Chapter 1333: I'm Not Leaving

Mao Wenlong nodded gravely, then raised his voice and declared, "Men! These Xuzhou men bribed the people of Pi Island, intending to stir internal rebellion. Lock them up and gag them. Once we've driven off the Tartars, I shall go demand an explanation from these Xuzhou men myself!"

At his shout, his personal guards nearby immediately rushed over. The Zhao Family Army soldier who had come to deliver the message never even had time to react, and the Pi Island men with him were even more stunned. In an instant they were restrained, their mouths stuffed with rags from who knows where. Before they could gather their wits, they were gagged and trussed up tightly. No matter how they struggled, there was no way to raise an alarm or get away.

The messenger's face was filled with utter disbelief. Mao Wenlong actually meant to suppress this news — had they gone mad?

Following Mao Wenlong's gaze, Chen Jisheng and Li Jiucheng were walking downhill while shouting for men to assemble. Though the distance made it hard to see exactly who they were, these were all men with decent equipment in the ranks, clearly the sort who were squad leaders and backbone fighters. One by one they gathered into a formation and headed for the boats by the shore.

At the sight of the large rafts rowing over from the opposite side, the Dongjiang Garrison troops on Pi Island's northern shore were already restless, and they barely reacted to this unusual movement. Before long, however, the young Kong Youde came running over at a quick pace. Mao Wenlong smiled as he sized up the thoroughly baffled young man, then said, "Get to the boats, quickly. Don't delay."

Kong Youde still had no idea what was happening and blurted out, "Commander Mao..."

"Get moving, damn you! Do you take military law for a joke?!" Mao Wenlong bellowed impatiently. Kong Youde jumped at the roar, hurriedly cupped his fists in salute, and sprinted downhill.

Mao Wenlong called for his personal guards to help him don his armor. The armor sent by Xuzhou was excellent in every way — except it was a hassle to put on. Mao Wenlong's expression was calm, but he muttered to himself, "I had thought to use this Pi Island to win myself wealth and rank. Seems that fate is not with me. If the Tartars can fight like this, Liaodong and Pi Island won't hold out long. And how much longer can the Great Ming hold?"

Once his armor was on, he watched the ten reserve boats below pull away from shore. Mao Wenlong fell silent. He looked around — there was nothing in particular he meant to see, yet it was as if he wanted to take in everything. As he looked, his expression shifted through a range of emotions.

"C-Commander... the fleet... the fleet has turned!" a personal guard beside him stammered. He was not the only one to see it. The Dongjiang Garrison soldiers and civilians waiting on the shore all erupted in an uproar. Everyone watched as the ten reserve boats sailed toward the battlefield, and after a brief clash, the entire fleet on the sea actually turned and, heedless of all else, sailed away to the west.

The Dongjiang Garrison fleet was Pi Island's shield, and the officers and men aboard those ships were the garrison's most elite force. No one had imagined they would flee before the battle — including the Jianzhou Jurchen troops on the rafts. Only now did chaos break out on the island. After a moment of stunned shock, the Jianzhou Jurchen raft force began paddling forward again at top speed.

From the hillside vantage point where they observed the battle, the various camps along the shore were already falling into disorder. At Mao Wenlong's position, the personal guards and escort soldiers who had stayed behind were just as bewildered, a chaotic mess.

"What are you panicking for! I am still here! Pass the word down: follow my orders and fight the Tartars to the death!" Mao Wenlong roared. At his shout, the guard soldiers and personal troops all steadied themselves and bellowed in response, "Commander Mao oversees the battle! Commander Mao oversees the battle!"

The cry spread from top to bottom. Every man turned to look back, saw Mao Wenlong's command banner swinging left and right, and heard wave after wave of shouting rolling down from above. Their minds settled considerably. The various officers and men who had not fled began roaring orders to reform the ranks, preparing to fight the landing Jianzhou Jurchen to the death.

The situation had barely steadied when, on the flanks and rear of the battlefield, people began running over. They were the Dongjiang Garrison's rear-guard holdouts, the Pi Island civilians scattered across the island. Every one of them was in a panic. They knew that charging into a battle formation in wartime was a capital offense, yet still they came running in terror, shouting, "The Tartars are here!"

The Jianzhou Jurchen had come from the other side? The Dongjiang Garrison officers and men who heard this did not know how to react. But every man knew that if there were Tartar troops behind and on the flanks of their formation, then it was all over.

Their faint hope did not last long. The moment the Jianzhou Jurchen triangular battle flags appeared, the entire Dongjiang Garrison army on Pi Island's northern side collapsed completely. Every man looked back in panic, watching the Jurchen formation slowly descending from the high ground.

The shore was already in chaos from the fleet turning and leaving. Once they learned that a large Jurchen force was also behind them, not a shred of fighting will remained. A handful of Dongjiang Garrison soldiers wanted to fight to the death, but the vast majority only wanted to flee — even though there was nowhere to flee to. Some ran toward the sea, throwing away their weapons and stripping off their clothes as they ran, hoping to swim across. Others ran along the shore in both directions, heedless that this was an isolated island, wanting only to get away from here.

With no sea vessels to stop them, the rafts reached the shore. The Eight Banners soldiers on the rafts began disembarking. There was no force left on the shore capable of stopping them. What followed was a two-pronged pincer slaughter.

