Chapter 25 - The Art of War

The crackling of thunder could be heard from the distance, a loud staccato of rumbling explosions that had been preceded by intermittent flashes of lightning in the midst of the darkness beyond. Painfully bright pillars of flame arose into the darkening skies, and small sparks of light could be seen flickering on and off all over the curtain of black draped over the skirts of the Wei Hao mountains.

That particularly dazzling glimmer of light over on the left side of that hill should be an M22-RTZ1 Multiple Array Missile System. My experienced eyes could easily distinguish the telltale signs of the narrow spread focus of its payload over short distances that made it an optimal weapon against minimally armored, closely clustered targets. Each salvo would be composed of 16 separate missiles firing in unison, each with multiple smart warheads capable of calculating the optimal angle and distance to release their payload mid-air and achieve maximum killing potential over the designated target area.

In other words, a single one of those infernal machines could rain fiery doom upon any living being over an area of roughly 10000 square feet at a rate of four salvos per minute. Make that six if you did not care about the damn warranty.

My trained eye could count, at a rough guess, about sixty of those down there, give or take a few dozen. One could almost mistake them for fancy fireworks, except for the deafening blasts at the end and the miserable screams as hundreds, thousands of people were blown to pieces.

“Sir, shouldn’t we intervene?” came the hesitant voice from over my left shoulder, then cut off abruptly as I turned my head just a fraction and raised an eyebrow. Just that, but it was enough. He had been on enough campaigns with me to know what it meant. “Ahem. Beg your pardon, sir.”

I turned back to continue watching the ghastly spectacle unfolding itself before my eyes, the constant flickers of brilliance illuminating my face and making me narrow my eyes intently. It was all the reaction I showed on the outside, a mask of stone - cold, unfeeling. Inhuman.

Inside, I was boiling with seething magma threatening to burst from my every pore. Even though I knew this was nothing but a simulation, a goddamn mental construct, I couldn’t help but remember what it had been like. This had truly happened, and I had been there for every unbearable, maddening second of it. It had been exactly like this, though at the time I hadn’t had the luxury to stand still for a single breath and truly take in the scene spread out before me.

Back in my real life, what I'd done as soon as I’d arrived and taken stock of the situation at a single glance, had been to rush off and frantically issue orders left and right, trying to accomplish the impossible and salvage the irredeemable. It was a lost cause, but I refused, simply refused to give up and stand with my arms folded across my chest as I watched 100,000 of my men get butchered to a man because an incompetent fool of a parade marshal - no matter if the simpleton was my own commanding officer - had to indulge in his own delusions of grandeur.

Everyone wants to be a hero, after all.

Which reminded me of something.

“Stahl, you have relayed my instructions to the letter?” I asked, with an almost casual, indifferent air.

“Ah, y.. yes sir,” came the unsteady reply. That was very uncharacteristic of Major Dominik Stahl. I had handpicked him for the job of being my personal aide a number of years ago precisely because very few things could unsettle the famed Ironmask, as the troops called him.

“You’re certain?” I repeated slowly, with the same indifferent tone, my blazing eyes still riveted on the hellish scene before me.

“S.. sir, I assure you, it’s been done,” came the response, even more agitated than before. Which was completely understandable, since likely no other man in this army knew me better than Dominik Stahl.

Very few things could unsettle a man of Stahl’s character. If there was one thing I relied on Stahl for, it was precisely that. Being reliable, dependable, rock solid. I have not had occasion to question Stahl’s handling of my orders for a great many years. However, even without turning my head to look, I could tell that his whole posture seemed uncertain, hesitant. Even skittish, ridiculous as the term might seem when associated to the immaculately dressed and completely expressionless mountain of a man standing at attention behind my left shoulder.

I dipped my head slightly in acknowledgement, but said nothing further as I continued to watch. Seconds ticked by, minutes. My own inner council of officers were starting to become anxious as well. I had mobilized every iota of influence I had to scrounge up any able-bodied - and many not so able, at that - man who could hold a rifle and pull a trigger and rush to this site.

