Chapter 853: Within Range

The order given, the shrill suona horns blared. The pan drums strapped at waists and chests were struck in urgent rhythm. Company commanders barked commands, ordering their platoons to step forward while maintaining formation.

At this moment, Zhao Jin did not contend with Ji Xiang for the forward battle position. He was surrounded by his personal guards and cavalry. Ji Xiang stood at the rightmost position in the first row of the personal guard unit.

The first order was relayed. The firearm retainers, already loaded, carried their firelocks, clamped their forked rests under their arms, and kept blowing on their burning match cords as they strode forward. The archers followed behind them.

Beside Firearm Company Commander Meng Zhiqi stood a veteran archer. His marksmanship might not have been the best, but his eyesight was exceptional — squinting slightly, he could estimate distances with precision.

Ahead, the firearm retainers and archers marched forward. Behind them, the three square formations advanced in sequence, while the cavalry followed at a relatively slow, measured pace.

Watching the enemy press forward so brazenly, the government army's ranks could not help but stir with agitation. They could not simply let the enemy approach and do as they pleased.

Orders were quickly passed down. Government soldiers carrying all manner of firearms and bows also moved to the front line. Compared to the heavy smoothbore muskets in the hands of Zhao Camp's firearm retainers, what they held was a motley assortment — some looked like mere tubes, others were short with multiple barrels, some had fierce beasts carved upon them, and a few carried what resembled bird-beak muskets, though the details differed. The archers, by contrast, were relatively orderly.

As they marched directly toward each other, the distance closed rapidly. Meng Zhiqi bellowed, "Form ranks! Prepare to fire!"

The order was relayed by company and platoon commanders at every level. The firearm retainers halted at once, using Meng Zhiqi as their marker to form a horizontal line. They thrust the ends of their forked rests into the ground and propped up their firelocks.

Unlike the time they faced cavalry, this time the men in the rear rows stared intently ahead. The rear-row firearm retainers also knew they were being watched closely by the archers. If anyone dared fire first, the men behind would strike to kill. With such interlocking layers of harsh law and severe punishment, no one dared be careless.

Yet there was another difference from last time. Last time had been a cavalry raid — swift as lightning, thunderous as a storm, terrifying in its momentum. This time, they faced foot soldiers also bearing firearms. Just looking at the enemy's loose and disorderly ranks filled Zhao Camp's firearm retainers with sudden confidence.

Although Zhao Camp's firearm retainers had already halted, the government troops did not stop. They continued surging forward in a chaotic mob. In their minds, when firearms exchanged fire, there was only a chance of wounding a man within fifty paces — and that was being generous. To be certain, you would need thirty paces. Better to say this advance was meant to let the archers get closer, or to frighten the enemy first so the foot soldiers behind could charge in.

Meng Zhiqi's eyes widened more and more. Everyone in Zhao Camp, from top to bottom, looked down on government troops, yet these government foot soldiers were proving so bold and fierce. His own firearms were already set up, yet the enemy's steps did not falter. Did they have something to rely on? Or were they, as the Master and that foreigner had spoken of, closing in to exchange fire at close range?

"Tell me when it's eighty paces!" Meng Zhiqi gritted his teeth. He could also see the government troops opposite blowing on their match cords and checking their ammunition as they walked. To be absolutely certain, he would open fire at the extreme limit of effective range.

The archer beside him made no sound. Compared to Meng Zhiqi's shock, this somewhat older archer's face showed only surprise. Since when did government troops handling firearms have such nerve?

"Ready~~ ready~~~" Meng Zhiqi called out in a drawn-out tone. He noticed several firearm retainers beside him trembling with tension, yet they still dared not pull the trigger, only instinctively blowing on their match cords to keep them lit.

"Eighty paces!" The archer was also somewhat tense. Meng Zhiqi had long been waiting for these words. He immediately put the brass whistle in his mouth and blew with all his might.

The shrill whistle sounded. Both sides, now less than a hundred paces apart, jolted. The enemy was stunned — and in that very instant, the firelocks roared. Beginning from Meng Zhiqi's position, the firelocks fired in succession, like firecrackers going off, gunpowder smoke billowing everywhere.

At the very moment the firelocks sounded, the faces of the government soldiers holding firearms and bows broke into smug grins. The rebel rabble just couldn't hold their nerve, firing first — what good would that do...

Many had no chance to finish that thought. The first row, the second row, the third row — the firelocks fired in sequence, like a scythe reaping lives sweeping across. Amid the dense thunder of reports, government soldiers screamed and fell. Lead and iron shot several times heavier than bird-beak musket balls struck their bodies. Wherever they hit, they left gaping wounds — shattering bone, spilling blood, killing!

This sudden strike left the soldiers bearing firearms and bows utterly stunned. But there was no immediate follow-up volley from this side, because the firearm retainers were all frantically reloading. Though the three rows had fired in sequence just now, it had been little different from a single volley. In this reloading interval, the enemy could easily charge forward — even though, by peacetime drill and calculation, within these eighty paces there was ample time for the firearm retainers to reload and fire again.

