Chapter Seventy: Heavy Cavalry

“Wudulu, look at the enemy formation across from us. How many cavalrymen would you need to break their ranks?” Zhang Juntao asked with a smile.

“General, if I lead my own three thousand cavalry, that will be enough to shatter these rebels’ formation,” Wudulu replied with confidence.

“Very well. Take your cavalry and disrupt their lines. I’ll follow with the main force and crush them in one decisive blow.” Zhang Juntao handed a command arrow to Wudulu, saying, “This battle must end in victory—defeat is not an option.”

Wudulu accepted the order, returned to his cavalry, assembled his men, and charged out from the ranks straight toward the rebels beneath the city walls of Zhangye. At the forefront, Wudulu spurred his horse and called out, “Warriors, follow me! Slay the enemy with all your might. After the battle, merit shall be counted by heads taken!”

A cavalry unit of both Turks and Han surged out from Zhang Juntao’s formation, charging directly at the rebels’ camp. After traversing mountains and rivers, they finally reached a relatively flat plain beneath Zhangye’s walls. The rebels hurriedly formed ranks but had no time to prepare horse-stopping barricades or war chariots to defend against the charge. Seeking to maximize psychological pressure and throw the enemy into chaos, Wudulu deliberately spread his three thousand cavalry wide, sweeping toward the rebels like a deluge.

The soldiers, long untested in battle, watched the endless tide of cavalry thundering toward them, and panic already began to set in. Fortunately, their commanders had some grasp of military tactics and, though their own legs trembled atop their horses, ordered their men to form a spear phalanx on the outer ranks, hoping for a miracle to halt the cavalry’s advance.

But miracles are rare by their very nature. Wudulu’s cavalry was an elite force forged by Li Wenyuan with all his resources. The leading several hundred rode mighty Ferghana steeds, purchased at great expense in Maritime City. Only such horses had the stamina to bear heavy armor over a long charge. Not only the riders, but the horses themselves were clad in specially crafted barding.

Their armor had been designed by Li Wenyuan after considering all the anti-cavalry weapons he could recall from the Sui dynasty battlefield, optimizing their defenses accordingly. The armor had been tested from the start; even when struck by the finest mirror-bright armor, it would only leave a deep dent, while their own remained unscathed.

Mirror-bright armor represented the pinnacle of Sui dynasty armor craftsmanship. How many among these rebels could boast such equipment? In their haste, the rebel formation crumbled at the first impact of the heavily armored cavalry. The outer spear-men did little damage; many of their spears simply broke in two under the force of the charge. The infantry holding the spears bore the brunt of the first assault—blood and flesh flew, and casualties were innumerable.

The archers hidden within the formation barely managed a first volley before the cavalry were upon them. In desperation, they dropped their bows, drew their swords, and made a last stand. But even their most desperate blows could only send sparks flying from the front ranks’ armor, leaving hardly a dent.

Wudulu, at the vanguard, personally cut down two rebel commanders. Then, with his guard, he charged back and forth through the rebels, slashing down their banners one by one. Seeing the enemy in disarray, Zhang Juntao commanded the rest of his troops to advance and surround the rebels.

Under the tightening encirclement, the rebels drew together. Except for the main commanders who fought to the death and were cut down, the remaining officers and soldiers surrendered, choosing life over futile resistance. As Zhang Juntao patrolled the field with his personal guard, he suddenly spotted a group on horseback, with a wagon, fleeing northwest and glancing back anxiously.

When one of the fugitives looked back, Zhang Juntao recognized the Prefect of Zhangye among them. The Prefect had once come to Wuwei with other officials to report to Li Wenyuan—Zhang Juntao had met him before. He summoned Wudulu, pointed his blade at the fleeing group, and ordered, “Take your best riders and cut them off. If even one escapes, you will answer to me.”

Wudulu chose only his own guards and spurred after them at full speed.

The Prefect of Zhangye, accompanied by several civil officials, was fleeing toward Dunhuang. Suddenly, a servant beside him cried out in panic, “Master, Zhang Juntao’s men are chasing us!”

Startled, the Prefect twisted around to look. Turning back to the officials with him, he said, “Colleagues, listen to me! Abandon the wagons that are slowing us down. We must each escape as best we can!”

The officials were alarmed. “Prefect, never mind the valuables on those wagons—our families are aboard some of them! Are we to abandon them as well?”

“Think, colleagues! Their horses are faster than ours. This is no time to worry about such things. If we can reach Dunhuang and join Lord Li Gui, he will surely treat us well. There, riches and beauties will be ours for the asking. Only by surviving today can we enjoy better fortune tomorrow.”

The officials hesitated, their faces clouded with indecision. Seeing their reluctance, the Prefect cursed them inwardly for their lack of resolve—he deeply regretted conspiring with such men. Without another word, he lashed his horse and galloped off toward Dunhuang. As a native of Yiwu, his family was not here, so he had little to hold him back.

The remaining officials, seeing the Prefect fleeing alone, considered making their own escapes as well. Just as they were about to spur their horses, an arrow whistled overhead, its barbed tip burying itself in the Prefect’s back. He toppled from his horse, his fate uncertain. Frightened, the officials slowed their mounts, fearing the next arrow would find them. Wudulu’s riders quickly overtook them and escorted them back to Zhangye.