Chapter 639 — Meeting the Attack
"Commander-in-Chief, the Hair Bandits have established their camp with the sea at their backs—they have placed themselves in a desperate position!" Chang Qingyun declared. "They dare to do so only because of their navy's cover. If Your Excellency sends the Water Mine Militia from Xiaoyingchang tonight under cover of darkness to release Hun Jiang Long—Muddy River Dragons—we can destroy their warships..."
He Rubin had indeed recruited and organized a Water Mine Militia of three hundred men before the campaign and manufactured five hundred Hun Jiang Long water mines. Since these had been prepared for use in the eventual siege of Bopu, most of the mines and the sampans for releasing them had not been transported from Baishashui Fortress. Only a hundred had been brought with the army.
"Without sampans, how would we release them?" a private secretary raised the obvious objection.
Chang Qingyun spoke with unfounded confidence: "That poses no problem. We need only send men to lower the water mines at Xiaoyingchang and release them with the current. From what I observe, Xiaoyingchang protrudes into the sea—releasing water mines from there will surely succeed..."
Tang Yunwen could hold his tongue no longer. "Mr. Chang! The current in Qiongzhou Strait flows from west to east during these months."
Every summer the Qiongzhou Strait was swept by southwest monsoons, and the ocean current followed the wind's direction. Water mines released at Xiaoyingchang, which lay east of the Hair Bandit camp, could not possibly drift westward toward the enemy—they would more likely end up near Qiongshan County instead.
"Oh," Chang Qingyun said, slightly embarrassed, but he recovered immediately. "It makes no difference if the current direction is wrong. The militia are mostly Tanka people, skilled swimmers. They can enter the water at night and push the mines toward the Hair Bandit warships themselves."
He Rubin, however, found this proposal entirely uninteresting. The enemy gunships merely covered the flank and rear of the Hair Bandit Grand Camp. As long as the enemy camp could be broken tomorrow, those ships floating uselessly on the sea would accomplish nothing. Back in the day, the Dutch had possessed tremendous firepower aboard their great planked vessels, yet they could only watch helplessly as the Great Ming army besieged their fortress on Penghu Island without being able to render any assistance. So long as his own men did not foolishly blunder toward the seaside, the naval threat was irrelevant.
He instructed his generals to let the soldiers rest well today and prepare for battle tomorrow, and ordered every camp to maintain vigilance against enemy night raids. When descending from the gate tower, he observed that the enemy camp was already ablaze with lanterns, and the sounds of military drums and bugles echoed back and forth. Their defense was clearly strict, and discipline within the camp appeared excellent. He could not help but harbor serious doubts about whether the enemy was truly the "disorderly mob" everyone claimed.
Just as the sky brightened the next morning, reveille sounded through the Fubo Army Grand Camp. He Ming rose early to prepare for battle. After finishing breakfast, the final reinforcement unit arrived from Lingao: the "Sniper Team" composed of Senators. This team gathered every Senator skilled in shooting, including gun enthusiasts from the North American Branch and former shooting athletes who had trained with marksmanship teams before the crossing. Although they could not charge directly into battle, their precision shooting skills were unmatched by anyone in this time and place.
The weapons these dozen individuals carried were varied, but nearly all were bolt-action rifles brought by the North American Branch. The Mosin-Nagant, cheap and plentiful in North America, occupied half of the arsenal. Qian Shui-ting distinctively carried a Swiss-made K31 straight-pull rifle, a high-precision bolt-action weapon. Zhou Weisen bore a Remington 700. All sniper rifles were fitted with 6x scopes. Accompanying the Sniper Team were cameramen from the Propaganda Department, prepared to film a documentary celebrating the Fubo Army's illustrious achievements.
The captains of the Special Reconnaissance Team invariably possessed digital DVs, though these were all consumer-grade machines. This time, Dingding and the others had brought semi-professional digital video cameras with professional-grade telephoto lenses.
He Ming ordered the Sniper Team dispersed to the various towers, with some positioned in the cannon emplacements along the earthen rampart. A sniper's power rivaled that of artillery. Additionally, three cadets were assigned to each Senator as observers and guards. Unless they received specific instructions otherwise, they were free to choose their own targets—though generals and officers were the primary priority.
