MLMD -Chapter 328 Fierce Battle Formations (Part 2)

As the Zhishun Prince personally enfeoffed by Huang Taiji, Kong Youde naturally wore nothing ordinary. What he had on was a suit of treasured armor bestowed by Huang Taiji himself—golden and dazzling to the eye. In ordinary times, Kong Youde took great pride in this finery. But today, for the first time, he felt that being too conspicuous could be fatal, because he realized that in this round of bombardment, several cannonballs seemed to be aimed straight at him.

“Ah!”

Watching cannonballs fly in nonstop, many people screamed in terror.

“Boom!”

A six-pound shot, shrieking sharply through the air, smashed heavily into a wooden crate beside Kong Youde. With a loud crash, the crate shattered into pieces, and the gunpowder stored inside scattered everywhere. Kong Youde was particularly unlucky—powder sprayed all over him, turning his once golden armor pitch-black.

“Whoosh—whoosh…”

An even louder whistling followed. This was the second round of bombardment.

With the previous shots as reference, and with constant reports and corrections from observers in the hot-air balloon, the Ming artillery now fired with far greater accuracy. A twelve-pound shot, carrying enormous kinetic energy, struck a protruding rock and ricocheted, bouncing and rolling down the slope. It smashed into several Korean soldiers hiding behind the hillside.

Because the shot had changed direction and moved irregularly, these Korean soldiers were exceedingly unlucky. They barely had time to let out despairing screams before being crushed into pulp by the iron ball weighing more than ten catties. There was only a dull thud and a brief wail; viscera and blood splattered everywhere, staining the surrounding ground a vivid red-black.

Shang Kexi let out a sharp cry. Turning tail, he fled desperately downhill. This place was far too dangerous—down below would be safer. Though the armor on his body weighed dozens of catties, at this moment gravity itself seemed to have lost all effect on him; he ran astonishingly fast. The soldiers of the Han Banner around him followed suit, scattering in all directions. No one blamed them anymore—not even the Qing troops responsible for enforcing discipline were nowhere to be seen. After all, they were not fools. No matter how brave a warrior might be, he could not contend with cannonballs falling from the sky. That would not be bravery, but sheer stupidity.

Shrill, piercing whistling sounds continued to ring out, like a mischievous child blowing a whistle at random—sharp, chaotic, and grating to the ears, leaving people restless and desperate to block their hearing.

Shang Kexi finally dove beneath a small earthen slope, curling up in a shallow depression. Only after squeezing his entire body into the pit did he dare look around. When he steadied himself, he noticed something hanging above his head. He brushed it down casually—and found it was a section of bluish-gray intestine. Gray bile and red blood smeared his hands.

“Pah… pah, pah…”

At this sight, even Shang Kexi—long accustomed to life and death on the battlefield—nearly retched. He hastily threw the intestines away and frantically wiped his hands in the nearby dirt.

“Thud…”

Just then, a series of heavy impacts reached his ears. Still shaken, he saw several dark cannonballs smash into the hillside. The earth itself seemed to tremble violently with each thunderous blow, while dirt and stones sprayed onto his armor, clanging loudly.

Caught completely off guard, the Han Banner gunners fled in all directions. But the artillery on the hill could not move itself, and the guns left stranded on the slope became the best targets for the Ming forces. Observers in the hot-air balloons continuously guided Zhao Yongxin and his gunners, pointing out targets. One by one, the abandoned cannons were “called out by name”—after all, guns weighing over two thousand catties were not easy to move.

“Ah—!”

Suddenly, a miserable scream rang out. Nearby, a Qing soldier was struck by a heavy cannonball; in an instant, his entire body vanished. Then a round object flew toward Shang Kexi and dropped to the ground, rolling right up before his eyes.

Shang Kexi looked and immediately recognized it—it was the head of Tubuya, the Manchu appointed as Jalan-e-Zhangjing of the Han Banner. Tubuya was a well-known warrior among the Manchus, bloodthirsty by nature and fond of killing. That was why he had been assigned to the Han Banner to act as an overseer. Since arriving, he had killed plenty of people. Yet today, he had been smashed into powder by a single cannonball. Could there truly be retribution in this world?

While Shang Kexi was still trembling in fear, Huang Taiji in the distance—who had been tensely watching the battle ahead—also had his mood ruined by the sudden bombardment.

Seeing the hills blasted into clouds of dust amid endless screams, Yueto said worriedly, “Great Khan, Shang Kexi’s Han Banner probably can’t hold on much longer!”

