Chapter 356: Going to Hamadan

The nineteenth year of Hongwu, the fifth day of the fourth month.

Three hundred li west of Samaerhan City, deep in the Gobi.

Zhu Yong mounted his warhorse and gazed at the ruined camp in the distance.

The Ottoman tents were still ablaze, thick smoke billowing, the air filled with the smell of char and blood.

The ground was littered with discarded banners, curved swords, grain bags, and a dozen or so corpses that hadn't been retrieved.

In the skirmish three days earlier, the 150,000-strong allied army was shattered by the 50,000 Longxiang Army.

Ba Ye Jide fled faster than a rabbit, leading the remnants westward, without even having time to pack the central army's main tent.

"Prince, the scouts have returned. The Ottomans fled two hundred li west of Hamadan and are gathering their scattered troops; the Mamluks and the Jin Khanate have also dispersed, each going their own way," Zhang Wu rode over, a smile on his face.

Zhu Yong nodded, his gaze crossing the endless Gobi toward the west.

Hamadan, an ancient Persian city, was also the last barrier on the western frontier of the Timur Empire.

Beyond Hamadan lay the Ottoman realm: the Anatolian Peninsula, the Black Sea, the Mediterranean, and Constantinople.

"Send the order: the whole army continues westward, and will rest again at Hamadan."

Zhang Wu was startled and asked, "Prince, are we not pursuing?"

"We must pursue, but the brothers need a breather; three days and five hundred li is bearable for men but not for horses. Rest two days at Hamadan, replenish grain and fodder, then head west," Zhu Yong dismounted and sat on a stone.

Zhang Wu took the command and left.

Zhu Yong leaned against a large stone, closed his eyes to recuperate.

Sunlight warmed his face, and from afar came the sounds of soldiers clearing the battlefield, occasional whinnies of warhorses.

He was already calculating the next battle in his mind.

The 150,000 allied force was scattered in a single engagement.

But Ba Ye Jide remained, the Mamluk Sultan was still there, and remnants of the Jin Khanate persisted.

These people would not be content; sooner or later they would rise again.

Rather than wait for them to regroup before fighting, it's better to strike while their morale is scattered, pressing forward until they submit.

He had read about the Ottoman Empire, the Mamluk Dynasty, and the Jin Khanate in history books of his past life, knowing their size, population, and armies.

But in this life, he would personally turn those lands into Great Ming territory.

Wang Gui handed over a jug of water and said, "Prince, have a drink."

Zhu Yong took it, drank, then suddenly asked, "Wang Gui, do you think Fifth Brother knows that war has broken out over in the Western Regions?"

Wang Gui thought for a moment and said, "It takes at least seven or eight days for news to reach the Western Regions; Prince Yan, once informed, will certainly come to assist."

Zhu Yong laughed, "That kid is more eager for battle than I am."

Knowing Zhu Di's temperament, Zhu Yong had already informed him of this campaign, since his own forces were insufficient.

From the Western Regions to Timur's residence, even a fast horse would take about ten days.

Waiting for Zhu Di to receive the news and redeploy troops would take at least a month.

By then, the war would already be over.

But Zhu Yong did not intend to wait for him.

He stood, brushed the dust off himself, and said, "Let's go to Hamadan."

On the seventh day of the fourth month, the army arrived at Hamadan.

The ancient city was slightly smaller than Samaerhan, but its walls were thick, forming the throat of eastern Persian Plateau.

Timur had fought here in his day, and many Persians still lived within the city.

The garrison of Hamadan was commanded by a veteran Persian named Abudule, over fifty, sporting a large beard.

It was said that Prince Wu had arrived, leading all city officials out to welcome him.

When Zhu Yong entered the city, the Street was lined on both sides with civilians.

Persians, Turks, and Arabs stood with heads lowered, daring not to look at the Longxiang Army behind him.

The iron‑clad soldiers glinted coldly in the sun, their flintlock guns polished to a shine.

Abudule followed behind Zhu Yong, cautiously asking, "Prince, will the Ottomans strike back?"

Zhu Yong glanced at him, "What, are you scared?"

Abudule quickly shook his head, "Not scared, not scared. With you, Prince, we fear nothing."

Zhu Yong said nothing.

He was, of course, afraid; these Persians had been terrified by Timur and later bullied by the Ottomans, and fear anyone who comes.

But fear aside, the battles that must be fought still must be fought.

After entering, Zhu Yong set up a camp at the Governor's Office and summoned the generals for a council.

On the sand table, the terrain west of Hamadan was clear at a glance.

Beyond the Zagros Mountains lay the Mesopotamian basin, the Tigris and Euphrates, the heartland of the Ottoman Empire.

Further west was the Anatolian Peninsula, the Ottomans' old stronghold.

"Where is Ba Ye Jide now?" Zhu Yong asked.

Chen Heng pointed to a city on the sand table and said, "At Mo Su Er, six hundred li from here; he has gathered thirty to forty thousand scattered troops, plus the forces originally stationed in the Mesopotamian basin, totaling about seventy to eighty thousand men."

Zhu Yong nodded, "Seventy to eighty thousand, not many."

Zhang Wu couldn't help but say, "Prince, we have only a little over forty thousand; marching to Mo Su Er would stretch the supply line too far…"

Zhu Yong cut him off: "We don't need to attack Mo Su Er; Ba Ye Jide is waiting for us to siege his city. He isn't afraid of sieges; his cavalry only shines on the plains. If we don't go, he'll come to us."

He drew a circle on the sand table and said, "From here to Mo Su Er is six hundred li, all plain. Ba Ye Jide dares not come out to fight; he fears open battle. We'll march west, seize his city, cut his supplies, and force him out."

The generals nodded.

Zhu Yong stood and said, "Send the order: the whole army rests for two days; on the ninth day we continue westward."

April 9th, the army continued marching west.

After passing Hamadan, the terrain gradually flattened, the Gobi turned into Grassland, and the Grassland became farmland.

On both banks of the Tigris River, wheat grew up to waist height, and villages were dotted like stars on a board.

The Ottoman Empire's civilians, upon seeing the army, were frightened and hid inside, sealing doors and windows.

Zhu Yong ordered: no disturbing civilians, no looting; violators shall be beheaded.

The 50,000 Longxiang Army upheld strict discipline, not a single hair of transgression.

When a soldier was thirsty, he would go to the well to draw water, and even drop a few copper coins on the well platform.

April 14th, the army reached the east bank of the Tigris River.

Directly across lay an important Ottoman city, the gateway of Mosul, a small town called "Zahu."

The city was not large, but its walls were thick, housing a garrison of Ottoman troops.

Zhu Yong did not rush to cross the river, letting the army set up camp by the shore.

Zhang Wu, puzzled, asked: "Prince, aren't we going to assault the city?"

Zhu Yong pointed to the opposite bank and said: "Look over there."

Zhang Wu followed his gaze; on the Zahu wall across the river, soldiers stood densely packed, archers nocked arrows, spearmen formed a strict line awaiting.

The city gate was tightly shut, and the suspension bridge hung high.

"They're scared; if they're scared it's easy to handle," Zhu Yong said lightly.

He turned and looked at the Longxiang Army behind him: "Prepare to cross the river."

The crossing equipment was simple; the engineers spent a day constructing dozens of sheepskin rafts.

These rafts are an old Grassland method, light and buoyant, capable of carrying a dozen or so people at a time.