Chapter 302: We Brothers Together

No one expected what followed — Zhao Jin took the square cloth used as a bundle wrap, pressed it against the wound, and let the horse blood soak it through. Once it was fully saturated, he wrung it out. He walked over to the Zhao Camp side for a look, then called out: "Lu Da, step forward."

Lu Da ran out at a quick pace. Zhao Jin tied this blood-soaked cloth onto Lu Da's long spear and declared in a loud voice: "Lu Da, you will carry this flag and follow behind me. As long as this flag stands, Zhao Camp stands!"

Every gaze turned to that blood-red cloth, now tinged dark. When Lu Da took the spear, he gave it a few unconscious swings, and the blood-soaked red cloth unfurled with the motion.

"... That's a blood flag! Raising a blood flag before battle — truly a hero of our Xuzhou!" someone at the side exclaimed in admiration.

The blood-soaked bundle wrap was far from neat; it only spread open when swung, and hung limp when held upright. It wasn't much to look at, yet everyone who saw that banner grew solemn and stern, all of them sensing the atmosphere before a great battle.

Zhao Jin said nothing, merely waved his hand to signal the advance. His expression held a trace of embarrassment, for this was actually his oversight — he hadn't thought beforehand that they would need markers and banners on a major battlefield. Now that it had occurred to him, he could only improvise one at the last moment.

The carts here were all left behind. On Zhao Jin's orders, the draft animals were unhitched, and the carts were arranged head-to-tail in a circle on the spot. The cart drivers were also given instructions: if word came that the front had been defeated, they were to immediately drive the carts back. If no one came to notify them by sundown, they were also to drive away at once and inform the people at He Family Village of the situation.

As they pressed onward, the dust churning up into the sky ahead became visible, and the sounds of battle cries and clamor grew clearer. The ranks fell silent in turn. At last, the city walls of Xuzhou came into view, and so did the sea of people, the human tide surging below the walls. Amid the rolling dust and smoke, they could see the siege ramps connecting to the battlements, a dark mass of human current ceaselessly pouring upward.

"Dismount and advance?" someone asked.

Zhao Jin waved his hand and said in a deep voice: "Gazing at a mountain can run a horse to death. On this flat ground, we still have at least half a shichen to go. Let's push a bit further forward."

By this point, not only the militia and village braves who had joined up later, but even the main body of Zhao Camp itself had begun to stir restlessly. Chen Sheng turned his head and bellowed: "Silence! Anyone making noise will be executed!"

Zhao Jin turned back with a smile to look. Lu Da, bearing the flag, wore his usual couldn't-care-less expression. On the others' faces, there was a hint of unease.

"Lu Da, are you afraid?"

"This humble one is not afraid!"

"You're not afraid. We've won so many times — so why does it look like no one has any confidence?"

"Master, there are just too many of these roving bandits. Can't kill them all!"

Hearing Lu Da's muffled, booming reply, Zhao Jin burst out laughing on horseback. That laughter eased the tension in the air considerably. When his laughter subsided, Zhao Jin pointed ahead and declared: "They can be killed. As long as we set to it, no matter how many, we can kill them all!"

If Zhao Jin's side could see over there, the roving bandits should likewise be able to see them. Yet these several thousand men of Zhao Camp kept advancing, and the other side showed no reaction.

Chen Sheng spoke up: "This bunch of roving bandits is either utterly stupid, or they don't consider us worth their notice."

They advanced for about the time it takes a stick of incense to burn. By then, the main body of roving bandits had finally reacted. They could see cavalry in the distance wheeling around to sweep toward them. Zhao Jin raised his arm. The various units of Zhao Camp halted, and the reinforcements who had come from various places behind them also stopped in succession.

"Dismount! Form ranks! Prepare for battle!" Zhao Jin shouted. The units at the front echoed the shout loudly.

Everyone on horseback, aside from the cavalry, dismounted. The main body of Zhao Camp, along with the Second and Third Squads, swiftly arrayed into small square formations of twenty men across and twenty deep. The main body took the front; the Second and Third Squads took the wings. The three squads formed a triangular formation, each separated by twenty paces.

Including men from Zhao Camp and various other places, there were over one hundred forty who could draw a bow and shoot. As prearranged, they stood close to both sides of Zhao Camp's main body. All the other militia units followed behind, while the several hundred cavalry were positioned slightly to the rear on the right flank.

The formation looked somewhat peculiar. Zhao Camp's main body was beyond reproach — the first nine rows were all armored, and those behind wore breastplates on their upper bodies. But among the soldiers in the left and right squads, some were quite steady while others were pale-faced, the long spears in their hands trembling. The men in the rear could see it clearly.

"... How can they fight like this? They'll probably run the moment battle is joined..." Such murmurs were already rising from the rear.

Zhao Jin was in the midst of making arrangements when five big men carrying podao and long spears strode swiftly over. They were the Le brothers who had joined up earlier on the road. The one in the lead clasped his fists with fervent zeal and said: "Master Jin, Master Jin, your main body is mighty indeed, but the left and right squads don't look the part. Don't let them ruin the great undertaking when the moment comes! We five brothers are willing to charge at the very front!"

Many in the rear were watching this spot intently. If Zhao Jin agreed, they too would step forward and beg to fight. By this point, those who had joined of their own accord all lacked neither ferocity nor ruthlessness. It was, rather, the non-Zhao Camp militia that Zhao Jin had brought with him who were somewhat struggling to hold the line.

