Chapter 513: Torn Paper

In the sixteenth year of Chongzhen, on the twenty-sixth day of the sixth month, the Gulang Gorge was thick with the smoke of gunpowder.

Within the narrow valley, two deployed wagon-forts bombarded each other in a frenzy; the smoke was so dense the mountain wind could not disperse it. Lead balls and iron shot crisscrossed ceaselessly before the lines, and an unprecedented roar of firearms echoed unending through the valley, its force shaking heaven and earth.

Ding Shaoyin, the Liangzhou Assistant Commander directing the wagon-fort battle, heard the fortress garrison report that several thousand reinforcements from the Marshal's headquarters had reached the battlefield and were currently transporting thirteen cannons to the wagon-fort facing him.

Among them, one… was exceptionally heavy.

Ding Shaoyin acted as if he had not heard the news. Amid the booming thunder of the artillery, he remained silent for a long while, and only after a moment did he summon his eldest son, Ding Zizhen.

When Ding Zizhen received the summons, he was at the front of the wagon-fort learning fire-wagon tactics alongside the officers. Hearing the call, he ran back to the central command, only to find his father had no intention of issuing orders, merely gazing at him quietly.

"General, what is it?"

Ding Shaoyin did not speak, only said: "Go fetch me a basin of water, I want to wash my face."

Though puzzled—such a trivial task could be done by any personal attendant, hardly worth calling him over specifically—Ding Zizhen still cupped his fists in salute, turned, and went to fetch water from the central command.

Watching his eldest son's retreating back, Ding Shaoyin's face bore an expression of gratified contentment.

Since they had led the army out from Liangzhou, half a year had already passed. The high-pressure environment of war forces a man to grow quickly, and now Ding Zizhen already had the bearing of a qualified officer.

Were it not for this war, Ding Shaoyin would likely have already submitted a memorial to the court requesting retirement, allowing this son—so skilled in archery and horsemanship, so upright in character—to inherit the official post of Liangzhou Guard Assistant Commander according to regulation.

His son was excellent, but he might… might not live to see the day his son inherited that post.

Because he had agreed to a demand from Cao Wenzhao: this wagon-fort, even if utterly annihilated, must be nailed down dead in the narrow Gulang Gorge.

Ding Shaoyin could not refuse Cao Wenzhao. On one hand, it was because had Cao Wenzhao not arrived with his troops in time, his wagon-fort would have perished months ago at the hands of the Mongol-Tibetan allied forces on the Zhuanglang River.

More importantly, it was because Cao Wenzhao intended to do something that would turn the tide of the entire war. This endeavor absolutely required an indestructible force to root itself in Gulang Gorge and draw the main strength of the Marshal's army to it.

This heavy responsibility fell to none other than Ding Shaoyin.

Everything Bai Guang'en had, he had fought for with his life. Though clever, capable, and ferocious in field battles, this man cared only for profit and had absolutely no moral bottom line. The moment the situation turned sour, he would be the first to flee; it was utterly impossible for him to hold any position for the Great Ming under these circumstances.

As for Chai Shihua, he was even less worth mentioning. On the Zhuanglang River, a battlefield that could hardly be called dire, facing the Mongol-Tibetan allied forces, Ding Shaoyin's wagon-fort unit was surrounded to the point of certain death, yet Chai stood by and held his troops motionless—let alone in an environment like this.

Of the four Ming army camps on the Zhuanglang River, the only one Cao Wenzhao could trust was Ding Shaoyin's wagon-fort unit.

Cao Wenzhao had first served in the military in Liaodong. He had witnessed the current situation in Gansu, and it was exactly the same as the situation in Liaodong from the first to the second year of the Tianqi reign.

Back then, when Nurhaci captured Shenyang and Liaoyang, generals like Sun Degong, Zhang Shiyan, Huang Jin, Shi Tingzhu, Lang Shaozhen, Lu Guozhi, and Shi Tianzhu surrendered at the mere rumor of his approach. The supreme commander and frontier generals retreated inside the passes, the realm was shaken, and the people's hearts were lost. How similar was that to the situation in Gansu now, after Yang Jiamo's death?

