Chapter 719 - The Road to Sanliang
Jiang Suo was her junior disciple. She knew he had feelings for her. But he was four years younger—still a half-grown lad. She didn't want to marry someone younger than herself. So the matter had simply lingered, unresolved.
Yet these feelings for Luo Tianqiu she dared not reveal to anyone—not even Aunt Jiang, normally her closest confidante. This was not only wishful thinking, but even if it could happen, the outcome would likely be disastrous. She had heard stories of fellow performers taken as concubines by magnates attracted to their beauty—most ended badly. Either despised as "entertainers" and forced to endure constant humiliation, or abandoned after the novelty wore off.
While Sanliang's war preparations proceeded intensely, Shi Zhiqi was enjoying leisurely days at Shiwan. After capturing the town, he had chosen not to advance further—the waterways here were tangled and complex, with no reliable navigation charts. From locals and captured militia, he had also learned that nearby Sanliang Town was heavily defended. So Shi Zhiqi had the squadron settle into Shiwan, liquidating the magnates who had organized the militia while assessing "Reasonable Burden" and confiscating "hostile elements'" property.
He established squadron headquarters at a magnate family's ancestral hall on Shiwan's east end, near the harbor. The buildings were orderly, with a pleasant garden. Not only was it comfortable for living, but the location was close to the troops for easy command—at the first sign of trouble, he could immediately board ship and depart. Shi Zhiqi dispatched scouts in all directions to gather intelligence—mostly poor people from the Pearl Delta region who had joined only within the past month. At each stop, besides requiring villages to bear "Reasonable Burden," the squadron distributed confiscated rice and silver to refugees, taking in orphans and the destitute. Many too poor to survive simply followed the squadron—crop-head or not, at least they could eat and get decent clothes. Their numbers grew until every ten-odd days, Shi Zhiqi had to dispatch boats to transport these people to the Bogue, then transfer them to the purification camp on Hong Kong Island.
Some stayed with the squadron. They were organized into a separate unit, armed with captured swords and spears, serving as laborers. The cleverer ones with proven loyalty were sent out as scouts to gather all kinds of intelligence.
Local scouts had many advantages—at minimum, their speech aroused no suspicion. Even if a few were lost in operations, it didn't matter. Using these scouts, Shi Zhiqi maintained clear knowledge of developments and popular sentiment within dozens of li in every direction.
People of all sorts flocked daily to his headquarters. Most were poor commoners requesting the Australians "attack the magnates." Others came to file complaints and accusations—ever since they had hanged several notorious local tyrants and bullies, accusers had increased dramatically. Some came from over a hundred li away. The ancestral hall entrance was packed daily with people wanting to see the "Australian Chief."
Some brought not just written complaints but physical evidence—bloody clothes, bloody knives, and such. Some carried papers densely covered with writing: inventories of a magnate's business interests, landholdings, hidden treasures—mouth-watering at a glance. Every time Shi Zhiqi saw such papers, he couldn't resist the urge to personally lead a "land reform" raid. Not that he coveted money and treasures, but watching wealth being carried out filled him with profound satisfaction. And the more they captured, the higher his merit would be ranked after the war.
But confiscating magnates' property had policy restrictions. The Administrative Council strictly prohibited excessive "land reform raids." Besides militia organizers and leaders, targets were mainly notorious local bullies and landlords. So the scope was limited.
Plenty of commoners came to accuse "bully-landlords." At first Shi Zhiqi was quite interested in playing "incorruptible magistrate," but after a day of meeting people he never wanted to do "on-site public service" again. The accusers and informants brought information so varied and chaotic that truth was impossible to distinguish from falsehood. Among them were certainly people wanting to exploit Australian power for personal revenge. Unable to determine whether to proceed with cases or not, Shi Zhiqi simply dumped everything on civil affairs and intelligence personnel, then retreated to the back courtyard to relax and receive visiting landlords from surrounding areas—all bearing gifts to curry favor, awed by the crop-heads' terrible power.
Shi Zhiqi thought: rather than face a crowd of ragged, hatred-filled commoners competing to pour out grievances, better to sit comfortably in a grand chair chatting with smiling magnates, drinking tea, perusing their gift lists, then accepting them. Material and spiritual rewards combined.
Gifts piled up like mountains—gold, silver, antiques, paintings, silk, rice, pigs, sheep, even maidservants and child servants. Shi Zhiqi accepted everything. Though all would be turned over to the public purse, the feeling of being valued was pleasant. Various goods filled every corridor in the ancestral hall's courtyards, awaiting transport.
