Chapter 178: Better You Than Me

Zhang Zhao picked up a large flatbread and sniffed it. The flatbread had not gone sour, but it did have a strange, somewhat foul smell.

He looked left and right, then fixed his gaze on Ma Yaozi, who was wolfing down roast meat on one side, gnawing on a flatbread, and still managing to gulp water in between.

Ma Yaozi looked at Zhang Zhao and walked over, somewhat puzzled. What was wrong with the young lord? Why was he looking at him like that?

"Yaozi, you dog-begotten bastard, if you ever scratch your feet and then go fetch flatbread for me again, believe me, tonight I'll make you share a dirt pit with the Wild Bear!"

Zhang Zhao's expression was very ugly. The armored soldiers around him heard Zhang Zhao speaking through gritted teeth and all felt like laughing.

This young lord was good in every way. For a noble, his endurance of hardship was no less than that of common soldiers like them, and his fighting skill made everyone admire him greatly, but he was just a bit... hmm... particular.

Right! Particular.

Hands that had scratched feet could not touch food. After relieving himself, he had to cover it with dirt. If lice appeared on his body, he would shout and yell. Every morning he had to find a place to wash his face first. Truly a noble — so many rules.

Ma Yaozi could not help but shiver. Right now, up in the mountains, they slept in dug-out dirt pits, usually beside the fire, spread with a little dry grass — enough for sleeping.

However, to save energy and to keep warmer, two men generally slept together.

That Wild Bear was already huge in body, and he also liked to snore. Whoever had to sleep with him would absolutely suffer terribly.

"Young lord, Yan Jin has arrived!"

Just as Ma Yaozi stood there shamefaced and downcast, Yan Jin arrived. Together with the squad of Shan Zhu'er that had just come over, all fifty-six able-bodied soldiers of the Hanshan Du were now assembled.

"Word has come from Bai Congxin's side. The day before yesterday they burned at least forty percent of the stores in the Persians' granary. They judge that the Persians will soon be unable to hold on and will withdraw!"

Zhang Zhao called over all officers above the rank of fire chief and relayed the latest news received.

"I also have news just extracted from interrogation. A deserter who fled from under the walls of Balasagun said that starting earlier today, the main Persian army began storming Balasagun — the kind of assault that ignores casualties!" Yan Jin frowned and told Zhang Zhao what he had learned.

"The dogs! They're trying to shed their shells like a cicada! I'd guess the ones leading the assault must be the God-Warriors in the Persian army!"

Zhang Zhao's face turned cold, and he laughed mockingly at once. After the granary had been burned, to still launch an assault that ignored casualties was clearly a performance and a disguise.

"The Duke means they may be about to retreat? That makes sense! If Commander Bai and Commander Li with just a few hundred cavalry could burn the Persians' granary, that only proves this Persian army's fighting strength really is nothing much.

They've now lost nearly half their grain, so indeed their only choice is to withdraw quickly while they still have enough."

Wang Tongxin, that reckless fellow, had learned to think. Perhaps having nearly been killed several times made him feel his luck was not too good, and he was gradually shifting toward the role of a commander.

"If that's the case, before they retreat, they'll certainly send elite troops to hunt us down first, so the retreat can be safer!" Yin Yaozi agreed with Wang Tongxin's opinion.

"Then tell me — if you were them, how would you find us?"

Zhang Zhao looked at Yin Yaozi and asked. Among these men, Yin Yaozi, Yan Jin, and Fan Quan were the more quick-witted ones.

"From Ashibulai City to Balasagun is over a hundred li. With just a few dozen of us hiding in these mountains, finding us is simply impossible!

So I'd guess that recently they'll definitely organize a large-scale grain transport and deliberately let us ambush it.

If we send many men, they'll choose to surround us completely. If we send few, they may choose to deliberately let a few lightly wounded men escape, then track them all the way, hoping to find the main force."

