Chapter 614: Charging Out Came a Zhao Yun

Where had these cavalry come from?

Bu Yingdi felt he'd spent the whole night fighting one damn bewildering mess after another.

He had stayed the entire time in what looked like the safest spot in his own army's formation.

Yet in every clash he was always the first to take the most brutal beating.

Bu Yingdi didn't know why either… he wanted to go home.

His troops were still stunned by the thousands upon thousands of bullets and cannonballs; the soldiers were all lying on the ground, using low walls for cover.

There was no time to organize a defense — Luo Rucai's thundering cavalry had already closed to within inches in great strides. Bu Yingdi's half-battalion of troops practically scattered in a single rush, leaving their formation shattered.

The Ningxia camp recruits, lacking experience of collapse, threw down their weapons and fled in all directions. The veterans, rich in survival experience, simply faced the enemy horsemen, covered their heads, and lay flat, entrusting their lives to the heavens.

This was an action that went very much against common sense: when facing charging, trampling cavalry, the survival rate of lying flat was actually a little higher than turning and running.

Because a cavalryman on horseback would happily thrust his weapon at a fleeing soldier, but a warhorse was unwilling to trample a person lying on the ground with its hooves.

Faced with a fallen soldier, a warhorse's usual choice was to lift its hooves and jump over the obstacle; only when it could not dodge in time or could not see would it trample with its hooves.

This was not only a situation the horse wished to avoid — the cavalryman on its back also did not want his mount to trample a person.

This was absolutely not because the Marshal's Manor cavalry, born of old hands and crafty bandits, were sufficiently kind-hearted; rather, a warhorse galloping at high speed that stepped on an uneven human body could very easily injure its hooves.

As the saying goes, no hoof, no horse.

As everyone knew, the Marshal's Manor had mastered the core technology of turning injured horses into donkey-meat fire-breads.

In an extremely short time, over four hundred horsemen under Wang Guocai charged through half of Bu Yingdi's formation as if entering uninhabited land. It was only then that the first rank of lancers in the cavalry's sharp wedge formation met their first victim under the lance.

That was a small Ningxia squad clustered around their squad commander. In their panic, the soldiers had grouped into a formation, hastily turning to point their weapons southward.

In truth, this squad commander did not intend to block the Marshal's Manor cavalry charge. The defense was merely an instinctive reaction in the panicked moment of being attacked, but this instinct, amid the uneven training levels across the entire camp, brought annihilation down upon them.

When a rank of cavalry with leveled lances came thundering forward and saw that someone actually dared to stand in their way, every rider's mind went blank.

In fact, the four hundred-odd horsemen Wang Guocai led were not the elite cavalry of the Marshal's Manor's first echelon.

The cavalrymen who had experienced head-on cavalry clashes or even direct charges against infantry formations were mostly under cavalry commanders like Yang Yao, Zhang Tianlin, and Wei Qian'er.

Luo Rucai's cavalry, in essence, were elite infantry bandits.

As one of the bandit chieftains who had surrendered to Liu Chengzong, Luo Rucai had considerable autonomy in how he allocated his own troops.

This meant that the soldiers who possessed warhorses were all the fiercest bandits under his command. After Luo's forces were incorporated into the Marshal's Manor's regular army structure, these men naturally became cavalry.

What they excelled at was mostly forming circling squads outside the main formation to gallop and shoot, or relying on their fast horses to cut and slash through routed troops… this was also a very standard way of using cavalry.

Any competent cavalry officer would try his utmost to avoid using cavalry to directly crash into a well-ordered infantry formation.

Only by charging when the infantry was caught off guard could one avoid pointless cavalry casualties and hold the advantage.

As for this kind of head-on formation clash on a narrow battlefield — how to put it — let alone Luo Rucai, within the entire Great Ming Empire, there were not many cavalrymen who possessed this extreme experience.

The reason was obvious: this was, in itself, a low-probability event on the battlefield.

