Chapter 591: Nothing Happened in the Square Formation

Zu Kuan was no reckless fool — he had been cutting men down on the battlefield since his teens, and his combat experience was immensely rich.

Before charging into the battlefield, he had specifically climbed a tree in the locust grove to the west to briefly observe the situation.

Only after carefully studying the chaotic battlefield did he act with deliberation, firming his resolve and leading over a thousand high-morale Liaodong elite cavalry in a direct strike against Zhang Tianlin's main force, which numbered merely six hundred-odd men.

A direct strike at the rear — the plan looked fierce, but whether he could actually reach Zhang Tianlin was not important to Zu Kuan; shaking the entire army was his true objective.

Though the battlefield was chaotic, with Marshal's Manor skirmish riders everywhere kicking Yang Zhengfang's Zhen'gan troops around inside their encirclement, one thing was clear at a glance: the Ming forces were many and the rebels few.

If he attacked any unit now, the result would be getting tangled in a skirmish with Zhang's riders, and might even draw Zhang Tianlin into massing cavalry to drive him from the field — then his allies would be saved, Yang Zhengfang could catch his breath and withdraw to Henan, but his own thousand-odd riders would be in grave danger.

Zu Kuan's plan was to let Zhao Zhirui see him attacking the central army, forcing Zhao to pull back the encirclement on the Zhen'gan troops' left flank and come fight him.

In truth, it was just making Zhao Zhirui move somewhere else.

That way, Zhang Tianlin would have no troops to send as reinforcements, the Zhen'gan troops' left flank would gain cavalry protection, and the left-side square formation could then spread out, stretching the north-facing square formation into a great horizontal line facing northeast, leveraging their numerical advantage to form a counter-encirclement against Zhang Tianlin.

It was not that he was sacrificing himself for others — only by fighting this way could the army, including Zu Kuan himself, remain under the cover of friendly forces.

Zu Kuan's killing stroke was not himself, but the thousand-odd Liaodong cavalry under Zu Dale's command who were out plundering Xianyang.

Once the battlefield formed a horizontal line attacking from southwest to northeast, Zhang Tianlin's troop disadvantage would become especially stark; then Lei Shisheng would lead the Huguang infantry and cavalry across the river in support, and Zu Dale arriving from the east would become the decisive flanking cavalry, a single charge from the rear utterly scattering Zhang Tianlin's dismounted infantry.

The battlefield situation at first matched Zu Kuan's imagined plan exactly.

He led his cavalry charging out of the locust grove, lances leveled and blades raised, straight for Zhang Tianlin's central army; Zhao Zhirui's well-trained troops rapidly assembled and immediately moved to intercept along his inevitable charge route — it was foreseeable that they would certainly fight a cavalry melee on his chosen ground.

Yet it was precisely here that the situation veered onto a fork.

Once a horse column is galloping, the ears can only hear the hoofbeats of friendly mounts, the eyes can only see swirling dust — all hearing and sight are less acute than when still.

But even so, Zu Kuan could still see that rebel cavalry commander on the Zhen'gan army's left flank, whose sword and horse's head had originally been pointed at him, suddenly wheeled around, leading the surging rebel horse column in a wide arc, and then turned and bolted straight for the southwest.

In that instant when they passed parallel two li apart, Zu Kuan even felt he could clearly see the mocking sneer on the rebel cavalry commander's face.

In reality, at that distance he could not possibly have seen it, but his heart told him just that: That son of a bitch is laughing at you!

When Zu Kuan turned his head back to look north and saw the dust rising like a sandstorm behind Zhang Tianlin's central army, and… beneath that sky-blotting dust, the vast, mighty columns of Marshal's Manor troops leading their horses at a run, only then did he belatedly understand why Zhao Zhirui had ignored the central army and raced only toward the Huguang troops crossing the river.

You motherfucker — the Marshal's Manor reinforcements are here!

