# **Chapter 2: The Long March**

  Dawn broke cold and grey.

  Wei woke to Feng shaking his shoulder—gentle but firm. The veteran sergeant knew better than to startle an armed man awake. Wei came alert instantly, knife already in hand.

  "Movement," Feng whispered. "Southeast. Half a *li*."

  Wei crawled to the overhang's edge and looked. Dust cloud, low and wide. Cavalry, moving fast. Twenty, maybe thirty riders.

  Oirats.

  He watched their pattern. They were sweeping west to east, searching. For them. The column from yesterday's massacre—the stragglers wouldn't be far.

  "Headed this way?" Wei asked.

  "Not directly. But they're spreading their search. They'll hit this position in maybe two hours."

  Wei calculated. The rock overhang was good defensive terrain—narrow approaches, high ground. But against thirty mounted archers, they'd be pinned and slaughtered.

  "We move. Now. Wake the others."

  They were packed and moving in three minutes. Wei set a brutal pace—fast enough to open distance, slow enough not to leave obvious trail. Ma's limp slowed them, but he kept up without complaint.

  After an hour, Wei called a halt in a draw between two low ridges. They drank water—rationed, disciplined. Liu's hands had stopped shaking. He was adjusting to crisis.

  "How far to Xuanfu?" Wei asked Feng.

  "Three and a half days. Assuming we don't get pinned down."

  "Terrain?"

  "Open grassland for two days, then broken country near the garrison. More cover there, but Oirats know we'll be heading for it. They'll concentrate patrols."

  Wei nodded. Classic pursuit problem—fleeing force needs to reach safety before pursuing force can intercept or pin.

  The math was simple: distance, speed, time. The Oirats had horses. Wei's group had Ma's wounded leg.

  They were going to lose the race unless something changed.

  "We need to slow them down," Wei said.

  Feng raised an eyebrow. "How? We've got a knife and a broken spear."

  "And brains." Wei scanned the terrain. "Oirats are mounted. Horses need water. There a river between here and Xuanfu?"

  "Dried creek bed. Ten *li* northeast. Might have water this time of year, might not."

  "We'll find out. If it has water, we sabotage it. If it doesn't, we find the next water source and do the same."

  "Sabotage how?"

  "Dead animals upstream. Disease the water. Make them sick, slow them down." Wei met Feng's eyes. "Guerrilla tactics. Make pursuit cost more than it's worth."

  Feng considered this. "That's... indirect."

  "That's smart. We can't fight them directly. So we fight them asymmetrically."

  Liu looked confused. Ma nodded slowly, understanding.

  "All right," Feng said. "Let's find that creek."

  ---

  The creek had water. Not much—a shallow flow in the deepest channel—but enough for horses.

  Wei studied it. Upstream, downstream, terrain, concealment. The tactical problem assembled itself in his mind like puzzle pieces.

  "Here's what we do," he said. "Feng, take Liu upstream half a *li*. Find dead ground—somewhere we can hide. Ma and I will stay here and prepare."

  "Prepare what?" Liu asked.

  "A surprise." Wei turned to Ma. "Can you climb?"

  Ma looked at the low cliffs flanking the creek. "With this leg? Slowly."

  "Slow is fine. You'll be in position before they arrive."

  Feng led Liu upstream. Wei and Ma worked quickly, efficiently. They had limited resources, but Wei had been trained to improvise.

  First, they found rocks—fist-sized, heavy. Ma carried them up the cliff face while Wei scouted the creek bed.

  Second, they identified the choke point—a narrow section where the creek passed between rock walls. Any cavalry coming through would have to compress formation.

  Third, positioning. Ma would be on the cliff with the rocks. Wei would be downstream with the knife, in case any riders pushed through.

  It wasn't sophisticated. But it didn't need to be.

  An hour later, Ma was in position. Wei waited in a crevice downstream, knife ready, watching the approach.

  The Oirats arrived at midday—eight riders this time, scouting ahead of the main group. They rode to the creek and dismounted, letting horses drink.

  Wei watched them. Relaxed. Talking. One lit a pipe. Another checked his horse's hoof.

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  They hadn't posted sentries.

