# **Chapter 13: Walls Without Hope**

  The Oirat force held position at eight hundred yards.

  Not advancing. Not retreating. Just waiting.

  Captain Luo reported from the north wall, voice carrying tension. "Sir, they're staging. Setting up command position on the ridge."

  "Good. Gives us time to confirm positions." Wei turned to Zhang. "All sections ready?"

  "North wall—First and Second Companies. East and west walls—screening sections. Reserves positioned centrally under my command. Medical teams staged. Ammunition distributed."

  "Withdrawal routes?"

  "Confirmed. Rally points at one *li*, three *li*, and five *li* south. Rear guard sections designated."

  Wei nodded. He turned to Qian. "Commander. You have tactical command. I'm advisory only unless you request otherwise."

  Qian looked surprised. "You're giving me command during the assault?"

  "It's your garrison. Your troops. They need to see you leading, not me." Wei's voice was firm. "I've prepared them. But you have to command them. Can you do that?"

  Qian took a breath. Twenty years of combat experience fighting against two days of psychological breakdown. His hands clenched, then relaxed.

  Then he straightened. "Yes."

  "Good. Zhang and I support. But it's your call."

  ---

  The Oirat commander signaled.

  The force split into three elements.

  Center mass: two hundred cavalry.

  East wing: seventy-five riders.

  West wing: seventy-five riders.

  Standard envelopment doctrine.

  Qian called it without hesitation. "They're going to pin us with the center and flank with the wings. Classic approach."

  Wei waited. Let Qian work through it.

  "We concentrate fire on the center. Use reserves to block flanking attempts." Qian's voice grew stronger with each word. "Hold the north wall with maximum force. Trust side walls to delay flanking elements long enough for reserves to respond."

  "Solid assessment. Execute it."

  Qian turned to his officers. Commands flowed naturally now, no hesitation. "Captain Luo! Concentrate First and Second Companies on north wall! Maximum fire density!"

  Luo: "Confirmed! All sections, north wall positions!"

  "Sergeant Wu! East and west walls—screening posture! Buy time, not holding indefinitely! Fall back to interior positions when pressure exceeds capability!"

  Wu: "Understood! Delaying action only!"

  "Captain Fang! Reserve command! You respond to breakthrough attempts! Keep formations tight!"

  Fang: "Reserves ready!"

  Qian was functioning. Professional. Confident.

  The troops responded to it. Wei watched sections move with purpose, not fear.

  This was the test. Not just of training. Of leadership rehabilitation.

  ---

  The Oirat assault began.

  All three elements charged simultaneously.

  Thunder of hooves. War cries. Deliberate psychological pressure.

  Wei saw soldiers shaking. Others gripping weapons too tight. Fear visible in tense shoulders, wide eyes.

  But they held positions.

  Training carried them through terror.

  Qian's voice cut through the noise. "North wall! Hold fire until two hundred yards!"

  The center mass charged. Two hundred riders in tight formation. Deliberate. Professional. Not wild charge—military assault.

  Three hundred yards.

  Two hundred fifty.

  Two hundred yards.

  "Fire!"

  Eighty crossbows released. The volley hit dense, coordinated.

  Fifteen riders dropped. Maybe twenty. Horses screamed, tumbled. The charge faltered, reformed, kept coming.

  "Reload! Second rank ready!"

  Crossbowmen dropped back. Second rank stepped forward.

  Rotating volleys. Sustained fire.

  One hundred fifty yards.

  "Fire!"

  Another volley. More hits. Bodies littering the approach.

  The Oirat charge was taking casualties but not breaking. Professional cavalry. Disciplined.

  One hundred yards.

  Hand cannons opened up.

  *BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.*

  Staggered discharge. Continuous thunder. Smoke billowed across the wall, acrid and choking.

  Noise. Chaos.

  The Oirat horses balked. Charge momentum broke.

  But cavalry split and circled. Horse archers firing from saddle. Arrows rained on walls—sharp whistles, wet thuds.

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  Three garrison soldiers went down. One screaming, clutching his leg. Two silent.

  First casualties.

  The troops wavered. Wei watched carefully. *This is the moment. Fear plus loss equals potential collapse.*

  But Qian was there.

  "Hold positions! Casualties to rear! Reserves fill the gaps! HOLD!"

  His voice cut through chaos.

  The line steadied. Wounded soldiers pulled back. Fresh troops stepped forward. The formation held.

  ---

  The east and west flanking elements hit simultaneously.

  Seventy-five riders on each side. Horse archers in rotating passes, looking for weak points.