The problem in Gansu now was not whether the army could still fight, but that the entire Northwest had panicked in this environment, lacking a central pillar of support. If no great achievement was made in a short time to rekindle the army's morale and build confidence in the bewildered hearts of the people, then the entire Hexi Corridor would likely be lost.

After all, western Liaoning still had Shanhai Pass; the Northwest had no such barrier.

It was precisely in this environment of absolute headwinds that Cao Wenzhao seized an opportunity—Liu Chengzong's army numbered fifty thousand, half of whom were surrendered troops. Hong Chengchou's scorched-earth policy in Liangzhou had forced the Marshal's army, desperate for provisions, to stretch its battle lines and concentrate its forces around Liangzhou.

Gansu, having lost the Wuwei Oasis, could not feed so many troops. Liu Chengzong could only continue to advance outward—east toward Ningxia, south toward Hehuang.

In a month, the autumn crops—corn, beans, rice, and sorghum—in Gaotai and Ganzhou would ripen one after another. The entire Hexi Corridor would form a seven-hundred-li-long supply line. If, at that moment, a force were to thrust straight between Yongchang and Shandan, what would happen?

Once the supply line was threatened, Liu Chengzong's army would be forced to withdraw westward. The ten-thousand-strong force inside Liangzhou City would then have a chance to rally. And during this winter, the Marshal's army, short on provisions and fodder, would very likely erupt in large-scale mutiny.

And Cao Wenzhao held an information advantage. Bai Guang'en's deputy general, Lu Yunchang, was the Liancheng Tusi, holding absolute leadership over the various tribes of the Maya Mountains. West of Gulang Gorge lay a five-hundred-li mountain path—a small trail used by the mountain tribes to enter and leave Liangzhou. This path led directly to the Upper Ancient Castle southwest of Liangzhou.

What Ding Shaoyin agreed to, at Cao Wenzhao's request, was to exhaust the ammunition of Feng Rang's unit in Gulang Gorge and lure the Marshal's army into sending reinforcements there.

This plan was, in truth, riddled with holes. The two biggest flaws were: first, if the Marshal's army massed at Gulang Gorge, what if Ding Shaoyin could not hold them? Second, after Cao Wenzhao thrust into Yongchang and Shandan, how would he get out?

Ding Shaoyin and his savior shared a tacit understanding.

He did not ask, and Cao Wenzhao did not say.

Ding Shaoyin was quite open-minded about such matters. His family's first ancestor had gone from being a chiliarch under Zhang Shicheng to a centurion in the Ming army. Stationed here in Liangzhou, the line had now been passed down for twelve generations.

Among them, there were indeed four generations of ancestors who retired in old age, but more had died in battle or been crippled, only then allowing their sons to inherit. And it was precisely because each generation pledged their lives that their hereditary official rank had risen from centurion to the current Assistant Commander.

All men must die. For a military officer to die in service to the sovereign was, after all, a good death.

Now, Cao Wenzhao had already set out. Behind Ding Shaoyin stood Chai Shihua and Bai Guang'en. Across the way, the enemy wagon-fort was being reinforced with thirteen heavy cannons. He knew his hour had come.

"Father, the water is here."

Ding Shaoyin came back to his senses. He took the damp cloth from the bronze basin and wiped the dust of months of campaigning from his face. As his son prepared to take the basin away to empty it, he raised a hand, pointing to the side. "Leave it there. General Cao has a mission he wants you to undertake."

"Didn't General Cao break camp just yesterday and head west to set up defenses?"

"He did, but he left a letter to be delivered to Ningxia. I have thought it over; this letter is of the utmost importance. You must personally lead our household troops and ensure it is presented directly to Supreme Commander Hong."

Ding Shaoyin looked at his young, heroic son, as if seeing his own youthful self.

Ding Zizhen received the letter, glanced at it, and tucked it into his bosom. He nodded gravely to his father. "Rest assured, General, your subordinate will not fail this mission. I will present the letter to the Supreme Commander in person… It's just that, this way, I will not be able to serve at the front under your command."

With that, Ding Zizhen smiled. "Your subordinate had hoped to use this battle to claim a few heads for merit."

Ding Shaoyin laughed along with him. The court had its system of posthumous promotion: dying in service to the sovereign added two ranks; dying on the battlefield added three.

