MLMD -Chapter 169 The Matchlock Muskets

Lu Xiangsheng was no ordinary man. Just the few simple movements made by the matchlock soldiers before him already made his eyes light up, and he couldn’t help blurting out, “Good!”

Although the soldiers on the field had only performed a few basic actions, those actions alone revealed how extraordinary they were. Such simple movements, executed by several thousand men as if they were one, could only come from long, harsh, and relentless training. Yang Guozhu, Tang Tong, Wang Pu, and the other regional commanders were likewise stunned. Having guarded the frontier for years, these men were proud and self-assured. In their eyes, aside from the elite Guanning Iron Cavalry stationed in Liaodong, there were very few Ming forces worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as their own troops. Yet today they realized that in the land of Shanxi there was actually an army that could stand shoulder to shoulder with theirs—no, this army was clearly even more elite.

Just as everyone was staring in amazement, Yue Yang shouted again:

“All troops… form ranks… advance!”

To the sound of perfectly synchronized footsteps, more than four thousand soldiers on the drill ground divided into nine square formations, each of five hundred men. The perfectly square formations marched forward in unison across the field. From the viewing platform, all that could be seen was a dense forest of matchlocks, with the triangular bayonets on their muzzles glinting with cold light under the sun. Each formation was spaced twenty paces apart, and the vast field was filled with nothing but the thunderous rhythm of marching boots.

There was no denying that the army Yue Yang had trained was vastly different from the Ming armies of the present day. Traditional armies, relying mainly on cold weapons, drilled in complex and cumbersome formations—goose-wing arrays, fish-scale arrays, circular arrays, and so on—so intricate that an ordinary soldier could not master them without years of training. Yue Yang’s formations, by contrast, were simple and clear: just square formations. Simple, yet they radiated a powerful sense of strength.

To describe how Lu Xiangsheng and the generals of Xuan–Da felt at that moment as “spellbound” would not be an exaggeration. The formations and drills below exuded a beauty of power that deeply shook these men who normally looked down on everyone else.

At that moment, Yue Yang stretched out his right hand, drew the treasured sword from his waist with a flash, pointed it diagonally toward the sky, stepped to the edge of the platform, and shouted:

“My Yingzhou Army—”

Before he could finish, thousands of soldiers roared in unison:

“Is mighty!”

“My Great Ming—”

“Is victorious!”

“Great Ming, eternal victory!”

The thunderous shout of several thousand men was overwhelming, making everyone’s ears ring. Even civil officials like Xu Dingchen and Chen Xinjia turned pale from the shock.

The troops marched around the drill field twice before finally coming to a halt. When they stopped, everyone was astonished to find that their formations remained perfectly intact, without the slightest disorder.

“Excellent… what an Yingzhou Army, what a Yue Yang!”

The shock on Lu Xiangsheng’s face slowly faded, replaced by unrestrained delight. As the Grand Governor of Xuan–Da, he knew all too well that if he had such an elite force in his hands, it would be like having a razor-sharp blade ready whenever war broke out on the frontier. If only he had known a few months earlier that Yue Yang commanded such a force, he would never have let it sit idle in Yingzhou—what a waste that had been.

At this point, everyone believed Yue Yang’s battle report. With such an elite army, beheading more than two thousand enemies was not at all impossible.

Lu Xiangsheng withdrew his gaze, nodded in satisfaction, and turned to Yue Yang.

“Commander Yue, I have seen the troops you trained—they truly deserve to be called elite. But I notice that almost all of your soldiers are matchlock troops. Do you not equip your men with spears and sabers for close combat?”

Yue Yang bowed.

“In reply to Your Excellency, I did equip the army with spears and sabers at first. But after we gradually switched to matchlocks, I phased those weapons out.”

“Why?” Lu Xiangsheng asked in surprise. “Firearms may be powerful, but in close combat they are useless. How can you not issue cold weapons to your men?”

Yue Yang smiled faintly.

