Chapter 589: Motionless

The north bank of the Wei River.

Two armies, one south and one north, stood as starkly distinct as the Jing and Wei rivers.

On the south side, the Ming army's position was formed by two massive three-thousand-man formations in dense array.

On the north side, the Marshal's army advanced slowly with three thousand infantry and cavalry deployed in a broad horizontal line, while its left and right wings of two thousand cavalry fanned out to encircle the flanks, compressing the numerically superior Ming force into a small battlefield barely four li across.

And on the northeastern edge of this encircled battlefield, the four mounted brigades belonging to the Zhengan and Mao Hulu troops, already driven from the field under repeated cavalry charges while fighting a retreat, now fled in blind panic — only to find themselves hemmed in by a growing ring of Marshal's cavalry with no way to break free.

Yang Zhengfang was utterly disgusted by Zhang Tianlin.

From within the great army formation, the Zhengan and Mao Hulu troops had formed two battalion squares. Protected by chevaux-de-frise and pit traps, and though tactically they looked excessively timid — reduced entirely to a passive, beaten posture — the situation was in fact still tenable.

After all, both battalions, adept at mountain warfare, were equipped with large numbers of long spears, firelocks, and heavy-armored infantry; and because the Miao soldiers' equipment was largely ancestral, they wore ancient-style heavy armor — exceptionally heavy.

Zhang Tianlin's cavalry units were armed with Lightning Lances gifted by Bai Guang'en — breech-loading matchlocks of the Frankish pattern. Their six-foot barrels ensured range and power, while the six pre-loaded chambers each rider carried gave them considerable sustained fire.

These Lightning Lances were, in truth, not well suited for cavalry use, for they were firearms developed by Zhao Shizhen on the basis of the Rumi musket and the Frankish breechloader.

The Rumi musket's defining trait was its length, which made it both accurate and lethal, capable of maintaining formidable killing power at long range; the Frankish piece's advantage was its breech-loading design, enabling faster reloading and firing, and thus powerful sustained fire.

The Lightning Lance preserved the best qualities of both weapons. A full six feet long, if fitted with its matching bayonet, it could even serve as a seven-foot short spear.

But its length also made it heavy. Simply holding it steady on horseback was a struggle. However, Zhao Shizhen had dispensed with the priming pan used in the touch-hole and matchlock firing mechanisms common to firearms of the era, instead inserting a fuse directly into the chamber — eliminating the worry of priming powder being blown away by wind or jolted loose by the ride.

Thus, for cavalrymen adept at mounted archery, galloping and firing with a long gun braced on horseback proved sharper and more accurate at a hundred paces than even a powerful bow.

This weapon ought to have given Zhang Tianlin's cavalry an unrivaled advantage in the volley-fire phase — not only did they outrange and outhit infantry bows and crossbows, they also posed a greater threat than the standard-issue five-foot bird guns.

But against the Zhengan troops — mountain heavy infantry clad in ancient-style heavy armor — things became a bit awkward. First, they could not enter the range of the bird guns and the accompanying mountain light cannons; second, beyond the bird guns' range, the Lightning Lance's killing power was extremely limited.

And that limited killing power, never mind penetrating the earthen wall the Zhengan troops had dug from their trenches and piled before their formation — even if a shot struck home, against the ancient heavy armor those soldiers wore, it was little different from scratching an itch.

So while the cavalry ringing them on three sides poured in volleys of gunfire, the Zhengan troops' own bird guns and light cannons roared back, the Mao soldiers' powerful bows and the Miao soldiers' great crossbows loosed in unison, and a sky-filling storm of bullets, cannonballs, and arrows wove together amid an unending roar — it was all just noise for noise's sake.

What truly tormented Yang Zhengfang was the four hundred cavalry of his own who had been driven from the field.

At the very start of the engagement, to buy as much time as possible — to prevent the enemy's scout cavalry from completely encircling them, to allow the reinforcements from the south bank of the Wei to cross and join them, and to give his infantry squares time to set up chevaux-de-frise and scatter caltrops — Yang Zhengfang had gathered his four hundred horsemen and ordered them to charge without hesitation into Zhang Tianlin's two thousand galloping cavalry.

