Chapter Seventeen

Before dawn, the land lay shrouded in darkness. Moments earlier, the Han army had ordered all torches within the city extinguished, halted cannon fire, and commanded the entire force to stand by. Beining City seemed to fall abruptly silent, making no response to the enemy’s shouts, curses, or the sniping cold arrows—a sudden, eerie silence descended over the battlefield. Only the desolate howling of the allied Manchu-Mongol forces remained, echoing across the field. Witnessing this, the soldiers outside the city were all taken aback. To ward off such inexplicable dread, the cavalry, obeying their officers, forced their mounts closer to the walls, sending wave after wave of fire arrows near the ramparts in an attempt to flush out or observe the defenders.

With several thunderous crashes, the catapults roared to life, hurling a dozen massive fireballs wrapped in pine resin into the night sky. Like dazzling fireworks, they burst into brilliant sparks that rained down, smashing into the open ground outside the fortress and sending up waves of flame. In an instant, the entire battlefield was lit up as bright as day. Bathed in this sudden brilliance, dozens of crimson cannons unleashed a simultaneous volley. The soldiers who had just pressed forward with their arrows were blown apart, corridors of blood and flesh carved through their ranks. Panicked warhorses reared and screamed, dragging their riders in a frenzied retreat, plunging the field into chaos.

There were no drums, no horns, no rallying cries. In that tumultuous moment, the city gates silently swung open, and seven thousand cavalry burst forth, hooves thundering like muffled thunder shaking the earth. The Han cavalry surged out like a furious tide, ferociously storming the allied ranks. Outside, flames raged, and scattered fire arrows gleamed coldly on weapons and armor. Cannon fire from the walls grew ever fiercer, glowing shot whistling sharply through the air, carving fiery trails across the night sky like falling stars, guiding the army’s charge. The Manchu-Mongol scouts, having just reached the walls, were suddenly confronted by this massive enemy force. Terror gripped their hearts; they turned to flee, wailing in despair. But the Han vanguard unleashed a storm of arrows, felling them before they could even make contact, piercing them like hedgehogs. The iron hooves trampled after, grinding corpses into pulp.

The iron torrent rolled inexorably forward. Ma Ying, spurning Mu Tianyan’s advice, led his personal guard at the tip of the assault. He had cast aside his heavy helmet, a conspicuous headscarf tied around the pin in his hair, long cavalry lance raised high as he spurred his horse at a gallop, charging straight at the enemy’s heart, following the path of cannon fire with the whole army at his back.

The sudden, ferocious assault caught the Manchu-Mongol alliance completely off guard. In fact, it had been less than an hour since they first arrived at the city. The speed and eagerness with which the Han main force responded stunned them. By the usual rules of war, no defending army would ever dare launch a sortie in the darkness before dawn, especially when facing an enemy twice their number. Previously, the allied forces had only made a show of force outside the city, intending to intimidate and exhaust the defenders, not to launch an immediate attack. They had set up tents and replenished food and water, for though their march from a hundred miles away had gained the element of surprise, it had also left men and horses exhausted.

Ma Ying’s cavalry swept forward, armor clashing, hooves roaring like thunder. They fought in grim silence, spears thrusting and blades slashing, annihilating dozens of enemy detachments and racing straight for the allied rear.

It was only a moment before the two armies clashed and passed. The allied troops hastily tried to form ranks, only to be pierced through by the iron cavalry. Chaos erupted—the officers shouted orders and curses in Mongolian and Manchu, while bewildered soldiers stumbled about, unsure which unit to rejoin.

Suddenly, the field ahead opened wide. Ma Ying, waving his long blade and straining his hoarse voice, bellowed, “Turn back! Turn back!” At his command, his guards shouted the order, and hundreds of voices echoed. The Han riders wheeled sharply, circled around, and charged the allied host anew. By this time, the allied ranks were aglow with torches, their officers raising them high to rally their men, heedless of exposing their position. The Han cavalry regrouped; Ma Ying, blood-soaked, gazed into the distance and suddenly spotted a giant war banner.

“Pengchun!” Ma Ying’s eyes bulged, and he unleashed a thunderous roar. His whip lashed his horse into a frenzy, and at his cry, hundreds of guards looked up, their fervor ignited. Like madmen, they spurred their mounts, leading the charge directly at the enemy standard.

Tens of thousands of iron hooves thundered, shaking the earth like rolling storms. The iron tide swept forth like a gale. The men of Ma Ying’s guard, their eyes bloodshot, remembered well: after Ma Ying’s elevation to Prince of Han, he had reconstituted the battered remnants of the Sixth Army’s Second Brigade, destroyed at the Battle of Liuhe, into a single battalion. Now, with their foe at hand and the blood of thousands of brothers to avenge, they were nearly driven mad by hatred.

Dawn broke faintly, the east tinged with crimson clouds. The world was shrouded in confusion, and outside Ningyuan, armies clashed in a desperate melee. Tens of thousands fought and died, but Han morale soared ever higher, pressing the enemy back layer by layer. The allied ranks began to falter and retreat, the front expanding as the Han cavalry demonstrated exceptional skill in mounted archery, gaining the upper hand. The Manchu-Mongol forces, having had no rest since midnight, had fought without food or water; even when they stood their ground, their horses were spent and their arrows weak.

