Chapter 642 — The First Day's Victory
Wang Xi and Li Guang's forces routed shortly after. Li Guang's personal soldiers were all killed, and even his great banner was nearly lost. Li Guang himself was struck by a bullet and had to be rescued with tremendous difficulty. Wang Xi was killed in action while commanding men to cross the trench.
He Rubin watched his forces surging and tumbling beneath the earthen dike—constantly attacking up the slope and constantly being forced back down—and felt anxiety gnawing at his gut. Then he saw the Training Guerrilla's troops, deployed as follow-up reinforcements, retreating one after another. He flew into a rage. Just as he was about to order drums to urge the assault, he saw the forces that had already reached the trench's edge also beginning to fall back. In an instant, four or five thousand men scattered completely, like an avalanche—the entire field was littered with routed soldiers throwing away helmets and armor.
"Should we deploy the ambush troops?"
"No. The enemy's reserves haven't been committed yet. He Rubin's Regional Commander's Standard and household guards still haven't moved out." He Ming surveyed the battlefield. "Tomorrow, He Rubin will have to commit his final reserves. We'll rely on our position to cripple them completely, and then when they're disheartened and seeing enemies in every bush, we'll defeat them in one drumbeat!"
On the Chengmai city wall, news arrived that Guangdong Training Guerrilla Wang Xi and Governor's Standard Guerrilla Wang Daoji had both been killed in action in quick succession. The atmosphere among the observing officials and generals plunged to freezing point. The earlier optimism was swept away entirely: in a single day, two regular military officers of Guangdong had fallen. Other officers of Chiliarch rank and above killed now numbered more than twenty. Such heavy losses met the standard for a "disastrous defeat."
He Rubin was drenched in cold sweat. If he could not completely exterminate the Hair Bandits after sustaining such losses, it would be extremely difficult to account for himself before the Viceroy and the Imperial Court. He ordered: "Beat drums!" He had decided to commit his own Regional Commander's Standard and household guards this time—to break the enemy stockade in one fell swoop.
It was Zhao Ruyi who stopped him. "Our army suffered a setback today—morale has wavered considerably. Another attack now would only wound soldiers in vain. The General must not act on a moment's anger. Fortunately, our army's vitality remains intact. Withdraw the troops for now; we fight again tomorrow."
The retreat gong sounded over the entire battlefield—though in truth, even without the gong, the government army's offensive had already collapsed. The Fubo Army gradually ceased fire after the mass of government troops routed. Those officers and soldiers who were wounded but could still walk limped back toward camp.
Smoke gradually dispersed from the battlefield. Only now could both sides clearly see the result of this slaughter, which had lasted nearly three hours. Inside and outside the trench, corpses lay everywhere. The dead were especially dense beneath the earthen dike; in some places they were piled more than half a man's height. On the dike itself, and even on the slope, bodies hung draped in every direction. Blood flowed down along the earthen dike in gurgling black rivulets.
A heavy smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder smoke shrouded the battlefield, making people nauseous.
The Fubo Army infantry and militia—each with tattered clothes, faces and bodies caked with smoke and dust, some even wounded—supported themselves with their rifles. Those who had lost their weapons carried government soldiers' long spears and sabers that had been picked up. They stared at the fleeing government soldiers with dull expressions, as if they had just woken from a dream.
Seeing the Ming army withdraw, retreating unit by unit into their camps, the Fubo Army soldiers burst into waves of victory cheers—they had defeated a fierce assault by four or five thousand elite government soldiers and remained standing. Cheers were transmitted wave after wave along the earthen dike, resounding across the entire battlefield.
Compared to the native officers and soldiers, the emotionally expressive Senator officers nearly wept with joy. This army they had built with their own hands, trained bitterly for two years, had finally proven itself to be a true combat-capable force—not just a team that marched in neat columns on the parade ground. He Ming noticed several Senator officers wiping their eyes and could not help but laugh:
"What? Does everyone want to cry? Like women!"
"I am... happy..." Wei Aiwen had always presented himself as a German-style iron-blooded tough guy, but at this moment even he could not keep from wiping his eyes. "Our army... has finally succeeded! We won't lose! We won!"