Since squadron boats and personnel were heavily committed to transporting spoils and refugees, military action against Sanliang was postponed several more days. Not until October 25th did Shi Zhiqi's E Squadron formally commence operations.
By then, E Squadron had received reinforcements—over three hundred troops with twenty-odd sampans and long-dragons. Hearing that enemies had blocked the waterways, they brought extra small uncovered sampans with the shallowest draft, designed for passing blocked sections.
After departing Shigang, Shi Zhiqi's flotilla traveled four or five li before turning into the channel leading to Sanliang. The terrain here startled him. The channel narrowed to an average of under twenty meters. Both banks were thick with aquatic plants, occasionally dense groves of small trees. He realized this terrain strongly favored enemy attacks from the banks on boats in the channel—enemies could covertly approach from both sides simultaneously, then attack the crowded boats in the narrow waterway with bows and firearms, inflicting heavy casualties.
"All boats raise protective panels!"
Protective panels were recently added equipment for sampans—designed after previous squadrons encountered close-range bow, arrow, and firearm attacks during inland waterway operations.
Shaped like large rectangular shields, with brackets and hinges for dense placement along the sampan and long-dragon gunwales, they protected sailors and soldiers aboard. These panels were iron-clad on the outside, able to block all arrows, matchlock balls, and most small cannon projectiles. Soldiers sheltering behind them could effectively protect their torsos while still observing and firing.
However, with panels raised, navigation speed dropped significantly. Boats became unwieldy and rowing required more effort. So panels were normally only raised in combat situations. If enemy fire wasn't heavy, commanders preferred not using them to maintain maneuverability.
Shi Zhiqi's judgment proved correct. On martial artists' advice, Luo Tianqiu had specially selected skilled archers from among the militia, led by designated personnel, to ambush along both banks and harass crop-head boats. At the obstruction points where ships were sunk and stakes driven, he had positioned small units with light cannons, matchlocks, and bows. Everyone expected the crop-heads wouldn't bother clearing obstructions—their many sampans could easily pass blocked sections. But as they passed these points they would inevitably slow down, when ambushing militia would simultaneously open fire with cannons and arrows to inflict heavy casualties.
"Send out point teams to search both banks and cover the flotilla's passage!" Shi Zhiqi ordered. Then he had someone bring his steel helmet—if an arrow flew from the bank now, the odds of dying were high.
Four point teams landed on both banks, searching forward in alternating bounds to cover the flotilla. They quickly engaged ambushing militia hidden in reeds and trees. The point men's scouting, stealth, and observation training let them spot oblivious militiamen from great distances and swiftly eliminate them. Since this wasn't a secret surprise attack, Shi Zhiqi didn't require the clearing to be silent—he only wanted safe, swift passage for the flotilla.
Thus, whenever point men discovered ambushing militia, they engaged at long range with rifles. Under sporadic gunfire, both banks were quickly cleared. Survivors didn't linger near the banks but fled.
After over two hours winding through the channel, point men finally encountered a large militia force. With cannon support from the boats, this force quickly fled, abandoning several small crude cannons. Shi Zhiqi found he couldn't proceed further. Sampans were scraping bottom—they had hit the first obstruction line.
Water-skilled sailors dove to investigate. The channel had been blocked by three rows of thick stakes, nearly breaking the surface. Even sampans could only be laboriously dragged over the stake tops. Sometimes soldiers had to disembark to reduce draft.
"Loop ropes around the stakes, then row hard!"
This crude method had once worked in combat. When sixteenth-century Spaniards conquered Mexico City, they had used this technique to clear stakes the Mexicans had driven into the surrounding lake waters.
Ropes were quickly looped around stakes and pulled tight. Several sampans rowed together. The ropes stretched taut; sampan sterns half-submerged—but the stakes didn't budge.
They tried several stakes. None could be pulled out as the Spaniards had done. One sampan nearly capsized in the attempt.
"Strange—didn't the Spaniards do it this way?" Shi Zhiqi scratched his head, feeling embarrassed. He had heard this secondhand without reading the original account, so he didn't know the Spaniards had used much larger two-masted sailing ships.
Seeing over an hour wasted with no progress, Shi Zhiqi decided not to squander more time. He had neither suitable tools nor enough manpower to clear underwater obstacles. He could only bypass them and continue. But this meant all long-dragons would have to stay outside the obstruction—only sampans could proceed. And all cannons were mounted on long-dragons.
Shi Zhiqi ordered the 12-pounder mountain howitzers disassembled and distributed across sampans. The shallow-draft sampans couldn't carry much ammunition—each gun took only forty shells, half solid shot and half canister. Then he left a few men to guard the boats while the rest dragged sampans one by one over the stakes and continued forward.
