Chapter 1085 - Curtain Call
The rifle volley shook the entire ice field. The leading ranks of the five hundred "dragoons" seemed to slam into an invisible wall, tumbling down in a chaos of overturned men and horses.
The fallen beasts and riders instantly became obstacles for those behind. More men and horses crashed to the ground.
By the time Chen Guangfu's troops absorbed a second volley, fifty or sixty riders had already fallen.
The infantry loaded and fired with calm precision, following the sergeants' commands in methodical cadence. Though deployed in only a double-line formation, their fire density far exceeded that of the "three-rank formation" used by matchlocks of the same era.
"Charge quickly!" Chen Guangfu pressed himself so low against his mount he was nearly lying flat on its back. But aside from his personal soldiers and house guards, who possessed genuine riding skill, his subordinates were passable horsemen at best. Under this dense rain of bullets, they dared not urge their mounts to gallop. They could not control their horses to make evasive maneuvers. They had become targets on the bare, exposed ice.
Volley after volley crashed out. More and more men fell on the frozen surface. In the chaos, some reined in and tried to flee. Others were carried spinning across the ice by panicked horses, utterly helpless. The scene dissolved into pandemonium.
Chen Guangfu knew the flanking assault across the ice had become impossible. The enemy had been prepared all along. A large number of well-trained village braves clearly occupied the island. Even if he drove his men ashore, they would gain no advantage.
He gave a sharp whistle. What remained of his force wheeled their horses and fled toward the shore in panic. Those with poor horsemanship, unable to control their terrified mounts, simply abandoned them and ran on foot.
"Fire at will!"
Rifles pursued the fleeing rebel soldiers with sporadic shots. Men continued to fall on the ice at intervals.
"Boring—" Zhu Mingxia muttered. Then fierce artillery fire erupted behind him. He turned and saw the sandbar ablaze with bombardment, thick smoke blotting out the sun. The great mass of rebels crowded onto the causeway was avalanching down, men rolling and scrambling without regard for life or death, fleeing madly across the frozen surface.
This artillery strike was rapid fire, lasting less than three minutes. Every gun had bombarded azimuth 4471 at maximum rate of fire.
That position vanished into the inferno. Amid the black and crimson explosion flames, fragments of armor, weapons, banners, and vehicles were hurled skyward. Fragments of men and horses could no longer be distinguished.
The great horde of rebels massed on the sandbar—whether combat soldiers, auxiliary troops, or conscripted refugees—plunged into desperate panic in that instant. Seeing the central army's banner swallowed by artillery fire, even though not a single arrow or bullet had been fired from the frontal Willow Palisade, the entire formation collapsed.
The crowd on the sandbar exploded like a bursting pot. Because shells continued to fall behind them, many simply slid down from the causeway, attempting to detour across the ice to reach the shore. But this section of ice had not frozen solidly; crevasses threaded through it. The bombardment moments before had shattered much of the surface further. It could not withstand the trampling of thousands of feet. With several sharp crack sounds, the ice gave way. Men descending onto the surface were caught off guard; many slipped instantly into the gaps. Before they could struggle or cry for help, they were engulfed by drifting floes. Screams and desperate shouts for help rose toward the heavens. Bodies drifted everywhere across the floating ice and in the crevasses.
Ma Linxi had also descended onto the ice in the chaos. Amid the tumult, someone shoved him and he fell into an ice hole. The water was piercingly cold; his entire body went numb with the shock. But he had been extremely cautious and had grabbed a carrying pole before venturing onto the ice. Though he had plunged into the hole and his body was freezing, he desperately braced himself against the floating ice with the pole and avoided drowning. He drew a deep breath, summoned every last ounce of strength, and finally clawed his way out, collapsing onto the ice surface and gasping for air.
The refugees were weak, but at least they wore no armor. Those who fell into the holes and crevasses had some chance of climbing out. The rebel soldiers wore armor—the combat troops wore full iron plate. Once they went in, the weight dragged them straight down. A few who reacted quickly enough hurriedly shed their armor and managed to escape with their lives.
"Cease fire—prepare to sortie!" Chen Sigen lowered his telescope. The enemy had collapsed. Continued firing would only pile up more corpses. Watching the shattered ice field strewn with floating bodies, he saw no point in perpetuating a meaningless massacre.
He immediately ordered a line infantry company and a village brave company to open the Willow Palisade gate and begin pursuit. Zhu Mingxia's three companies would also sweep across from the ice surface to strike the routed troops' flank. Chen Sigen intended to intercept the bulk of the enemy on the sandbar and capture them all.
The stirring melody of the charge bugle rang out. More than ten buglers blew simultaneously. The companies surged forward like tigers descending from a mountain, storming toward the routed crowd with bayonets fixed to their rifles, bellowing the slogan "Spare those who surrender!" until the cry echoed across the sky.
The counterattack accelerated the disintegration and rout of the rebel forces. Thousands of men threw down their weapons and sticks, howling and running desperately with every ounce of strength they possessed—the desperate shrieks of animals before death. Men fell constantly in the shoving and fleeing, only to be trampled alive by those behind. Some hacked at the people ahead with sabers and spears to carve a path.