"Little Wei, what's all that 'Triumph of the Will' nonsense you blow about every day? And yet here you are shedding cat pee." You Laohu carried the blood-crusted Frontier Army Long Saber, speaking triumphantly. He was covered in blood from head to toe—even his face—but he did not bother to wipe any of it off, as if displaying evidence of his reckless close-quarters combat. "Look at me—I chopped off a dozen heads in one breath..."
Just as he finished the sentence, he collapsed to the ground. Everyone present was startled. The accompanying doctor, Zhang Tumu, rushed over to check his condition.
"No big problem—blood loss from his wounds, plus exhaustion." He opened his portable medical kit and administered an injection. "Carry him to the Health Station!"
"Old You is really fierce..."
"Fierce like this, sooner or later he'll pay with his little life." Zhang Tumu shook his head. "He's covered in wounds. Not deep, but lose too much blood and it can still cost a man his life."
Dongmen Chuiyu said, "If that's the case, You Laohu won't be able to participate in combat tomorrow. We'll need to appoint an Acting Commander for the 3rd Battalion quickly."
"Let Lin Shenhe act. He performed quite well today." Another officer suggested. "He mentioned to me several times that he wants to transfer his official affiliation to the army instead of being an ordnance engineer all day. I think it's fine. Isn't he very familiar with this line infantry shooting business?"
"No—he's not familiar with the 3rd Battalion." He Ming considered. "Yu Zhiqian will be Acting Commander of the 3rd Battalion. Lin Shenhe will fill his Company Commander position for now. We'll readjust after the war. This battle is almost over; the outcome will be decided tomorrow."
Though the Ming army still possessed large numbers of men and horses, He Ming knew their morale had broken. Even if He Rubin committed his household guards and Regional Commander's Standard tomorrow, they were unlikely to fight as fiercely as today. The key was that his own soldiers now possessed the conviction of inevitable victory. They would fight even more bravely in the impending decisive battle.
The snipers descended from their towers. They had played a tremendous role in the chaotic battle—not only killing many officers and disrupting the government army's organization more than once, but also using rifles to seal breaches at the most critical moments. Their faces were covered in smoke, their fingers swollen, some with bleeding hands. But everyone was high-spirited, carrying pockets filled with handfuls of spent bullet casings, cheerfully debating their kills.
"I took out at least three officers! And that general!"
"That general was clearly hit by me! At least a Regional Commander!"
"Bullshit! There's only one Regional Commander. The one you hit was at most a Squad Leader."
...
The total score for the Senator Sniper Team came to 247 kills—a quite impressive result. But as Zhou Weisen said, the enemies had been crowded so closely together that it was hard to miss. He claimed to have shot a general at 1,000 meters, but Qian Shuiting insisted that he had been the one to hit him. The two argued fiercely.
Qian Shuiting's total kills numbered 14, but his records were the most detailed, with symbols like bows, spears, three-eyed guns, army flags, and helmets drawn on paper to indicate the types of targets killed. Zhou Weisen laughed at him for spending too much time drawing pictures, leaving less time to fire.
Dingding crawled out of a gun emplacement. Today, he thought, he had finally understood what "narrow escape" truly meant. Decades later, he would often regale a certain grandson—whose name he could never seem to remember—with tales of his bravery that day: how the enemy had charged at him, how he had kept filming until the enemy was one meter away without flinching, how he had killed seven or eight government soldiers with the camera tripod alone, how he had single-handedly knocked down a government general who had said "I submit" before dying, and so on.
In truth, Dingding's situation had indeed been very dangerous. He had originally been filming from the command platform. After the first attack ended, seeking better and more intuitive footage, he had handed the professional camera to his assistant and taken a DV onto the earthen dike himself, filming from a sentry tower for a while before entering a gun emplacement used by snipers. He had assumed the government soldiers would collapse directly beneath the earthen dike, just as they had in the first wave. He never expected the enemy to rush up the wall. At the most intense moment, government soldiers and Fubo Army infantry had been engaged in hand-to-hand combat just outside his emplacement. Government soldiers had tried to break in several times, only to be driven out by soldiers protecting him with bayonets.
