Chapter 609: Sycophant Who Rose by Favor

North bank of the Wei River.

Liu Chengzong stood on an earthen hill beneath the night sky, watching the Lintao Brigade on the south bank rampage through the Ming army's defensive line.

In truth, the Marshal Army's field structure could no longer be called an earthen hill — it had neither earth nor hill, being entirely a command platform hastily assembled from war wagons and wooden planks.

Standing on this platform made Liu the Lion miss Xie Erhu's Mongol Camp terribly.

The Mongol Camp might be useless in a hard fight — either routing in the charge or charging in the rout — but after campaigning for so long, they had long since honed an exceptionally fine skill in earthworks.

Piling earthen hills and digging trenches, they were fast and excellent at it.

Nothing like these brutes of the Tiger Guard Camp, every one of them an armchair strategist without equal under heaven.

When it came to earthen hills, trenches, and field fortifications, the Tiger Guard Camp was quite systematic in design and planning, but when you actually made them build the things, without prefabricated tools like war wagons and flatbed carts, once they had to rely on manual earthwork, each man was more clumsy than the last.

Fortunately, the Marshal Army had plenty of war wagons, and using them to throw up temporary fortifications didn't sting — though this still made Liu the Lion aware of his side's weakness: pitched battle.

When it truly came to a pitched battle, a wooden-framed high platform like this was not conspicuous enough for commanding a large army formation; the army banners and war drums couldn't even be mounted on it.

Setting aside worries about situations that had yet to occur, Zhang Xianzhong's surprise attack on the south bank of the Wei River was, to Liu Chengzong, brilliantly executed.

He had long since spotted Luo Rucai's performance, but they were too far away, that group's torches were not conspicuous enough, and their numbers were too few; with all the back and forth, Liu the Lion couldn't even figure out who was fighting whom.

Zhang Xianzhong's side, however, was different — after all, it was a force of ten thousand, and no matter how much they tried to conceal their movements, the torches and bonfires on the Yunnan troops' defensive line blazed bright, not to mention they had even brought out cannons; for a time, cannon fire rumbled in bursts and flames shot skyward, making the battle line situation easy to read.

Zhang Xianzhong's three battalions used envelopment tactics, breaking through layer after layer of the east-west Yunnan troop line, and their progress looked swift.

In Liu Chengzong's eyes, this was a sign of the Yunnan troops defending the Weinan line being relatively weak in combat strength — after all, one knows one's own household best; the Lintao Brigade banner troops under Shi Xiang were never any elite soldiers or fierce fighters to begin with.

But in reality, the fighting on the front line was far more brutal than the battle-line contest he could see.

In spirit, both armies possessed extraordinary will to fight.

The Yunnan troops had advanced four thousand li to reinforce, seeking only this one battle; the Lintao Brigade banner troops had eaten their fill and drunk their fill, thirsting for merit; Yang Guodong's cavalry battalion was even more eager to show its face before the Grand Marshal.

And objectively, the battlefield was far too narrow and long, with virtually no flanks to speak of; under the envelopment strategy, the two sides interlocked like the teeth of dogs, and there was no direction even to flee.

Thus both armies practically strained every sinew, bringing out their best skills; on the slaughter field where the three battalions clashed, at every moment squads and even whole battalions were being beaten back, reforming, and attacking again.

Of the Lintao Brigade's three Regional Commanders, Li Zude, under Shi Xiang's orders, dealt with the one thousand Yunnan troops initially deployed eastward; using the advantage of surprise and twice the numbers, they stepped directly onto caltrops, bore the crossbow bolts head-on, closed on the enemy line, pulled aside the abatis and wooden palisades, crossed the trenches, and engaged in close combat.

Another Regional Commander, Zhang Yunqi, under Shi Xiang's orders, led two thousand banner troops in an envelopment that bypassed the defensive line, striking directly at the flank of the Yunnan troops defending northward in the rear.

But their offensive was only halfway when Long Zaitian's command and dispatch had already been relayed into place; four or five five-hundred-man battalions all reinforced, and seeing that charging into hand-to-hand combat would gain no advantage, Zhang Yunqi divided his troops into five outposts and fought a wheeling advance and retreat with firelocks and light cannons.

The two thousand banner troops under his battalion split into front, rear, left, center, and right five outposts, each outpost further divided into fifty-man squads as units; the vast majority of soldiers used long weapons and bows to guard against enemy troops suddenly charging into their faces.

