Chapter 1445: Forward, Forward, Forward

Cheers had already risen from the ranks of the Jianzhou Jurchen foot soldiers, but they were barely audible beneath the central army command banner, for thousands of horses and men were surging into motion — a chaos of human shouts, hoofbeats like rolling thunder, the whole world filled with that noise.

Before long, a different roar wove itself into the din, and gradually this roar drowned out everything else: the cannons of the Zhao family army had opened fire.

Who could have imagined cannon fire would sound like this? Who could have imagined the Zhao family army's cannon volleys could possess such power — that the very guns which had just dueled their own artillery battery could unleash this?

Twelve-pound and sixteen-pound heavy cannonballs struck home; cavalrymen were sent flying sideways through the air. Even through the thick gunpowder smoke, the central command could see it clearly — every face changed color.

How many dead and wounded this time — the thought of how many of their own slaves would be lost in this made many men's faces turn deathly pale.

At this juncture, it was Amin who still managed to keep his composure. He did not even issue an order immediately, only swept his gaze left and right with a steady look, then raised his voice and said: "What are you panicking for? The Han curs have only this one cannon blast in them. Tell the slaves to charge through fast — let's see what else they can fire!"

At Amin's shout, the agitated, restless area around the central command banner instantly settled. The logic was clear enough for everyone to grasp; orders were issued at once, and dispatch riders spurred forward.

"Beile, reckon the Han curs have shot their bolt — when we catch them, we'll carve them to pieces with a thousand cuts!"

"This round of cannon fire's better than what the Liaodong Ming curs use — we've got to capture it and put it to use ourselves!"

All had steadied considerably; some even talked and laughed loudly to show their brimming confidence. Jirgalang drew a deep breath, and the look he gave Amin was full of admiration. His elder brother had truly waded through mountains of corpses and seas of blood; had it been himself, he would surely have panicked by now, yet his brother had seen the path to victory within this setback.

"Brother..."

He had barely spoken a single word when the second cannon volley roared again. The interval was so short — as this round of cannon fire sounded, even Amin's face changed.

From that moment on, not a single man could remain composed. No one could possibly maintain any calm. To their ears and eyes, the Zhao family army's cannons were firing almost like a string of crossbow bolts, with virtually no perceptible pause — or rather, in their understanding, it was impossible for cannons to fire at such a frequency.

Though it was hard to see clearly from so far away, everyone knew the slaughter at the front was horrific. And the heavy cannon fire was landing closer and closer. A cannonball came howling in, carving a bloody path, throwing the still somewhat orderly formation into chaos. And these bloody paths drew nearer and nearer to the central command banner, nearer and nearer to the core of this Jianzhou army formation.

"Beile, those curs of the Plain Red Banner are running!" someone screamed hoarsely. By this point, the cannon fire, the shrieks, and every other sound were so interwoven that even face-to-face shouting could barely be heard clearly.

But everyone could see it plainly: the Plain Red Banner troops under Yoto, who had already detached from the main body and begun maneuvering toward the Zhao family army's flank, were now wheeling about — they were retreating, fleeing.

Under such bombardment, how could anyone charge forward? Who would dare charge forward? Yoto's calculations were even more clear-headed: after roughly five cannon blasts, anyone could see this battle was unwinnable. The Bordered Blue Banner and the Mongol tribal cavalry were at the front, dying; the Plain Red Banner was still held as a reserve. If they didn't flee now, when would they?

The incessant cannon fire had gradually begun to thin; only the heavy guns still boomed on, one muffled blast after another. The cooling interval had arrived — but the Jianzhou Jurchen main formation could no longer spare a thought for that.

"Beile, leave quickly! Any later and it'll be too late!"

Everyone around Amin and Jirgalang was saying this. By now, the killing power of the cannon bombardment was no longer the point — though every falling shell still tore through the infantry ranks in a spray of flesh and blood, sowing chaos. The real catastrophe was that the massed cavalry had begun to wheel about, had begun to turn and head backward.

The sustained shelling, nearly a thousand rounds, had blasted the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry formations empty enough; their courage and resolve had been blasted away to nothing. All they wanted now was to flee for their lives.