Five interminable hours later, we had finally arrived. All the men had been briefed during our flight, and I had been brutally honest about what we would find on the ground. We had all been expecting the worst, and sadly enough, we had not been disappointed.

What did overturn everyone’s expectations, however, was my own reaction. From their perspectives, I had just led them in an insane headlong rush to arrive in a desperate relief effort, only to land on the ground and suddenly decide to watch and do precisely nothing.

We had already been standing here for the past two hours. Two entire hours, during which we had done nothing but stand here watching the very troops we had done the impossible to attempt to save simply die like dogs before our eyes.

However, these were my men, and when they could not possibly understand the signals their Alpha was sending them - that is me - they took their cues from their Beta, Stahl. That was probably one of the reasons why Stahl had made the very uncharacteristic blunder of questioning my actions. An arched eyebrow had been enough to remind him of his place, but I had to admit this whole situation must be completely outside of his expectations.

Hell, even the one order I had issued as soon as I’d realized which scenario these bastards had dropped me into was had made even someone like Stahl stare at me like I had become a deranged lunatic before hurriedly composing his expression.

Yeah, if I’d known that’s what it took to surprise good old Ironmask, I might have issued that order back then just to see that reaction alone. As to whether it would bear fruit, we would simply have to see.

On the other hand. I suppose I should cut him a break, poor man. He had been loyal to a fault, if not precisely the most flexible thinker. Time to throw him a bone. “Just fifteen more minutes, Stahl. We must persevere for 15 damn more minutes.”

“Sir,” came the crisp reply from behind me, all perfect self-possessed assurance once more. See, a creature like Stahl was not very difficult to understand or accommodate. He simply needs a set of rules, a concrete guiding principle or objective that he must strive for. Questionable or ambiguous, he could not abide by. However, point him in a direction, and he would tread water until he emptied the entire damn ocean if he must.

Good old Ironmask.

Thus passed fifteen of the most interminably torturous minutes of my life. Every single second of it, I couldn’t help but remember the same impotent fury that had almost choked the life out of me back then. Even now, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth needlessly, I would spit out a torrent of fire that would leave me an empty husk, a burnt out vessel.

I looked up into the skies, studying them carefully, in very minute detail and with as much calm detachment as I could muster.

At long last satisfied, I nodded once and closed my eyes, my face still upturned, as I parted my lips and let out a deep sigh, exorcising with it all the demons which I had kept suppressed during this insufferably long vigil.

About damn time.

I turned about and began to walk back towards my command tent with brisk, decisive steps, with Stahl following behind me smoothly and without a word. The rest of my officers followed, much less composed but still brimming with a quiet intensity that demanded release.

“Stahl, you are to take the 24th, 25th and 28th regiments and engage the enemy emplacements along the western face of the Lower Wei Hao peak. Make use of the treelines to cover your approach, but be warned that they’ll have the rocky pass approach rigged with mines equipped with infrared sensors along most of the western corridor. You will engage the enemy at coordinates 223.441 and 225.477. I don’t care how you do it, but you will crush their resistance and push them to 202.389 within the next three hours. This is vital. Understood?”

Stahl stared at me with a shocked expression before he quickly composed it and stood at attention once more, before saluting me with a sharp, “Yes Sir, General!”

“Dismissed,” I intoned, then immediately turned to the next man. “Major Akatombe, you will take the 5th and 6th reconnaissance units over the Three Rivers pass and into the summit of Peak Inwha. You will maintain complete radio silence, and you are NOT to engage the enemy under any circumstances. In fact, you and your men will shed any non-essential gear, including firearms, explosives, close combat weapons or propulsion devices. Your sole responsibility will be to take a laser beacon to the coordinates preset on this device. At exactly 0230 hours, you and your men will paint the enemy artillery emplacement convoy with your laser beacon and immediately issue a radio distress signal. You will ensure that the enemy reaches a 90% casualty rate along that entire pass, understood?”

