Chapter 2106 - Battle Deployment

Yang Zeng set up his command post on Zhushan Hill, from which he could observe the Bangshan position through binoculars. The enemy's trenches followed the contours of the hillside, forming an irregular quadrilateral. Bangshan was steep on its east, west, and north faces, with only the southern slope relatively gentle.

The reconnaissance reports had made it clear: the Ming garrison was approximately equal in strength to the 8th Battalion, well-supplied with firearms and bows. Sheltering in their trenches, they presented tiny targets. Before committing to an assault, Yang Zeng needed a plan that wouldn't cost him half his battalion.

He returned to the command post. The staff had prepared a simple sand table model, and several company commanders clustered around it, debating attack plans.

"If we attack head-on up the south slope, we'll take fire from both flanks despite the easier terrain," said one company commander. "But attacking from the sides means climbing steep grades—we'll be slow and exposed."

"What about a night attack?" another suggested.

"Too risky. We don't know the ground well enough, and the moon's barely a sliver tonight. Men would get lost, units would separate. By morning we'd have a scattered mess instead of a coordinated assault."

Yang Zeng listened quietly, then spoke. "The brigade artillery can barely touch them inside those trenches. Our only real option is howitzer fire combined with trench-approach tactics. We dig our way close, suppress them with shrapnel and grenades, then go in with bayonets."

He traced the approach on the sand table. "Three approach trenches—here, here, and here. We'll need the engineer company to lead, with civilian laborers doing the heavy lifting. Light infantry provides covering fire to suppress any defender who shows himself."

"How long to close the distance?"

"If we push hard, we can be within assault range by late afternoon. The mountain howitzers go into position here"—he pointed to the bend in the central trench—"and hit their forward positions with shrapnel before we go in."

"What about the grenadiers?"

"They lead the assault. Ten grenades each. Once they've saturated the enemy trench, the line infantry follows through the breach. Bayonet work to clear the position."

The officers nodded. It was a straightforward plan—nothing clever, just methodical application of superior firepower and training. But against an enemy who had prepared trenches and was well-supplied with weapons, methodical was exactly what was needed.

The orders went out. The engineer company moved forward with shovels, picks, and sandbags. Behind them came laborers—men recruited or conscripted from nearby villages, performing the dangerous work of digging approach trenches under the enemy's guns.

Progress was slow but steady. The light infantry took up positions on the flanks, their rifles trained on the Ming defenses. Any head that appeared above the parapet drew immediate fire. After the first few Ming soldiers were shot through the skull, the defenders became extremely cautious about exposing themselves.

The mountain howitzers were manhandled up to their positions—no small feat on the steep terrain. Gun crews assembled the pieces, calculated ranges, and prepared their ammunition. Each gun had only a limited stock of shells; they would need to make every shot count.

Meanwhile, civilian laborers dug frantically, encouraged by a mixture of promises and threats. Steel helmets—stripped from reserve troops—were distributed to give them some protection against the arrows that the Ming occasionally lobbed into the trenches in high arcs. Wooden boards scavenged from demolished buildings provided overhead cover.

By mid-afternoon, the three approach trenches had been pushed to within fifty meters of the Ming forward line. Close enough to smell the enemy cooking fires. Close enough to hear their nervous chatter.

Yang Zeng surveyed the scene through his binoculars. The grenadiers were moving into position in the forward trenches, each man carrying a canvas bag bulging with grenades. Behind them waited the line infantry, bayonets fixed, faces tense.

He checked his watch. T-minus thirty minutes.

At the howitzer position, the gun crews made final preparations. The range had been carefully calculated; the guns elevated to lob their shells in high arcs over the lip of the trenches. Each team knew its target: the forward defensive line, the communication trenches, the likely rally points.

"Load!" The crews rammed home the first shells.

"Stand ready!"

Yang Zeng raised his signal flag. Three red rockets would mark the beginning of the assault.

He thought of the men who would be climbing out of the trenches in a few minutes, charging into the teeth of enemy fire. Some would die—that was inevitable. But if the plan worked, if the howitzers did their job and the grenadiers moved fast enough, the losses would be acceptable.

Acceptable losses. Such a cold phrase for such hot work.

The signal flag came down. Three rockets streaked into the sky, trailing fire and smoke.

The howitzers roared.

(End of Chapter)