Chapter 2110 - Flight
As the artillery fire on Bangshan grew more and more intense, dusk began to fall. Yi Haoran could see almost nothing; the dispatch riders he had sent out rarely returned. Those few who managed to swim back across the river could only report vague things like "fierce fighting" or "Hair-Bandit shot is flying everywhere—we couldn't get through."
In the distance, on the hillside, he could see the muzzle flashes of artillery in the gathering twilight. From time to time, rockets with red tails streaked across the sky, smashing into the ground and throwing up showers of sparks.
Though he received no direct reports, Yi Haoran could tell from the intensity of the gunfire, and from the way the flashes of cannon and rifle fire gradually crept up the hillside, that his forces were being pushed steadily backward. The Hair-Bandits were advancing step by step.
Within the hour, Bangshan would fall completely! Yi Haoran's heart sank. Jiang Suo and the new army were his most valuable assets in Xiong Wencan's staff. If this capital was squandered, it meant nothing to the Governor-General, but to Yi Haoran it meant everything.
He had to send word to Jiang Suo at once: withdraw the troops!
Yi Haoran knew Jiang Suo carried a death wish—that inner demon. Once on the battlefield, he might very well fight to the last man and die on Bangshan.
The lives of three hundred household guards didn't matter. Even the loss of all the Nanyang rifles didn't matter. As long as Governor Xiong remained in office, they could train new troops and buy new weapons. But Jiang Suo—though merely a minor Hair-Bandit officer—was the most valuable asset on his staff when it came to "knowing the Hair-Bandits." If he died, no one could easily replace him. More than that, Jiang Suo, though born a humble traveling performer, was neither greedy for money nor lustful; he held himself to strict discipline, spoke and acted with method and reason—no ordinary "ignorant peasant." He could even be called half a "kindred spirit."
Fortunately, Xiong Wencan had given him full authority over the Bangshan operation. At the time, Yi Haoran had been somewhat puzzled; now he realized the Governor-General's insight far exceeded his own.
Seeing the artillery fire on the mountain thin from dense to sparse, knowing the garrison was exhausted and couldn't hold much longer, he immediately summoned two trusted servants and whispered orders to cross the river at once and deliver the command: Jiang Suo and the others were to withdraw immediately.
These two servants had followed him since Liaodong, sharing years of hardship and near-death escapes. At his word, they left the tower and headed for Bangshan.
He then summoned another servant and ordered him to go to the pontoon bridge. To support the Bangshan garrison, he had supervised construction of a pontoon bridge across the river, guarded by several hundred soldiers. Here the water was shallow, and the channel had been blocked; he wasn't too worried about the Hair-Bandit fleet—the real fear was that the Hair-Bandits would cut the bridge by land.
Several servants brought out two chests.
"There's a thousand taels of silver in those chests. When you get there, distribute it immediately to the bridge guards—steady their nerves!"
"Yes, Master!"
"Go quickly!"
The servants departed on their errand. Yi Haoran gazed once more at Bangshan, heart burning with anxiety. "Jiang Suo, you must not die!"
Jiang Suo and Song Ming had already gathered the remaining troops in the second trench and reorganized them. After the chaotic battle, not many were left—besides the three hundred new troops, only two hundred-odd regular soldiers remained. The others were dead, wounded, or scattered. Ammunition was nearly exhausted.
By now, both Jiang Suo and Song Ming knew Bangshan was on the brink of falling. The Hair-Bandits had temporarily ceased fire, but they were certainly massing artillery and men for the final assault that would take the hill in one stroke.
"Bangshan can't be held. While the pontoon bridge still stands, take the men and go," Jiang Suo said. He had already decided to stay behind and cover the retreat.
"If we're running, we run together." Song Ming shook his head. "How can I leave first? We can still make a fight of it!" This wasn't posturing. Ming middle and lower officers often chose to die in battle to preserve their hereditary titles and lands.
If he fled now, he might save his life. But Jiang Suo was Yi Haoran's "favorite," and Yi Haoran was the Governor's "favorite." If Jiang Suo died and the new army was annihilated, there would be no good outcome for him even if he lived. Even if the Governor didn't punish him, he would be finished as a "discarded general." For a hereditary military family, that was a disaster.
But the Fubo Army gave them no time to argue. A barrage of rockets fired from a neighboring hilltop heralded another round of concentrated mountain howitzer fire, and the hastily reformed garrison was thrown into chaos once more.
As the bugle call signaling the Fubo Army's assault rang out, a company of line infantry began their bayonet charge. As the defenders engaged these two companies, their flank was struck hard by another company.
Song Ming wasted no more time debating who should leave first. He unhesitatingly ordered: "All units, down the hill! Cross the bridge into the city!"
The order fell like an avalanche. The surrounding soldiers scattered; only the remnants of the new army still clustered around them.
