Chapter Twenty-Three: Fierce Battle Beneath the Liao River

Several of Zhang Juntao’s men also managed to seize warhorses by various means, and in the blink of an eye, transformed themselves into cavalry. Li Wenyuan recalled his conversation with Zhang Juntao before the battle: “Juntao, your unit will be the first to attack, and you’ll meet the enemy at the height of their momentum. Should we concentrate all our horses with your team, to blunt the Koguryo army’s edge?”

But Zhang Juntao had only smiled mysteriously. “No need for the general to worry. We brothers have our own ways to get horses.”

Hearing his confident words, Li Wenyuan had not pressed further. Now, seeing that their so-called method was to kill and seize horses, he found his anger somewhat appeased. In his exhilaration, Li Wenyuan picked up a strong bow, disregarding the wound on his left arm, and loosed several arrows in succession, shooting down a number of the enemy cavalry. The remaining soldiers of the Fifth Division were tasked with receiving the routed troops scattered across the plains, organizing them to enter the camp and board the ships.

Though the cavalry led by Yeon Gaesomun was numerous, they were too scattered to quickly assemble. He gathered his forces and returned to his unit, drawing them up in formation to prepare for an attack. Li Wenyuan handed the terrified Yeon Gaesojin to one of his subordinates to escort across the river, and himself began leading his troops out of the camp for battle.

After leaving the camp, Li Wenyuan’s men, as previously arranged, unfurled the banner bearing the character Li behind the great Sui standard. When Yeon Gaesomun saw that banner, his heart tightened. The Li banner was the very same one that had led one of the night raids on their camp. He seemed to relive the helplessness of that night, and a shiver ran through him; even the hand holding his sword trembled slightly.

Observing the subtle change in Yeon Gaesomun’s expression, Li Wenyuan knew he had left an indelible shadow in the young man’s mind. Whenever they faced each other, the young general would be unable to exercise his full judgment—either becoming overly cautious or recklessly bold.

Seeing his opponent wearing a faint smile, Yeon Gaesomun felt a strange timidity rise within him. Anger flared up, and he immediately ordered his cavalry to charge, with the infantry following close behind, launching a direct assault on the enemy lines.

As the enemy cavalry surged forward, Li Wenyuan issued a command. With a wave of the signal flag, one group of over ten thousand men withdrew behind the chevaux-de-frise, while another group lifted nearby planks and jumped into previously-dug trenches, spears at the ready.

These trenches had been excavated in imitation of modern warfare’s entrenchments, narrow at the top and wide below. Horses galloping at speed would leap across them rather than descend into them. Li Wenyuan and his men crouched in the trenches, avoiding the brunt of the cavalry’s charge, and waited for the perfect moment to spring their trap.

As the first horse leaped overhead, Li Wenyuan silently counted. When the fifth horse passed, he seized the moment to thrust his spear upward into the belly of a horse, shouting, “Kill!”

The rest of the soldiers, seeing Li Wenyuan’s sudden action, also thrust their spears upward. In an instant, the charging cavalry toppled in droves, as if their mounts had stumbled. Several who had been riding fastest were thrown nearly twenty paces, landing directly before the chevaux-de-frise, and before they could recover, were pierced through by the spears of Sui soldiers waiting behind the barricades.

With the chevaux-de-frise blocking their path and the soldiers who had stood before them hidden underground, the Koguryo cavalry had no other targets. Under their commanders’ orders, they circled back past their own infantry and withdrew to their original positions to report to Yeon Gaesomun.

As the cavalry retreated, Li Wenyuan led his infantry out of the trenches, forming ranks to meet the enemy.

Yeon Gaesomun, mounted and observing the foot soldiers advancing slowly toward the two thousand Sui infantry at Dijinkou, watched Li Wenyuan’s troops emerge from cover and quickly form up. He felt a sense of unease—what was the purpose of those large, unnatural pits along the route of his own infantry? They clearly weren’t a natural part of the landscape.

Just as Yeon Gaesomun wracked his brains for the answer, a sudden explosion sounded: Li Wenyuan had fired a whistling arrow into the sky. Instinctively, Yeon Gaesomun sensed danger. This adversary always seemed to produce something unexpected to snatch victory away at the last moment—what could it be this time?

As he looked up, following the slowly descending whistling arrow, Yeon Gaesomun’s pupils contracted. Several black dots appeared in the sky, growing larger by the moment. Focusing hard, he realized they were stones hurled by siege engines. The significance of the strange pits dawned on him, and he screamed at his signalmen, “Raise the flags! Scatter! Quickly!”

But before the words were out, more than a dozen massive stones crashed down. Hundreds of men perished instantly, crushed into pulp. The roughly spherical, deliberately smoothed stones bounced onward, rolling forward under their own momentum.

The Koguryo infantry were stunned by the sudden onslaught from the sky. Watching hundreds of their fellows obliterated in silence, they froze. As the stones bounced and continued rolling, the survivors finally reacted, wailing as they scrambled to avoid the deadly path.

Those who moved too slowly, or failed to react, were crushed—another several hundred lost. The formation halted; no one spoke. Only a handful of men, staring in horror at their ruined lower bodies and spilled innards, let out ghastly screams.

Everyone’s attention was fixed on the empty, blood-soaked lanes left by the rolling stones. Yeon Gaesomun was left speechless, mouth agape, stunned by the carnage. Even Li Wenyuan’s own soldiers drew sharp breaths at the grim spectacle their general’s “brilliant plan” had wrought—truly, it was nothing short of ingenious.

In the eerie silence that fell over the battlefield, the sound of another wave of stones whistling through the air was clearly audible. Looking up, the Koguryo soldiers shouted in panic, “They’re coming again! Run!”

The previously orderly ranks dissolved into chaos. This time, with the formation already broken, the stones claimed fewer lives. Li Wenyuan had only prepared two volleys, for there were no more stones available.

Nevertheless, the objective was achieved—the Koguryo army’s morale collapsed. Li Wenyuan nodded to Zhang Juntao, who led several thousand cavalry, previously disguised among the ranks, in a sudden charge. They swept through the disordered enemy formation, mowing them down.

The Koguryo army was driven back more than ten miles, suffering heavy casualties; the pursuit did not stop until they reached the walls of Liaodong. The victory was exhilarating. During this time, Li Wenyuan had already arranged for his forces to cross the river and waited on horseback for Zhang Juntao’s triumphant return, before all finally embarked and crossed together.

When Yeon Gaesomun and Yeon Taijo returned with their main force, seeking to reclaim the field, they found only the burning ships and thick smoke at the ferry, set alight by Li Wenyuan. Yeon Gaesomun’s face turned livid with rage, but he was powerless; in his heart, he swore a bitter oath: one day, he would slay this man with his own hands and avenge this humiliation.

Yeon Taijo offered a few words of comfort, then ordered the collection of Koguryo’s dead. Afterwards, the army withdrew to Liaodong. Though the battle was over, much remained to be done: the fallen had to be mourned, the families consoled, and the nation’s resources marshaled to support the continuing war effort.