The Siege of Fuzhou
"Disembark in order!"
"Companies, to your company colors! Form up by company along the bank! Move!"
Changle County, the outer harbor of Fuzhou. Here the broad Min River split its current, and the shore at Sanjiangkou—the Three Rivers' Mouth—was packed tight with moored ships. Dolswe, only just stepped ashore, ran his eye over the camp the vanguard had already thrown up along the bank. The moment word came that his lord, An Hyeon, had beaten the enemy fleet at sea, he had put the main strength of the Tiger Hunting Army aboard the convoy and sailed. They had run the sea route in one hard push, fought their way up the river, and only now made landfall.
"Division Commander! You've arrived. Any trouble on the way?"
Dolswe gave a short nod to the regiment commander under him—the officer who had taken matchlock troops into the sea fight to support the navy—and asked, "Where is His Lordship?"
"In the command tent. I'll show you. This way."
Dolswe stepped inside and offered An Hyeon a formal military salute before he said anything else.
"Congratulations on the great victory, my lord!"
"Ah, General Seok. My thanks. You made better time than I expected. It was a hard journey."
An Hyeon had been in council with Makdong, Huindungi, and the other naval officers. With so many eyes on them, he received Dolswe with a measured courtesy, and clapped him on the shoulder as he praised him. "The Tiger Hunting matchlock men did remarkable work in this fight. You've trained them properly, I see. They're even handy at the oars of a Black Dragon Ship..."
Dolswe answered as if it were only to be expected. "I trained them as you have always charged me to, my lord. Nothing more."
"Yes. So I did."
The Tiger Hunting Army armed every man properly, paid him well, and looked after his family's livelihood besides. A force like that could not be swollen on a whim. For that reason An Hyeon had told Dolswe and the rest of the Goryeo officer corps, over and over, that the Tiger Hunting Army had to be able to fight on open ground, in mountain and forest, and on sea, river, lake, and marsh alike. Few in number, perhaps—but an elite that could make itself felt anywhere. Train them to that standard, he said, and the weakness of numbers could be more than made good. Dolswe had taken the charge to heart. Whenever a gap opened, he put the two Tiger Hunting divisions stationed at Wenzhou through drills and real actions alongside the navy, and saw to it that they came away with experience. The sea battle just fought had shown the fruit of it.
"Funing is held by six thousand of Fang Guozhen's Garrison Army. Of the navy's twelve thousand, two regiments—four thousand—will hold Changle and keep the supply line to Funing open."
"And the rest go against Fuzhou?"
At Dolswe's question, An Hyeon nodded. "Two divisions of the Tiger Hunting Army, twelve thousand, and eight thousand of the navy, together with the artillery, will take Fuzhou."
He looked to Huindungi, who had charge of the artillery's training and command. "Are the 9-pounder Field Guns ready?"
"The pieces we carried on the Black Dragon Ships and the warships have been shifted onto river craft. Everything is prepared so that the moment we reach Fuzhou, we can mount them on land carriages."
"Good. Then nothing remains."
An Hyeon had been waiting on the second wave. He rose all at once and faced his commanders.
"We march on Fuzhou."
Deng. Deng. Deng—
From the tower of the Haiyan Gate, the eastern gate of Fuzhou, the alarm gong did not stop. Saifuddin had come at a run with his men the moment the urgent report reached him, and he climbed the tower in haste.
"Naib! You've come?"
"How far have they got? Are they about to attack this instant?"
At Saifuddin's sharp question, the warden of the Haiyan Gate shook his head and pointed east. "They don't look ready to come at us yet. They crossed the Jin'an River out that way, and now they're laying out a camp over there."
"Hm."
In Song times the eastern wall of an expanded Fuzhou had stood hard against the Jin'an, an artificial canal that doubled as a moat, but the Yuan had pulled that stretch down long ago. After the realm slid into chaos, the city had rebuilt itself upon the old outer walls raised by Wang Shenzhi, founding prince of Min, back in the days of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, and that restored circuit was the fortress standing now. The wall itself was solid brick. What galled him was the ditch. The deep Jin'an had once run forty meters wide; the shallow channel that served as a moat now was a bare ten.
"Their numbers look smaller than I expected."
Saifuddin glared at the enemy camp some six hundred meters off, between the Jin'an and the eastern wall. Too far for bow or crossbow. Close enough to the wall, all the same, to be dangerous. What were they thinking?
"At the most they look to be about twenty thousand. With that, they can hardly even encircle Fuzhou..."
"Hm."
The gate warden had studied them carefully while the Duke of Yue's army built its camp, and at his report Saifuddin let out a low sound. To his own eye as well, the enemy did not exceed twenty thousand. The Ispah army holding Fuzhou numbered fourteen thousand, and it was common sense that a strong city wanted at least three or four times as many men outside as in. Too few, and you could not even seal the place against the movement of supplies and troops. Scatter a thin besieging line around the circuit, and the defenders had only to throw open a gate, sally, and smash the attackers piecemeal.
"They may be trying some trick. Tell the men on the other gates to watch every approach without fail."
"Yes, Naib!"