Zhao Jin turned his head for a look, taking it all in. He answered with a smile: "I, Zhao, acknowledge the courage of all of you who seek battle. But on a battlefield like this, discipline and training matter more than individual valor. We will proceed according to the plan!"

His tone was mild but very firm. The Le brothers hesitated, did not press further, and somewhat sheepishly withdrew.

The ridden horses were led rearward by the men left to hold them. Everyone took their assigned positions. They could see over a hundred riders on the opposite side racing toward them, and behind them, a very large detachment of refugees had also split off and was charging over.

"Brothers, are you afraid?" Just before his companions each went to their posts, Zhao Jin suddenly shouted. Chen Sheng went to the Second Squad, Ji Xiang to the Third Squad, Dong Bingfeng led the cavalry, and Liu Yong and Shi Manqiang stayed at Zhao Jin's side.

"Through life and death, through mountains of blades and seas of flame — we brothers go together!" Chen Sheng answered slowly. Hearing these words, the others' faces all flushed red, and they shouted in unison: "We brothers go together!"

Zhao Jin closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said solemnly: "Then together it is. To your posts!"

His companions each ran toward their positions. The entire force, starting from Zhao Jin, fell silent in succession.

"Beat the drums!" Zhao Jin fastened the face guard of his tiger-tooth helmet and gave the order. The drummer beside him gritted his teeth and struck the flat drum. Zhao Jin thrust his long spear forward and roared: "Follow me! Forward together!"

The household troops of Zhao Camp roared in unison. The militia from every quarter, the men of every stripe who had joined along the way — all roared in unison. The great force began to advance!

The weather was dry, and the blood flag had been exposed to the sun for some time; by now it was thoroughly parched. The wind swept dust over them. Lu Da, bearing the flag, shook his long spear, and the blood flag unfurled against the wind, snapping and streaming.

"Charge in! Chase them down! If the outer city gate opens, we're all finished!" Zhao Zhentang bellowed, brandishing his blade as he pressed forward. He was already seeing red.

The gate tunnel was narrow. Although the soldiers inside had already been thrown into chaos by Zhao Camp's household troops, they could still muster resistance. At once, three long spears thrust straight at Zhao Zhentang. Zhao Zhentang brought his great blade down in a diagonal slash, cleaving straight through two of the spear shafts. He followed with a step, the great blade flipping upward then hacking down. One man's throat was laid open; another soldier's chest was split apart — neither would survive. But one blade against three spears, cutting through two shafts — the third he could not evade.

In that frantic moment, Zhao Zhentang only had time to twist aside, but a comrade beside him blocked his movement. The long spear drove straight into Zhao Zhentang's left shoulder. Zhao Zhentang howled in agony and hurled his great blade outright. The soldier who had stabbed Zhao Zhentang had no time to dodge; the great blade cleaved straight into his forehead, and he crumpled limply to the ground.

Zhao Zhentang had no strength left now. As that man fell, he dragged the spear with him, wrenching Zhao Zhentang's shoulder. Zhao Zhentang toppled over with him.

"Master Zhao!" "Uncle Zhao!" Everyone cried out in alarm. Zhao Zhentang gritted his teeth, gripped the spear in his shoulder, and roared: "What the hell are you all yelling for?! Go! Chase them! Go block the gate!"

He had cut down three men in one burst. The defense inside the gate tunnel had collapsed. Zhao Camp's men skewered another dozen or more with their long spears. No one dared stand against them here any longer; all were scrambling and crawling in retreat toward the barbican. Many also fled toward the barbican's outer gate.

Wang Zhaojing had not dismounted. Using his horse's charging momentum, he hacked down repeatedly from his elevated position, blood spraying before his horse. No one now blocked the gateway. He spurred his horse forward and burst straight out from between the gates. The men behind him followed with a roar, all of them red-eyed. Having fought to this point, none could retreat any further.

The Four Books and Five Classics, the writings of the sages — Wang Zhaojing had cast them all beyond the highest heavens. Now he wanted only to pursue and kill!

The windlass was already turning, the portcullis slowly rising. Those men crowded beneath the crossbar of the gate, preparing to lift it free. As if sensing the movement within the city, the shouting and roaring outside suddenly swelled.

The men who had charged out paid no heed to the scattered rebels fleeing in all directions across the barbican. Every man's sole objective was the gate — they had to seize back control of it!

Just then, two men stepped away from beneath the crossbar and planted themselves at the gate tunnel entrance. They took the bows from their backs, stood firm, and began to shoot!

Arrows came whistling in. A household trooper behind Wang Zhaojing took an arrow straight on and pitched forward. The second arrow came straight for Wang Zhaojing. On horseback, he hastily ducked low to evade; the arrow flew past his side. His mount, startled, immediately grew skittish.

The two men at the barbican's outer gate tunnel were not slow — two more arrows shot forth. One man screamed; a militiaman running at the front was struck in the chest and fell flat on his back. The other arrow again came for Wang Zhaojing. A rider on horseback was too large a target. Though he frantically wheeled his horse to evade, he could not avoid it — the arrow buried itself squarely beneath the horse's neck.

The horse beneath Wang Zhaojing screamed in pain and reared up. Wang Zhaojing desperately hugged the horse's neck to keep from being thrown. When that arrow came, he had, after all, already begun to dodge; the arrow did not strike true, perhaps missing the vital spot. Wang Zhaojing hauled hard on the reins, shouting loudly, and his mount, remarkably, did not buck or bolt wildly.

"Charge! Charge!" Wang Zhaojing's voice had gone shrill and distorted. He clamped his legs hard against his mount. The horse screamed in pain and ran forward once more.