Relatively speaking, the new army's training was considerably superior. Under Song Ming's command, they fell back in good order, fighting as they went—unlike the other units, who immediately became a fleeing mob. Seeing Jiang Suo making no move to retreat, still loading and aiming and firing with a handful of guards, Song Ming thought: "Does this fellow intend to die here?"
For his own sake, Jiang Suo absolutely must not be allowed to die.
Song Ming fell back until he reached Jiang Suo's side and bellowed: "Have you lost your mind? This battle is unwinnable—fall back!"
"Commander Song, you withdraw first. I'll cover the rear."
"Covering the rear means death! I don't know why you want to die, but these household guards dying here with you is too great a waste! As long as there's life, there's hope. While we're alive, we'll have plenty of chances to fight the Hair-Bandits!"
Jiang Suo shook his head. "I've resolved to make my stand here and settle things with the Hair-Bandits."
Song Ming was at a loss when suddenly a report came: Master Yi had sent messengers from the city!
A soldier brought the messenger forward. The man was soaking wet and wounded, gasping for breath. Seeing Jiang Suo, he wheezed without even catching his breath: "Master... says... you... must... go..."
Jiang Suo was about to speak when the messenger added: "Master says... dying alone... is one thing... but these new army brothers..."
At these words, Jiang Suo looked around him. Two years of living and training together with these new troops had forged bonds of comradeship. For his own private grudge to demand that they die for him—Jiang Suo couldn't harden his heart for that.
"Retreat!" Jiang Suo ordered.
The group made their way down the slope, but their flank route was already being cut off by light infantry. Volleys of bullets crackled through the ranks; men fell steadily. Their escape route was about to be severed. Song Ming's quick thinking saved them: he and a few men hauled a loaded Falangjis from the dead, lit the match, and blew a hole in the light infantry's thin skirmish line. They rushed through the gap.
The light infantry pursued, but met fierce resistance from the rearguard household troops. Though the light infantry had firepower advantage, they lacked numbers and couldn't divide to chase. They watched helplessly as Song Ming and the others retreated to the foot of the hill.
"Report to the battalion commander: the enemy has broken through the light infantry encirclement and is fleeing northeast toward the pontoon bridge at the foot of the hill! We lack the strength—request reinforcements!" the light infantry company commander's messenger reported to Yang Zeng.
"Don't chase a cornered enemy—let them live a little longer," Yang Zeng said.
But Yang Zeng had no intention of letting the Ming escape. He turned to a messenger: "Have the artillerymen finished setting up?"
"Report, Battalion Commander: the mountain howitzers are in position, and rockets are being brought up. We're just waiting on your order."
"Open fire on the pontoon bridge!"
For now he couldn't commit troops to cut the bridge, but interdicting it with artillery was no problem.
The messenger sprinted off to deliver the order. The Bangshan objective was now secured. Some Ming troops had escaped—that was acceptable. As the battle reached its final stage, Yang Zeng had ordered the attached artillery to cease fire: partly to conserve ammunition, partly to let the barrels cool. The moment the hilltop fighting ended, artillerymen and laborers began moving guns and rockets to the summit. Now the Ming were preparing to cross via the pontoon bridge—easy targets.
The fleeing Ming, scrambling pell-mell toward the pontoon bridge, knew nothing of this. In their flight, no one had time to notice—Song Ming and Jiang Suo were no exception. By now they had made it onto the bridge and run to midstream. Both were gasping, utterly exhausted, but they didn't dare rest, fearing the Australians might pursue.
With a bit more running they would reach the opposite bank. Once there, they could burn the bridge behind them. Both men relaxed slightly, their pace slowing. Song Ming sighed: "Another narrow escape!" Jiang Suo felt somewhat dazed—he had meant to die on Bangshan and be done with it, yet here he was, once again clinging ignobly to life.
Jiang Suo didn't know what to say; he could only nod in mute agreement.
Song Ming, assuming he was still brooding over the defeat, tried to comfort him: "Losing a battle is nothing—as long as we're alive! As the saying goes, 'While the green hills remain—'" His words were cut short by a shell screaming through the air and plunging into the river barely two or three zhang away. The splash drenched them both. Song Ming flinched, then broke into a dead run again, muttering just two words: "Run!"
With that first shell, more came shrieking from Bangshan—then rockets, a dozen at a time, raining down on the river. Their accuracy was poor; most splashed into the water. But the terror of rockets falling toward your head threw the fleeing soldiers into a panic. The crowd surged forward, shoving and pushing; on the bridge's edge over a dozen men were knocked into the water. Ghost-like wails rose from the river as they thrashed. Those who could swim struck out for the far bank; those who couldn't struggled briefly and then sank silently, vanishing beneath the surface.
(End of Chapter)