MLMD -Chapter 327 Blazing Battle Formations (Part 1)

“What is that thing?”

“Eternal Heaven—it’s a miracle!”

The enormous hot-air balloon had barely lifted off when it instantly stunned both sides that were in the midst of deploying their troops. The balloon was simply massive, and Yue Yang had deliberately painted it a striking red, making it clearly visible to everyone within several li.

“What is that? How can it be so big?”

“Eternal Heaven—what on earth is that thing?”

The Qing commanders directing the advance were likewise dumbfounded when they saw the hot-air balloon rising into the sky. Many of them turned pale with fear.

Even Hooge, known for his violent temper, couldn’t help blurting out to Huang Taiji beside him, “Father Khan, the Ming army is using sorcery!”

If even a general like Hooge was panicking, the ordinary Qing soldiers were even worse off. Watching the balloon rise higher and higher, many soldiers couldn’t help but drop to their knees and pray.

“Pa—!”

Hooge was slapped hard across the face. Gritting his teeth, Huang Taiji shouted angrily, “You idiot! This isn’t sorcery at all—just some crafty Han trickery. What are you panicking for?!”

Though Huang Taiji himself was alarmed, as an emperor and supreme commander he could not show it like the others. Forcing himself to maintain his authority and steady morale, he slapped his own son and then turned to the surrounding officers, shouting loudly, “Everyone, do not panic! This is nothing more than one of Yue Yang’s dirty tricks. That thing is just a scarecrow made by the Han—nothing divine at all. Now hear my decree: anyone who dares disturb military morale will be executed without mercy!”

Under Huang Taiji’s reassurance and the officers’ suppression, the somewhat chaotic ranks gradually calmed down. Moreover, the Qing army at this time was a well-trained force; after a brief panic, they resumed their advance.

“Woo—woo—woo—”

“Di-di-da-da-da—”

Shrill trumpets and deep horns echoed through the air. Yue Yang ordered his troops into a square formation: at its core were twenty infantry squares formed by twenty thousand musketeers; ten thousand cavalry under Wu Chengfeng guarded the flanks; five thousand Mongol cavalry led by Bater protected the rear; and Zhao Yongxin commanded three artillery battalions—over 160 cannons of various calibers—positioned at the center of the right flank.

Once the hot-air balloon was airborne, Yue Yang asked the signalman beside him, “Ask the observers in the air about the Qing army’s situation.”

“Yes, sir!”

Less than two minutes later, the signalman reported, “Reporting to the Marquis: the reconnaissance balloon reports that the main Qing force is now less than three li from us. At the front is the Plain Blue Banner—mostly infantry, with some cavalry, and quite a number of shield wagons and heavy shield troops. They also spotted a Qing artillery unit moving toward us about three li away, accompanied by another infantry force that appears to be carrying muskets.”

“Artillery?”

Yue Yang’s expression immediately grew solemn. His army was practically a pure firearms force, and nothing posed a greater threat to firearms troops than another firearms force. From the observers’ report, the Qing had brought artillery this time—bad news indeed. Without much thought, Yue Yang knew this unit was almost certainly the firearms battalion of the Han Banner. Historically, the only firearms force under the Qing had originated from Shang Kexi’s command.

He immediately ordered, “Order Zhao Yongxin to begin setting up the artillery positions at once and bombard the enemy artillery.”

“Yes!”

While the Yingzhou Army’s artillery battalions hurried to deploy their guns, Shang Kexi led the Han Plain Blue Banner to a slightly elevated hill.

Though nominally a Han Banner force, Shang Kexi’s troops consisted mostly of former Ming soldiers who had surrendered with him, along with a small number of Koreans who had also submitted to the Qing. Their firearms were Ming bird guns and three-barrel muskets, while their artillery—red-coated cannons and tiger-crouching cannons—had been personally supervised by Shang Kexi during replication. The tiger cannons aside, the red-coated cannons were formidable: weighing over two thousand jin, firing five- to six-pound shot, and reaching three to four li.

Besides the surrendered Ming soldiers and Koreans, there was also a small contingent of regular Qing troops. Armed with bows, shields, and sabers, they served both for close combat and as supervisors—ready to hack down any surrender troops who tried to flee if the battle turned unfavorable.

Artillery crews looked awe-inspiring when firing—thunderous blasts like lightning—but on the march they suffered terribly. In an era reliant on mules and horses, transporting dozens of cannons weighing over two thousand jin each was no easy task. On uneven hills, every red-coated cannon required dozens of men to push and drag it along. Including auxiliary guns and ammunition, each piece effectively needed over a hundred men to serve it.