The battlefield was a narrow strip between mountains and sea. Massed cavalry could not flee toward the sea ice — if they fell through there, it was death. They could not flee into the mountains either — there were no open paths there, and if the mass movement was delayed and the Zhao family army caught up, that too was death. The only way to live lay behind them: if they could charge through their own army formation, then there was a path to survival.

Never mind whether their mounts could hold out — as long as there were slower foot soldiers behind them, the Zhao family army would not be able to catch up.

Amin and his commanders understood the cavalry's intent perfectly. Routed cavalry charging into their own infantry formation — trampling one another, slaughtering one another. Everyone knew what a gruesome outcome that would bring; many had seen it, many had even lived through it themselves.

Looking at the mounted columns turning back up ahead — forces they had pinned high hopes on just moments ago, now turned into a calamity.

No one had imagined this outcome. No one had imagined a battle of nearly a hundred thousand men would be decided so quickly — and that the decision would be so utterly conclusive.

"Elder brother, what do we do?" Jirgalang's voice was already trembling. He was no green youth; he had commanded armies and faced life-and-death battlefields many times. Yet now, Jirgalang truly did not know what to do. The situation before him had gone beyond anything he could conceive.

Amin looked all around him, then toward the routed soldiers surging back his way, and bellowed: "All you men of the Bordered Blue Banner, young and old, rally to me! We leave together!"

Only the cavalry could hear his words; only the cavalry could leave with him. This was the best choice that could be made at this moment — to flee this battlefield with as many horsemen as possible. Amin knew his infantry were not weak, but he also knew that the Jianzhou Jurchen foot soldiers were not strong enough to withstand the impact of so many cavalry, let alone the falling shells that kept slicing open this seemingly solid formation.

This was defeat. Not just his, Amin's, defeat — it was the defeat of the entire Jianzhou Jurchen. If the Zhao family army could smash and rout ten thousand cavalry, tens of thousands of troops, with such devastating ease, then how many more such forces could the Jianzhou Jurchen field? Could Nurhaci and the other Beile withstand such a bombardment? They could not!

Just as Amin shouted those words, the cavalry surging backward was less than two hundred paces away, and the dense cannon fire roared to life once more — the guns had cooled for long enough.

The shells caught up with the fleeing cavalry. Cannonballs fell; shrieks rose; men and horses toppled. They all had their backs to the Zhao family army's formation, so naturally they could not see the three-pounder and six-pounder guns being pushed forward out of the battery by the artillerymen, advancing as far as possible — and then firing!

At this moment, it was not only Amin who knew to flee. The infantry ranks, already barely holding, had begun to loosen and collapse. They had seen the power of the enemy's cannons; if cavalry could not withstand it, could foot soldiers? And right now, the most pressing threat was not that — it was the routed cavalry about to come crashing back. Facing an enemy charge might still summon some courage, but being trampled by one's own cavalry was simply not worth it.

The flight of the Plain Red Banner troops had already shaken the army's morale. Then they saw the cavalry gathering beneath the command banner, and then they saw that banner topple — the commander Amin, Beile Amin, was fleeing too. If the commander was fleeing, what were the rest of them still holding on for? A falling shell meant death; there was no path to survival. At least the shells were not so dense now — but once the cavalry came crashing back, there would truly be nowhere to run; trampling death would be certain.

The Jianzhou Jurchen army formation collapsed completely. Before the cavalry even surged back, the infantry companies had already disintegrated. Regimental commanders could not control their battalion commanders; battalion commanders could barely restrain the troops right in front of them, but soon they too scattered and fled. The cavalry were, after all, faster than the foot soldiers. Though the infantry formations had already broken apart, the horsemen still felt the men ahead were blocking their path, and they slashed down with their blades without mercy. The foot soldiers, in turn, hacked at the comrades in front of them.

Utter chaos, slaughtering one another — cavalry trampling infantry, infantry dragging down cavalry. And through this indescribable pandemonium, the cannon fire still boomed; every shell that landed still claimed lives.

