Old Zhang Fei wasn't just a bandit; he was a seasoned veteran of rebellion, having fought on the frontlines for years. After rising up with Bu Zhan Ni in the first year of Chongzhen, he had accumulated a wealth of battlefield experience. By now, he knew exactly what worked—and what didn't.
For instance, the Three-Eyed Arquebus and matchlocks the rebels used were only good for one thing: making a lot of noise. Their accuracy was laughable, and the lead shot was weak. From thirty zhang away, those guns couldn't even pierce a board an inch thick.
But close up? That was a different story.
At ten zhang, even a thick wooden shield stood a good chance of getting pierced. So, Old Zhang Fei had the bandits craft shields nearly one-and-a-half inches thick. These were the kind of shields that could withstand anything the enemy threw at them.
These shields were heavy—so heavy that one man couldn't carry them alone. They were built to be braced against the ground, and the bandits would slowly push them forward, inch by inch, until they could get close enough to engage.
Once the rebels closed the gap, they'd toss the shields aside and charge. The stockade was weak—just a single layer of wood—and there was no one stationed at the top to defend. It was only a matter of time before they breached the wall.
Old Zhang Fei grinned at the thought of victory.
"No more pointless chatter with the villagers," he bellowed, waving his hand. "Let's take this stockade before Xing Honglang comes back! Move out!"
The bandits adjusted their formation, and with grim determination, they began their advance. The front lines raised their thick shields, slowly moving forward as the rest of the army followed. The sight of their advance was enough to send the villagers into a panic.
Inside the stockade, the mood was tense. The elderly, women, and children huddled together, their faces pale with fear. The able-bodied men gripped their farming tools tightly, sweat pouring down their brows.
But then, from above, Lao Nanfeng's voice boomed, cutting through the panic like a knife.
"Quit clinging to the walls, you faint-hearted lot! Get into the wooden houses! If you don't look, you won't be scared."
"But if we don't look, we'll be more scared!" came a frantic reply from below.
Lao Nanfeng's booming laughter echoed across the stockade as he watched the bandits approach. Meanwhile, the archers, stationed in the three watchtowers, had already taken their places. Though the towers were cramped, each tower housed about ten archers who readied their Kaiyuan bows and began to calculate the distance.
One archer raised his bow and shot, sending an arrow hurtling toward the advancing rebels. The arrows arced high, soaring over the thick wooden shields. They struck the bandits behind the shields, dropping a few of them, but the front lines were largely unaffected.
The bandits, well-prepared, raised their makeshift shields—leather, wooden planks, even pot lids. The arrows harmlessly clattered against these defenses.
A few impatient rebels retaliated, firing their own arrows upward, but their aim was poor. The bandits' bows were nothing compared to the Kaiyuan bows, and their arrows fell weakly to the ground with a dull thud, unable to reach the watchtowers.
Seeing this, Lao Nanfeng chuckled from his perch, watching the spectacle unfold. "Hold your fire, firearm soldiers!" he shouted. "At this range, your bullets won't get through those shields. Don't waste your shots!"
The firearm soldiers grumbled but reluctantly lowered their weapons. The bandits, feeling more confident with each step, advanced steadily.
Old Zhang Fei could barely contain his laughter as he watched the smugness grow on his men's faces. "Hahaha! Xing Honglang isn't here! The salt smugglers are no match for us! We've closed the distance, and they haven't fired a shot. The food in this stockade is ours!"
At that moment, Lao Nanfeng turned to his archers. "Alright, go down now. It's time for a change of tactics."
The archers, already anticipating this order, swiftly descended from the towers. Gao Chuwu, ever the strategist, led a squad of twenty grenadiers up to take their place.
"This distance is perfect for grenades," Gao Chuwu grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Lao Nanfeng smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Excellent! Beacon tower, light the fire."
In the center of the stockade, a massive bonfire was lit. The thick black smoke rose high, a signal for the warships stationed to the north. The captains, waiting for this moment, sprang into action.
"Warships, depart! Back to Gudu Ferry!" they ordered with enthusiasm.
Lao Nanfeng let out a satisfied laugh, watching the smoke signal from the stockade. "General Gao, I'm ready to charge with the cavalry. The rest is yours."
Gao Chuwu grinned. "Leave it to me, Lao Nanfeng."
"Good!" Lao Nanfeng turned to his cavalry. Over two hundred soldiers were ready, mounted and waiting at the side gate of the stockade. He mounted his warhorse, gripping his spear firmly. "Stay calm. Let General Gao have his fun first."
As the bandit army pressed closer, the tension in the air thickened. Old Zhang Fei's confidence was palpable, but he had no idea what was about to hit him.
Gao Chuwu, the master of grenades, didn't wait for further orders. He lit the fuses and hurled the first grenade with terrifying precision. Behind him, the twenty grenadiers on the watchtowers did the same.
"Ugh, this tower's too cramped! Can't get a good run-up," one grenadier grumbled.
"Well, just throw it anyway!" another yelled. "We don't have time to mess around!"
The first grenade hit the ground with a soft thud, and then—BOOM! A blinding explosion rocked the battlefield, sending shrapnel flying. Bandits scattered in all directions, but it was too late. The blast had already done its work.
The bandit line faltered, the shields and men thrown into disarray. Some didn't even have time to scream before they were taken out by the deadly shrapnel.
Inside the stockade, the firearm soldiers didn't need any more prompting. They quickly opened their firing slits, aimed their matchlocks, and opened fire.
The first volley of bullets tore through the disorganized bandit ranks, adding to the chaos.
The tide of battle had turned.