Chapter 720 - Breaking the Defenses
E Squadron broke through repeated obstructions and finally reached Sanliang Market's outer waterways at four o'clock that afternoon. Marines drove off the militia guarding the last obstruction line. Along the way, the squadron had killed thirty or forty enemy fighters, but Shi Zhiqi remained deeply dissatisfied.
"Three to one! This casualty ratio will get me grilled back there." Thinking of the Element Council's habit of holding inquiry hearings and review sessions over the smallest matters, Shi Zhiqi's head ached. Even if they took Sanliang Market immediately, twelve killed was a terrible number.
Militia routed along the way gradually trickled back into town. As soon as each returned and had a drink of water, they were brought to the Public Bureau to be questioned by committee members and militia instructors about the battle.
The fighting had not gone well. At every obstruction line, militia had attacked as planned, but they had not anticipated the enemy simultaneously sending troops to search the banks and cover the flotilla.
"The crop-heads appeared from nowhere. We were hiding in the trees, but they crept up from the bank and fired a volley, killing most of our brothers..." A militiaman with rags wrapped around his wounded leg spoke miserably.
A committee member was skeptical: "You didn't see the crop-heads coming?"
"I wouldn't dare lie—we really didn't see them." The militiaman defended himself. "They crept up silently, then fired from a li away..."
"Nonsense! Only cannons can shoot a li!" Someone refused to believe crop-head firearms were that powerful.
"I've heard crop-head muskets do shoot farther and more accurately than ours." Luo Tianqiu said. "Never mind that—continue!"
"They fired one volley, then another, and we couldn't hold. Sometimes we only heard musket fire without knowing where it came from..."
Homemade huduenbao and other small crude cannons had proven useless in battle. Many had not been fired before being abandoned; at best one or two shots. Whether they had hit anyone, no militiaman could say clearly. Only one thing was certain: all the cannons were lost. This pained the committee members—each little cannon cost seven or eight taels in iron, charcoal, and labor.
The militiamen's reports were all similar. The common thread was that the crop-heads had suffered minimal losses—perhaps twenty killed at most. The sampans all had protective panels; whether anyone had been hit by arrows was impossible to tell. But that wanrenji had definitely scored a direct hit on a sampan.
This minor success left the committee members dissatisfied. Blocking the waterways had cost enormous labor and materials. Combined with the militia's river ambushes, the crop-heads had still suffered light losses yet broken through, heading straight for Sanliang. The only thing that had truly worked was a single wanrenji.
"Let's hear suggestions for what to do." A local gentry on the committee named Lu Deyi said flatly. "The crop-heads' firearms are irresistible—they've taken every fort. Once they reach Sanliang's walls, this Militia Bureau is finished!"
"If we're finished, expect your homes confiscated and your necks in nooses!" Luo Tianqiu slapped the table and smiled grimly. "Have you all forgotten? Lord Liu of Shigang and his son are swinging right now. You want to swing with them?"
His intensity silenced everyone.
"Get this straight—all of you! The crop-heads won't spare us. We're all in the same boat. No one gets to jump ship—even if you wanted to, it's too late. Unless the crop-heads suddenly grow charitable!" Luo Tianqiu pointed at them one by one with his folding fan. "Right now we must work together. Only by repelling the crop-heads can we save our lives and property!"
The town's atmosphere immediately grew tense. The Militia Bureau issued orders: all able-bodied men in town must assemble for battle. Headmen went through streets and alleys beating gongs.
Baskets of gunpowder and iron shot were hauled to the palisade walls. Bricks, rolling logs, and torches piled at the wall bases were carried up. Someone brought buckets of foul-smelling excrement and poured them into large clay pots, fires lit beneath. The stench pervaded the air.
Qingxia and her troupe also went up on the walls—even Jiang Suo. At this point, anyone who could stand and walk had to prepare for battle, willing or not. Those unwilling would be beheaded as spies. No matter how Jiang Suo grumbled, he didn't dare resist. He took a broadsword, equipped himself, and prepared to follow his senior sister to the blockhouse to protect her if necessary.
In the ancestral hall, Qingxia and the other adults prepared, readying their weapons.
Today Qingxia wore a close-fitting black jacket, her hair wrapped in a black cloth. Black didn't show dirt or blood and wouldn't stand out in a crowd—unlike her flashy performance costumes.
She tested her bow's draw weight. Originally she had used a Bureau-issued heavy bow for training—the troupe's performance bow was too light. Later, seeing her archery skill and strong draw, Luo Tianqiu had found a better bow from storage. The bow-back was mulberry wood; the string was made from Manchurian dried deer sinew; the horn pieces were finest quality. It tested at twenty li of pull. This was three or four li less than her maximum, but in battle, sustaining fire without exhausting oneself after five or six shots mattered more than raw power. Luo Tianqiu had chosen this bow with care.