The Liangzhou line of the Ding family, twelve generations strong, would, in his own generation, fit the final piece of the puzzle, reaching the pinnacle of Ming military hereditary rank. From this day forward, the hereditary post for every generation would be Commander.

Stroking his beard, he smiled. "This battle will go on for a long time yet. Take care of this matter first; there will be plenty of opportunities to earn merit for the court in the future."

"Yes!"

Ding Zizhen cupped his fists in salute. "Then your subordinate takes his leave."

Ding Shaoyin nodded, but as his son turned, he called him back. He stepped forward, straightened his son's cloth-faced armor, adjusted his helmet, and instructed: "This journey is fraught with countless perils; you must walk it alone. You…"

"Rest assured, General, Ningxia is not far." Ding Zizhen smiled. "I will be back in ten days at most."

Ding Shaoyin reined in his emotions and slowly nodded. "Da Xin, you can walk this road well. Zizhen, take good care of yourself. Go."

Ding Zizhen returned to Gulang Fort, took his warhorse and household troops, and rode all the way along the new Songshan border toward Ningxia. Meanwhile, the wagon-fort left behind in Gulang Gorge continued to exchange fire with Feng Rang's unit.

The soldiers of both wagon-forts stood under the protection of their wagons, shooting with great enthusiasm, yet neither could do anything to the other; casualties were negligible.

It was not until Wei Qian'er delivered all thirteen of his cannons into Feng Rang's camp that Feng Rang finally had the confidence to break through the wagon-fort.

These thirteen cannons consisted of three thousand-jin cannons firing seven-jin balls, three Hongwu-era great iron cannons, six Frankish great general cannons, and one newly cast five-thousand-seven-hundred-jin Mighty Great General Cannon from Liu Chengzong.

Inside the wagon-fort, Feng Rang stared at the Mighty Great General, his eyes fixed in a daze. He did not understand what Liu Chengzong meant by hauling a fortress gun down here.

Feng Rang had also come from the capital army's firearms division in his early years and had some knowledge of artillery. This cannon was clearly meant to be mounted on a city wall. "What… what is the meaning of this?"

Wei Qian'er raised his hand over his head and pointed diagonally at the opposing wagon-fort. "The Grand Marshal said: use this to blast the wagon-fort."

"Was it cast specifically for this?"

Feng Rang thought, Damn, this is way too terrifying. He planned to go back and discuss it with Liu Chengzong — he didn't want to lead the wagon battalion anymore; whoever wanted this gear could have it.

He'd been trading fire with the opposing wagon battalion for three days, and it had been a jolly good time — neither side could break the other's defense.

Their heavy equipment was identical: all light small cannons. The mainstay was the ninety-five-jin wrought-iron Small Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannon, three mounted side by side on each war wagon, a full ninety pieces in all, while the other side had seventy or eighty. Supplementary heavy firepower came from eight cast-iron Large Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons weighing over four hundred jin apiece, similar in form to the Lion Cannon; the other side had sixteen.

Both types of cannon fired shot weighing just over a jin. The only difference was that the Small Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannon fired a single ball, while the Large Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannon was loaded with two tight-fitting balls, or one tight-fitting ball and an equal weight of grapeshot — the "grandfather leading grandson" load.

Their light firearms were also roughly comparable. He had over a thousand bird guns and hawk guns, and three hundred lift guns; the other side had over a thousand three-eye guns and bird guns, and over five hundred Frankish guns.

When two wagon battalions with this kind of equipment met, they simply couldn't break each other's defense, because they would never close to within four hundred paces to fight. The vast majority of firearms were ineffective in a battle between two wagon battalions.

The wagon battalion's design philosophy was never meant for assaulting strong positions, but for ensuring that the enemy could not assault one's own position. The purpose of every weapon was to destroy enemy effective strength that had closed to close range.

The Ming army's wagon battalion equipment reflected this perfectly, placing exceptional emphasis on density of fire. Once battle was joined, it was a forest of guns and a rain of lead — no one could hope to get close.

