurs of the steppe never forget their original purpose.

They charged and wheeled across the battlefield, carving the already-routed native soldier lines into even smaller fragments, forcing them to abandon all hope of fleeing back to the eastern lands and kneel in surrender, while hooking and carrying off their leaders as spoils of war for their own part in the battle.

Yet some Mongol soldiers, their blood running hot, chased the enemy right across the river and charged into the opposing eastern-bank defense line.

Some were turned into a mist of blood by landmine blasts that cared nothing for friend or foe. More of them, using their horses' momentum to sweep the routed soldiers along, charged straight through the minefield, spurring their mounts directly at the defense line guarded by only a handful of soldiers.

From below the earthen hill came the deep, muffled call of horns. Beneath the waving signal flags, Xie Erhu, who had been cutting down fleeing enemies in the heart of the battlefield, showed wild elation. He immediately dispersed his guards to rally his men and launched a massive assault toward the opposite riverbank.

The Grand Marshal had permitted them to advance!

Liu Chengzong on the earthen hill, however, was not nearly as pleased as Xie Erhu. He had told them not to pursue across the river, yet quite a few had still chased past the bank. Still, it was not entirely without gain — at least the Mongol horsemen who had charged across had trampled out a path.

The native soldiers' landmines did not rely on steel-wheel ignition; they were still the old-fashioned fuse-type mines. As long as they swept routed soldiers along in the charge and forced the native troops into close combat, the fuses could not be lit and posed no threat.

At the same time, Liu Chengzu, along the banks of the Huang River, also crossed northward. The enemy battalion on the opposite bank had ordered a retreat after their allies were routed, and soon the riverbank mudflats were seized by the banner troops of Xining Guard, who then continued their eastward advance.

Liu Chengzong gave the order to Yang Yao: form a central army with three thousand horse troops, relieve Basang's central army, cross the river, advance, and support Xie Erhu, pushing the battle line to the walled camp of the Bannuan Sanchuan Garrison.

At the same time, he sent orders for Basang to clear the battlefield, gather the equipment and firearms left behind by the native soldiers, and for the supply battalion to set up camp on the spot and receive the wounded for treatment and bandaging.

The actual fighting in this battle had lasted less than a shichen, but because it had started late, dusk was already near, and the sun would set before long.

Soon, Basang arrived at the earthen hill with a Xining government student serving as interpreter and reported the casualties to Liu Chengzong. Forty-five men had been killed outright on the field, and sixty-seven more were gravely wounded. Basang had not counted the lightly wounded. Only one man had been shot blind in one eye; the rest were flesh wounds that would not affect their combat readiness.

Among the forty-five killed outright on the field, two were from Huang Shengxiao's artillery unit, and six were officers who had wielded heavy muskets before the lines.

The enemy dead had not yet been tallied. Basang's men were still busy on the battlefield, sending those foes with only a single breath left to the heavens. The corpses stretched from the battle line all the way to the riverbank. Not counting those taken alive by Xie Erhu, a conservative estimate put the number at over nine hundred.

"Those cannon — did the enemy manage to take them away?"

The government student acting as interpreter shook his head. "No. Four carts were damaged, but all seventy-two iron cannon are here."

Liu Chengzong nodded, then turned to Basang and asked, "Do you like those cannon?"

Basang nodded heavily. Liu Chengzong said, "They are all yours. And the armor and weapons of the fallen enemy — let the Sharpshooter Battalion pick through them first, then send the rest to the supply battalion."

The tribal soldiers of the Sharpshooter Battalion were not short on armor. The equipment seized during Liu Shizi's southern campaign had mostly been allocated to Basang... they used Mongol gear simply because Mongol armor was light.

The Sharpshooter Battalion's per-capita armor count likely exceeded that of any other battalion under Liu Chengzong's command; it was only the quality that was uneven.

Out of the entire battalion's six-thousand-plus men, they had over four thousand suits of mail and leather armor, more than eight hundred suits of Western-Tibetan ring-bound lamellar, and another eighteen hundred suits of various armor types stored at their camp on the northern shore of Qinghai Lake.

So Basang had little hunger for armor and weapons. Many of his soldiers could barely walk in heavy armor. The most suitable gear for them was to wear a Tibetan or Mongol coat, covered with a mail shirt or iron-studded leather armor, topped with a leather helmet reinforced with iron strips.

But when he heard that Liu Chengzong was allocating all seventy-two cannon to him, the taciturn Basang nodded heavily and gave repeated thanks.

This, however, brought a small problem.

Basang said that the Sharpshooter Battalion did not have enough Han soldiers. Those men could fire the cannon, but they were also unit officers and heavy musketeers. If the cannon were given to him, they could only fire a single volley in battle.

Men facing the enemy simply could not manage the frantic scramble of reloading and firing repeatedly; not setting off their own powder kegs would be considered a success.

But Liu Chengzong did not see this as a problem. "Firing once in battle is better than not firing at all. Let them teach slowly afterward, and let the Sharpshooter Battalion learn slowly. Then they'll have their own artillery unit. Let them learn with these cannon in the midst of war for now; there will be even better cannon to use in the future."

