Chapter 696: Roving Troop Camp

That night, when Hong Chengchou received the letter, Regional Commander Zhang Yingchang requested to engage the enemy.

His troops were stationed at the forts of Songcheng and Li Jun south of the garrison city.

Distributing armor and weapons, preparing gunpowder, matching horses, loading provisions, and dispatching iron caltrops, cheval de frise, and other miscellaneous tasks took the entire night.

Early the next morning, Hong Chengchou personally encouraged the commanders at the encampment, watched the soldiers eat their breakfast, rode twenty li alongside them, and amid the sound of signal cannons saw them across the Yellow River into Lingzhou territory.

By the time he had sent this army off and ridden back to the Governor-General's yamen, the sun was nearly setting. The cold made people shrink their hands back, so he had a servant first brew a pot of tea, took out the Shuofang defense map, and planned to have the servants prepare a meal once he was finished.

The key to defending Ningxia lay in the Yellow River, and the key to defending the Yellow River lay without doubt in the three forts of Ning'an, Shikong Temple, and Mingsha Islet to the south, as well as Lingzhou City to the east.

Hong Chengchou planned that if there was still time this year, he would expand Ning'an Fort, building it into a great fortress and mighty city capable of holding over ten thousand troops.

But in reality, the moment he thought about time, even someone as astute as him could not help but get a headache.

It was not that he felt he had no time left.

Quite the opposite — Liu Chengzong attacking northward was not necessarily a bad thing for him.

Because although the territory had been divided, the money and grain in his hands were limited, and it was simply a matter of getting by one day at a time.

Of course, a powerful enemy coming to attack was certainly no good thing either, but attacking was always better than not attacking.

After all, once this army was organized, a force of thirty to forty thousand men — where the soldiers' pay would come from, where the provisions would come from — for the moment, the entire army, top to bottom, had no time to worry about such problems.

Men like Zuo, Zhang, and Cao were now just like the desperate outlaws of the peasant army, living day to day, not thinking about matters too far off — first survive the present, then talk.

If Liu Chengzong sent troops to attack Ningxia, then saw him actively preparing for battle and turned around and left, that would be a true bolt from the blue for Hong Chengchou.

Actually fighting was different.

A great victory, a pyrrhic victory, a draw, a minor defeat — to Hong Chengchou, all were victories.

As long as he preserved himself and let the army suffer casualties, with fewer men, the economic pressure would lessen.

In fact, this was also why Hong Chengchou wanted to expand the army. His goal was to incorporate Ningxia's battle-willing soldiers into the ranks. They lacked experience fighting Liu Chengzong, so once battle was joined, casualties would surely be considerable.

Once the campaign ended, the pressure from internal unrest would ease a little.

Hong Hengjiu knew that thinking about problems this way was very foolish, and it vexed him greatly.

With a great enemy before him, he still had to consider pacifying the interior.

But there was no help for it — the position he occupied left him no choice but to resort to such a poor strategy.

As Governor-General commanding outside troops, he was squeezing the survival resources of the local people, and even limited by his status, the efficiency with which he could squeeze and extract was very low.

Because his status was that of an official, an official hard to change. If he did anything out of line, people would complain and grow angry.

But Liu Chengzong was different. People found it very hard to define whether he was a northern-barbarian chieftain, a western-bandit ringleader, or a separatist warlord. No matter which identity, it would make normal people feel fear.

It was even hard to define what he could do that would count as out of line.

Plundering the property of wealthy households — was that not the consistent style of roving bandits?

Seizing the iron woks of poor households — was that not also an object of desire for the northern barbarians?

Even killing people and burning cities — he was a bandit, was it strange for him to do such things?

It was something one could only envy, never attain.

On the map, Hong Chengchou drew a circle at Hongsi Fort south of the Yellow River. That was the best pivot point for defending the Guyuan direction.

He estimated that Liu Chengzong's deployment would certainly be to seize Hongsi Fort as quickly as possible, because there was no other road to take — or rather, all other roads were far too difficult.

According to their estimates, at the earliest, the morning of the day after tomorrow, the Marshal's Manor's vanguard would appear on the outskirts of Hongsi Fort.

And Zhang Yingchang's army had the advantage of moving first. Marching day and night for a day and a half, at the fastest they could arrive by noon tomorrow; even if slower, they could still reach the designated position by tomorrow night.

