Chapter 136: We Can Afford to Endure

"General, should we send more reinforcements to the troops blocking the Turkic forces coming from the rear? It looks like they are struggling to hold the line," an officer said to Mulle.

"Even if they can't hold it, they must grit their teeth and endure. Go and tell the commander in charge of the rear interception: as long as one of them is still breathing, they must not let those Turkic reinforcements through. Otherwise, every single one of them will be treated as a deserter," Mulle said, his face cold.

"General, you are sending the entire interception unit to their doom! They are already outnumbered, and the Turks are charging with all their might to save the surrounded army. Our brothers are suffering heavy casualties!" the officer said, his voice trembling with a hint of a sob.

Mulle slapped the officer across the face and snapped, "Are you the general, or am I? Do I need you to teach me how to fight a war?"

"Forgive me, General. It was my place to speak," the officer said, bowing his head after the blow.

Mulle looked at him, said nothing, and sighed. "I understand your thoughts and your feelings. And I am even more anxious than you are; I am more worried about the fate of that interception unit than you are. But look—the surrounded Turkic army has already suffered over fifty percent casualties. We can wipe them out completely in an instant. You must realize that we are facing twenty thousand Turks in total. Aside from the ten thousand who followed their commander as the vanguard—who are currently on their way back—there are the seven thousand in the center we have surrounded and three thousand in the rear. Tell me honestly, if you were leading an equal number of men against an equal number of Turks, what are your chances of winning?"

The officer looked up, thought for a moment, and replied, "Less than fifty percent."

"Correct. Less than fifty percent. That is the fundamental reason for my decision today. If, as you suggest, we pull troops from the encirclement to support the rear guard, we might ensure their safe retreat. But the immediate result would be the Turkic center and rear joining forces. The morale of their center, which is already near collapse, would be revitalized, and all our brothers who died on the battlefield would have died in vain! Furthermore, once they hold out until the vanguard returns, we would have no choice but to flee. And once a large army routs, the losses would be immeasurable. If we, these twenty thousand men, are pursued by the Turks, only a miracle from Tengri would allow five thousand of us to make it back to the gates of Gaochang."

Watching the officer’s expression slowly shift to one of realization, Mulle continued, "But if we withstand the pressure from the rear and wipe out this force of seven thousand in the center first, we will have plenty of room to maneuver. We can consolidate all our strength to turn back and destroy the three thousand reinforcements, or we can gather our forces to move east and meet the returning vanguard. Or, we could even choose to retreat. In short, once these seven thousand are destroyed, we will have the freedom to choose our next move and retreat safely."

"The General is farsighted. It was my narrow-mindedness that led me to contradict you. I hope the General will not be angry," the officer, now understanding Mulle’s intent, quickly cupped his hands in apology from his horse.

"No matter. You and I are both children of Tengri. If we weren't in the army, we would be brothers. It's just that you are concerned with the survival of a hundred or so men, while I must consider the survival of these twenty thousand. Now that you understand, take your men back into the encirclement and finish them off as quickly as possible. We have talked for a long time, and I believe your men have had enough rest. Tell the commander of the encirclement that when one unit suffers heavy casualties, rotate another in so they can rest. Our time is tight, but for now, it is sufficient—at least compared to the Turks we have surrounded, we can afford to wait." Mulle waved his hand and returned his gaze to the encirclement.

After receiving the order, the officer saluted and led his men back into the fray, relieving a blood-soaked, depleted unit. Just then, Mulle’s eyes, scanning the battlefield, locked onto a corner of the conflict.

Mulle squinted, focusing his gaze. Two cavalrymen were breaking away from the fighting, galloping hard in the direction away from the battle. From their attire, they were clearly part of Mulle’s own naturalized troops. Seeing men from his own ranks deserting, Mulle’s face turned icy. He reached for the bow and arrows on his saddle, aimed at the two deserters, and fired two arrows simultaneously, sending both horses crashing to the ground.

The military police who were always by Mulle’s side noticed the situation. Without waiting for an order, they galloped over, dragged the two deserters from beneath their fallen mounts, bound their hands, and threw them to the ground. They then dragged the two men back to Mulle, where they bowed and said, "General, we have caught two deserters. Please decide how they should be dealt with."

Mulle looked coldly at the two soldiers, whose clothes were ragged from being dragged across the ground. "Why desert?" he roared. "From the first day you joined the Naturalized Army, I told you that in my ranks, any great matter can be treated as small, but desertion in the face of the enemy is unforgivable!"

"General, please—" one of them knelt, kowtowing frantically. "We joined with our tribal leader. There were fourteen of us. Now, some are dead and some are wounded; only the two of us remain. Our children are still small—the oldest has just learned to speak, and the youngest is still in swaddling clothes. We didn’t want these poor children to grow up without fathers, so we risked our lives to desert."

"You fools," Mulle sighed. "You know the rules of the Naturalized Army. Deserters are to have their limbs broken after the battle and be thrown into the depths of the Tulun Desert to die of thirst. I think that rather than letting your children know their fathers were deserters, it would be better for them to know their fathers were brave warriors who fought until their last breath."

"General, please! We know we were wrong. Have mercy and let us go back. We will kill as many enemies as we can to repay your grace," they pleaded, completely losing their composure.

"Your reasons are moving, but a circle cannot be drawn without a compass. The military law is clear. You knew the consequences and chose to break it anyway. As your commander, I cannot favor you, but I can grant you a swift death." Mulle drew his saber and decapitated both kneeling men, unbothered by the blood splattering onto his horse’s belly, his trousers, and his boots. He turned to the military police sent by the Western Regions Army and said, "Do me a favor and record these two as having died in battle, can you?"