Strictly speaking, Feng Rang's wagon battalion was even a bit heavier. Correspondingly, he was more afraid of being rushed than Ding Shaoyin was. So throughout their exchange, neither side's light equipment saw any use. The entire battlefield was nothing but the smoke belched out by one hundred and seventy wrought-iron Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons blasting away at each other.

The bird guns and three-eye guns simply couldn't reach. The lift guns and hawk guns, if you elevated the muzzle, might have a chance of splatting a little lead pancake against a wagon panel.

Both the large and small Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons could reach that far, but all they could do was leave a mark on the five-cun-thick jujube-wood planks of the side-tilt wagons.

Feng Rang was still immersed in marveling at how formidable the wagon battalion truly was when Liu Chengzong had Wei Qian'er haul over this thing... Honestly, he thought Liu Chengzong was truly ruthless.

From the moment this cannon arrived on the battlefield, the impregnable wagon battalion would become a historical term.

Loading the Mighty Grand General was far slower than the thousand-jin cannon. The artillerymen pushed the cannon to the very front of the wagon battalion, piled five or six wooden baskets filled with earth and stone on either side in front of the cannon as cover for the gunners when firing, and only then began loading the piece.

First went a twenty-jin powder bag and a wooden sabot, and only then did strongmen, cradling a twenty-jin iron shot, ram it down the bore. After that, they withdrew the war wagon that had been screening the cannon in front, and aimed the ferocious muzzle at the opposing wagon battalion.

Although Liu Chengzong's original intent was for Wei Qian'er to test the close-range bombardment effect with a reduced powder charge on the battlefield, for Wei Qian'er, with a fifty-seven-hundred-jin cannon sitting right in front of him, how could he possibly suppress the urge to fill it to the brim with powder and let it rip?

Signal flags waved. From the side-tilt wagons at the front of the battalion, the Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons resumed their bombardment, iron and lead shot hurtling toward the Ming army wagon battalion opposite. After three days of trading fire, the wagon panels of both armies were practically plastered with a layer of lead. This level of attack not only failed to affect morale, but instead made the soldiers increasingly calm.

Under Liu Chengzong, there were few professional artillery officers at the Marshal's Headquarters Assistant Regional Commander level. Huang Shengxiao counted as one, and his old superior Feng Rang could only count as half of one.

The soldiers under Feng Rang had never used a heavy cannon that fired a twenty-jin iron ball, so he decided to use the other cannons to cover this heavy piece.

After that, three newly arrived thousand-jin cannons behind the wagon formation were aimed at the enemy position. These were the cannons Feng Rang's artillerymen were most familiar with, also at the range best suited to them — for the gunners, they could hit the mark with their eyes closed.

The signal flags waved again. Under a few commands from the frontline officers, the thousand-jin cannon crews at the left, center, and right of the formation, all prepared, simultaneously adjusted their elevation, fired in sequence, and sent their shots roaring toward the enemy wagon battalion.

Amid the sky-filling rain of shot from the Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons, three seven-jin iron balls streaked across the battlefield like black light, accompanied by whooshing wind. They passed over the heads of the artillerymen working the Exterminate-the-Caitiffs Cannons on the side-tilt wagons, plunged into the protected wagon camp, and punched out puffs of bloody mist. After a few bounces, they plowed out trail after trail of gore.

The miserable cries of shouting men and screaming horses rose in response.

"General, it's ready!"

Just then, the Hundred-Leader in charge of the Mighty Grand General sprinted from the front line to the command post and reported to Feng Rang and Wei Qian'er: "Ready to fire."

Feng Rang and Wei Qian'er exchanged a glance and said in unison: "Fire! Aim right at their war wagons!"

A titanic roar unlike any before erupted from the front line. Twenty jin of powder detonated inside the bore of the fifty-seven-hundred-jin heavy cannon, and the twenty-jin shot burst from the muzzle. Smoke and the flame from the overcharged powder belched violently as the shot exited. The entire gun carriage slammed backward with a roar, the surrounding dust blasted outward in a ring, striking the soldiers whose cheeks quivered — it was as if their very souls had been knocked out of their bodies.

The shot whistled across the battlefield with a swish. There was no scene of a shattered war wagon as people had imagined. The sound was even so slight as to be barely perceptible — as if... as if it had punched through a sheet of paper.

Good morning!