His force would have ample time to set the battlefield.

If they could achieve a minor victory and blunt the Marshal's army's edge, the battles to come would be much easier to fight.

When Hong Chengchou came back to his senses, the tea in his cup had already gone cold. Only then did he lift it and take a sip, only to feel his stomach utterly empty and ravenously hungry, so he wanted to order someone to prepare a meal.

But just as he raised his hand, before he could speak, a servant in the mansion, as if possessing foreknowledge, flickered into appearance at the study doorway, stepped over the threshold, dropped to his knees with a kowtow, and urgently said: "Master, Commander Zhang's relay horse has galloped across the Yellow River and is at the city wall begging for reinforcements!"

Hong Chengchou, holding his teacup, froze. In an instant, his perception of time and space went awry.

He looked at the tea that had just gone cold in his cup, then at the servant reporting the news, then at the sky outside, which was already dark. Only then did he rise, blinking. "Reinforcements?"

He thought to himself, didn't I just see the army across the Yellow River this morning? How long has it been? Even if Zhang Yingchang marched at top speed, he'd have covered at most thirty-some li and would still be on the outskirts of Lingzhou.

And he's already encountered the enemy in the heartland?

Isn't this nonsense?

Could it be... Hong Chengchou turned his head to glance at the map and hurriedly walked out.

Don't tell me Lingzhou has mutinied again?

The garrison commander stationed there was called Dong Xueli. When he was young and serving as a centurion, he had already suffered defeat at the hands of the Marshal's army.

Earlier, he had been stationed at the garrison city. Hong Chengchou had originally wanted to remove him, but found the man still possessed some talent and valor, so he transferred him to Lingzhou on the Yellow River's east bank for garrison duty.

As Hong Chengchou walked out, he regretted it, shaking his head and thinking: Damn it, Shaanxi officers can't be trusted either!

Just as he stepped out of the Governor-General's yamen, he looked up and sensed the city was in turmoil. Not far away, a line of officers, torches raised, were spurring their horses over.

At their head was Wang Yuncheng, a Major under Zuo Liangyu responsible for guarding the city gate. Seeing him, the man dismounted, ran over, dropped to one knee, and saluted with clasped fists.

"Your Excellency, Lingzhou has relayed beacon signals. Grand Commander Zhang's troops, marching to the southeast of Lingzhou, encountered over a hundred northern-barbarian riders. The two armies clashed at Shibalipu west of the Qin Canal."

Wang Yuncheng reported the military situation, then rose, furrowed his brow, pointed toward the city wall, and said with deep concern: "This afternoon, soldiers reported a great bird approaching the city. It perched on the eave corner of the southeast gate tower for half a shichen, pecked a ridge beast to ruin, and flew off toward the Helan Mountains. It was a Qinghai vulture."

Hong Chengchou's expression turned grim. "Where is Dong Xueli?"

Wang Yuncheng was stunned by the question. Are you bullshitting me? I'm telling you the Ordos northern barbarians have broken through the wall and come in — what the hell does that have to do with Dong Xueli?

"This humble officer does not know. At this moment, he should still be inside Lingzhou City."

Hong Chengchou drew a deep breath. Damn it. Dong Xueli hadn't mutinied.

It would have been better if he had.

"Commander Zuo requests instructions: whether to reinforce Zhenyuan Pass, to prevent the northern barbarians from crossing the wall at the Yellow River shallows."

Hong Chengchou shook his head. "A Qinghai vulture, Mongol soldiers — how do you know it's the Ordos who've come? Dispatch elite riders to scout again. Wait for Grand Commander Zhang to capture prisoners for interrogation."

"Before that, the nine battalions are to deploy defenses at the forts along the riverbank according to plan. Under no circumstances may they lose formation on their own."

Having spoken, Hong Chengchou gazed toward the city wall not far away, ablaze with lantern light, and thought to himself: If it truly is the Ordos tribe that has come, then matters will be much easier to handle.

Southeast of Lingzhou City, between the Qin and Han canals, lay the Gold and Silver Strand.

Zhang Yingchang's Ningxia Right Garrison, over ten thousand strong, deployed their battle formation here on the spot. Each battalion set out chevaux-de-frise and iron caltrops on the perimeter and entered a defensive posture.

