Chapter 74: Lingao's Counterattack (Part 1)
The "differential treatment" for the three of them clearly meant a distinction between himself and the two ATF foreigners—their futures would diverge accordingly. Whether this boded well or ill remained to be seen.
On one hand, he was Chinese while the other two were American. From the perspective of "those not of our kind must have different hearts," he was obviously a prime candidate for unity. But knowing certain countrymen's tendency to favor foreigners, perhaps these rootless foreign friends would find themselves more valued by the leadership, while he became a despised saboteur. In that case, the best he could hope for was "controlled use."
This uncertainty troubled him deeply. He knew that leaders' thinking often diverged from ordinary people's—and that this peculiar mindset followed position rather than person. Once someone ascended to leadership, their logic shifted; their true intentions became inscrutable. The time-traveling group's leadership, he believed, would prove no exception.
Since his assignment to the basic labor group, he had worked quietly, keeping his head down. "Keep your tail between your legs"—he understood this truth that every ordinary Chinese person learned to live by. But he was also waiting, biding his time for the Committee to acknowledge him as a revolutionary comrade.
He had not expected that opportunity to arrive so soon.
While the transmigrators threw themselves enthusiastically into building their new city, no one realized how poorly defended their massive construction site truly was. The locals' panicked flight after landing, combined with victories in several small skirmishes, had bred complacency. The shipload of weapons from the North American chapter had inflated their sense of security to dangerous heights—they had convinced themselves that trenches, abatis, barbed wire, SKS rifles, and searchlights constituted an impregnable fortress.
County scouts watched from a distance each day, careful never to venture too close. The capture of their companions by pirates riding roaring monsters had taught them that lesson well enough. The boldest among them used trees and tall grass for cover during daylight hours, creeping forward inch by inch until they could glimpse what the pirates were so busily constructing. Through these observations, the county understood the pirates' every move—yet remained helpless to act. Few could be consulted, and their discussions amounted to nothing more than armchair strategy.
The gentry showed little enthusiasm for confrontation. What was there to fight with? Magistrate Wu knew exactly how these old moneybags thought: at worst, when crisis came, they would simply flee to their fortified rural estates. Small chaos, hide in cities; great chaos, hide in the countryside—a time-tested saying. But as county magistrate, if the city fell, he could not flee. He would have to die with it. This he truly did not want—if his ambition for office had not burned so fiercely, he would never have gone to such lengths to secure appointment to this backwater.
The city itself was far from peaceful. Over two thousand rural refugees had flooded through the gates, and housing was desperately short. Farmers from the four directions had either fled inside the walls or remained in the countryside, too frightened to bring grain and vegetables to market for fear of highway robbery by pirates. All manner of food had grown scarce. Refugees subsisted on handouts from the porridge kitchens. Between malnutrition and sleeping rough, the elderly and children had begun to die; wailing filled the streets each day. Magistrate Wu grew increasingly anxious, fearing that the slightest disturbance might trigger civil unrest. He took to patrolling the streets personally, hoping his presence would calm hearts.
Just in case the worst came to pass, he had already dispatched trusted household servants with his family and valuables to the prefectural capital, with instructions to take them home across the strait immediately if anything happened. Thus he became a true "naked official."
After more than ten days of terrified waiting, the pirates still showed no sign of attacking. Scouts reported that the shaven-headed pirates had stopped building roads at Bairrentou Beach and were now constructing extensively at the site. They seemed to have no intention of attacking the city. Wu Mingjin could not fathom what was so special about Bairrentou Beach to warrant all that digging—there were no legends of ancient tombs or buried treasure in that area.
"This is truly vexing." Wu Mingjin slapped his forehead in frustration. In these ten-odd days, his hair seemed to have grayed considerably.
"Your Honor, Inspector Fu requests an audience," a servant announced.
"Show him in," Wu Mingjin replied without enthusiasm. Though he knew Fu Bowen's twelve men could never have stopped the pirates' landing, he still harbored resentment over the man's flight without a fight. Still, he had to humor the inspector—he was the county's only military official and still needed. Fu Bowen apparently understood the gravity of his offense; he had worked diligently on both city defense and scouting expeditions ever since.
"Your Honor, the shaven-headed pirates are building a fortress at Bairrentou Beach!"
Wu Mingjin's hand trembled; tea spilled across his desk. "How do you know?" he demanded.
"I scouted the area personally yesterday. The pirates have already built many houses at Bairren Rapids!"
Wu Mingjin nearly dropped his teacup. This was precisely what he had feared most. If the pirates entrenched themselves, what could possibly be done? He had clung to the hope that they would eventually leave of their own accord. Now they showed no intention of leaving—they had built roads, and now they were constructing a permanent settlement less than ten li from the county seat.
Once that settlement was complete, the pirates would stay forever. And setting aside other concerns—it was now the ninth month, with autumn grain collection imminent. The banks of the Wenlan River formed the county's grain-producing heartland. With pirates encamped right there, what commoner would dare harvest their fields?
Failure to collect the autumn grain... Magistrate Wu knew this would prove far more serious than merely having pirates in the county. His official career would certainly be finished.
