Battle

How many times had Tuyuhun Chuo seen battle these past twelve twelvemonths? He wished he knew. Sitting atop his steed, the Rouran host opposite of that of the Tuoba Wei, he thought back to the first battle he had fought in.

To be in the Khan's Host as thirteen twelvemonths of age was unfathomable for him, but there had been such soldiers and he was hardly the only one of his age in the host. He had been lucky to have survived the battle. He, the youngest and least impressive of General Tuyuhun's children, had spent most of the battle just trying to stay alive. He had slain some Rourans, but only through sheer luck. Be it having tripped over a stone or by stabbing them when their back was turned, he had slain some and no one really cared how it had been done. Rourans had been killed and that was it. Many others in the Khan's Host were pragmatic enough to slay a fallen enemy or one whose back was turned. As the old saying went, only expose your back to a corpse.

Bringing a hand to the scar upon his face, Chuo attempted to remember which battle it had been that he had gotten the scar in. Most of the battles just blended together in his mind. The battle in which Xin Ping had died was not such a battle. He remembered it well, seeing Ping riddled with arrows…

Looking across at the enemy host, there barely any difference between their armour, their appearances, Chuo wondered why it had to be this way? Why did the Rourans have to raid the northern borders of the Tuoba Wei Khanate? Why did there have to be war between them? Why could their people join together as one tribe? The Tuoba Wei Khanate, the Rouran Khaganate, the Murong Tuyuhun Khanate, they all could have joined together to create a great empire, but instead they were all divided. Why could it not have been different? Why did it have to be this way? Xianbei and Rouran should have been joined together as one, but alas, it was not to be, there was not to be a great khanate where they were one people, but Chuo hoped that one day, it would be so.

From the time that the battle began to the time it ended, Chuo had been trying his best to spill as little blood as possible. At some points at night, he would awaken after seeing the faces of Rouran soldiers he had slain in his dreams. All he wanted to do was to make sure no more phantasms were added to his nightmares.

Easier said than done. Be it with sword or with bow did he slay a fair number of Rourans. While death would be quick with his sword, when it came to the bow, the poor Rouran had to suffer a few arrows until finally an arrow was loosed that found a fatal hit. His siblings would have slain the Rourans with a single arrow, but he was not his brother or his sisters.

As much as Fu believed he had improved, Chuo was not sure if he truly was. It took at least four arrows for him to slay an enemy, but perhaps his swordsmanship had improved. His sword wasn't easily knocked out of his hand and his attacks were not easily parried at any rate.

When all was done, the Young Tuyuhun sat upon his horse and stared at the sight before him. As the rain poured upon men, women and horses who would never more walk across the earth, their blood filling the mud, Chuo could only hope this would be the last battle he would ever see.

Nearby lay the body of General Heba. Chuo wished he could have reported that Heba had died a soldier's death, but the fact was that he had not. His horse had stumbled and Heba thrown from his mount, his neck broken. It was anti-climatic, but that was life. Life was full of anti-climaxes, but Chuo suspected that Heba's death would be changed to be more dramatic in those who retold this battle, if Heba was not omitted completely, his name lost to time.

Lost to time… How many appellations of how many people would be lost to time? Had not the mounts of these riders been given names by their masters? Would their names be remembered? No. The fact was in the great cruelty in life, unless someone was a commander, the names of all other deceased were ultimately forgotten be they man or beast. At the end of the day, most who died in wars were nothing more but a statistic. They would be remembered as a group, but as individuals they would be forgotten. Civilization was so good at remembering the masses but forgetting about the individuals, unless they were someone deemed important.

Coming across the body of Tufa Huang, Chuo dismounted and knelt down. Here had been a man who had been an enemy to his clan and yet at the same time a valued comrade in the Khan's Host. Perhaps when the campaign was over, the two of them would have fought, but alas, with Huang deceased no one would ever know. His fatal wounds were not on the front but on the back and he was face down in the mud. As much as the Tufa Clan had been responsible for his brother's demise, the fact was the Young Tuyuhun could only feel sorry for Huang.

Turning the cadaver of Huang over, Chuo picked it up and placed the body upon his horse. Leading his horse by the reins, he walked over to the carts where the bodies of the slain were being piled. Once he was ten feet away from the carts he paused. The deceased had appellations, but in time, unless they were someone of note, these appellations were forgotten.

He would not condemn Huang to anonymity.

When Mulan saw Chuo arrive with Huang's body, she asked: "What is this, Lieutenant Tuyuhun? Wherefore do you not leave your enemy's body in the mud?"

"As he was my enemy, he was also my comrade, Mulan." Chuo replied. "In death, he is henceforth my equal. He is Lieutenant Tufa Huang and I will see erected in his honour a marker than will outlive the Tuoba Wei Khanate and exist as long as people live on this land."

