Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 475 Disturbance (Part 5)

September 12th, dusk.

The fog on Bijia Mountain had just dissipated somewhat, but the steam rising from the sea became increasingly thick, carrying a salty sea breeze that slapped against the faces of the defenders like coarse linen soaked in salt water.

Lieutenant Wu Yinghai, the tactical staff officer of the 2nd Mixed Battalion of Xinhua, crouched in the shadow of the lookout post on the west slope, the lens of his bronze telescope reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

He adjusted the focus, and the footprints left by the Ming army patrol on the sandbank were particularly clear in the lens—the tide had receded a full quarter of an hour earlier than expected.

The sandbar had been exposed, revealing a width of more than one person. The footprints of the Ming soldiers patrolling on the wet sand were gradually blurred by the evening wind.

"Sir, the tide is receding really fast!" Sergeant Sun Deshui next to him took out a hardcover notebook and traced the "tide record sheet" with his pen. "It's a few feet higher than yesterday. At this rate, it'll probably reach the bottom by tonight."

Wu Yinghai remained silent. The sandbar in his glasses was darkening with the twilight, and the seawater at its edges shimmered with a grayish-blue light.

“Something seems off…” he muttered to himself as he put down his binoculars.

Yesterday, at the highest tide, the "sky bridge" was completely submerged by more than a meter. Tonight should have been a neap tide, but the water level is receding much faster than expected.

Looking at the large expanse of bare sand, he vaguely sensed that something was amiss.

“Of course!” Sun Deshui said with a smile, “If the Ming army’s Songshan camp needs to replenish its supplies, then it would be best if they came in the latter half of tonight. They can drive several large carts side by side from the sand embankment into the camp, which is much more convenient than the previous way of having them come in one after another!”

"...Several large vehicles lined up side by side?" Wu Yinghai stared at the exposed mudflats at the end of the sand embankment, a chill suddenly running down his neck.

"Let's go back to camp!" He stood up abruptly, the copper ring of his binoculars gleaming in the setting sun.

"What's wrong?" Sun Deshui hurriedly followed, his boots making a soft rustling sound as they stepped on the gravel on the slope.

"The Tartars are coming!" Wu Yinghai replied without turning his head.

Inside the camp, wisps of smoke rose up the mud walls of the granary, mingling with the fresh scent of hay and the salty smell of the sea, swirling together in the twilight.

The camp commander, Tong Hanbang, stood in front of the T-shaped granary, tapping the wooden planks of the grain bin with his fingers, producing a hollow "thump-thump" sound.

"This is the 'new rice' sent by Dengzhou and Laiyang?" He kicked the grain bin hard, and the coarse rice that had leaked out of the burlap sack rolled on the ground, each grain covered with mold. "I think it's old grain from three or five years ago!"

The grain official's hands trembled as he held the ledger. Next to the red seal that read "5,000 shi of coarse rice" on the ledger page, he had drawn a crooked circle with ink. "Sir," he said, "the seams of these sacks are damp and blackened. I'm afraid... I'm afraid it's old grain that's been soaked in seawater. When I checked it, I estimated that the 5,000 shi is short by at least 300 shi..."

"Hmph, the garrison commanders of Dengzhou and Laizhou probably don't even know how to spell 'death'!" Tong Hanbang sneered. "They dare to short-staff their army at this time? Does Governor Hong think he can't cut off their heads? Has the reply regarding this batch of grain been delivered?"

"Your Excellency, the amount is so much shorter, how could I dare to write a reply?" the grain official said in a panic.

"Yes, have this batch of grain dried again tomorrow, and ascertain how much is short. Report back to me immediately."

"Yes, my lord!"

"By the way, the brown rice in the Dingzi warehouse seems a bit damp. We need to add a few more layers of reed mats." Tong Hanbang's gaze swept over the yellow mud wall outside the granary, where dark water stains had already seeped in. "Have the brothers raise the grain bins higher and put pine planks underneath them. In the autumn, the dew will rise."

"Therefore, we'd rather go through the trouble than let our stockpiled grain suffer any problems. Otherwise, Commander Hong..."

Before he finished speaking, Xinhua officer Zhou Chengping arrived quickly with several men, his military boots still covered in grass clippings.

He walked up to Tong Hanbang, his right hand instinctively rising half an inch towards his forehead, then remembering that this was a Ming army camp, he lowered his hand and instead cupped his hands in greeting: "General Tong, I have an emergency here that I need to report to you immediately!"

Tong Hanbang frowned as he looked at him. These Xinhua officers spent their days climbing the western slope observation platform, holding binoculars and gazing at the western land, except for eating and sleeping. They also frequently engaged in heated arguments.

In the evenings, they would gather together to review the battle reports received by the garrison, and to deduce and plan based on the situation of both the Ming and Qing sides. They were even more concerned about the ongoing battle than the Ming soldiers themselves.

The officer surnamed Zhou looked somewhat anxious, and beads of sweat mixed with the evening dampness rolled one by one onto the tip of his nose.

"What is it?" Tong Hanbang closed the ledger and handed it to the grain official next to him.

