Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 489 Battle of Liaoyang (Part 5)
Several rounds of artillery fire had riddled the south gate of Liaoyang with holes. Dark red wood chips seeped from the holes left by the flying iron rivets, and the door panels were twisted and deformed by the tremors, with the outline of the blockage behind them even visible through the cracks.

With a deafening roar, the thick iron gate finally succumbed to the pressure and collapsed under round after round of artillery fire. The rising dust, mixed with broken iron bars, wood chips, and yellow soil from sandbags, condensed into a murky column of smoke in the cold wind.

The sandbags, stones, furniture, and wooden fences piled up behind the city gate were blown apart, revealing a dark hole. The trembling guards behind the hole could be vaguely seen—they were clearly a few half-grown children with faces covered in soot, their spears longer than half their own height.

On the artillery position, Jiang Dasheng's cheeks were burning from the muzzle flash. He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his eyes gleaming with excitement: "You sons of bitches, let's see how long you can hold out!"

The gunners, like lit fuses, moved with increasing speed. The crunching of the iron wheels rolling over the frozen ground as they adjusted the gun carriages, the crisp sound of the loader tearing open the oil paper package, and the muffled thud of the push rod hitting the breech all converged into a rapid rhythm on the position.

"Lower the scale by two fingers and aim at the left side of the city gate!"

"Boom! Boom!"

Two cannonballs, trailing sharp whistles, pierced through the city gate, instantly tearing open two gaps in the pile of stones and debris on the left. Amidst the flying debris, the heart-wrenching cries of the defenders could be heard.

As the smoke and dust cleared, several mutilated corpses could be seen lying on both sides of the passage. The remaining child, a teenager, huddled in a corner, his head in his hands, with urine seeping from his trousers and freezing into tiny ice crystals on the ground.

"All troops, charge!" Zhou Chengping, standing at the front of the formation, swung his command sword forward sharply.

His voice pierced through the battlefield's clamor, startling the crows perched on the city wall's ridge into flight. A dark mass swept across the gray sky, leaving behind a few mournful cries.

The soldiers of the Xinhua Army, carrying muskets and shouting loudly, charged toward the city gate. The bolts of their flintlock muskets gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and the catches of their new bayonets clanged with a series of metallic sounds.

Just as the vanguard was about to rush into the city gate, more than thirty figures suddenly rushed out from inside.

The three armored Qing soldiers at the front were particularly conspicuous. On the left was an old soldier with a wrinkled face and a tangled white beard under his chin, and two fingers missing from his right hand. On the right was a boy of fourteen or fifteen years old, whose face still had a childish look. His armor was obviously a size too big, and he had tied it around his waist three times with hemp rope. In the middle was a middle-aged Manchu soldier with a one-eyed look, staring with his left eye, and his right hand gripping a sharp waist knife.

Behind them followed more than thirty bondservants, most of whom wore tattered coats with cotton wadding showing, and held rusty iron forks and chipped waist knives in their hands. One short, fat man even carried an iron pickaxe.

The most striking figure was a woman in her thirties, dressed in a qipao, brandishing a kitchen knife and charging at the front, her hair disheveled.

"First rank, ready..." a second lieutenant shouted, "Fire!"

"Bang!" The sound of twenty flintlock muskets firing simultaneously shook the city walls, causing dust to fall.

The woman, who was lunging forward, suddenly stopped, three dark red flowers of blood blooming on her chest. The cleaver flew out of her hand, bounced twice on the bluestone slab, and landed in the roadside ditch.

As she fell straight down, her eyes were still wide open, staring at the sky.

The one-eyed flag bearer behind her had just drawn his bow to its fullest extent when a lead bullet pierced his right shoulder with pinpoint accuracy.

"Ugh... Ah!" He screamed and took two steps back. The arrow flew diagonally into the sky, and his hand holding the bow fell limply. Blood dripped from between his fingers onto the icy road, instantly freezing into tiny blood droplets.

"Second row, step forward! Release!"

The second volley swept through the crowd like wheat being harvested. A soldier tried to shrink back, covering his head, but was struck in the chest by three lead bullets simultaneously. Three bloody holes were pierced through his back, and his steaming internal organs mixed with blood splattered onto the faces of his companions behind him.

The companion screamed in fright, the iron fork in his hand fell to the ground with a clatter, and he turned to run away, but a lead bullet that followed him blew off half of his head.

"Third row, place it!"

After the smoke cleared, only twisted corpses remained at the city gate.

A young flag bearer, about twelve or thirteen years old, was still alive. He was crying and struggling to crawl into the city gate, leaving a dark red trail of blood on the bluestone slab.

A soldier strode forward and plunged his bayonet into the man's back with a "thud".

The young flag bearer's body tensed abruptly, then slumped down, only his fingers still twitching slightly.

