Chapter 1647: Extermination

The Shimabara Domain lies in the south-central part of Kyushu, a peninsula jutting deep into the sea, connected to the mainland only by a narrow isthmus just a few kilometers wide. This terrain made the domain easy to defend and hard to attack, greatly aiding its Christian rebels in resisting the allied armies of the various domains.

At both ends of the peninsula, the domain army and the Christian rebels' encampments faced off against each other. Between them lay that narrow passage, wrapped by the ocean like a long causeway reaching into the sea. Both ends had been scarred with hastily built defensive works for the needs of war, leaving the ground pitted and uneven; in some places, earthen mounds had been piled up for matchlock gunners to crouch behind.

However, due to the rush and the lack of professional engineers on either side, these fortifications were extremely crude. The Catholic rebels, lacking tools, were in an even more wretched state. Within these crude works, ragged rebels flickered in and out of view, clutching a motley assortment of weapons — hoes, pickaxes, long swords, even matchlocks. The scene looked more like a stage than a real battlefield.

Yet it was these ragged, poorly armed Catholic rebels who had repelled several assaults by the nearly ten-thousand-strong domain army, stubbornly holding them at bay. Whether this stemmed from religious fervor or, more accurately, from brutal class oppression, these people had already resolved to fight to the death. With that resolve ignited, even a peasant wielding a hoe would dare to hurl himself recklessly into combat against a fully armed domain soldier.

Still, such reckless courage had its limits. When confronted with a terrifying sight they had never seen and could not resist, their original bravery would suddenly evaporate, and fear would once again seize every heart.

On the narrow passage, all fell silent. The whole land lay quiet, as if asleep. There was no wind, and the sweltering heat left even the seagulls listless, their cries weak and feeble.

The vast, boundless azure sea sent wave after wave surging in, crashing against the rocks with a muffled roar and spraying snowy white foam. The emerald and pale blue surface, seen from afar, was as soft as silk, gently rippling. Upon this shimmering, gold-dappled expanse where sea and sky merged into one, a few objects drifted lightly, like snow-white feathers. Everything seemed so beautiful, utterly intoxicating.

Yet behind this beautiful scene lurked a terrifying, deadly threat.

Behind the domain army's battle lines, a sudden stir arose, a growing clamor that inevitably carried across to the other side, rousing their vigilance. The Catholic rebels who had held this ground for days, heedless of the bloodstains covering them and their bone-deep exhaustion, pulled themselves together and crouched behind their lines, eyes wide, awaiting the domain army's next assault.

However, compared to before, the commotion in the domain army's lines today was far more subdued. The entire line was a mass of flickering shadows, with waves of men surging forward everywhere.

At the very front of this line were artillery carriages pulled by mules and horses. The Han Empire's well-trained artillerymen, responding to their officers' shouts, slowly and deliberately pushed the cannons toward the front of the line.

Ordinarily, such an action would violate the Han army's tactical doctrine. The Han military placed great emphasis on protecting its artillery and would not lightly expose them to the enemy. But the foe they faced today was merely a rabble of Catholic rebels with almost no combat experience and no advanced weapons. The Han army, utterly confident and fearing no counterattack, brazenly pushed their artillery to the very front.

When the rebel side saw the black cannons being wheeled out from the front of the domain army's lines — a sight completely different from anything before — a terrible commotion erupted among the Catholic rebels.

The fact that these Han troops had previously invaded Kyushu and swiftly crushed the armies of the various domains and the shogunate had already struck fear into every one of their hearts.

In the past, though they hated the domain lords and the samurai within the domains, they had also feared them. They dared not resist those fully armed warriors. Yet those warriors, whom they had regarded as demons, had crumbled in an instant before the Han army. As a result, in the hearts of these people, the Han soldiers were like gods of slaughter, bloodthirsty devils escaped from hell.

During the earlier fighting against the domain army, their fear of the samurai had gradually faded after a few victories, and they even felt a faint contempt for them. They had assumed it would be much the same when facing the Han army. But when they actually saw the Han army appear before them, that suffocating pressure still made them feel a terror from the depths of their souls.

Some trembled, their hands shaking so badly they could barely hold their weapons. Others forced themselves to appear calm, but their faces turned extremely grim.

It was obvious that they were about to become the targets of a cannonade.

Even with little military knowledge, these rebels knew that the best response now was to charge forward and attack, to destroy those cannons before they could be deployed. But no one dared give such an order — to charge a battle line manned by the Han army. Their own firearms were also extremely crude, incapable of affecting the Han artillerymen at this distance.

In this extremely disadvantageous situation, some could no longer suppress the fear in their hearts and turned to flee. Although the rebels had formed a rudimentary military structure during this period, their organization was not tight, and there had been no time for proper training amid the fighting; they had relied on loose organization to resist. So, once a few men began to run, they quickly swept many more along with them. Though some tried to stop them, their efforts were usually futile, only adding to the chaos on the opposite line.

