Chapter 1429: A Valley Suited for an Ambush

After rounding the bend, they saw a dozen or so horses stopped on the road a few hundred paces ahead, wandering aimlessly and pawing through the snow with their hooves to get at the dead grass underneath.

"They've really put some thought into this, trying to make us think they fled up the mountain. Everyone, hurry over! Seeing so many of us, they're bound to run — don't let them get away first!"

Setting everything else aside, once they saw the horses stopped on the road, they could also judge clearly where the ambush ring was. What came next was simple: the main force would charge over, and no matter where Zhao's Army cavalry lay in ambush, they would use their superior numbers to swallow them up.

The hilly area quieted for a moment, then hoofbeats exploded in a roaring thunder. Men shouted, horses neighed — everything boiled over at once. The Jurchen and Mongol cavalry all whipped their horses forward, racing ahead. Some even shoved and cursed at each other. Before the prey was in sight, everyone still paid some mind to coordination. But at this moment, whoever reached the front first and took enemy heads would have the best chance at seizing military merit. Who would still care about coordination? If the company commanders weren't watching so closely, some would likely have drawn blades already.

This official road, barely maintained at all, was already extremely congested. Some were even advancing along the slopes on either side. Hulegen, who had fallen a step behind, cursed furiously at the top of his lungs: "Don't just crowd there without moving! Don't scare the Han dogs off!"

The hilly slopes on both sides of the road were all forest. This area had been sparsely populated for years, so naturally few people had cut trees for firewood. The vegetation was quite dense. Riding through such terrain was clearly unrealistic — never mind galloping, even getting through at all was questionable.

The veins on Hulegen's forehead bulged. At least two hundred riders were crammed ahead of him, and the men behind were still charging forward recklessly. If this chaos continued, what heads would be left for him to take? And seeing everyone's vicious, murderous expressions, if the scramble got desperate enough, drawn blades and infighting were entirely possible. Damn it all — no gain to be had, and he might even throw his own life away. But packed in like this, even lashing his horse with the whip meant hitting someone else. Getting out was hard too.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew over. Hulegen caught a whiff of something smoky and scorched — like the smell of burning cotton thread, or perhaps the smell of sulfur.

How could there be a smell like that? In this biting, freezing wind, there shouldn't be any open flame. Hulegen rubbed his nose, then cursed himself inwardly. At a moment like this, why was he worrying about such a trivial thing?

A sharp whistle sounded. The din of shouting men and neighing horses was so loud that when the whistle blew, many couldn't hear it clearly at all. Even those who did assumed it was a signal from within their own ranks.

A muffled "Bang!" rang out. The sound came from the woods on both sides of the road. Hulegen, whose ears and eyes had always been sharp, heard it. He finally sensed something was wrong, but instinctively he thought it was an illusion. He turned his head to look and saw a comrade on the outer edge fall from his horse. Yet in the chaotic uproar, no one noticed at all.

"Something's wrong!" The moment Hulegen shouted these words, he realized the sound was no illusion, because from the woods on both sides, the reports rang out continuously, and sharp whistling sounds entered his ears with piercing clarity.

Hulegen heard the sound. Others heard it too. But none of them reacted in time to recognize what it was. Yet the consequences became known immediately. Riders on both flanks screamed and toppled from their horses one after another. Some horses reared up, neighing and thrashing wildly. The booming reports continued without pause.

Finally, someone realized what was happening and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Fire lances! Fire lances!"

They had thought the ambush ring was up ahead, that the ambush troops were up ahead. They never imagined the ambushers would be positioned so far forward — and not with bows, horses, and mounted archery, but with fire lances.

"Turn around and run!" Hulegen roared at a subordinate beside him. Before the man could even move, his body on horseback shuddered violently. Hulegen saw it with perfect clarity: it was as if a long spear had stabbed into his subordinate's upper body and then been yanked out. Blood rapidly soaked through his clothes, and the man slumped down limply.

There were many more like him. If it had been a shower of arrows, they would at least know how to dodge — at the very least, they could see the trajectories. But the lead bullets from these fire lances could not be seen or tracked. All they knew was that the shots came from the woods on both sides. Those hit died instantly. The unlucky ones were gravely wounded and would suffer a long, agonizing time before death — more terrifying than dying outright.

Some used their round shields for cover. Sturdy wooden shields, the well-made ones even covered with tanned rawhide, were utterly impenetrable to arrows. But such protection was useless against the fire lances. The shots punched straight through the shields and then into the body. The splintered wood shredded the faces of those hiding behind them.

Hulegen was terrified out of his wits. Reacting faster than the others, he realized that staying on horseback made him a target and flipped directly off his horse. On such a congested road, in chaos this extreme, the horses couldn't run fast, so at least he didn't have to worry about being trampled into pulp.

After dismounting, Hulegen saw the corpses. The chest wounds looked as if struck by a great hammer. The fatal entry wound was not large, but the surrounding area seemed smashed to pieces. The dead wore expressions of extreme agony — they had not died easily.

