Chapter Eighty-Six: Seizing the Bridge (End)

He stared at the figureheads on the far bank, his mind blank with shock.

What were they trying to do?

Even his trusted men could not answer. Such enormous machines, the kind only used in a siege, had suddenly appeared opposite the river, and no wonder it was beyond comprehension.

The river was more than a hundred paces wide. Even if one linked them end to end, it would take more than a dozen carts stacked together. Unless they were immortals, who could possibly accomplish such a thing? And if not, why would the Tang go to such extraordinary lengths?

Was it to provide long-range support for a small crossing party? That made some sense. After all, the Tang crossbows could easily send a bolt more than a hundred paces, and from high ground they would pose a grave threat to any attacker. Yet that still did not solve the problem of crossing. Even if the front ranks of the Tibetan force collapsed, as long as he remained with his three thousand cavalry watching from a distance, could that small Tang detachment really sprout wings and fly away?

He did not believe for a moment that the Tang would make such a pointless move. But then what were they planning?

And with that hesitation, the order was not passed down.

"Mount up all mounted troops," he said after a pause, cutting his original command in half.

By counting two armored heavy cavalrymen among every five riders, he had as many as twelve hundred heavy horsemen among his three thousand cavalry. To deal with a Tang detachment of fewer than a hundred men, that was surely using a great blade to carve a chicken.

In truth, for Tibet's national strength to support a force of more than ten thousand fully armored heavy cavalry was already a severe strain. Iron production was only one factor. Even more important was the horses. The main breeding grounds for Qiang horses lay around the Qinghai region, especially the lush and fertile Nine Bends area, but that was also precisely where the fiercest battles between the two states were being fought.

One might say that every armored heavy cavalryman was a warrior drawn from the various tribes, battle-hardened, superb in combat, and fully equipped. Their purpose was to deliver the decisive blow on the battlefield. Thus, even if Xidong Zan's three thousand cavalry were cut in half, so long as the heavy cavalry suffered little damage, he could still account for it.

Just as the Tibetans finished preparing for battle, a wholly unexpected development took place on the field ahead.

On the first watchtower standing on the opposite bank of the river, several soldiers operated a double-bow bed crossbow and soon loosed the first bolt. Strangely enough, the iron spear, nearly half a meter long, was not aimed at the surging Tibetan infantry, but at the riverbank behind the Tang formation.

Closest to it were naturally Du Gu Li and the others. They saw a huge iron spear shoot over like a serpent and drive itself deep into the earth, leaving only a small section exposed. At the rear of the spear was an iron ring, and bound to it was a thick rope, the other end of which was actually attached to the watchtower more than a hundred paces away!

Just as Du Gu Li and the others were still stunned, the rope moved. A small object slid down to the tail of the spear: it was a wooden mallet. At once Du Gu Li understood what he was meant to do.

He hurried over, picked up the mallet, and with several sharp knocks drove the exposed end of the spear down into the mud. Soon afterward, the rope tied to the rear was drawn taut. It quivered in the air a few times, then snapped rigid.

"Ready. Send the first man across!"

On the watchtower, a company commander waved his hand. At once a Tang soldier fully clad in armor ran up. He slung his weapon behind his back and took a polished leather strap in both hands. After a deep breath, he took a running start and slid down the rope.

On this side of the riverbank, from Generalissimo Feng Changqing down to the lowest private, every Tang soldier lifted his head and watched that figure in the sky without blinking.

The watchtower was about ten paces high, and the river about a hundred paces wide. This slanting rope was, in effect, a rope ladder suspended in the air at an angle of roughly twenty degrees. A fully armored Tang soldier, weighing some two hundred fifty to three hundred catties, could slide across by the force of gravity in only twenty seconds. What they feared was whether he could arrive safely. Of all of them, the one most tightly wound was the man in charge of the construction, Yuwen Sheng. He held his breath, his fists clenched, his heart lifted high, daring not even to blink.

At that moment, a bizarre scene unfolded on the battlefield. Not only did Du Gu Li and the others openly turn around, but many of the Tang men under siege also turned their heads to watch the figure moving swiftly through the air, because the enemy not far in front of them wore the very same expression.