The better cannon Liu Chengzong spoke of were the batch of Lion Cannon being manufactured under Gao Yingxiang's supervision in Shanxi. Having reached the end of their service life, they were awaiting remanufacture at Juerwan, but since a new foundry was under construction, they had been left at the new fortress to guard against the west.

As he spoke, Liu Chengzong ordered the Mongol soldiers of the supply battalion to carry away the corpses, and for the government students in the camp to compile a tally of the causes of death for the fallen soldiers on both sides.

Having finished giving orders to the army, Liu Chengzong gave Basang another command: "Study the language more with the government students. Once we take Hehuang, go to the training camp and study under Vice General Wang for a time."

The Xining government student beside them said, "Grand Marshal, Vice General Ba has been studying with Company Commander Awang all along."

Liu Chengzong smiled at this. Basang's eagerness to learn was a good thing, but learning from Awang was probably rather inefficient.

One could not speak, the other could not read — learning this way would be terribly difficult. He could even guess at the process: Basang's own studies might not go smoothly, but the two government students serving as interpreters were certainly learning exceptionally well.

"I recall your name is Du Mao — a tongsheng."

Liu Chengzong remembered that two scholars from Xining had come to join him in Nangqian. This tongsheng, Du Mao, was one of them. The other was a xiucai named Mo Fuli. Both were now serving as interpreters for Basang in the Sharpshooter Battalion.

The government student quickly nodded. "I am honored the Grand Marshal remembers. This humble student, Du Mao, entered the Xining Prefectural Academy after returning from the Tibetan lands."

Liu Chengzong nodded. "Teach Basang to speak the Han language as quickly as possible... That good friend of yours, Mo Fuli — he shares the surname Mo with Mo Yujing. Are they related?"

Du Mao nodded and answered, "Yes. Mo Yujing is Mo Fuli's distant uncle. Back then, he had originally planned to go to Lutang Garrison to join Mo Yujing, but later went to Nangqian and joined the Grand Marshal instead."

Having said this, Du Mao asked, "Does the Grand Marshal wish to transfer him back?"

"No need. Let him stay settled in the battalion. He hasn't committed any offense."

Liu Chengzong guessed the blood relation between the two was probably quite distant; otherwise, he would not have chosen to join him over Mo Yujing. But he really ought to find someone to keep a proper eye on Mo Fuli.

He gave Basang a few more words of instruction before sending the two of them back to settle the Sharpshooter Battalion.

On the earthen hill, Liu Chengzong sorted through and analyzed the intelligence and battle reports sent back by the scout riders.

His elder brother had driven the enemy's northern-bank troops back toward the Datong River leading to Liancheng, seizing the high ground of Daping on the north bank of the Huang River and threatening the flank of the Bannuan Sanchuan Garrison. Xie Erhu, too, had pursued and driven the enemy back to the walled camp. But with nightfall descending, there were no more battles to fight on the largest valley plain of the Hehuang region.

Overall, the day's offensive had gone extremely smoothly. In the next few days, if they could successfully capture the three fortresses the defenders were using as strongholds, they could push the battle line to the river mouth and face Lanzhou across the Yellow River.

But at that moment, Li Wanqing returned. "Grand Marshal, Big Brother sent me back to ask how we fight tomorrow. Do we hold the Datong River valley, or strike north?"

As he spoke, Li Wanqing unfolded a rough-drawn map and said, "Right now, Xining's garrison banner troops are already holding the Datong River valley. A little to the north by northwest is the territory of the Lu Chieftain of Liancheng. Taking the Chieftain's yamen would eliminate any threat to our rear."

Tracing along the Datong River valley, he pointed and said, "From the Lu Chieftain's yamen, pushing northeast along the mountains, we can drive all the way to the Hexi border wall on the Zhuanglang River, cutting Lanzhou off from Gansu at the waist."

Li Wanqing made it sound easy, but then he immediately grinned and said, "But we don't have the troops for that. Big Brother reckons we can swallow the Lu Chieftain's yamen, then rely on the mountains to build stockades and hold the key passes. Defending against the Zhuanglang border troops to the northeast would be about the limit... but that would mean dividing our forces."

"Divide them, then. Tomorrow, you will first attack the West Datong Fort. If the assault stalls, hold the Datong River and block the enemy's route south. If the assault goes smoothly, then press the advantage and take the Lu Chieftain's territory... As for the new Songshan border at Zhuanglang, don't force it. The Gansu border troops are not something we can swallow right now."

Liu Chengzong shook his head. Fully occupying the new Songshan border at Zhuanglang was very tempting, but it was already beyond the financial means of the Marshal's Headquarters, which had been drained to utter poverty by eighty thousand civilians.

Gansu had always been the thorniest, most headache-inducing problem in Liu Chengzong's mind.

Fight? They can't win. Once the Gansu border army is forced to abandon the frontier and march south, even the full might of the Marshal's headquarters might not defeat tens of thousands of Northwest field troops. Surrender? A million shi of military grain and horse fodder a year — they truly cannot afford to feed them.

