Chapter 73 of 100

Chapter 73

13 min read3,247 words

The infantry formation, already on the brink of collapse, was brutally cut through by the cavalry. The Spanish musketeers finally lost the courage to continue fighting. They scattered, fleeing in all directions across the battlefield. The cavalry regiments, in platoon formations, dispersed and pursued these fleeing Spanish soldiers. The heavy matchlock muskets in the hands of the Spanish musketeers had become nothing more than firewood. The chaotic retreat and panic-stricken state left them with no courage to stop and reload, and they shamefully exposed their backs to the pursuing cavalry.

Languo let out a sigh of relief; the Spanish musketeer formation had finally collapsed. The experience of being shot down in formation was not pleasant. Even Languo, clad in a full suit of armor, sometimes found it hard to suppress the urge to retreat, let alone the new recruits from Germany and Poland, who wore only thin military uniforms.

He couldn't imagine how they had held on. They were truly a group of numb war animals, Languo spat inwardly. At this moment, the forward commander issued the order: Form up! Half left (right) turn, attack the Spanish pikemen.

The two flintlock musket formations had not suffered significant casualties in the previous exchange of fire. Most platoons still maintained their combat effectiveness, and the officers and non-commissioned officers, well-protected, had negligible losses. They began to form up and advance, while the drummers and buglers continued to play "The March of Victory for the Army." The American vulture military flag still flew high. Languo was somewhat amazed at the good fortune of the flag bearers and drummers, who had not suffered a single casualty in the previous exchange of fire and artillery bombardment. He had thought their chances of survival were negative, but now he realized that not even a trace of gunpowder smoke marred their faces.

The Spanish pikemen were also in a state of near-collapse. The front-line soldiers were still fighting, but the rear-line soldiers had already turned to flee, discarding their cumbersome pikes everywhere and running with all their might.

"Raise your muskets... Aim... Ready, fire!" Languo, now wielding a saber, gave the command. With the sound of the brass whistle, black smoke rose in the air, and the Spanish pikemen fell one by one, screaming in agony. At this point, they could no longer think of anything else. Everyone turned to flee, even the officers joined the fleeing crowd.

Faced with the chaotic and crowded enemy, the pikemen, who had fought bitterly, excitedly thrust their pikes into the backs of the defenseless enemies. Some quick-witted Spanish pikemen threw down their weapons and knelt to beg for mercy, but the bloodthirsty Charruan soldiers did not accept their surrender. They mercilessly thrust their sharp pikes into the throats of these pitiful, kneeling men.

"Reload! Free fire!" Zhu Liang gave the musketeers their final order. The battle was all but over. The remaining task was to inflict as many casualties and take as many prisoners as possible, ensuring the Spanish army could no longer resist. Without an army, what could the Spanish do? Perhaps they would have to hastily end this rash war.

An hour later, there were no more organized Spanish forces on the battlefield. Of the 650 Spanish soldiers who had set out, only a few dozen had managed to escape into the southern hills. The rest were either killed or captured. Over 200 dejected Spanish prisoners sat shivering in the cold wind, surrounded by Charruan pikemen holding their spears and watching them closely. These Spanish soldiers had lost all confidence and fighting spirit, and they now resembled a flock of lambs awaiting slaughter.

Captain Torres, covered in mud, sat in the cold mud, his face full of shame. He was utterly despondent, no longer thinking of achieving glory or distinction. All he wanted was to return to Buenos Aires, to his small home, to quietly lick his wounds. In the final stages of the battle, when the Gauchos hesitated, he had led the last Peruvian cavalry in a desperate charge against the cavalry regiment. After this brief and failed charge, the fortunate Captain Torres, who had fallen from his horse but survived, was captured by the cavalry regiment. Having faced death once, his mindset had changed significantly. He felt incredibly weak and only wanted to end this war, which he would never want to recall for the rest of his life, and return to Buenos Aires in peace.

A pair of long leather boots, also covered in mud, stopped in front of Captain Torres. Torres looked up blankly and saw deep blue military trousers with a red stripe, then a blue uniform, white canvas webbing, a leather belt, ammunition pouches, a pistol holster, a saber, red shoulder straps, and a black peaked cap...

