Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 591 The Attack (Part Two)

Panama City, once a prosperous hub connecting two oceans, is now gripped by war and fear.

News of the fall of Saint-Felipe spread like wildfire through the city. The retreating defenders brought not only casualties but also despair that brought morale to the brink of collapse among the soldiers and civilians.

The following five days were another kind of torment for the defending troops.

With the intimidating roar of the Xinhua Navy's cannons and thousands of Guayimiye tribal warriors guarding the docks, they could only cower in the city, helplessly watching the enemy gradually gather their powerful forces beneath the city walls.

Squads of high-spirited soldiers, rows of terrifying artillery pieces, and mountains of supplies were continuously transported to the dock.

The somewhat chaotic yet resolute landing process was like a blunt knife, slowly cutting through the city's defenses inch by inch.

When the more than 3,000 Xinhua Army soldiers finally assembled and formed a strict formation below the city, the invisible pressure, a mixture of discipline and killing intent, made every defender peeking through the cracks in the city wall feel suffocated.

Then, the nightmarish shelling began.

More than thirty heavy cannons were pushed to the front line, their dark muzzles aimed at the stone and mortar walls of Panama.

As the enemy commander waved his flag, a deafening roar instantly tore through the air, violently impacting the city's outer shell and the eardrums of the defenders.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Solid iron bullets ripped through the sky, whistling with death, and slammed heavily onto the city wall.

Bricks and stones shattered, smoke and dust filled the air, and each hit sent the entire section of the city wall trembling.

The defenders, huddled behind the parapet, huddled together, feeling the terrifying tremors beneath their feet. Gravel and dust fell in a flurry, covering their sweat-drenched, terrified faces.

“Merciful Holy Mary… please forgive all my past sins, bless your humble people, and keep the shadow of death away…” The young Cleo militiaman Carlos could barely hold his musket, huddled behind the battlements, his face pale, his eyes filled with endless fear.

“Oh, damn it!” Juan Serrano, an old soldier with old scars on his face, also clutched his head and huddled tightly in a corner of the city wall, muttering to himself and repeatedly making the sign of the cross. “I never thought I’d experience such intense artillery fire in the New World. God, have you abandoned your believers…”

He had served in the Flanders Army in Europe and boasted that he had witnessed the cruelty of war, but such fierce, sustained and precise artillery fire still chilled him to the bone and turned him ashen-faced.

What's even more frightening is that the shelling by the new Chinese was not static.

While solid shot repeatedly pounded the city wall, an even more terrifying type of shell—explosive shell—began to fall intermittently.

They exploded in mid-air, spewing out countless pieces of iron and scorching flames, causing terrible casualties to any soldiers exposed on the city walls.

Once a shell lands in the city, it immediately triggers panic and chaos. People scream as they fetch water to put out the fire, and billowing black smoke mixes with the smoke from artillery fire, casting an ominous shadow over the entire city.

"Kid, if you don't want to die, stick close to the wall!" Juan, experienced as ever, heard the unusual, hissing whistle of the bullet and kicked Carlos, who was still in a daze, against the corner of the solid city wall.

"boom!"

Shrapnel, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, swept across the area near where they had just been.

Several shrill screams rang out, and a few militiamen who were a little slower in their movements collapsed in pain in pools of blood, their bodies riddled with iron shards.

The dozen or so cannons of various sizes deployed on the city wall became the primary targets of the Xinhua Army's artillery.

Under the repeated bombardment of precise and fierce artillery, one cannon after another was destroyed, the cannon barrels twisted, the gun carriages shattered, and the soldiers operating the cannon crews were either killed or wounded.

By dusk on the third day of the bombardment, there were very few cannons left on the city walls that could still retaliate.

The continuous shelling not only destroyed the fortifications but also eroded the morale of the defenders.

Like other soldiers (militia), Juan spent most of his time huddled at the foot of the city wall or in bunkers, listening to the hellish roar outside and feeling the fear of death that was just around the corner.