In the end, it all came down to grain. Until he could produce that much grain, Liu Chengzong dared not set his sights on Gansu.

He gave Li Wanqing a bitter smile. "Right now, the Gansu border army can still hate the court. If we cut off Zhuanglang, those tens of thousands of border troops will hate us instead. Tens of thousands of border troops, starved into desperation, turning back to relieve us — we couldn't hold them off. The gain wouldn't be worth the loss. Taking Chief Lu's yamen and setting up defenses there is enough."

After saying this, Liu Chengzong added a final warning to Li Wanqing: "The court will not sit idle while Hehuang is lost. You and my brother must be wary of the Gansu border army marching south."

After Li Wanqing left, Liu Chengzong went to the foot of the earthen hill to see the fallen soldiers. He dispatched a horse team to transport the bodies to the rear for burial, then went to the wounded camp to comfort the injured officers and men. As he returned to the command tent, he pondered the several armies under his command. The one that had surprised him most in this battle was probably Basang's.

Most of the armies under Liu Chengzong possessed extremely strong initiative at the squad level of organization.

The border army units could scatter and regroup, excelling especially at small-scale operations. The Mongol horse teams scattered easily but were hard to regroup, yet they knew when to coordinate with the main assault and when to flee to reduce casualties — and after fleeing, they always managed to gather together again.

Basang's Hunting Camp was the other extreme. They could not scatter, only cluster. Their squad-level organization was rigid and inflexible, but they possessed tremendous tenacity and an execution-driven adherence to orders. If ordered not to advance, even if the enemy charged right up to them, they would not step forward a few paces to engage in melee on their own.

In today's battle, Liu Chengzong could clearly sense that as they saw more combat, the traits unfitting for soldiers among the tribal troops of the Hunting Camp were fading, while the qualities that made good soldiers were being preserved.

And Basang had actually sent cavalry to the flanks to draw the artillery's attention.

This excited Liu Chengzong greatly. Now that Basang had cannons, and after the war ended he could go study at the training camp for a time, given enough time, this Hunting Camp might well be able to hold its own.

Thinking these thoughts, Liu Chengzong, back in the command tent, found his mind brimming with a host of whimsical ideas. He casually scratched out random sketches in his notebook with a charcoal pencil.

Just then, Fan Sanlang entered the tent carrying a food box. She glanced over and, very surprised, asked, "Basang, Baiyan, Lhazang, Ü-Tsang, the Tibetan King — does the Marshal want to send Basang into Tibet?"

Liu Chengzong came back to his senses and shook his head with a grin. "Just scribbling. No such plan for now."

Fan Sanlang gently set the food box on the table and laid out the horse-meat soup and spiral flatbread. Inwardly she thought, here it comes, here it comes again — he's even got his eye on Ü-Tsang now. Sitting to the side, she said, "Eat first. The native troops can't withstand a single blow. The battles ahead should go smoothly."

Liu Chengzong was eating late, and the soup was already nearly cold. The aroma had long since made his mouth water. He grabbed a slice of meat, stuffed it into his mouth along with a piece of flatbread, and wolfed it down. After a few bites, his expression changed. He spat an iron pellet onto the table, then finished the soup.

He prodded the iron ball with his chopsticks and said to Fan Sanlang with a smile, "Heavy cannon grapeshot. Must have been from Young Chief Li's horse. Well-fed, too — makes a fragrant stew."

After that, Liu Chengzong shook his head. "My enemy isn't the native troops. This fight will inevitably draw in the court's Regional Commanders. The hard part lies ahead. Now it all depends on how much resolve the court can muster to deal with me."

"How many Regional Commanders?"

Fan Sanlang found it somewhat hard to imagine. They had never faced a combined encirclement by the Regional Commanders of several garrisons at once, so she couldn't help feeling worried.

Liu Chengzong was not nearly so troubled. Instead, he reassured her: "It's fine. The court's armies have never been something mere resolve can mobilize. If they dare send five garrison Regional Commanders against me, as long as I can hold — even if we retreat all the way to Xining — in the broader picture of the realm, it will bring us one step closer to entering Xi'an."

"We are not the court's only enemy. If all the government troops come here, our old brothers in northern Shaanxi will dare to run wild across the Central Plains. And that sand-eating Khutughtu outside the Gansu border might just start bashing his forehead against the border wall again."

But Liu Chengzong's words proved prophetic. That very night, the pond cavalry fell back step by step through the valley and swiftly relayed a piece of news: a Zhenhai Camp soldier, mingling among the refugees, had fled desperately westward and brought a message to the garrison near the Bannuan Sanchuan Camp.

An army arriving from the direction of Gansu, north of the river mouth, had encamped on the north bank of the river mouth at Lanzhou. They were only one hundred and twenty li from Shangchuankou. If they advanced, the two armies would meet in the valley the morning of the day after tomorrow at the earliest.

The time left for Liu Chengzong to take the three cities in succession was... one day.