The Cavalry's Fatal Strike
The Cao Cao army's left wing advanced. As if it didn't matter that the center and right wings couldn't keep up, the left wing pressed on relentlessly. Drawing as many Yellow Turbans as possible to that flank. Creating just enough space for the 3,000 cavalry to charge.
We pushed forward, trampling the squelching corpses piled at our feet.
The moment Jo Hong and his 1,000 cavalry wheeled around to strike the Yellow Turbans from behind.
Clop-clop-clop. Xiahou Dun, Xiahou Yuan, and Jebuk General Po Sin led their 3,000 cavalry between the left wing and the center. The rear ranks of the center and right wings had planted thousands of spears as a screen. In the dust-choked chaos of the battlefield, the horsemen slipped through undetected.
"Will Jebuk General really join us?" Xiahou Yuan, the cavalry commander, asked Po Sin. Even for seasoned riders, charging into the heart of the enemy lines was perilous. For a non-combatant like Jebuk General Po Sin, it was even more so.
"I've pledged myself to the Governor of Yanzhou's vision for the realm. Ask no more."
Po Sin brushed aside Xiahou Yuan's concern. He was ready to stake his life on the grand cause—as those who dreamed impossibly big often were.
"One last confirmation. When the left wing or center sounds the gong signal, we punch through the gap and hit the Yellow Turban main camp. Once we've crippled their command or taken their general, we split left and right to shred their flanks and rear."
Xiahou Yuan repeated the orders to the other generals and deputies. In the blood-soaked frenzy of battle, visibility narrowed; tunnel vision was common. Only by drilling it home could they avert mishaps. These 3,000 elite cavalry bore heavy responsibility—no freelancing allowed.
"Yes, sir!"
The responses rang out firm and resolute.
The Cao Cao army's left wing advanced. With every step forward, dozens of soldiers fell. Friend or foe, it was impossible to tell. The troops fought desperately to evade death lunging from all sides. No time to check who lay trampled underfoot.
Thwuck. The fifty-second short arrow flew true, striking the thirty-second target.
"Huff. Huff."
My head spun. Was it from holding my breath to aim, or the stench of blood? I didn't slot another short arrow into the tube. Instead, I peered deep into the enemy lines. We'd advanced three hundred paces since the battle began—the moment was near.
Now?
The Yellow Turban ranks still surged like an endless yellow tide. But look closer: gaps were forming between their formations. I shifted my gaze right, checking the space between our left wing and center. A gap wide enough for dozens of cavalry slipped open.
"Now. Sound the gong."
I signaled the cavalry to charge. Time to plunge the dagger into the enemy's vitals.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
The cavalry, hidden like a sharpened blade behind the center, had covered about two hundred paces when the signal came from the left wing.
Xiahou Yuan glanced back and said curtly, "Go!"
No flowery words for those embracing death. He simply announced the advance.
"Yes, sir!"
The cavalry's short roar answered. Man and horse, coiled in the blind spot, erupted into a massive wave, accelerating in seconds. As they swung around the center at full gallop, the gap yawned wide. The left wing's all-out push and the center's steadfast hold had carved the entrance.
Rumble-rumble-roar!
Horse hooves shook heaven and earth. The Cao Cao cavalry's target was clear: the Yellow Turban command post, where the banner of "Heaven's Will is the People's" snapped in the wind. Xiahou Dun, Xiahou Yuan, and Po Sin led from the front, wedge-driving into the foe.
Crunch-crash! "Gah!"
A dazed Yellow Turban soldier directly ahead was pulverized under hooves. His comrade beside him, dodging the charge, took a spear through the gut. Those a spear's length away were crushed under falling comrades, suffocating in the pile.
"Run awa—!"
The grinding of bone and flesh threw even distant soldiers into panic. Terror-stricken Yellow Turbans fled in a massive wave. The Cao Cao cavalry pursued with ferocious momentum.
As the cavalry burst through friendly lines and closed in, Yellow Turban supreme commander Guo Wu's eyes bulged. He couldn't believe it. Their numbers: 50,000 against 150,000—a threefold disadvantage. The enemy's vaunted cavalry numbered fewer than 5,000.
"I... I..."
Seeing the Cao Cao army advance in a wedge, he'd delayed reserves for analysis. No troops to the impassable spear walls of center and right. Instead, he'd concentrated on the left, where numbers could overwhelm, planning to roll them up sequentially.
"What did I do wrong?"
But Guo Wu's sound judgment shattered against the strategist who anticipated even that thought. The Yellow Turbans buckled across the line, their 150,000 splitting to yield passage to 3,000 cavalry.
"Y-Yes! Call up every last reserve!"
Eyes on the thundering charge, Guo Wu shrieked near a scream—like when Gongsun Zan routed him with just 20,000.
"Our forces aren't forming up at command!"
"What?!"
