Chapter 2182 - Shijian (Part 2)

"You're certain?" Wu Baliu studied him. "The enemy appears well-positioned. Your unit carries many new recruits—can they handle this?"

"They require tempering by fire. If they always shelter behind the Fubo Army, they'll never learn to stand alone." Li Dong's confidence showed. "Veterans still form the squadron core, and morale runs high."

"Excellent. The vanguard is yours!" Wu Baliu appreciated such courage and approved immediately.

Li Dong led a reconnaissance party forward. The village braves had chosen their ground well—the road's narrowest point, flanked on one side by mudflats too soft for maneuvering and on the other by hills crowned with observation towers that commanded the approaches.

"Study the terrain. How do we attack?" Li Dong posed the question to his assembled leaders.

The pre-battle conference included squad leaders, sergeants, and veteran soldiers—the Senate's officer education system emphasized collaborative planning before engagement.

Suggestions proliferated. The tactics distilled to two approaches: outflank or assault directly. The differences lay in execution. Some proposed laying fascines across the mudflats to enable a flanking maneuver. Others suggested setting fire to the hillside to drive the enemy from the high ground. Each variant had its advocates.

"You're all overthinking this," Yang Erdong cut through the discussion. "Prisoners say only two hundred village braves hold Shijian. The defenses amount to a wooden fence. Why complicate matters? One hard push breaks through and saves time."

Yang Erdong, newly promoted to corporal with upgraded weapons to match, brimmed with aggressive confidence.

"Time is our critical constraint. The Chiefs demand we reach Lianzhou for Yao suppression with all speed. If we fight cautious, methodical battles at every obstacle, we'll never get there."

Li Dong agreed completely. They would attack frontally.

The wooden barricade stood barely taller than a man. Though defended by trenches and abatis, nothing presented a truly insurmountable obstacle. The militia manning the position showed minimal equipment—few bows, fewer firearms.

Working parties hastily constructed makeshift assault bridging and a dozen crude scaling ladders. Wu Baliu's company advanced into supporting positions for overhead fire.

So-called "overhead fire" employed high-angle rifle volleys. European armies of the flintlock and Minié era used the technique routinely for extended-range fire support. Skilled infantry could project bullets five to six hundred meters and still achieve useful lethality. Accuracy suffered terribly, but massed company volleys against dense formations still inflicted respectable casualties at distance.

Wu Baliu employed the tactic not for range but to enable his company to fire over the Wuzhou Squadron's heads in the confined terrain.

The narrow road prevented deploying all three squads abreast—they would enter action in platoon column. Li Dong surprised everyone by withholding his strongest rifle squad from the vanguard position.

"Yang Erdong, you lead the assault!" he ordered.

"Yes! We will complete the mission!" Yang trembled—not with fear but excitement. Leading the vanguard meant high casualty risk, but it also meant first claim to glory if they broke through.

Assault drums thundered. Rifle volleys crackled overhead. Yang Erdong had no time for contemplation. Leveling his bayoneted rifle, he roared, "Brothers, follow me!" and charged.

Yang's experience in the old Ming army taught him that even vice generals and regional commanders led their household troops from the front—anything less, and common soldiers wouldn't risk their lives. With so many new recruits in his squad, he couldn't maintain control from the rear.

The entire squad, then the entire squadron, surged forward at the trot. Only three hundred meters—speed meant survival. The Wuzhou Squadron maintained formation despite the confined space, soldiers advancing at double-time with lowered weapons.

Yang saw only militia behind the fence—panicked figures running chaotically, followed by confused shouting and the rattle of bamboo clappers.

Then Li Dong's worst fear materialized. Fire belched from behind the barricade, followed by the cannon's roar.

We're finished! Yang's mind went white. Direct canister on this narrow road—I'm dead or maimed.

His legs kept running. His arms worked fine. Behind him, four or five men lay crumpled, bodies torn and bloodied. Screams filled the air.

The squad stopped dead. Some turned to flee, directly blocking the following squad. Yang roared, trying to drive them forward, but the men cowered, paralyzed.

