Chapter 2102 - The Assault
Although the logistics corps had established a supply depot at Fengchuan County to stockpile ammunition, transporting materiel posed both capacity and safety challenges. Black powder was far less stable than modern high explosives. Consequently, shipments proceeded in small, multiple batches, making resupply even slower.
If the first assault failed to break through, artillery support for a second attempt would drop drastically. The soldiers would have to rely on demolition charges and bayonets alone.
While the 3rd Battalion and Siege Artillery Company were landing south of Wuzhou and constructing fortifications, Yang Zeng's 8th Battalion went ashore at the foot of Zhushan on the western bank of the Gui River.
Though fully prepared for combat, the Ming forces on nearby hills made no attempt to attack during the landing. Only a handful of soldiers crept forward to observe; the light infantry providing perimeter security fired a few shots, and they immediately fled, leaving their casualties behind.
The 8th Battalion had already eaten lunch and taken a two-hour rest, so the men were at peak energy. According to the operational plan, the first shot of the Wuzhou siege would be fired by the 8th Battalion. At this moment, every soldier was eager and itching for battle.
According to the brigade reconnaissance company's reports, Zhushan had no Ming garrison—only a handful of sentries—and no defensive works. To the north lay Bangshan, where the Ming had concentrated their forces. Zhushan's peak elevation was only eleven meters, while Bangshan topped out at thirty-eight meters—barely hills, really—but these were the commanding heights around Wuzhou, well above the western wall across the river. Even in cold steel warfare, Bangshan would be a critical strongpoint outside the city.
The brigade scouts reported approximately a thousand Ming troops defending Bangshan and its environs in a group defense. Their combat effectiveness was considerable—especially the "new army" troops under Xiong Wenchan, equipped with Nanyang rifles. The operators knew their weapons well: accurate fire and good timing, far superior to any Ming forces previously encountered.
Additionally, this Ming force was heavily equipped with light Falangjis—more properly called heavy matchlock guns than cannon. Though cumbersome, their rate of fire and lethality were quite respectable. If infantry advanced into range, these weapons could inflict serious casualties.
The Ming forces also had the usual hodgepodge of assorted firearms, varying widely in effectiveness. But as long as they were discharged at the right moment, they could still cause considerable harm to an attacking force. From the scouts' several probing reconnaissance runs, the Ming on Bangshan seemed more steady than any armed force they'd met before—rarely firing at random, but each volley delivering a sudden storm of projectiles that, at close range, often momentarily overwhelmed the light infantry's firepower. Most critically, the Ming had dug trenches and built field works.
Trench warfare was nothing new to the Ming. In the late Ming struggles against the Later Jin, commanders often built field fortifications and relied on firearms to defend against the heavy infantry and cavalry charges of the Eight Banners. The Banners typically waited until the Ming had exhausted their ammunition before launching their assaults.
Yang Zeng set up a temporary command post on Zhushan and carefully studied the enemy position through binoculars. The Ming trenches followed the contours of the hillside, forming an irregular quadrilateral with two layers. What Yang Zeng could see was one of the sharp corners of this quadrilateral. He sighed inwardly—that traitor really knew his business. The Fubo Army's methods and principles for constructing field works had been learned thoroughly.
Bangshan was steep on the east, west, and north faces, with only the south slope relatively gentle. The longest salient of the Ming fortifications was positioned on that southern slope. To attack this salient head-on meant facing fire from both flanks despite the gentler grade; to attack from the sides meant struggling uphill, easy targets for the defenders.
To take Bangshan, the 8th Battalion would have to assault uphill. Aside from shrapnel shells, the brigade artillery's field guns and howitzers could scarcely hit Ming troops sheltering inside the hilltop trenches, and shells that failed to land inside the trenches would do negligible damage. Trenches—this low-tech expedient—were recognized as an effective countermeasure against artillery fire.
Of course, there were ways to attack trenches: mortars. These precursors to modern mortars had a high trajectory ideal for striking trench positions. But mortars were heavy and short-ranged. Apart from the large-caliber pieces assigned to siege artillery, the field artillery had none at all—and there was no time to wait for them to be shipped up.
In the past, Yang Zeng would have ordered bayonet charges without hesitation, crashing straight into Ming troops cowering in their ditches. But this reconnaissance report told a different story: the Ming forces were roughly equal in strength to the 8th Battalion, well supplied with firearms and bows. Sheltering in trenches, they presented tiny targets—covering fire from light infantry would hit virtually nothing. Once the enemy opened up from inside the trenches, whether volleys of firearms or flights of arrows, the charging infantry would suffer heavy losses.
From the reconnaissance reports, the Ming's will to fight seemed solid. Their officers commanded capably, and their training was systematic. The conventional all-out charge might not fail, but it would certainly exact a heavy toll.
