Chapter 1101 - Battalion Commander Lü

Lü Zeyang sat in Fan Shi'er's little eatery. The modest establishment—unremarkable and roadside—now served as the forward command post for the Laizhou Detachment.

The walls of broken brick and lime mortar were pockmarked with irregular holes. The floor lay covered with earth and brick fragments. Tables and chairs had been stacked to one side, leaving only two square tables pushed together in the center. Upon them sat a kerosene lantern and a map. The windows had been smashed and were now blocked up with rubble. The doorway was barricaded with sandbags—the whole scene looked like something from an Anti-Japanese War film set.

Lü Zeyang wore a thick cotton robe beneath a coarse cloth outer gown, both dusty, stained, and torn in places. On his head sat a Fanyang-style straw hat. Around his waist was buckled a standard Fupo Army canvas belt with two holstered Type-30 revolvers, Lingao-manufactured, crossing at his hips. A regulation Ming military saber leaned against the table.

Fan Shi'er stood respectfully at his side. Ever since the great battle seven or eight days prior, his veneration of Battalion Commander Lü knew no bounds.

Commander Lü was no mere man—he was a god. A war god! In Fan Shi'er's limited frame of reference, only the legendary Lord Yue—whose divine valor had routed the Jurchen and preserved the Song dynasty—could compare. But even Lord Yue had fought his way to victory one blade-stroke at a time.

This Commander Lü had barely left the Wang family ancestral hall throughout the entire engagement. From the initial probing attack by the mutineers' mounted scouts to the final infantry-cavalry assault, Commander Lü had remained on the rooftop of the Wang family compound, observing through two cylindrical tubes and occasionally giving a few words to the guards at his side to relay.

When Fan Shi'er first heard that the mutineers had reached the city walls, he was terrified half to death. He stuck to Commander Lü like a shadow—figuring the commander surely had some means of escape, and when the time came, he could flee alongside him.

He never expected that before the mutineers even began their assault, the government troops defending the South Gate would hastily slam the gate shut—cutting off several hundred of their own men outside. Many of the militia panicked, scattering toward the gate, wailing and begging for entry. Those above simply ignored them, no matter how they pleaded or cursed.

Fan Shi'er was certain he was done for, trapped in the South Suburb. But as soon as combat began, he watched the hundred-odd militiamen on rooftops and behind barricades open fire. White gunsmoke nearly blanketed the entire neighborhood. The air crackled with endless musket fire—ping-ping-pang-pang—and red muzzle-flashes flickered everywhere through the haze. When the smoke cleared, the ground beyond the suburb and at the street entrances was already littered with mutineer corpses.

In the fighting that followed, gusts of sea wind periodically parted the thick smoke, letting Fan Shi'er clearly observe how the militiamen formed volley lines. From remarkable distances, they cut down wave after wave of mutineers with their muskets. Multiple times, the attackers were routed before even reaching the suburb. Commander Lü also had two-wheeled cannon carriages—small, dainty things requiring only a few men to push around. At first glance they seemed too delicate to be of any use; the big guns mounted on Laizhou's walls, which Fan Shi'er had helped supply with powder and shot, looked far more imposing, massively heavy. But once the fighting started, these little cannons proved ferocious. Their shells flew far and struck true—exploding on impact, strewing devastation—causing the mutineers to cry for their parents. Often their formations dissolved before even reaching the suburb.

When the mutineers made their final push on the South Suburb—several thousand infantry and cavalry surging forward, so dense they couldn't be held back—Fan Shi'er watched the black mass of attackers, heads bobbing, pour into the street. Like mercury spilling across the ground, they flooded in. No more than a few dozen militiamen stood in the street to oppose them. Fan Shi'er's legs trembled; he felt himself about to lose control of his bladder. Then, from inside a building, men pushed out a wheelbarrow with a flat box mounted on top. They wheeled it across the street. The militiamen in front immediately scattered, and from the box erupted continuous streams of fire—crack-crack-crack-crack—in unbroken bursts that sent the incoming mutineers tumbling and rolling across the ground. The most astonishing thing was that after one volley, it fired again, and again, ceaselessly. Then several dozen militiamen charged forward with bayonet-tipped muskets and stabbed their way through, physically driving several hundred men back out of the street. Those in the leading wave threw off helmets and armor, shoved and elbowed each other, tumbling and fleeing in panic, while a few dozen bayonet-wielding militiamen chased them from behind. The scene left Fan Shi'er utterly dumbfounded. What kind of fighting was this?

After the mutineers were driven off, the tally revealed over two hundred bodies just inside and outside the street—many trampled to death in the rout. The fields farther out, which they hadn't dared sweep for fear of lingering cavalrymen, likely held another two or three hundred dead. They also captured several dozen prisoners—men who had fainted from being trampled during the panicked retreat.

The officials inside the city, Governor Sun and Governor Xu, learned of the great victory at the South Gate. After verifying the submitted heads and captured banners and weapons, they specially sent silver to reward the troops and showered Commander Lü with praise. Even Fan Shi'er received commendation. The messenger announced that Governors Sun and Xu were drafting a memorial listing the names of meritorious personnel. When the imperial rewards arrived, even commoners could receive titles. The restaurant owner Fan Shi'er was beaming with joy. Commander Lü, by contrast, seemed indifferent to such honors—though he showed considerable enthusiasm for the silver, liquor, and meat sent from the city.

