Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 407 Panic
The morning mist, like a veil, flowed slowly across the surface of the Ussuri River.

On the meadow by the riverbank, a few dilapidated tents stood askew. The entire camp was eerily quiet, and even the warhorses hung their heads wearily, occasionally snorting.

"Master!" The soldier on guard turned around abruptly upon hearing footsteps, a hint of alertness flashing in his bloodshot eyes.

Upon recognizing the person, he bowed deeply, knelt on one knee, and the armor made a dull clanging sound.

Heshuotu reached out and helped the soldier, whose face was covered in soot, up, his fingertips touching his cold armor.

The soldier's hands were trembling slightly—this warrior, who had once slain five enemies in succession at the gates of Hanyang, was now so weak that he could barely hold his sword.

"You've worked hard, go and rest," He Shuotu said softly, his voice hoarse and unlike his own. "Let someone else relieve you."

Last night, he was so nervous that he didn't sleep for most of the night, only managing to doze off a little around dawn.

As dawn broke, a terrible nightmare woke him up. He couldn't fall back asleep in his tent, so he got up and inspected the camp.

A thin layer of frost covered the pebbles along the riverbank, and they made a soft cracking sound when stepped on.

Heshuo Tu removed his armor, and the cold air immediately stung his skin.

He scooped up a handful of river water, and a strange face was reflected in the water: sunken eye sockets, chapped lips, and a deep bloodstain on his left cheek.

"Whoosh..."

The icy river water splashed on my face, but it couldn't wash away the nightmarish battle from my memory.

The smoke from yesterday's battle in the valley still seems to linger in my nostrils, and I can almost hear the deafening roar of muskets firing in unison, and see my charging comrades falling in rows like wheat stalks...

“Master…” Takshan’s voice came from behind, much lower than usual.

Heshuo Tu didn't turn around, but stared at the shattered reflection in the river: "Speak!"

“Three more wounded soldiers from yesterday have passed away.” Takshan paused. “They…they died from the pain.”

Heshuo Tu squeezed a pebble so tightly it made a creaking sound.

He recalled the three young faces: one was a bondservant who had followed him since childhood, one was a bannerman who had just gotten married last year, and the other... was still a teenager.

"Has it been buried?"

"Buried. According to...according to the rules."

rule?

He Shuo Tu gave a wry smile.

If we follow the proper procedure, we should cremate the bodies and then take their remains back to Shengjing to give to their families.

But now?

In order not to attract the people of Xinzhou and those native hunters, they could only hastily dig a shallow pit and bury him in this wild land far away from Shengjing.

They couldn't even find a white cloth to wrap a corpse, so what rules could they possibly have?

Heshuotu stood up, exhaled a breath of stale air, and gazed at the shimmering river, sinking into pain and regret.

Sigh, we shouldn't have fought the New Zealanders head-on yesterday.

Wave after wave of bullets, artillery barrages, and stray arrows from hundreds of native hunters on both flanks.

If he hadn't been quick to react and ordered his troops to retreat swiftly into the dense forest, they would all have perished in that valley.

Even so, they suffered heavy losses because those damned native tribes followed them relentlessly, hunting them down.

If these people were in a fair battle, let alone having twice the number of his troops, even if they had three or four times the number, Heshuo Tu was confident that he could lead his two hundred or so armored soldiers to kill them all.

However, relying on their agility, cunning ambush tactics, and familiarity with the terrain, they managed to force them into a sorry state, making it impossible for them to exert their due combat power.

As a result, they suffered a minor defeat yesterday, followed by an unexpected and devastating attack that resulted in heavy losses for the entire force.

Fortunately, as darkness fell, they finally escaped the entanglement of the indigenous tribes and arrived at this woodland near the river to rest for the time being.

After a thorough inspection, it was discovered that the troops had suffered losses of nearly 120 men (killed, missing, or captured), leaving less than 150 soldiers intact. This almost made Heshuotu vomit blood.

Yesterday, the Xinzhou people, together with local tribes, went out of the city to challenge them to battle. He was secretly pleased, preparing to make full use of the Qing Dynasty's Eight Banners' expertise in field warfare to inflict a heavy blow on the enemy in that valley, thereby intimidating the entire Heishui region and making those wavering and subservient indigenous tribes of Xinzhou see reality and return to the rule of the Qing Dynasty.

In this land of white mountains and black waters, the only master can be my Great Qing. Any force that tries to challenge the might of my Great Qing will be crushed to pieces.

However, to everyone's surprise, the firearms of those Xinzhou people were so sharp that they began firing in volleys from a distance of eighty paces. Wave after wave, the lead bullets rained down, causing the Eight Banners soldiers who were preparing to quickly break into the enemy lines to fall to the ground one after another.

Dozens of archers were shot down by the New Island musketeers after only one volley of arrows.

The twenty-odd armored cavalrymen on both flanks were unable to encircle and attack the tribal cavalry, who outnumbered them several times over, and were almost caught in the enemy's encirclement.

Although those tribal cavalrymen were far inferior to my Eight Banners cavalry in horsemanship and combat skills, they were outnumbered and armed with spears, iron forks, long swords, and occasional stray arrows, which nearly broke through the infantry formation.