Saifuddin sent riders to warn the commanders on each wall. Half a day passed, and every report that came back said the same thing: not a sign of the enemy anywhere else.
"Duke of Yue... what in the world is that man thinking?"
Not far off, black banners snapped in the wind. An evil Azhdaha—a white dragon writhing across the sky. An ill omen. Saifuddin was still studying the camp with a tight, restless stare when one of the guards watching it pointed, voice climbing.
"Naib! They're moving! There!"
For a camp raised in half a day, it was already fitted with ditch, earth wall, and palisade, and now at last the enemy came pouring out of it. The Ispah soldiers massed on the eastern wall were ready for them. In the timber fighting towers and watchtowers along the parapet, Arab mechanical crossbows and the heavy crossbows of the local pattern were set, with defenders waiting behind them. Stones, gravel, and brick levied from the people; arrows and bolts; small jars of fish oil, to be lit and thrown. And, though not large, finely made manganiq—trebuchets built by Arab craftsmen—already mounted on the wall. If the enemy meant to come over, they would bleed for it. That much was certain.
"Hm? What is that? Carts?"
Unlike the rabble of government troops or militia, the Duke of Yue's army came on slowly, ranks dressed and orderly. At about two hundred and fifty meters the column halted, and between the files two-wheeled carts began to roll out in a line.
"That gleam can't be gold... Naib! That's—that's the cannon? Those are cannon, aren't they?"
At his subordinate's fussing, Saifuddin narrowed his eyes and studied the carts. Barrels, long and round, unmistakably cast in bronze. Those golden guns, each seated on a carriage with two great wheels, had taken their places facing the wall.
"So those are their cannon? They're certainly far larger than a bowl-mouth or a general-cannon."
Set against the height of the men standing beside them, size and length were easy enough to guess. The largest gun in Yuan service, the general-cannon, ran little more than a meter in length and weighed somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and twenty kilograms. The lighter bowl-mouth did not even reach fifty, so there was hardly a comparison. Both of them, at best, threw a handful of iron balls the size of a fist, or one sizable stone.
"They've made them a bit bigger, I'll grant that. But they can't seriously mean to bring this wall down with those, can they?"
"Hahaha! From that far off? Naib, they may be fools, but surely not that foolish."
The eastern wall rose six meters, and its thickness nearly matched its height. Brick and lime, laid hard—set beside the strong fortresses of Persia, it did not fall far short.
"It seems they simply lack experience at attacking a city."
Saifuddin gave a short, incredulous laugh and watched the thirty-odd enemy guns, and the crews bustling beside them. If they wanted so much as a scar on this wall, they would need at least a manganiq maghribi—what men here called a Huihui trebuchet—a counterweight engine the size of a house, hurling great stone shot of a hundred kilograms and more, rounded by masons. Bring dozens of those to bear, and bringing down a wall like this was still a hard business. And they meant to try it with guns of that size? From this range?
"Holding Fuzhou may be easier than I thought."
Saifuddin smiled, well pleased with himself.
"My lord! The guns are ready to fire!"
"Did you choose the ground well?"
"Yes! Level is true—fore and aft, and side to side!"
I put the next question to Huindungi, who was bellowing his report. "And the target for each gun?"
"I checked them myself, so no two overlap!"
"Hm."
Two hundred and fifty meters or so. A little far for bow, crossbow, or trebuchet, and so comparatively safe. Thirty 9-pounder field guns stood laid and aimed, waiting on the order. I looked again at the wall of Fuzhou. Brick, high and thick, with the projecting horse-face bastions in place. Battlements, watchtowers, and the rest of the defenses were fitted with shield-planks and kept in good order. Small at this distance, but they seemed well supplied with trebuchets, and with the mechanical crossbows I had seen aboard captured ships.
I turned a faint smile on Huindungi and Dolswe, standing in attendance beside me. "A trebuchet, you see, is not really meant to be shot at the wall."
"Even a Huihui trebuchet, throwing great stones, cannot in practice bring that wall down."
"Then why use a Huihui trebuchet in a siege at all?"
"To kill the men on the wall, and to smash the towers. Not the wall. You don't have to bring the wall down to take a city."
When the Yuan conquered the Song, the Huihui trebuchets that won such fame in the fighting at Xiangyang did not break the walls. They were not even turned on Xiangyang itself, but on Fancheng, across the river—and Fancheng was a city of rammed earth, which does not fall merely because stones strike it. What those engines smashed were the palisades and watchtowers atop the wall, and the lives and the morale of the men holding it. Leave the wall standing. Break the towers and the battlements, kill and maim the garrison until it can no longer defend, and the wall can be climbed without much trouble.
"The first things to hit are the timber towers built on the horse-faces that jut from the wall. After that, any trebuchet that might be able to reach our gunners."
On the horse-face projecting from each stretch of wall, the defenders raise a timber structure like a gallery; that is the fighting tower. Shuttered windows of shield-plank open and close, and through the gaps a man can shoot a crossbow from cover. Standing proud of the wall, it can also strike troops pressed in against the foot. The principal fortresses of Zhedong under my rule are fitted with them as a matter of course. They matter.