They were trapped.

And the one who had trapped them was Ren Quan'er of the Marshal's Army's Second Brigade.

When the two armies encountered each other at dusk, one side had been marching light and fast along interior lines, without donning their armor; the other had been traveling day and night, wearing armor for too long, leaving both men and horses exhausted.

Neither side was in good condition.

Zhang Yingchang's vanguard officer was Xiang Xiyin, a veteran who had passed the military examinations in Puzhou, Shanxi. He had once commanded the wagon battalion at Zunhua and had successively held the posts of Mobile Corps Commander and Regional Commander, a man of rich experience.

During the Gansu campaign, because the army's organization had been thrown into chaos, he had no chance to display his talent. He was swept along with a group of defeated generals into Liangzhou City, until Li Hongsi surrendered and he followed Liu Shaozong to Ningxia.

This time, Xiang Xiyin had begged for a long while before Zhang Yingchang granted him the assignment of vanguard officer.

He had always wanted to personally test the mettle of the Marshal's Army. He simply refused to believe that those bandits, Tatars, and all manner of motley rabble thrown together could truly be so formidable.

They were indeed formidable.

Xiang Xiyin could never have dreamed that on the very first evening of the march, he would run into the enemy outside Lingzhou.

Their projected battle site was Hongsi Fort, and according to intelligence, their side held the initiative and was to set an ambush at Hongsi Fort.

Who would conduct an armored forced march a hundred and fifty li from the projected battle site?

Their armor was all still rolled up. The main army was strung out in a column; one battalion's men, horses, armor, and weapons stretched in a formation six li long, trudging head-down along the official road.

Suddenly, from the distance came several muffled gunshots — bang, bang — indistinct, throwing men into confusion amid the early-spring windblown sand of the vast wilderness.

Moments later, came the sound of hoofbeats — tat-tat-tat. A scout rider, signal flags and feathered arrows stuck in his back, lay slumped over his horse, carried back by his mount.

Seven lead balls had struck at close range, shattering even his heart-protector mirror.

The scout bore only a single armor-piercing arrow. Though it had punched through his armor, it had not penetrated deeply into his flesh.

The true fatal wound was to his neck — a gash from a broad-bladed arrow that had laid open half his throat. Blood had soaked through his armor, and he had breathed his last long before the horse carried its master back.

The sole clue was that arrow shaft. On the shaft was script in Uyghur Mongolian. Xiang Xiyin hastily ordered the arrow relayed to Zhang Yingchang at the central army, then immediately commanded the formation to reorganize, converting the marching column into a receiving square, and to hurry into armor.

Meanwhile, on the rooftop of a farmhouse three li away, Ma Ke held a brass telescope, a smile spreading across his slightly upturned face.

The Ming army had not fled!

The opposing Xiang Xiyin was a vanguard officer; Ma Ke was also a vanguard officer.

In fact, Ma Ke was the vanguard of the vanguard. His own roving battalion was five or six li to the rear; the Second Brigade's main battalion, raiding battalion, and reinforcement battalion were twenty to thirty li further back.

He had merely taken a dozen-odd scout riders forward to reconnoiter the road conditions and had run into the Ming army's scout riders. That broad-bladed arrow which dealt the fatal wound to the scout — he had shot it with his own hand.

That scout's mount was a fine horse that knew its way home, and for him, it was an entirely unexpected delight.

The horse had actually carried its master back to the army's formation, allowing him to follow the trail and locate the Ming army's main body.

Clearly, running into them here had greatly affected the Ming army's morale — so much so that even the opposing general, who looked quite brave, had little courage left to spare.

A vanguard officer must be a fierce and daring man. In the current situation, the fact that he had not turned and fled at first sight certainly showed courage.

But neither had he dared to charge straight at them. Instead, he formed up on the spot into a battle array suited for receiving a charge and hurriedly donned his armor — clearly intending to hold his ground and await reinforcements.

One could not call it wrong, but this was precisely the scenario Ma Ke most wished to see.

Because if the Ming army had decisively relocated at that moment, with Lingzhou City so close, his own troops — men weary, horses spent — truly could not have caught up.

"Send the enemy intelligence to Commander-in-Chief Ren. Have Li Fengji and Tu Ba bring their troops here at once."