As the soldier pulled out his bayonet, drops of blood dripped down the blade and onto the ground, where they condensed into tiny ice crystals in the cold wind.

As wave after wave of soldiers poured through pools of blood into the city gates, the sticky sound of their boots sent chills down one's spine.

"Sir, apart from a few Qing soldiers, the garrison in the city..." As Zhou Chengping led his large force into the city, an officer ran up to report, "Most of them are civilians hastily armed, some even without weapons, using bricks, farm tools, and kitchen knives as weapons."

Zhou Chengping glanced at the corpses scattered all over the ground. There were only three or five armored soldiers, and the rest were women and children dressed in various clothes, as well as thin and weak bondservants.

“Remember Commander Zhong’s instructions.” His voice was completely flat, his boots crunching crisply as they rolled over the frozen, blood-soaked ground. “Anyone who picks up a weapon and points it at us is an enemy. Whether they are eighty or eight, to show mercy is to commit a crime against our own brothers.”

"Yes, sir!" the officer replied and ran forward.

Suddenly, an arrow flew from the roof on the right.

The guard next to Zhou Chengping reacted quickly and pulled him aside.

The arrow grazed past Zhou Chengping's cotton robe, but its force was clearly insufficient, and it fell limply in front of him.

"Right roof!...Fire!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!..." More than a dozen muskets simultaneously turned towards the roof.

On the gray tiles diagonally opposite, a child of about ten years old was hiding, trembling as he nocked a second arrow to his bow. Beside him, an old man with a wrinkled face was desperately tugging at his sleeve, muttering something as if urging him to take cover.

But a volley of musket bullets came and instantly riddled them with holes, causing them to fall to the ground screaming in agony.

"Continue the advance, remain vigilant!" Zhou Chengping dusted off his cotton robe, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. "Watch the alleyways and rooftops on both sides, beware of Qing ambushes."

The troops advanced along the main street, encountering sporadic resistance at each intersection, but the overwhelming superiority of firearms rendered these ambushes futile.

As soon as the Qing troops showed themselves, they would be targeted by several muskets at the same time, and often they would be riddled with bullets before they could even fire a second arrow.

A group of soldiers turned a corner and came to a tall mansion with its vermilion gate tightly closed and helmets swaying on the wall.

"Stop!" Xiao Rusong raised his hand to signal, "There's an ambush!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a row of archers suddenly stood up on the wall, and arrows rained down like raindrops.

"Ah!" Two soldiers who reacted a little slower fell to the ground, hit by arrows. One arrow pierced the throat of the soldier on the left, and blood gushed out like a fountain. The other arrow was stuck in the shoulder of the soldier on the right. He clutched his wound and rolled on the ground, letting out painful howls.

Two soldiers screamed and fell to the ground, while the rest quickly retreated out of firing range.

"Grenadiers!" Xiao Rusong turned and roared at several burly soldiers, "Blow this son of a bitch's yard to smithereens!"

The four grenadiers immediately unloaded the rattan baskets from their backs and took out the clay pot bombs wrapped in oil paper.

The veteran in the lead lit the fuse and winked at his comrades: "Watch closely, throw them all at my command, and try to finish them off in one go!" The soldiers under the eaves raised their guns and aimed at the wall to cover the grenadiers' movements.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!..." As several bombs were thrown into the yard, violent explosions immediately rang out, flames shot into the sky, and several shrill screams rang out.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!..."

A Qing soldier peeked out and was about to raise his hand to shoot an arrow when he was shot headfirst by more than ten muskets and fell off the courtyard wall.

"Pfft! Pfft!" Two soldiers from Liaonan Town who were following them threw torches at a thatched shed in the courtyard, intending to burn the entire building down.

Seeing this, the Xinhua Army lit several torches and threw them in as well.

The fire spread faster than expected, and in less than a quarter of an hour, more than twenty Qing soldiers screamed and rushed out of the fire.

After a volley of gunfire, more than ten bodies fell to the ground.

Immediately, rows of bayonets surged forward, their cold gleam flashing, stabbing the remaining Qing soldiers into bloody gourds, their blood gushing out and staining the ground red.

Dusk, like cotton wool soaked in ink, pressed down on Liaoyang city walls little by little, and the sky was gradually dyed a deep gray.

Zhou Chengping stood on a high platform, looking down at the city torn apart by war.

Corpses lay scattered across the streets, including armored Qing soldiers, ragged bondservants, and women in Manchu attire.

A cold wind, carrying the stench of ashes and blood, swept over him, chilling him to the bone. He squinted, his gaze falling on the General's Mansion in the distance, where the fierce battle was still raging, the firelight illuminating the night sky in a crimson glow.

