Chapter 177: The Art of Running Away

"Damn it, curse his mother! I was only a few dozen paces short — it was all a matter of luck!

With a little better fortune, I, Li Erlang, could have taken the enemy general's head amid ten thousand troops! What a pity! What a pity!"

Li Ruotai slapped his thigh with one hand while holding a leg of lamb in the other, gnawing and cursing as he went.

It truly was a pity. Bai Congxin, Hu Guang, and Guo Guangcheng around him all felt sorry for him too. Only after interrogating prisoners did they learn that the high official they had chased today was none other than Ali Dullaf, the commander-in-chief of the Samanid Persian invaders.

This was the supreme commander of an army of thirty thousand! He was also a vizier and provincial governor of Samanid Persia. If Li Ruotai had captured or killed him today, what would that have been? That would have been taking the enemy commander's head amid ten thousand troops with just one hundred fifty cavalry!

A deed of such magnitude would be recorded in the annals of history, and perhaps after death one might even be enshrined in the Martial Temple as an attendant sacrifice.

To lose such a glorious achievement — how could it not pain a man's heart?

Hu Guang imagined himself in that position and was so pained he could barely swallow his mutton.

"Captain Li, look on the bright side. Though the wretch Dullaf escaped with his life, today we burned at least forty percent of the grain in his granary.

His defeat is already sealed; withdrawing his troops is only a matter of time. From Balasagun back to Talas is over a thousand li — are you afraid there will be no chance to kill him?"

Bai Congxin wiped the grease from his hands and consoled him.

"Right! Both of you Captains, we should send someone to notify the Commandery Duke as soon as possible, so that he can adjust his strategy in time."

Hu Guang ladled out a bowl of wild-vegetable soup cakes for the two veterans before speaking.

"Correct, Commander Hu is right. We should send someone at once to inform the young lord!" The two nodded in satisfaction, though whether they were satisfied with Hu Guang's idea or with his attitude was unclear.

The joys and sorrows of men truly cannot be shared. While Bai Congxin, Li Ruotai, Hu Guang, and the others were reveling in today's great success and feeling regret, among the Samanid Persians — specifically among officers above the rank of banner commander — panic was spreading.

An officer who could command a thousand soldiers was already a mid-to-upper-level officer, so they knew what kind of blow the army had suffered this day!

First, outside the city, dozens or even a hundred men had been devoured by a force combining light and heavy cavalry; one banner of heavy infantry had been beaten out of its wits; one thousand-man unit of holy warriors would need several days of rest before it could fight again; and then the granary had been burned.

What was more terrifying was that the significance of those one hundred fifty fully armored cavalry was far too extraordinary!

This was not something an ordinary power could afford. Any state capable of fielding fully armored cavalry had to have a population of at least several hundred thousand.

Combined with the five or six hundred armored soldiers in the city, all the evidence indicated that their intelligence likely had a grave omission.

But... but who was this power that possessed fully armored cavalry?

That Taugast king who called himself the King of the Golden Kingdom? But weren't they far away in the east?

It was said that Satuq's main base was called Kashgar, which was over two hundred parasangs from here. Wouldn't the Golden Kingdom be five hundred parasangs away?

In truth, one could not blame these Persians for their poor intelligence, because since the decline of the Silk Road, communication between East and West had been nowhere near as smooth as it had been two hundred years before.

The parasang was an ancient Persian unit of length; one parasang was about eleven li. Kashgar was Shule, which was indeed over two hundred parasangs away — that is, over a thousand kilometers.

Zhang Zhao's entire army, traveling light with enough horses to ride, had taken nearly three months to make the journey; Li Ruotai, traveling day and night, had also taken close to two months.

Such a distance, whether in the tenth century or in later ages, was a considerable one — farther than Shanghai to Wuhan.

In modern times information spreads quickly, yet when the epidemic broke out in Wuhan, people in Shanghai did not know for a while. Let alone in an ancient society like this — one can imagine the difficulty of gathering intelligence over such a distance.