Moreover, those who could survive such an extremely dangerous, low-probability clash were, for the most part, already officers.

So when Wang Guocai, brandishing his torch, saw this small infantry squad in formation, his first reaction was to wave the torch, trying to split the cavalry into two groups to outflank them from the left and right.

However, the pride in the hearts of the cavalry troop that had just rampaged through half a battalion had swelled to an indescribable degree.

The lancers at the head of the column, leveling their cavalry lances, had seen nothing but invincibility wherever their lance tips pointed all the way here; the cavalry behind them, carrying their sabers resting on their shoulders, had overrun the enemy as easily as a parade-ground drill.

As for the cavalry at the very rear of the column carrying blunt weapons, their hands itched unbearably; they were dying to smash something with their melon maces.

And now they were expected to veer aside?

Veer aside, my ass!

The cavalrymen lowered their heads, leveled their lances, and crashed right into them!

In an instant, lance tips pierced through bodies, long shafts snapped, horses slammed into men and sent them flying — a small formation was practically scattered in the very first moment.

The cavalry column could not maintain its formation either. Almost every rider in the first wave was forced off his horse. The unlucky ones were flipped to the ground on the spot by infantry pikes; the lucky ones had jumped off their horses a step earlier and drawn their blades to fight.

Even so, this small-scale fight could not be left to them.

The cavalry charging up from behind had already lowered the goose-quill sabers from their shoulders, slowed their mounts' gallop, and were slashing and stabbing wildly through the disrupted formation.

Before the cavalry at the rear carrying melon maces and bone clubs could even rush to the front, this hastily assembled small formation had been beaten into a rout.

Meanwhile, on the left and right flanks, the thundering cavalry column had long since swept through the entire formation like a hurricane.

Amid the frenzied shouts and clashes, the four hundred-odd horsemen under Luo Rucai had never fought such an exhilaratingly satisfying victory.

The vast majority of Wang Guocai's cavalry never even got a chance to engage.

The warhorses had already bounded over piles of corpses the whole way, charged past the low walls, and carved the entire battalion of troops into several pieces like hounds chasing rabbits.

Once they had fought their way out, Wang Guocai turned back again, raised his torch, and was the first to leap back over the trench. The cavalry column promptly wheeled around, charged back through the formation trampling the living, and cut completely through the Ningxia army's Bu Yingdi battalion.

When the entire formation was torn to shreds, with routed soldiers fleeing everywhere and warhorses bolting in all directions, the battle finally entered the phase the cavalry knew best.

They split from a large column into small squads, and the squads into small groups, riding in threes and fives, brandishing sabers and maces, charging back and forth through the camp formation, pursuing and slaughtering across the southern battlefield.

As for command… there was no command anymore.

During one melee, Wang Guocai smashed his torch down onto a Ningxia soldier's helmet. Sparks flew, and the entire cavalry column lost the guiding light of the flame.

No one knew where Wang Guocai was. They could only each follow the nearest officer and launch charges at the nearest enemy troops.

In truth, Wang Guocai did it on purpose. During the charge, he had been struck in the chest by an arrow shot from who knows where — probably a strong bow at close range, an armor-piercing bodkin point. The plates of his chest armor had been punched right through.

His mount had also been slashed several times and had little strength left. So he just picked a lucky head at random, smashed his torch out against it, tucked his tail between his legs, and fled toward Gao Yingdeng's formation to the north.

Leading the charge into the formation was, admittedly, the most heroic highlight of his life, but in the end, his wretched hide was more important.

Entering the allied formation and being regarded warily by friendly troops was embarrassing, but Wang Guocai felt he could still be saved.

To be honest, Gao Yingdeng simply did not believe this man was the commander of the four hundred cavalry.

He had just ordered his troops to attack, then, following Liu Chengzong's orders, strike fast and pull back fast — fire one volley of guns and cannon, then retreat into the formation. It was tense and thrilling.

And then he saw, charging out from behind the enemy formation… no joke, charging out like Zhao Yun himself.

