Chapter Twelve

Unable to determine the exact time, but based on Lin Feng’s experience, it was probably around five in the morning. The Han army camp was brightly lit, and groups of soldiers were noisily receiving meat and vegetable soup by unit, eating their breakfast with fried noodles.

Ever since arriving in this era, Lin Feng had harbored strong opinions about the army’s meals. He could never have imagined that, as the group with the highest physical demands, the army was only provided with two meals a day—one around ten in the morning, and another in the evening. The quality of the food was poor, almost inhumane. No wonder later foreigners would say that the Qing soldiers all had sallow, thin faces. So when drilling the troops, Lin Feng pushed through the opposition of the generals and reformed the system, instituting three meals a day as was customary in later ages. Naturally, this decision was met with enthusiastic support from the soldiers.

It was his first time commanding such a large-scale war, and Lin Feng was inevitably nervous, with little appetite. In fact, he had tossed and turned all night and had barely closed his eyes until dawn. Now he hastily forced down a few mouthfuls before tossing aside his bowl and chopsticks, and with his personal guard headed for the front lines.

It was not until after occupying Beijing that Lin Feng corrected a small misconception: by this era, the Qing army had already widely adopted monocular telescopes. These seemingly advanced foreign imports were now being successfully replicated by the imperial craftsmen, and their quality was in no way inferior to those from Spain or Portugal. The Ministry of War had stockpiled a good number of telescopes, and as strategic supplies, they were generally issued to all Qing officers at deputy general rank or above. Now, after taking Beijing, Lin Feng was not about to be polite—he immediately equipped all Han officers at battalion level and above with the captured telescopes, though few of them felt the device was of much use.

The monocular in Lin Feng’s hand was said to have been passed down from Xuan Ye’s father, Fu Lin. Trimmed with gold and inlaid with silver, it was polished to a fine sheen and resembled a piece of art, though its quality was not particularly impressive. But since the target was not far, and aided by the faint morning light, Lin Feng could see the city walls of Tianjin with great clarity.

Shi Lang’s troops had harried the defenders of Tianjin all night. The results seemed evident now: the Qing soldiers atop the walls looked visibly fatigued. Still, the patrols and sentries moved in strict formation, orderly and unhurried, showing no signs of panic. In the chill dawn wind, save for the occasional barked order, the ramparts were silent—a stark contrast to the rowdy Han soldiers eating breakfast in the camp, lending the defenders an even more steely, martial air.

“Speaking of commanding troops, I’m reminded of someone!” Shi Lang suddenly interjected. Meeting the curious gazes of the others, he smiled awkwardly. “These years, I’ve been idle in the capital; not much welcome elsewhere except at the Ministry of War, so I often hear stories—two years ago, the vice general of Tianjin made quite a name for himself...”

“Come on, Old Shi—can’t you be brief? We’re in the middle of a battle, and you’re getting chatty?” Lin Feng laughed, then his expression grew stern. “Generals, hear my command!”

The officers answered in unison.

Lin Feng continued, “General Shi, have your artillery concentrate all firepower on the city walls. Bring out the red-barreled cannons and the siege artillery—do not cease for an hour. Suppress the defenders as much as possible!”

Shi Lang bowed with calm composure. Lin Feng turned to Liu Laosi, “Old Four, your troops are the main force for this assault. Are you clear on your responsibilities?”

Liu Laosi was beside himself with excitement. A few months ago, he had been a lowly squad leader; now he commanded over eight thousand well-equipped, elite soldiers. With the great battle imminent, he could hardly express his feelings. He looked at Lin Feng, nodding repeatedly, his face a strange mixture of gratitude, tension, excitement, and a hint of ferocity in his smile, the scar on his face twitching.

“Hey, look at this rascal…” Lin Feng, knowing Liu Laosi was nervous, deliberately pointed him out to the others and laughed heartily, easing much of the tension. He clapped Liu Laosi on the shoulder. “Don’t panic, Old Four! You’ve fought from Liaodong to Fujian—are you really afraid of this? Just do as you always have. What can possibly stump you?”

Liu Laosi calmed somewhat, forced a smile, and gave Lin Feng a formal military salute. “Subordinate Liu Laosi, ordered to attack. Awaiting the commander’s instructions!”

“I have nothing special to add. I’ll be straight with you: I’ll pull two companies of musketeers from the central army to support you, along with Old Shi’s artillery. If today you can fill in that moat for me, the top merit will be yours! Well?”

