In mid July 1631, winter had arrived in South America. Uruguay, caught in the grip of the Little Ice Age, was already experiencing nighttime temperatures close to zero degrees Celsius.
Lin Youde had just finished patrolling the camp. He wrapped his overcoat tighter around himself and hurried toward the mess hall. Hot soup and food were prepared there for the night watchmen. On such a bitter winter night, a bowl of steaming fish soup to warm the stomach was a rare comfort.
Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, a sharp bang shattered the silence.
Lin Youde stopped abruptly and turned toward the watchtower where the sound had come from.
Another musket shot rang out. The former Swiss mercenary Karl and his companions were nervously loading their weapons while shouting warnings in broken Chinese. "Alarm!" "Indians!" "Many!"
Lin Youde felt his scalp prickle. There was no time to hesitate. He rushed to the gong hanging beside the kitchen door, seized a rolling pin, and struck it repeatedly. Then he sprinted toward the dormitory, kicking the door open and shouting at the top of his lungs.
Within moments, sixteen off duty guards poured out, disheveled and confused. The scene was chaotic. Some of them had even forgotten to grab their weapons.
Lin Youde's face was grim. "Something's wrong! The Indians are attacking! Everyone grab your weapons and prepare to fight! Chang Kaisheng, mobilize the construction team and distribute the weapons. Hurry!"
Gunshots rang out again from the watchtower by the east gate. Lin Youde's expression tightened. There was no proper gate on the east side. If the attackers broke through there, the situation would spiral out of control.
"East gate! Those with weapons, follow me!" Lin Youde shouted as he rushed forward. Eight or nine guards armed with hunting crossbows followed close behind.
The east gate area was piled high with debris and dirt. As Lin Youde approached, he saw several Native Americans climbing over the mound with long spears, illuminated by the light of a brazier. The two sentries in the watchtower had just fired their arquebuses and were desperately reloading.
"Aim, fire!" Lin Youde commanded.
The crossbows rattled loudly. Several attackers who had just reached the top of the pile were struck by arrows and steel balls at a distance of about twenty meters. They screamed and collapsed. The guards immediately began reloading in a frenzy.
Shouts erupted outside the east gate. Soon, more Native Americans surged back onto the mound of mud, broken wood, and construction waste.
"Aim carefully!" Lin Youde shouted. "Do not fire all three bolts at once!"
Moments earlier, ten men had loosed thirty shots in a single volley, resulting in only four casualties.
The arquebuses were ready again. The two Swiss immigrants fired from the watchtower, drawing two sharp cries from the attackers below. Lin Youde ordered another volley. This time, ten arrows and steel balls cut down the last two men at the front.
The narrow approach and unstable debris meant that only a few attackers could climb at a time. Meanwhile, the continuous fire from the matchlock guns on the watchtower inflicted heavy damage from the flank, making it nearly impossible for the attackers to hold their position.
After several minutes of stalemate, loud shouts rang out again. Several Native Americans raised crude bows and fired at the watchtower. One sentry was struck in the face by a bone arrow and collapsed. The other narrowly avoided a fatal hit and dove into cover.
Lin Youde's heart sank. He had only ten men at the gate. If the attackers rushed in, they would be overwhelmed.
At that moment, Liu Dafa arrived with a group from the construction team. They carried several heavy crates, shouting encouragement as white breath steamed from their mouths.
"Good stuff," Lin Youde muttered, instantly realizing what the crates contained. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Inside were Type 31 full body armor sets. Each suit consisted of an iron helmet, mask, chest plates, and greaves, forged by the weapons workshop using water powered hammers. Each weighed nearly forty pounds. In an age when plate armor was falling out of use, this high hardness steel armor was said to withstand arquebus fire at medium to long range. It was a new export product being developed by the Executive Committee. Only five sets existed, all previously sent to Dingyuan Fort.
"You, you, you, and you two," Lin Youde pointed quickly. "Put on the armor. Everyone else, help them."
Five strong guards stepped forward. The others opened the crates and worked quickly to help them don the heavy suits.
Liu Dafa had brought over thirty men, armed with ten arquebuses and several crossbows. Their arrival greatly increased the defensive firepower. Excited, many clamored to counterattack. Lin Youde understood them well. They could shoot from a distance, but close combat or casualties would shatter their morale. He ordered only the five armored guards to advance while the rest stayed back to provide covering fire.
The matchlock guns on the watchtower had fallen silent. The attackers remained crowded at the entrance, their repeated attempts to scale the debris repelled with heavy losses. More than a dozen bodies lay piled at the gate, yet they still refused to retreat.
Following Lin Youde's orders, the five Iron Men advanced toward the watchtower and climbed the wooden stairs. One Swiss guard lay dying, arrows embedded in his face and chest, blood bubbling from his mouth. The other had taken a shoulder wound and was hurriedly bandaging it.
"Fire," came the deep, muffled voice from beneath Chang Kaisheng's metal mask.
The five Iron Men fired their matchlock guns, then immediately switched to their crossbows. The clang of steel echoed as arrows and bullets tore into the tightly packed attackers. After firing three bolts, they reloaded and unleashed another volley. The attackers at the gate had no protection. Bodies fell one after another.
Chang Kaisheng smiled grimly as the remaining attackers finally turned and fled.
Twenty meters away, Lin Youde saw the signal and felt a surge of relief. "Reload! Advance slowly! Maintain formation!"
Nearly forty transmigrators formed two lines and advanced toward the gate, weapons trembling in their hands. For all of them, this was their first real battle. Excitement, fear, nausea, and adrenaline mixed together. Some bit their lips until they bled. Others shook uncontrollably. Their breathing was ragged as they moved forward.
Chang Kaisheng signaled again. The gate was clear.
"Stop!" Lin Youde roared. "Team one, stay alert. Team two, block the gate. Be careful!"
Liu Dafa exhaled heavily and led the construction workers to pile debris, dirt, and broken materials into the entrance. Staying low, they climbed onto the mound and threw large chunks inward. In less than twenty minutes, the gate was completely sealed.
Lin Youde finally allowed himself to breathe. He left one team to reinforce the watchtower and led the rest back into the darkness. The rest of the fort was far from calm.
The night of July 13 was long and terrifying. Sporadic gunfire and shouting echoed until five in the morning. In their panic, the transmigrators even dragged out several cannons. Lin Youde moved constantly, rallying scattered groups and reinforcing critical positions.
At five a.m. on July 14, Dingyuan Fort finally fell silent. After hours of harassment, the Native Americans carried away what bodies they could and vanished into the wilderness.
Uncertain of what lay beyond the walls, the transmigrators remained inside the fort until dawn.