Though the Elders had repeatedly emphasized that casualties need not be a primary concern and that forces should be committed decisively when necessary, Yang Zeng was a veteran of the Fubo Army. He knew firsthand how the Elders had built this force from nothing through blood and toil. This "seed capital" was meant for winning all under heaven—the fewer losses, the better.
He lowered his binoculars and returned to the battalion command post. The staff had already prepared a simple sand table model, and several company commanders clustered around it, pointing and debating attack plans. Yang Zeng decided to hold off on issuing a specific battle order and first hear his commanders' views.
Yang Erdong had been serving as one of Lord Xiong Wenchan's household guards for over two years. He ate well, drew good pay, and his family considered him lucky to have landed such a fine post. True, life as a household guard meant strict drilling and heavy duties, and once fighting started, you were first in line. But the pay and provisions were far superior to an ordinary soldier's.
These days, plenty of men were willing to stake their lives in exchange for food and clothing. Landing a spot as one of the Governor-General's personal guard was extraordinary luck. As household guards went, they saw less combat than most—Xiong Wenchan wasn't some frontier general constantly fighting. So Yang Erdong had been quite content with his lot.
Unfortunately, Yang Erdong's luck had run out. Xiong Wenchan had resolved to "fight to the finish" with the Hair-Bandits at Wuzhou, and his household troops were expected to "give their all." Everyone was grumbling: this time, they'd probably lose their heads.
Though the danger of death loomed, few deserted. Desertion meant losing their livelihood. For these soldiers, accustomed to their pay and perks, going back to hard labor was unthinkable. Turning bandit was no better in these times. Might as well gamble. If they survived, even if Xiong Wenchan were later stripped of office, they'd still have prospects—at worst, they'd collect a few taels as severance.
As luck would have it—ancestors be praised—Yang Erdong wasn't assigned to Bangshan, spared from the first clash with the Australians. Instead, he and nine other matchlock musketeers were placed under Advisor Chang's command, awaiting his orders.
Chang Qingyun rode about Wuzhou on a tall horse, Xiong Wenchan's command arrow tucked at his waist, a saber at his hip, followed by ten matchlock-armed household guards. He cut quite a figure. Xiong Wenchan had authorized Chang Qingyun to inspect the various units and enforce discipline in his stead. Chang Qingyun felt deeply honored and threw himself into the task with gusto. After beheading a few deserters, he carried himself with even greater menace.
This made Yang Erdong's life miserable. Chang Qingyun galloped about on horseback; the guards had to follow on foot at a jog. Before long, they were gasping for breath. By the time they reached the south of the city, they could run no more.
"Master Chang, you've got to let us rest a bit! The brothers can't keep up. Just give us a short breather before we continue the patrol, won't you?" Yang Erdong dared to speak up.
Chang Qingyun clenched his teeth. "You don't know how dangerous the Australians are. Without discipline, the moment their cannons open up, half our men will scatter like rats."
"But Master Chang, we really can't run any farther. Just a little rest, please." Yang Erdong pleaded.
"Yes, please, Master Chang—just let us rest a bit!" the other guards chimed in.
"It's because the Great Ming is full of loafers like you—collecting pay but doing nothing—that the Eastern Captives raid every year, the roving bandits run rampant, and the Hair-Bandits wreak havoc!" He raised his riding crop and lashed toward Yang Erdong.
Yang Erdong ducked aside; the whip cracked empty air.
Just as Chang Qingyun pulled back for another stroke, a rumble of artillery echoed in the distance—like a thousand thunderclaps following lightning. Almost instantaneously, a chunk of masonry the size of half a man was blasted from the rampart above Chang Qingyun's head, crashing to the ground nearby and shattering into fragments.
Chang Qingyun's horse reared in terror, whinnying, its forelegs pawing the air as if about to bolt. Luckily, Chang Qingyun clung to the reins and kept his feet in the stirrups, barely avoiding being thrown. Yang Erdong, who had tended horses and knew their temperament, rushed forward, grabbed the bridle, made soothing noises, and patted the horse's neck until it calmed.
Still shaken, Chang Qingyun dared not stay mounted. He hastily dismounted and pressed against the wall—the only way to shelter from the bombardment. "Consider this making up for your earlier offense," he said to Yang Erdong. "I'll let it go for now!"
Before he finished speaking, another cannon roared, then another. The thunder rolled on without pause. The southern wall of Wuzhou was pummeled, bricks flying everywhere, barely a section left intact. Chang Qingyun knew the Australians' artillery was formidable, but he had not imagined it was this devastating. Wuzhou's thick walls, under Australian bombardment, seemed little more than toys molded from mud.
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