Dingding repeatedly requested permission to go to the front line for filming, but He Ming refused to assign him to the earthen rampart, instead arranging for him to set up filming tracks on the command platform.
"I'm not afraid of danger. To shoot a proper documentary, you have to be at the front."
"You'll be in the way at the front," He Ming said bluntly. "Besides—just film later. No talking."
"When cleaning the battlefield, I want to go to the front line..."
"I'll arrange for you to go then."
After distributing the snipers and cameramen, He Ming gathered all chief officers at the battalion level for a pre-battle meeting. The meeting briefed them on intelligence that the Ming army had occupied Xiaoyingchang the previous night. Of course, this had no impact on the impending battle.
As the meeting concluded, he surveyed the Senator officers assembled in headquarters. Dark circles rimmed many eyes; clearly, they had not slept well. It was natural enough for people about to step onto a real battlefield for the first time.
"Comrades, the battle is about to begin." His words were brief. "For this day, everyone has trained alongside recruits on the drill ground for two years. Now is the time to prove your training was worthwhile." He swept a glance across the room. "Execute according to the pre-set plan! Dismissed!"
All officers saluted in unison.
He Ming stood at attention and returned the salute. "Go fight, comrades!"
On the ramparts, two infantry battalions had already taken position behind the breastworks, each company assigned its combat position. The order to company commanders was simple:
"Fight here to the end!"
Every soldier received two hundred rounds of ammunition. Five hundred reserve Minié rifles had been shipped from the rear a few days prior, in case the fighting grew so intense that too many guns were damaged. Soldiers seized the last moments to wipe their rifles and check their ammunition. Officers walked back and forth inspecting fortifications and the soldiers' gear.
Wei Aiwen patrolled the dike with his guard, occasionally stopping to chat with soldiers, using a calm and serene demeanor to steady their nerves. In truth, he was just as tense—but he forced himself to appear composed.
Two Battalion Army Flags were raised on two bastions respectively. Infantry 3rd Battalion Commander You Laohu and Infantry 5th Battalion Commander Fu Sansi commanded their troops directly from those two key bastions. Both men wore brand-new uniforms and bore the symbols of every honor they had ever earned. You Laohu sat on a chair, hands resting on the Frontier Army Long Saber awarded to him by President Wen. Fu Sansi smoked thoughtfully, an SKS with its bayonet already unfolded placed ready at his side.
All cannons—whether from artillery companies or the reserves—had been hauled onto the earthen dike the day before and positioned in cannon emplacements, with not a single piece left behind. Ten "Typewriters" sponsored by the Navy were also placed at key positions; several of these were mounted on wheelbarrows for mobile defense. Sailors in blue uniforms stood at their stations, and a blue and white Navy flag fluttered overhead.
The Field Army's flag rippled in the center of the camp. He Ming and his staff officers had already ascended the high platform in the camp's center. Wired telephones, walkie-talkies, and telegraph lines connected him with every unit.
The 6th Infantry Battalion, serving as the army reserve, had formed a square beneath the high platform.
"All sit down!" Zhu Quanxing ordered loudly, then sat on the ground himself, waiting for the order to enter combat.
Company after company, flag after flag—1,800 infantrymen in gray uniforms gripped bayoneted rifles in their hands. Behind them stood 2,000 militia, all armed with spears, ready to join the final slaughter if necessary.
The entire camp had grown completely silent. No drums, no bugles, no human noise. Except for the occasional messenger hurrying past and the sounds of orders, only the flapping of army flags could be heard.
Yang Zeng stood upon the earthen dike, command saber in hand. Though the weather was overcast, he could still clearly see government soldiers constantly pouring out of their various camps in the distance, assembling into formations. After the men and horses had assembled, a signal cannon sounded, and the whole army began marching toward the sea. From the perspective of both Senators and native officers, the Ming army's array was hardly orderly—but the momentum was overwhelming. A black mass pressing inexorably toward them.
The Ming army advanced for a few li. With a long horn blast, the marching columns halted three li from the Grand Camp. Archers and firearms troops moved to the front row: one rank kneeling, one rank standing, ready to release arrows and fire at any moment. Behind them stood rows of spearmen, with swordsmen on both wings prepared to fight.