Few as his horsemen were, every rider was elite — a fact determined by the organizational nature of the Zhengan and Mao Hulu troops.

The Mao Hulu troops were light-armored soldiers adept at small-unit skirmishing, organized much like landlord militias. Nearly every mounted man among them was a minor chieftain called a jiaonou, each a fighter of superb individual quality.

The Zhengan cavalry, meanwhile, consisted largely of veteran Eastern Miao soldiers who had surrendered during the She-An Rebellion, men with a reputation in the southwest for mastery of mounted combat.

This was the confidence that emboldened Yang Zhengfang to send four hundred riders to block two thousand enemy horse.

But that confidence was shattered to pieces the instant the cavalry clashed.

The Eastern Miao veterans, accustomed to using horse against infantry in the southwestern mountains, were clearly less experienced in cavalry-on-cavalry combat than the Marshal's Headquarters horsemen — to say nothing of being outnumbered and out-organized by Zhang Tianlin's riders.

Zhang Tianlin's squad leaders, each with forty or fifty riders under them, formed small square formations. They lured the enemy horse into turning and shooting from the front, pursued and shot them from the rear, and all the while launched charge after charge at their flanks from every direction with lances.

Once the Eastern Miao cavalry were slowed by these flanking lance charges, the following cavalry units surged forward, drew their goose-quill sabers, and hacked down with ferocious swings. As the melee unfolded, they exploited their superior numbers in the chaos, using maces to knock the enemy riders from their saddles one by one.

The few Ming cavalry who barely managed to escape with their lives were effortlessly driven to the periphery of the battlefield by the Marshal's horsemen and reduced to mere spectators.

Yang Zhengfang's heart swelled with an unbearable sense of grievance.

The better Zhang Tianlin's cavalry performed, the more aggrieved he felt.

If not for Zu Kuan taking the troops off to forage for grain, how could his seven thousand infantry have been reduced to such a plight!

But soon Yang Zhengfang's grievance turned to something else, for Zhang Tianlin's main central force was pressing closer and closer. When the two sides stood four hundred paces apart, north to south, the outer formations of the Zhengan troops began to waver.

Amid the turmoil, a messenger cavalryman stationed at the formation's rear galloped back to the main body and reported to Yang Zhengfang: "Commander Yang, the enemy is hauling heavy cannon forward!"

In truth, they were not heavy cannon.

When Zhang Tianlin fought in Gansu, he had been cut off from his baggage train. After that campaign, his junior officers were all cavalrymen by background, and hardly any knew how to operate cannon. Later, when he formed his great camp and incorporated surrendered Ming troops, he still lacked enough artillerymen.

The Marshal's Headquarters had supplied him primarily with large numbers of fire arrows as his main firepower; consequently, his artillery allotment was the weakest of any camp — just three thousand-jin cannon and ten lion cannon. Zhang Tianlin had simply not distributed these pieces among the various company-level brigades. Instead, they were operated, transported, maintained, and managed along with the baggage wagons directly by the main army's ordnance commander.

This artillery complement, whether compared to north or south, fell far short of even a standard Ming army camp.

A typical Ming brigade commander or company commander, at the very least, possessed Frankish-style general cannon, while lighter pieces were distributed down to the fifty-man squad level, with one cannon per squad.

But the Zhengan troops were different. They had always used only light cannon — mountain warfare, after all, required no piece heavier than two hundred jin.

So much so that, never mind the Marshal's Headquarters' red-barbarian-style thousand-jin field guns — even the two-hundred-jin lion cannon were enough to thoroughly intimidate the Zhengan troops.

Three thousand-jin gun carriages, hauled by big Hexi horses, were planted at the front line of the battlefield. The moment their brass maws were leveled toward the Ming formation, a current of unease began to spread through the Zhengan ranks.

In the brief moments that followed, Yang Zhengfang had just climbed the earthen mound within the formation and cast a single glance northward when he saw the flash of fire at the cannon mouths and, in the same instant, heard the deafening roar of the guns.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three cannon shots rang out almost simultaneously. Three seven-jin iron balls screamed through the air, tracing black lines across the sky, and crossed the four hundred paces in the blink of an eye.