Relying entirely on the ten or twenty three-eyed guns and bird guns within each squad, divided into five batches, three or four guns fired a volley on the squad leader's command; if the volley could advance, the second batch of three or four guns moved forward, batch by batch in layered formation advancing; if they could not advance, then batch by batch in layered formation they retreated.

If enemy troops charged up to their faces, the swordsmen and bowmen drove them back.

If they could not charge up to their faces, then the troops split into five outposts and enveloped from three sides, carrying out firelock advancing volley fire from all directions and multiple angles.

Neither of these two battalions fought in a way that could be called brilliant, only steady — and there was no helping it; Zhang Yunqi and Li Zude, the two Regional Commanders who had surrendered to Liu Chengzong along with Shi Xiang, were extremely lacking in practical combat experience.

Zhang Xianzhong, sitting in command and observing the battle from the rear, shook his head at the sight of these two formations.

Raising his horsewhip to point at the battlefield, he cursed at Shi Xiang: "Brigade Commander Shi, look at those two Regional Commanders — did they come out of their mother's womb never having fought a battle?"

"It's just that the Grand Marshal feeds his troops pretty well and drills them properly; send any squad leader to the front to command and he'd fight it just the same!"

Shi Xiang looked at Zhang Xianzhong's behavior — the kind who fights one battle and forgets who he is — and couldn't be bothered to deal with him.

Not just those two have never fought a battle — I, Shi Xiang, in my first real battle, was just like those two, throwing myself into the Defense of Lanzhou as a Ming officer, and I didn't hold it.

You, Zhang Xianzhong, with your divine foresight and brilliant schemes — take a guess how that battle was lost?

Heh, your Grandpa Shi here led the surrender.

Do you understand what the fuck turning defeat into victory means!

Anyone could mock his fighting ability, especially Zhang Xianzhong, whose fighting ability was relatively strong — he had the right.

But Shi Xiang absolutely would not concede that Zhang Xianzhong had the right to mock his courage and judgment.

Among humans, the emotion of "looking down on" is usually mutual.

Zhang Xianzhong thought Shi Xiang couldn't fight and had no ability; Shi Xiang also thought Zhang Xianzhong couldn't conduct himself and was a piece of trash.

Shi Xiang thought to himself: in judgment and courage, I recognized the true dragon with keen eyes back when the Grand Marshal had only a few thousand troops, and did not hesitate to present Lanzhou as a gift, seeking wealth amid danger, and thus attained the honored position of Brigade Commander today.

What the hell are you, Zhang Xianzhong — got your army trapped in Zhuanglang Guard city, too scared to show your face, and let that little punk Feng Shilin force your surrender with a single Ox-Head and Horse-Face appointment letter.

No judgment, no guts — who the fuck do you think you are?

You're nothing but a sycophant who climbed to high office in my Grand Marshal's headquarters by exploiting hometown ties and favor!

Thinking of this, Shi Xiang offered a hand in salute with a mirthless smile and said, "What lofty insights does the Department Commander have?"

Zhang Xianzhong took one look at his expression and laughed: "Oh ho, Brigade Commander Shi is unconvinced? Take a look at your valiant general Yang Guodong — now that's what fighting a battle looks like."

Shi Xiang, hearing this, looked toward Yang Guodong's unit, which had penetrated behind enemy lines. Yang Guodong's unit had many cavalry; they charged in without dismounting for foot combat, likewise splitting into five outposts, and were now dragging seven or eight five-hundred-man Yunnan battalions around in a chase.

Oh no — to be precise, they were very soon about to be chased around.

Because cavalry, under the same combat width, had far fewer troops than infantry, so every front was taking a beating; a single glance showed four or five riders falling from their horses.

Shi Xiang thought Zhang Xianzhong was speaking sarcastically and shook his head: "Damn, I never figured Yang Guodong would be this useless in a fight either."

"Hmm... no, no, not at all."

Zhang Xianzhong shook his head, stroking the thick beard under his chin, and spoke in a strange tone like a pedantic scholar: "Troops have no constant formation, water has no constant shape — has Brigade Commander Shi heard that? It's from Romance of the Three Kingdoms."

Hearing this, Shi Xiang felt his head swell to twice its size; the moment this man opened his mouth, his lack of learning stood out, and here he was showing off in front of a proper hereditary military officer like himself.