At this thought, a faint blush rose to her cheeks. Unconsciously she caressed the bow.
Aunt Jiang was experienced. She had noticed all of Qingxia's recent mood changes. She had wanted to find a private moment to counsel her—to abandon these fantasies before getting in too deep. But with the crop-heads attacking, whether they would even survive was uncertain. Talk of romance could wait. She sighed softly and said nothing.
Aunt Jiang wore a newly-made blue cotton jacket, four throwing knives tucked at each side of her waist. Her knife-throwing skill was first-rate but nearly useless in pitched battle. Though her broadsword work wasn't bad, as a woman she lacked strength. Her most effective weapon was a slingshot she always carried. Anything within thirty paces, she could hit. She normally carried clay pellets for performance and self-defense; this time she had replaced them all with iron balls. They would be useful in close-quarters defense.
Uncle Zhou and Jiang Suo used their traditional weapons—spear for Uncle Zhou, broadsword for Jiang Suo. Unwilling to risk their lives for the Luo family, they dawdled in the ancestral hall, hoping they would not be called to lead charges beyond the walls.
The three adolescents, however, were excited, each carrying soft bows and quivers, clamoring to go to the blockhouse to shoot arrows. To them it seemed a wonderful game! Qingxia's father, though recovered, remained weak. He had strongly opposed the troupe fighting for the Luo family. But at this point, there was no room for bargaining. Besides, the troupe's current predicament was largely his fault for being ill so long. He had unknowingly incurred great debt to the Luo family. He had no grounds to object.
He could only repeatedly warn everyone to act according to circumstances—don't fight to the death.
"We're just a few people. If everyone else runs, you don't have to stand firm—run too." He sighed. "This is all my fault for burdening you. When things get critical, just save yourselves! I'm an old man, just a performer. The crop-heads won't want my life."
"Master, don't talk like that," Aunt Jiang consoled gently. "The crop-heads may not be able to break in. Sanliang is well-defended with many able-bodied men. At worst, the magnates will finally put up some silver to send them away."
After more conversation, the mustering gong sounded again outside. Footsteps hurried past; urgent shouts occasionally rang out. They couldn't delay longer—together they left the ancestral hall and climbed to the blockhouse.
The blockhouse they ascended stood beside the stone bridge, guarding Sanliang Market's water gate. Sandbags were piled on the bridge, with small cannons mounted—many were makeshift large-caliber matchlocks cobbled from wood and bamboo. Militia crouched behind sandbags, clutching bamboo spears and broadswords.
Under the bridge arch, besides the barrier, four or five boats were chained across, completely blocking the opening and piled with sandbags and wooden cannons.
On the blockhouse, cannons and matchlocks were already positioned. Militia nervously peered through the crenellations at the outer waterway.
"They're coming"—"Coming"—a ripple of hushed agitation passed through the crowd. In the distant channel, the first sampan appeared...
Three signal cannons fired from the blockhouse, announcing the crop-heads had arrived at the walls.
E Squadron began landing about five hundred meters from the stone bridge. Both banks here were lined with dense bamboo palisades and stakes—almost impossible to disembark. Removing the obstacles took considerable effort. Fortunately, the sampans carried engineering tools, particularly steel-edged long-handled axes and handsaws that made the work faster. While they cleared the palisade, a band of militia crept through the trees. Seeing the crop-heads busy clearing obstacles with only a dozen musket-armed guards, the militia leader knew opportunity had come. From the trees to the riverbank was only four zhang. One shout and they would be upon the enemy before the crop-heads could fire. In close combat, without their firearms advantage, the crop-heads would surely lose.
A wooden clapper sounded; everyone burst from the trees with a roar. The covering marines quickly fired several volleys, dropping most of the militia who had closed to within ten meters. The handful that reached them, flailing broadswords, were swiftly bayoneted.
Half an hour later, a large gap had been opened in the bankside palisade. Soldiers and cannons finally landed in force. Cannons were quickly reassembled. Shi Zhiqi decided not to delay further and ordered an immediate assault.
The two 12-pounder mountain howitzers fired heavy solid shot. The first shot demolished the barrier gate under the stone bridge. The cannonball blasted through the sandbags piled on the boats in the arch, tearing off seven or eight men's arms, heads, and torsos as it went, then ricocheted off the water, flew straight into the mill, killed two guards inside, and smashed the stone mortar to pieces.