That vast dust made it impossible to tell how many men and horses there were; all one could see was an endless, boundless troop column advancing abreast, tall, sturdy soldiers carrying long muskets, their crimson armor bundled on their horses' backs, each led horse trailing a dragon of dust as they ran swiftly in four columns across field ridges, through woods, and along small paths.

Amid the galloping Liaodong horse column, officers beneath tall helmet plumes exchanged glances, each seeing his own shock reflected in the other's pupils.

The overwhelming Marshal's Manor reinforcements, vast and mighty, swept forward with a crushing pressure carried on the dust — Zu Kuan wanted to flee right then.

This state of mind among the Liaodong troops was especially obvious in Zhang Tianlin's eyes.

Zhang Tianlin had been outside the wagon fort observing the battlefield situation; the moment he saw a group of cavalry coming from the west, without a word he ducked into the wagon fort and ordered the heavy cannons turned.

It was in the process of repositioning the heavy artillery that he watched the Liaodong cavalry first charge straight at the central army wagon fort where he was, then halfway there veer and turn, then halfway through that turn keep turning further, tracing a circle in the open battlefield, and then abandon the charge on the wagon fort, instead rolling northward with their dust.

Company Commander Wang Huaizhong's expression changed and he warned: "This is bad, General — the enemy cavalry is charging toward the Marshal's reinforcements; they force-marched without wearing armor, I fear…"

Circling around on a battlefield — this was a first for Zu Kuan.

That was his time to think, and also the time when his personal will took over the collective will of this thousand-rider horse column.

The horse column's first turn did not come from his order, but because all the cavalry were frightened by the vast scale of the Marshal's Manor reinforcements; especially Zu Keyong, the Skirmish Commander leading the column at the front, who immediately wheeled his horse, pulling the entire column into a turn.

With the enemy so many and themselves so few, such a decision could not be called wrong.

Although Zhang Tianlin's central army wagon formation did not look like a proper large wagon formation carrying hundreds of small and medium field artillery pieces — it was merely supply wagons linked together to form a field encampment much like a wagon fort — even so, it would still be very difficult for Liaodong cavalry to break through in a short time.

And the overwhelming momentum of the reinforcements to the rear cast another layer of gloom over the hearts of Zu Kuan's cavalry; if the assault met even slight resistance, they would likely rout on their own and flee the battlefield before the enemy troops arrived.

So there was no need to force a charge against the wagon formation.

As for attacking the reinforcements, that was clearly a disparity of more than ten to one — a normal person would not even entertain such a thought.

Turning was very necessary.

Zu Kuan also turned with the horse column, only halfway through the turn he realized that going backward was pointless.

They could turn and charge Zhang Tianlin's dismounted infantry locked in bitter combat.

Although those infantry, in their formation-against-formation standoff with the Zhen'gan heavy infantry, had displayed extremely high fighting will and were even holding an advantage with fewer troops thanks to their light cannons.

As long as their heavy cavalry charged once from the rear, they could certainly achieve a local victory with ease.

But such a result was also meaningless to Zu Kuan, to say nothing of the fact that even if they scattered that thousand-odd dismounted infantry — even if they could kill them all — it would still mean they would be surrounded by the Marshal's Manor's tens of thousands of reinforcements, and the entire battle would still hold no hope of victory.

At this moment, the optimal choice was actually to flee — to lead the cavalry temporarily off the battlefield and then strike back when an opportunity arose.

Cavalry, after all, are naturally good at running; they could absolutely get away right now.

Only, Zu Kuan felt that if he ran now, he would most likely get no better chance later.

After all, over ten thousand Ming troops were massed on the battlefield — a full army withdrawal was already impossible; at the very least, Yang Zhengfang's Zhen'gan troops could not pull back, and Lei Shisheng's force crossing the river would also have great difficulty retreating to Henan.

Not to mention, if he ran now and caused the great army's defeat, everyone else was a guest commander here on reinforcement duty — once defeated, they would withdraw south across the Wei River and then certainly keep fleeing toward Huguang; only he, the General-in-Chief of Reinforcement and Suppression, had received explicit orders to transfer into Shaanxi to quell the rebellion.