They are as numerous as black clouds! Yang Zeng thought, his grip tightening involuntarily on the command saber. There will be fierce battle today!
The civil and military officials under He Rubin, standing on Chengmai's city wall, shared this premonition. Soldiers filled the Hair Bandit camp's earthen dike, yet not a single sound of clamor reached them. The enemy was utterly quiet, waiting in battle array to deal a blow to the advancing government army. The feeling made many observers deeply uneasy.
Qian Taichong squeezed among the crowd of private secretaries, craning his neck to study the distant Hair Bandit camp. He was surprised that a band of sea pirates could construct such a large-scale and orderly military encampment. He had never seen such a design—earth piled into a dike no more than a man's height, with large sharp angles protruding all around. How could such a camp be defended? Just overseas barbarians, after all! he thought. Yet even as he thought this, he was already composing the "Six Chapters on Aftermath" he planned to present to Lord Zhao once the war concluded. The article was something he had been writing each night over the past few days, drawing from various methods of soothing the populace and managing the aftermath of military chaos that he had read about in books or heard described. He had selected and organized them according to the situation in Lingao as described by Gou Chengxuan, and arranged them into six chapters: "Soothing the People," "Relief," "Opening Wasteland," "Recruiting Merchants," "Arresting Culprits," and "Comforting the Loyal." Qian Taichong read his article again and again, occasionally praising his own exquisite turns of phrase.
In the South Gate camp, Chiliarch Song Ming was ready to sortie. Tong Yizhen had given him one hundred cavalry. He knew that soon his riders would lead the vanguard to probe the enemy camp. This was an extremely dangerous mission—he had heard the enemy's firearms were devastatingly powerful, and Chiliarch He's disastrous defeat the previous day had proven those rumors true. This probe might very well be a one-way trip.
The hundred cavalry had already formed up outside the trench. Each rider carried a bow and a quiver of arrows, prepared to loose a harassing volley after approaching the camp wall, probe the enemy's defenses, and search for weaknesses. If enemy cavalry responded, they would retreat immediately.
Three signal cannon shots rang out. A red flag already flew from the city wall. Raising his long spear, Song Ming shouted: "Kill!" He spurred his horse forward. Behind him came one hundred cavalrymen. The standard-bearer and a dozen personal soldiers followed close at his heels.
In an instant, hoofbeats shook the earth, and war cries split the sky. Men and horses in the camped battalions beat their drums and shouted to cheer. The momentum was staggering. A slight commotion rippled through the earthen dike.
"Steady! Steady!" Officers on the dike drew command sabers and roared. He Ming issued his order: "Artillery hold fire—let them get close and use rifles!"
Song Ming's cavalry reached the front of the earthen dike almost instantly. The enemy sent no cavalry or infantry to meet the attack—and they did not even fire their guns. Had it been the Great Ming's army, the firearms troops would have opened fire wildly while enemies were still a hundred zhang from the stockade. Privately puzzling over this, and recalling Chiliarch He's account of the enemy's extreme range, Song Ming dared not draw too close. He prepared to loose one quick round of arrows after getting slightly nearer to the dike, then retreat.
Just as he spurred his horse past two bastions and reached to unsling his bow, gunshots cracked through the air.
Bullets fired from both angles of the two bastions swept across the entire cavalry team from left and right flanks simultaneously. More than twenty riders fell in an instant. Seven or eight of Song Ming's personal soldiers tumbled from their horses, and the big flag was pierced with countless holes. He dared not delay—adding a whip to his horse's rump, he burst away immediately.
He Rubin saw everything clearly. The enemy Grand Camp was defended with formidable discipline. To attack, his troops would have to advance into the space between two protruding angles—and any attack on the side of one angle would suffer flanking fire from the adjacent angle. Attacking the front of an angle directly would be futile; the frontage was far too narrow to deploy meaningful strength.
So this is the purpose of the bastion fort! He Rubin had known the Dutch built fortifications in this manner, and had heard others speak of the advantages of such designs. But he had always harbored doubts. Now, seeing was believing. When the opponent was an army equipped with superior firearms, the advantage of such a fortress was devastatingly clear!