Subsequent shots destroyed the defensive works piled on the bridge: sandbags, brick walls, and palisades. The militia and laborers behind screamed in terror, scrambling off the bridge. As for the excessive quantities of bamboo and wooden cannons—far more than there were hands to fire them—some were detonated by incoming rounds, others abandoned without being fired once.
Marines immediately rowed sampans toward the stone bridge. Without covering works, the defenses were mere unauthorized structures awaiting demolition. After taking the bridge, marines methodically dismantled the iron chains across the water, then pulled out the wrecks blocking the arch one by one. Throughout this, the two hundred-odd militia and laborers around the pond did nothing but shout and randomly fire their weapons. Having witnessed Australian firepower, no one wanted to try their luck again.
When Luo Tianqiu heard the stone bridge had fallen, he personally led some laborers to reinforce. Knowing he couldn't order a counterattack, he instead ordered all boats in the pond burned to create a fire barrier. Then they would hold the pond's perimeter while blocking all streets leading into town.
The flames on the water temporarily halted the squadron's advance. Shi Zhiqi had no choice but to order the troops to camp in place, waiting until morning to launch a heavy assault.
But early the next morning, they were attacked by a combined force from multiple nearby villages. Shi Zhiqi was awakened by battle cries. When he hastily strapped on his pistol and rose, a runner arrived with urgent news: militia had appeared in the waterways on all sides. They were approaching with shouts and firing.
The reinforcing militia came from mutual-defense villages Luo Tianqiu had contacted overnight. With Sanliang's own forces, over a thousand men had joined the counterattack.
Shi Zhiqi kept his composure. Through binoculars he observed that most reinforcements were ordinary laborers without proper weapons—just sharpened bamboo poles. Numerous but chaotic, pushing and shoving, they actually jammed all the narrow channels and paths.
Shi Zhiqi made a swift decision. He personally led one marine company in a resolute thrust at the nearest militia band. The marines ignored the enemy's noise and commotion. After one volley, they fixed bayonets and charged the disorganized mob. Within ten minutes, this force was completely destroyed. Bayoneted militia and laborers littered the path, completely blocking it.
Then he led the company swiftly to the channel bank. From above, they fired down on the slow-moving militia boats in the channel, overturning them. Three sampans sank immediately. The others panicked, dropped their dead, and fled.
Leading this single company, Shi Zhiqi ran from position to position with excellent organization and discipline, successively repelling four militia forces trying to encircle from outside. Over a hundred militia led by instructors charging from inside Sanliang were met by canister shot from the two 12-pounder mountain howitzers positioned on the bridge. Forty or fifty fell immediately. The survivors refused to charge again and routed.
After repelling the counterattack, the squadron counterattacked, seizing buildings around the pond—especially the mill at the river mouth. This brick-built mill was very sturdy. Fifty or sixty Luo family and other magnates' household guards held it stubbornly, firing bamboo and wooden cannons continuously from windows and roof, shooting dense arrows. Marines pushed the mountain howitzer forward for direct fire at a hundred fifty meters. Three solid shots punched large holes in the walls and doors. Marines rushed forward, throwing hand grenades into the breaches one after another. Smoke filled the mill; screams and explosions mingled.
Minutes later, the mill was captured. Other resistance points collapsed. Only the blockhouse continued its stubborn resistance. Though marine marksmen with specially marked high-precision Minié rifles successfully suppressed the blockhouse's top and balcony, forcing the militia to keep their heads down, the defenders kept throwing bricks and wanrenji from loopholes and murder holes, firing weapons and arrows. A dozen marines became casualties, yet still they couldn't approach this stone-and-brick fortress.
"Comrades, blast this feudal landlord fortress!" Shi Zhiqi was furious at the battle's difficulties. He climbed onto the mill's second-floor roof, personally directing shooters lying on the tiles to concentrate fire on the blockhouse's loopholes.
This was barely a hundred meters from the blockhouse—already within arrow range. Marines piled sandbags and planks on the roof for cover. An officer on the roof, seeing Shi Zhiqi standing exposed on the ridgeline waving his command saber, quickly pulled him behind the sandbags.
"Commander, it's too dangerous here. Get down now."
"Never mind!" Shi Zhiqi was red-faced, bellowing. "Bring up the cannon! Blast it flat!"
"Ammunition's running low—only ten solid shots left." The officer reported. This was just the beginning; who knew how many more fortified positions awaited.
"Fire them all!" Shi Zhiqi pushed his helmet back. "Send someone to Shigang—"
Before he could finish, an arrow flew unexpectedly from nowhere and struck him squarely in the chest. Shi Zhiqi screamed and tumbled from the mill roof.
(End of Chapter)