  Sergeant Wu commanded east wall. "Crossbows! Fire by section! Don't waste ammunition on long-range shots!"

  Crossbowmen fired in controlled sequence. Not massed volleys—disciplined targeting.

  Horse archers circled at maximum range. Probing for weaknesses.

  Wu: "They're testing response time! Show them disciplined fire!"

  Sections rotated volleys. Professional. Controlled.

  The Oirat archers pulled back slightly. Not retreat—reassessment.

  West wall—same situation. Captain Fang's screening sections maintaining fire discipline.

  Not destroying the flanking elements. Just delaying them.

  Exactly as planned.

  Wei called to Qian. "Flanks are holding. Center is regrouping for second push. What's your call?"

  Qian assessed quickly. "Reserves stay central. We can't commit to flanks yet—center's the main threat."

  "Agreed."

  The Oirat center mass reformed. Tighter formation this time. They'd adapted to the garrison's fire pattern.

  Professional opponents.

  Qian saw it. "They're going to hit us harder this time. Concentrated charge. Maximum pressure on one section."

  "Which section?"

  "Unknown. They'll commit at last second."

  Wei nodded. "Then we stay flexible. Reserves ready to reinforce wherever they hit."

  The Oirat cavalry charged again.

  Two hundred riders. Coordinated assault.

  Straight at the north wall.

  Then at the last second—they split.

  Half peeled east. Half peeled west.

  Feint. The center charge was misdirection.

  Real assault hit both flanks simultaneously.

  Wei called it. "They're hitting side walls! Reserves deploy!"

  Zhang: "Section Three to east wall! Section Four to west wall! Move!"

  Forty reserve soldiers sprinted to the flanks.

  But Oirat cavalry was faster.

  They hit east and west walls before reserves arrived.

  Scaling ladders. Grappling hooks. Direct assault.

  Sergeant Wu: "East wall! Repel boarders! Hand-to-hand!"

  Garrison troops fought desperately. Spears against swords. Shields against cavalry sabers. Brutal close combat.

  Two Oirat warriors made it onto east wall.

  Wu engaged them directly. Sword work. Professional. Efficient. He killed one, wounded the second.

  But more were climbing.

  Reserve section arrived—twenty soldiers, tight formation, spears braced.

  They hit the breach like a hammer. Drove Oirat warriors back. Kicked ladders down. Stabilized the wall.

  West wall—similar situation. Captain Fang's troops fought until reserves arrived and contained the breach.

  Barely.

  ---

  The assault continued for ninety minutes.

  Wave after wave. Oirats probing different angles, testing different approaches.

  Professional military pressure.

  The garrison held.

  Not easily. Not perfectly. But they held.

  Wei counted casualties during a brief lull. Thirty-two wounded. Eight dead.

  Ten percent casualties. Significant but not catastrophic.

  Troops were exhausted. Terrified. But still functioning.

  Qian commanded throughout, voice hoarse but steady.

  "Ammunition status?"

  "Sixty percent remaining. Adequate for sustained defense."

  "Casualty management?"

  "Medical teams functional. Wounded being treated. Critical cases evacuated to interior positions."

  "Morale?"

  Wei answered that. "Fragile but holding. They're scared but they haven't broken. Training's carrying them."

  Qian nodded. Called across the walls. "All sections! You're doing well! Professional defense! Maintain discipline!"

  Troops responded. Small acknowledgments. Nods. Tighter grips on weapons.

  Morale stabilized.

  Then the Oirat commander made his decision.

  ---

  The entire force consolidated.

  Three hundred fifty riders. Single massive formation.

  No subtlety. No flanking. Just overwhelming frontal assault.

  Zhang: "They're committing everything."

  Wei: "They've decided we're too costly for incremental pressure. Final push. All or nothing."

  Qian: "Can we hold against that?"

  "Unknown. But we're about to find out." Wei turned to him. "If walls are breached and we can't contain it—we execute withdrawal. Agreed?"

  Qian hesitated. Twenty years of doctrine said hold regardless. His jaw worked.

  Then he nodded. "Agreed. I won't sacrifice the garrison for a lost position."

  "Good. Prepare the rear guard. If I call retreat, you execute immediately."

  The Oirat cavalry charged.

  Three hundred fifty riders in unified mass.

  The thunder was overwhelming.

  The garrison braced.

  Qian: "All sections! Maximum fire! Everything we have!"

  Every crossbow. Every hand cannon. Every archer.

  Sustained fire. Continuous pressure.

  The Oirat cavalry took massive casualties.

  But they kept coming.