The personal guards and escort soldiers clustered around Mao Wenlong more or less understood what had happened. But as personal guards, they were bound to live and die with their commander. Now that things had come to this, there was nothing to do but obey orders.

"Commander, let us go! If we reach the Xuzhou fortress on the southern shore, we still have a chance to escape!" the head of the personal guards said gravely.

Mao Wenlong smiled, then said to a man beside him, "Go release those messengers. Quickly!"

The guard shot him a startled look, then hastily acknowledged the order and hurried off. Mao Wenlong sheathed his blade, picked up a long spear, and raised his voice: "Men of Dongjiang Garrison, follow me and fight the Tartars to the death!"

Across the northern shore, the situation had completely collapsed. The crowd had begun killing each other, while the two Jianzhou Jurchen forces — one from the shore, one from the high ground — pressed forward slowly but inexorably.

After escorting the regrouped troops away, Zhao Song led his men back into the fortress. The Jianzhou Jurchen detachment left behind to keep watch also breathed a sigh of relief and withdrew to their landing point on their own.

Unexpectedly, not long after they pulled back, they saw the fortress gates open and the Xuzhou troops who had just retreated emerge once more. Those three strange two-wheeled carts were in front, the musketeers behind, pressing forward just like that.

Did they still want to fight? Though the overall outcome was now all but decided, these boats seized from the Koreans were still vital — they were the landing army's route of retreat. If anything went wrong, army morale would waver just the same.

Earlier, five hundred Xuzhou men had come out of this fortress. Now there looked to be only a little over three hundred, while their own side numbered well over a thousand. They also now knew how to fight them and would not suffer the same losses as before. Had these Xuzhou men come out courting death? They had seemed seasoned fighters earlier — had their brains gone bad now? But since they had come out and wanted a fight, this side could not avoid battle. Though waiting for the main army to sweep through Dongjiang Garrison and return would be the safest course, there was no retreat now. If the boats were not held, heads would roll.

"Don't let them form up! Flanking wings, four niru, the rest follow me and charge! Archers, don't stand still to shoot — draw your bows on the run!" the remaining Jurchen commander roared his orders.

Now that they knew how to fight, they would not suffer such heavy losses. No matter how deadly your muskets were, against men charging at full speed you could fire two volleys at most. With flanking forces tying you down, maybe not even that. And once it came to close-quarters combat against your long spears and halberds, Jianzhou's great bows and heavy arrows were no pushovers either.

The most urgent thing now was to close the distance, to charge through. If they let these Xuzhou men fire their muskets a few more times, the casualties would be far too great. As for those three two-wheeled carts up front, they were nothing more than nest-of-bees-type fire weapons — what real power could they have? Right now, speed was everything!

Though the Xuzhou troops had not fought poorly, the Jianzhou Jurchen, from top to bottom, remained confident. First, their advantage in numbers. Second, speed. Xuzhou's equipment was elite and they fought with fierce courage, but their speed of advance and retreat was simply too slow. On this battlefield, one step faster meant seizing the initiative!

The Xuzhou force had just barely exited the dock area when the Jianzhou Jurchen had already split into two groups and were pressing forward. Even though the Zhao Family Army did not move quickly, the time had been short. Yet in that brief span, the Jurchen had already prepared their response — some to block the front, some to strike the flanks, and some held in reserve. This kind of speed was true speed. Compared to the Ming army, compared to the Mongols on the steppe, the Jianzhou Jurchen were indeed far superior.

The Zhao Family Army paid no heed and continued advancing slowly. But the musket soldiers began repeatedly lifting their muskets to inspect them, occasionally blowing on them a few times. They were checking whether the match cord had gone out. If it had, the musket would not fire.

Closer and closer. These Xuzhou men's muskets fired within a range of sixty-some paces — that seemed to be their range. Outside that distance, one was safe. All they needed to do was advance, and keep advancing.

Ninety paces. A thunderous crack rang out — the Xuzhou muskets had opened fire. The Jurchen soldiers charging at the front felt a reflexive surge of excitement. This was just like facing the Ming army: they fired too early, inflicted no casualties, exhausted their ammunition, and by the time you reached them, it was just a matter of cutting them down.

These Xuzhou troops had seemed somewhat competent earlier; they had thought there might be some difference from the Ming army. But after a bitter fight, their true colors were showing. The Han people inside the passes were all this weak and worthless.

But the Zhao Family Army's muskets had a range exceeding a hundred paces, and were relatively accurate within seventy to eighty paces. Beyond that, they could only maintain a general direction. Yet even with only a general direction, they could still guarantee kills.

The muskets roared. The Jianzhou Jurchen soldiers charging at the front screamed and toppled. Those not hit paused only briefly before continuing their mad dash forward. Their own men were behind them; falling back meant being shoved down and cut down. Only by pushing forward was there a chance. Only by charging into close range during this gap was there a path to survival, a chance at victory.

The Xuzhou troops completely ignored the force charging toward their flank. The muskets fired in succession. In this terrain, ten muskets could fire in a single rank, and then ten ranks fired in succession — a continuous stream of firepower. Yet each volley sent out only ten lead balls. This density of fire was still not enough to seal off the enemy's charge; it could only let them draw closer and closer.

By the time every musket had fired once, the enemy had already charged to within roughly forty paces. At this distance, at most thirty-some muskets could fire. If the enemy reached them, it would all be over.

Thank you, everyone.