"Whoosh!"

The soldier came down with a roaring rush. Because he was moving so fast, Du Gu Li and the others even stepped forward to help, or he would have fallen straight down. Still shaken, he let out a breath, used the other's hand to steady himself, and then, facing the far bank, waved both arms with all his strength.

"It worked!"

"It worked!"

Feng Changqing and Tian Zhen exchanged glances, their faces easing with relief. The soldiers around them could no longer restrain their cheers, and Yuwen Sheng at the side was moved beyond words. This was no different from gambling with their lives.

"Quick, quick, send the order! Proceed in sequence!"

Feng Changqing sent away every one of his personal guards. It was not yet time to rejoice. The Tibetans still held the advantage, and sending men across under their very eyes carried considerable risk.

Very soon, the riverbank erupted like boiling water. Hundreds of watchtowers were pushed together to the shore, and from each tower-cart, just as before, a massive iron spear was shot out. Rope bridges were thus strung one after another through the air. Tang soldiers descended to the opposite bank of the river in great leaps, then gathered together, their numbers rising at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Xidong Zan!"

The man called by his subordinates had gone cold in the hands and feet. It was the helpless frustration of knowing exactly what the other side intended, yet being unable to stop it. The Tang were not being especially clever; when the Tibetans assaulted a city, they too used a kind of grappling hook, the principle much the same as what the Tang had made.

But to see hundreds of towers assembled beneath one's very nose, and thousands upon thousands of Tang troops sliding across as if flying, was a shock beyond words. The strength of the Tang state far exceeded his imagination. They were actually using siege methods to deal with a mere river!

The nearby officers and trusted retainers had all grown anxious. Seeing more and more Tang soldiers cross the river, if they did not attack now, the enemy would gain a firm foothold. And they had already resisted for so long against just over a hundred men. Now, with every passing moment, several hundred-man units would be able to assemble. If Dongben still refused to decide, would he not simply be watching the chance of battle slip away?

There was no chance left. Xidong Zan sighed inwardly. The Tang seemed few in number, scattered along the riverbank, but they had already obtained support from the archers and crossbowmen on the watchtowers behind them. To send cavalry against them? That was a joke. Was he trying to die too quickly, making such huge targets of horse and rider?

To squander precious heavy cavalry in a war of attrition against the enemy was no wise man's course.

The clash at the front had already died down. The Tang's action had first shattered the will of those light infantrymen. And now, seeing even the Tibetans lose heart, why should they keep charging foolishly at the front, unable to see that the Tang had received the favor of the gods and had simply flown over the river?

"Run!"

At the first sign of motion, the rout spread like a plague. The infantry feared being the last to flee and facing the full Tang army alone. Even the archers stationed in the rear lowered the bows in their hands. Would they truly shoot their own men?

"Mount up. We leave as well."

Since there was no way to reverse the tide, Xidong Zan made a swift decision. The loss of the riverbank was an expected result; only the manner of it had been beyond all anticipation. He swung onto his horse, and his eyes did not linger for a moment on the fleeing foot soldiers. Behind them, the Tang detachment they had been besieging still maintained a complete formation. With his eyesight, he could not even make out what the man standing at the very front looked like.

Yet he could feel the other's spirit, and his arrogance.

Liu Ji had no intention of pursuing. They were all foot soldiers, and they had just fought a bloody battle. Neither stamina nor speed was on their side, while the Tibetans still had an intact reserve force. If they left the riverbank, they might be walking straight into the enemy's trap.

Facing the enemy's retreating backs, he gathered the last of his strength, raised the heavy curved blade over his head, and roared.

"Dry Pit Garrison!"

"Battlefront Unit!"

From certain death to survival, the brothers behind him had forgotten pain and weariness alike. They only wanted to give vent, as loudly as they could, to the excitement surging in their hearts. They raised whatever they could hold aloft and shouted with all their strength. Even Du Gu Li and the others, who did not understand the Tang tongue, were no exception.

"Dry Pit Garrison!"

"Ever Victorious!"

The Tang troops on both banks answered together, their voices shaking the four quarters.