Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 303 Heading North (Part Two)

Forty steps!
The roars of the native warriors surged like a tide, and the dull thuds of wooden shields clashing with spears echoed in the air like the growls of wild beasts.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!..."

As Gan Daquan gave the order, more than a dozen muskets in the village fired in succession, and the smoke of gunpowder instantly exploded in front of the wooden fence.

Lead bullets whistled through the morning mist and slammed into the charging ranks of the natives.

"Pfft! Sizzle!..."

The few native warriors running at the front suddenly shuddered, and blood splattered instantly from their chests, necks, or faces, causing them to stagger and fall to the ground.

Several others were hit in the legs, screaming and rolling on the ground before being trampled over by their companions who were running quickly behind them.

"Load! Load!...Quickly!"

Gan Daquan tossed the musket in his hand to an immigrant behind him, and quickly took the loaded musket from him, pulling the trigger again at the swarming natives.

The immigrant, his face ashen, took the musket from the empty gun and frantically pulled out a powder pouch from his waist. He bit open the pre-loaded powder pouch, stuffed it into the barrel, and tapped it a few times to make the powder sink to the bottom as much as possible. Then he took out a bullet, stuffed it into the muzzle, pulled out the cleaning rod, and forcefully pushed the bullet and powder to the bottom to ensure a tight fit.

Perhaps due to nervousness, or perhaps because the military training period was too short and his movements were too clumsy, this series of steps took him nearly thirty seconds, causing Gan Daquan to shout repeatedly in frustration.

After two rounds of musket fire, the natives' charge was momentarily halted, but at the shouts of their leader, they surged forward with even greater frenzy.

The fact that they did not immediately collapse under the attack of firearms gave the new Chinese in the village a bad feeling.

Could it be that these native pirates had faced firearms before?
At the leader's command, more than ten native warriors raised their wooden shields in hopes of blocking the projectiles fired from the village and quickened their pace.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!..."

Several bone arrows shot out from the earthen ranks, embedding themselves in the wooden fence with a dull thud.

An arrow grazed Ma Laowu's cheek, leaving a bloody mark on his face.

"Damn it!" Ma Laowu was startled and then cursed. Without bothering to wipe the blood off his face, he grabbed the musket from the immigrant behind him, propped it against the fence, and fired at the few native warriors who had just rushed in about twenty paces.

"bump!"

A cloud of blood burst from the chest of a native, and he fell backward.

But more warriors charged forward, trampling over the corpses of their comrades, brandishing stone axes and wooden spears, their throats emitting beast-like roars.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!..."

Another volley of arrows rained down.

"Thud!" A bone arrow pierced the shoulder of a new immigrant, causing him to scream and stagger backward, dropping the musket he was loading.

"Don't move!...Continue loading ammunition!"

Seeing the new immigrants start to retreat in a panic, Gan Daquan shouted to stop them, and at the same time grabbed a short knife and cleaved a bone arrow stuck in the wooden fence in half.

The natives had rushed within twenty paces, their ferocious faces clearly visible—faces painted with red and black greasepaint, sharp bone ornaments protruding from their noses and earlobes, and bloodthirsty glints in their crimson eyes.

“@#￥%…”

A loud shout came from the tribesmen's ranks, and then a dozen tribesmen stood there, leaning back slightly, raising wooden spears in one hand, and throwing them with their backs and waists. The spears whistled as they flew towards the village wall.

"Throw spears!... Dodge!" Gan Daquan shouted, quickly ducking behind a thick wooden stake.

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!..."

The wooden spears pierced the wooden fence, some even penetrating the gaps and striking the people behind them.

An unfortunate immigrant was pierced through the abdomen by a wooden spear, and he fell to his knees with a scream, blood gushing out, his hands limply outstretched.

"Ah!...Help me!"

He struggled, looking up at his companion, his eyes filled with fear and despair.

"What a bastard!"

With a roar, Ma Laowu picked up the musket he had dropped from the ground, glanced down at the barrel (which appeared to be loaded), and immediately pulled the trigger at a native warrior rushing towards him.

"boom!"

The bullet struck his thigh, causing him to immediately fall to the ground, screaming in agony.

By this time, the natives had approached within ten paces, leaving little chance to reload. Ma Laowu immediately drew his bayonet, quickly screwed it onto the gun barrel, and then faced the stockade wall from a distance, preparing for close combat.

"Drink!" Ma Laowu suddenly thrust his waist forward, raised his bayonet, and stabbed at a native who was close to the fence.

