Chapter 1443: The Cannons Roar — Bomb Them to Hell

The forward troops thought this, and so did the rear echelon who hadn't been shelled. When the shells fell, the rear cavalry felt they were seeing phantoms — that mighty host of a moment ago had suddenly become a mess of flesh and blood, severed limbs and broken arms, a scene of utter horror.

Many were dazed and reeling, terrified by this thunderbolt bombardment. It wasn't just the men who were stunned — their mounts were equally spooked and frantic.

The warhorses of the Jurchens and Mongols had never endured such a spectacle. Unhurt by the shellfire, they were still driven wild by the roar and shriek of it, bucking and leaping, hurling the riders from their backs or dragging them in a panicked stampede. Those near the impact zone were like this; those behind were frantically reining in and slowing down, then colliding and piling up with those even further back.

Just as they were falling into utter chaos, the orders of the battle overseers came through, relayed layer by layer from front to rear.

"Forward! Charge the enemy lines! Disobedience means death!"

It wasn't only the men at the front who saw a chance — Amin and Jirgalang, commanding from the main army, saw it too. They were just as shaken by this shelling, but they also realized that their final opportunity was right before them. This last salvo had inflicted grievous losses and shaken morale, but judging from the earlier exchange of fire, the next salvo would take a while. Only by charging in and killing the enemy during this gap could they win. If they missed it, this battle meant utter annihilation.

The orders were passed down through the ranks. Amin and Jirgalang sent out their finest personal guards to enforce them: death for the disobedient, death for the hesitant. The slightest wavering, and the blade fell.

Under the mortal threat of military law, and as the men gradually thought it through, they realized that charging forward in this gap would not only let them avenge their dead, but also give them a chance at victory.

In this desperate urgency, perhaps a few clear-headed souls sensed that the overall situation was already doomed, but they had no other choice. In terrain like this — a narrow strip between mountain and sea — you either advanced or retreated. A retreat meant total destruction, so they could only stake everything on one throw.

The cavalry mass, which had just faltered, began to surge forward again. But in the current state, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't move fast. So many bodies of men and horses lay strewn across the only path forward; they had to fight to control their mounts. How could they possibly speed up?

The cavalry at the front were waiting for those behind. Their hearts were pounding with dread, because the enemy matchlock soldiers were stirring restlessly, as if about to advance on their own. Yet for some unknown reason, they didn't move, and remained standing in formation.

Many Jianzhou cavalrymen couldn't help but look toward the Zhao army's artillery position. But it was so far away, and the lingering gunpowder smoke still obscured the view — they simply couldn't see clearly.

"You little bastards, hold it, don't fire yet! Reset the cannons — wait till the Tartars bunch up again!"

At the Zhao army's artillery position, the battalion commander in charge had shouted himself hoarse. He bellowed at the men around him, and the orderlies relayed the command down the line.

This battle was simply too entertaining. The Tartars fancied their iron cavalry peerless, but they had no idea of the true capabilities of the Zhao army's firearms. Because they didn't know, the Zhao army was leading them by the nose the whole way.

Some say that with firearms this devastating, the Zhao army has no need for stratagems — their tactics are all simple and crude: bombard and shoot, then send in the cavalry and infantry to mop up.

Such views are superficial. Who says you can't play tricks with firearms? The earlier bombardment of the Jianzhou artillery position served both to prevent their cannons from firing and to make the enemy misjudge the reloading speed of the Zhao army's guns.

Under normal circumstances, after the first salvo, the enemy wouldn't dare advance — they'd retreat. But now, the enemy instead thought they saw an opening and delivered themselves right back into range.

Every man at the Zhao army's artillery position broke into a grin — a grin that was somewhat cruel, somewhat savage. The enemy had taken the bait. The prey had stepped into the trap.

The rear echelon of the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry charged through the previously shelled zone. The mass surged forward, once again bearing down on the Zhao army's front line. But the interval had been far too long. The Zhao army's matchlock soldiers had already finished reloading and reformed their ranks. By now, their minds were completely steady — they had taken the full measure of the Jianzhou Jurchens.

They had charged forward less than twenty paces when their shattered, panicked minds began to settle. Rush across before the Zhao army's cannons fire again — close in, smash them utterly, and then it's a great victory. Every man in the Jianzhou cavalry mass thought this. They could only think this.

The cannons roared — thunder struck.

When the cannon fire erupted, when the thunder boomed in dense salvos, the open ground had just filled with men, they had just surged forward, and the space to turn and flee was jammed shut. Every Jianzhou Jurchen cavalryman's face turned deathly pale, every expression turned to despair. So the Zhao army's cannons could fire this fast.

The shells shrieked down into the cavalry ranks. Flesh and blood splattered, corpses littered the ground. The cavalry at the front wanted to speed forward — even to face the matchlock volleys, rather than stay in this shell-blasted zone. Some wanted to charge ahead, some wanted to scatter, some wanted to flee. In this utter disorientation, the entire cavalry formation fell into chaos — jostling, colliding, tangling together.