Each violent impact sent shivers down their spines; they had no idea where the next shell would land.

Sleep became a luxury, food was hard to swallow, and nerves were constantly on edge.

The condition of the city walls was even more appalling.

The shelling lasted for three whole days, with only brief pauses in between, as if to give the defenders a moment to catch their breath so they could better appreciate the terror of the next round of shelling.

Panama's once-solid city walls are now riddled with holes, with large areas of the surface bricks peeling away to expose the rammed earth inside, and huge cracks spreading out like ugly scars.

Although the main structure has not yet collapsed, anyone can see that if the bombardment continues like this, it is only a matter of time before the city falls.

Panic within the city reached its peak.

Inside the city hall in the heart of the city, the lights were on, and the clamor of debate nearly lifted the ornate ceiling.

This place was filled with almost all of Panama's leading figures: the Panamanian military governor, municipal councilors, court judges, trade officials, and a somber-looking archbishop.

"Gentlemen, we must face reality and stop clinging to unrealistic fantasies!" Diego Alvarez, an official from the Trade Bureau, said emotionally, waving his arms and pointing towards the direction from which the rumble of cannons still echoed outside the window. "You all see it: our walls are crumbling, soldiers are bleeding, citizens are dying in fear, and the whole city is burning!"

"The firepower of the new Chinese is far beyond our imagination; we are simply powerless to confront them head-on! I've heard that in Mexico, as long as officials voluntarily open the city gates and cooperate with them to maintain order, their lives and some of their property can be protected. Why can't we make the most rational and humane choice for the sake of these thousands of lives in the city?"

"Think about it! Once the city falls, according to the laws of war, we will lose all our bargaining power. I dare not imagine what will happen then!"

His words elicited murmurs of agreement from many municipal officials and some low-ranking Creole officers present.

For them, the king in Madrid and the governor of Lima were ultimately less important than their own survival, which was right before their eyes.

“Absurd! This is utterly cowardly talk, a betrayal of the King and God!” Judge Antonio Mejia, seated at the head of the court, slammed his hand on the table, causing the silver inkstone on it to jump.

He hails from Castile, representing the unquestionable authority of the royal family. "Panama is one of the most dazzling jewels in His Majesty's crown, a crucial outpost for safeguarding the faith."

"The city has more than four thousand people, as well as many loyal Native American servants. As long as we are determined to arm them, even if the city walls are breached, we can rely on every church and every street to resist and we can definitely hold out."

"Hold on until the rainy season. Then, the dampness, mud, and disease will become our strongest allies, enough to wear down any enemy that comes from afar... And the reinforcements from Lima will never abandon us!"

Beside him, the archbishop, dressed in a scarlet robe and with a livid face, echoed in a voice trembling slightly with anger: "What Judge Mejia said is indeed the will of God. If we surrender to those infidels, our souls will never be redeemed."

"This is a test of our faith, and we must fight to the end. Yes, I firmly believe that the Governor will not stand idly by, and reinforcements are surely on their way! ... Almighty God will always be with us!"

“Reinforcements?” A municipal councilor, also from Creole, couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly, his tone full of sarcasm. “Your Excellency, Your Honor, please allow me to remind you, how long would it take for a messenger sent from here to break through the blockade and reach Lima?”

"How long will it take for the adults in Lima to hold meetings, raise supplies, and assemble troops? And most importantly, the New Chinese fleet is firmly controlling the entire Pacific coast. Where will our reinforcements come from? Do we expect them to fly over like birds?"

"Perhaps you expect them to bypass the continent, land at Port Bello, and then traverse that plague-ridden isthmus jungle? How long will that take? Two months? Three months? Or half a year? By the time they arrive, the only thing they can do is hold an unprecedented mass funeral for us on the ruins of Panama City!"

"Moreover, how long can the supplies stored in the city last us?"

