Clash of Alliances
Page 38
A dull pain wrenched Meiling’s chest and forced her to stand from her seated position. She clutched her chest and suddenly felt a feeling of dread. The sounds of fighting in the streets and outside the courtyard intensified before it was altogether silenced. Naught but silence filled the air. The explosions ceased; the cries and shouts died down, and an illusion of peace returned to the city.
The Ming troops standing by rushed out from the courtyard and several others from the Shaolin and Wudang priests followed close behind, some taking to the rooftops to get a better assessment of the battlefield that was the neighborhood within Beijing. Many of their allies from Emei and Kunlun temple sects lay dead in the streets. Most were next to soldiers as well as most of what remained of the Martial Academicians. Blood and fire were everywhere, and whom they saw still alive were none other than the enemy closing in on their position, marching with the intent to conquer the enclave of resistance. They numbered in the thousands and they filled the streets like a swarm of ants.
“The battle has been lost hasn’t it sir? Our defenses beyond the walls have fallen. We’re all that’s left,” whispered a soldier as he peered out the second story window.
“I don’t know, but that’s what it looks like at the moment. I count two and a half thousand closing fast. Mostly Shan Gui, the rest from the other sects,” said the field commander who remained to lead the light band of resistance in the district. He turned and shouted to the remaining troops who were under his command. “Soldiers! Today is the day we fight to the death! Brace yourselves, boys! You were born just so you could die fighting on this day honorably and gloriously. Now join me and let us fulfill our destinies!” he shouted.
The few hundred soldiers guarding the civilian refugees in the large estate looked and nodded to each other, stood, and drew their swords once again. A new glimmer appeared in their eyes. It was no longer that of fear, but rather an acceptance of the death that was about to meet them. The abbot and the monks of Shaolin and the Priests of Wudang steeled themselves as well, and stood together to face their age-old enemies one last time. Some grasped their prayer beads and recited their final prayers while the rest performed their last callisthenic exercises, centered their internal energy, and prepared their minds to meet the end.
Jirgal, Big Bang, and Meiling stood alongside the warrior monks, nuns, and priests while the refugee civilians huddled together in the courtyard and inside the estate, sobbing, praying, and wailing knowing what awaited them in the next few moments.
“I’ve a few shots left. It’s good enough for me to know that I’ll be taking several of the bastards with me,” said Big Bang in one of his rare moments of clarity. “Let them come. Let them come!!”
Jirgal nodded and rested his hand on Big Bang’s shoulder. “You know what’s funny about this, my friend. The only thing that has been funny for me during this entire ordeal is that for the first time in my life… I don’t feel afraid.”
“I have only met the two of you today but I feel as though we have been friends for a lifetime— you and the other two brave warriors who traveled with me today,” said Meiling as a tear streamed down her cheek. The Wudang nun Yang who had fought by Sun Xin at the base of Wudang Mountain stood beside her and patted her back.
“It was wise of you to have sent for us, sister Meiling. We do not regret having come here. This is our calling and we gladly answered it. Your father would have been so proud of your bravery and valiance.”
After a prolonged period of silence and illusory peace, the Ming soldiers shouted, the monks and priests descended from the rooftops, and the violent, horrifying sounds of battle once again filled the streets of Beijing as blood covered the streets.
Epilogue
“Sails! Sails from the northeast approach from beneath the horizon!” called out a crewmember perched from the ship’s nest.
Admiral Han Bin extended a Martial Scholars’ spyglass and peered through the lens. It was not just one set of sails that he beheld, but rather scores of them. They carried the sigils and ensigns of Riben and of the pirate lord Mizushima. Flags loyal to their puppet emperor flew vigorously in the wind. Sculling oars rowed at an accelerated pace, and they made a rapid approach toward his fleet.
“So… they finally decided to make a move. They want a fight? I’ll gladly give them one,” the admiral whispered. “All hands! All hands to stations! Man the guns and set us to half sail. Ride the wind and make ready, boys! The enemy fast approaches!” Admiral Han shouted with his sword raised in the air. The fire powder was mixed and the cannons on the fighting platforms were loaded. Crews ran about pulling and securing ropes and setting the ship for battle.
His first mate echoed the orders and the drums pounded, horns blew and flags were waved. His fleet of twenty tacked to starboard in unison to meet the incoming enemy naval force.
“We’ve a favorable wind, sir. Our approach is to our advantage,” said his first mate.
“For now, it is. Tell the crew to get the oars ready. Something tells me we’ll need them to outmaneuver their ships. Along with the rudder, we can come about on a coin,” the admiral replied.
It was nearly sundown when the battle commenced. Volleys of heavy fire were exchanged, and clouds of smoke obscured the ships from seeing each other and suffocated the crews of Han Bin’s fleet. The incessant booming of cannons drowned out all other sounds. Shards and splintered pieces of the ships’ decks, hulls and masts exploded in all directions. Men lost limbs, drowned at sea or burned to death. Sails toppled over and many ships were sunk during the prolonged exchange.
He wiped away the blood pouring from his head and obscuring his vision. Everywhere he looked there were only destruction, death, and mayhem… and the moans and cries of his men suffering immense pain before succumbing to the call of death. His fleet was being decimated. It was the same cycle over and over. Bright blue fires flashed from the enemy ships’ barrel-shaped protrusions, followed by disc-shaped projectiles smashing into his fleet. The effects of their return-fire did not reciprocate the same damage on the Riben ships. They passed by, ships grinding against one another, but did not pursue boarding. Their only aim was to destroy, not take prisoners or capture Ming warships.
An explosion burst from the deck, and Admiral Han Bin was tossed from the ship’s stern. He fell to the sea and struggled to remove his armor before he drowned. After he tore off his cuirass, he clung rightly to a piece of driftwood and watched what remained of his majestic naval fleet turn into a pile of burning wreckage. Entire hulls broke in half and the tallest masts descended beneath the water’s surface. He turned his gaze toward the enemy ships, too weak and injured to even grieve. They were clad in a layer of iron plating—plating that had taken the brunt of their initial cannon fire. Their weapons were completely foreign and had superior range and accuracy over anything else he had ever seen.
Of the dozens of enemy vessels that engaged his fleet, only a few showed signs of damage. Only one, the lead vessel itself, had been sunk, and had required the concentrated fire of his flagship to accomplish the feat. His armada of twenty warships—all destroyed in one battle. It was unheard of. It was unthinkable. When the smoke had dissipated and the battle had been lost, the enemy ships raised their single square battened sails and rowed toward the mainland.
Admiral Han Bin and several others clung to driftwood and whatever else floated from the wreckage of the fleet. Some fought to remove their armors. For a moment, it seemed, all was serene, but survivors shouted to each other and those who were in pain moaned, groaned, and cried from all directions. What little light the moon could shine upon the waters was suddenly altogether obstructed by the sudden presence of a massive vessel. It caused complete darkness to descend upon the waters around the survivors. A large angular and bulbous vessel of a hundred sails, both large and small, passed over Han Bin and cast a great shadow upon him. Swells the sizes of mountains were tossed in its wake, and it seemed as i
f the whole of the Yellow Sea was disturbed by its passing. Admiral Han Bin fell unconscious upon the driftwood and slowly succumbed to the coldness of the sea.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pierre Dimaculangan is a digital artist, designer, and author of Trials of the Middle Kingdom series. He was born in Manila and grew up in Queens, New York. He’s a lover of world history, and Chinese culture and civilization. He loves to read, conquer story-driven video games, play drums, and practice Muay Thai and Parkour.
Website: www.pierredim.net
Facebook: TrialsoftheMiddleKingdom
Artwork in Instagram: @pierre_tomk