Yin Yaozi closed his eyes, put himself in the Persians' place, thought for a moment, and then said.

"Exactly right! If the Persians want to find us, this is the only way."

Zhang Zhao nodded appreciatively. This cousin of his had only average martial ability, but he truly could be cultivated into a great general.

"Duke, scouts from the Second Right Squad's Yi Team out on reconnaissance have sent word: a rather large Persian grain convoy has set out from the seventh grain storage point ten li away, heading for Balasagun." Just as they were discussing, Fan Shun came trotting over.

The group burst out laughing together, all wearing expressions of having everything under control. Since they had guessed these fellows' methods, responding was much simpler.

"I now order: everyone assemble and rest in place. Bring out all our grain except the roasted soybeans we carry, and let everyone have a good meal.

Fan Quan, take some men and fetch all the armor we stored at the 'old home.'

Ma Yaozi, pick five or six sharp ones. We'll set an ambush nearby and wait for you. You know what to do, right?" Zhang Zhao quickly made his decisions.

"I know!" Ma Yaozi wore a constipated expression. "The Duke wants me to pretend to ambush them, then be unable to hold and get chased, and lead them into the kill zone!"

"What's with the long face? Look around you — these are all a bunch of simpletons, slow in the head. Only you, Ma Yaozi, can do this job well! Get going!"

Ismar led six or seven hundred elite troops trailing about one li behind the grain convoy, but by now, the ease he had felt when first receiving this task was long gone.

Because only after arriving did he learn that the enemy force in the mountains was not so easy to deal with — their numbers were around a hundred, and their fighting strength was extremely strong.

At the same time, Governor Du Lufu's own nephew Abu Nasr and some elite warriors who had come with him from Bukhara had also all been killed.

With the great matter of the governor's own nephew and royal clan member being killed, the officer guarding the grain storage point was already scared numb and had no hope of surviving at all. These days he did nothing but eat and drink, already preparing to await death.

So the work at the grain transport point was a complete mess. If not for the enemy force in the mountains being too few in number, this most critical storage point would have been overrun long ago. This also meant Ismar could not pull out many men at all.

"General, they've caught them! The warriors of the vanguard have caught those hateful rats!"

While he was lost in thought, the scouts ahead came to report that his men had already caught the enemy in the mountains.

"Excellent!" Ismar punched the air in excitement. He had six or seven hundred men here, all relatively elite warriors. As long as they caught those enemies, with seven or eight against one, how could they lose?

Ma Yaozi swiftly waded across a small stream. The stream was not deep, but there were many round stones covered in moss in the water.

He wore no armor, so crossing was fairly easy, but with armor on, even just twenty-some jin of extra weight made it very hard to cross.

Ismar hesitated somewhat. Across the stream, the mountains were high and the forest dense, and he kept feeling that these fleeing enemies were deliberately luring them — quite possibly there was an ambush waiting on the other side.

If they were halfway across the water and a band of men suddenly charged out from the other side, that would be somewhat dangerous.

"General, the Governor's nephew has already died in battle, and clearing the enemy from the grain transport route was something you volunteered for. If this cannot be accomplished, I fear that with His Excellency the Governor..."

The personal guard behind him quietly reminded Ismar, and Ismar's face immediately changed.

He now remembered: the proposal to retreat had been his own idea first.

Now the governor's nephew was dead. Although it was not his fault, one could imagine how furious Governor Du Lufu would be upon learning this news.

If he also failed to clear out the enemies lurking on the road, then in the end, the biggest scapegoat would surely be him.

"Wade across the river! With this many men, even a war of attrition will wipe them out!"

Ismar made his decision. The Persian soldiers in leather armor and mail began crossing the river.

"Let them cross. Once thirty percent are across, we'll all shoot at their rear column still crossing.

Wild Bear, Dunzhu, Wang Tongxin — you three lead ten soldiers in three layers of armor to block those who have already crossed. Once we've shot the enemy rear column to pieces, we'll come and finish off the rest together."

