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| Siege of Pyongyang (1593) |
It was calm. A soft breeze blew across with various smells of death and sweat along with an intense tension. Han was not alone in noticing this smell. A unit of 50 soldiers stood on the parapet armed and ready to receive the attacking Japanese. He lowered his weapon for a bit and tightened his leather amour. Pyongyang is where the Koreans make their stand and Han was there to help them. He was so far away from home, him and another 30,000 Chinese soldiers were here to help their neighbour.
Negotiations had fallen apart and it was only a matter of time before the Japanese charged on Pyongyang today. Han’s thoughts went to his family who were protected by behind Chinese Walls and land. He would like to go back to be with his wife, children and till his land.
“Attention!” a voice screamed out amongst the unit. In a fluid motion Han picked up his weapon and laid it on his shoulder. A bulky looking soldier walked amongst them in steel armour. That was their Captain, his feet took step inches away from there and his eyes stared into each one of them.
Then, he vanished.
A few months ago, the weapon resting on his shoulder would feel heavy and burdensome, today his shoulder was used to that weight. His fingers were tightly wrapped around the wooden pole of his weapon and the heavy metal barrel was supported on his shoulder. Weighing twenty pounds, it was no longer than four inches. The gun powder and projectiles were already inside. Hand cannons were soon becoming a favoured weapon in the arsenal of Ming. Now, all they had to was weigh and bear the calm before the chaos of battle.
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| A typical Chinese Hand-cannon |
Forts of Korea were much more different then China. Just like their Japanese brothers, the fort had a low and sloped wall, enough for an enemy to crawl up. It seemed foolish for a defending against enemies, but the longer he stayed in Pyongyang, the more he understood the challenge. The low walls were not a deterrent, rather a challenge to the attacker, a dare, an invitation to take the castle.
Han peered down, he could fall down from the parapet and survive with a broken arm, it’s known to happen. That’s when he heard it, the sounds of many hooves. Japanese warriors came pouring forth on the battlefield, a mass of demon soldiers. Each one of them was dressed in thick metal amour, terrifying face masks and their helmets protruded with horns. Truly, they are demon warriors.
Screams were heard along the parapets. Chinese and Korean soldiers primed their weapons. Bows were drawn, crossbows were loaded and hand cannons were stuffed with gunpowder, then, all of these weapons were pointed at the enemy. The archer let off their arrows first because of their long range. Japanese soldiers tumbled to the ground and those who were injured were trampled to death. Then, the bolts were let off, stabbing those demon soldiers and throwing them off their horse.
“First line ready!” screamed Han’s Captain.
He took a step forward with the rest of the line. The wave of Japanese soldiers was still rushing forward. His hands felt slippery with sweat as he clutched the pole, yet he felt confident, he couldn’t miss.
“Fire”
All it took was a simple clang on the wall to ignite the power on the nip and the projectile burst out. It ripped through at least three Japanese, but Han didn’t notice that the hand cannon was already revolving in his hand. The barrel was big enough to hold three shots and he banged the cannon two more times before stepping back as another line took their place. Swiftly from a wooden container, gun power was poured inside the metal barrel.
So the battle had begun. The air stank of death, the dying and gun powder from hand cannons.
