binnovel Chapter 1287 High-altitude warfare is fraught with difficulties.
Chapter 1287 High-altitude warfare is fraught with difficulties.
The winds of late spring and early summer swept across the grasslands around Qinghai Lake, carrying the last traces of chill, but ultimately could not withstand the billowing dust raised by the iron hooves of Pang De's army. Thirty thousand Xiliang cavalry joined forces with the tribal coalition under the command of Cheliji, the King of Xiqiang. The torrent of black armor and leather robes advanced westward, the sounds of clashing armor, pounding hooves, and the horns of the Qiang people mingling together, creating a deafening roar across the wilderness.
As they reached the edge of the Golmud Basin, a gray line suddenly rose on the horizon, and the cavalry of the Yu Niu tribe charged forward like arrows released from a bow. This tribe had lived for generations in the folds of the Kunlun Mountains. Every member of the tribe was tall and strong, and the chieftain was especially burly, wielding a seventy-pound iron spear in one hand. The shaft of the spear was wrapped with scarlet yak hide, and as he charged, the spear tip sliced through the air with a sharp whistling sound—the local herders' saying that "where the spear is drawn, blood is sure to follow" was no exaggeration.
"Form ranks!" Pang De reined in his horse, his eighteen-foot-long ring-pommel sword flashing coldly in the sunlight. The Xiliang army quickly formed a square formation, with the shield bearers in the front row raising their iron shields, the spearmen in the back row forming a forest, and the Xiqiang cavalry splitting to the flanks, gripping the curved swords at their waists.
When the cavalry of the Yu Niu tribe charged within a hundred paces, Pang De roared and charged out of the formation: "Those who block my way shall die!" His blade flashed like a bolt of lightning, colliding violently with the Yu Niu chieftain's iron spear, sparks flying everywhere. The chieftain thought he could knock the enemy's weapon away with brute force, but he did not expect Pang De's astonishing strength. His blade only paused slightly before he slid down and then forcefully swung up again—with a "crack," the iron spear shaft was cleaved in two! Immediately afterward, another flash of cold light appeared, and the chieftain, along with half of his spear shaft, was split in two, hot blood splattering all over Pang De.
With their commander killed, the Yu Niu tribe was thrown into chaos. The Western Qiang cavalry seized the opportunity to flank them from both sides; the sounds of scimitars hacking and slashing, screams of agony, and the mournful cries of horns mingled together. Pang De, like a god of war, charged through the chaos, his ring-pommel sword shattering everything in its path. In less than half an hour, the fierce Yu Niu tribe was completely wiped out. The Gobi Desert was littered with corpses and broken weapons; the stench of blood mingled with sand and dust, permeating the air.
When the news of the victory reached Chang'an by fast horse, Pang De had already led his troops to the banks of the Yarlung Tsangpo River. It was the river's flood season; the turbid torrents, carrying silt and driftwood, roared and surged across the river, which stretched for miles. The crashing waves against the rocks sounded like muffled thunder, making one's legs go numb. The plateau on the opposite bank was shrouded in thick clouds and mist, with only the outlines of snow-capped mountains faintly visible, mysterious and majestic.
"Fell timber and build boats! Within three days, there must be boats ready to launch!" Pang De gazed at the river, his tone leaving no room for argument. The soldiers immediately dispersed into the dense forest along the riverbank, the sounds of axes and saws echoing everywhere. The river wind, carrying moisture, stung their skin, but it couldn't dampen the soldiers' fighting spirit. They set up makeshift workshops along the riverbank, shearing the thick spruce into planks and piecing them together with scorching copper rivets. Working day and night, as autumn deepened, the first batch of ten wooden boats was finally completed. The prows were painted with the wolf head motif, the hallmark of the Xiliang army, and swayed slightly in the river wind, like fierce beasts poised to pounce.
The crossing of the river turned into an ordeal. The wind on the plateau was far more biting than expected, whipping the faces with ice pellets like knives. The wooden boat rocked violently in the turbulent river, and half of the soldiers suffered from seasickness and vomiting. As soon as they stepped onto the mudflats on the opposite bank, they clung to the gunwale and vomited violently, almost bringing up bile.