After a night of repeated test firing, Shi Lang’s gunners were now thoroughly familiar with every sector of Tianjin’s walls. At the order, dozens of heavy cannons from the central command fired in unison. Amid the thick smoke, bricks and stones shattered on the ramparts. The Qing defenders atop the walls were alert and, after the first volley, Lin Feng could see no one through his telescope.

Boom… boom… boom… Several large drums sounded together, their mournful beats piercing through the barrage and pounding against the eardrums. Lin Feng smiled faintly and looked over: Liu Laosi, armored from head to toe and astride a chestnut horse, was bellowing fierce orders at his men. Lin Feng suddenly noticed that their Zhongshan-style uniforms and round-topped caps looked utterly bizarre and unsightly beneath the armor—so mismatched as to be almost unbearable. He forced a smile and muttered to himself, “Looks like I’ll need an expert to design matching armor and equipment.”

Seizing on the burst of morale when the Qing banners were knocked down, Liu Laosi’s troops launched the first assault. Over two thousand burly men in heavy armor advanced in horizontal ranks, each bearing a shield as large as a door. Behind them, under Rick’s command, two companies of musketeers arrayed themselves, while dozens of mule-drawn carts loaded with sandbags followed slowly behind.

Lin Feng sat astride his horse on high ground, watching coldly as his troops advanced. The artillery fire grew ever more intense, the thunderous roar threatening to smother all else. The air was thick with the scent of burning powder. The infantry neared the moat; under Rick’s command, the musketeers mechanically formed their firing lines, ready to shoot at the walls.

A chill ran through Lin Feng as a phrase suddenly surfaced in his mind: “Seize the initiative with a show of force!” Unable to quell his unease, he suddenly realized that the artillery barrage, so relentless moments before, had now become sporadic and feeble. Anger surged within him as he turned towards the artillery positions. He saw a Han artillery officer standing dumbfounded, staring at the ramparts, while not far away, Shi Lang, furious, cast aside his attendants and stormed over. He drew his saber, reversed the blade, and struck the officer hard on the forehead, leaving him bleeding and collapsed on the ground. Shi Lang then turned, brandishing the bloodied saber, and berated the assembled troops with thunderous rage.

The artillery resumed its thunderous fire. Lin Feng turned away, shaking his head with a wry smile, realizing Shi Lang had not yet fully integrated into his army—if he had not held back, that blow would not have been with the flat of the blade.

Despite the intense bombardment, the defenders’ resistance was not suppressed. Arrows and bolts rained down from the walls like a storm, interspersed with musket and matchlock fire, putting immense pressure on the Han shield-bearers below. In mere moments, their once neat formation was riddled with gaps, and countless soldiers lay groaning and crawling in pools of blood.

But the Qing defenders fared no better. After their initial panic, Rick’s musketeers steadied themselves. Positioned at a distance, they were relatively safe; the arrows and bullets from above could reach them, but not with fatal force. They responded without fear, exchanging volleys with the defenders. After several rounds, many Qing soldiers tumbled from the walls, and Shi Lang’s personally directed artillery fire grew ever more accurate, his guns and the musketeers working together to inflict massive casualties on the defenders.

Gradually, Lin Feng’s heart settled. He set down the telescope and turned to Chen Menglei with a smile. “Old Chen, it seems this is all the Qing army has to offer!” Even as he spoke, the defenders on the wall erupted in shouts, and several loud explosions followed. The musketeer ranks fell in swathes. Startled, Lin Feng saw several small cannons had somehow appeared atop the wall, their first concentrated volley killing dozens of musketeers. Lin Feng immediately grabbed an attendant and shouted, “Go! Tell General Shi Lang to take out those small cannons!”

The attendant had just run off when, suddenly, the drawbridge atop the city gate shook and slowly descended with a creak. Lin Feng stared in disbelief, failing to react before the bridge crashed down and the gates swung open. Over a hundred cavalry led the Qing defenders in a sudden counterattack. The Han shield-bearers filling the moat were caught completely off guard, their formation instantly thrown into chaos. Without the protection of their shields, the exposed soldiers suffered heavy casualties under the concentrated arrow fire.

Lin Feng’s mind went blank, and a wave of frustration swept over him. It wasn’t that he grieved for the thousands of soldiers lost below the walls—given the current size of the Han army, losing even all of them wouldn’t shake the overall situation. What angered him was that, before the assault, his side had brimmed with confidence, yet now they were on the back foot at every turn. The Qing defenders’ tactics were nothing extraordinary, yet they had made no preparations, and now, with the situation devolving, he had no effective response.

Helplessly, Lin Feng turned to look at Zhou Peigong, who stood staring blankly in surprise. Lin Feng thought bitterly, is this all the legendary general of later times can manage?