"You...you're undermining morale!" Chief Justice Mejia trembled with rage, pointing at the congressman, but was momentarily speechless.

Colonel Martinez, who had been silent since the beginning of the meeting, slowly raised his head. The weariness and despair on his face were as deep as the cracks in the city wall.

He knew that the archbishop and judges' insistence stemmed from faith and honor, while Alvarez and others represented the harsh reality of survival.

As a soldier, his sense of honor drove him to fight to the last man, but as a commander, he could not ignore the desperate disparity in strength between the enemy and himself, the crumbling morale within the city, and the dwindling supplies. He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse and low: "Gentlemen, please allow me to state the facts. Our casualties continue to rise, and morale is nearing its lowest point. The main structure of the city walls is severely damaged; according to our assessment, they can withstand at most ten more days of bombardment of the same intensity before large-scale collapse is possible. The food reserves within the city, even under the strictest rationing system, can only last for less than twenty days."

"As for arming civilians and engaging in street fighting with the Xinhua people..." He shook his head bitterly, "After such a fierce baptism of artillery fire, I don't think that the hastily assembled civilians can withstand those fierce and well-trained Xinhua regular army."

He paused, glancing around at the officials with their varied expressions. "I have been ordered to defend Panama, and I will fulfill my duty until my last breath. However, as the highest military commander here, I must remind you that, from a purely military perspective, our hope of holding the city... is minuscule, almost zero."

"Therefore, whether or not to gamble the lives of more than six thousand people in the city for a hope that is almost illusory is an incredibly heavy and difficult decision that should not be made by me alone, or solely based on military considerations."

While Spanish colonial officials inside the city were arguing about their fate, and the defending soldiers were enduring the torment of shelling amidst the ruins and praying that the next shell wouldn't fall on their heads, a new attack, one they had never imagined, was quietly being prepared at the Xinhua Army's positions outside the city.

On a relatively flat and cleared open ground about 800 meters from the city wall, dozens of oddly shaped wooden launchers are arranged at an angle, pointing towards the sky above Panama City.

Soldiers are carefully placing long, spindle-shaped metal projectiles with tail fins onto the launch rails.

The surface of the projectile is rough, but it exudes a cold, hard industrial feel.

This is the latest secret weapon developed by the military industry department of the Republic of China in Xinzhou, and the first one to be put into actual combat testing—the rocket.

Drawing inspiration from the Ming Dynasty's "Divine Fire Flying Crow" design concept and incorporating the latest gunpowder propulsion and projectile technology, it aimed to deliver saturation strikes beyond the range of conventional artillery.

Several artillery officers carefully checked the readiness of each firing position, confirming the fuse, propellant, and aiming angle.

Then, one of the officers turned to the observation post on the hill behind and waved the red signal flag twice.

Lieutenant Colonel Lu Pingqiu, commander of the special task force, lowered his binoculars, his face expressionless, and simply said to the messenger beside him, "Let's begin. Let's see just how much of a surprise these rockets can bring."

Orders were issued quickly.

At the launch site, the soldiers in charge of the operation received instructions and successively ignited the fuses at the tail of the rockets.

"Chichichi..."

The sound of the fuse burning was rapid and intense.

Immediately afterwards, the tail of the first rocket suddenly spewed out a hot and thick orange-red flame. The huge recoil caused the launch pad to tremble slightly. Accompanied by a deafening, sharp, and unique whistling sound that pierced the eardrums, it soared into the air, trailing a thick column of white smoke!

As if it were a signal, in an instant, dozens of launchers spewed out raging flames in succession.

"Boo...hoo...boo..."

Countless streaks of flame ripped through the slightly dim evening sky, like a meteor shower flying in reverse, or like a flaming spear thrown down by a god in his rage.

The scene was spectacular and vibrant, as if the entire sky was ignited and torn apart by the dense flames and plumes of smoke.