The Hair Bandit cannons had not yet fired; a single rifle volley had already demonstrated such power. He Rubin felt a knot of worry tightening in his stomach. But he allowed no worried expression to appear on his face, maintaining the cold, solemn, and fearless demeanor of a great general. He summoned Tong Yizhen:
"General Tong, the time has come for you to serve the Imperial Court. Take your entire army and attack the Hair Bandit South Gate!"
Tong Yizhen received the order and departed the gate tower to return to his camp. Song Ming's men had just straggled back, having lost nearly thirty riders, with many of the survivors wounded.
Seeing him approach, Song Ming hurried forward to clasp his hands in salute.
"No need for ceremony. Rest your men for now—there will be more service for the Court shortly!"
Tong Yizhen knew Song Ming was a brave general who showed absolutely no fear of death. He was always first in every charge, often pushing recklessly ahead regardless of all danger, earning the nickname "General Sending-Life" (Songming). That he had escaped with his life after being caught in such devastating crossfire seemed nothing short of miraculous.
"Yes, Your Excellency!" Song Ming said. "Hair Bandit firearms are extremely fierce..."
"This General knows!" Tong Yizhen wasted no more words. Donning iron armor and an iron helmet, he mounted his horse. "Lance!" he shouted.
A personal soldier immediately handed him a long lance. He fixed his gaze upon the distant camp, raised the lance with a roar, and spurred his horse forward, charging straight toward the Grand Camp's South Gate. His Chaozhou soldiers surged forward behind him. At the same time, Leilian Lieutenant Colonel Zhao Qiansi led two thousand men charging out from the east of the county seat, attacking the Hair Bandit Grand Camp from a second direction.
In an instant, drums shook the earth and war cries filled the sky. Large and small flags billowed across the mountains and plains, whipping in the wind beneath dark clouds. In the blink of an eye, they had advanced several hundred meters.
He Ming picked up the telephone: "Artillery—fire!"
Zhang Berlin had been waiting for the order. The moment he heard it, he commanded: "Fire!"
Every cannon had already marked its firing range and been loaded. At the single command, battery commanders stood up simultaneously, gripping firing lanyards, and pulled hard.
More than ten cannons facing the enemy's charge direction belched long plumes of white smoke. Red cannonballs shrieked toward the dense crowd. Twelve-pounder solid shots flew toward enemies 1,000 meters distant at an initial velocity of 457 meters per second. Black shadows crashed into the masses of men with whistling screams. Flesh and blood erupted into the air. Cannonballs that struck the ground bounced upward, leaping and rolling backward, ploughing bloody furrows through the formation.
The Ming army was not stopped by the artillery fire. Soldiers surged forward like a tide. Generals shouted from horseback, galloping back and forth through the ranks to urge their men forward fiercely. The second volley of cannonballs arced in. Rows of soldiers had their heads torn off, bodies ripped open, arms and legs severed by bouncing shot. Blood flew in all directions; broken corpses and screaming wounded lay everywhere. Sometimes a cannonball appeared to be moving slowly enough to be stopped by stepping on it, yet it would still mercilessly tear a calf from a man's body.
The recoil of the 12-pounder after firing was tremendous—each cannon jumped back fully six or seven meters. To preserve the artillerymen's strength and prevent exhaustion from slowing the rate of fire, each gun was assigned three "cannon-pushing groups" of auxiliary transport soldiers to take turns resetting the cannon. The moment a gun stopped, these men rushed forward, pushing with their shoulders and pulling with their arms to return it to position.
The Number 1 Gunner, holding the sponge, immediately inserted the end with the spiral metal rod into the bore, stirred forcefully several times, and hooked out a few pieces of charred, tattered cotton cloth. The cotton wrapping around the propellant had been treated with fuming nitric acid beforehand, and theoretically should have burned away entirely with the charge—but residue always remained. After clearing the bore, the Number 1 Gunner reversed the sponge, dipped it in a water bucket, and inserted it into the barrel, pumping repeatedly to wash the bore clean.
"Bore clearing complete!"
"Load one solid shot—target distance 940 meters!"
(End of Chapter)