Zhou Chengpin handed him a document, the edges of which were curled from being soaked in seawater: "General, please take a look. Today is spring tide. According to the tide's trend, by the middle of the night, the 'sky bridge' leading to the camp will likely be fully exposed, wide enough for more than a dozen horses to pass side by side!"

Tong Hanbang's fingers paused. Having guarded Bijia Mountain for several months, he naturally knew the tides, noting that the lowest high tide and highest low tide occurred during the waxing crescent (the 8th and 9th of the lunar month) and the waning crescent (the 22nd and 23rd of the lunar month).

Around the first day of the lunar month (Shuo) and the fifteenth day of the lunar month (Wang), there will be spring tides, with the highest tide and the lowest tide.

However, under normal circumstances, the Qing invaders would always harass them at low tide, and they never thought they would make a move before high tide.

Otherwise, if the attack goes poorly and the tide rises, they can easily be trapped on the sandbar, unable to advance or retreat, becoming easy targets for the defenders.

Could it be that they will launch a surprise attack tonight during the high tide?
"It's just the ebb and flow of the tide, what's so special about that?" The grain official next to him sneered. "After the tide recedes, the sandbank will be full of chevaux-de-frise and patrol teams. If the Tartars come, they'll just be throwing their lives away."

“Tonight is different from usual!” Zhou Chengping ignored him and stared intently at Tong Hanbang. “Normally at low tide, there’s always half a foot of water at the edge of the sandbar, and the cavalry can only move slowly. But the dry beach before high tide allows more than ten cavalrymen to charge side by side and rush directly into the granary in the camp from the land!”

Upon hearing this, Tong Hanbang's expression immediately changed.

He recalled the messenger officer sent by Governor Hong a few days earlier, who, holding the reins of his horse, loudly proclaimed, "We must be vigilant against Qing attacks on the camp and ensure that the army's food supplies are plentiful."

At the time, he took it as a routine reminder, but now that Zhou Chengping had warned him, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

"You mean, the Tartars will launch a surprise attack before the tide comes in?" He gripped his waist knife tighter.

“It’s highly likely!” Zhou Chengping said seriously, “That sandbar is the gateway to our movement, and the tide is the latch, but tonight the latch will open by itself.”

Tong Hanbang gazed at the "sky bridge" in the twilight, where the figures of the patrolling soldiers had shrunk to small black dots.

He suddenly remembered that snowy night in the second year of Chongzhen's reign, when the Tartars sneaked into Yizhou Guard during the change of guards. Suddenly, a Tartar armored soldier jumped out and slashed him on the head, almost beheading him.

"Pass on my order!" He turned sharply and ordered his personal guards behind him, "Have the brothers on the sandbank add three more layers of caltrops and barricades after the tide recedes, no, five more! Also, spread the barbed wire from the warehouse all over the sandbank, starting from the middle of the 'sky bridge,' spread as much as is exposed, all the way to the camp entrance!"

"Send another three hundred musketeers to guard the entrance, and send several teams of archers up the west slope to shoot down from above!" He paused, his voice becoming even harsher, "Tell the brothers, anyone who dares to slack off tonight, I'll chop off their head and use it as a chamber pot!"

The guard responded and was about to rush off to relay the order when Zhou Chengping stopped him: "General Tong, this is not enough!"

He pointed to the slope to the left of the camp gate: "It's high up there, perfect for setting up artillery. We brought three light land guns with us this time, but we haven't had time to deliver them to the Songshan front yet. Why don't we set them up on the slope tonight, facing the sand dune? If the Tartars dare to come, we'll blast them to smithereens!"

Tong Hanbang stared at the hillside, his brows furrowed in worry.

He had seen those three Xinhua land battle cannons, cast in bronze, half a length shorter than the Ming army's breech-loading cannons, but with wheels, making them very light and easy to move. It was said that three or four people could push them.

Setting up the cannon required dismantling two fences, which necessitated the operation by Xinhua soldiers, making it rather troublesome.

A muffled sound suddenly came from the direction of Songshan in the distance, like the roar of cannons.

The sounds of fighting drifted faintly in the wind; though indistinct, they were enough to make one's heart tighten.

"Set it up!" Tong Hanbang gritted his teeth. "Have your men move the cannon up there right away! Call in any manpower you need!"

Zhou Chengping's eyes lit up, and he turned around and shouted, "Wu Yinghai, bring the artillery crew with me! Carry the shot and solid shot up the hill!"

Wu Yinghai ran off in response, followed by Sun Deshui and several Ming soldiers pushing the cannon carriage. The iron wheels rolled over the grass, making a rumbling sound.

As dusk fell, a dozen Xinhua soldiers were busy on the slope, fixing the position of the cannon and using shovels to pile soil around the gun mount. Their movements were as fast as a flock of swallows carrying mud.

Tong Hanbang stood atop the granary, watching the sand embankment gradually disappear into the night.

The patrolmen's torches moved across the sandbank like glowing snakes.

The sound of the tide on the sea grew softer and softer, like someone breathing in the distance.

He suddenly remembered that snowy night in the second year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, when the gates of Yizhou Guard were quietly opened in this way, and the Tartars' swords, carrying a chilling aura, stealthily probed through the cracks in the gate...
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(End of this chapter)