Whoever blocked your path, whoever blocked your escape route, was your mortal enemy. Comrade, friend, even kin — the blade swung without hesitation. The cavalry on the flanks no longer cared whether the sides were mountain or sea. Who cared if it was a dead end or a way out? Anything was better than staying in this hell of blood and flesh. Run — run as far as possible, get as far away from here as possible.

Those cavalrymen who charged forward were firmly sealed off by the matchlock volleys. Perhaps you could dodge the first volley, but rank after rank rotated fire — sooner or later, you'd be shot down.

The cannons roared again. This time it wasn't a neat, synchronized salvo, but a rolling fire, one after another. At first the cannonade wasn't so intense, then it swelled from a murmur to a roar, like distant thunder drawing nearer and nearer, until finally it burst right overhead. The matchlock fire might leave a few survivors, but every cannonball that landed inevitably pulverized flesh and reaped lives.

Only now did the Jianzhou Jurchens realize just how fast the Zhao army's artillery could be. By the time this third round of fire began, the Jianzhou cavalry formation within cannon range had already grown very sparse. No more shoving and crowding — everyone could scatter and flee in all directions.

On this battlefield, one could witness a rare spectacle unseen for years: a great host of cavalry dissolving in a single rout, every man desperately fleeing. Some went left, some right, some backward — but none went forward. And the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry beyond cannon range had lost all will to advance. Even the battle overseers had lost the stomach to cut men down and urge them on.

It wasn't just that they'd lost the stomach for it — they were now terrified and dared do nothing. At this point, advancing meant death. If you tried to force them, the Jurchen and Mongol cavalry would turn their blades on you and fight to the death. Even the overseers themselves were mulling their own escape routes. Those cannons seemed like no earthly creation — as if a god in the highest heavens, every time the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry charged forward, rained down slaughter of iron and fire. How could you fight this!

"Brothers, elevate your aim — fire at will!" The order passed through the artillery position.

It was bitter winter, yet some of the Zhao army's artillerymen had stripped to the waist. The cannons radiated heat after firing, and the frantic labor made men swelter. Sweat soaked their padded coats and leather robes, hampering their movements. In the artillery position, besides the thick smoke of gunfire, there was the steam rising from the soldiers' bodies. Everyone was laughing, everyone was wild with excitement. The artillery had won great merit in this battle — the greatest merit of all!

Wedge after wedge was hammered between barrel and carriage, raising the muzzles. One by one, the cannons resumed fire, shells falling among the masses of Jianzhou Jurchen troops. As for the twelve-pounders and sixteen-pounders, they didn't even need to adjust — their range already covered the entire Jianzhou Jurchen battle formation.

Amid the chaos of the rout, shells kept falling into the crowds, and every impact caused even greater panic. In the Jianzhou Jurchen understanding, cannons couldn't move, and their shells landed in roughly the same spot. So watching the front get pounded, the cavalry units in the rear remained relatively composed — merely brandishing blades and drawing bows, mercilessly driving back the routed comrades fleeing toward them, so they themselves could withdraw in good order.

No one imagined that the Zhao army's cannons could adjust their elevation so quickly, extending their range. The hell of iron and fire they had just witnessed ahead now descended upon their own heads. This triggered even greater chaos. It shattered the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry's last mental defenses, and wiped away the composure of the rear echelon — they had thought they were out of reach.

The Zhao army's bombardment had completely overturned the Jianzhou Jurchens' understanding. They never knew cannon fire could come this fast. They never knew cannons could adjust their range — and adjust it so quickly.

When the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry thought they wouldn't be hit, the shells came. When they thought the next salvo wouldn't come so soon, the shells came. When they thought they were safe enough, the shells came.

By the time the fourth round of rolling cannon fire began, the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry felt there was no safe place on the battlefield. The farther from the enemy lines, the safer it should have been — yet they watched the shellfire reach farther and farther, the splattering blood and screaming drawing closer and closer to them.

Cannon bombardment was utterly different from face-to-face slaughter. Against cold steel and hot blood, you could at least grit your teeth and endure. But when a shell you couldn't even see clearly hit the ground, men were instantly reduced to mangled flesh, horses were twisted or even torn in half. There was no resisting it — the only question was how you died. No matter how brave a warrior, courage and fighting spirit vanished like smoke.

No more cavalry charged forward. The Zhao army's matchlock formation had actually advanced more than ten paces. Any fish that slipped through the net would be shot by several or even a dozen matchlocks — still an inescapable death sentence.

When the shells from the three-pounders, six-pounders, and nine-pounders landed, men and horses suffered hideous casualties. But when the twelve-pounder and sixteen-pounder shells struck, it wasn't just a terrifying spray of earth and stone — you could see men or horses hurled into the air.