Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 486 Battle of Liaoyang (Part Two)
In early winter, the wind in Liaoyang City already carried a biting chill.

The sky was overcast, and leaden-gray clouds hung heavily over the watchtowers on the city walls, as if if they were to fall a few more inches, they would smash this massive city, which had a circumference of sixteen miles, to pieces.

Ortai, the captain of the Bordered Yellow Banner, stood on the south gate tower, fine frost forming on his armor. He squinted at the distant, gray horizon, where wisps of ominous smoke drifted.

"Commander, everyone in the city who can carry a weapon has been mobilized." Fendeboshiku Akdun walked over quickly, his voice low. "Including some loyal bondservants, strong Manchu women, and teenagers, we've managed to gather 1,400 people."

Ortai did not turn around, but simply nodded slightly. The white breath he exhaled from his nose condensed into ice crystals on his beard, which trembled up and down with each breath.

He is thirty-two years old this year, in the prime of his life, and should not be sitting in Liaoyang City.

Two years ago, when he followed Dodo to attack Xingshan and Tashan, he was pushed off the city wall by the Ming army and crippled one leg, making him unable to charge into battle anymore.

So he stayed behind to guard the city and collect grain, and lived a relatively peaceful life.

At least we no longer have to brave arrows and stones, risking our lives.

The Battle of Songjin began last year. From the initial scout raids to the battlefield clashes involving hundreds of people, it has now become a strategic decisive battle with tens of thousands of people entangled together. Our Great Qing has staked all its resources on this.

All the bannermen who could carry swords and ride horses participated, including many teenagers as young as fourteen or fifteen, as well as elderly people in their forties and fifties.

For example, the city of Liaoyang right now is the most central and important city of our Great Qing Dynasty. It is usually garrisoned by 4000 to 5000 troops. It is absolutely well-defended and has a strong military presence. No Ming soldiers would dare to even glance at it.

But now, the huge city of Liaoyang is only garrisoned by more than fifty Bordered Yellow Banner cavalry and more than two hundred Han Chinese Eight Banners soldiers, not even enough to fill one side of the city wall.

Moreover, among these fifty-odd armored cavalrymen, some were lame like him, some had lost an arm, and some were frail old men.

It's likely that even half of the truly formidable and fully-equipped soldiers could not be assembled.

As for the two hundred-plus Han Chinese Eight Banner soldiers, their combat effectiveness was also questionable; they were probably similar to the auxiliary soldiers of the Ming army.

After all, all the troops that were even remotely capable of fighting had been transferred to the Songjin front.

Therefore, at this time, Liaoyang City's defenses were as weak as a paper lantern.

While it wouldn't be a decisive victory, if several thousand Ming soldiers were to actually attack, no one was confident they could hold out.
Three days ago, Ortai would never have believed that the Ming army would dare to attack Liaoyang.

Since the Qing Dynasty seized this former Liaodong town in the sixth year of the Tianming era (1621), it had not been attacked by troops for more than twenty years.

Even the Liaonan Garrison, which frequently harassed the flanks of my Great Qing, could only advance as far as Haizhou before halting its advance and daring not to venture further into the heart of my Great Qing territory.

Unexpectedly, four days ago, after capturing Haizhou, those cowardly Ming soldiers actually sent more than 2,000 troops northward, heading straight for Liaoyang.

Did they eat bear's heart and leopard's gall?

Oh, yes.

It must be that those spineless Han Chinese Eight Banners soldiers in Haizhou City, after being captured by the Ming army, revealed everything about the situation in the rear of our Great Qing Dynasty. So, the Ming army has seized the opportunity and is preparing to come and take advantage of the situation.

"You dog slave!" Ortai cursed under his breath, then spat a mouthful of phlegm down towards the city walls.

A long scar ran down his left cheek, from his brow bone to his chin, and it was contorted in his angry expression, making him look particularly ferocious.

"Where are those useless Han soldiers?" he turned around and asked coldly.

"As ordered by the commander, they've all been assigned to guard the west and north gates." Akdun hesitated for a moment. "Sir, should we send a few men to keep watch? Just in case..."

"When the Ming army comes, they'll not only chop off our heads, but they'll do the same to them." Ortai's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Don't worry, once the fighting starts, they'll fight even harder than we do. Besides, their families are all in Fushun; they won't have time to waver!"

At that moment, a cacophony of voices arose from below the city wall, mixed with the cracking of whips and wailing.

Ortai peered out and saw a group of bondsers hunched over, carrying logs and stones under the supervision of several Manchus.

They were wearing only a thin layer of clothing, their lips were purple from the cold, and they slipped on the icy ground with every step.