Even if he led the Liaodong cavalry back to Henan, the only ones he could coordinate with then would be Lu Xiangsheng's personal troops, and even if he gathered up some scattered remnants and routed soldiers, his troop strength would be hard-pressed to exceed ten thousand.

Obviously, if over ten thousand troops lost now, then with only ten thousand troops later, could he possibly defeat Liu Chengzong, riding the momentum of a great victory?

Wouldn't that be a fool's daydream?

At this moment, Zu Kuan knew perfectly well: running — you can run, but you can't run from the consequences.

So in the course of circling, after brief reflection, Zu Kuan spurred his warhorse, passed his bodyguards, and galloped alone to the very front of the horse column, taking over command with his long blade and guiding his banner-bearing cavalry to point at the distant approaching Marshal's Army reinforcements: "While they've yet to don armor and their camp is unsteady — scatter them!"

Liu Chengzong's reinforcements came very fast.

From the sky-blotting dust they raised, Zu Kuan could tell that this was the army earlier garrisoned at Mao Mausoleum, which had come running at forced-march pace after receiving word that the Ming army to the south was crossing the river.

Forced marches differ by purpose and circumstance.

Generally, when racing to seize terrain, the march may be fast, and soldiers might don their armor ten or twenty li from the objective and continue the forced march, the goal being to seize the ground first, then rest briefly and meet the battle.

When the front line is already engaging the enemy and the objective is to reinforce allies, a forced march will most likely not involve wearing armor — or only a small number of troops will be armored — to preserve the soldiers' stamina to the utmost, so that upon reaching the battlefield they can don armor and throw themselves directly into the fight.

And for the latter case, the greater the degree to which outpost cavalry screen the battlefield and the stronger the scouts' perception of the battlefield, the fewer soldiers will wear armor on the march — safety, after all.

Based on this common knowledge, Zu Kuan judged that at best only half of this massive reinforcement army was marching in armor, so he made the decision to launch a surprise attack while the bulk of the reinforcements were still in motion from their forced march.

The Liaodong cavalry were already superbly trained, and having plundered the outskirts of Xingping County before the battle, both men and horses had eaten their fill and carried several days' rations on their saddles — their morale at this moment was exceedingly high.

As Zu Kuan gave his orders on the move, the massive cavalry force of over a thousand riders shifted formation at the gallop — first splitting into two large divisions of five hundred-odd riders each, then dividing further into ten hundred-rider battalions, the battalions breaking into smaller squads, with household retainers riding loose in the gaps between battalions, shuttling back and forth to relay Zu Kuan's commands.

His order was simple: each squad commander, while racing forward, was to find the countless gaps in the relief army's battle line — those infantrymen leading horses on foot, wearing no armor and in the midst of a forced march.

Then, using the five battalions in hand, strike those gaps in sequence. If one charge failed to break through, strike the next gap; the following battalion would continue the charge, until one gap was shaken, then breached — at which point the trailing battalions would drive straight through the breach, crushing and churning the entire ten-thousand-man army formation that had yet to steady itself, shattering and routing them completely.

This tactic was brutally crude. On the surface it was the few attacking the many; in tactical reality, it was the strong striking the weak.

It was like when Grand Preceptor Esen faced the Ming Fortress Sovereign Zhu Qizhen — he used the strategy of first withdrawing, then circling back to strike the Ming army mid-relocation, routing them in one blow and sending them trampling over each other.

But against well-trained troops, this trick didn't work so well. In Liaodong, the Eight Banners often charged headlong into Ming armies on the move — sometimes getting their own teeth smashed in, other times using their bayara elite guards to gift-wrap and deliver heads to the enemy.