Languo stood in front of Captain Torres, scrutinizing this prisoner. Seeing that the other man had raised his head, he asked in English, "Spanish Army Captain Juan Cruz Torres?"

Torres looked at him blankly, saying nothing.

Languo hesitated, then turned to a sergeant behind him and said, "He must understand French. Ask him in French."

The Swiss sergeant then asked Captain Torres in French, "Captain Juan Cruz Torres, as the victor, Lieutenant Languo of the Army mercifully announces that we can immediately grant you freedom if you agree to deliver this letter to Major Antonio Carlos. Do you accept this condition? I must remind you, if you do not want to spend your life in dangerous mines, you should accept this task."

A glimmer of hope appeared in Captain Torres' eyes, and he said in a hoarse voice, "Yes, I am willing to be your messenger."

...

Major Antonio Carlos looked at the letter in his hand, written in rough French. The letter was short and straightforward, demanding that Antonio Carlos immediately lead the remaining 400 Spanish soldiers on the north bank to surrender unconditionally. In exchange, the Tartars would guarantee their lives and personal property.

Major Carlos had never felt such intense pain and humiliation. When he discovered that the Tartar army had already entered the southern bank of the crossing area, he immediately selected the main force to cross the river at night, planning to drive back the Tartar forces and break through. He had even ordered his artillery to destroy the 8 naval guns outside the Dingyuan Fort to prevent the Tartars from using them.

Although he had anticipated that the breakout might not be smooth, he never imagined that his carefully selected 650 soldiers would be defeated so quickly. Major Carlos had observed the entire battle from the camp. The battle lasted less than two hours, and his forces were completely annihilated. Tragically, they had inflicted minimal casualties on the Tartars.

This was a deeply memorable and heart-wrenching defeat. The reasons for the failure were multifaceted, such as low morale due to the cut-off of supplies, weak fighting spirit from years of comfortable colonial life, outdated equipment, a severe lack of flintlock muskets and quality artillery, backward cavalry tactics, and a complete lack of knowledge about the enemy. From the high-ranking inspectors and governors to the provincial and local officials and grassroots officers, from the navy to the army, the kingdom had made too many mistakes. These mistakes, compounded together, led to the Tartars' glorious victory and left him with the bitter fruit of defeat.

Well, face the reality! Major Carlos took a deep breath. Of the 400 soldiers left in the north bank camp, nearly 200 were sick, and the unreliable Gauchos who had retreated were a group of the old, weak, and sick. They could not withstand even one round of attack from the Tartars. At this point, seeking a dignified surrender was unrealistic. The Tartars' conditions of guaranteeing the lives and personal property of all surrendering personnel and allowing officers to retain their swords were already quite generous. If he refused these conditions, the Tartars could easily break through his not-so-fortified camp with minimal effort. More importantly, the soldiers had no desire to continue fighting. After a series of nightmarish defeats, the soldiers from La Plata now only wanted to leave this cold, cursed, and hopeless place and return to their warm homes in La Plata to be with their families.

"Captain Torres, go and announce the order of unconditional surrender to the soldiers. There is no need to continue fighting. The Tartars will not kill us. God is with us," Major Antonio Carlos said weakly to Captain Torres, who was standing in front of him.

Captain Torres silently saluted and turned to leave.

At 12:00 PM on July 20th, the highest commander of the Spanish La Plata expeditionary force, Major Antonio Carlos, announced unconditional surrender. Under his orders, 412 Spanish soldiers and 75 Gaucho cavalry in the camp surrendered their weapons, armor, and horses, then formed up and marched out of the camp to be supervised by the victors. Additionally, about 50 Gaucho cavalry, unwilling to surrender, broke out of the camp and fled into the vast northern grasslands. They faced a harsh winter and attacks from the savage Charruan natives, and their chances of safely returning to La Plata were slim.

The news of the Spanish army's surrender spread quickly. The people were overjoyed; the shadow of war that had loomed over them for nearly half a year had been significantly lifted, and a complete ceasefire was imminent.

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