It was not until the enemy fully retreated that Dingding rested for quite a while before emerging from the gun emplacement, the DV still clutched spasmodically in his hand.
"Damn, that was too exciting... too exciting..." he muttered.
The DV footage shot inside the gun emplacement proved extremely powerful. Because it was too bloody and violent, portions had to be cut before public screenings.
The Medical Corps and soldiers were clearing the post-battle field on the earthen dike. Dead or alive, they kicked anyone they encountered. Those who could move—whether government soldiers or their own—were placed on stretchers.
Tian Liang was found by medics in a pile of corpses. He felt someone kicking him and managed to move slightly.
"The Second Lieutenant is still alive!" a voice said in the distance.
"Establish transport to the Dressing Station immediately."
Then he felt something hard placed around his neck to immobilize it, and then he was moved onto a stretcher. The movement pulled at his wound; he screamed.
Someone immediately poured some cool liquid into his mouth—it had a strong medicinal taste. He felt comfortable all over; the wound stopped hurting. And then he fell into a drowsy sleep.
The total casualties for the Fubo Army, including militia, exceeded three hundred, with over one hundred dead. One quarter of those killed were officers and NCOs. This casualty ratio left He Ming and others both pleased and troubled. So many officers and NCOs killed in action proved that setting an example of leading from the front had taken root—but losing the painstakingly cultivated backbone like this was deeply regrettable.
Weapon losses were severe: not only had hundreds of rifles and many long spears been damaged, but three cannons had also been put out of action. Ammunition consumption was staggering.
Zhang Tumu's Health Station was as busy as a beehive. Six or seven hundred wounded from both sides had been gathered on the open ground outside the Health Station's large tent. Rows of stretchers lay on the earth. Lightly wounded Fubo Army soldiers squatted nearby, smoking and chatting; some sat motionless, seemingly dead, but would groan in pain if touched.
Government soldier wounded sat together, eyes gloomy. Except for those in unbearable agony, no one dared to cry out. They looked fearfully at the blood-covered Hair Bandits going in and out of the large tent, from which screams occasionally emerged.
Zhang Tumu's sleeves were rolled up, his arms striped with blood. His white gown was splattered with fresh stains, making him look like a butcher. The medics beside him were much the same, each covered in blood—he had already performed several surgeries.
You Laohu was carried into the tent and placed on a clean emergency table. The strong smell of blood and disinfectant jolted him awake. He saw medics gesturing with large scissors between his legs, gave a start, and immediately covered his essentials.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking off your clothes," Zhang Tumu replied. "Otherwise, how do we treat the wounds?"
"I have no wound 'down there.' Please tell him not to wave the scissors around like that, alright? If something gets cut off, there's no place to install a new one!"
"It's fine—he cuts a lot." Zhang Tumu joked. "Help the Lieutenant Colonel clean his wounds properly."
When the stinging disinfectant touched the wounds, You Laohu's face went pale—but to preserve his tough-guy image, he gritted his teeth and did not cry out.
"No need for that—shout if it hurts." Zhang Tumu deftly examined the wounds. "Record! Multiple tearing skin wounds on left and right arms, left and right shoulders, chest, left and right thighs. One deep tearing wound from a bladed weapon on left ribs—no internal organs visible, no fracture." He gave orders: "Inject tetanus immediately. Are you dizzy?"
"Dizzy!"
"You've lost quite a bit of blood, though not yet to dangerous levels. Otherwise, I'd have to mobilize soldiers to donate for you. Intravenous injection of 500cc glucose saline! Another shot of morphine!"
"No morphine." You Laohu did not want to touch the stuff.
"You'll want it when we start sewing your wounds." Zhang Tumu instructed the medic, "I'll go deal with others first. I'll do the suturing myself."
Zhang Tumu left You Laohu and performed emergency surgery on a soldier who had been stabbed in the belly. He found it strange that he could do this surgery at all—back in the day, he had ended up in the emergency room precisely because he could not pass the surgery hurdle.
