Chapter 2109 - The First Trench
The grenades had all been thrown. Before the smoke had even cleared—in barely a few minutes—the grenadiers had entered the Ming trench and begun close-quarters combat with the defenders of the first line.
Smoke rolled in dense clouds; the Ming soldiers' vision was a blur. They fired a few random shots, and before they could reload, the Fubo Army grenadiers had already poured into the first trench.
After the grenade bombardment, the trench was a shambles. The sword-and-shield men massing in the communication trenches for a countercharge had suffered catastrophic casualties and lost all fighting power. The soldiers in the first trench had no will to fight at all; only a faint survival instinct sustained their desperate counterattack—by now, flight was no longer an option.
The first unit into the trench was the grenadiers' assault platoon. Since full-length bayoneted rifles were awkward in the narrow confines, the first wave of grenadiers used double-barreled shotguns: leap into the trench, fire the shotgun at point-blank range, then switch to entrenching tools to clear the position.
The entrenching tool was short, with a sharp, heavy edge and considerable heft—excellent for close-quarters melee. The engineers hacked left and right, slashing and chopping in great sweeping blows, driving the surviving Ming soldiers backward. Limbs and heads were hewn clean off; blood sprayed from severed arteries one or two meters high, spattering the Fubo soldiers until they were covered—face and body—in gore, like demons escaped from hell.
Screams, gasps, roars, and the clash of steel blurred into a cacophony, punctuated by the shrieks of the dying. The trench filled with corpses in moments.
The Ming troops collapsed almost instantly, and the collapse became a rout. In barely ten minutes, the assault team had completely seized the first trench.
Jiang Suo ordered all firearms to fire at will, hoping to suppress the Hair-Bandits in the confusion following the breach of the first trench—not to retake it, just to disrupt their offensive rhythm. But the assault trench was less than fifty meters from the Ming first line; by the time the firearms could fire a few rounds, the light infantry following the grenadiers had already occupied the sandbag emplacements outside the first trench. Sheltering behind the sandbags, they quickly opened fire and suppressed the household troops' firepower.
The infantry rapidly mopped up remaining Ming resistance inside the trench. The grenadiers pursued the fleeing survivors along the communication trenches, pressing on to breach the second trench in a single thrust.
The Australians' ferocious assault left Song Ming no time to react—or rather, no time to respond. An hour of engineering approach, a hundred-odd rounds of shelling, a mass grenade volley, one bayonet charge—and the first trench had fallen in the blink of an eye. He now sheltered in the second trench's dugout, watching Hair-Bandits pour into the first trench by the hundreds.
The sword-and-shield men who had been massing in the communication trenches for a countercharge had never gotten a chance to act. Instead, they had been torn apart by shells raining into the depth positions. The trenches that had been packed with soldiers preparing to counterattack were now choked with mangled, incomplete corpses and the unending screams of the wounded. If the Hair-Bandits had had more artillery, not a soul in those trenches would have survived.
The archers had broken at first contact—casualties were light, and they were now regrouping further back. But their fighting spirit was weak. They could loose arrows and fire matchlocks at long range, but asking them to face Hair-Bandits in close combat was beyond them.
Looking at Jiang Suo, who was peering over the trench edge with a Nanyang rifle while pacing along the parapet, Song Ming felt his heart sink. This "Instructor Jiang" seemed dazed and distracted—almost unhinged. Song Ming worried: these several hundred musketeers had all been trained by his hand. If he really went mad, what would become of them?
He called to him several times. Jiang Suo turned and answered, which finally set Song Ming's mind at ease.
"The Hair-Bandits are coming up!"
"Don't worry. Every communication trench opening has a crouching-tiger cannon positioned. Fire once and you can seal the trench. We also have blunderbusses and light Falangjis. Just hold those openings and keep the Hair-Bandits from coming through the trenches!"
Through the smoke, the grenadiers had already advanced along the trench. Their tall figures and the peaked caps on their heads bobbed above the trench walls.
"Fire! Light the cannon!" Song Ming bellowed.
Several crouching-tiger cannons pre-positioned in emplacements at the end of the communication trenches were ignited simultaneously. With a series of booms, the little cannons bounced, spewing shot and smoke along the trench, instantly felling several of the leading grenadiers.
"Musketeers!"
Song Ming roared. The crouching-tigers were too slow to reload in time. Heavy matchlock musketeers waiting near the communication trenches quickly set their rests, blew on their slow-matches, and pulled the triggers. The heavy matchlocks bellowed in low roars, spitting lead down the communication trenches.
The Ming musketeers continued to fire in the traditional "three-rank volley" rotation, maintaining a dense enfilade. Soon they had driven back the approaching grenadiers.