Arrows and bird gun projectiles whistled overhead. The assault column fractured into three segments, dissolving into chaos. Luo Mao shouted from the rear for them to resume the charge, but gunfire drowned his voice. Panicked troops began firing blindly. Ai Buyi, trapped mid-column, trembled with terror.

"Stop shooting and follow me!" Yang dragged and kicked the front rank until they grudgingly moved forward. Two soldiers dropped their rifles, jumped off the roadbed, and scrambled uphill.

"Where the hell are you going? Get back here!" Yang bellowed. The lead deserter had covered dozens of meters when gunfire cracked from the rear squad. Both fleeing men tumbled down the hillside, shot dead. The wavering troops froze.

"Those who want to live, follow me!" Yang seized the moment, rallying his men for a final rush to the barricade. They threw down makeshift bridges, scrambled across trenches, and threw up ladders. Yang scaled first, bayoneting a panicked militiaman at the top.

The Yang Family Village braves offered no sustained resistance. By the time the assault reached the trench, they were fleeing. The entire squadron breached the fence successfully. The 2nd Company followed through the gap.

With the barricade fallen, Shijian's fate was sealed. Jiang Wenming and Xie Wendong fled with their remnants, leaving behind scattered equipment and dozens of corpses for the Fubo Army.

Shijian stood relieved. The National Army squad leader who'd held the town emerged with the town elders in welcome. The young officer, facing his first real test, gripped Li Dong's hand wordlessly, tears threatening.

The Sui River Detachment elected to rest overnight in Shijian. Li Dong's unit claimed first honors, and every squad celebrated—though such respite rarely lasted in military life. Before the Wuzhou Squadron could settle, new orders arrived: establish perimeter security north of Shijian. Having just finished treating the wounded and preparing meals, they packed their mess kits, marched through town, and prepared for overnight field deployment.

Shijian occupied a small alluvial plain where the Sui River bent from south to east. Mountains hemmed the east and north. The road to Guangning threaded through the northern mountain pass, over two li from the village proper. Concerned about separation from the main force, the 2nd Battalion established their bivouac only half a li from the northernmost houses. Scout reports indicated a single small village on the opposite mountainside with no sign of Ming forces. Clear skies, calm wind, pleasant temperature—combined with guard duty requirements, the officers forbade tent-pitching, citing the need to harden the troops' spirit.

The assault's near-disaster gnawed at Yang Erdong. Though the squadron leader said nothing, his own conscience troubled him. Despite earning "First to Ascend" honors, he volunteered his squad to construct the perimeter fortifications.

"You just fought. Casualties were significant. Should we assign another squad?" Li Dong asked.

"It's fine. These raw recruits need more drill to stop them dwelling on things."

"Very well. It's yours."

While the other two Wuzhou Squadron squads gnawed rock-hard ration biscuits with soup, Yang Erdong's squad labored with shovels, piling excavated earth into low chest-high walls that looked inadequate to stop anything. They understood how poorly the battle had gone. The barricade had been defended by barely a dozen militia with three to five muskets total. The cannon had fired once. The reserve militia fled when the wall was breached. The squad had lost four men—most shamefully, two executed by battlefield law enforcement.

Shame notwithstanding, Squad Leader Yang Erdong stood by the excavation drinking his soup, calling it "supervision and guidance." The Sui River Detachment had built field fortifications every night during the northward march—even fools had learned the routine by now. What guidance did they need? The bandit suppression around Zhaoqing had been comparatively relaxed, but trench-digging recalled painful recruit training memories from Guangzhou. With Ming forces approaching—likely just Guangning garrison troops in limited numbers—the soldiers' enthusiasm for fortification work remained minimal.

"The squadron leader punished our whole squad. Why don't you work with us, leader?" A few veterans complained, trading on familiarity.

"What, not convinced?" Yang laughed. "When you change that armband chevron to a rank pip, someone will work for you."

The casual banter between ranks emboldened newer recruits. "You officers are all from the Chiefs' regulars. We'll never get that chance."