"Summon Master Liu at once," Wu Mingjin commanded, spinning around. "Summon all the city gentry! And Master Huang from Huang Family Village."
When the city's officials and gentry gathered to hear the scouts' reports, several among them had read military texts. Observing that these shaven-headed pirates had spread themselves in a thin line along the road, they assumed the pirates knew nothing of warfare—deploying a "snake formation" where head and tail could not support each other. They had not even built a fortified camp at Bopu. Each post was manned by only two or three men armed with bird-guns, with nothing but short-clothed, shaven-headed laborers working the sites.
This intelligence emboldened the officials and gentry. Fu Bowen, having lost his Bopu post as Patrol Inspector, advocated most actively for attacking the pirates to redeem his disgrace. Magistrate Wu pointedly reminded the assembly that the autumn harvest was near and that farmers along the river dared not work their fields. Any delay would cost them the entire year's harvest—failing the court above, leaving commoners destitute below, and never mind the matter of unpaid rents... The gentry's interest gradually awakened. When self-interest was at stake, even the reluctant found their enthusiasm. Several immediately pledged men and money to fight and drive out the pirates.
On the eleventh of the ninth month, all village commanders with militia under their authority were summoned to the city to deliberate. Magistrate Wu's words were stern and uncompromising. With several major local landlords having explicitly pledged to fight to the death, the smaller forts had little choice but to agree to participate—some contributing three or five men, others offering weapons or gunpowder. By the thirteenth, nearly three hundred militia had assembled. The magistrate still deemed this insufficient and sent word to Li'an in Xinhua Township, in the county's south, conscripting thirty Li-people soldiers from a Li tribal village. These warriors were crossbowmen whose arrows were tipped with specially prepared poisons.
Jinshi Liu proposed a night raid, and Magistrate Wu agreed. But Inspector Fu and Huang Shoutong both opposed the plan. They had combat experience and knew that even well-trained regular troops struggled to control their advance and retreat during night fighting, let alone this hastily assembled rabble. Being a rabble, the only viable option was to rely on overwhelming numbers—launching a massive assault against a single pirate position in one crushing wave, destroying one group while wrecking whatever vehicles and equipment they could.
Fu Bowen ordered everyone to bring plenty of fire-starters and gunpowder for burning. He had originally wanted to bring the garrison's Frankish cannon as well, but Centurion Sun adamantly refused, claiming that both cannon and soldiers were designated for city defense—field combat was the county's affair and none of his concern. Magistrate Wu negotiated personally but was likewise rebuffed. He was deeply disappointed—the messenger he had sent to Tang Yunwen at Baisha had also returned empty-handed. Tang claimed he would soon be joining the campaign against the bandit Liu Laoxiang and had no time to deal with these "small-time pirates."
But Tang Yunwen's response came as no surprise. Unless the pirates actually breached Lingao City's walls, the army would never come to suppress them. Nothing remained but to muster their spirits and fight with everything they had.
The county scoured its armory to equip these ragged militia. City blacksmiths forged scores of iron spearheads. Scrap copper and iron were collected for cannon shot. Laborers were conscripted to build war-carts. The city dissolved into chaos and clamor.
All of these activities were reported in full by the observation post below the city walls back to the Committee. Whether Lingao was strengthening its defenses or preparing a counterattack, no one could determine with certainty. Orders to heighten alert were issued, but the Military Group had no additional forces to deploy.
Including the armed militia mobilized after landing, the Military Group totaled only about seventy personnel. After subtracting the three manning the county monitoring post and two escorting the long-range reconnaissance survey team, the remainder had to guard everything from the Bopu camp through the highway checkpoints to the Bairren Rapids site itself. The Military Group had already canceled three-shift rotations, adopting two shifts just to maintain some semblance of security coverage.
Whether this gap-riddled defensive line would prove effective against Ming militia—only actual combat could answer. This was not a game with a LOAD function. Every death, every lost piece of equipment meant irreversible loss.
All news from the observation post pointed to a single conclusion: Ming-era Lingao County was about to launch a full-scale attack. This caught the Committee by surprise—they had assumed the county would not move without Ming military reinforcement. But on the thirteenth of the ninth lunar month, the observation post spotted workers dismounting the huzhun cannons from the city tower. This confirmed the Military Group's assessment. He Ming warned the Committee that their security situation was far from optimistic. In an emergency session, the Committee ordered full mobilization: except for a handful of ongoing projects, all work halted. Every male was issued an SKS rifle; every female received a revolver. The Military Group was to organize live-fire training sessions as quickly as possible.
He Ming knew that most had received limited training at best. During crossing preparations, due to various restrictions, so-called military training had consisted mainly of marching drills and physical conditioning; actual live-fire shooting was rare. A novice unfamiliar with firearms holding an SKS was little different from one holding a fire-poker. No one should expect them to fight actively or effectively.
After discussion within the Military Group, they decided to continue with the mobile-defense plan. If attacked, the mobilized militia would fall back to key strongpoints while Military Group soldiers used farm vehicles and jeeps for mobility. Wherever the enemy concentrated their greatest force, the mobile unit would strike unexpectedly from the flanks or rear. He Ming believed their superior communications and mobility would powerfully compensate for their insufficient numbers.
(End of Chapter)