MLMD -Chapter 269 Crushed

If one were to look down from the sky at this moment, they would see countless units advancing in dense formations—heavy-armored pikemen, spears leveled, charging straight toward the Ming army’s lines.

As the saying goes, an inch longer gives an inch of advantage—a truth that proves most apt when two armies meet in formation. These pikemen were all elite bannermen of the Bordered Blue Banner. Some wielded ten-foot pikes designed specifically to break enemy formations, while others carried eight-foot tiger-head spears. Their spearheads gleamed like snow, rank upon rank of points flashing with blinding light. Each of these Eight Banner warriors wore double or even triple layers of armor—thick enough that ordinary weapons could scarcely harm them. Broad and powerfully built, they charged forward with mouths wide open, bellowing heart-piercing roars as they ran. Their reckless, life-or-death assault carried an unstoppable momentum, their ferocious appearance enough to shatter the courage of the faint-hearted.

The Ming army had just completed three volleys. The arquebusiers who had fired the first round had already returned to the front rank. Thanks to the convenience of pre-packaged cartridges, reloading was simple: tear open the paper cartridge, load the powder and lead ball into the barrel in sequence, ram it home with the ramrod, then prime the pan with a pinch of powder. The entire process took only about twenty breaths.

Once reloaded, the arquebusiers raised their weapons in unison. Countless muzzles leveled at the charging Qing heavy pikemen, whose savage faces were now clearly visible.

“Fire!”

A chorus of thunderous shouts rang out, followed by another deafening wave of gunfire.

Thick clouds of smoke billowed skyward. The Qing heavy pikemen—spears and halberds raised—seemed as though they had all been struck by massive hammers at the same instant, tumbling and rolling across the ground. At a distance of seventy to eighty paces—well within the optimal range of the Minié rifle—the .577-caliber Minié bullets easily pierced their heavy armor. Even for the rare lucky Qing soldier whose triple armor was not fully penetrated, the tremendous impact force of the bullet was enough to shatter bones and tear muscles beneath the plate.

The first devastating blow felled a swath of pikemen, yet those behind did not halt their charge. These battle-hardened elites of the Bordered Blue Banner knew well that stopping now would be the height of folly.

“Kill—!”

The remaining heavy infantry roared hoarsely as they surged forward. Now only sixty to seventy paces from the Ming lines, cruel and bloodthirsty grins spread across many faces. They longed to drive their spears into Ming chests, rip open bellies, and hack off heads as they had done so many times before.

Facing the onrushing tide, the second rank of arquebusiers—having already replaced their fallen comrades—watched the invaders with icy eyes. Their hands remained steady on their guns. At their officers’ commands, they pulled their triggers without hesitation.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The crack of igniting powder echoed in rapid succession. Sparks from flints ignited the priming powder, which in turn set off the charge in the barrel. Brilliant flashes burst forth, instantly transforming into jets of flame and smoke blasting from the muzzles, merging into another thunderous, unified volley.

Blood mist erupted from the bodies of the armored Qing soldiers. At a distance of fifty to sixty paces, no armor was proof against the Minié rifle. No matter how many layers they wore, it was useless. The shorter range also made aiming easier. Large numbers of Qing soldiers were struck down, collapsing on the spot. Those who did not die immediately clutched their wounds and screamed in agony, their cries tearing at the air.

After two volleys, the once densely packed ranks of heavy pikemen ahead had become eerily empty. The few survivors left standing were stunned into silence. Such lethality and efficiency were something these self-proclaimed veterans of countless campaigns had never witnessed.

Yet the Qing troops truly deserved their reputation as one of the most elite forces of the era. Despite such horrific losses, more heavy pikemen continued to charge forward—though madness now twisted their faces. One Qing soldier whose left arm had been shattered by a bullet could no longer grip his spear. Even so, he drew the saber at his waist with his remaining arm and staggered forward, lurching toward the enemy.

Watching these madly charging soldiers, Yue Yang—observing from the center of the formation—muttered, “Damn, they really are insane. Just as crazy as those little devils in later generations. But no matter how brave an enemy is, they can’t stand against modern firepower. The more they come, the more they die!”

