Chapter 1255 - Escape

Zheng Zhilong fled through the back gate of Zhongzuo Garrison, surrounded by his closest retainers.

The sounds of battle still raged behind them—the crack of rifles, the boom of artillery, the screams of dying men—but he knew the fight was lost. He had watched from the gatehouse as his best troops were cut down like wheat before a scythe. He had seen the bamboo bundle shields shattered into splinters, the fire ship attack fail utterly, the coordinated charge dissolve into a bloody rout. Each hope crushed, each stratagem defeated.

The Australians fought with weapons from another world. Their rifles fired faster than any musket he had ever seen—faster than seemed possible. Their cannons were more accurate than any gun in any fleet. And their soldiers—those blue-clad devils—stood their ground under fire that would have broken any army he had ever faced.

There was nothing more to be done here. Zhongzuo would fall—was falling even now. His only chance was to escape, regroup, and fight another day.

"To the boats," he ordered. "We make for the mainland."

His escort numbered perhaps thirty men—loyal guards who had stayed by him when others fled. They hurried through the narrow streets of the fishermen's quarter, heads down, moving as quickly as they dared without drawing attention.

Behind them, the garrison was in chaos. Fleeing soldiers clogged the streets. Some tried to join Zheng Zhilong's group, but his guards pushed them away. Too many men would slow them down, attract attention.

They reached the cove. The boats were there—small fishing craft, nothing more, but enough to cross to the mainland. Zheng Zhilong was about to board when a shout went up behind them.

"The Australians! They're coming!"

Zheng Zhilong looked back. A squad of Australian soldiers had spotted them and was running toward the cove, rifles at the ready.

"Go!" he shouted, shoving aside a guard and leaping into the nearest boat. "Launch the boats!"

His men pushed off from the shore. Oars splashed frantically. The boats began to move, sluggish at first, then gaining speed as the rowers found their rhythm.

Rifle fire crackled from the shore. A guard slumped over his oar, shot through the chest—dead instantly. Another cried out, clutching a shattered arm. But the boats kept moving, pulling away from the deadly beach.

The Australians reached the waterline and kept firing. Their accuracy was terrifying—at this range, every shot seemed to find a target. But the boats were picking up speed now, the rowers pulling desperately.

Zheng Zhilong kept his head down as bullets whipped past. He heard the crack of a rifle, the splash of a bullet in the water mere inches from the hull. His heart hammered against his ribs.

The firing slackened as the boats drew out of effective range. Zheng Zhilong risked a look back. The Australian soldiers were standing on the beach, watching them go. He could imagine their frustration.

He had escaped. But for how long?

The boats made for the mainland, bearing the defeated lord toward an uncertain future. Behind them, Xiamen Island burned.

Shi Zhiqi arrived at the cove minutes later. He stared at the retreating boats, now small specks on the water, growing smaller with each passing second.

"Sir, should we signal the ships?" his aide asked. "They might be able to intercept—"

"No." Shi Zhiqi shook his head. "The ships are needed for the Anping operation. Besides..." He watched the boats disappearing into the distance. "He won't get far. Send word to the Wasp Team. Tell them the target is heading inland. They know what to do."

He turned away from the water. There was still work to be done in the garrison—wounded to tend, prisoners to process, supplies to secure. And tomorrow—tomorrow they would finish what they had started.

(End of Chapter)