By contrast, the Yingzhou Army’s steel cannons were far lighter: a six-pounder weighed only five hundred jin, and a twelve-pounder just a thousand. Mounted on specially customized carriages with rubber tires sourced from Yue Yang’s modern era, their mobility and flexibility were worlds apart from Qing artillery.

“Sir, can we open fire?” a centurion asked Zhao Yongxin, who was observing the enemy through a telescope. “The brothers are ready!”

Zhao Yongxin glared at him. “What’s the rush? The Second Tartars’ marching formation is too stretched out. Firing now would have low accuracy, and we’d alert them. If they scatter and run, are you going to push the cannons to chase them? If we strike, we strike hard—just like the Marquis said: wipe out their effective strength.”

“Yes!” The centurion withdrew reluctantly.

Though he had scolded the man, Zhao Yongxin himself was anxious. Muttering to himself, he said, “Hurry up… come on… let grandpa show you the power of Yingzhou artillery!”

As time passed, the Qing army drew closer. The distance between the two sides shrank to under three li. The vanguard began pushing shield wagons and raising heavy shields as they advanced slowly toward the Yingzhou Army.

The morning wind blew, banners snapping sharply. A heavy yet stirring tension hung in the air. Yue Yang murmured, “Come on, you damned Tartars. You brutes—since I’m here, don’t even think about trampling my homeland again.”

After waiting a bit, Yue Yang asked the signalman, “Ask Zhao Yongxin why he still hasn’t opened fire on the Qing artillery.”

A moment later came the reply: “Reporting to the Marquis: Lord Zhao says the Tartars’ artillery is too dispersed. Firing now wouldn’t achieve much and would only alert them.”

“Damn it—how did Shang Kexi train his troops?” Yue Yang muttered irritably, then ordered, “We won’t wait any longer. Order Hu Laosan to push forward with five thousand musketeers. Have Wu Chengfeng send two thousand cavalry to cover the flanks!”

“Yes!”

As the order went out, the “di-di-da-da” of bugles rang out. The five front squares began advancing. These squares were composed of the newest recruits—many fighting for the first time—but after nearly a year of strict training, they advanced in neat formation as drilled.

Each soldier wore black-and-gray Gothic armor, holding a Minié musket braced on the right shoulder, marching forward in synchronized, powerful steps. From afar, they looked like rolling black clouds, exuding a heavy, oppressive presence. On both flanks, two thousand cavalry advanced in escort about a hundred paces away.

On a hill three li from the Yingzhou Army, over a dozen massive brocade dragon banners stood tall. Beneath them stood the Qing emperor Huang Taiji, Dorgon—the newly enfeoffed Prince Rui of the Plain White Banner—Hooge, Prince Su of the Plain Blue Banner, and many senior Qing commanders.

Among the banners, aside from Huang Taiji’s bright yellow imperial dragon standard, the most eye-catching was Hooge’s dark-gold dragon banner—princely, three-pronged, with silver flame-tipped finials, dazzlingly ornate.

Behind them stood the bayara banner officers guarding the elite troops and protecting the dragon standards, along with numerous meile commanders and jalan ejen, all standing solemnly as they gazed toward the Ming lines, watching over eight thousand Qing vanguard troops advance.

A meile commander pointed ahead and reported, “Great Khan, the Ming army is advancing!”

“I’m not blind—I can see it myself!” Huang Taiji snapped.

The commander awkwardly withdrew.

Huang Taiji stared intently ahead. This was the first time he personally led a great army against the Yingzhou forces. Victory would be acceptable—but defeat would be a crushing blow to his prestige. Though the weather was cold, a fine sheen of sweat crept down his back.

He hated this feeling. It reminded him of a weakness within himself. Irritated, he muttered, “What is Shang Kexi doing? Why hasn’t he opened fire yet?”

The moment his words fell, a thunderous roar erupted ahead.

But it was not the artillery he expected—it was the crisp crack of muskets. The Yingzhou musketeers had fired.

Huang Taiji hurriedly shifted his gaze and saw white smoke rising across the battlefield, slowly billowing upward and shrouding the scene in haze.

Hu Laosan’s musket squares had opened fire. The first rank—five hundred musketeers—firing in unison mowed down swathes of Qing infantry who were pushing shield wagons and raising heavy shields. At that moment, the Qing troops were still over three hundred paces away.