From that point forward, Fan Shi'er was utterly devoted to Commander Lü, revering him as a divine being. Before, his own life had seemed forfeit; now, he hadn't suffered so much as a scratch. Just by listening to the clamor of battle, he stood to receive imperial honors. This Commander Lü was absolutely his lucky star.

Lü Zeyang, too, was quite satisfied. Only one man had died in combat, killed by a musket ball; a few others were wounded. The losses were negligible—they hadn't even expended much ammunition.

From the captured prisoners, he conducted preliminary interrogations. Those with local accents were all drafted into the militia—Fan Shi'er had become his shadow and yes-man, obeying every command without hesitation. Those with Liaodong accents he handed over to Prefect Zhu Wanxing. These were mostly cunning old Dongjiang veterans, and keeping them on hand posed some risk.

Following this great battle, the mutineers shifted their assaults to the North, West, and East Gates. Nearly every day brought the thunder of cannons attacking the walls. Lü Zeyang, besides strengthening his own defenses, dispatched scouts to observe conditions at each gate. If government forces appeared unable to hold, he was prepared to bring his troops to assist.

Historically, Laizhou had held out with very few defenders. Lü Zeyang wasn't overly concerned; he merely took standard precautions. His scouts reported that fighting at each gate was fierce, with the mutineers' artillery bombardment heavy day and night. City-wall parapets and crenellations had been battered into rubble. Casualties were high everywhere.

Still, morale seemed decent. Inside the city, the gentry and wealthy households—led by Zhang Xin—had contributed substantial funds and provisions to reward the troops. In the late Ming, the principle was simple: whoever could pay, the soldiers would fight for; otherwise, even the Emperor couldn't move them. When the Chongzhen Emperor summoned the Ningyuan Army to Zhuxian Town for the decisive battle against Li Chuang, the court's failure to provide pay meant the army simply refused to march.

What worried Lü Zeyang most were the motley officials and troops crammed inside the city. Laizhou now overflowed with officials—two provincial governors in civil posts alone, and even more military officers. On the thirtieth day of the first month, after Commander-in-Chief Yang Yufan's defeat at Xincheng Town, he too had fled into Laizhou. The city now housed the remnants of Sun Yuanhua's Dengzhou-Laizhou garrison, Yang Yufan's Tongzhou, Tianjin, and Shandong troops, and the local Laizhou garrison—different units jumbled together in crowded confusion. Despite the officers' efforts to maintain discipline, minor clashes kept erupting.

When the mutineers attacked the South Gate, the garrison commander there had simply shut the gate—leaving his own men outside. This made crystal clear to Lü Zeyang that government troops were unreliable not only as allies but even as bystanders. He had to guard against them constantly. Sure enough, no sooner had they repelled the mutineers than government soldiers surged out to seize heads and weapons. Lü Zeyang unhesitatingly ordered a volley that cut down the looters, finally teaching them their place.

Lü Zeyang cared nothing for such "merit," but he feared they might cause trouble behind his lines during a firefight. Fortunately, before long, Zhang Tao arrived from Dengzhou and was appointed by Sun Yuanhua as South Gate commander.

The city's defense had been divided into sectors under a four-gate responsibility system: Sun Yuanhua held the South Gate, Xu Congzhi the North Gate, Yang Yufan the West Gate, and Wang Daochun the East Gate.

Lü Zeyang was assigned to Sun Yuanhua's sector, sparing him countless complications. Otherwise, given the South Suburb victory, those who coveted his "small force" and its "ordnance" would already have been reaching for it.

Even so, visitors constantly requested to inspect Commander Lü's "superior weapons." Yang Yufan even offered to purchase some of the militiamen's muskets and cannon—a request Lü Zeyang naturally declined. He made no mystery of the weapons' origin, explaining they were "overseas ordnance purchased from Guangzhou." Yang Yufan promptly asked for introductions, intent on procuring "superior weapons" for himself.

Zhang Tao was likewise fascinated by their armaments. He and Sun Yuanhua were co-religionists, both enthusiastic promoters of Western firearms in China—so he understood perfectly well that Commander Lü's ordnance was the very same used by the "crop-headed raiders" of Guangdong. In particular, the musket that could mount a bayonet and fire in bursts—only the crop-heads possessed that.

This so-called Battalion Commander Lü, despite speaking the Laizhou dialect, almost certainly had deep ties to the crop-heads.

But he and Sun Yuanhua had long since reached an understanding. So Zhang Tao played dumb about the whole affair. To minimize complications, the troops originally guarding Laizhou's South Gate were gradually replaced by the remnants of the Dengzhou garrison. The numbers were somewhat thin, but Sun Yuanhua, knowing the fighting strength of Lü Zeyang's men, was unworried.

Lü Zeyang now found everything satisfactory except for one disappointment: his refugee collection plan was not as fruitful as he'd hoped.

Just now, an officer had come to report on current refugee intake. Because the mutineers had advanced with such speed, very few refugees managed to reach Laizhou before they arrived. Once the mutineers reached the city walls, the refugee stream ceased entirely. All told, he had sheltered fewer than five hundred people, housed in vacant buildings around the South Suburb. As soon as the coastal harbor thawed, they would be shipped out.

(End of Chapter)