Chapter 1244 - Adjusting Fire
Ying Yu raised his binoculars and scanned Anping once more.
There were no decent vantage points here, which was regrettable. The sand dune rose only six or seven meters—barely higher than Anping's city wall. From this position, he could just glimpse the streets within the town; a clear view of Zheng Zhilong's residence was impossible.
He shook his head. As captain of the Army Artillery Instruction Team, he had rarely shown his face in public these past few years, devoting all his energy to artillery firing and training—though the smoothbore guns widely equipped by the Army and Navy bore no resemblance to the 130mm cannons he had once operated.
This rudimentary howitzer felt almost like a toy. Yet it was already the crystallization of the highest technology in the Senate's industrial system. From the trial production of new muzzle-loading and breech-loading rifled guns to their troop trials, he had spent nearly six months groping his way forward, ultimately mastering the ballistic performance and firing essentials of each weapon.
He had been chosen to direct the artillery surprise attack for this "decapitation" mission at Anping for two reasons: his familiarity with artillery, and because he was one of the very few Senators capable of conducting beyond-visual-range bombardment. Naturalized citizens were out of the question. Until now, virtually all artillery employed by the Fubo Army and Navy had been fired within visual range, high-angle guns included.
Given the Trial Year 32 Battalion Gun's range, all of Anping Town lay within effective fire coverage. But accurately striking Zheng Zhilong's residence without direct observation was an exceedingly difficult proposition.
Originally, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau had spent over half a year mapping Anping Town and Zheng Zhilong's compound. Drawing that map had been no simple matter: infiltrating Anping was easy enough, and even slipping into the residence was not impossibly difficult. But asking these men—trained for a few months, nearly illiterate—to use pacing to survey a map suitable for artillery fire direction was asking far too much. Ying Yu therefore placed little confidence in conducting precision bombardment with that map alone.
Fortunately, they also had large model airplanes. A few months prior, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau had organized a flyover mission to photograph Anping from the air, capturing overhead images of the entire town. Referencing on-site surveying by field personnel, they had produced a large-scale, precise grid-coordinate map.
The model plane's brief appearance over Anping had caused considerable commotion in the surrounding area. Opinions varied wildly. Temples in Jinjiang and Nan'an—explicitly or implicitly—indicated that this "miracle" was related to their particular deities, sparking a boom in incense burning. Doomsayers prophesied an imminent "great disaster"; some even declared outright that the Zheng family was finished.
Though the Foreign Intelligence Bureau had harbored no specific propaganda intent, this effect proved a pleasant surprise.
With the map in hand, Ying Yu felt confident about conducting beyond-visual-range fire. But without observation of the shell impacts, he could not correct his aim. Given the limited elevation of the high ground outside the city, observing impact points with precision was difficult, making accurate target identification problematic. Using model planes had high requirements for data transmission implementation, and the aircraft were too "precious" for routine use.
After weighing the options repeatedly, they settled on a crude solution: once shelling began, they would erect a nine-meter aluminum alloy folding ladder atop the dune, secured with guy ropes. An observer would climb to the top and call down corrections.
Ying Yu directed the team members to dig a pit and set up the gun. After carefully verifying calibration, he marked the position with stakes. The movement amplitude of a carriage-recoil gun was too great; its position shifted significantly after each shot, complicating precise parameter correction. Although the Trial Year 32 Battalion Gun featured a friction plate recoil system, it was not a true recoil-operated weapon. The gun body still shifted slightly after firing. Ying Yu had experimented repeatedly before adopting this crude staking method to solve the problem.
Once the gun position was settled, he rechecked its placement, angle, and direction against the map and compass bearings. Several team members puffed and labored to haul ammo boxes to his side, opening them one by one. Ying Yu took out a high-explosive shell, installed the detonating fuse, loaded it into the breech, and inserted the brass cartridge case that served as a gas seal. He closed the breech block and inserted the friction primer. Only when he was satisfied that everything was in order did he make an "OK" gesture.
Team members pulled camouflage netting over the gun and fortification. Water was sprinkled in front of the muzzle. Xue Ziliang squinted at the gradually brightening sky, calculating the optimal moment to commence shelling.
Forty shells had been prepared for the Zheng residence: half high-explosive, half shrapnel. The plan was to bombard the compound first with HE, blowing the occupants into panic and flight, then blanket the fleeing crowds with shrapnel for indiscriminate killing. Casualties would inevitably be mostly servants—but there was no doubt several important Zheng family figures could be slain.
Once the residence descended into chaos, the Navy would open its bombardment on Anping, forcing the Zheng leadership to open the gates and flee. At that point, sniper teams positioned along the main roads could begin their massacre.