  Two hundred yards. One hundred fifty yards.

  Fire was devastating.

  Thirty riders down. Forty. Fifty. Bodies littering the approach.

  But formation didn't break.

  One hundred yards.

  Hand cannons roared continuously. Smoke was choking. Noise deafening.

  Horses screamed. Men died.

  But charge kept coming.

  Seventy-five yards. Fifty yards.

  They hit the walls like a tsunami.

  Ladders. Ropes. Grappling hooks. Cavalry dismounting and climbing.

  Overwhelming assault.

  North wall defenders fought desperately. Hand-to-hand across entire wall section.

  The line was breaking. Multiple breaches. Too many for reserves to contain.

  Wei saw it. This was the moment. Hold and die. Or retreat and survive.

  He turned to Qian.

  Qian was watching his troops. Seeing them fight. Seeing them die.

  His garrison. His responsibility.

  Wei: "Commander. Call it."

  Qian's jaw tightened. Twenty years of pride fighting against tactical reality.

  Then: "All sections! Fighting withdrawal! Fall back to rally point one! Rear guard, cover the retreat!"

  The order went out.

  Garrison disengaged.

  Not a rout. Tactical withdrawal. Sections falling back in order. Rear guard maintaining fire. Wounded being evacuated.

  Professional retreat.

  Oirats pushed forward but cautiously. They'd taken heavy casualties. They weren't pursuing aggressively.

  The garrison withdrew through south gate.

  Three hundred soldiers minus forty casualties. Two hundred sixty functional troops.

  They fell back one *li* south to first rally point. Defensive positions already prepared.

  The Oirats didn't follow.

  They'd taken the garrison. But they'd paid for it.

  Seventy riders dead. Maybe eighty. Twenty-five percent casualties.

  Pyrrhic victory.

  ---

  The garrison regrouped at rally point one.

  Exhausted. Bloodied. Defeated.

  But alive.

  Wei found Commander Qian sitting on a supply crate. Face covered in soot and blood. Not his own.

  "Casualty count?" Qian asked quietly.

  "Forty total. Fifteen dead. Twenty-five wounded. Two hundred sixty functional troops remaining."

  "We lost the garrison."

  "You saved two hundred sixty soldiers. That's success."

  "That's retreat."

  "That's professional command." Wei sat beside him. "Yanqing held until complete destruction. Seventy percent casualties. You withdrew with fifteen percent losses. Preserved combat capability and denied the enemy decisive victory. That's good leadership."

  Qian was quiet for a long moment. Wind whispered through the trees around the rally point.

  "It doesn't feel like victory."

  "It's not. It's survival. Sometimes that's the best you get."

  Around them, garrison was reorganizing. Treating wounded. Checking equipment. Preparing for potential pursuit.

  Professional soldiers. Functioning despite loss.

  Captain Luo approached. "Sir, scouts report Oirats are occupying garrison but not pursuing. They took significant casualties. They're consolidating."

  Qian: "Defensive posture?"

  "Established at rally point one. Good terrain. Clear fields of fire. If they come, we can hold."

  "Morale?"

  Luo hesitated. "Better than expected. Troops are shaken but not broken. They saw we fought well. They saw we withdrew in good order. They're scared but still functional."

  Wei nodded. "That's what matters. Fear plus competence equals survivable soldiers. Fear plus collapse equals mass casualties."

  ---

  That night, Wei walked the perimeter with Zhang.

  Garrison had established proper defensive positions. Sentries alert. Wounded treated. Troops resting in shifts.

  Professional field operations.

  "They held longer than I expected," Zhang said. "Eight days of training against that assault—they did well."

  "They did adequately. Which is all we had time to build."

  "Qian made the right call. Withdrawing before total collapse."

  "He did. First time in his career, probably. That's significant." Wei looked north toward the captured garrison. Fires burning in the distance. "The Oirats took position but they're hurt. They won't move south for a week minimum. Maybe more."

  "That buys time for regional forces."

  "Maybe. Or it just delays the inevitable." Wei turned south. "We need to report to Regional Command. Get reinforcements to this position before Oirats recover."

  "And then?"

  "Then we keep moving. Keep fixing garrisons. Keep buying time."

  "For what?"

  Wei didn't answer immediately. The question hung in cold night air.

  Finally: "For whatever solution comes. Military. Political. Strategic. Someone smarter than me figures out how to actually win this war instead of just delaying loss. Until then, we hold what we can and retreat when we must."

  "That's a grim mission statement."

  "That's reality."

  ---

  **End of Chapter 13**