The bayonet plunged deep into the man's abdomen, blood spurting out, and the native screamed as he fell to the ground.

But more natives rushed to the fence, smashing the wooden stakes with stone axes, and some even climbed up, trying to get over it.

"Hold on! Don't let them break in!" Gan Daquan swung his steel knife and slashed the throat of a native who had just climbed to the top of the fence. Hot blood sprayed all over his face, and the stench hit his nostrils.

As the natives charged to the fence, the battle entered the melee phase. The fierce natives used stone axes or their bodies to pound the fence with all their might, and the wooden stakes creaked under the strain.

The battle has fully entered the close-quarters combat phase.

The fence was also teetering on the brink of collapse under the onslaught of the local people, the wooden stakes cracked under the strain, and gunfire from the village was intermittent.

"Bang! Bang!"

Only from the high watchtower could the sound of gunfire continue to ring out. The two immigrants stationed there kept loading, firing, loading, and firing again.

No need to aim; below are countless heads of natives.

Almost every shot that rang out would create a cloud of blood mist, taking away a precious life.

"boom!"

Suddenly, a section of the fence collapsed, and five or six native warriors roared as they rushed in.

"Kill!" Gan Daquan roared and charged forward with his sword.

The blade flashed, and blood and flesh flew everywhere.

Taking advantage of Gan Daquan's momentary lapse in concentration, a local warrior swung his stone axe and smashed it down on Gan Daquan's head.

In a flash, he twisted his body to avoid the axe, which grazed his ear and missed. He then stabbed the other man in the stomach with a backhand stroke and twisted the blade violently.

The native's eyes widened, blood gushed from his mouth, and he slowly knelt down.

The bayonet on Ma Laowu's musket was bent and deformed, so he simply used it as a fire poker and swung it around like a mad tiger.

He smashed half of a native's face, blood splattering everywhere, and the native collapsed limply to the ground.

But the next second, a wooden spear pierced his thigh, and he groaned and staggered backward.

Seeing this, the native warrior raised his wooden spear and prepared to continue stabbing, hoping to kill him on the spot.

"boom!"

A new immigrant behind Ma Laowu pulled the trigger of his musket, and a bullet struck the native in the shoulder, causing him to stumble back several steps in pain.

Seeing this, Ma Laowu gritted his teeth, endured the pain in his legs, took two steps forward, and suddenly swung his musket, smashing it hard against the man's head, instantly splattering his brains.

"boom!"

The muskets on the watchtower fired again. Chen De, standing on high ground, aimed at a chieftain-like man below, who was holding a short knife and had countless bright feathers stuck in his head, and fired a bullet.

As the gunshot rang out, the flamboyantly dressed tribal chief fell to the ground, prompting the surrounding tribal warriors to rush to his aid.

This single shot seemed to have changed the course of the entire battle.

After the tribal chief was shot dead by muskets, the tribal offensive suddenly became somewhat chaotic. In addition, the strong resistance from the new Chinese near the village walls resulted in heavy casualties, and the tribal forces began to waver.

"Kill! Kill them back! ... Don't let them catch their breath!" Gan Daquan seized this fleeting opportunity, brandishing his steel blade and roaring loudly.

Led by him, the remaining dozen or so immigrants mustered their last bit of courage and charged forward with a roar. They wielded muskets, daggers, and axes, hacking and slashing wildly, forcing all the natives who had rushed in to leave.

"Huff..." Gan Daquan was panting heavily, covered in blood. The short knife in his hand had been chipped, and his wrist was trembling slightly from the excessive force.

Watching the retreating enemy, he slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

"Did we win?..." Old Ma Wu leaned on a fence post with one hand, a bitter smile on his face.

"We won!" Gan Daquan looked at his injured leg with concern. His trouser leg was stained red with blood, which soaked all the way up to his deerskin boots, a truly shocking sight.

Looking back at the village, my heart sank.

There were more than a dozen corpses lying on the ground, some of them natives and some of our own.

The soil was soaked with blood, and the air was filled with the heavy smell of gunpowder and blood.

Those who can still breathe are mostly injured.

Damn it, this means we've lost about 30% of our manpower.

"Reinforce the fences, organize the weapons!" he said in a hoarse voice. "...Those damned natives might attack the village again."

In the distance, the sea fog had not yet dissipated, and the boats of the indigenous people could still be vaguely seen.

The indigenous people, who had suffered heavy casualties, gathered on the riverbank, seemingly resentful, and kept casting venomous glances toward the village.

Where did these native pirates come from?
(End of this chapter)