Chapter Eighteen: Targeting the Tatar Scouts

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Zhang Cheng feared that if the Tatars crossed the Yu River, it would be difficult to pursue them. Thus, he dispatched Wu Zhizhong with the right vanguard to set out ahead and block the floating bridge on the Yu River south of Mafang. Zhang Cheng himself led the main force directly to Mafang to rendezvous with Zhang Guangda, aiming to hold the Tatars in place.

At this moment, he said to Wu Zhizhong, “The enemy cavalry numbers only about a hundred. Your unit should depart first to block the floating bridge. When I engage the enemy cavalry, you must leave one squad to guard the bridge, and personally lead two squads to launch a surprise attack on the Tatars from the south side of Mafang. Holding the Yu River is crucial; you must remain vigilant against the Tatars returning for reinforcements, as well as any large enemy forces coming to aid them. If the situation turns dire, report to me immediately.”

Wu Zhizhong replied solemnly, “Understood, General. Rest assured. But these Tatars are fierce and skilled in battle; you must also be careful.”

Zhang Cheng smiled faintly, glanced up at the sky, and said in a deep voice, “Let’s move out!”

Wu Zhizhong led the right vanguard, forming ranks and setting off. Not far ahead, they veered south along the north bank of the Yu River to fortify the floating bridge directly south of Mafang.

Along the way, Zhang Cheng assembled two cavalry squads from each of the other three vanguards, in addition to his central guard troops—over two hundred fierce horsemen in total. Two cavalry squads were sent out as scouts, with Zhang Cheng leading the main body behind, about two hundred paces apart, making their way straight toward Mafang village.

Chen Zheng and Hu Dake each led over 120 cavalrymen of their own units, positioned slightly behind Zhang Cheng on the north and south flanks, providing cover. They maintained a distance of over three hundred paces from Zhang Cheng’s main cavalry force.

...

Mafang village lay about sixty li east of Changping, bordering Shunyi. The terrain rose higher in the west and sloped downward to the east. To the south of the village flowed the Yu River, and to the southwest, a smaller river called the Sha River met the Yu. For generations, the imperial court had maintained horse farms here, so many villagers were horse keepers, hence the name Mafang, or “Horse Workshop” village.

By the late Ming period, as horse administration gradually fell into disarray, the village was no longer what it once was. Many horse keepers fled, but some remained, barely scraping by by tending horses.

At this moment, chaos reigned inside and outside the village. Black smoke occasionally rose from within. About a hundred paces southwest of the village, there was a fairly spacious area enclosed by a simple wooden fence, where a large group of ragged poor peasants huddled.

Mafang was a small village with barely over a hundred households. Many homes were either burning or dilapidated, and Tatar cavalry clad in iron or padded armor frequently galloped through the streets.

This band of Tatars marauding around Mafang numbered about two hundred in all. Among them, only one squad—around fifty men—wore armor and were led by a commander known as a “fen de bo shi ku.”

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Within this armored squad were about twenty horsemen, divided into two groups of ten, each led by a formidable Qing soldier. The remaining thirty were foot soldiers, also divided into three groups of ten, each commanded by a Qing soldier of similar rank.

Though called foot soldiers, they all possessed horses; the distinction lay in rank. The horsemen were the elite among the foot soldiers and held higher status within the Qing army.

Besides these, there were about forty auxiliary troops, conscripts from various banners who volunteered for raids, bringing their own horses and weapons. Their aim was to earn battle merits and be promoted to ranks such as foot soldier, armored infantry, or cavalry. Their combat skills were still limited at this point.

Also present were nearly a hundred “aha” and “baoyi” servants who accompanied the horsemen. Each Tatar cavalryman typically brought one or two personal servants—“baoyi aha”—to attend to daily needs, care for horses, and manage plundered goods.

Depending on their masters’ wealth, these servants usually rode mules or horses to keep pace. Most were armed and could assist their masters in fighting the Ming soldiers, though they lacked armor. At best, a few exceptional ones might be promoted to foot soldiers and wear armor.

...

At this moment, this Tatar raiding party gathered in Mafang village for lunch, preparing to return to Tongzhou in the afternoon.

During the meal, the squad leader—the “fen de bo shi ku”—learned that one of their scouting patrols had encountered Ming army scouts that morning in Lugezhuang to the southwest. However, having invaded the capital’s outskirts many times with his master, the leader was arrogant and dismissed the report.

Shortly after, another report came in that Ming scouts had again appeared near Mafang. The leader merely dispatched two commanders, each leading a group of elite cavalry, to scout west and north respectively.

The leader himself remained in a large courtyard on the village’s northern side, sitting with three other commanders around a charcoal fire roasting a leg of lamb, paying no heed to the warnings.

“Sir, these Ming dogs have grown bold, daring to face off with our scouts. Seems they’ve lost all sense of fear!” said a burly Qing commander with a thick beard, cutting a slice of lamb to feed a disheveled woman cowering in his arms.

“Sir, should we be on guard against the Ming dogs spying on our army?” the squad leader narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Nearby, another commander gulped down a mouthful of wine, roughly pushed a dying young woman with torn clothes into a corner, and spoke with some concern.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” The woman’s shrill cries echoed as she tumbled toward the corner. Looking in that direction, one saw dozens of women crouching or lying on the floor, all in tattered clothes and haggard faces.

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“Damn bastards! If you scream again, I swear I’ll eat your mother!” a commander rose angrily, glaring at the pitiful group of women. A scar running from his right forehead, over his eye, down to his upper lip gave him a demonic visage in the flickering light, terrifying the women into instant silence. They dared not scream again, only quietly sobbing as they crouched or lay there.

Just as he finished speaking, the squad leader’s face darkened. Suddenly he raised his right hand—still holding a freshly cut piece of lamb—and said in a trembling voice, “Silence! Something’s not right…”

Everyone froze. The room fell into a chilling silence, so still one could hear a pin drop.

From afar came faint rumbling sounds, barely audible yet oppressive, as if emanating from just outside the village—or perhaps even outside this very house.

The faces of the Tatars shifted. The anxious commander who had pushed the woman spat and said, “Could it be the Ming dogs...?”

Seeing the squad leader glare fiercely at him, he quickly shut his mouth, swallowing the rest of his words.

“Bang!” The door suddenly burst open, and a panicked “baoyi aha” servant rushed in, shouting incoherently, “The Ming dogs… they’re coming... so many… they’ve broken through…”

Though inwardly alarmed, the Tatar leader remained outwardly calm. An old bandit who had risen through years of bloodshed under his master, he had seen every manner of battlefield chaos.

He kicked the frantic servant aside and roared, “Useless beast! Stop your damn panicking!”