Peering through the gaps between horses' legs, he saw some men spurring their horses to charge the slopes on either side, only to quickly fall under the fire lance volleys. The horses refused to enter the woods, and in that brief moment of hesitation while being urged on, concentrated fire lance fire focused on them and blasted them straight off their mounts. Others dismounted, abandoned straight lines, and rushed into the woods with blades drawn. Some were hit after only a few steps. Some did make it in, but not the slightest sound came back from them.

Hulegen had witnessed fire lance volleys before, but he never imagined they could be this continuous and unrelenting. Were these even fire lances? He couldn't really judge, because the enemy remained inside the woods the entire time. The dense trees and the angle of the slope made it impossible to see clearly where the enemy was or what weapons they held. Whether they were truly fire lances, Hulegen could no longer tell.

Nearly five hundred riders were bottled up on this road. The fire lances hammered away in an unending volley. Even the best fire lances of this era could hardly be called accurate, but with targets this densely packed — men and horses combined making such a large mass — there was absolutely no way to miss. All they had to do was keep firing.

The cavalry Jianzhou Jurchen had sent were not incompetents. On an open-field battle on the plains, they could have weathered the firearms barrage, gritted their teeth, and charged to the front lines. But at this moment, they were merely jammed together. In the chaos, it was nearly impossible to evade or maneuver. They had passively become targets. Only after losing nearly seventy percent of their number did they finally have room to move.

Yet the road was still completely immobilized. The fire lances still thundered. To run back: there were masterless horses, panicked horses running wild, wounded comrades crying and screaming for help, and the rear guard troops who hadn't yet arrived. To run forward: there was plenty of open ground ahead, but no one dared charge forward. Were there ambushers up ahead or not?

"Brothers, dismount! Use your bows to cover the charge! We fight to the death!"

Someone roared the command. At this point, it was the only choice. By all logic, with the battle having reached this stage, the pursuing troops behind were all blocked and unable to advance. Yet the fire lance volleys still had not ceased, nor was there any shout calling for the taking of prisoners. This was momentum aimed at utterly exterminating them. Since there was no path to survival, they could only fight to the death.

Hulegen, however, had no intention of going out to fight to the death. He simply lay prone on the road, using the corpses of men and horses around him as cover. He even scooped up a few handfuls of blood that hadn't yet frozen and smeared it on his face, preparing to play dead and get through this. Even as he did so, he cursed inwardly: Why did everyone say the Han couldn't fight? Everyone was supposed to follow the Jurchen in plundering and getting rich. But looking at the situation right now, there was no way you could call this "can't fight."

But he hadn't been playing dead for long before Hulegen was nearly trampled by a masterless, panicked horse. The road wasn't as safe as he'd thought. Moreover, Hulegen also noticed that the fire lances firing from the woods were shooting down onto the road. They really weren't giving anyone a path to live. Damn it all, then he could only fight to the death.

Hulegen snatched a comrade's shield and drew his own saber. His archery was mediocre, and on this battlefield he had no desire to use a bow. He had a nagging feeling that drawing a bow and nocking an arrow would get him killed faster. He had seen it clearly just moments ago: several men drew their bows, and noticeably more fire lances fired at them.

The road had two sides, and fire lances were firing from both. Some charged toward one side, only to be shot dead by lead bullets striking from behind. What to do?

Hulegen, however, had already figured out the trick. While hiding behind a comrade, he bellowed: "Run fast! Once we get three steps past, we won't have to worry about our backs anymore!"

The firepower covered the road, firing from the wooded slopes on both sides. To avoid hitting each other, both sides fired from elevated positions and absolutely never crossed the line. Hulegen arrived at this conclusion. In this desperate, fatal situation, with no clear path to survival, the option with slightly less risk became the first choice.

Cornered beasts still fight. The Jurchen and Mongol cavalry, driven to a dead end, erupted with ferocity. With no possibility of escape, they could only choose to stake their lives on one desperate battle. By the time Hulegen shouted those words, over forty men had already gathered together.

Hulegen frantically squeezed into the crowd. This way, he could avoid the fire lance shots from both front and back. What he could think of, others naturally could too. Who wouldn't want to use their comrades as meat shields? These forty-odd men packed themselves into a tight cluster. Fortunately, they moved quickly, stumbling and lurching as they charged up the eastern slope.

The moment this cluster of men appeared, they drew concentrated fire from the fire lances. The first few were hit directly, but the men behind actually grabbed the ones in front, using the corpses directly as shields, and kept running forward. The one who was hit first hadn't died yet, but being seized and pushed forward by his comrades like that, he took two more hits and couldn't hold on.

A few steps away from the road, the fire lance fire from behind indeed stopped. At this point, looking up from below, they could see the enemies hidden behind the tree line.

Who knew where Zhao's Army had come up with this method — every man was draped in dead grass as camouflage, with snow even scattered on top. Looking at them now, they blended completely into the withered yellow and snowy white surroundings. Even riding past on horseback, you'd never notice them. And there were over a hundred of them — just at a glance, no fewer than two hundred, methodically loading their fire lances and firing forward in disciplined succession.