“I know!” Huang Taiji replied grimly. Moments earlier, watching his forces advance under the cover of shield carts, nearly closing in on the enemy formations, he had been in high spirits. Who could have expected the Ming artillery to fire first, smashing Shang Kexi’s artillery camp into utter chaos?

“That useless Shang Kexi—so much time and he still hadn’t set up his guns, only to let the Ming wipe them out in one sweep.” Huang Taiji clenched his fist and slammed it into his palm, his heart aching as if bleeding. Though Shang Kexi’s men were mostly surrendered Ming troops, they were no ordinary cannon fodder. In modern terms, they were all technical specialists. Once killed or wounded, there was no easy way to replace them. Moreover, the Qing had suffered greatly from Yingzhou’s firearms over the years. Even though many still could not swallow their pride to equip firearms, the importance placed on artillery units had only increased. Each year alone, more than three hundred thousand taels of silver were allocated to Shang Kexi for making guns and casting cannons. Yet now, before even a single shot had been heard from them, everything had vanished in a thunderous barrage. How could Huang Taiji not feel heartbroken?

“Order Shang Kexi to pull the artillery down immediately—don’t leave it there to be shelled! And tell that slave Ustai to attack fiercely. He must crush the Ming troops ahead!” Huang Taiji forced himself to endure the pain and issued a string of orders.

“Yes!”

Upon receiving the command, the Qing troops—who had been slowly pushing shield carts forward—immediately quickened their pace. The soldiers advancing behind the shield carts broke into a jog. They had already closed to within a little over a hundred paces of the Yingzhou formations. Once they reached seventy paces, they could teach those Ming soldiers a lesson with their powerful bows.

At the same time, the clash between Ming and Qing cavalry temporarily came to an end. In this engagement, the Ming were well equipped, while the Qing were seasoned veterans. Both sides suffered several hundred casualties. Seeing no advantage to be gained, the commanders on both sides ordered a withdrawal, ending in a draw.

Watching the Qing advance steadily under the cover of shield carts, Hu Laosan grew so anxious that blisters formed on his lips. Just as he gritted his teeth and prepared to order the cavalry out for another charge, a commotion erupted from the rear. Annoyed, Hu Laosan turned to curse—only to see several hundred artillerymen pushing small carts at full speed toward them.

“Sir, the artillery brothers are here to support us!”

Seeing the artillery arrive, Hu Laosan finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Damn it, these guys finally showed up.”

Though the musket formations were formidable, they had little means to deal with enemies hiding behind shield carts. Against such hardened turtle shells, only artillery was the best solution.

“Quick—set up the guns! The Tartars are about to attack!”

Once behind the infantry formations, the artillerymen hurriedly began setting up their pieces. After intense preparations, four to five minutes later more than thirty cannons and over twenty small trebuchets were ready. By then, the Qing troops had advanced to within eighty paces—any closer and they would be within effective bow range.

At that moment, Hu Laosan’s order came: “Pass it down—all units, retreat one hundred paces at a jog!”

Upon receiving the order, the previously immovable infantry formations turned in unison and began jogging backward. Seeing this, the advancing Qing troops were overjoyed. The Meile-Zhangjing directing them shouted loudly, “Warriors of the Great Qing! The Ming dogs are collapsing—charge and kill them!”

In truth, he hardly needed to give the order. The Qing soldiers at the front saw the situation clearly. The Jalan-e-Zhangjing in front had already ordered pursuit, and the cavalry at the rear accelerated, chasing the retreating enemy.

“Hahaha… this Ming force is finished!” Watching this strange scene, Hooge slapped his thigh and laughed loudly. Many Qing generals showed smiles as well.

Though Huang Taiji still maintained a stern façade, the joy in his eyes could not be concealed. All veterans of the battlefield knew how foolish it was to turn one’s back on the enemy during combat. Huang Taiji did not understand why the Yingzhou commander would issue such a stupid order—but now was no time to ponder that.

Yet events always take unexpected turns. Just as the Qing cavalry sped up, weaving past their infantry to surge forward, the retreating Ming infantry suddenly halted. Behind them, a row of dark cannon mouths was revealed, as if grinning ferociously.

Almost simultaneously, the leading cavalry and Huang Taiji in the rear cried out, “Not good—an ambush!”

What had arrived were thirty-six six-pounders. With modern support behind them, their power was now fully on display. Though Yue Yang could not acquire modern breech-loading artillery, things like tire bearings posed no problem at all. Once steel frames, bearings, and rubber tires were installed, the cannons’ mobility increased dramatically. A five-hundred-kilogram six-pounder needed only five or six gunners to push it around. After rapid preparation, the guns were ready. A battalion commander raised a small red flag and screamed hoarsely, “Fire!”