“Charge! All of you—charge forward and kill them all!” A Qing meile commander waved his saber, driving his men onward.

“Fire—keep firing, don’t stop!” On the left flank, Hu Laosan, mounted on horseback, barked orders through his radio. “Chen Zihao—slow your firing rate, aim properly! Focus on the Tartar archers! Wang Ermazi, you blind bastard—take out those shield-wagon pushers now! Want to taste Tartar arrows?!”

“Don’t panic—hold steady! Aim before you fire! Whoever shoots at the sky will be sent to the supply camp to carry dung!”

Officers’ shouts rang through the ranks. No matter how good the training, soldiers untested by real combat could not yet be called qualified. Only through repeated trials of blood and fire could new recruits become hardened veterans.

“Bang, bang, bang—”

White smoke rose again and again as slightly disordered gunfire echoed through the air. Qing soldiers fell one after another along the advance. Yet the Qing army was indeed formidable—though comrades fell ahead, those behind gritted their teeth and pressed on.

They adapted quickly, concentrating the shield wagons into a line and advancing behind them. The Minié musket was lethal, but against shield wagons built from thick logs, it had little effect. Lead balls smacked loudly against the wood, yet the Qing troops behind the wagons continued their slow, relentless advance.

“Damn those shield wagons!” Hu Laosan slammed his thigh in frustration. Normally the artillery would deal with them, but the guns were busy countering Qing artillery, leaving him no choice but to watch the enemy push closer.

“This won’t do—we can’t let the Tartars push those wagons right up to us.” Hu Laosan ordered the cavalry on both flanks, “Attack from the wings! Charge in and scatter their formation!”

“Yes!”

Thunderous hoofbeats followed as two thousand cavalry spurred forward.

Seeing the Ming cavalry advance, the Qing cavalry moved as well—over two thousand riders surged out to meet them. A few hundred paces vanished in barely a minute, and thousands of horsemen crashed together. The clash of weapons, horses’ screams, and riders’ roars blended into a spectacular, terrifying tableau.

Watching the tangled mass of cavalry, Yue Yang frowned deeply. From the current situation, the Qing had found a way to counter his musket squares: shield wagons up front, infantry advancing under cover. Though losses were inevitable, with their numerical advantage such casualties were acceptable.

If they broke his formation—even once—it would greatly boost Qing morale, fulfilling Huang Taiji’s aim. But if Hu Laosan’s five squares were shattered, Qing cavalry would pounce like starving wolves. The five thousand musketeers, stripped of distance, would be slaughtered like lambs. Such a loss would devastate friendly morale.

“This must not happen.”

Turning to the signalman, Yue Yang said, “Tell Zhao Yongxin he can’t wait any longer. Have him attack the Tartar artillery immediately—draw their attention away!”

Though regretful, Zhao Yongxin complied and gave the order.

“Three-gun ranging shot—fire!”

At his command, three gunners lit the fuses of their six-pounders. Everyone nearby watched tensely as the fuses hissed and sparked.

“Boom—boom—boom—!”

With deafening thunder, three iron shot screamed through the air toward the Han Banner artillery just arriving on the hill to set up positions. The shells struck a mound of earth on the slope, blasting up huge sprays of dirt before bouncing and rolling down the hillside.

“Bad! The Ming are firing artillery!”

A veteran artilleryman, Shang Kexi was highly sensitive to cannon fire. He shrieked and dove behind a mound, bending low. Like wind flattening wheat, all the Han Banner troops, Koreans, and even supervising Qing soldiers abandoned all dignity and dove for cover, pressing themselves flat against the ground. Only after the shots landed did they dare breathe again.

Seeing that none of the shells hit their mark, everyone relaxed. Some even stood up, pointing and laughing toward the Ming lines.

“Damn it, they missed!”

“Artillery round landed a hundred paces to the right,” came the observer’s report from the balloon via radio.

Embarrassed by the complete miss, Zhao Yongxin strode over personally, shoved aside the adjusting gunner, rolled up his sleeves, and recalibrated the cannon himself.

After busying himself, the gun was reloaded and re-aimed at the Qing artillery—this time not a test. Over thirty six-pounders were set to fire together.

Zhao Yongxin grimly waved his hand. His deputy blew a piercing whistle. Like lightning and thunder, dozens of cannons roared in unison. Thick white smoke billowed out in great clouds, blanketing the sky ahead.

The tremendous noise startled nearby horses into panic—and even the Qing camp several li away erupted in commotion.