Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 485 Battle of Liaoyang (Part 1)

On October 22nd, a biting wind was seeping into the cracks in the broken walls of Qianshanwei.

The autumn wind swirled with withered yellow grass leaves, making a mournful sound as it passed through the desolate city walls.

In the wilderness, more than two thousand Xinhua Army soldiers were spreading out along the official road. Their dark blue (Xinhua Army) and dark blue (militia) uniforms looked like moving deep pools in the withered yellow wilderness.

At the rear of the column, Shang Kexi's more than 600 Ming soldiers, wrapped in various kinds of cotton armor, followed behind with their necks hunched, their horses' hooves kicking up fine dust as they trod across the frosty road.

"Let's set up camp." Zhong Minghui turned to look at Zhou Chengping, the battalion commander of the 2nd Mixed Battalion of the Xinhua Army.

"Yes, Commissioner!" Zhou Chengping saluted and then ordered several officers, "Each unit set up camp and strictly follow the Army Manual."

"Send the Ming cavalry five kilometers forward to ambush and kill the Qing scouts."

"The skirmisher alert radius has been expanded to one kilometer!"

"The cooks set up the stove, boil water, and cook!"

The Xinhua Army moved quickly. The soldiers skillfully unloaded their backpacks, and their entrenching tools dug square stove pits in the frozen ground. Before long, wisps of smoke rose from the ruins.

Compared to them, Shang Kexi's subordinates seemed somewhat undisciplined. Several Ming soldiers were warming themselves by a fire around a half-broken stone mill. One of them had taken off his shoes and put his feet up on the millstone, revealing his torn socks and his frostbitten heels, which were bright red.

Zhong Minghui stepped onto the half-collapsed enemy platform, his leather boots crunching over the broken bricks.

Looking around, this former Ming Dynasty military garrison is now in ruins. The rammed earth walls have collapsed in many places, and only a few charred wooden beams of the arrow tower remain, leaning against the ruins. Most of the houses inside the city are dilapidated, and weeds grow wildly from the cracks in the stone slabs, almost swallowing up the former roads.

"Commander Zhong, is this the former Qianshanwei?" The voice of Peng Yuchong, the left-wing guerrilla of Liaonan Town, came from behind. He was wearing iron armor, with a long sword at his waist, and his brows were furrowed. "Back then, it was a garrison town with three hundred soldiers, but now it has become like this."

Zhong Minghui did not respond, but silently surveyed his surroundings.

Traces of the fierce battle can still be seen on the dilapidated city walls. Arrowheads are deeply embedded in the brick seams, and there are still craters from artillery fire on several collapsed battlements. There are even several long-weathered skeletons half-buried in the soil, uncollected by anyone.

"After the Ming army's defeat, this place was abandoned," Zhong Minghui finally spoke, his voice low and heavy. "The Qing invaders occupied several major cities, Liaoyang and Shenyang, but they were too lazy to maintain these garrisons, leaving only these ruins everywhere. Alas, what a pity!"

Peng Yuchong snorted coldly: "The Tartars have always been like this, only knowing how to plunder, not how to manage."

Zhong Minghui nodded, then turned his gaze to the distance.

In the desolate fields, a few low-lying villages stand forlornly, but they are long gone and empty.

The Xinhua Army's scouts had previously reported that the more than one hundred bondservants and Han slaves stationed there had all fled upon hearing of the approaching army, leaving only an empty village.

Zhong Minghui raised his hand and pressed down on the brim of his hat, the mink ear flaps brushing against his ears, which were red from the cold.

“Commissioner, you could actually stay in Haizhou City with Ma Degong and the Ming troops…” Zhou Chengping said in a low voice.

"Being with those cowards only makes people more wary!" Zhong Minghui sneered. "What if a Qing cavalry unit suddenly appears out of nowhere? We might just be left behind. So, it's much safer to be with you guys!"

When he said these words, he made no attempt to avoid mentioning Peng Yuchong, clearly indicating that he already considered him one of his own.

In Haizhou, he used all his words and efforts to persuade the Qing army to march north together and capture Liaoyang in one fell swoop, so as to make a show of force against Shenyang and thus mobilize the Qing army's forces.

However, Ma Degong refused to come along, fearing that he would be attacked and killed by the Qing army.

Even though Zhong Minghui tempted him with the large amount of Qing army wealth accumulated in Liaoyang, he resolutely refused to "risk his life".

Finally, Zhong Minghui angrily declared that he would lead more than two thousand Xinhua soldiers northward alone to attack Liaoyang City single-handedly.

It is possible that Shang Kexi gave instructions before the army departed, and after much hesitation, Peng Yuchong, a guerrilla commander under his command, offered to lead more than 600 officers and soldiers to follow.

Zhong Minghui was very pleased with this.

The support and investment in Shang Kexi over the past few years have truly paid off; he knows to take the initiative to repay us at crucial moments.

Well, when the time comes, we'll have to find a way to get rid of Ma Degong and try to get Shang Kexi to take over.

"Report..." A messenger rushed up the city wall and saluted Zhong Minghui. "Commander Zhong, we found dozens of Han slaves in the woods to the east. They haven't gone far."