The Han artillerymen paid no attention to what was happening on the other side. Following their predetermined plan, they halted the gun carriages with practiced movements and then, right under the enemy's noses, began operating the cannons according to procedure.

Then, when the appointed moment arrived, the bombardment finally began. With the roar of the cannons, shells went howling toward the opposite side. Although the Han army had not brought its most powerful cannons, only ordinary field guns, and though the number of cannons was not large, this intense barrage still achieved their intended effect.

Although the rebels on the other side had crude fortifications for defense, when the shells struck the rocks, the immense kinetic energy shattered the stone, sending shards whistling in all directions like shrapnel. These stone fragments, carried by the wind, flew everywhere across the front, and wherever they passed, flesh and blood flew.

Screams rang out everywhere. Cannonballs and stone shards, mixed with mangled flesh and severed limbs, rained down upon the position like a downpour, as if carpeting the earth in red. Amid the flickering shadows, no one knew how many had died in the shelling, but the number was certainly not small.

Faced with the horrific casualties inflicted by the merciless bombardment, the already wavering rebel army quickly collapsed entirely. People writhed in agony amid the roar of cannons and the screams. The corpses and gore strewn everywhere terrified them out of their wits. All order was lost. Some fled desperately toward the rear, wanting only to escape this hellish inferno.

At the rear of the domain army's lines, Zhou Pu held a telescope, watching the results of this round of bombardment with immense satisfaction.

Although these military plans and the specific command were not his responsibility — they were handled by specialized staff officers — as the nominal supreme commander here, he was still savoring the thrill of commanding thousands upon thousands of troops.

Because the results pleased him greatly, his face was wreathed in smiles. He turned his head to look at the staff officer beside him, Huang Guochang.

"Advisor Huang, the enemy line is in complete disarray. If our army does not attack now, when should we?"

"Your Excellency is right. Now is the moment for our entire army to attack and break through them in one stroke." Although Huang Guochang knew Zhou Pu was merely a civil official, he could see that His Excellency was enjoying the air of a commander, so he played along and obeyed the order with due formality.

Having gained Huang Guochang's approval, Zhou Pu immediately straightened his face, looked at Tachibana Muneshige standing nearby, and waved his hand.

Tachibana Muneshige nodded silently, and the several orderlies beside them dispersed in all directions.

"All troops, attack!" Zhou Pu's order was swiftly relayed to every corner of the battle line.

To strengthen the impact of this assault and avoid being blocked by the Catholic rebels again, this time the vanguard would be the Han army's cavalry. These cavalrymen were the elite, handpicked from the Liaodong Army and sent to Zhao Song's side to serve as a crack assault force.

However, although they were an assault force, due to the difficulties of transport, ever since the Han army went to war with the Japanese shogunate, infantry had always been used for landings. These cavalrymen had remained in Busan and only landed in Nagasaki much later.

Because the Han army had easily achieved total victory, with the infantry sweeping all before them and quickly routing the shogunate and domain armies' main forces in the field, and because warhorses are delicate creatures needing time to acclimatize after landing, the cavalry had long been without a chance to prove themselves after arriving in Nagasaki.

Having earned no merits after so long at war, it went without saying that a certain mood had arisen among the cavalry. Nearly every officer had gathered around Zhao Song and Yan Guang, begging to join the fighting so they wouldn't be laughed at by the infantry.

In response to their repeated entreaties, Zhao Song and Yan Guang took this opportunity of suppressing the Catholic rebellion to send them over, allowing them to fight to their hearts' content. Although fighting rebels was not as meritorious as fighting domain armies, it was still a form of merit, and letting these cavalrymen see blood would ultimately benefit future operations.

Through Zhou Pu's telescope, cavalrymen in dazzling red uniforms began to assemble in front of the battle line. Their uniforms were fastened with brass buttons, and some wore medals of various colors; the metal reflected the sunlight, making them shine brilliantly.

Several hundred red-coated cavalrymen converged into a crimson sea. They formed up in several ranks, arrayed at such tight intervals that the narrow passage seemed quite spacious.

Amid the loud shouts of their officers, these cavalrymen slowly set off, advancing at a walk toward the Catholic rebels, who were already in utter chaos on the other side. Like a moving red wall, they pressed forward unhurriedly.

These cavalrymen had all undergone the finest training and had fought for their lives against Jurchens and Mongols on the Liaodong and Mongolian battlefields for years. Their horsemanship and combat skills were beyond reproach, and their battle experience was rich. Even though they scorned the rebels facing them, when it came time to fight, they still meticulously formed their ranks according to the Han army's drill manual before launching a mass charge.