Alas, the marker that bore Huang's appellation would be destroyed during the Tang dynasty and thus, his name lost to time.

"If you so wish that to be so." Commented Mulan, looking out to the battlefield. "We have won, Chuo. This is a great victory for the Tuoba Wei Khanate!"

Looking to the dead being piled into wagons, Chuo asked: "A victory? How is this a victory? This is as much a defeat for us as it is for the Rourans. These men and women will never return home. The only victory here is for Death. This whole campaign should have been avoided long ago."

"What of proving yourself the equal of your brothers and sisters?" asked Mulan.

"There would have been other occasions." Chuo replied. "Not something that would ever make me wish that I never see battle again!"

"You are tired, Chuo?" inquired Mulan.

"Very much so." Chuo answered. "I wish to know peace again. I wish to sleep without seeing the ghosts of men I have killed in my dreams. I wish to see my parents my sisters and I wish to see Captain Na's daughter Alun."

Nodding, Mulan approached her second-in-command. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she said to him: "I wish to see my parents and siblings as well, little brother. I too wish to know peace again. When this is over, I invite you along with the rest who would wish to join me to come to my home. Meet my paterfamilias, the war hero Captain Mulan Hu, who served under your own father, just as you serve under me."

"With some of the men still thinking you are a man due to your name I would gladly see their reactions to learning you are in fact a woman." Chuo answered with a smile. "A good laugh like that would do me some good. I can't remember the last time that I've had a good laugh."

"Little brother, you must be the least cheery person I have ever met." Commented Mulan, giving Chuo a slap on the back. "Join in the singing sometimes! It could help with your outlook."

"I have no interest joining in such stupidity." Stated Chuo, before looking over at his cousin Fu, leaning on a crutch as he spoke with Qing. "Besides, Fu's singing sounds like a dying elk giving birth to a hedgehog while mating with a chicken. I have every reason to be elsewhere when singing is taking place, morale be damned!" Sighing, he looked once more to his commanding officer and said: "No, no, I will not join in the singing. Stupidity even if it has a purpose is stupidity still."

And with that, he walked past Mulan, leading his steed with him. Looking at the body of Huang, Chuo wondered if any of the Tufa clan still existed to mourn him. How far had his sisters gone when it came to avenging their brother? Alas, he knew not, but if none still lived to mourn Huang, then he, Tuyuhun Chuo, would mourn him as if he had been his own brother.

Placing a hand on the shoulder of the cadaver, Chuo looked skyward and wondered what Tengri was thinking about what he saw down on earth. That was a riddle for the shamans and other such people. He no more knew the mind of a divinity than he did the mind of his monarch.

What now? That was what Chuo was wondering. Would there be another battle in the future? How many more twelvemonths would this campaign go on for?

Sinking to his knees, the rain still coming down, the Young Tuyuhun wondered if his parents still lived, if his sisters still lived, he wondered if anyone back home still lived. Did they wonder if he still lived? Twelve twelvemonths… Surely, they couldn't have forgotten about him. What parents could ever forget about their son? What sisters could ever forget about their brother?

What if his sisters had married? What if they had children? Nieces or nephews… How old would they have been? It was entirely possible the eldest would have just been a twelvemonth younger than he had been when he had departed.

Looking to Huang, deceased at two and thirty twelvemonths, Chuo wondered if he had had a bride back home, if he had become a father when everyone had gone off to fight in the Khan's Host. If so, then that child had lost a paterfamilias whom they had never known. Would the evils of war never cease?

"Chuo!" Turning, Chuo saw Fu hobbling over on his crutch. His horse had slipped in the mud and fallen on his right leg. "I heard what you said about my singing." Almost expecting his cousin to beat him over the head with his crutch, Chuo stood up and got out of reach. He may have been wearing a helmet still, but he still had no wish to be beaten over the head with a crutch. To his relief, Fu merely laughed and asked: "You couldn't have come up with something more original? That is how your father described the singing of his brother, my father."

"Well, you are your father's son, Fu." Replied Chuo with a chuckle.

"It is a miracle we have all survived this long, Chuo." Stated Fu, hobbling over to his cousin's steed. Looking at Huang's cadaver he said: "Poor fellow… I might not have liked him, but he did not deserve this."

"Do you know if he had a wife?" Chuo asked.

"I do not." Fu replied. "We never talked. Wherefore, would we? His clan and ours were enemies, we hadn't much to talk about."

"We were still comrades." Stated Chuo, looking at Huang's body. "And as comrades we could have known each other better. Perhaps, it is not too late for peace to be made between Tuyuhun and Tufa… Perhaps there is hope that our clans can live in peace."