Chapter 434: British Tactics
The next day, under the cover of the overcast sky and a fine drizzle, a squad of British soldiers slipped into the innermost layer of the Pā through a breach blown open by cannon fire.
The defending Mysore soldiers hastily fled through the tunnels, while the man left behind to ignite the powder keg took out his flint. But the sparks he struck three times in a row were quenched by the wind-blown rain.
Two British soldiers appeared at the tower entrance, raising their Brown Bess Flintlock Muskets at him.
An hour or so later, Marquis Wellesley's face was grim as he looked at the seven or eight corpses soaked in the rain. He had wasted a full 14 days on this crude fortress before finally breaching it, while fewer than 30 Mysoreans had died.
He glanced at the more than 200 flintlock muskets and a 4-pounder cannon piled nearby. He was about to return to his tent when he suddenly paused.
He turned and asked the officer in charge of organizing the spoils of war, "Why don't I see any of the enemy's gunpowder and cannonballs?"
The officer quickly pointed to a dozen small wooden crates beneath a tree. "They're over there, Lieutenant Colonel."
Wellesley came from a family of officers. Despite his youth, he already held the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.
"Is that all?" he said, somewhat surprised.
Wellesley squinted in the rain. These munitions would only last the defending soldiers for another 10 days at most. In other words, they had only prepared enough ammunition for just over 20 days from the start.
He wiped the rain from his face and looked at the narrow tower atop the Pā. A faint smile curved his lips as he turned to Cornwallis, who stood beside him, and said, "I believe I've discovered this thing's weakness."
Two days later.
Forty or fifty Hyderabad soldiers, in a very loose formation, hesitantly advanced towards the Pā on the hill ahead.
Soon, gunshots rang out from inside the Pā. One Hyderabadi had half his head blown off by a lead shot on the spot.
The others were horrified and instinctively wanted to flee, but as they turned, they saw hundreds of British soldiers in red uniforms in the distance, aiming their rifles at them.
Their hearts instantly clenched. Remembering the scene of the dozens who had fled back that morning being shot dead on the spot, they quickly turned back, looking for cover around them, and then gritted their teeth and returned fire.
Their British commander's order was to assault for an hour, after which they could retreat and be replaced by the next group.
However, in less than half an hour, these dozens of men were successively killed by the Mysore soldiers.
The distant British officer lowered his Telescope, turned to Wellesley, and seeing the latter nod in assent, he immediately barked at a small squad of Maratha soldiers nearby, "It's your turn now! Go take that fortress!"
Driven by the British soldiers, the Marathas advanced towards the Pā, their faces pale.
"Are you certain this will be effective?" Cornwallis watched the Indian soldiers fall one after another, struck by bullets, turning to Wellesley. "Aside from heavy casualties, we seem to have gained nothing."
"Just watch patiently," the latter replied impassively. "If I'm not mistaken, we'll take this fortress before nightfall."
Nearly 50 Maratha soldiers were soon all killed. Another contingent of British auxiliary troops was forced to charge. They began using the corpses of the fallen as cover, but they only lasted for just over 40 minutes, followed by the next wave...
Around 5 PM, Cornwallis looked at the corpses strewn around the Pā. He roughly estimated that more than ten contingents of Indian soldiers had died there, at least 600 men.
He was about to say something more to Wellesley when he unexpectedly noticed that the Mysore fortress had fallen silent.
"Well, it seems my assessment was correct." A smile spread across Wellesley's face as he turned to the officer beside him and said, "Let's send our men in."
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel!"
Immediately, nearly a thousand British 'Redcoats' surrounded the Pā. However, they met only scattered resistance.
The British, unhurried, successively blew open several layers of the walls with gunpowder, driving the Mysore soldiers into the tunnels.
Soon after, the retreating defenders detonated their powder kegs, and more than half of the Pā's topmost tower collapsed.
By the lingering light of the setting sun, Cornwallis saw the British flag planted on the fortress that had vexed him for half a year, and looked at Wellesley in shock: "How... how did you do it? You took this thing in just one day!"
"Ammunition reserves," Marquis Wellesley said calmly, pointing to the Pā's topmost tower. "The main body of this fortress consists of three layers of walls, and only the central area can be used to store ammunition.
"Based on its narrow dimensions, I estimated that after some space was taken up by food and fresh water, they could store a maximum of 300 cannonballs, over 15,000 musket rounds, and the corresponding gunpowder.
"Therefore, I ordered continuous attacks in waves. Under constant pressure, the Mysoreans would neglect their ammunition reserves. And, of course, prolonged continuous firing would also significantly reduce their accuracy.
"Eventually, they exhausted their ammunition, and our soldiers charged in. That's all there was to it."
In truth, he had omitted a detail. Namely, after killing numerous enemies, the Mysore soldiers would enter a state of extreme exhilaration and bloodlust, causing them to simply keep firing incessantly, without thinking about tactics.
Cornwallis listened as the young officer calmly recounted his tactic of 'using human lives to deplete enemy ammunition.' He stood frozen in astonishment. 'So his previous efforts to reduce casualties and preserve soldiers' lives had inadvertently given the enemy time to rest and devise tactics.'
In fact, relentless, reckless pressure was the optimal strategy against the Mysoreans, given their poor military discipline!
"But," he then considered a problem, "while we quickly breached this fortress, the casualties are far too high..."
In this single day of assault, at least 600 men had died. At this rate, resolving all the fortresses in Mangalore would cost twenty to thirty thousand lives!
"They're just Indian natives," Wellesley dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Their population is vast; this amounts to nothing."
As he spoke, he saw the commander of the Hyderabad army approaching him, his face dark. Yet, Wellesley remained unperturbed, continuing to Cornwallis:
"Furthermore, my objective isn't to capture Mangalore itself. I merely need Tipu to understand that we can swiftly breach his fortresses."
The Hyderabadi officer strode up to the two men, not even bothering to salute, and bellowed in a coarse voice:
"You cannot send my soldiers to their deaths like this! Nearly 400 men died today alone!"
Marquis Wellesley smiled, looking at him.
"To die in battle is a soldier's duty. There will be many more such assaults in the future; you'd do well to grow accustomed to it soon."
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