"Doctor Zhang! One hit by a three-eyed gun!" A medic rushed in.
"Carry him to Doctor Ning!"
Balding, slightly chubby Ning Jinghai looked at the wounded man—riddled with holes and bleeding all over the floor—and complained: "Which one is this? I can't remove all the projectiles without an X-ray machine..."
"Save his life first—take X-rays at Muniao later." Zhang Tumu said. "This guy looks like he needs a transfusion."
"Blood pressure and heart rate dropping!" the medic shouted.
"Quick—Atropine injection! Transfusion!" Ning Jinghai shouted, flipping open the ID tag around the wounded man's neck. "Type A blood—call four or five Type A blood militia to donate blood!"
The Medical Department had not yet established a full blood supply system, instead relying on the "donor" method for clinical blood. Plasma used during surgery depended entirely on on-site donations from medics and militia who had passed blood tests. If necessary, healthy militia and laborers would also be called upon.
Tian Liang was carried to Yang Baogui, who had just finished suturing a soldier's wound and was washing and disinfecting his hands.
"Puncture wound on left leg!" Yang Baogui glanced and shouted. "Prepare to extract arrowhead! Inject tetanus!"
The scalpel cut open muscle; forceps carefully pulled the broken arrowhead from his leg. Yang Baogui examined the wound thoroughly to ensure no fragments remained, then cleaned and disinfected it.
Tian Liang groaned and woke up.
"How is it, Second Lieutenant?" Yang Baogui said. "Took an arrow in the leg. You're lucky—didn't hit major blood vessels or touch the bone. Through and through. You'll be jumping around again after a month's rest."
Yang Baogui's skill in treating wounds was remarkably exquisite; no one would have guessed he was actually a veterinarian. He had followed the army intending to treat wounds on the mules and horses captured from the Ming forces once the battle ended. For now, he was guest-starring as a military doctor.
Most of the wounded were not critically injured. After cleaning and suturing their wounds—and thanks to the two magic weapons of tetanus shots and antibiotics—many soldiers' lives were preserved. With the help of blood transfusions, infusions, and surgery, many soldiers originally destined to die from severe wounds also survived.
"...In the Second Counter-Encirclement Campaign, the Ministry of Health used homemade drugs and instruments to treat the wounded on a large scale for the first time. This was also the first time homemade antibiotics and tetanus serum were deployed on the battlefield for rescue. Under the efforts of the medical staff, excellent results were achieved, saving many lives..." — Health Annals Vol 1
The homemade tetanus serum used horse serum. To obtain horse blood, the Ministry of Health had engaged in quite a verbal battle with Nick, securing enough horse serum only on the promise that the blood draws would not compromise the horses' health. Whether the tetanus serum manufactured with such considerable resources actually worked—nothing could test its effectiveness better than using it in battle.
Captured government soldier wounded also received treatment. This was partly out of "humanitarianism," and partly out of "pragmatism"—after all, everyone was a precious labor resource, and the Lingao regime lacked people the most.
"Ryan! Stop chanting scriptures." Zhang Tumu was so busy his feet barely touched the ground. Seeing that Ryan, the quarantine and epidemic prevention specialist, was administering last rites to a heavily wounded soldier, he felt a flash of irritation. "We're about to clean the battlefield. You're the team leader—go report, quickly!"
"...In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen." He made a cross over the dying man, then turned his head. "Martyrs need spiritual comfort..."
"Doctor... Chief... I'm still alive..." the wounded man said weakly. "Doctor Zhang said... I won't die."
"Oh—is that so? God is omnipresent..."
"Go quickly!" Zhang Tumu urged repeatedly. Ryan stood up reluctantly. The so-called battlefield cleaning was the cleansing and burial of corpses—a disgusting and exhausting job. Who told him to specialize in preventive medicine, epidemic elimination and control? And he also had to carry out tasks assigned by the fake-Christian Director Wu, supposedly to expand the Church's influence. To that end, he had already heard confession from several dying government soldiers among the heavy wounded. He muttered to himself as he worked, wondering whether what he was doing was even appropriate.
(End of Chapter)