Chapter 26: Playing Dirty

North of Mafang, amidst the willow grove.

The four remaining Qing cavalrymen, seeing their comrade captured alive, charged forward with fierce, primal howls. The military code of the Qing was draconian; retreat in the face of battle, the death of a commanding officer, or the desertion of soldiers meant the total annihilation of one’s entire clan. With their section leader dead, these four knew that even if they returned alive, death awaited them—their lands would be confiscated, and their kin reduced to slavery. Their only hope was to charge, slaughter the dozen or so Ming soldiers before them, and recover their leader’s body, which might yet count as a meritorious deed.

The distance between the two sides was short, but the tangled willow trees prevented a direct head-on charge. The Qing cavalrymen maneuvered with agility, leaping and darting through the trees toward the survivors of the Second and Third Sections. They saw clearly that the First Section had entered the grove prepared; with nine men still intact and holding formation, they were too well-coordinated to attack easily. The Second Section had been the first to suffer an ambush, leaving only five men, while the Third Section was reduced to just three. Their scattered positions made mutual support difficult, so the Qing cavalry resolved to crush these eight men first before turning their full force against the First Section.

Two of the cavalrymen lunged toward the Third Section, while the other two veered toward the remaining riders of the Second Section. Three arrows whistled from the direction of the First Section, aimed at the lead cavalrymen, but they dodged effortlessly, the shafts missing their marks and only slightly slowing their momentum.

Just then, a chaotic sound of footsteps erupted from the north of the grove, as if dozens of men were rushing forward at a sprint. The four cavalrymen faltered; they knew perfectly well that these could not be their own men. It was clearly the Ming reinforcements. Tough as these cavalrymen were, the brief skirmish had taught them that these Ming soldiers were unlike any they had encountered before. They were not easily broken; even under heavy casualties, they stood their ground, and their aggression was almost inhuman. If the dozens of men approaching were equally formidable, the end was inevitable.

The four exchanged a glance and made their decision. The first pair continued their charge toward the three knights of the Third Section, while the rear pair changed direction, sprinting toward the man in Ming armor at the north of the grove—the officer leading the charge with a long saber. Their strategy was clear: coordinate in pairs to break through. One pair would eliminate the weakest link—the three men of the Second Section—while the other would decapitate the Ming force by killing their commander, plunging the remaining soldiers into chaos.

The plan was sound, but reality was harsh. Wang Sanhu, a guard of the Second Section, frustrated by his failure to protect his officer Liu Quan, saw the Qing cavalry charging toward him. With bloodshot eyes, shield raised and saber gripped tight, he charged to meet them.

One Qing cavalryman swung his long blade, aiming to sever Wang Sanhu’s right foot, while the other swung a spiked mace horizontally toward his waist. Wang Sanhu blocked the mace with his shield, simultaneously lifting his right foot and pushing off his left. Using the force of the mace’s impact, he ignored the churning of his own blood and leapt forward to the right, swinging his saber at the neck of the swordsman.

Another guard from the Second Section rushed forward, his saber striking at the arm of the mace-wielder. Unable to retract his weapon in time, the cavalryman pressed the head of the mace downward and used the handle to parry the blade, using the momentum to lunge his bulky frame directly into the guard. He slammed into the guard’s shield, the force sending the man stumbling backward until he tripped on a tree root and fell.

The spiked mace followed instantly. The guard raised his shield to block, but his arm could not withstand the impact. With a sickening crunch, his left arm snapped. The shield was driven into his chest, sending stars dancing before his eyes as he vomited a spray of blood.

"Bang!"

A thunderous explosion rang out. Less than twenty paces from the cavalryman, a plume of white smoke rose. A three-barreled volley gun had fired; the lead ball, accelerated by gunpowder, moved too fast for any human to dodge. The cavalryman’s reflexes were lightning-fast, and he dove forward upon hearing the blast, yet he could not escape completely. A ball struck the lower right side of his chest, and a fountain of blood erupted. He collapsed onto the guard’s shield, blood bubbling from his lips and spraying the guard’s face. The ball shattered inside him, wreaking havoc on his organs; his face twisted in agony, becoming even more hideous.

The guard, pinned beneath the heavy, dying man, screamed as his broken arm was pressed further. He heaved with all his remaining strength to flip the cavalryman off. Both men cried out—one in the raw fury of pain, the other in the fading, mournful wail of a life leaking away.

On the other side, the remaining cavalryman flicked his body to the left, narrowly dodging Wang Sanhu’s saber. With a snap of his wrist, he retracted his long blade and thrust it upward toward Wang Sanhu’s groin. Wang Sanhu, having missed his strike, lowered his shield to guard his vitals, his saber grazing the cavalryman’s chest plate without piercing it. The cavalryman withdrew his blade, gripped it with one hand, and swung it down with all his might, while his right hand drew a secondary dagger.

As Wang Sanhu sidestepped the heavy blow, the cavalryman used the force of the swing to drop low and lunge, driving the dagger deep into Wang Sanhu’s thigh. Before he could pull the blade free, three arrows from the First Section tore through the air, piercing his armor and embedding themselves in his back. His fierce eyes were filled with resentment; he never imagined that a warrior of the Great Qing would perish here today. With his final ounce of strength, he lunged forward, knocking off Wang Sanhu’s helmet, and with a bloody face, bit down hard on Wang Sanhu’s left ear.

Wang Sanhu roared in agony, pushing with both hands until the cavalryman tore half of his ear away. Shrieking in pain, Wang Sanhu cursed, "You god-damned Tatar, you even bite ears!"

***

Elsewhere, the two Qing cavalrymen charging toward Zhang Guangda relied on their seasoned, erratic footwork to dodge several arrows, closing the distance to within a few paces. One of them, a swarthy man with stubble, gripped a great axe in both hands and shouted in broken, unfluent Chinese: "You Ming officer, dare you fight me alone?"

Zhang Guangda laughed heartily. Shifting his long saber to his right hand, he shouted back: "Why not? If you win, I shall let you go."

The Qing cavalryman seemed to understand, and he let out a wild, arrogant laugh. He failed to notice Zhang Guangda’s left hand, which was tucked behind his back, signaling frantically to the soldiers of the left platoon. They seemed to understand, nudging each other with their elbows and exchanging knowing glances.

Zhang Guangda, still anxious, turned his head and, while winking at his men, shouted loudly: "I am fighting this Tatar one-on-one! None of you are to interfere! If the Tatar wins, then—"

Before he could finish, he heard a suspicious sound behind him. The cavalryman had seized the moment of his distraction to swing his great axe in a sneak attack. Too late to turn around, Zhang Guangda lunged forward, bracing his long saber with both hands to catch the axe.

"Clang!"

The axe struck the saber with a sharp metallic ring.

"Whish!"

The other cavalryman, having silently readied his bow, fired a cold, precise arrow. Though Zhang Guangda’s back was turned, he saw the shock on his men's faces and knew the danger. With nowhere to dodge, he threw himself forward.

"Ding!"

The heavy arrow struck the great axe, the sheer force of the impact knocking the weapon off course.

"Whizz... whish... whish-whish..."

Thirteen arrows flew, like a pack of enraged beasts, roaring toward the two "dishonorable" Tatars. The cavalryman with the axe was struck by six arrows, while the one who had attempted the sneak attack took five, one heavy shaft piercing his throat and vibrating as he fell. Because of the close range, even their armor could not stop the shafts from driving deep into their bodies.

Zhang Guangda scrambled to his feet, walked over with his saber, and kicked the man who had wielded the axe. "Damn it," he spat. "No honor at all."