He said, "Brigade Commander Zhang, that line is from Sunzi."

Huh?

Zhang Xianzhong furrowed his brow and looked at Shi Xiang, instinctively thinking this grandson was bullshitting him.

But Old Zhang's own level of education was extremely limited, amounting to a teahouse-storytelling dropout level; he himself wasn't entirely sure in his heart whether "troops have no constant formation" came from Three Kingdoms or Water Margin.

So Zhang Xianzhong simply didn't quibble with him over it and went on: "Never mind which grandson said it — what does it mean? Troops adapt to the enemy to achieve victory; whatever kind of grandson you're dealing with, you bring out the corresponding skill."

"Those two Regional Commanders fought very steadily, but right now it's a night battle, a field battle — look at this terrain. Seeking victory through steadiness, can they rout the enemy? Even if they kill half the enemy troops, the remaining half still won't rout — where the hell are they supposed to rout to?"

With just those few hundred guns of Zhang Yunqi's, putting on a fearsome advancing volley offensive could indeed suppress the enemy troops, but each volley could only kill or wound a few men, and under nighttime conditions, it had almost no shock effect.

There was nothing wrong with that in itself.

Zhang Xianzhong thought there was a problem, precisely because he did not believe the Lintao Brigade could maintain good morale and discipline forever: "The enemy stands on invincible ground. Our advancing ring-linked formation can hold them for now, but what if a mishap occurs at the front — a few muskets burn out or burst — when they strike, can our men hold? And even if they can, for how long?"

"Therefore, at such a moment, frontline commanders ought to choose aggressive tactics, routing the enemy as quickly as possible, rather than merely stabilizing the line."

In a stalemate, the contest is simply over who makes no mistakes.

No army dares boast so wildly as to guarantee it will make no mistakes in battle.

For this reason, Zhang Xianzhong much preferred the tactics Yang Guodong had chosen — only Shi Xiang could not see it.

In the brief time the two men had been speaking, subtle changes had again occurred on the battlefield. With each successive charge of Yang Guodong's cavalry, more and more Yunnan troops, under Long Zaitian's direction, were thrown into the line.

The entire Yunnan battle line, stretching east to west, became extremely thin. One Yunnan battalion after another was deployed eastward onto the front facing the Lintao Brigade. For a time, Yang Guodong's two thousand-odd cavalry had to face the assault of over four thousand infantry, and the melee between the two forces grew white-hot.

Under the night sky, the two sides advanced and retreated, retreated and advanced, clashing and colliding over ten times. Then, in a single moment, as if the casualties Yang Guodong's men had suffered finally exceeded the soldiers' psychological endurance, the battle line suddenly collapsed. Every large and small unit fled rearward in utter rout.

At once, Yunnan officers and commanders blew their bugles and sounded music to boost morale, while the tribal soldiers roared and cheered. Every battalion surged forward in hot pursuit, riding the wave of victory.

Shi Xiang, who had been watching the battlefield every moment, turned pale. Clenching both fists, he groaned in despair, "Ah! Yang Guodong is defeated!"

Zhang Xianzhong, however, wore an expression of complete assurance. Like a seasoned veteran, he patted Shi Xiang on the shoulder and said lightly, "Watch closely. Those two, Zhang and Li, are merely mediocre men. It is this surrendered Yang Guodong who is your true blessing. The battle is not over — what the hell is a great general panicking for?"

He said not to panic.

Yet Shi Xiang could see perfectly clearly: in their rout, Yang Guodong's soldiers revealed every last bit of their old bandit habits. Fleeing in a chaotic swarm, some abandoned even their horses. Others furiously hurled the goods, rations, and money from their saddles to the ground, terrified that carrying any weight would slow their escape.

Of course, there were the greedy ones too — snatching up other men's baggage, leading away other men's warhorses, and running for their lives toward the rear.

"Sir, why are you still making sarcastic remarks? Give the order to reverse this defeat at once! Now it all depends on you!"

Shi Xiang was as frantic as an ant on a hot pan. Zhang Xianzhong, on the other hand, was not the least bit anxious — he even grew thoroughly pleased with himself. Folding his arms, he laughed and said, "This is the second trick this old Zhang wants to teach the Brigade Commander."

