Section Thirty-Two

A blazing fire roared in the center of the hall. Beside it, uniforms dripped incessantly, shrouded in layers of white mist, while the air hung heavy with the pungent stench of salted fish. Lin Feng had changed into a dry set of clothes in the barracks, feeling an immediate, much-needed sense of relief.

The rain had ceased, but the front lines remained shrouded in absolute darkness. Neither the defending Han troops nor the attacking Mongol forces dared to light torches. In such close-quarters combat, igniting a torch would be an act of utter stupidity; one could easily imagine that possessing such a conspicuous target of light and heat would instantly turn a soldier into a pincushion for enemy arrows.

Ever since Lin Feng arrived at the front, the fighting had not ceased for even a split second. From over a thousand meters ahead, the heart-wrenching screams, the groans and cries of wounded soldiers, the thunderous collapse of structures, and the heavy thud of battering rams echoed incessantly, chilling the soul and offering no respite.

Lin Feng understood, as did Wang Shirong and the others, that the battle was by no means as effortless as General Rick had claimed. Galdan’s tens of thousands of elite troops had swept across the entire desert; how could a desperate, final strike like this be easily weathered? The generals had spoken lightly in front of Lin Feng only to steady the morale of the troops.

"Where is Rick now?" Lin Feng looked up at the sky. The dark clouds had dissipated, leaving a fairly clear expanse where several stars flickered in the distance. "What time is it?"

"Reporting to you, my lord, it will be dawn in less than an hour," Wang Shirong calculated briefly before replying. "That is why the Tartars are attacking with such increasing intensity. General Rick is currently at the front, personally overseeing the defense!"

Lin Feng’s brow furrowed even deeper. He longed to ask about the state of the battle and the severity of the casualties, but he knew Wang Shirong certainly lacked the answers. Asking would be in vain. For a moment, everyone fell silent, gazing into the dark, blurred distance where the fierce slaughter continued unabated.

"Boom—boom—" A series of deafening explosions erupted, followed by a wave of heat. Looking up, another volley of artillery shells streaked across the sky, trailing red plumes and whistling sharply through the air. With a sudden "bang," they burst into a sea of fire not far away. By the fleeting light of these explosions, the men could clearly see that directly in front of the Han army’s stockade fences, the dense, seemingly endless enemy ranks had choked the entire field, shouting as they charged fiercely toward the Han lines.

Seeing the atmosphere grow too oppressive, Wang Shirong changed the subject, turning to Zhao Liangdong. "Brother Liangdong, the laborers brought up the gunpowder shells earlier. Have you received them?"

Zhao Liangdong nodded. "We have. But our casualties are currently too high, and the militia don’t know how to handle the firearms. Furthermore..." He hesitated, stealing a glance at Lin Feng’s expression before continuing tentatively, "...our losses are too severe, and morale is flagging. If the enemy makes another desperate push, I fear..."

"We won't be able to hold?" Lin Feng looked at Zhao Liangdong and said calmly.

Rick and Zhao Liangdong exchanged a look and nodded slowly.

"How many men do you have left now?"

"Including those with light injuries, the Fifth Army and the First Guard Army combined total about fourteen thousand. Four thousand of those are cavalry. Additionally, there are over twenty thousand militia," Zhao Liangdong replied after a moment of reflection.

The combat effectiveness of the militia was unreliable. Lin Feng shook his head. "How many men does Galdan have?"

"I don't know!..."

"Then... what were their casualties in tonight’s fighting?"

"Definitely higher than ours!" Zhao Liangdong said with ironclad conviction. "When the Tartars retreated just now, I went to the front line to see. I don't know about the situation on the other side, but judging by what I saw, the Tartar army’s casualties must be around twenty thousand!"

"Oh?!!..." Lin Feng was stunned. He frowned and said, "Galdan’s forces in Xinzhou numbered about fifty thousand. Over ten thousand of his Kheshig guards are engaged with Ma Ying’s men. If these remaining forty thousand have lost twenty thousand... then..." He looked bewildered. "What is he thinking?"

Zhao Liangdong and Rick were taken aback. They had not considered it from this perspective. It was hardly their fault; anyone who had lost half their comrades in the span of a few hours would hardly have the capacity to contemplate anything else.

"Report!!..." The sudden sound of hooves thundered as a cavalryman charged toward the camp like a whirlwind. He rolled off his horse from a distance and held a dark, indistinct object above his head, shouting, "I have seen General Zhao—and General Yulin. Lord Ni Yicheng has ordered me to deliver this to you!"

Several guards rushed forward, took the object from the messenger, and presented it to Lin Feng. Lin Feng examined it over and over for a long time before handing it to Zhao Liangdong, asking in confusion, "What does this mean?"

Reaching out to draw a torch closer, Zhao Liangdong inspected it carefully by the light, responding, "It seems to be... this is dried grass, fodder for horses!!!" He turned to the messenger. "What did Ni Yicheng say?"

"Reporting to General Zhao, after the Tartars retreated, Lord Ni and his men followed them quietly. They discovered that the Tartar army was building large fires to keep warm and dry their clothes, while simultaneously boiling water and cooking food!!..." The messenger looked up briefly and pointed to the bundle of dry grass. "They were burning this!"

Zhao Liangdong froze. Suddenly, realization dawned on him, and he gasped, "The Tartars are preparing to flee?!!..."