No sooner had his words fallen than, behind the arquebusiers, the artillery battalion pushed more than sixty small trebuchets into position at the rear of the square. Three gunners stood by each machine. One placed a wanrendì—about the size of two clenched fists—onto the firing tray. Another lit its fuse with a torch. Then the trigger was pulled. The arm swung, and the three-jin explosive soared into the air, tracing a semicircular arc before landing fifty to sixty paces in front of the Ming formation.

Most of the wanrendì did not explode immediately upon landing. Still carrying momentum, they rolled once or twice before erupting with tremendous blasts.

Each device was packed not only with black powder but also with twenty to thirty small, irregular iron pellets. When the charge detonated, these pellets burst outward, slamming into everything around them.

The Qing heavy infantry—packed tightly for their charge—suffered terribly. Two wanrendì exploded almost simultaneously in nearly the same spot. Amid towering smoke and deafening detonations, large clusters of Qing soldiers were hurled to the ground. Dozens of armored pikemen were even flung bodily into the air by the shockwaves. Their once orderly formation was ripped apart, becoming pockmarked and ragged as if gnawed by dogs. Faced with such thunderous devastation and catastrophic losses, the remaining Qing troops could no longer suppress their terror. Throwing down their weapons, they screamed and fled.

After several successive volleys and two rounds of explosive bombardment, nearly all two thousand Qing archers were killed or wounded, the survivors forced to withdraw. More than half of the two thousand heavy infantry were also wiped out—while Ming casualties remained negligible.

The remaining few hundred Qing soldiers finally broke. No matter how tough their nerves, they could not endure such slaughter. Screaming in panic, they fled to the rear, driven by a single thought: get away—escape this hell. A handful of frenzied soldiers still charged forward, roaring wildly, but their fate was unchanged—they were swiftly riddled with bullets and cut down.

At this moment, Wu Sangui, He Kegang, and Hu Dawei arrived on the flanks of the Yingzhou Army formation with over eight thousand cavalry. The Qing rout unfolded before their eyes.

All three were stunned. Hu Dawei was a veteran of the Xuanda frontier, having fought for decades and seen countless battles against the Qing. Wu Sangui and He Kegang, from Liaodong—the front line against the Qing—had fought them even more often. Yet never had they witnessed anything like this. Since when had the Qing become so utterly vulnerable? Just moments earlier, seven or eight thousand Qing troops had launched a full assault—an attack that could have routed even thirty or forty thousand Ming soldiers if mishandled. And now? Was this real?

He Kegang groaned in disbelief. “Am I dreaming? Or have the Tatars all turned into useless trash? Are these really the Qing soldiers I know?”

Wu Sangui, destined to leave his mark on history, steadied himself quickly. Taking in the sight of Qing troops scattering in all directions, he drew a deep breath and said, “It’s not that the Tatars have become weak—it’s that the Yingzhou Army’s firearms are terrifyingly strong. No matter what, if we don’t seize this chance to pursue them, I won’t have the face to return to Liaodong.”

His words jolted the other two awake. Indeed—letting such an opportunity to slaughter the Qing slip away would invite divine retribution. To refuse a bargain was foolish, and once this moment passed, it would never return.

They exchanged a glance, each seeing blazing fire in the others’ eyes.

Almost in unison, the three drew their weapons and shouted, “Charge!”

The horns of pursuit sounded. More than seven thousand cavalry in red armor surged forward like a crimson flood, chasing the fleeing Qing army…

Watching his banner’s warriors collapse and flee like a receding tide, Abatai stood beneath the great brocade standard, utterly dazed. He could not believe that the heavy infantry and elite archers of his Bordered Blue Banner were completely outmatched in a head-on clash with the Ming—an army he had always held in contempt. Those firearms he had once dismissed now revealed terrifying power. Through his telescope, he had seen the battle clearly. This was no longer combat—it was a one-sided massacre.

Yueto, Dorgon, and Dodo had already reported to Hong Taiji and the Manchu high command about the fearsome strength of Yue Yang’s all-firearms army. But Abatai had never imagined it would be this devastating—so powerful that his troops could not even close the distance.

Standing beneath the great standard, Abatai murmured to himself, “Why… why did it turn out like this…?”