"From this range, we silence their heavy crossbows and trebuchets first. Then we walk the guns forward by stages, until the battlements, the gate tower, and the men on the wall are all beaten down."
"Yes, my lord!"
It was our first siege. Let the men learn, and keep the losses down; no need to rush it through. There was no sense in spilling blood for the sake of haste.
"Good. Begin."
Huindungi went forward among the gunners and gave the order. A bugle blared—a little undignified, but loud.
"Fire!"
Kra-kooom—
Kra-koom. Kra-koom. Kra-kra-koom—
Thirty 9-pounder field guns vomited fire as one.
Eeeeeee—
"D-damn it..."
"Incoming! Here it comes again!"
Persian soldiers flattened themselves on the wall and screamed, terrified.
Kra-kra-koom! Kra-koom!
Crack—crack—crunch...
Dust burst from a fighting tower that was already half ruined.
"Aaaaagh!"
"Save me! Save me!"
"My arm! My arm!"
The Persian elite who had been setting a mechanical crossbow inside the tower, waiting on the enemy's approach, could not endure it any longer and came bolting out. A man coated in dust and bleeding from wooden splinters was, by comparison, whole. One soldier had taken a shot square on; his arm was gone, and he howled as the blood poured, a sight that raised the hair on the back of the neck.
Eeeeeee—
Eee—seeeeeee—
Kra-kra-koom!
"Damn it! Damn it! How long are they going to keep shooting?"
"Curse them! Infidel dogs!"
Crack—crack—crack!
A finely built counterweight trebuchet blew apart at the post, and wooden splinters sprayed in every direction. Saifuddin covered his eyes and ducked his head. Then the hateful roar of the guns stopped all at once, and the ghastly whistle of iron parting the air went quiet with it.
"Is it... is it over?"
"God... look down upon us..."
Soldiers lay flat, daring only to watch. The gate warden lifted his head above a shattered merlon and shouted toward Saifuddin.
"Naib! Naib! They're... they're coming forward again!"
Saifuddin was on his feet at once, looking out beyond the wall. The guns were creeping ahead once more, and behind them the enemy army closed the interval. Already the line had come in to a hundred meters.
"Damn it! Damn it! The crossbows—what are the crossbows doing? Is there a trebuchet still in one piece?"
"The trebuchets are all wrecked! Crossbows we still have, but..."
"Then shoot the crossbows! Stop crouching there like frightened dogs!"
Saifuddin roared, fury boiling over. The crossbowmen who had scrambled for cover were driven back into the ruined tower to man their pieces again, but—
"Naib! Th-those men..."
Out of the enemy ranks, soldiers carrying shields of bundled bamboo had already come forward, and carts with them. Behind them followed men in black armor.
Crack. Crack-crack. Crack—
"Ghk—"
"Aaaaagh!"
The soldiers who had heaved the great mechanical crossbows up and were trying to aim past the battlements screamed and went down. Under the lash of bullets, the archers could not so much as raise their heads.
"Damn it! Curse these infidels!"
"Naib! Get your head down! It isn't safe!"
"Quick! Move!"
"Get out there! Under the company colors!"
Almost before anyone marked it, bamboo bundles and shield-carts had been set down right in front of the ditch at the wall's foot, and the men had cover.
Crack—
Crack. Crack-crack—
Tiger Hunting soldiers leveled their matchlocks from behind that cover. Whenever a body showed above the battlements, a muzzle spat fire. Under the matchlockmen's protection, soldiers of the Tiger Hunting Army and the navy ran forward with shovels, picks, carrying baskets, and litters, and began to entrench immediately beneath the wall. They dug a ditch and raised an earthwork with the spoil.
"Bring palisades and bamboo shields! Over here!"
"Dig, and be quick about it! What are you dawdling for?"
After recruit training, the sailors had little practice at work like this. The Tiger Hunting soldiers did it as a matter of course, and with their shovels they threw up a position almost at once. Bamboo-bound shield panels went in behind the earthwork for cover, and palisades and other obstacles were laid across the approaches.
"Tamp that ground solid! It's got to be level!"
"Call the field guns up! This way!"
The gun pit was built of earth-filled baskets, made so that only the barrel need nose out, and the crew could work without fear of arrows. The gunners rolled the pieces in. When the works were finished, the shield-carts and matchlock men who had gone ahead to pin the enemy fell back. The gunners completed their laying and their loading, and the matchlock men likewise took their places inside the position and aimed at the top of the wall.
Tucked against the ditch, the battery stood barely fifty meters from the wall—close enough to smell the brick. Now it was time to shoot at the wall itself. I nodded to Huindungi.
"Fire!"
Kra-kooom—
Kra-koom. Kra-koom. Kra-kra-koom—
When the smoke that had whitened out the world finally thinned, dust was boiling up from the very foot of the wall. Brick shattered and burst. From left to right, at nearly the same height, the shot walked along the stretches that had been assigned, blow after blow.
"Don't rush it—aim true! Cool heads, and clean shots, come first!"
Huindungi was bawling at the officers who led the gun crews, driving them without pause, and I smiled.
Kra-koom. Kra-koom. Kra-kra-koom—
The day still had a long way to run. Hardly any reason to hurry, was there?