Even harsher trials lay ahead. The deeper they ventured into the plateau, the thinner the air became, and the sunlight grew unbearably harsh, scorching their skin. The Xiliang soldiers, mostly raised on the Guanzhong Plain, had never endured such torment. Within three days, nearly half the soldiers suffered severe altitude sickness: splitting headaches as if struck by a heavy hammer, chest tightness as if weighed down by a boulder, gasping for breath with every step, and their lips and fingernails turning a frightening bluish-purple. Even their warhorses slumped, heads drooping, panting heavily, barely moving an inch even when whipped.
Pound himself was not spared. Leaning against a withered tree, he coughed violently, his vision blurring. Looking at the soldiers staggering around him and listening to the groans rising and falling, this battle-hardened general felt a sense of unease for the first time. The enemy had not yet appeared, but his army was already trapped in an invisible predicament.
The snow in Chang'an came earlier than in previous years.
Ma Chao stood atop the city wall, gazing at the streets blanketed in swirling snow, his fingers unconsciously tapping the railing. He held close to the urgent report from Pang De, sent from the Yarlung Tsangpo River; the anxiety in the words was palpable—altitude sickness had robbed the soldiers of most of their fighting strength, three wooden boats had been destroyed in the turbulent river, and the remaining men were stranded on the opposite bank, their firewood for warmth nearly exhausted.
"We must save them," Ma Chao said in a low voice, his voice trembling in the wind and snow.
He turned and descended the city wall, heading straight for the medical school. Hua Tuo and Zhang Ji were organizing medicinal herbs; upon seeing him enter, they quickly rose and bowed.
"Mr. Hua, Mr. Zhang," Ma Chao said bluntly, handing over the urgent report, "Pang De is trapped on the plateau, and many of his soldiers are suffering from acute illnesses, including headaches, chest tightness, and difficulty breathing; some are even unconscious. Do you have any solutions?"
Hua Tuo took the urgent report, and after reading it, he frowned: "This is caused by the miasma of the plateau, coupled with the severe cold. It is a double attack from the inside and outside, and ordinary medicines will probably be ineffective."
Zhang Ji added, "We need to prepare enough cold-resistant medicinal materials, such as aconite and dried ginger, as well as some refreshing mint and borneol, and make some pills to relieve headaches and chest tightness. However... the medicinal materials need to be transported by fast horses, and I'm afraid it won't be in time."
"I'll have someone go to the warehouse to get the medicine immediately!" Ma Chao said decisively. "You just need to prepare the medicine, the more the better. I want every soldier to get some."
After arranging the medicinal herbs, Ma Chao instructed Lu Su to send a message to Ma Dai in Liangzhou, requesting that troops be dispatched from Zhangye and Dunhuang to assist Pang De.
"Have them set off immediately, take the Qilian Mountain route, detour to the upper reaches of the Yarlung Tsangpo River, and meet Pang De from the side." Ma Chao pointed to the map, "Tell them to bring plenty of blankets and strong liquor."
"Yes!" Lu Su accepted the order and turned to relay it.
Ma Chao then sent a messenger on horseback to Zhang Ren in Xichuan: "Quickly dispatch 10,000 elite troops from Nanzhong, heading south along the Lancang River, and directly into the lower reaches of the Yarlung Tsangpo River to contain the tribes on the opposite bank and relieve the pressure on Pang De."
The messenger had barely set off when Zhang Xiu arrived with his personal guards. His silver armor was covered in snow, and he clasped his hands in a salute: "My lord, this humble general is willing to lead troops to our rescue!"
Ma Chao looked at him, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes: "Good! You will lead 30,000 cavalry along the Longxi Ancient Road. You must reach the riverbank as quickly as possible and build a pontoon bridge to provide support! Remember, the bridge must be sturdy enough to support the cavalry, and you should also prepare plenty of planks in case the river freezes over."
"Your subordinate obeys!" Zhang Xiu turned and left, the sound of iron armor scraping against each other particularly clear in the snow.
Orders were issued from Chang'an, like sparks in the snow, igniting hope for rescue. The troops of Dunhuang braved the wind and snow to cross the Qilian Mountains, their hooves breaking through the ice and leaving trails of blood; Zhang Ren's troops from Xichuan marched swiftly through the humid valleys, the miasma causing many to fall ill, yet no one dared to stop; Zhang Xiu's iron cavalry marched day and night, their iron hooves carving deep pits into the frozen earth, the knights wrapped in sheepskin coats, their eyelashes covered in ice, their breath instantly turning into frost.