Suddenly, cannons thundered again atop Beining’s walls and the oxhide drums boomed like a tempest. Regiment after regiment of Han forces appeared on the horizon, musketeers advancing in tight formation to the beat of the drums, followed by countless mules and horses dragging the great guns. A plain white banner emblazoned with the character “Han” fluttered in the wind, sweeping around to encircle the allied rear.

The Han cavalry cheered wildly, thousands shouting themselves hoarse as they charged yet again. The allied army’s morale collapsed; they shrank toward the center, and seeing the Han attack grow only fiercer, a unit flying the Khorchin banner broke ranks and fled, heedless of their colors.

“Pengchun!” Ma Ying bellowed, chopping down the head of a Banner soldier’s horse, spurring through and trampling the man to death. Amidst the screams, he raised his blood-soaked blade and pointed it at the nearby enemy commander, shouting in triumph, “Pengchun!”

At last, the enemy standard fell back, horn signals blared in panic, and the allied Manchu-Mongol army broke and scattered. The Han cavalry pressed their pursuit, cutting them down as they fled.

“Master Wang is absolutely right; I fully agree!” Mu Tianyan, noticing Lin Feng’s displeased expression, quickly added, “If our lord truly wishes to engage the enemy now, we ought to fall back a little, anchoring ourselves on the fortress. That way, not only would we fear no flanking attack from their cavalry, but we could also make full use of our cannons on the walls. The odds of victory would greatly improve!”

“What about your opinions?” Lin Feng, seeing Ma Ying and Rick silent, gestured toward them.

Rick and Ma Ying exchanged glances, bowed as one, and said, “We follow our lord’s command above all!”

Damn, when did Rick learn to be so slippery? He used to be so pure—clearly, officialdom corrupts even the best. Lin Feng couldn’t help but think with a touch of malice.

“I told you all yesterday: war is but an extension of politics. That’s why I must win a battle that will command the respect of all Manchu and Mongol forces in the Northeast. If we settle for a siege, even victory won’t resolve the Liaoshen problem!” Lin Feng waved his hand, visibly frustrated. “I want a field battle, a head-to-head clash between armies, and I want to win against the odds. Do you understand me?” Seeing lingering doubt, he pressed further, “What I mean is—after this victory, none of the Manchu, Mongol, Oroqen, or any other tribes outside the pass will ever again try to settle political disputes through war. They’ll either submit to the Han, or send envoys to negotiate and pledge allegiance. Do you understand?”

Wang Shirong was stunned for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If that’s so, I do have a plan!”

“Oh?” Lin Feng was taken aback, then suddenly laughed. “How does it go?—What is your plan?”

Wang Shirong ignored Lin Feng’s banter, respectfully saluting with grave seriousness. “It just occurred to me—if we count carefully, our Han forces may not be so outnumbered after all! Have you all forgotten? We still have seventy or eighty thousand able-bodied citizens inside Ningyuan.”

“Colonel Wang!” Rick couldn’t help but object. “With respect, you’re mistaken—they aren’t soldiers! And this isn’t a siege. Sending them against Tartar cavalry would be sending them to their deaths.” He turned to Lin Feng, hands raised in protest. “Your Majesty, I strongly oppose this suggestion!”

“Oh…well,” Lin Feng glanced nervously at Rick, embarrassed. “We’re just discussing possibilities right now. Ji Yun, go on.”

“Ahem…in truth, I wasn’t suggesting they fight. I only mean to have these tens of thousands build fortifications.” Seeing their surprise, Wang Shirong stroked his beard and smiled. “I’m merely borrowing a stratagem from Zhuge Liang—our lord can order, before the enemy presses their attack, every able-bodied man in the city to carry a sack of earth. One trip would give us a hundred thousand sandbags—enough to build a long embankment for our firearms to hold. Even if the enemy cavalry is fierce, what could they do to us?”

“Excellent, excellent!” At the mention, Lin Feng suddenly realized, nodding vigorously. “We can also have them construct defenses behind our lines to block cavalry maneuvers and force a frontal engagement. Isn’t this the same move Cao Cao used against Ma Chao? It may be academic, but it should work against cavalry.”

“Indeed!” Mu Tianyan agreed. “It’s a fine plan—the best option for now.”

With the strategy settled, Lin Feng was invigorated and quickly assigned tasks: “Very well, let’s proceed. War is part man’s will, part Heaven’s favor.” He looked around and issued orders: “Ma Ying’s cavalry is to rest at once. Rick, oversee the infantry and artillery to monitor the enemy and cover the workers. Hè Ming, return to Beining and take charge of logistics—food, arrows, ammunition, and so on. Ji Yun, take charge of the military police and a battalion of musketeers to supervise the ten thousand laborers—begin construction immediately!”

He gazed across at the vast Manchu-Mongol host and declared solemnly, “Remember, the decisive battle is near. Each of you must do your utmost. If anyone is negligent, I will enforce military discipline without mercy!”