“Your Excellency may not know this, but the firearms I use are different from the old ones. They have longer range and far greater power. They can even kill enemies at two hundred paces. With that, spears and sabers become far less useful. Apart from a small number of men who still carry them, most have been removed.”

“Two hundred paces?!” Yang Guozhu immediately cried out. “The longest-ranged firearm in the Ming, the Lumei musket, barely reaches two hundred paces, and it can only injure within a hundred—and that’s without armor. Are you trying to fool us, Commander Yue?”

Though Yang Guozhu’s words were blunt, no one rebuked him, because everyone was stunned. A range of two hundred paces—such extravagance rivaled even small falconets or tiger-crouching cannons.

Yue Yang merely smiled.

“As the saying goes, seeing is believing. Since Your Excellency and the gentlemen doubt it, let us use facts to speak. Come and see how my soldiers shoot.”

He gestured invitingly.

Lu Xiangsheng took a deep breath.

“Good. Today I shall see what kind of matchlock can reach two hundred paces.”

…

“Fire—!”

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Deafening gunshots rang out across the firing range, and thick white smoke billowed up.

The thunderous report, the smoke, and the flashes of flame from the Minié-style muskets were already astonishing enough. But then everyone saw that at two hundred paces, the thick wooden targets were either showered with splinters or blown apart.

Three ranks of musketeers stood nearby. After the first rank fired, they immediately stepped back, the second rank moved up and fired, followed by the third. Meanwhile, the first rank was already reloading—pouring powder and ball from oil-paper cartridges into the barrel, ramming it down with the rod, then priming the pan. In moments, they were ready again.

“Fire—fire—fire!”

After three more volleys, the targets two hundred paces away were riddled with holes, some smashed so completely that hardly anything remained.

Even Chen Xinjia and Xu Dingchen had gone pale.

“What kind of musket is this, to have such power?” Lu Xiangsheng murmured.

He walked over to a soldier, took the musket from his hands, and examined it closely.

“Fine workmanship indeed. Commander Yue, why does this musket shoot so far and hit so hard?”

“Of course I can tell you.” Yue Yang took the still-smoking musket. “Your Excellency, look inside the barrel. What is different?”

Lu Xiangsheng peered in and exclaimed, “Why are there grooves carved inside the barrel?”

“That is the secret,” Yue Yang said. “With rifling cut into the bore, the bullet’s range increases several times and its power greatly increases. But the technique is extremely difficult. At present, no Ming craftsman can do it. I had these barrels specially purchased from a Frankish man. There are no more in stock.”

These Minié muskets were Yue Yang’s deadliest weapons. Naturally, he had no intention of handing them over, and so he cut off certain thoughts at the root.

As expected, many around them showed disappointment. A firearm like this was nothing short of a divine weapon: two hundred paces of range, plus three-rank firing, enough to make any attacking enemy despair.

Lu Xiangsheng gave Yue Yang a long, meaningful look, clearly seeing through his little calculation—but he said nothing.

Yue Yang’s heart jumped, and he hurriedly said, “Your Excellency, if you do not mind, I have a small gift. If you will not disdain it, please accept it.”

He turned and took a wooden box from a bodyguard, then handed it to Lu Xiangsheng. Lu opened it and saw two exquisitely crafted pistols resting on silk, along with a small silver flask and a dozen lead balls.

Lu Xiangsheng fell in love with them at once. The pistols were only half a foot long, silver-gray all over, deadly weapons yet crafted like works of art.

He took one, loaded it expertly, and Yue Yang said quickly, “Your Excellency, this pistol has a range of twenty paces—an excellent self-defense weapon.”

Lu Xiangsheng raised it at a small tree nearby and pulled the trigger.

“Bang!”

White smoke rose, and wood chips flew from the tree.

“Excellent!” the generals cried.

Lu Xiangsheng put the pistol away and examined it again, clearly reluctant to part with it. At last he laughed.

“Commander Yue, though I normally never accept gifts, today I will accept your ‘small token.’”