  Amateur mistake. Or overconfidence. Either way, it was going to cost them.

  Wei waited. Patience was as much a weapon as the knife.

  The riders finished watering their horses and mounted up. They rode into the choke point—narrow, compressed—

  Ma dropped rocks from the cliff.

  Not random. Targeted. He'd chosen his positions carefully, calculated angles. The first rock hit a horse in the shoulder. It reared, screaming, throwing its rider into the creek. The second rock struck another rider's head. He fell sideways, limp.

  Chaos erupted. Horses panicked, crashing into each other in the confined space. Riders shouted, trying to control their mounts. One arrow loosed wildly, skipping off rock.

  Wei stayed hidden. The goal wasn't to kill them—the goal was to delay, to make pursuit costly and dangerous.

  After thirty seconds, the Oirats regrouped and fled back the way they came. One horse limped. One rider slumped in his saddle, bleeding. One riderless horse followed.

  Ma descended the cliff slowly, carefully. Wei emerged from concealment.

  "How many did we get?" Ma asked.

  "One dead, two wounded. More importantly, we hurt their horses and their pride." Wei looked upstream. "They'll report this. Main force will slow down, approach more carefully. That buys us time."

  They rejoined Feng and Liu. Feng grinned—the first smile Wei had seen from him.

  "That actually worked."

  "For now," Wei said. "They'll adapt. We need to keep moving."

  They moved northeast, away from the creek, using broken ground for concealment. Wei set watches that night—two hours per man, rotating. Trust but verify.

  Liu took first watch. Ma second. Wei third. Feng fourth.

  During his watch, Wei thought about the ambush. Primitive but effective. Asymmetric warfare reduced to its essence: use terrain, surprise, and psychology to offset superior numbers and equipment.

  It was how he'd been taught to fight as a young officer. How Chinese military doctrine had evolved over centuries.

  *Make the enemy come to you. Fight where you're strong. Avoid where you're weak.*

  Sun Tzu would approve.

  ---

  Day two of the march east.

  They covered fifteen *li* by midday, moving fast through open grassland. No pursuit visible, but Wei knew the Oirats were regrouping. The ambush had bought time, not safety.

  Ma's leg was worse. The inflammation had spread. He walked with a fixed stare, jaw clenched, refusing to slow the group.

  Feng noticed it too. "He needs rest."

  "We all need rest. But stopping gets us killed." Wei looked at Ma. "Can you make it to Xuanfu?"

  "Yes." No hesitation. Ma's hand touched his sword hilt—once, quick. The nervous gesture was back.

  Feng pulled Wei aside. "He's not going to make it. Infection's setting in. Another day, maybe two, and he'll collapse."

  "Then we carry him."

  "Through three days of Oirat territory? We'll all die."

  Wei said nothing. Feng was right—tactically, objectively. One wounded soldier was dragging down the entire group. Standard procedure would be to leave him with water and hope, then move fast.

  But Wei had left enough men behind in his life. He wasn't adding to that count.

  "We don't leave anyone," he said.

  Feng studied him. "That's going to get us killed."

  "Maybe. But that's the call."

  Something shifted in Feng's expression. Not agreement, but... respect. "All right. Then we better move faster."

  They pushed the pace. Liu and Feng took turns supporting Ma when his leg buckled. Wei ranged ahead, scouting terrain, looking for advantages.

  By evening, they reached broken country—low hills, scattered boulders, dry gullies. Better terrain for defense. Wei found a defensible position in a rock cluster and called halt.

  Ma collapsed immediately. Feng checked his leg without comment, then looked at Wei and shook his head.

  The message was clear: *Tonight, maybe tomorrow. After that, he's done.*

  Wei rationed the water. They had enough for one more day, maybe two if they stretched it. After that, they'd need to find another source or die of thirst.

  He took first watch, letting the others sleep. The night was quiet except for wind through the rocks. Stars wheeled overhead—still unfamiliar, still beautiful.

  Ma cried out in his sleep. Fever dreams. Liu woke, looked at him, then back to sleep without speaking. Even exhausted soldiers learned to sleep through noise.