In truth, it was not that Xiang Xiyin did not intend to withdraw. He did mean to withdraw; he simply chose the more prudent course.

First, form ranks and don armor to avoid being instantly overrun and slaughtered by enemy cavalry. Then, reverse the column — rear units becoming the vanguard — with one regiment of picked troops as the rearguard, defending the rear and both flanks, and then withdraw slowly in alternating formations.

During this process, Ma Ke's subordinate chiliarchs Li Fengji and Tu Ba also led their troops gradually closer.

Ma Ke immediately gave the order: the two Mongol regiments of the roving battalion were to advance on the left flank as skirmishers and launch a probing attack.

The Han troops were to seize the opportunity to advance and apply pressure on the enemy.

This was the first battle for the roving battalion under the Marshal's Army's newly organized brigade, after the completion of its reorganization.

A vast, surging column of Mongol cavalry, led by Chiliarch Tu Ba, filed out in succession, crossing the three-li stretch of wasteland between the two armies' formations and cutting diagonally straight for the Ming army's right flank.

Xiang Xiyin was forced to halt his withdrawal. On one hand, he dispatched cavalry from within the formation to prepare to sally forth and meet the attack; on the other, he directed the Frankish cannons in the formation, loading them with canister shot in preparation to fire.

Tu Ba's Mongol roving cavalry failed to close on the Ming army's right flank. At a distance of two to three hundred paces, they came under fire from the Frankish cannons. For a moment, iron pellets fell like hail, forcing them to veer off, withdrawing one or two hundred paces beyond the range of fire.

Then the banner bearing the totem of the Khoshut tribe wheeled about. Over a thousand cavalry dispersed once more, circling toward the Ming army's rear. Under the intimidation of the Frankish cannons, they shifted a second time from the rear to behind the Ming army's left flank, hanging just beyond cannon range, tracing half a circle around the Ming army's hollow grand square formation.

During this, Ma Ke also led over a thousand troops of Han Chiliarch Li Fengji's unit, moving toward the right flank of the Ming formation.

Ma Ke's momentum was ferocious, but in reality, he was taking an extreme risk. He was attempting to envelop an enemy of three thousand with a mere two thousand men.

Under such circumstances, moving a single chiliarch's unit was tantamount to laying his vulnerabilities bare before the enemy.

Suddenly, in an instant, war drums thundered from Xiang Xiyin's camp.

A cavalry force of four hundred burst from behind the formation, racing toward the right flank to outflank Ma Ke's Han chiliarch unit, which was on the move. At the same time, the Ming army at the southeast and northwest corners of the main formation spread their lines, each century-of-one-hundred charging forward in a great fan-shaped front.

Seeing this, Ma Ke was surprised but delighted. Watching the infantry form into a broad horizontal line while the cavalry circled from the flank to envelop the rear, he could not help but exclaim in admiration: "Clever!"

Night was drawing near. Xiang Xiyin had to eliminate his threat before nightfall and relocate to a relatively safe position.

Attacking the Han troops was, without doubt, the best opportunity.

The Han and Mongol divisions were deployed like mutual horns. If the main force attacked the Han division, a flanking force might hold off the Mongol division; but if the main force attacked the Mongol division, the flanking force would be hard-pressed to withstand the Han division.

Yet for Ma Ke, this was also an excellent opportunity.

Because two thousand against three thousand might not guarantee victory, but one thousand against fifteen hundred — his odds of winning were a little better.

On the rear flank, Chiliarch Li Fengji drew his goose-quill saber and led over three hundred cavalry to engage the oncoming Ming troops in a skirmishing dogfight.

At the front, one after another, heavy-culverin war wagons were linked end to end. Heavy musketeers mounted the wagons to hold the position, and ten crouching-tiger cannons were arrayed in a single line in the shortest possible time, forming a solid gun-and-cannon battle line.

The true killing stroke, however, was the Mongol chiliarch unit still prowling on the periphery. Seizing the window when the Ming main formation had split into two and the gap had not yet been closed by a change of formation, mixed companies of light and heavy cavalry from the Southern Desert and the Oirats fanned out. On one hand, they blanketed the Frankish cannon emplacement with harmless lobbing light arrows; on the other, relying on heavy armor and long lances, they launched a charge straight at the gap.