Guo Wu threw in all remaining reserves to block the cavalry. But the Cao Cao army that had turned Yellow Turbans into routed rabble was unstoppable. The advancing reserves tangled with the mob, frozen in place. No mob could halt a cavalry charge.
"R-Retreat!"
Seeing Xiahou Yuan mere hundreds of paces away, Guo Wu ordered a frantic pullback. But the command post, snarled with routed troops, reinforcements, and guards, descended into hell. No escape for the headquarters.
Thud-thud-thud.
With every blink, the cavalry drew nearer. Close enough to count the bloodstains on vanguard Xiahou Yuan's face. Spotting Guo Wu amid the chaos, Xiahou Yuan bellowed.
"You bastard! Hand over your head!"
"Block them! Throw your bodies if you must!"
Guo Wu screamed desperately, but the panicked soldiers heard nothing.
Slash.
Xiahou Yuan's spear severed Guo Wu's head. Even in death, he never grasped his defeat. The vast blue sky was his final memory, eyes wide in shock.
"The Yellow Turban general is dead!"
Xiahou Yuan shattered their command banner as he roared. Amid the din, his cry pierced through.
"O-Our general?"
"We have to run..."
"Don't flee! Hold your pos—gurk!"
The news spread; Yellow Turbans routed. The breakthrough cavalry wheeled instantly. Xiahou Dun supported the left; Xiahou Yuan and Po Sin the center. Wolves tearing through sheep, savage and unrelenting.
The Cao Cao army's left wing advanced. Nearly five hundred paces from the initial clash. Armed with axes and spears, they slaughtered Yellow Turbans like hogs. But their valor had reached its limit, plain as day.
"We should form ranks and halt soon," my deputy said worriedly.
Exactly what I'd meant to ask. The Yellow Turbans now swarmed five-to-one like crows on a carcass. But the endless tide wore down the Cao Cao troops. Veterans from the start fought with broken weapons—gripping them backward as clubs or scavenging discards.
"Hahk, heuk."
Most heaved ragged breaths, swinging feebly. Only their marksmanship felled the fearless chargers. Without my repeating crossbow sniping every commander, we'd have been overrun long ago.
"Prepare the troops with stamina left."
With few short arrows remaining after over a hundred shots, sniping leaders grew hard. Lingering meant reversal; I gauged the retreat. Scanning the field, a distant roar reached my ears—possible because I'd swept the whole battlefield, not fixated on targets.
"...the general's dead..."
A faint cry amid the uproar, yet crystal clear to me. It ignited the last embers of will in my weary mind and body.
Turning, I saw the cavalry's path: the Yellow Turban banner toppled. Unbidden, excitement surged in my voice.
"The enemy general is dead!"
I felt every man in earshot stare at the vanished banner. I caught the massive stir rippling through the Yellow Turban ranks. Time to seal the deal.
"Drop your weapons and surrender! Spare your lives if you do!"
They'd seen dozens of comrades beheaded. Commanders long dead, only desperate footsoldiers left. Fighting on meant dog death.
Clang.
"We surrender."
One anonymous voice broke; surrender spread like plague. Bandaging my blistered fingers from the crossbow, I confirmed: no Yellow Turbans gripped weapons at the front.
"Argh!"
Cao Cao cavalry smashed into oblivious Yellow Turban reserves aiming to aid the left. With escape sealed, surrenders accelerated. Slinging my bow on the saddle, I murmured low.
"We won."
No longer a yellow-turbaned sky overhead. A forest of raised white hands.
Soon after the left wing began taking prisoners, the center and right learned of the Yellow Turban general's death. Fleeing reinforcements told the tale. Two thousand cavalry that pierced the center struck the Yellow Turbans facing the center from the flank. Xiahou Yuan and Po Sin carved the exposed backs and sides.
"Extend the center's left to envelop their flank."
Commanding the center, Cao Cao reshaped the formation to match. Fresh spearmen wove through ranks, stretching into a thin, long line. All rear spears thrust forward; the center extended over three hundred paces leftward.
Dong-dong-dong. Dong-dong-dong.
The military band relayed orders with drums and horns. Unused spearmen wheeled, stabbing the Yellow Turban flank. The encircled front crumbled helplessly.
"Argh!"
"Mercy!"
The exhausted left wing urging surrender made sense. But the center, wielding spear walls, had fight left. Cao Cao pulverized their broken morale before captives. Advancing a hundred paces from both sides, Yellow Turbans dropped arms, begging quarter. Scattered holdouts remained, but too few to matter.
"Military Supervisor Jin, round up the disarmed prisoners. Counselor Sun, bring up those noncombatants in the rear."
Cao Cao tasked Jin Gung and Sun Yu with cleanup. Through the dust, the right wing neared victory—faster than the center, despite heaviest enemy numbers.
"A great victory."
Unlike Gongsun Chan's 20,000 routing 200,000, this was 50,000 annihilating or capturing 150,000 Yellow Turbans outright.