"Sir, the Tartars in the General's Mansion are still resisting." Wu Yinghai walked over quickly, his face covered in soot and his voice hoarse. "They have blocked the gate with bricks and stones, and the archers are hiding on the roof. A direct assault would probably result in the loss of many brothers."

Zhou Chengping was silent for a moment, then turned to a Ming army general from Liaonan Town beside him: "Commander Chen, is there any kerosene in the city?"

General Chen grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth: "Reporting to my lord, the oil mills in Liaoyang City have all been requisitioned by the Tartars, right next to the granary. The rapeseed oil in those mills is extremely sticky; if you were to pour it on, a single fire would burn it to ashes, leaving not even a bone fragment."

Zhou Chengping nodded and said coldly, "Send orders to move a cannon close to the General's Mansion and blast open the outer wall. Also, send two teams to the oil mill to fetch kerosene. Since they refuse to surrender, then burn them!"

Soon, a 75mm field gun was pushed into the city, reaching a position less than a hundred paces from the wall of the General's Mansion. The gunners quickly adjusted the muzzle and loaded solid shot.

"put!"

"boom!"

The shells slammed into the blue brick wall, causing the bricks to crack and dust to rise.

The second shell blasted a corner open, revealing the panicked Qing soldiers inside.

Someone tried to block the breach with a shield, but was blown to pieces along with the shield by the third shell.

"The kerosene is here!" Several soldiers rushed up carrying wooden buckets filled with viscous rapeseed oil.

They quickly poured oil onto the courtyard walls and roof, the oil flowing along the cracks in the bricks, gleaming eerily in the cold wind.

"ignition!"

A torch was thrown out, and flames shot up with a "whoosh," engulfing the entire wall in the blink of an eye.

Flames spread along the oil stains, climbed the eaves, and licked the wooden window frames and door frames.

Thick smoke billowed out, and heart-wrenching screams echoed from within.

"Ah!..." Several Qing soldiers covered in flames rushed out of the breach, rolling frantically on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames on their bodies.

But the oil had already soaked through their clothes, and they quickly curled up into a ball, their skin and flesh charred black, emitting a pungent, burnt smell.

On the rooftop, an archer coughed incessantly from the thick smoke. Just as he poked his head out to jump down, he was met with a volley of fire from several musketeers lying in ambush outside. His body plunged into the sea of ​​flames, sending sparks flying.

As wave after wave of Qing troops were wiped out, the fighting within the city gradually subsided, but a raging fire of revenge engulfed the entire city of Liaoyang, and it was more intense and more frenzied than the flames of war.

The rescued Han slaves poured out from all directions. They were ragged, emaciated, and bore whip marks and branding marks, but their eyes burned with a frenzied hatred.

"Kill! Kill all these Manchu dogs!" roared an old man with white hair, smashing his hoe down hard on a Manchu woman who was trembling in a corner.

"Spare me! Spare me!" The woman knelt on the ground, holding her child, begging for mercy. Tears mixed with the black ash on her face streamed down, leaving streaks. But before she could finish speaking, the hoe had already fallen, and her head exploded like a watermelon. Red and white matter splattered all over the old man, but he didn't care at all, a crazy smile on his face.

Several bondservants nearby tried to run away, but were surrounded by a group of Han slaves. Sticks, kitchen knives, and stones rained down on them until they became a pile of rotten flesh.

In the alley, a Manchu boy, no more than eleven or twelve years old, was dragged out. He was so frightened that he wet his pants and cried out, "I'm not a Manchu! I'm Han! My father is Han too..."

He tried to prove his identity, his voice filled with fear, but no one listened to his explanation.

“You bastard! When you were whipping us, you didn’t listen to us begging for mercy!” A man with a scarred face kicked him to the ground and swung a shovel down hard.

The boy's skull caved in instantly, his eyeballs popped out, and blood sprayed all over the man's face.

As night fell, Liaoyang City did not fall silent.

The firelight illuminated half the sky, and screams, cries, and maniacal laughter mingled together, creating a scene resembling hell.

Zhong Minghui stood outside the General's Mansion, watching the last few Qing soldiers burn to a crisp, his face expressionless.

“Commander Zhong, there are still a dozen or so Tartars stubbornly resisting at the granary. Should we…” Xiao Rusong walked over and made a throat-slitting gesture.

"Is there still grain in the granary?" Zhong Minghui asked.

"There's probably still a little bit left."

“Let those Qing barbarians surrender.” He turned and walked toward the temporary command post, his boots stepping over corpses, the blood freezing into ice beneath his feet. “Tell them that if they hand over the granary, half of them can live.”

In the distance, a group of Han slaves were dragging a Manchu man through the streets. The man's braid was tied to the back of the horse, and he was being dragged until his flesh was bloody and mangled. His cries of pain gradually weakened and eventually disappeared into the night.

Liaoyang City has completely fallen.
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(End of this chapter)