After another two-plus li, point men again engaged militia guarding an obstruction line. This time cannons couldn't provide support fire. A single squad of point men soon couldn't withstand over a hundred militia attacking with bows and crude cannons and was forced to withdraw. The militia charged to very close to the sampans before being repulsed by rifle fire from the boats. But they didn't leave the blockade area—just withdrew beyond effective Minié rifle range, waiting for another chance to attack.
Shi Zhiqi briefly considered having troops march overland to avoid being such easy targets stuck on boats. But after climbing onto the bank himself, he was shocked. There was no contiguous land here—everywhere were channels, ponds, and paddy fields. Some channel junctions and dikes had once had simple footbridges, now all removed. If the troops abandoned boats to march on foot, building bridges along the way would consume enormous time. He had no choice but to order continued advance by boat.
Advancing through constant exchanges of fire, resistance grew fiercer. Apparently discovering the crop-heads couldn't use cannons, the militia grew bolder. When sampans tried to cross obstruction lines, militia poured fire with crude cannons and arrows. Only when marines landed and charged would they retreat. Battles at channel obstruction lines came one after another. The militia exploited every delay caused by obstructions—boats stuck on the water, unable to bring firepower to bear—to launch attack after attack. Arrows and projectiles from matchlocks and crude cannons rained down. Though casualties were few, progress was severely delayed—less than ten li of waterway took almost the entire morning. One killed, ten wounded. One sampan's hull was scraped through while being dragged over stakes, leaking and sinking.
Shi Zhiqi's face was iron. This was too embarrassing! Since E Squadron had joined the Pearl River campaign, they had taken villages and fortresses without a single death or ship lost. Now militia had killed a soldier and sunk a sampan! He'd look terrible back at headquarters.
Just then, the lead sampans opened fire again. He quickly raised his telescope. The leading sampans were shrouded in powder smoke from firing Minié rifles. Only muzzle flashes were visible through the haze. Drums and gongs thundered on the bank; people were shouting and screaming in chaos. Suddenly smoke rose from the trees, a thunderclap, and the river surface was peppered with tiny waterspouts. Some iron fragments struck sampan panels with clanging sounds.
"Fire toward the smoke!" Sergeants on nearby sampans shouted, directing fire. Over a dozen Minié rifles fired simultaneously into the smoking tree line. Gunfire, the tearing sound of bullets passing through foliage, screams of pain mingled together. Shi Zhiqi tensely observed the bank through his telescope. Several sampans were already rowing toward the bank to land marines and drive off the enemy.
Dense arrows flew from the trees. Marines ducked behind panels as arrows bristled thickly against the barriers. Occasional matchlock booms rang out. Iron balls clanged against panels. Marines poked rifles over the barriers and returned fire continuously. After several minutes of exchange, the bank gradually fell silent.
After driving off the militia, the flotilla slowly passed the obstruction line. Ahead was a channel bend. The channel narrowed further. Current quickened. Both banks grew steep. The first sampan, avoiding the channel's central current, hugged the bank. Just then, several figures suddenly sprang from the bankside grass and shoved something dark directly onto the sampan.
Before Shi Zhiqi could shout a warning, the first sampan erupted in a cloud of smoke and exploded.
Almost simultaneously, sampans behind opened fire. The grass was shredded by bullets. One militiaman tumbled from the bank into the river.
Other sampans quickly closed in. The bombed sampan was still afloat. Both side panels and part of the hull had been blown off. The dozen-odd marines and sailors aboard lay scattered in the shattered hull, bloody all over. One man's belly—apparently the explosive had detonated right in his arms—was blown open, dark red viscera exposed. A bloody, burnt stench mixed with gunpowder smoke filled the air.
"Wanrenji!" a naval officer shouted.
Wanrenji—"Ten-Thousand-Man Foe"—was a Chinese-made incendiary: a ceramic pot filled with seven or eight jin or even dozens of jin of black powder, plus iron fragments, pebbles, and broken porcelain for shrapnel. In use, the fuse was lit and the pot thrown from walls, causing considerable casualties by contemporary standards. An excellent defensive weapon. But wanrenji were very heavy, totally unusable as hand grenades. No one had expected militia to use one in field combat.
They had exploited this stretch's steep bank, waiting for a boat to pass, then directly dropping the wanrenji onto it. A direct hit. On a crowded small sampan, the explosion's power was devastating.
All eleven men on the sampan died in the attack, weapons destroyed. Heavy losses. After landing, marines found only the bodies of several militiamen shot dead nearby.
"Damn!" Shi Zhiqi slashed his command saber. "Take Sanliang Market! Kill everything that moves!"
(End of Chapter)