This frenzy of survival left Chen Sigen dumbfounded. He had never witnessed such a brutal battlefield. Though he had once routed government troops completely at Chengmai, that had been an open field—nothing like nearly ten thousand people crammed onto this sandbar, all fleeing for their lives.
"Everyone run!" Zhu Mingxia waved his saber, commanding three companies in an all-out sprint. He was desperate to seal the entrance to the sandbar before the routed troops could escape. Though the causeway—nearly ten kilometers long—was now bordered by passable ice on both sides, as long as they blocked the entrance, most of this rebel force could be captured.
How many enemy dead was not the goal. How large a benefit they extracted was what mattered. Zhu Mingxia knew the Senate's character intimately. In the final analysis, fighting and killing had to yield returns. Being content merely with battle honors like "beheaded XX heads" was hardly sufficient.
Zhu Mingxia finally reached the junction of sandbar and mainland with the fastest company—the Light Infantry Company. Because they had run with such speed, the Gatling guns meant to reinforce the infantry had been left far behind.
Still, he was a step too late. Before they arrived, a portion of the cavalry and troops positioned at the column's rear had already broken free, galloping at full speed toward the Huang County seat.
Zhu Mingxia could not spare attention for pursuit. He ordered his forces to immediately seize the enemy camp. Mao Chenglu was not without cunning—recognizing this junction's vital importance, he had established a camp here before launching the assault, leaving five hundred combat soldiers, five hundred auxiliary troops, and numerous firearms to defend it, safeguarding his line of retreat.
But at this moment—with the central army destroyed and the entire force in collapse—the rebel soldiers garrisoning the stronghold were already in a state of panic. Some had begun leaping from the stockade walls to flee. The Mobile Corps Commander holding the position was one of Mao Chenglu's trusted subordinates. Understanding the location's importance, he desperately tried to keep his troops under control.
The Light Infantry Company deployed a skirmish line while advancing. They fired a volley, then charged the stronghold without pause. A cannon roared from the stockade wall; hundreds of firearms along the ramparts discharged simultaneously. Smoke filled the air—but few Fubo Army soldiers fell. Zhu Mingxia sneered with contempt. It seems this problem of firing too early at extreme range would never change.
Though the rebel soldiers on the stockade wall had fired their volley, watching this group rush forward with bayoneted bird guns regardless—and with screams and wails echoing from the sandbar behind—their already panicked resolve finally shattered. The remaining few hundred men routed with a single crash.
Zhu Mingxia commanded the entire force to storm the stronghold, clearing routed soldiers on one hand, ordering the Star and Fist Red Flag raised on the other. In the blink of an eye, the main body of the routed troops arrived. Hundreds of fast-moving men had already escaped past the road in front of the stronghold.
"Block the intersection with fire—bring the amplifier." Zhu Mingxia planted his command saber in the ground with visible excitement. He picked up the microphone of the electro-acoustic amplifier amid the suddenly erupting volleys and roared: "Those who surrender will be spared death!"
The Battle of Qimu Island drew to a close just like that. Battlefield cleanup and prisoner collection continued into the night. Apart from most of Chen Guangfu's force escaping, the rest had either died or surrendered. Fewer than two thousand had fled. More than six thousand rebels were now prisoners. Countless supplies and firearms had been captured. The greatest haul was a large number of horses, donkeys, mules, and cattle.
More than ten rebel officers—including Mao Chenglu—had been killed. All were Thousand-man Commanders or higher. Zhu Mingxia ordered the captured rebel soldiers to identify corpses one by one. Every recognizable officer's head was severed and preserved with lime. These would be prepared as gifts for Sun Yuanhua. Old Sun desperately needed trophies to rehabilitate himself before the court.
Rebel prisoners were stripped of their armor and tied together with ropes, then temporarily detained in the open-air stronghold camp. There was no housing—the island truly could not accommodate so many people.
Regarding disposal of the prisoners, the three leaders held differing views. Conscripted refugees would naturally be shipped to Jeju Island, but controversy arose over how to handle the veteran army ruffians. The simplest option was to ship them to Sanya to labor in the mines. A slightly better alternative was incorporating them into road construction teams to work off their crimes, as had been done with He Rubin's captured soldiers.
Zhu Mingxia, however, believed the prisoners should be released. This would avoid reducing the rebels' combat power too drastically and allow the Dengzhou chaos to continue longer. At the same time, they could make contact with Kong Youde. Both sides could reach a non-aggression agreement—they might even have rebel soldiers gather refugees on their behalf. After all, the rebels were skilled at this work, and the Australians would not have to dirty their own hands.
Lu Wenyuan objected. "Coercing refugees is fundamental to the rebels' strategy. Handing refugees over to Qimu Island means surrendering part of their gains. That inevitably involves an exchange of interests."
"What do you plan to trade for refugees?" he asked. "Why would they hand over refugees they've seized by attacking cities and stockades?"
Grain, firearms, gunpowder—all things the rebels needed, but Lu Wenyuan felt reluctant to part with them. They were in short supply themselves.
"Trade?" Zhu Mingxia's smile was cold. "The trade is guaranteeing the safety of rebel communication lines within Huang County."
(End of Chapter)