Several grenadiers climbed out of the trench, trying to outflank along the surface, and were immediately shot down by the Nanyang rifle musketeers positioned along the second trench.
The second trench, besides the three hundred new troops, was also equipped with numerous crouching-tiger cannons and Falangjis. Now all these weapons were firing. Though accuracy was poor, the flying shot and dense smoke seriously impeded infantry mobility during the assault, forcing line infantry who had already emerged from the first trench to fall back.
Song Ming, heedless of the acrid smoke stinging his eyes, strained to watch the communication trenches. When he saw the shadowy figures beginning to retreat, he slapped the sandbag in elation—the Hair-Bandits had withdrawn!
Though this "victory" was negligible—could hardly even be called a victory—it at least proved the Hair-Bandits were not celestial soldiers, not invulnerable and invincible. With the right tactics, they could be pushed back too.
"Throw grenades!" shouted the platoon leader, eyes reddened. Several grenadiers immediately began advancing to throw their bombs. But the Ming Falangjis and blunderbusses fired almost continuously; the communication trench was swept by flying shot and choked with smoke. No grenadier could get close enough to throw, and several more fell as casualties.
The grenadier company commander quickly called a pullback—casualties were too high pushing like this. In barely ten minutes since entering the communication trench, the company had suffered over ten wounded and dead.
"Mark targets for artillery!" the commander shouted.
Yellow signal rockets rose intermittently, tracing arcs through the smoke. The mountain howitzer crews adjusted aim according to the rockets' trajectories. Shells began walking down the communication trenches, advancing from far to near toward the blocking positions at the trench openings.
Infantry who had entered the first trench flipped sandbags and rapidly built breastworks. Light infantry and line infantry sheltered behind them, firing volley after volley, pouring out fire without counting cost. Soon they had suppressed the Falangjis and blunderbusses.
Jiang Suo knew the Fubo Army's doctrine emphasized overwhelming firepower. Even when supply lines threatened to snap, they never skimped on ammunition in battle—crushing the enemy's morale with absolute fire superiority. The rifle volleys and mountain howitzers were only the beginning; a more powerful fire assault was sure to follow.
Jiang Suo had hoped to counterattack while the Australians were momentarily stalled and disorganized—not to retake the first trench, just to disrupt their rhythm and delay the next assault. But the Hair-Bandits had reacted far faster than he expected. Though their assault was briefly checked, they organized a fire response almost immediately. Before long, artillery would blanket the blocking positions at the trench openings.
Dense bullets whined overhead. Musketeers fell in steady succession, and soon they had ceased firing altogether, huddling in the trench. Though this force—composed mainly of household guards—had not yet collapsed, that was only a matter of time.
Soon Bangshan would fall. He himself would probably die on this hill.
"Senior-Sister, I'll be with you soon," Jiang Suo murmured silently.
Inside Wuzhou city, Yi Haoran had forgotten time as he stood on the wall gazing tensely toward Bangshan. He had also forgotten the thunder of artillery outside the walls. Ignoring the repeated entreaties of his guards, he remained at the highest point of the tower, watching the distant hill.
From the walls one couldn't actually see the battle on Bangshan—only the smoke and flag signals on the mountain were faintly visible. Since dusk, cannon and musket fire had rumbled continuously from the direction of Bangshan, mingled with faint shouts.
At first, dispatch riders could still bring news. He had roughly learned that the Hair-Bandits were countering trench with trench, approaching the garrison's abatis, with sporadic exchanges of fire.
From officers, soldiers, and Jiang Suo, Yi Haoran had learned much about the Hair-Bandits' combat characteristics. They rarely launched rash assaults; instead, they advanced methodically, step by step. Before attacking, they always established positions and abatis as a base for advance or retreat. Preparations for an assault could take a long time—sometimes agonizingly slow.
Yet once the assault began, there would be overwhelming firepower. Firearms alone often shattered the enemy; infantry then moved in to finish the fight almost instantly, with minimal casualties.
Sporadic fire meant the Hair-Bandits were still making final preparations for their decisive blow. Yi Haoran couldn't help worrying: could Song Ming and Jiang Suo withstand the Hair-Bandits' thunderbolt strike?
Until now, no force had ever withstood that hammer blow.
Could Jiang Suo and the new army he had trained succeed?
In Xiong Wencan's view, as long as it wasn't a "crushing defeat," it would count as "victory." Even if the entire new army were sacrificed, it would be worthwhile. But Yi Haoran didn't want that kind of "victory." He still hoped to hold Wuzhou—to spare its people from the horrors of war.
(End of Chapter)