noveltune Chapter 108: Success is built on the bones of countless others.
Chapter 108: Success is built on the bones of countless others.
Chapter 109 One general's success is built on the bones of ten thousand.
Chapter 108 "Stay calm! Everyone stay calm!"
Nurhaci awoke from a nightmare. He opened his eyes and saw that the sun outside the tent was very bright. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Even in his dreams, he dreamt of yesterday's scene: a series of deafening explosions suddenly erupted, silencing the shouts of thousands of soldiers. Flames surged amidst the Jurchens, shrapnel flew through the air, and countless warhorses were overturned by the shockwaves of the explosions. Those that were not overturned were struck by shrapnel and steel balls flying at high speed, and suppressed screams came from inside the airtight helmets.
Faced with the deadly shrapnel and steel balls flying at explosive speed, even the thickest armor was useless. The Jurchen cavalry, who were charging in dense formations, were cut down in clumps like wheat by shrapnel, with dead and wounded lying everywhere.
At this time, the Jurchen camp had already set up camp thirty miles north of Shuangchengwei. This temporary camp was set up when they arrived. Because the wood and ice and snow had merged into one, it looked like a crystal-clear city.
Although most of the tents were lost, the Mongol warriors, accustomed to the cold and snow, used the accumulated snow to build rows of snow huts. One snow hut after another stretched for miles, and tens of thousands of cavalrymen gathered around campfires. With the rising smoke from the fires, it seemed as if they were proving to everyone that the Great Jin Dynasty was still the most powerful country in the world.
Even the Ming Dynasty would find it difficult to muster tens of thousands of cavalry. This is the foundation of the Jin Dynasty. Even after this major defeat, in which they lost more than 30,000 men, they are still the strongest army.
Of course, Nurhaci keenly noticed that the Jianzhou Jurchen warriors in the camp seemed to be in a bad mood. Like the Ming soldiers, they were somewhat confused and their eyes were vacant. Screams of the women could be heard from time to time in the camp.
These female slaves accompanying the army were from various tribes they plundered along the way from Khorchin. The men were all killed, leaving only the women and children who could bear children.
In the past, at this time, the Jurchen warriors would have vented their excess energy on these female slaves. However, the problem is that the Jurchen warriors now seem to have changed their ways. They only beat these female slaves and did nothing else to them.
An army is a monster fed on victories. Successive victories make the army more courageous and excited as it fights. Nurhaci spent more than 30 years using continuous victories to build the Jurchen tribe, which was once like sheep, into a formidable force known as the Jurchen, whose strength was such that if they had fewer than 10,000 men, they would be invincible.
This is much like the Han soldiers of yesteryear, who, under the command of Emperor Wu of Han, fought in countless battles, earning the formidable reputation of being able to withstand five barbarian tribes with their ring-pommel swords. The Han army was not without its defeats, but the point is, even until the fall of the Han Dynasty, its power remained terrifying. The same is true of the Tang Dynasty: Xi Junmai, with only 120 cavalry, decisively defeated over 10,000 Tuyuhun cavalry, beheading enemy leaders; Li Jing led 3,000 cavalry in a night raid on Yinshan; and Li Ji, with 6,000 cavalry, utterly crushed a 200,000-strong Xueyantuo army.
The problem is that even though they lost more than 30,000 men in this defeat alone, including more than 20,000 Mongol servants and Han cannon fodder, the actual number of Jurchen warriors lost was only more than 10,000.
Such losses were certainly heavy, but for the Jin Dynasty's army of hundreds of thousands, making up for them was not difficult. What truly frustrated everyone was not the number of men lost, but the course of the battle.
Completely powerless to fight back, they were utterly thrashed. No matter how brave they were, they had no chance against the fearless Ming soldiers under Chen Boying's command.
Each of them could carry countless grenades, rush into their midst and detonate them. They could see very clearly that the Ming soldiers had the opportunity to jump off their warhorses. Although they might be injured from the fall, it would generally not be fatal. It was winter, and they were dressed thickly. More importantly, there was a lot of snow on the ground to cushion their fall.
However, the Ming soldiers did not dismount their horses. Instead, they deliberately carried bundles of grenades and charged into the crowd. They detonated the grenades in the middle of the crowd, and the Ming soldiers were blown to pieces. But they laughed very happily.
All the Jurchen warriors were well aware that their enemy, the Ming Dynasty, possessed an absolute numerical advantage. The Ming Dynasty had over 200 million people. Let alone a one-for-one exchange, even if a hundred people were exchanged for one of their lives, they would be wiped out.
More importantly, in this battle, Chen Boying only used those hand grenades. They did not use their dense artillery and firearms. What would they do if hundreds or thousands of artillery pieces were to bombard them?
"Damn it!"