"The Zhao family army's cavalry are coming!" someone screamed, his voice tearing at his lungs.

The chaos was already so absolute that many did not even notice it worsening, the fleeing cavalry growing ever more reckless. Still less did anyone notice the cannon fire thinning, gradually ceasing.

The cannon fire fell silent; even the heavy guns stopped their bombardment. Yet the rout across the battlefield continued. Wails and tumult drowned out everything, leaving all in ignorance.

The Jianzhou Jurchen vanguard that had charged forward was now the rearguard of the rout. By rights, they could turn and look back, for the Zhao family army's cannon battery was not far from them — but they dared not. They could only flee faster, terrified of being one step too slow.

Because the Zhao family army's cavalry had already advanced. While the heavy cannon fire was still ongoing, the Zhao cavalry regiments and companies had already begun moving to form up in front of the lines. The arquebusiers did not pursue and fire, but reorganized in place.

The Zhao family army's cavalry comprised seventeen companies in total. Every thirty riders formed one unit, with the company commander and ten riders at the center. Once the line formation was complete, the order was given, and they began their advance.

The Jianzhou Jurchen mounted columns had already scattered completely. To maintain formation, they could not gallop at full speed — and at this moment, fleeing for their lives was all that mattered. Who cared about formation? They were slashing with their blades even at comrades blocking their way, heedless of who they struck. Riders wanted as much distance between each other as possible; who would stay close?

Such a scattered rabble could not withstand the Zhao family army's cavalry for even a moment. No matter how strong your mounted archery, how could one man fight thirty? Moreover, the Zhao cavalry's broad line held firm, so along that line's frontage, the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry facing them were far fewer in number. In the grand scheme, the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry outnumbered the Zhao family army nearly ten to one, but locally, the Zhao cavalry held every advantage.

The Zhao family army cavalry at the very front leveled their lances; those on the wings gripped long sabers; and the riders in the center brazenly drew their bows and loosed arrows, with no regard for accuracy — they simply flung as many shafts as possible arcing forward. Whether they struck man or horse, hitting the enemy brought benefit.

The Zhao family army had to maintain formation; the Jianzhou Jurchen did not. And so the pursuing Zhao cavalry were gradually left behind by the Jianzhou Jurchen horsemen, unable to inflict much damage.

But the primary purpose of the Zhao cavalry's sally was not to kill the enemy — it was to shatter the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry completely, to ensure they could not regroup, could not reassemble into units, could only scatter in rout, unable to counterattack, unable to rally, able only to crash into their own army formation and make the situation more and more chaotic.

The Jianzhou Jurchen formation was in total disarray. Some fled toward the encampment, but more fled north, with no intention of entering any camp at all. With cannons like the Zhao family army's, what camp could not be blasted open? Besides, in such chaos, with such a frenzied pursuit, the camp gate would surely become a crushing bottleneck — and aside from the slaughter they would inflict on each other, the Zhao family army would then simply catch them like turtles in a jar.

"It's snowing..."

At some unnoticed moment, snowflakes had begun drifting down from the overcast sky. The men locked in combat had no attention to spare for it. The Zhao family army's cavalry had already driven the Jianzhou Jurchen horsemen into the Jianzhou foot soldiers, churning the battlefield into an even more mangled mess. By this point, the overall outcome of the battle was already decided.

The snow was falling heavier and heavier. In the area several hundred paces ahead of the Zhao cavalry vanguard, a great banner of the Jianzhou Jurchen could be seen rising, with routed soldiers gathering around it in growing numbers.

Back at the Zhao family army's main formation, the excitement on the faces of Chen Jisheng and the others was likewise replaced by gravity.

"It's snowing. In rain or snow, firearms surely won't fire. If the Tartars rally their forces and counterattack, victory or defeat is still unknown!" someone voiced this assessment.

Among these remnants of the Dongjiang Garrison, there were also men specially assigned to interpret the flag signals from the watchtowers, and this man's judgment proved correct. Every heart seized at that moment. Chen Jisheng and his four companions had never seen, never even imagined, that war could be fought this way — that the Tartars could be smashed so overwhelmingly. Each man was wild with excitement and ecstasy, feeling as though he might burst — and then, suddenly, this change came over the battlefield.