Zhong Minghui raised an eyebrow: "Bring a few over for questioning."

Before long, several ragged Han slaves were brought before Zhong Minghui. Their faces were withered, their eyes were timid, and some were even hunched over, as if it were a habit left by years of whipping.

A single, ugly, pigtail braid swayed back and forth as her body moved.

Despite the cold weather, most people were wearing thin summer clothes with holes everywhere, their bare feet were turning purple from the cold, and they grimaced with every step they took.

"Why don't you run away?" Zhong Minghui squatted down, took a water vat, and handed it to the leader of the men.

The man took the water vat with trembling hands, and was scalded as soon as his lips touched the edge of the vat. His cloudy eyes were filled with terror, as if he was afraid that the water was poisoned.

He knelt down tremblingly, his voice hoarse: "Reporting to the general, we have nowhere to go; even if we flee, we will die..."

He pointed to the west, his withered fingers protruding: "Last spring, seven people from Shatou Village ran away, but were caught by the Eight Banners officials on horseback. They were first beaten half to death, and then all of them were skinned and hung on the old locust tree at the entrance of the village... That tree is still there now, and its leaves fall earlier than elsewhere."

Zhong Minghui gripped the kettle tightly, the ice shards on the kettle making his palms ache.

The Xinhua Army soldiers behind him remained silent. Someone quietly handed over some dry rations from their backpacks, but the Han slaves fearfully pushed them away, muttering, "We dare not accept them, we dare not accept them."

One of the soldiers couldn't stand it and stuffed the rations into the hands of one of the boys.

The boy paused for a moment, then quickly stuffed it into his mouth and chewed, choking so hard that his eyes rolled back.

"Are you... all Han slaves here?" Zhong Minghui asked gently.

“Yes…yes…” The man lowered his head. “I was originally a farmer from Jinan, Shandong. Two years ago, I was taken to the border by my master, oh no, by the Tartars, and became a slave of the Manchus.”

Zhong Minghui was silent for a moment, then asked, "How many troops are currently garrisoning Liaoyang?"

The man shook his head blankly: "We don't know... Liaoyang is far from here, why would the Manchu lords send us there?"

"Have you heard your bondservants mention Liaoyang?"

The man hesitated for a moment, seemingly trying to recall, then said in a low voice, "A few days ago, our steward had a little wine and started to lose his temper. He cursed and said... that all the grain in Liaoyang had been requisitioned, and there wasn't even enough grain left for many of our Manchu masters. He feared that in a few more days, all of us Han slaves would starve to death..."

Zhong Minghui's eyes narrowed: "The grain has been requisitioned? Do you know where it was transported to?"

"I heard it's... the Songjin front." The man stammered, "The steward said that not only the Manchu lords in Liaoyang City have to cut back on their food and clothing, but even the imperial relatives and nobles in the Shengjing Palace have to conserve their rations and do their best to ensure the food supply to the front..."

Zhong Minghui exchanged glances with the officers beside him.

"Is there any other news?" Zhou Chengping pressed.

The man shook his head: "That's all I know..."

"Sir, I know some news..." The boy swallowed the last bite of his dry rations and looked over timidly.

"Oh, go ahead!" Zhong Minghui handed the kettle back to him.

“A few days ago, I overheard the steward of the bondservantes saying that all the soldiers in the city had been transferred to Jinzhou, and those left behind were all missing limbs. Now, even the guards at the city gates are young Manchu princes, the oldest of whom are no more than twelve or thirteen years old and can't even reach the tip of a spear…”

Upon hearing this, everyone's eyes lit up.

Zhong Minghui waved his hand, signaling the soldiers to take them away, and instructed, "Give them some dry food and hot water, and also give them some clothes to wear. They can stay in the camp tonight."

After the Han slaves withdrew, Peng Yuchong cupped his hands towards Zhong Minghui and said, "Congratulations, Commander! It seems we won the bet! Liaoyang is indeed extremely vulnerable. Even a ten-year-old Tartar has to carry a spear to defend the city."

Zhong Minghui nodded with a smile: "Yes, we won the bet! If we break through Liaoyang City this time, Peng Youji will probably be promoted to lieutenant general and then deputy general!"

"Hehe..." Upon hearing this, Peng Yuchong was overjoyed. "Thank you for your kindness, Commander Zhong!"

Several staff officers from the Second Mixed Battalion stepped forward and spread out a map: "Commander Zhong, it's about 25 kilometers from Qianshanwei to Liaoyang. If we march 15 kilometers tomorrow, we can reach the city by noon the day after tomorrow."

Zhong Minghui stared at the map and pondered for a moment: "Won't the journey take too long? The Qing scouts may have already discovered us, and the Liaoyang garrison may be preparing for battle."

“But they probably won’t have many troops available to conscript, and their strength is quite limited,” the staff officer said. “Of course, they will mobilize all the able-bodied women, the elderly, and even teenagers in the city, so their forces will not exceed a thousand.”

Zhong Minghui took a deep breath, his gaze resolute: "Alright, march fifteen kilometers tomorrow, and after arriving in Liaoyang City at noon the day after tomorrow, launch the attack immediately!"
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(End of this chapter)