A beautifully crafted silver wine jug was thrown violently onto the snow, smashed flat, but no one cared. Abatai was furious. Among Nurhaci's sons, although he was brave in battle, he only had six Niru (military units), not even a minor banner leader. Chen Boying was rubbing salt into his wounds. Of his only six Niru, totaling 1,800 men, more than 900 were killed last night.
Abate clearly didn't do anything, so why was he the one who got injured?
Just then, a female slave responsible for pouring wine slipped and almost fell. Abatai grabbed her by the hair and said, "You dare to laugh at me?"
The female slave became the target of Abatai's venting of anger. His fist, as big as a clay pot, slammed heavily into the female slave's face, instantly disfiguring her once pretty face.
Abatai didn't stop, his fists pounding into the female slave's face again and again: "Crack!" The female slave's neck was broken by Abatai, finally ending her tragic life.
No one around Abatai tried to dissuade him, because there were many Jurchen nobles like Abatai who were venting their anger. As the saying goes, you reap what you sow. Nurhaci's fifteen sons were all more cruel than the last. Some killed their mothers, some committed adultery with their stepmothers, some killed their wives, some abused their children, and the one who abducted his elder brother's sister-in-law was even more notorious.
You could say they're a bunch of bad apples.
Nurhaci sat in his tent, looking at his dejected sons and generals, and felt an indescribable weariness welling up inside him.
Daishan kept his head down and didn't say a word. His right arm was wrapped in thick bandages, from the shrapnel wound he had sustained the night before. Abatai's hands were bleeding from the female slaves' skulls when he was beating them.
Amin's face was ashen; his Bordered Blue Banner had suffered heavy losses, and Mangultai was still panting heavily, clearly the venting of his anger had not calmed him down.
"Tell me about it."
Nurhaci slowly began to speak: "How did this battle turn out like this?"
Silence fell over the tent. To be honest, this battle was caused by Nurhaci's underestimation of the enemy. Although he knew that Chen Boying would launch a night attack, he did not inform the Mongol tribes. The Khorchin tribe suffered the most heavy losses in this battle, with more than 16,000 cavalrymen killed or captured, and more than 2,000 wounded.
This battle resulted in the Khorchin losing at least 40% of its able-bodied men. Wu Keshan didn't know how to face his people, and the other Beile didn't dare to speak up either. To be honest, it was too much of a blow to Nurhaci's pride. If they offended him, they might lose their heads.
"You, Fourteenth Brother, speak!"
Nurhaci looked at Dorgon and said, "Tell me, how did we lose this battle?"
Although Dorgon was only thirteen years old, he was very clever. He pretended to be innocent and said, "Father, that Ming dog used sorcery. Those exploding fireballs must have been made by sorcerers. Otherwise, how could our warriors have—"
"Fourteenth Brother."
Abatai coldly interrupted Dorgon, saying, "Fourteenth Brother, that's not sorcery, it's firearms. The Ming army has had them for a long time." Huang Taiji glanced coldly at Abatai, thinking to himself, "Fool!"
Nurhaci didn't know how he lost the battle; he just wanted to use Dorgon's words to shut everyone up.
Abatai glared at him: "Eighth Brother, why are you looking at me like that?"
That's enough.
Nurhaci raised his hand and said, "Eighth Prince, you speak."
Huang Taiji took a deep breath and slowly said, "Father, I believe there are three reasons for this defeat."
"explain!"
"First and foremost, I underestimated my opponent!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Nurhaci's face darkened.
"We fought from Sarhu to Shenyang, and from Shenyang to Liaoyang, but the Ming army never truly defeated us. Over time, everyone from top to bottom believed that the Ming army was utterly vulnerable—"
Nurhaci glanced at Huang Taiji, then nodded, thinking to himself, "Well done, Eighth Prince, you do have some sense!"
"Chen Boying is no ordinary Ming general. His firearms are more powerful than any Ming firearms we have ever seen. Those exploding fireballs can knock down a whole group with a single shot. No matter how brave our warriors are, they can't withstand that kind of rain of bullets."
Morale.
Huang Taiji continued, "Our warriors are not afraid to die. But what they fear is—dying in vain. Last night, those Ming soldiers charged into our ranks carrying fireballs, and they themselves were blown to pieces. They were not afraid to die because they knew that their deaths could save a few of us. But what about our warriors? What can their deaths save them for?"
These words were like a knife, piercing deep into everyone's heart.
Yes, what can you get in return for dying?
In the past, the death of one Jurchen warrior could be exchanged for ten or twenty Ming soldiers.
But now? Ten Jurchen warriors die, and they're lucky to get one Ming soldier in return. And that Ming soldier can even laugh, as if he's made a huge profit.
Who would dare to fight a battle like this?
Nurhaci closed his eyes and remained silent for a long time.
The other princes and generals rambled on with nonsense. He knew they weren't ignorant, but rather afraid to speak the truth. Those armored men and bondservants, who were usually exploited, would rebel once they saw that their Jurchen masters were not invincible. Would those forcibly conscripted Mongol tribes turn and run away when they saw the Jin dynasty showing signs of defeat?