This distance was very close to the thousand-jin cannon's optimal range. The shooting posed no difficulty whatsoever — the gunners merely wedged a small block under the muzzle, aimed, and the shot would land squarely within the formation.

Of the three cannonballs, one traced a parabolic arc and struck the ground a dozen paces in front of the formation, bounced up over the trench, and slammed into the earthen wall piled before the lines, gouging through it and scattering half the waist-high rampart in a whirl of dirt. The other two balls landed inside the formation: one smashed into the head of a draft horse hitched to a cart — the animal had no time even to whinny before its head was driven into its neck.

The last cannonball rolled squarely into a dense mass of men, tearing through heavy armor like paper. In an instant, it raised a spray of bloody mist, and with three more bounces, plowed a road of gore.

This thing was no small-caliber firelock like a bird gun or Lightning Lance. Even Yang Zhengfang's heart pounded. Having no cannon to answer theirs essentially decided that their defeat was only a matter of time.

But Yang Zhengfang could not accept defeat.

Because at their backs was the Wei River. The pontoon bridge of small boats could not possibly bear a rout of soldiers scrambling to flee. The consequence of defeat would be his men driven into the river by enemy cavalry to drown.

Unless… the Guanning Army could return within two watches.

In truth, even that time frame was generous. The Guanning Army under Zu Kuan was very close to the battlefield at that moment. Xingping and Xianyang were both barely a dozen li from the fighting. The Liao soldiers, scattered among the villages eating their meals, could even hear the cannon fire from here — like the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon.

Dividing the troops to plunder separately had been a last resort. Zu Kuan understood the stakes. Even though he was in the eastern outskirts of Xingping County, he had kept scout cavalry constantly monitoring the situation on the eastern battlefield, and in fact possessed more intelligence than Yang Zhengfang, who was directly engaged in the fight.

At the very moment Zhang Tianlin's artillery opened fire, Zu Kuan's scout cavalry had already ridden west to Mawei Post Station and, to the north, had exchanged fire using three-eyed guns with the scout cavalry of Liu Chengzong's main force.

To the south, scouts had even stripped off their armor, clung to their horses' tails, and swum across the Wei River, racing to the main camp on the south bank with orders for Vice General Lei Shisheng to move his troops west and cross the river from the Xingping side to link up with him.

For he had already discovered that Liu Chengzong's main force — a vast, dark mass of men and horses — was advancing south. If the troops still on the south bank of the Wei crossed from Yang Zhengfang's position, they would most likely be trapped inside. Crossing from Xingping, on the other hand, though it meant an extra dozen li of marching, would at least allow them to cross safely under the screening cover of the Liao scout cavalry.

Yet now, hearing the cannon fire, Zu Kuan could not keep calm. Inwardly alarmed, he thought: "The bandits actually have cannon!"

He had no understanding of Liu Chengzong's Marshal's Army whatsoever.

This Liao army had followed him through campaigns in Shandong, Henan, and Huguang. The only enemy they had faced that could be considered a worthy opponent was Li Jiucheng's Shandong rebel army; the rest of the peasant forces were all light troops relying on fast horses and mules to come and go like the wind. In that regard, the Liao soldiers feared no enemy.

Especially when Zu Kuan arrived here and heard his opponent was Liu Chengzong, he was so delighted he nearly turned into Zu Dale.

Who was this Liu Chengzong anyway? The widely notorious Fool Khan!

What's a Fool Khan? One whose subordinates are all Mongols!

Zu Kuan thought his opponents would be Mongols running wild all over the place.

This was also why Zu Kuan dared to run off to the nearby countryside to forage for grain right before battle — he first had to get seven or eight days' worth of grain onto his soldiers' saddles, so that in the pursuit and dogfight to follow he could run down and kill the Mongols.

Even if you made him take three thousand against twenty thousand, he was confident he could chase the Fool Khan running all over the place.

But by now, no matter how thick-skinned Zu Kuan was, he had already realized — things were not what he had imagined.