"In a night battle, once the tactics are set at the start, no matter how the situation develops, if the commanding general has a central reserve, he commits it. If he has no reserve, he must not issue further orders to the frontline commanders. Because at night, battlefield reports travel poorly — sending orders only creates chaos where there was none."

It had to be said: although Zhang Xianzhong thought Shi Xiang had no ability, he did not dislike him. After all, Shi Xiang was not a man overly concerned with saving face.

And not knowing how to fight was something that could be learned.

Simply by standing beside Shi Xiang and feeling his own brilliance at every single moment, Zhang Xianzhong judged that Shi Xiang's future in the Marshal's headquarters was boundless.

Being able to make others feel brilliant — that was a formidable trait.

Especially for the Marshal's headquarters.

After all, the Marshal's headquarters did not fear Shi Xiang's shortcomings. His ability to command battles was poor, but commanding battles was not a scarce talent in the Marshal's headquarters — any man there could fight.

This man could strengthen the cohesion of the team. That was the scarce talent.

Just then, Zhang Xianzhong raised a hand and pointed toward the distant Yunnan army formation, bright with torches and weapons. He said to Shi Xiang, "Watch closely. Yang Guodong is about to turn back — he's pulling a feigned rout."

By now, on that narrow battlefield, Yang Guodong's cavalry had fled in disarray for over a hundred paces, and the soldiers of seven or eight small Yunnan battalions had pursued them for over a hundred paces as well.

Just as they were seizing abandoned horses and fighting over discarded armor and valuables, Yang Guodong's cavalry, at the sound of a whistled signal, wheeled around as one and charged back with even fiercer momentum.

The Yunnan troops, who had been eagerly pursuing, realized too late. Relying on their organizational strength — units bound by ties of father and son, brothers, and fellow villagers — they swiftly formed up. But in their haste, gaps still remained between the formations of the various small battalions.

Where Yang Guodong's horse pointed was precisely the seam between two such small battalions, a narrow gap only thirty or forty feet wide — and even that was rapidly being filled as the Yunnan troops spread out.

In an instant, cavalry lunged for the gap while infantry rushed to seal it. The gap shrank swiftly to twenty feet, then ten, until at last only two paces remained. Yang Guodong's lead rider burst through the gap with a hooked-sickle spear; his warhorse slammed into several men, sending them flying, while the rider himself was speared off his horse by long pikes the moment he entered the formation.

But for breaking a formation, a single instant was enough.

Right behind him, three or five riders wielding long blades and hooked spears burst through the gap. The infantry to either side shrank back under the trampling hooves. Then a dozen more riders filed through in quick succession, and finally several hundred cavalry tore the gap wide open, ripping the two five-hundred-man small battalions apart from the middle and shattering them.

One routed soldier swept up two more; two swept up four. In moments, over a thousand routed soldiers were fleeing wildly in every direction, while behind them over a thousand cavalry spurred their horses, brandished their blades, and drove them in a merciless chase. Amid the shouting and battle cries, the collapse of the Yunnan troops became unstoppable in the blink of an eye.

Even to the east, the six Yunnan battalions engaged with the two camps under Zhang Yunqi and Li Zude were affected by the rout to the west. They fell into disadvantage in the fighting, and squads anchoring the line began breaking away on their own to flee.

Everything changed in a flash. Shi Xiang had not even reacted. He stared blankly at the battlefield, then turned his head to look at Zhang Xianzhong. "This… Sir Zhang, how did you know it was a feigned rout?"

"Heh!"

Zhang Xianzhong only smiled and said nothing. He looked at Shi Xiang with eyes full of sympathy. "Now do you understand why the Grand Marshal said that when you and I disagree on the attack, my view must prevail?"

Having said this, he shook his head, thinking to himself: This old Zhang is still too soft-hearted — I can't bear to tell you that fighting wars requires talent.

But just as the Yunnan rout was being whipped into an ever-wilder frenzy by Yang Guodong's single battalion of horse troops, several signal guns boomed from the western side of the battlefield. A massive square formation stood firm on the high ground east of Baoji City.

At the front of the formation, four infantry battalions formed two Wind-Spreading Arrays, one spreading left and one right, like the two great pincers of a crab, clearing a passage for the mounted troops emerging from camp.

Ai Wannian, carried in a sedan chair by his household guards, led the Yansui Garrison troops onto the battlefield.