Xue Ziliang checked his watch: 0450. The radioman reported that all teams had transmitted the "in position" signal. His spirits lifted. He began checking the defenses around the sand dune. The propellant was not smokeless—white smoke would quickly betray the gun position—so preparations for a counterattack from the city had to be made.
At 0512, the dull report of distant cannons rolled across the sky, no louder than faraway thunder. Xue Ziliang and Ying Yu looked instinctively toward Weitou Bay.
It has finally begun.
The cannon fire grew denser. Black smoke began to rise on the horizon. Though Xue Ziliang did not know the specific situation, fragments of radio traffic from headquarters indicated the battle was proceeding very smoothly—not that this was surprising. In his view, it was simply bullying.
Through his binoculars, commotion stirred atop Anping's city wall. Reports from the teams confirmed that all four gates remained tightly shut; no one was entering or leaving.
"From this moment," Xue Ziliang ordered into the walkie-talkie, "closely monitor every entrance and exit at Anping. Shoot any individuals entering or leaving on sight. Report abnormalities immediately."
Though he could not see clearly what was happening inside the city, bells and drums soon began to sound in unison—rallying personnel, it seemed. Then came the woo-woo of horns. Soldiers on the walls ran about like headless flies. Before long, defenders manned the entire rampart.
The fleet beneath Anping City also came alive. Xue Ziliang noted the sudden bustle aboard the anchored ships.
Medieval armies, he knew, rarely risked night marches. Even if Anping wanted to reinforce Weitou, they would have to wait until dawn—meaning no fleet reinforcements before 0530 at the earliest. Land forces would be later still. Medieval mobilization was chronically slow; commanders receiving no prior warning would hesitate, unable to judge the situation.
Cutting communications between Anping and the other locations—leaving Zheng commanders unable to confirm the front-line situation—was the most effective way to delay and disrupt their tactical deployments.
"Put up the ladder!" At Xue Ziliang's command, several team members immediately erected the aluminum alloy folding ladder. Fully extended, it stood nine meters tall. They secured it with four guy ropes. An observer, binoculars and walkie-talkie hanging from his neck, scrambled up with hands and feet, straddling the very top regardless of the ladder's swaying. He raised the binoculars to observe the situation inside Anping Town.
Though chaos reigned within, there were no signs of large-scale troop concentration—obviously, the Zheng family had not yet assessed the situation well enough to commit to action.
Xue Ziliang judged the timing perfect. He waved his hand. "Commence action!"
Ying Yu knelt on one knee and pulled the lanyard.
The 70mm gun bucked back violently. The friction plate recoil system did its work; the recoil amplitude was minimal. The shell roared into the sky, accompanied by thick white smoke. Those tracking its trajectory saw the arcing flight carry it high over Anping's wall, falling toward the Zheng residence.
"Reset!" he shouted.
Two team members pushed the gun's wheels, eyes fixed on the position markers, heaving it back to its original spot.
Ying Yu opened the breech block. The scorching brass cartridge case ejected from the chamber. He took the next shell from a team member, swiftly completing the second loading. Then he waited for the observer to report the first shell's point of impact. He planned to use four shells to calibrate, estimating each would explode after roughly fifteen seconds of flight. Once he had dialed in the impact point, he would conduct rapid fire at a rate of one round every ten seconds.
If only it were a mortar, he thought with a twinge of regret. Two seconds per round would be no problem with a mortar. Though mortars were an infantry support specialty and unrelated to his artillery background, at least their ballistics were relevant.
The first calibration round struck the street in front of the Zheng residence. The explosion raised a ball of fire; bricks and stones flew, killing several pedestrians on the spot. Tiles on nearby houses shook loose and shattered.
Based on the observer's report, Ying Yu rotated the elevation adjustment handle, raising the muzzle slightly, and fired the second shell.
The second round struck the roof of the sedan hall directly, blowing a large hole and sending tiles flying from the eaves in all directions.
Sweat beaded on Ying Yu's forehead. He glanced at the map coordinates, hands working both elevation and azimuth handles together. The third shell thundered out of the bore.
The observer relayed the third hit over the walkie-talkie. The shell had landed on the designated target: a water column rose from the pond in the backyard of Dunren Pavilion—the building Zheng Zhilong used for official business. Several ornamental waterfowl were hurled skyward by the blast.
Ying Yu studied the map once more and knew he had roughly bracketed the target. He made slight adjustments to the handles.
The fourth shell struck directly beneath the veranda of Dunren Pavilion's front courtyard, killing several attendants and personal guards on the spot.
(End of Chapter)