A thin man stumbled, the log he was carrying on his shoulder fell to the ground, immediately drawing a whip from a flag bearer, followed by a piercing wail.

"Give the order: don't be too harsh on those bondservants and Han slaves who participated in the defense of the city. We're counting on them to do their part!"

"Whoo!"

"Have someone cook several more pots of porridge, add more mixed grains, and make sure they're well-fed." "Commander..." Akdun hesitated for a moment, then nodded emphatically, "Yes, sir. This time, they've actually gotten the better deal..."

"My lord, the scouts are back!" With his left hand crippled, Erhe rushed up the city wall in three strides, his empty left sleeve flapping loudly, his leather boots making rapid footsteps on the stone steps, sending up shards of ice that splashed onto his armor.

Akdun looked back and saw a scout coming from below, panting and sweating.

"Report!" The scout knelt on one knee. "The Ming vanguard has passed Shahepu and is less than five li from the city! There are more than two hundred cavalry and at least two thousand infantry! However, their marching speed is not fast. The main infantry force is still ten li away from here, probably waiting for artillery!"

The air on the city wall seemed to freeze.

"Finally here!" Ortai slammed his hand on the top of the barricade, the armor plates clanging together with a crisp sound.

He limped forward a few steps and walked up to the scout.

The scout's face was covered in blood, and a broken arrow was stuck in his armor. He had obviously come close to scout and had engaged in combat with the Ming army's cavalry.

"Can you find out how many cannons the Ming army has?"

"Three gates!" the scout said through gritted teeth, veins bulging on his forehead.

"Three cannons?" Ortai gasped. "But those mobile, new-style barbarian cannons?"

“Exactly!” The scout’s face turned serious, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “My lord, the Ming troops attacking here seem different from the bandits in Liaonan Town. Judging from their attire, I think they are the new Chinese!”

"New Chinese?" Ortai frowned upon hearing this. "So, the army that attacked this time is all New Chinese?"

“No, there are also about six or seven hundred Ming soldiers.” The scout added, “Including those two hundred or so cavalrymen, they are all dressed in Ming army uniforms.”

The city wall was silent for a moment, except for the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the arrow tower.

Xinhua people are famous for their firearms skills. In the past few years, their musket teams have caused a lot of trouble for the Eight Banners soldiers who came to suppress them in Korea, Beiqinhai (now Xingkai Lake), and Heishui (now Heilongjiang)!
Ortai fell into deep thought, but he could also feel the gazes of the officers around him—expectation, fear, and hesitation.

He is the supreme commander here, and everyone's life depends on his decisions.

“My lord…” Erhe suddenly lowered his voice, his right hand resting on the sword at his waist, “My lord, whether they are Ming troops or Xinhua troops, we will fight them all the same! The scouts just reported that their cavalry and infantry are several miles apart…”

Ortai knew what he was thinking.

Taking advantage of the moment when the enemy's two hundred cavalrymen broke away from the main force, they launched a surprise attack and annihilated the vanguard in one fell swoop.

Even if we can't wipe them all out, we can at least inflict heavy damage on them, thereby demoralizing the enemy and disrupting their offensive plans.

However, there are only fifty or so armored cavalrymen in the city, half of whom are old, weak, sick, or disabled. If too many of them are lost outside, the city will truly be unable to be defended.

However, who in the Liaodong region could pose a threat to my Eight Banners cavalry?
Ortai rubbed his lame leg with his hand. Years ago, he had single-handedly killed four Ming soldiers under the walls of Jinzhou.

"Send the order!" Ortai suddenly looked up, a resolute glint in his eyes. "All armored cavalry shall assemble immediately, and select another ten or so riders from the Han army to accompany me out of the city to meet the enemy!"

"Yes, sir!" The crowd responded in unison, and the sound of armor plates colliding echoed one after another.

Half an hour later, the south gate of Liaoyang City slowly opened, and the winch turned with a creaking sound, like an old man who could no longer bear the burden.

Ortai led the way, followed by sixty fully armed cavalrymen.

They were all clad in armor, with powerful bows hanging beside their saddles and swords at their waists.

On the city wall, the conscripted bondservants, women, and children silently watched the procession, their eyes filled with complex emotions.

"My lord, take care." Akdun stood at the city gate, pounding his right chest with his fist, the armor plates making a dull thud.

Ortai did not answer, but instead suddenly spurred his horse.

With a neigh, the warhorse charged off like an arrow.

Sixty riders followed closely behind, their hooves thundering across the official road as they sped off into the distance, disappearing into the dust.
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(End of this chapter)