"Archers forward! Two volleys of scattered fire, then fall back!" Bayin shouted in Mandarin with a slightly strange accent. The archers roared their assent, strung their bows, and swiftly threaded through the loose ranks of the firearm retainers. The distance between the two sides still exceeded eighty paces — bows could not shoot that far.

Having experienced that cavalry charge, the archers were already well-practiced. They knew that with gunpowder smoke now thick in the air, they could not see the enemy's exact positions. But the enemy was right ahead. As long as they drew their bows and loosed in the general direction, that would be enough — that would kill and wound.

The rain of arrows poured over. Not a single man looked to see the result. They turned and walked back. Having seen the battlefield, whether they admitted it or not, they were all thoroughly convinced of the firelock's killing power. They had bought enough time — now let the firelocks do their work!

Just as Zhao Camp's archers ran back into the firearm ranks, scattered reports crackled from behind — the government troops' firearms had opened fire. At this moment, Meng Zhiqi finally understood why the government soldiers had kept advancing. At eighty paces, or even farther, the enemy's firearms could do little more than make smoke and noise; there was almost no chance of wounding anyone.

By now, Zhao Camp's firearm retainers had finished reloading. Meng Zhiqi's brows were tightly knit. He drew a deep breath, then suddenly bellowed, "Advance ten paces, halt, and fire!"

The firearm retainer formation visibly faltered. Meng Zhiqi's expression at this moment turned somewhat savage, his roar nearly tearing his throat: "Those who disobey will be executed! Forward ten paces! Forward ten paces!"

The archers standing behind the firearm retainer company naturally heard Meng Zhiqi's order as well. The archers exchanged glances, all shaking their heads.

Yet under the urging of such an order, the firearm retainers began advancing. These ten paces could not be called far, for each man's stride could not be too large. After ten paces, they immediately opened fire.

The results this time were quite limited. Even though the firearm retainer formation had advanced ten paces, under the first volley and the subsequent rain of arrows, any government soldier who could run had long since turned and fled. There were no targets left within range ahead. The main body of enemy foot soldiers was slowly advancing, and the government cavalry had also begun to move. Xuzhou's firelocks were truly too deadly — if this continued, the unit directly facing them might well be shattered.

But Zhao Jin had given orders beforehand. After this volley, the firearm retainers did not linger in battle. They turned and ran back toward their main force. Zhao Camp's square formations were also pressing forward.

The distances between the personal guard unit, the First Regiment, and the Second Regiment were not small. These gaps were ample enough for the archers and firearm retainers to turn around and re-form ranks within them.

After so many years of drill, mastery of formation was carved into every retainer's very bones. The firearm retainers might not have been practiced in firing and shooting, but forming ranks in the gaps between units they did with great efficiency. The archers, by comparison, were somewhat slower. Within Zhao Camp, the archers were probably the worst at formation drill and foot maneuvers.

"Brothers! Charge and smash those rebels to pieces!" The officers and squad leaders in the government army ranks all bellowed.

The gunpowder smoke and dust had yet to clear. Screams of agony rang out without end. Through the haze, they could dimly see the main force of the "Xuzhou rebel mob" slowly pressing forward. Everything they saw and heard struck fear and dread into these government soldiers. Yet they had no choice but to charge. The battle overseers' great blades were already raised — any further hesitation, and heads would roll.

Charge! In past campaigns to quell unrest and exterminate bandits, they had faced rebel mobs and rioters that looked far more imposing than this. But all had been embroidered pillows — showy but useless. Once you charged into their midst, they scattered and collapsed immediately. Even the better ones could only hold for a moment.

Yet after the fighting just now, dimly seeing the formation before them, the government troops, from top to bottom, could not believe what they were telling themselves. But what else could they do? Right now, they could only believe what they could believe.

"Kill! Kill the rebels!" From officers to common soldiers, every man in the government army let out a soul-tearing howl, their faces twisting into savage, contorted masks. Brandishing blades and spears, they surged forward. Their momentum had to be overwhelming — if they could frighten the enemy, they would. But this was not a mindless swarm charging blindly. The government troops still knew to maintain their formation. Many times, it was precisely this disciplined formation that pressed and disoriented inexperienced foes, terrifying them into outright collapse.

The firearms had ceased firing. The gunpowder smoke from before was no longer spreading. The main forces of both armies drew near each other, and at last they could see one another clearly.

The moment they saw Zhao Camp's formation clearly, the government army's advance ground to a dead halt. Just moments ago, they had thought to overawe the enemy with their own formation. Who could have imagined that the "Xuzhou rebel mob" would have a formation so stern and disciplined? It truly looked like a wall of bronze and iron. Between those square, orderly formations, the firelocks and bows were all poised and ready.

Even more, they heard the shouted orders from the other side, the drumbeats and suona blasts stirring the heart and soul. They watched as the long spears directly facing them were leveled down row by row, looking like a thicket of steel thorns, the cold gleam of blades filling their vision.

And what was that they were wearing on their bodies? Could it be iron armor? They looked down at their own bodies — the so-called battle jackets had not a single scrap of iron inside. Only the squad commanders and the like in the ranks wore a coat of chainmail. Did Xuzhou have a mountain of gold, to afford outfitting a unit like this? How the hell were they supposed to fight this?

"Brothers! The rebels are all show! Charge into their faces and they'll break!"

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