Liu Chengzong's reconnaissance troops were proper northwestern frontier army reconnaissance troops; the army facing off against the Zhengan Army on the north bank of the Wei River was also using proper northwestern frontier army tactics, and had even wheeled out large-caliber long-barreled cannon — this was clearly beyond the Mongols' capabilities.

By now, Zu Kuan was also getting a bit flustered.

Realizing he had to change tactics and race back to coordinate with Yang Zhengfang in resisting Liu Chengzong, Zu Kuan immediately rallied his own unit, dispatched reconnaissance riders eastward along the riverbank, and ordered them to be sure to deliver the advance message to the thousand-plus Liao troops who had gone to plunder Xianyang.

After that, he ordered the reconnaissance troops pulled in, pressing everyone toward the direction where Liu Chengzong was.

That is, south of Mao Mausoleum.

Meanwhile, on Liu Chengzong's side, once he realized that Zu Kuan, in the midst of his busy plundering, still dared to scatter reconnaissance riders everywhere, even flinging them right in his face, what he could do went far beyond just squeezing the reconnaissance troops.

He even transferred from Qian County the battalion commander Tu Ba, under the command of County Earl Dorji of the conscripted forces, ordering him to lead a thousand Khoshut cavalry to the western outskirts of Xingping County, to guard against Zu Kuan's forces scattering and fleeing from the west.

Both sides centered on the battlefield on the north bank of the Wei River, radiating outward to deploy troops and commanders across the larger battlefield; the reconnaissance riders who encountered each other charged and shot at each other on the plains, squeezing and fighting for safe space for their own armies while racing intelligence on the enemy back to the main command.

Right in the middle of this process, Yang Zhengfang's Zhengan Army stood in their battle formation on the north bank of the Wei River and took seven rounds of cannon fire head-on.

To be honest, even Zhang Tianlin couldn't stand it anymore.

He had deliberately made the artillerymen's firing intervals longer, to make the enemy think they weren't that crack, and thereby lure the enemy into launching an attack on their own initiative.

If the positions were swapped, and the enemy's field guns had a full half-quarter-hour gap between two salvos, he would very likely, when the third round of shelling began, dispatch troops in formation to charge the artillery position — even if they couldn't seize the cannon, they'd at least force the cannon to move.

As for the cavalry circling on the flanks, they were really just there to look intimidating — after all, who would throw costly cavalry in a head-on charge against a hedgehog formation?

But Yang Zhengfang stubbornly dragged it out and took seven rounds of shelling; only when the eighth round was about to fire did he suddenly sound the mournful horn calls from within the formation. One by one, the fully armored Zhengan heavy infantry formed up into large units and, with steady strides, crossed the earthen ramparts to launch an assault on the artillery position four hundred paces away.

Yang Zhengfang wasn't a coward; he too was waiting for the right moment.

From the instant the first thousand-catty cannon boomed across the battlefield, Yang Zhengfang had been calculating the time and weighing what decision Zu Kuan would make upon hearing the cannon fire. If it were just the dozen or so li between Xingping and Xianyang, then he could indeed have launched a counterattack right away.

But he would rather wait a little longer.

Because launching a counterattack also meant they would engage the enemy in close combat, and if Zu Kuan's reinforcements arrived even a moment late, the casualties would far exceed those from standing and taking cannon fire under the protection of the earthen ramparts.

By the seventh round of cannon fire, Yang Zhengfang was certain that the Liao troops of Zu Kuan's forces, scattered to the east and west, should all have received their orders and be preparing to rush to his aid. Only then did he give the order, commanding his soldiers to launch a sudden assault on the artillery position while guarding against the cavalry prowling on both flanks.

Only, he could never have dreamed that, upon seeing his army finally begin to move, Zhang Tianlin, standing on his saddle on the opposite side of the battlefield to observe, would clap his hands vigorously, his face flushed with excitement: "Pass my command — the thousand-catty cannon fire one more salvo, then withdraw north. Load the ten lion cannon with grapeshot and prepare a volley."

"Left-flank cavalry prepare to charge, right flank outflank the enemy's rear — swallow all seven thousand of them, not a single one is to escape!"