This battle was not just a loss of manpower, but also a loss of morale.
"Pass down the order."
Nurhaci finally spoke: "Let them rest for three days, slaughter cattle and sheep, and feed and water their warriors. Tell them that I underestimated them in this battle. Next time, I will personally lead the army and crush Shuangchengwei."
The princes looked at each other, but could only agree in unison.
Meanwhile, Twin Cities Guard.
Chen Ying stood in the makeshift tent, in front of him were rows of stretchers, on which were the soldiers of the Imperial Guard who had died in battle the previous night.
Five hundred and twenty-three people.
Chen Ying won this great victory, and everyone was overjoyed, except for him, who was very sad. Of the more than 8,000 draft horses he had prepared, more than 7,200 were ruined, but the spoils were considerable, totaling 14,000 warhorses and a large amount of wealth. From an economic point of view, Chen Ying had won a great victory. He captured tens of thousands of cattle and hundreds of thousands of sheep, which not only made up for the losses but also left him with a great fortune.
From the perspective of casualty ratio, Chen Ying, with more than a thousand personal guards who came from Yongcheng, not only killed more than 14,000 enemy soldiers. Of course, this does not mean that Chen Ying only caused more than 14,000 casualties to the Jurchens last night, but because many corpses were blown to pieces. In particular, when the Jurchens were fleeing, thousands of warhorses ran wildly. As long as the horses' hooves stepped on their heads, the hard skulls would shatter into pieces like watermelons.
In the Ming Dynasty, if a third of the heads were lost or missing, the head could not be counted as a merit. Moreover, no matter how many corpses there were, the Ming army would not recognize the corpses and would only count the heads. This is the real reason why the Ming army beheaded far fewer enemies than killed. In the later Qing History Draft, the history of the Qing Dynasty compiled by the Jurchens was very bloated.
A simple comparison reveals that the Jurchens achieved great victories over the Ming army, with almost no defeats. Let's assume they were real. The Wild Jurchens, Haixi Jurchens, Solon tribes, and Xibe tribes, totaling more than two million people, eventually became endangered species. So the question is, where did these people go?
Will it die from swine fever?
The method of calculating military merit based on decapitations is not very scientific, but there is no other way. Counting heads and not corpses is actually a relatively fair method, because whether it is Mongols or Jurchens, they are obviously different from Han people. In later generations, they cannot be distinguished because they intermarried and mixed their bloodlines.
During the Ming Dynasty, living environments were similar, and characteristics were very distinct, much like the four castes in India, making it almost impossible to impersonate one another. Similarly, impersonating a Jurchen head in the Ming Dynasty was also highly improbable. However, identifying a corpse was much more difficult.
Chen Ying looked at them one by one, and with each one he saw, his heart ached more. Many of the corpses had been blown beyond recognition. Of course, the body tags on the bodies of the Da Ning soldiers had their own numbers on them.
Just like the corpse in front of him, with the number 0079, Chen Ying closed his eyes in pain. He was very familiar with this number. It was Chen Huan's number, and also the former Right Thousand Household Office of Guide Guard, Horse Pasture Hundred Household Office, and a relative of Chen Boying. Chen Huan was thirty-nine years old, but he already had three grandsons and was a grandfather.
He had followed his old brother since Yongcheng, his personal guard captain, who now lay there quietly, his entire face devoid of flesh, his jawbone also gone.
Chen Ying remembered that last night he saw Chen Huan carrying three bundles of grenades, charging into a group of Jurchens. Flames shot into the sky, and then nothing was left.
Chen Yingdao said: "Chen Huan lost his wife early and has seven children, the oldest being twenty-five years old and the youngest not even one year old. He started following me last year when he was supervising the construction bureau in Yongcheng. I rewarded him with twenty taels of silver, and he got married. He said that after the war, he wanted to go home and hold his children."
Zhou Bin lowered his head, unable to bear watching any longer.
"Zhang Tiezhu".
Chen Ying walked to the next stretcher.
"Number 0895, Zhang Tiezhu, from Yongcheng, his parents died early, and he is a bachelor. He is usually the quietest, but he works the hardest."
I promised him that after the war, I would find him a wife. He could have jumped off his horse. But when he saw the Jurchens gathering, he charged straight at them. He could have lived—”
Zhou Bin couldn't help but say, "General, don't be too sad. They did it voluntarily—"
"voluntary?"
Chen Ying turned his head abruptly, his eyes red-rimmed. "Why did they choose to die willingly? Why did they choose to die? You only have one life, isn't it better to live?"
Zhou Bin opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.
Chen Ying turned around and continued walking forward.
Chen Ying continued, "Liu Laosi, number 3103, is fifty-three years old. He should have retired, but he insisted on coming along. He said his son died in battle in Liaodong, and he wants to avenge his son—"