The sharp, dense whistling sounds converged into a deathly chorus, drowning out all other noises on the battlefield and even temporarily overshadowing the three-day-long barrage of heavy artillery fire.

Juan and Carlos, who were huddled behind a broken parapet in Panama City, eating hard bread, were startled and looked up abruptly by a sound they had never heard before, which sounded like the screams of a thousand demons.

"My God... what is that?!" Carlos dropped the bread in his hand, his mouth agape as he stared in disbelief at the rapidly approaching flames and thick smoke in the sky.

Juan's pupils suddenly contracted. He had seen all kinds of artillery on the battlefields of Flanders, but he had never witnessed such a bizarre and terrifying attack method.

That wasn't the arc trajectory of a cannonball, but... a fiery arrow flying straight at us!
He didn't know what it was, but a sense of foreboding arose within him.

"...Lie down, lie down now!...Cling to the city wall!" he roared hoarsely, his heart gripped by the deepest fear within him.

Not only them, but all the Spanish garrison on the city walls, whether veterans from Europe or locally recruited Creole militia, were stunned by this apocalyptic sight.

Some people instinctively made the sign of the cross on their chests, while others stared blankly at the dazzling trails of flame that flew by, forgetting even to continue their prayers.

The swarm of rockets arrived in an instant. Not all of them landed precisely in the city, and their flight paths appeared somewhat shaky and unstable, but their sheer number was enough to cover a considerable area of ​​targets.

The first batch of rockets, accompanied by a chilling whistle, plunged into Panama City.

“Boom!
"Boom! Boom!"

The explosions were no longer the dull thuds of artillery fire, but sharper, more violent tearing sounds.

The black powder loaded in the warhead exploded violently, blasting pre-formed fragments and the warhead's metal casing into a deadly metal storm that swept across the surrounding area.

Even more terrifying was that after many rockets exploded, they quickly ignited everything that could burn—the thatched roofs and tarpaulins, furniture, goods stored in warehouses, and even soldiers' clothing…

In an instant, towering fires broke out in many parts of Panama City.

Thick black smoke billowed up, mixing with the smoke from rocket launches and explosions, almost obscuring half the sky.

The firelight illuminated terrified faces, and cries, screams, the sounds of collapsing buildings, and continuous explosions intertwined to create a symphony of destruction.

A rocket crashed into a side aisle of the Church of San Dominic, shattering its ornate decorations in the explosion. The fire then ignited and slowly spread, engulfing the religious symbol of Panama City.

"Put out the fire! Put out the fire quickly!"

"Oh God, this is hellfire!"

"We are all cursed!"

"Help……!"

The city descended into utter chaos.

The area, which had been somewhat orderly, was overwhelmed by the panicked crowds, and the firefighting efforts seemed futile and laughable in the face of such a dense concentration of fires.

The rocket attack not only caused physical destruction, but also completely shattered the psychological defenses of the defenders and residents.

This weapon, which brings both explosion and fire destruction, has overturned their understanding of warfare.

Alvarez stood by the window of the city hall, his face filled with terror: "Did you see that? Did you all see that? Oh God, this is a force we can't possibly resist!"

"The new Chinese have methods we can't even imagine; they want to destroy everything we have... Surrender! We must surrender immediately! Otherwise, all of us, along with this city, will be reduced to ashes in the flames!"

The archbishop and the judge were also pale-faced, staring blankly at the rising flames outside, their lips trembling, unable to utter a single word for a long time.

The towering flames and heart-wrenching cries from the city were more convincing than any argument.

Faith and honor seem so pale and powerless in the face of such pure and efficient striking power.

Colonel Martinez leaned weakly against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath of the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and burning.

He knew that the fate of Panama City had been irrevocably sealed by the barrage of rockets that resembled a volley of hellfire.

The battle may already be over.

What remains now is how to secure a less tragic end for this dying city and for the thousands of souls still struggling to survive within it.
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(End of this chapter)