Leading a cavalry troop that plunged seven times in and seven times out of the enemy formation.

Gao Yingdeng thought to himself, This reinforcement general really has the swagger I had in my younger days!

But then Wang Guocai came scurrying over with his tail between his legs, the spitting image of a homeless cur.

He would sooner believe that "Zhao Yun" had already died a violent death in the melee than accept that the man who led the charge into the formation was this fake sissy in front of him, yelping in pain just from pulling out an arrow.

He thought to himself: Even the good wives back at my Grand Marshal's headquarters aren't this afraid of pain!

Still, Gao Yingdeng truly had no time to scrutinize Wang Guocai right now. Long before Wang Guocai charged the formation, he had already dispatched the army's elite cavalry, rapidly assembling eight hundred armored riders. By the time Wang Guocai ducked into the formation, this cavalry unit had already surged out.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield.

Liu Chengzong's hope that the Ming troops would slaughter each other had come to nothing.

Cao Wenyao's elite cavalry, scattered everywhere by rocket fire, were retreating eastward in a frantic rush, trying to link up with the friendly forces attacking from the south.

And on the eastern side of the battlefield, Shen Guangxian was indeed leading his cavalry in a flanking maneuver, simultaneously launching several probing charges against the Marshal's Army formation, feinting an assault on its eastern flank.

These two mounted forces thus blundered into each other in the pitch darkness.

But Liu the Lion's fantasy was clearly just a dream.

He had made this deployment because Liu Chengzong had experience in goading enemy troops into killing each other.

Only this time, he had badly miscalculated.

From his high platform, he watched helplessly as, under the cover of night, two dark masses of cavalry, one from the south and one from the north, rapidly closed in — and then, the very moment they met, broke contact at even greater speed, fleeing the battlefield in opposite directions.

It infuriated Liu the Lion so much that he burst out cursing: "Those two rotten cowards!"

There was no other reason. To make enemies slaughter each other, one condition had to be met: both armies had to be mad dogs, lunging to tear at each other the instant they spotted an enemy.

The elite cavalry under Cao Wenyao were indeed all picked champions from the various garrisons of Ningxia Town, but they had just suffered a failed night raid and been scattered by rockets exploding in their midst. By now, they had no will to fight left.

As for the troops of Shen Guangxian's battalion, they were even less worth mentioning.

The Three Thousand Battalion had been whittled down to a Two Thousand Battalion in a single night. Worse, five hundred of their men had been blasted into bloody pulp, horses and all, right before their eyes by cannon fire. At this point, even if the Chongzhen Emperor himself stood before them, he couldn't make them charge a formation.

Liu Chengzong's shame-fueled rage lasted only an instant. Then he raised a hand toward Wang Wenxiu and said: "Send out your battalion troops. Pursue them. No matter where they run, chase them to death!"

Wang Wenxiu froze for a moment, not catching on at first.

But in just a heartbeat, he grasped it from the immense joy shining in Liu Chengzong's eyes — enemies who couldn't bring themselves to slaughter each other were the best kind of enemies.

This was a sign that both Ming armies, north and south, had been worn down by this endless night until they had lost all will to fight.

In other words, the slightest rustle of wind or stir of grass would make them collapse. So what were they waiting for?

Grand Marshal's Headquarters Brigade Commander Wang Wenxiu, attack!

A mighty column of armored cavalry surged out from the army's eastern flank, splitting into two forces, one south and one north, driving the two enemy cavalry units — which outnumbered them — eastward.

Wang Wenxiu's skills went far beyond merely leading troops into battle. He was a brigade commander.

What does it mean to be a brigade commander?

It meant that Yang Chengzu, who had just burned down Cao Wenzhao's four encampments in Qianyang City during the first half of the night, was roused again in the second half of the night by his own scout cavalry pounding on the gate with a message, and received his own military orders.