  Wei thought about the tactical situation. Three days from Xuanfu. One wounded soldier. Limited water. Unknown number of Oirats behind them.

  The math didn't favor survival.

  But math wasn't everything. He'd seen soldiers accomplish impossible things through pure stubborn refusal to quit. He'd led missions that should have failed but succeeded through preparation and discipline.

  This was just another mission. That's all.

  He almost believed it.

  ---

  Day three.

  Ma couldn't walk unassisted. Feng and Liu took turns supporting him, moving in slow, grinding increments. Wei adjusted their route—more cover, easier terrain, anything to compensate for lost speed.

  By noon, they'd covered only eight *li*. At this rate, Xuanfu was still five days away. Their water would be gone in one.

  Wei called a halt in a shallow draw. They needed to make a decision.

  "Here's the situation," he said. "We're two days from Xuanfu at current pace. Water runs out tonight. Ma can't walk. We're leaving a trail blind men could follow."

  Feng nodded. He knew what was coming.

  "So we split up," Wei continued. "Feng, you and Liu make a run for Xuanfu. Fast as you can. Bring back help. Ma and I hold here. When you return with garrison troops, we push through together."

  Feng frowned. "That leaves you stuck here with no support."

  "It gets you to safety and brings back reinforcements. That's the mission."

  "The mission is getting everyone to Xuanfu alive."

  "The mission is what I say it is." Wei's voice was flat, final. "You have your orders."

  Liu looked at Ma, then at Wei. "We don't leave anyone behind. You said that."

  "This isn't leaving. This is tactical positioning. You make the run, we hold the position, we all get home." Wei met each man's eyes. "Trust me."

  Ma spoke for the first time that morning. "Go. I'm just... weight now. Don't die for... dead man walking."

  "You're not dead," Wei said. "And you're not weight. You're one of us. So we hold here together while these two bring help. Understood?"

  Ma's hand went to his sword hilt. Once. Slowly. Then he nodded.

  Feng stood. "Two days. We'll be back with garrison troops in two days."

  "Make it one and a half if you can."

  Feng almost smiled. "We'll run the whole way if we have to."

  Wei gave them the remaining water. They protested, but he overruled them. "You need it more. We're staying still. You're covering thirty *li* a day."

  They left at midday, moving fast, disappearing into the grassland like ghosts.

  Wei watched them go, then turned to Ma.

  "Just us now. Think you can help me build some defenses?"

  Ma's fever-bright eyes met his. "I can... try."

  "That's all I ask."

  They spent the afternoon preparing the position. Wei stacked rocks to create firing positions, cleared sight lines, identified fallback routes. Ma worked slowly but methodically, conserving strength.

  By evening, they had a defensible position. Small, crude, but it would give them a chance if the Oirats found them.

  *When* the Oirats found them. Wei wasn't fooling himself.

  He rationed their water—one mouthful each, twice a day. It would last maybe thirty-six hours if they didn't exert themselves.

  That night, Ma's fever worsened. He muttered in delirium, words Wei couldn't understand. Wei wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, checked his leg, did what he could.

  Which wasn't much.

  Ma grabbed Wei's wrist suddenly, eyes wide and bright. "My son. If I don't... tell him..."

  "You'll tell him yourself. When we get to Xuanfu."

  "No. Listen. Tell him his father... held the line. Held it to... the end."

  "You are holding the line. Right here. Right now." Wei's voice was firm. "And you're going to keep holding it until Feng gets back. Understood?"

  Ma's grip loosened. His eyes closed. "Yes... sir."

  Wei sat back against the rocks. The night was cold. Stars blazed. Somewhere to the east, Feng and Liu were running toward safety.

  Somewhere to the west, Oirats were searching.

  And here, in the middle, Wei Zhao—PLA captain, displaced in time, commander of a two-man army—kept watch over a dying soldier and wondered how the fuck he'd ended up here.

  But he knew the answer.

  The same way he always ended up in these situations: because someone had to.

  Because leaving wasn't an option.

  Because the mission was never just tactical—it was personal.

  He'd learned that the hard way, years ago, in a different life.

  Some lessons never left you.

  ---

  **End of Chapter 2**