“Boom—boom… boom boom boom…”

Amid piercing whistles, the artillery line erupted with earth-shaking roars. Thick smoke billowed as large, heavy iron balls screamed out, hurtling toward the charging Qing cavalry.

Though the Qing cavalry had spotted the guns, charging warhorses were not so easily stopped. In the rolling smoke, the onrushing riders fell in swathes, like wheat cut by a sickle.

Against charging cavalry and infantry alike, nothing was more effective than grapeshot. These consisted of iron balls weighing two to three taels each, typically thirty or forty packed in a mesh bag. Loaded with powder and fired, the bag burst apart under intense heat and velocity, spraying the pellets forward.

When hundreds of iron balls swept through the air, the spectacle was terrifying. The charging Qing cavalry looked as if a huge bite had been taken out of them.

One rider, galloping at full speed, was struck in the head by a flying pellet. Without making a sound, his head vanished. His body remained in the saddle, racing forward another twenty or thirty meters before crashing down, then being trampled into pulp by those behind him.

The Qing reacted swiftly. After the initial shock, they pressed their bodies tight against their horses and continued charging. There was no turning back now—they could not stop.

On the artillery line, the gunners immediately swabbed the barrels with wet woolen rammers after firing, steam hissing and billowing. Then loaders inserted new powder charges, while another gunner pressed his thumb over the vent to prevent backdraft igniting remaining embers. Iron shot was rammed in, fresh priming applied, and the guns were ready to aim again.

With pulleys and recoil dampers installed, recoil was greatly reduced, making re-aiming much easier. Moreover, the cannons did not fire all at once but in three rotating salvos—twelve guns at a time—creating an unbroken cycle of fire.

Watching the Qing cavalry thunder closer, the battalion commander roared with bulging eyes, “Hit them hard!”

“Boom boom boom…”

Another volley roared out. A fresh wave of death-shrilling shot flew forward, blooming into vivid sprays of blood. Horses fell screaming, riders wailed as they were hurled from their mounts. This was blood against fire, life against death, steel colliding with courage.

“These bastards—damned Ming dogs, so despicable!” Watching his cavalry fall like grass before a gale, the Meile-Zhangjing directing the attack felt his heart bleed. Over a thousand cavalrymen—dead without value, without even reaching the enemy. Yet he had no retreat left. He knew that even if he ordered a withdrawal now, Huang Taiji’s wrath would be like a raging storm. A dignified death was already a luxury; more likely he would be stuffed into a sack and trampled to death by horses.

The shadow of death loomed. He could not retreat.

“No… I must not retreat. The Great Khan is watching. As long as I break through, as long as I annihilate that Ming force, not only can I avoid death, I might even earn the Khan’s favor!”

With that thought, he made a mad decision. Raising his saber high, eyes bloodshot, he roared, “Everyone, speed up—charge! Charge!”

At full gallop, the distance between the two sides shrank to forty or fifty paces—only four or five seconds for cavalry.

“Push through—once we do, we win!” The battlefield rang not only with his voice, but also with those of Huang Taiji and the observing Qing generals.

Victory seemed so close. Some cavalry had already begun firing arrows, sparse shafts flying forward, occasionally striking down gunners.

At such close range, it seemed impossible for artillery alone to stop them—this was the common belief. But then gunfire rang out again. The musketeers who had withdrawn behind the artillery had re-formed and resumed firing.

Dense volleys of lead tore through cavalrymen whose faces had moments earlier worn smiles of victory. Some bloomed with blood in the chest; others lost half their heads. More often, horses were struck, screaming as inertia hurled them down before the guns.

Gunfire hammered relentlessly, shredding the charging cavalry like rain battering banana leaves. Over two thousand riders, under the combined assault of artillery and infantry, were annihilated. The last rider was flung from his horse and fell less than five meters from the artillery line. Though dead, his eyes still stared skyward, as if voicing his unwilling rage.

“Quick—focus! Blast away the Tartars’ shield carts!” The hoarse shout of the artillery battalion commander rang out again.

As everyone snapped out of their daze, the Qing infantry had already pushed to within seventy paces, arrows beginning to fly from their ranks.

“Quick—fire… fire!”

The gunners lit their fuses. Cannon after cannon erupted again, heavy shot smashing into the shield carts. These were not tiny lead bullets weighing mere grams, but iron balls weighing several taels, driven by immense force. They hammered the thick wooden carts with deafening cracks. Even wrapped in oxhide, the carts could not withstand such punishment.

Before long, dozens of shield carts that the Qing had deemed impregnable were riddled like sieves…