As Zhang Zhao spoke, he walked out of the forest holding his one-dan hard bow, while the rest of the Hanshan Du soldiers uniformly took out their repeating crossbows, each also carrying a bow on their back.

In the age of cold steel, far more men died under arrows than in hand-to-hand combat.

Though Zhang Zhao now had only some sixty men to face over six hundred of the enemy, he was not the least bit worried.

This was no game — not everyone had the resolve to fight to the death. Against a Persian force of this caliber, once six hundred-odd men suffered seventy or eighty casualties, they would surely break.

Isma'il was drenched in sweat. The thing he dreaded most had happened: just as over a hundred men were wading across, several dozen armored crossbowmen suddenly appeared on the opposite bank.

The stream was full of slick stones, and the men crossing were all but stationary targets, shot down in swathes where they stood.

Even on the near bank, where men were preparing to cross, many were shot down. The enemy crossbows were swift and vicious; even mail could not stop them. Any man struck was nearly always pierced through gut and bowels.

"Quick! Quick! Send the vanguard charging!" Isma'il howled. As a reasonably competent officer, he still knew where the key to victory lay.

If only the hundred-odd men who had completed the crossing could swiftly smash through the dozen or so enemies blocking them, the battle could still be fought.

But despair seized him at once. Amid an earth-shaking roar, a giant of a man burst from the enemy ranks, clad in at least three layers of armor and wielding a massive battle-axe.

Like a raging bear, the giant charged straight into the crowd that had just crossed the river, swinging his great axe like a windmill.

The crowd scattered like termites from an overturned nest — with a roar, they fled in every direction from the giant at their center.

Next, another equally mighty man hurled four javelins in succession, pinning four unlucky wretches straight to the ground.

Then he charged in with twin spears, and no man who came near him could withstand a second blow.

Wang Tongxin roared as well. These Persian soldiers, clad only in mail, were far weaker than he had imagined.

They had waded across without even forming ranks at the first moment, and the bows in their hands were mostly flimsy things of six or seven dou draw weight.

A great state like the Samanid realm of Persia could not possibly be incapable of making strong bows — so there was only one explanation.

These Persians could only draw bows under eight dou repeatedly, which showed their fighting strength was just that — nothing more.

At that thought, Wang Tongxin, armored in three layers, did as Manxiong and Dunzhu had done and gave no thought to formation. He charged in swinging his pair of wrought-bronze maces and laid about him wildly.

One mace to the chest, and the enemy vomited blood and crumpled.

One mace to the head, and an enemy in a helmet burst open like a cracked watermelon, red juice spraying everywhere.

On the hillside, the volleys of arrows grew fiercer by the moment. The men wading with trousers rolled up could barely move, and were shot down in swathes in the stream, soon dyeing the water entirely red.

The hundred-odd men who had crossed fared worse still: they were actually scattered and sent fleeing by a dozen or so enemies. The brave ones and officers among them tried to resist, but were all swiftly cut down.

By now, of the six hundred-odd Persians, over a hundred had crossed the river, only to be shattered before they could gain a foothold.

Dozens were shot down in swathes in the stream, and those preparing to cross, hesitating in their dense ranks, had another dozen or more shot down. From the very start, the battle was sliding irreversibly in one direction.

"Run! Run now!" Isma'il snarled in a low, urgent voice, tugging at the officers and guards around him, signaling them to flee at once.

One officer still hesitated. Dire as things were, defeat was not certain — after all, they outnumbered the enemy ten to one.

"Commander of a Thousand, we cannot retreat. His Excellency the Governor gave us a fight-to-the-death order."

"Hmph!" Isma'il snorted coldly. "Do you think His Excellency the Governor can even make it back to Tashkent?

Run, quickly. We'll gather our men, go back and sack Talas, then use Talas's gold and silver to work things out in Bukhara. At worst we'll be dismissed — better than dying out here in these desolate mountains."

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