This did not mean the Later Jin Eight Banners were weak, only that their commanders used the wrong tactics against the wrong opponents. In truth, in those battles where the Ming troops fought well, the final outcome was always the Later Jin massing superior strength to strike, besiege, trap, exhaust, and break them — the ability to rapidly concentrate superior force on a local battlefield was itself a mark of powerful organizational capacity.

Faced with this situation, Zhang Tianlin could easily discern Zu Kuan's tactical intent.

He therefore swiftly assembled the six hundred cavalry within the wagon camp, stood atop a war wagon with a telescope raised, and looked toward the relief army's front with an ashen face: he was judging, judging whether Liu Chengzong needed his help.

His six hundred cavalry could intercept Zu Kuan right now, but once those six hundred riders charged out, the central army's baggage could be seized at any moment. He had not forgotten that Zu Kuan's Liaodong cavalry was a full-strength battalion — only half was here in the west; the other half, in the direction of Xianyang to the east, was still hidden somewhere unknown.

At this very moment, Zu Dale, leading the other half of the Liaodong cavalry, had in fact also reached the battlefield — just behind the river embankment seven or eight li to the east, hiding with shameless cunning, all warhorses forced to lie flat, crouched atop the embankment observing the battlefield.

Due to delays in message relay, Zu Dale's cavalry had reached the battlefield slightly later than Zu Kuan.

It was this time gap that meant Zu Kuan launched his assault without seeing Liu Chengzong's relief forces, only spotting the vast dust clouds to the north after he had already charged out; and when Zu Dale reached the battlefield, he saw Zu Kuan charging — to be precise, he saw Zu Kuan charging straight at the mighty, surging relief army of the Marshal's forces.

Zu Dale's original thought, there on the river embankment, was to see how the situation played out: if Zu Kuan charged, he would launch his own assault alongside him; if Zu Kuan fled, he would flee first and deal with Zu Kuan later.

But seeing this scene unfold on the battlefield, Zu Dale's face went green: You household-slave whelp, you really have some fucking nerve, you shriveled bastard, feeding my Zu family troops into Liu Chengzong's mouth!

Zhang Tianlin's expression, however, was brightening.

Because during the march, with reconnaissance riders out and Ma Ke of the Tiger Guard Battalion leading a thousand cavalry screening the western flank against a possible appearance by Zu Kuan's forces, Liu Chengzong's army indeed had few soldiers wearing armor on the march — only about a quarter.

But Zhang Tianlin saw that the vanguard at the very front, advancing in four columns, was Gao Yingdeng's great camp.

Tang Tong was riding back and forth before the formation, shouting orders. The horse-leading infantry of the four great columns, seeing enemy cavalry bearing down on them, did not waste a moment donning armor. They swiftly led their horses together, and without even needing to dress ranks, they merged into a single great square formation.

Row upon row of crouching warhorses and gun-carriages were laid across the front as barricades, while soldiers leveled heavy arquebuses and went straight into aiming posture.

By now, Zu Kuan's cavalry force had also trotted into the danger zone at four hundred paces and was spurring their horses to speed, preparing to enter the charge phase — a distance that, for cavalry charging at full tilt, was a matter of a single blink.

He watched as the Marshal's army swiftly formed square, and inwardly felt some unease at facing these well-trained foes.

But then he saw the enemy actually using precious armor-donning time to load clumsy firearms, light their match cords, and then present a pure arquebus formation — even, every dozen or so paces, an officer in a shoulder-baring battle robe standing to the side, a goose-quill saber in one hand and a red corner flag in the other.

This made Zu Kuan laugh out loud right there at the gallop!

The best firearms troops under heaven were the Guanning Army. Right now, over half of the Nine Border Regions' mine-and-firearms instructors, the Divine Machine Battalion's assistant commanders, and the garrison commanders across the realm had all come out of the Guanning Army.

A single face of your square formation has five or six hundred guns at most — one volley, five or six hundred lead balls. Even if every ball hits one of my men, I still have over five hundred riders left, and you'll have no chance to reload — more than enough to charge right up to your unarmored soldiers and slaughter in every direction!