Three years is enough time for the wind and snow of the plateau to etch themselves onto everyone's face.
When the iron cavalry of Xiliang first set foot on this land, they were all eager to fight, thinking that their bravery would be enough to sweep away thousands of enemies. But when they actually stood at the mountain pass at an altitude of 3,000 meters, they realized what it meant to struggle to move forward. The air they breathed in felt like it was mixed with ice, and they would pant for half a day after taking just one quick step. The iron armor on their bodies felt as heavy as a mountain. Even the warhorses drooped their heads, their hooves slipping on the gravel, and even their neighing sounded weak.
The wind on the plateau was like a knife chilled to ice, scraping against the armor of Pang De and Zhang Xiu, making a soft, mournful sound. The oil lamp in the tent flickered in the wind, illuminating the solemn faces of the two men—the map on the table was covered with annotations, and red arrows meandered through the towering mountains, yet it was still far from the intended target.
“I thought that with enough food and weapons, we could win a quick battle.” Pang De slammed his fist on the table, nearly knocking over the oil lamp. “But look at this godforsaken place. There’s not a soul in sight for miles, not a field for miles. It takes three months for the grain transport team to get here. The grain wasn’t wasted on the battlefield, but on the road!” He pointed outside the tent, his voice filled with suppressed frustration. “Yesterday, when I went to check the camp, I saw a squad breaking barley cakes into small pieces, saying they were going to eat them sparingly, enough to last until next month… The cakes were so hard they could break your teeth, and they were hiding them like treasures.”
Zhang Xiu picked up a piece of dried meat he had captured from the area. It was as hard as a rock, and biting into it only left shallow teeth marks. "These tribes are even more troublesome," he said with a wry smile, tossing the meat back onto the plate. "We take the valley, and they hide in the snow-capped mountains; we attack the mountains, and they retreat back to the valleys. We've been fighting for half a year, and we still can't find their royal tent. A few days ago, we finally managed to besiege a tribe, intending to persuade them to surrender, but in the middle of the night they rushed out with torches, the men with knives, the women throwing stones, even the children were throwing stones at their horses' legs—this isn't fighting a war, it's a life-or-death struggle!"
A coughing sound came from outside the tent; it was the medical team changing the dressings of the wounded. Pound lifted the tent flap and looked out. He saw dozens of tents set up in the snow, with many soldiers wrapped in blankets sitting on the ground, their faces as pale as paper and their lips bluish-purple—symptoms of altitude sickness, which were difficult to cure with medicine and could only be endured by themselves. A young soldier was staring blankly in the direction of his hometown, a worn-out letter from home tucked in his arms. When he saw Pound looking over, he hurriedly straightened his back, but couldn't help coughing a few more times.
“My lord must be extremely anxious in Chang’an.” Zhang Xiu walked to Pang De’s side, looking at the snow-capped mountains shrouded in clouds in the distance. “He has brought warhorses from Dunhuang, provisions from Zhangye, and even crossbows from Xichuan, but this place… is like a bottomless pit, no matter how much you fill it, it will never be full.”
Pang De remained silent, recalling Ma Chao's words on his shoulder before they set off: "Lingming, once we take this land, Xiliang will have a secure rear." At that time, he was confident, believing that with the ferocity of the Xiliang cavalry, conquering the plateau was only a matter of time. But now he understood that on this barren and unruly land, courage and equipment were sometimes so inadequate. The enemy was not only those tribes wielding crude weapons, but also the thin air, the biting cold, and the endless wilderness.
"No matter how difficult it is, we must keep fighting." Pound gripped the sword at his waist, the hilt burning from his hand. "We can't afford to retreat, and our lord can't afford to wait any longer. Send out orders for each battalion to take turns resting, for veterans familiar with the high-altitude climate to lead the new recruits, and for scouts to explore the south. We'll eventually find their weakness."
Zhang Xiu nodded and turned to relay the order. Only Pang De remained in the tent, the glow of the oil lamp flickering on his face. He picked up the map on the table, his fingertips tracing the blank areas marked "no man's land." Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his throat. The longer this war went on, the more he understood that the real enemy was never a particular tribe, but the land itself, the unyielding resilience it had forged through its barrenness and harshness.
The wind picked up, making the tent flaps flutter as if mocking their overestimation of their abilities. But Pound knew that even if every step was difficult, they had to keep going, because behind them lay the hopes of the entire Western Liang.