“Ah, Boss. With all due respect, what artillery emplacement? And how will we engage the enemy without any weapons?” came Akatombe’s hesitant query.

My eyes spit thunder as I stared death at this incompetent idiot. If only I could have half a dozen Stahls. “Did I not make it sufficiently clear that you are avoid engaging the enemy at all costs?”

“Y.. yes Boss. Understood Boss,” panted the man, deflating under my withering gaze.

God, why hadn’t I just had this fool shot in front of firing squad years ago? Such are the regrets that we in command must be saddled with. Why didn’t I shoot him while I had the chance, why?

“Dismissed,” I growled, and moved on to the next man.

“Captain Guevara, you are to take command of..”

It was likely the shortest, most one-sided command briefing in the entire history of the Federation Forces. I brooked no contention as I decisively issued commands to every member of my staff. After two hours of watching their comrades being hunted down like dogs without any explanation as to the reason or rationale, they were now stupefied to find themselves in the other end of the spectrum.

As I watched most of my men depart hurriedly without daring to throw even one backward glance, I wondered if others had it just as tough as I did. Did Mozart have to deal with incredulous cretins silently questioning whether he had gone absolutely insane? Had Alexander faced the doubt-filled gazes of his underlings while he led them from one victorious field of battle to the next?

No matter. I had paid my dues while standing by that cliff, watching the unholy massacre being doled out before my eyes in impotent fury. I had been burning to act, to do anything other than simply stand there and watch as blood flowed like a surging tide down those pristine snowy peaks.

It was simply not the time. I had yet to bide my time. And so I had persevered.

The last time I had been here, when it had really happened, I had rushed off to issue command after command as soon as I had reached the ground. Though my efforts had been heroic indeed, the end result had been nothing short of catastrophic. The enemy had simply been too driven, resolute. Hungry for blood, yet cold and calculating, the enemy general had somehow known reinforcements were inbound, and had reserved one last layer of traps and sprung them when I had launched my brilliant counter-offensive in a bid to buy some desperate scraps of time to regroup and retreat.

The enemy general, whom the entire Federation had later come to know and dread as General Xiao Ming, the Ice Emperor, had been expecting just such a move, and as soon as I had launched my tentative, half-assed counter-offensive, he had opened the jaws of a monstrous all-out attack that had nearly swallowed us whole. It had taken all of my tactical acumen and the precious lives of countless of my own men to finally retreat, bloodied and badly mangled, behind friendly lines.

Thus, I had waited. Because I knew it was not yet time. I knew he was out there, waiting. Watching. It was a thing of beauty, now that I had taken the time to step back and truly appreciate it for what it was.

He had to have planned for this from the very beginning. That meant he had calculated for the insane chance that our bumbling idiot of a marshal would try this same exact maneuver if General Ming left that seemingly vulnerable weak point in his line. The speed and accuracy with which he had struck back had been appallingly surgical and precise. The intellect and the patience needed to carefully lay out such a trap, only to find that it had contained a further layer for which I had ultimately fallen as well.

The man was a bloody genius.

He had become a hero to his people, later on. This would go down as one of the greatest victories claimed by their side. It stood to reason, since he had given me, the golden poster boy of the Federation, a bloody nose and quite honestly, nearly handed me my ass in the bargain.

Only, this wasn’t the same me from then. I had always been a sore loser. Even more so when I became a general and lost one hundred thousand men, more or less under my command. Thus, I had poured over every scrap of intelligence, every page and document, any and all information related to the Wei Hao Massacre, as it had become known.

Happily, this means I know where every single freaking shipment of nails and boots would be heading, at what time and with how many armed escorts. I remembered every movement of troops, all the engagements all along these god-forsaken mountains. I had studied all the satellite arrays, artillery emplacements, missile arrays. Hell, I knew exactly how many shells had been fired at the end of the day, with a corresponding rate of accuracy to boot.

In short, this whole goddamn battlefield was my bitch.

You wanted to go to war with me?

Sure, let’s do this.

Let’s go to war.