Chapter 85: Seizing the Bridge (Part Ten)

“Beat the drums harder! That’s too feeble—have you not eaten?”

Tian Zhen was at a complete loss as to what else he could do. Clenching his fists, he stared fixedly at the other side. As daylight gradually brightened, the situation across the river became wholly visible. It was plain that the small band there had been reduced to less than a hundred men, while the encircling Tibetan forces remained a dense, dark mass. Was there nothing to do but watch, helpless, as they were slaughtered to the last?

Yang Yu, mounted on his horse, saw everything even more clearly. This time, he feared there was truly no hope. He longed to cry out to the heavens—why, after surviving so many perils before, when the main army was but a hundred paces away, did they find themselves powerless now? Wulang, how could you die here?

How could Yang He not know his son’s thoughts? Yet, at this point, what could be done? With a heavy heart, he patted Yang Yu’s arm, only to find his son’s face streaming with tears.

Even if the drums thundered like a storm, even if the warriors’ shouts rolled like waves, it was nothing more than the final cry of the doomed.

In the midst of this chaos, a new sound suddenly reached their ears—a ceaseless rumbling, as if something was grinding across the earth, mingled with distant shouts and the neighing of horses. It was so distinct that not even the deafening clash of drums and gongs could drown it out.

Stranger still, this sound was coming from behind them. Yang He and his son turned together, mouths agape, stunned and speechless for a long while.

On the opposite side, behind the Tibetan lines, Xi Dongzan raised his hand solemnly, “Mount up! All units, gather together. Prepare to—”

Prepare to do what to the Tang troops? The sentence broke off, the aide responsible for relaying orders glanced up in confusion. Xi Dongzan sat astride his horse, staring blankly into the distance, disbelief written across his face.

What kind of sight could so unnerve the usually unflappable commander?

In that direction, where the Tang forces were advancing, the night seemed to have been driven into the clouds by the ferocity of the battle below, leaving only a faint edge of darkness. Dazzling rays of dawn stretched across the riverbank.

Day had broken.

“Give it your all—faster now!”

At the break of day, the central force led by Feng Changqing finally reached the side of the Boyi River. Their ranks comprised two thousand soldiers from Liang Zai’s Bohuan garrison, supplemented by over five thousand Qian auxiliaries and several hundred army craftsmen.

But this was not the reason for their delay. The distance was only a few miles—by crawling, they should have arrived long ago.

There was but one reason: among them were thousands of pack horses and over a thousand large carts carrying essential equipment. To haul these to the riverbank, everyone was forced to use the most primitive methods—pushing and pulling. To conceal their purpose, they had unloaded everything several hundred paces from the river, assembled it all, and only then brought the contraptions onto the battlefield. Inevitably, this cost precious time.

After all, none had anticipated such sudden violence, nor that the Tibetans would act so ruthlessly.

The Tang war drums had masked most of the commotion, so even Tian Zhen and his group did not immediately realize their own reinforcements had arrived. By the time they sensed something amiss, those enormous structures were already behind them.

It was not a lack of vigilance. Even the banners and standards of the Inspector General had not made it to the field—how could they know who had come?

“Tian Pockmark, get your men over here to help!”

Seeing the man gawking in stupefaction, Feng Changqing called him by his nickname, snapping him back to his senses.

“What is this...?”

No one could blame him for his astonishment. Who could remain calm when, all at once, a towering wooden structure—ten paces tall, two wide, narrowing toward the top, connected by ladders—appeared behind them, especially as it was moving? Beneath each one, four wooden rollers were fixed to axles, pulled by teams of pack horses, trundling over the uneven riverbank. Deep ruts in the muddy ground showed the immense weight they bore; without nearly eight thousand men, even crossing those few hundred paces would have been impossible.

These were the siege towers the Tang used to suppress enemy archers and provide distant support for their soldiers during assaults.

What shocked him even more was that such massive towers stretched along the riverbank, one every ten paces or so, their line vanishing into the distance—surely there were hundreds!

But this was not a siege; the Boyi River was over a hundred paces wide—even if they knocked the towers down, they could not serve as bridges. While Tian Zhen puzzled over this, the nearest tower to him halted.

“This is the spot! Quickly, all hands—remove the wheels!”

Yu Wen Cheng, unconcerned with their bewilderment, hurried forward and commanded the soldiers to unhitch the horses, tie ropes around the four enormous wheels—dozens of men to each—then, with a shout, all pulled at once. With a heavy thud, the ten-pace tower shook and settled into the mud, sending up a plume of dust.

“Up! Get up there, quickly!”

At once, several soldiers scrambled inside. From the top, they tossed down a coil of rope; those below fastened a huge crossbow to it, shouting as they hauled it up.

So that was it—Tian Zhen believed he finally understood. These great crossbows were usually mounted atop city walls, each requiring two or three men to operate. At a range of under two hundred paces, their firepower could directly support the Tang troops on the far side.

When several spear-like iron bolts were sent up in the same fashion, his certainty grew. Tian Zhen kicked one of his men and cursed loudly.

“Didn’t you hear the Inspector’s orders? Get moving and help!”

Swearing and kicking, he drove his men to relieve the central troops, who were exhausted from hauling the towers. Even Yang He’s cavalry dismounted at once, Yang Yu himself climbing a tower without waiting for orders, scrambling up to peer over the wooden parapet.

From ten paces above, he could see the enemy’s position clearly. As soon as the ropes were lowered and a double-bow siege crossbow was hauled up, he could hardly contain his eagerness—Wulang and his men were beset on all sides and needed his help.

When several long iron bolts were sent up, the men quickly mounted the crossbow. Yang Yu picked one up, about to load it, but was surprised by its weight—it was forged entirely of iron, weighing several pounds at least!

Before he could fit the bolt into the groove, a soldier stopped him. “Young Master Yu, that’s not how it’s used.”

Then he handed over a coil of rope. This rope was much finer than those used for scaling walls, and was sheathed in a smooth leather covering. Yang Yu looked at him in confusion. The soldier pointed to the iron bolt.

Lowering his head to look closely, Yang Yu finally noticed something different.