The current situation was that for the Samanid Persian invaders led by Ali Dullaf, knowing the situation in Balasagun three or four hundred kilometers away was already considered adequate.

To demand that they also figure out matters over a thousand kilometers away, with snow mountains and glaciers blocking the way, was truly asking too much.

Right now, let alone figuring out where these fully armored cavalry came from, they could not even clearly determine where the Khotan Golden Kingdom actually was.

In a fantasy travelogue written by Samanid Persians several decades later, they still mistook Li Shengtian for the King of China and addressed him as the Taugast Khagan.

So expecting them to figure out the situation now — how could that be possible?

Though the situation was unclear, Ali Dullaf, who had nearly sent Li Ruotai into the Martial Temple yesterday, knew that he could not keep fighting.

It had even reached the point where the question was no longer victory or defeat, but how he himself could get away.

The amount of grain destroyed in the granary fire today was far more than the forty percent Bai Congxin and the others assumed; in fact, nearly sixty percent had been burned.

The remaining army provisions could still supply the whole army for ten days, but because the supply route was under constant attack, the speed at which grain arrived was far outpaced by the rate of loss.

If the granary had not been burned today, Ali Dullaf could have held out for over a month. But with sixty percent burned today, holding out even fifteen days would be difficult.

And in a mere fifteen days, with the supply route under attack, enemy cavalry constantly harassing from outside, and armored soldiers holding firm within, Balasagun absolutely could not be breached.

Moreover, of the three trebuchets, one had already broken down from prolonged use, and the timber to repair it would have to be cut from several li away. The war could no longer be fought.

In the oppressive and anxious atmosphere, Ali Dullaf had no choice but to speak himself.

He had wanted one of his subordinate officers to suggest a retreat, but after waiting a long while, not a single foolish officer stepped forward to offer advice on a matter that would very likely end up being blamed on someone.

Samanid Persia had been flourishing like brocade adorned with flowers and a fire doused with oil for these past decades — which officer could fail to understand a little politics? Those who did not understand politics had long since been unable to survive.

"This vizier suspects that this entire campaign was a tragedy caused by being misled by erroneous information.

I have reason to suspect that the infidels in Talas and other places, for some unmentionable reason, deliberately misled us. They are traitors!"

Ali Dullaf's face was stern, his voice sonorous and forceful, and with his sweeping gestures, the speech truly sounded righteous!

And the officers below immediately understood what Ali Dullaf meant. Worthy of a governor, of a vizier — he saw further than they did.

Because although the Emir of Bukhara indeed did not much interfere with the provincial governors, the precondition was: do not smear the face of our great Nasr II.

The previous governor of Tashkent had been thrown into prison and had his house confiscated precisely because he had lost Balasagun and Talas, making Nasr II look very bad.

But this time — this time, counting the holy warriors, nearly thirty thousand troops had been mobilized. If they were beaten back to Tashkent just like that, wouldn't that be equivalent to smearing the face of the great Emir Nasr II again?

Losing tens of thousands of troops — this would require giving Bukhara an explanation.

So to save their lives, they could simply shift the blame onto the Karakhanids in Talas, Kulan, and other places!

Although they had converted to Islam, most of them were Turkic stock with black hair, black eyes, and light flaxen skin, quite different from the blond, fair-skinned East Iranian Scythian-Sogdian line.

Deep in their hearts, Ali Dullaf and the assembled generals — including Nasr II in the Ark Citadel of Bukhara and the Grand Vizier Balami in the Yak Fortress — had never truly regarded these Turkic peoples as their own.

Their status was only slightly above that of conquered infidels. Using them to take the blame was entirely workable.

Moreover, the grain was only enough for ten more days, and the supply route was under constant attack, so it was impossible to bring so many men back to Tashkent. In the end, being able to flee back with the core three or four thousand men would already be fortunate.