Thereupon, the twenty-five hundred garrison troops inside Qianyang City donned their armor, packed their rations, mounted their warhorses, and under the night sky raised high their torches, forming a fiery dragon racing southeast.

As for Bu Yingdi's battalion to the south, it clearly did not receive such high-level treatment.

The only ones tasked with pursuing and driving him off were the eight hundred cavalry under Gao Yingdeng's subordinate, Thousand-Commander Li Baliang.

Of course, there were also over three hundred cavalry from Commander Luo's unit who had lost their commanding officer.

The armor and uniforms of both sides were nearly identical. Hundreds upon hundreds of routed troops and pursuing cavalry tangled together in a chaotic mass. The pursuers might themselves be pursued, and the pursued might be chasing someone else. In the frantic give-and-chase, no one could tell who was who anymore.

No one dared to stop, and no one knew who exactly they were chasing ahead.

Some muddle-headed fools didn't even know who the friendly troops beside them were, and didn't dare ask. They just ran with their heads down.

They ran all the way to the banks of the Wei River, where over three thousand men jammed into a crush. Only then did this game of "nightfall, close your eyes" finally reveal the answer.

By this point, there was no need for any identification markers. Whoever tried to cross the river got shot at with bows.

The Marshal's Army would not want to cross the river, and the Ming troops would not shoot at people crossing the river.

Then they fell to fighting again in a tangled mess, until Bu Yingdi, mixed in among the crowd, shouted for the soldiers around him to stop fighting and surrendered their weapons to Li Baliang's pursuers.

Even then, Li Baliang didn't believe it. He glared fiercely at Bu Yingdi: "You are a Ming general — why do you surrender without a fight?"

Bu Yingdi opened his mouth and out came the classic four-character national curse starting with "I."

Things having come to such a pass, what the hell was there left to fight for?

Though he'd been cursed at, Li Baliang's heart believed it a little more: Heh, that's the flavor, all right. Ming army officers are useless at fighting, but once they lose, they just stiffen their necks, curse you out, and ask for death.

Sure enough, before he could even speak, Bu Yingdi's next line came: "Kill me if you want — cut the crap!"

"A fine strapping man like you — it's just one lost battle. Don't go seeking death. Surrendering is a good thing."

Li Baliang let out a laugh. He was of bandit origin and well accustomed to night fighting; his eyes were far sharper than others' in the dark, so he wasn't worried about the Ming troops regrouping for another fight.

He waved for Bu Yingdi to gather the surrendered troops, merely chuckling: "Whether this battle is won or lost, Shaanxi will still be the same as ever. You're all border troops — wouldn't it be better to just keep guarding the frontier?"

At these words, Bu Yingdi perked up.

Over this long night, he, a colonel of the Ningxia Camp, had come to deeply respect the Marshal Army's strength.

If he could be allowed to lead his troops back to Ningxia, then calling that Fool Khan a Grand Marshal wouldn't be out of the question.

He asked: "General, do you mean that if the Grand Marshal accepts our surrender, he could still send us back to Ningxia to guard the border and defend against the northern Tartar slaves?"

"Defend against the northern Tartar slaves?"

Li Baliang was dumbfounded. Given his background, it had been a very long time since he'd heard anyone use the term "northern slaves."

He expended a great many brain cells trying to match that term to a face, only to find that the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like his good brother Wai Liangzi.

In the end, he could only wave his hand and say: "What foolishness is the general talking? Where under heaven are there any northern Tartar slaves? What I mean is, if you're willing to guard the border, you can go to Tingzhou. It's their turn for a garrison rotation there this year."

Tingzhou?

Where the hell was that?

The two men were talking past each other, neither able to follow the other's train of thought.

It was Li Baliang who realized the problem first and asked Bu Yingdi: "You know He Huchen, right?"

"Marshal He was once my superior; of course I know him."

Li Baliang, hearing that they were acquainted, thought to himself that this made things easy. Smiling broadly, he said, "He Huchen — what he does for the Marshal now is the work of a northern slave."