Isn't that just plain stupid?

Then they entered two hundred paces. Zu Kuan's ten battalions of mounted troops, following standing orders, spread directly across the battlefield into a broad front two layers deep: the enemy's entire front was one gaping weak point — just charge straight across and you'd roll them up like a pearl curtain swept backward!

One hundred paces.

First the cannons roared. Several small-caliber lion cannons spewed hundreds of iron pellets, tearing fan-shaped patterns through the gun smoke, spraying wildly into the charging cavalry.

Amid the pitiful cries of warhorses, some riders were struck down. Some horses, wounded and maddened by pain, reared up and refused to advance further. But more riders only spurred faster; some, knowing full well an iron pellet had struck them, gritted through the pain, lay flat on their horses' backs, and kept charging.

Every man knew the enemy wore no armor.

Every man knew even better: only by routing the enemy could they, the wounded, receive treatment after the battle.

Galloping hooves tore up clods of earth. Every Liaodong cavalryman knew the volley of arquebus fire and the charge into the formation were coming. Amid a tangle of tension and excitement, every man gripped his lance or saber tight, breathing ragged.

Fifty paces.

Some riders could no longer contain themselves, pointing their sabers forward from the shoulder, defying the silence order with a roar.

Then, with a piercing cry of a suona horn, red pennants along the front slashed downward one after another. In the same instant, arquebusier after arquebusier leveled their guns and pulled the triggers — match cords dropped, igniting the priming powder in the flash pans, which then detonated the gunpowder in the barrels.

Bang-bang-bang-bang!

In a continuous string of heavy arquebus thuds, great clouds of gun smoke surged before the formation. Every heavy arquebus spat one large and three small lead balls — four projectiles — from its barrel, and in an instant, over a thousand pellets swept like grapeshot into the Liaodong cavalry.

The charging cavalry force at full gallop was simply stunned senseless.

Swaths of warhorses collapsed dead. Swaths of warhorses reared. Amid the clamor of shrieks and wails that filled the battlefield, riders in the rear crashed into the rumps of horses ahead; riders at the front looked left and right — everywhere, riderless horses scattered and fled in panic. Men reined in their mounts, standing halted within the stalled formation, only now realizing that the cavalry force had been nearly leveled flat in a single volley.

But from within the still-uncleared gun smoke ahead, the dense, orderly sound of shifting footsteps came steadily through — and then, once more, the suona horn wailed like the King of Hell demanding lives.

The arquebusiers' rolling volley formation — rotation complete!

Bang-bang-bang!

At the center of the square, Gao Yingdeng gazed toward the thick gun smoke before the formation. Though his eyes could not pierce the smoke, he saw only a scattered few riders break through from different angles, only to be stopped at once by infantry wielding cavalry lances and goose-quill sabers — then turning, slowing, no time to wheel around, their horses' hooves plowing the earth as they skidded crookedly into the formation, where unarmored soldiers swarmed them and hacked them to pieces. He knew well enough what had become of the enemy.

A joke? I stuff four balls into one gun — against a massed target, that's over a hundred percent hit rate. How many lives do you have, daring to charge that?

Gao Yingdeng turned his head and said to Tang Tong, who had just fastened the last button of his helmet's neck guard, with a grin: "Looks like they didn't make it in."

That said, he looked back toward the several hundred reconnaissance riders and guards now fully armored within the formation, and drew the goose-quill saber at his waist: "Pass my order — beat the drums, open the formation on the right wing. Tang Tong, you are ordered to lead the cavalry out in pursuit... Announce to the entire camp: tonight, we eat horse-meat pies!"

Moments later, the heavy arquebusiers on the square formation's right wing opened a passage. A galloping cavalry force, led by Tang Tong in his shoulder-baring battle robe and wielding an eighteen-foot cavalry lance, streamed out in column and surged forward, launching the pursuit against the Liaodong cavalry who had eaten their fill of lead and were now crumbling in rout!