Victory requires favorable weather, terrain, and unity of men. In their minds, the Zhao family army's might and triumph were inseparably tied to these firearms — this inconceivable cannon bombardment, this equally inconceivable volley fire from arquebuses, had delivered this great victory. But now the snow was falling thick; firearms, once damp, were very hard to discharge. And the already routed Jianzhou Jurchen host was beginning to rally its troops, preparing to steady itself and fight on. Could the tide of battle yet turn?

"Heavens..." Zhang Pan looked up and uttered a single word, but his voice caught before he could finish. Was Heaven itself unwilling to let Han soldiers triumph? Did it want the Tartar slaves to turn the tables?

Just then, the men of Dongjiang Garrison origin saw a rider galloping out from where Chen Sheng was positioned. It seemed this great general of the Zhao family army meant to put steadiness first, to pull back his forces — after all, they had already dealt the Tartar slaves a grievous blow this day; there would be no harm in waiting for clear skies after the snow to fight again.

At this thought, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, yet still felt a stifling frustration in their chests. The Jianzhou Jurchen had suffered a great loss this time; next time they would surely have learned their lesson and might not offer open battle in such array again. If they held fast behind strong walls, or broke into scattered bands, would the Zhao family army still have things as smooth as today? And they were, after all, an isolated army — what if something went wrong...

Drums sounded. These drums made the Dongjiang Garrison commanders very puzzled. This was not the war drum to boost morale, nor was it the signal for retreat. If it were retreat, it should be gongs and horns.

This was the Zhao Family Army's pace drum. Those who had encountered it on Pi Island, and men in Chen Sheng's army like Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan, knew that this drumbeat was the order for the Zhao Family Army's infantry battalions to advance. At this moment, the Zhao Family Army was not thinking of defending — they actually meant to attack!

The square formations, standing firm as mountains, began to move. The fine, dense pace-drum beats, the piercing sound of suona horns, and the shouts of officers and sergeants merged into a single roar.

The firearm arrays in front of the square formations began to disband, each firearm company returning to its own regiment. Snowflakes drifted down, dampening fuses and priming pans. Sustained fire might be impossible, but as long as they shielded them carefully, firing the guns would not be much of a problem. They could not form an unbroken stream of firepower, but several thousand firearms could still guarantee a discharge, and that meant killing power.

Besides, snow was not rain. In such freezing weather, snow took time to melt, which ensured the firearms would not be completely silenced.

They saw the battle flags of each regiment sway, and the fortress-like formations began to move forward. The din and clamor soon faded. Apart from the pace drums still beating their fine rhythm, the sound of footsteps grew more and more uniform. Every regiment was like a giant; with each step they took, the very earth trembled.

Chen Jisheng, Zhang Pan, and the other three had already forgotten their despair and their complaints against heaven. They stared blankly at the scene before them. The Zhao Family Army's current action could be called reckless. No matter how great the killing from the bombardment and pursuit had been against the Jianzhou Jurchens, the Jurchens still had several thousand cavalry and tens of thousands of infantry. Once they rallied, they would still have the strength to fight. Without firearm support, how far could the Zhao Family Army fight? How could they resist the enemy's superior numbers?

Though they held this judgment in their hearts, they felt an inexplicable sense of reassurance. They felt that the Zhao Family Army never acted blindly.

From the advancing battle formations, shouts rang out. At first, it was one man shouting, then it became the war cry of many. At first, the words were unclear, but soon they rang out sharp and clear!

"Zhao Family Army, forward!"

"Zhao Family Army, forward!"

"Zhao Family Army, forward!"

Every man was shouting. Heaven and earth shook.

Without realizing it, tears streamed down the faces of Chen Jisheng and the others. How many years had it been since they had seen such majesty!

Vast, boundless snow. Pikes like a forest. Battle formations like mountains. Amid the drums and horn calls, the sons of Han pressed forward, unstoppable, straight toward the enemy!