This was hardly a grand battle; it was clearly a planned and targeted siege. The Xinzhou musketeers on the front line continuously unleashed dense firepower, pushing our Eight Banners army formation step by step toward death. Meanwhile, the even larger local tribal coalition, with its numerical advantage, rapidly advanced, seemingly intent on annihilating them.

Heshuo Tu made a decisive decision and issued a retreat order. With more than ten cavalrymen as cover, the armored soldiers quickly retreated into the mountains and fled into the depths of the dense forest.

This battle not only failed to establish the might and prestige of our Great Qing, but also resulted in a great loss of face.

This land of black waters is about to undergo a major upheaval.

As the morning mist gradually dissipated, a few birdsongs drifted from the woods on the opposite bank of the river.

It should have been a peaceful morning, but Heshuo Tu found the birdsong particularly jarring.

Just like the whistles of those native hunters yesterday.

"master……"

A scout rushed over, the bandage wrapped around his left arm soaked in blood: "Master! The Sorons are approaching!"

The camp erupted in commotion. Several wounded soldiers struggled to get up, and one armored soldier with a bullet wound in his thigh even used his sword to support himself as he tried to stand.

Heshuo Tu strode toward his warhorse and suddenly noticed large patches of dark red blood on the saddle.

That wasn't the enemy's blood; it was the blood of his bondservant, Ah Li Zonghui.

This loyal servant was shot through the chest by a lead bullet yesterday while covering his retreat...

"Form ranks!" Heshuo Tu's voice was like tempered iron. "Those who can walk, keep up; those who can't..."

As he spoke, he gritted his teeth: "...Let's look out for each other!"

Takshan hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but then stopped.

They all understood what "taking care of each other" meant.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds, this tattered Eight Banners army had already formed ranks.

Heshuo Tu roughly counted and found that only 152 men were still capable of fighting, and more than 20 of them were wounded.

Some soldiers even had empty quiver quivers.

It was lost unintentionally during yesterday's hasty retreat.

In the distant woods, shadowy figures could be vaguely seen moving about.

Those were not the grey-clad musketeers of the New Zealanders, but native hunters wearing deerskin or fish-skin armor.

They followed like hunters, keeping a distance, waiting for their prey to tire itself out.

"Boom! Boom!..."

A sudden rumble of thunder came from the southeast, seemingly striking their hearts, causing everyone to instinctively look in that direction.

"Master..." Ortai's expression changed drastically, "Our...ship!"

Heshuo Tu sat upright on his horse, clenching his teeth, his eyes blazing with fury, staring intently in the direction from which the "muffled thunder" sound came.

Today, the sky is high and the clouds are light, and the weather is clear and sunny, so there's no chance of anything happening out of nowhere.

It must have been the New Zealanders who deployed their warships and sailed up the Ussuri River, where they discovered their ships hidden in the river forks.

They probably moved the cannons onto the ship and bombarded it, how could the dozen or so people guarding the ship possibly stand up to them?

Bitter!

Without those small boats, they would no longer be able to return to the Great Lake by water and would have to walk all the way back.

To make matters worse, the ship also contained the food and other supplies they had looted.

If they were to be discarded, it would be a disaster for all of them.

Are we supposed to run back hungry?
“We…retreat!” Heshuo Tu didn’t hesitate too much and tugged at the reins.

"Master, where should we retreat to?" Takshan led over a warhorse, its belly flattened, revealing its ribs.

Heshuotu looks south.

The journey back to Shengjing was too long, requiring them to traverse vast forests and swamps, and they had abandoned almost all their supplies.

To the north lies the vast Blackwater River.

Heading east...

To the east lies the Ussuri River, and there are also several fortresses belonging to the Xinzhou people.

“Westward,” he suddenly said.

“West?” Takshan looked up in astonishment. “That’s…”

“The territory of the Solon tribe.” Heshuotu fastened his helmet. “But it is also under the control of the Sakhalin tribe.”

“But…” Taksin grabbed the reins of Khoshuttu’s warhorse, “The fact that they haven’t sent troops to support us means they are no longer vassals of our Great Qing. Going to the Sakhalin tribe, I fear… I fear…”

"Seeking death?"

"...We must be on guard!"

"The fact that the Sakhalin tribe did not assist the Xinzhou people in launching an attack on us already shows that they are still wavering," Heshuotu said calmly. "Hmph, as long as they are not completely against us, there is still a sliver of room for maneuver. The might of my Great Qing cannot be dispelled by the Xinzhou people in just a few years."

He spoke with absolute certainty, but deep down he knew it was nothing more than a desperate gamble.

Take a gamble.

They won, gained the aid of the Sakhalin tribe, and then successfully brought everyone back to Shengjing.

If they lose, most of them will likely be buried here.

"Whoo!"

The tattered flag was raised once more.

As the team set off, Heshuo Tu looked back one last time at the graves along the riverbank.

The three small mounds lay there quietly, like folds that rose abruptly from the earth.

The riverbank, which was originally smooth due to repeated washing by the river, now has a shocking undulation caused by these few handfuls of yellow soil.

The wind, carrying moisture, swept across the grave mounds, and the withered grass rustled in the twilight, as if the earth were sighing silently.

The sound of horses' hooves pounded, their steps hurried, and the caravan wound its way deep into the jungle.

The fog has finally lifted.
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(End of this chapter)