Tashkent was easy to return to, but with everyone having suffered such great losses, they had to answer to those above — did they not also have to answer to those below?

In that case, weren't the converted Karakhanids around Talas, Kulan, and White Water Hu City the perfect blood bags?

Truly a man worthy of being governor of Tashkent! The moment Ali Dullaf spoke, he immediately steadied the already panicking senior officers.

Now that the scapegoat had been chosen and a place to recoup the losses had been found, the only thing left was to think about how to get back.

"Lord Wazir! If we are now considering a withdrawal, then those small bands of troops raiding our supply route at will must first be cleared out.

Otherwise, if they attack us during our retreat, it will be very troublesome.

Your loyal Thousand-Household Commander of the Jackal Banner, Ismail, is willing to lead five hundred elite warriors to clear out these loathsome cockroaches!"

A banner thousand-household commander named Ismail was the first to step forward and speak.

At last someone had come forward to propose a retreat. Ali Dullaf smiled inwardly. Just now he had only said this war had been misled by bad information — he had not said anything about retreating.

He also knew what Ismail meant by stepping forward to speak: since they were going to run, someone had to make the arrangements.

And it was true that they needed to wipe out those enemies who kept ambushing the supply route. It was just that, under the present circumstances, the farther one got from the battlefield, the safer one was, was it not?

"I approve. Brave General Ismail, you may take your own five hundred men to carry out your mission.

Remember, you must completely clear out all those detestable fellows who have been attacking us in the jungle."

Ali Dullaf cast a look of feigned appreciation at this first man to jump out and speak of retreat — his chief candidate for scapegoat.

Ismail was inwardly delighted as well. He would soon be far from the battlefield. There were already about a thousand men guarding the supply route now — even Governor Dullaf's own nephew had been sent there. If he could bring another five hundred men, that would make fifteen hundred.

If these men had to both guard the supply route and destroy the enemy, it would indeed still not be quite enough.

But if they did not need to deliberately guard the supply route, and were only used to hunt down those rats hiding in the woods, it should still be a very easy matter.

Of course, he could never have imagined that the commander of the great army who had dared to use only some two thousand men to devour their twenty thousand was not directing the battle from Balasagun at all, but was up in the mountains.

"Wazir, since that is the case, tomorrow we must storm the city with even greater force. Your loyal Mas'udi requests permission to lead the Holy Warriors in an all-out assault on Balasagun, regardless of casualties!"

The second to speak was Mas'udi. Since they were going to retreat, the Holy Warriors certainly could not be taken along, so it was better to expend them beneath the walls of Balasagun.

Only a ferocious assault by the Holy Warriors could numb the enemy, keeping them from realizing that their own side intended to withdraw.

One had to know that the force sent today to burn the granaries had numbered two to three thousand light cavalry. Of course, calling them light cavalry was a stretch — they should rather be called herdsmen. This was also the reason the enemy had not sent them into battle at all.

But these two to three thousand herdsmen still posed no small threat to their own side, because although their fighting strength was not great, once their own side began to collapse and flee, their ability to pursue would be far too strong.

Of their own army of nearly thirty thousand, the cavalry numbered fewer than three thousand. If they could not put on the appearance of continuing a fierce assault, and were caught during the retreat by these enemy herdsmen snapping at their heels in pursuit, it would be trouble.

Moreover, as a general relatively close to Ali Dullaf's confidence, Mas'udi knew very well the character of this Wazir and Governor of Tashkent.

What he liked most was finding scapegoats. Having just suffered a defeat in the assault on the city, Mas'udi needed to quickly shoulder a heavier burden, or things would surely go badly for him when he returned.

Ali Dullaf was satisfied. He had someone to open the road, and someone to bring up the rear. As long as he could bring these few thousand elite troops back, then with a little manipulation and concealment, it could still be dressed up as a return without achievement.

"Good! Tomorrow the whole army will be given rewards — meat and flatbread in abundance — and then we storm Balasagun!"

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