The power of a cavalry formation charging, even in this slow starting phase, quickly made the Catholic rebels on the other side even more terrified and disheartened. They shouted loudly, but no one could understand what anyone else was saying. Some fled toward the rear regardless, completely ignoring the fact that they could never outrun horses. Others were more rational and prepared to fight — though they knew hope was slim.

Some of the rebels were former ronin and samurai with a certain amount of combat experience. They knew that turning and fleeing under a cavalry charge was simply suicide, and that only by forcibly resisting the impact could they survive. So they frantically shouted at the rebels around them, demanding they stay and resist the Han invaders together.

Yet despite their hoarse, desperate shouting, a portion of their subordinates still threw down their blades and spears and turned to flee in panic regardless. In their hearts, they all knew that under the bombardment and the Han cavalry's charge, their formation was already in chaos, and their line would surely be broken in the next wave. Even if they could kill some cavalrymen now, those who remained would certainly be unable to resist the entire domain army surging forward.

Perhaps seeing signs that the front line was about to collapse, some reinforcements rushed up from the rear, preparing to strengthen the line and hold back the Han invaders. But this only further intensified the chaos at the front.

Amid this chaos, the Han cavalry began to pick up speed. The gait of those tall horses shifted from a walk to a fast walk, then to a trot, and finally into a terrifying gallop. Hundreds of horses pounded the ground beneath them with nearly synchronized strides, making the very earth tremble, almost like an earthquake.

To the rebels, who had never undergone rigorous military training, the momentum of an elite cavalry formation charging was enough to rob them of all courage — and these were the infamous Han troops. To the Catholic rebels, these blood-red-uniformed cavalrymen, gleaming with dazzling light, were fiends from hell itself.

Under such terrifying pressure, most of them could not even muster the will to resist. They only wanted to flee and save their lives. Though turning to run only made death come faster, instinct drove men to do just that. Cavalrymen riding tall horses had inspired such terror for two thousand years, spreading the fearsome reputation of the nomadic peoples across the entire world.

Yet now, the world's finest cavalry was in the hands of the Han Empire. They were well-armed, high in fighting spirit, and possessed iron discipline. Combined, these qualities meant even the Mongols, long famed for their cavalry, could not defeat them — let alone these rebels.

Closer and closer, faster and faster. The Han cavalrymen on horseback began to raise the sabers in their hands, ready to engage the enemy. In their eyes, such a chaotic opponent was nothing more than easy merit, theirs for the taking.

The rustling twang of bowstrings and sporadic cracks of gunfire rang out, thin and scattered. This level of resistance brought down a few horses but did no real damage to the cavalry force as a whole. That terrifying red wall now bore down upon the Catholic rebels' position at a heart-stopping speed.

Like a flood, the crimson tide swept over the already shattered line. Their uniforms and medals glittered with a hazy luster under the sunlight — both magnificent and horrifying.

In moments, the rolling torrent of cavalry crashed into the last remnants of the rebel line. Then, saber after saber swung high and slashed down.

"Clang!"

The metallic sound of sabers biting into flesh or striking weapons rang out everywhere without pause. Countless blades plunged into human bodies with terrifying speed, then were wrenched free again by the momentum of the galloping horses. Having drunk their fill of human blood, the metal gleamed with a rainbow-like, demonic light.

Just like the bombardment moments before, blood sprayed in all directions across the position as body after body toppled to the ground.

After this wave of the Han cavalry's charge, heart-rending screams rose from every corner. They came from those who had been fortunate enough not to die outright in that terrible onslaught. Some had horrific wounds stretching from shoulder to abdomen; others had lost limbs. Entrails and severed limbs slid from bodies, adding yet more offerings to the already blood-soaked earth.

The Han cavalrymen, eager for merit, had long been itching for action and held nothing back. Under their merciless assault, after just the first charge, the rebels — already thrown into chaos by the bombardment — were utterly routed. Countless men fled in a scattered retreat, and even the reinforcements were swept up into the fleeing mob.

Routing enemy troops are a cavalryman's favorite prey. Once infantry breaks, no matter how much they outnumber you, they become mere victims. The horsemen pursued with frenzy; the believers had no chance to regroup. Except for a handful who fled back to Shimabara Castle, the vast majority fell as victims to their sabers.

Behind the cavalry, the domain troops began pressing forward. They watched, stunned, at the performance of the Great Han cavalry and artillery. Positions they had assaulted repeatedly without success were shattered by a Great Han force far smaller than their own in a single charge. Once again, they felt the might of Great Han.

Under the Tokugawa Shogunate's "One Domain, One Castle" decree, a domain could not build numerous defensive fortifications; each was permitted only a single castle. This severely limited the believers' ability to resist, which in turn worked to the advantage of the mopping-up forces.

Along the bloody path carved open by the Great Han cavalry, they swiftly advanced all the way to the walls of Shimabara Castle and encircled it tightly. They were all deeply convinced that, before such terrifying military might of the Great Han army, these heretical rebels would find no burial ground for their dead.