The Tiger's New Teeth

The vast training fields of the Tianjin Military Academy, established just a few short years ago, stretched for miles along the coast. The salty air, which should have been fresh and clean, was thick with the acrid smell of black powder and the earthy scent of churned mud. It was the smell of a new kind of war being born.

On a raised wooden platform overlooking the mock battlefield stood General Meng Tian, his imposing figure silhouetted against the grey sky. Beside him was Ronglu, the shrewd Manchu general whom QSH had co-opted from the conservatives to run the academy. Ronglu had initially viewed his appointment as a sideways demotion, a move to get him out of the capital. Now, watching the forces arrayed below, he was beginning to understand it was the most important post in the Empire.

Below them, two full battalions—nearly five thousand men—were taking their positions for the day's war game. One battalion, designated the "Defenders," was a mix of Meng Tian's own new Imperial Guard and the top cadets from the academy. They were busy, not forming grand lines, but digging into the earth, creating a series of interlocking trenches and fortified positions. The other battalion, the "Invaders," was a proud, veteran force composed of Green Standard Army troops and elite Manchu Bannermen, commanded by a grizzled, one-eyed general named Hadaha, a warrior famous for his bravery in the western campaigns.

"The scenario, as decreed by His Majesty," Ronglu announced, his voice carrying over the wind. "General Hadaha's forces will conduct a simulated amphibious assault on this stretch of coast. Your task, General Meng, is to repel them. You have had six hours to prepare your defenses. The umpires are in position. Let the exercise begin!"

A signal cannon boomed, and from a command post several hundred yards away, General Hadaha's laughter could be heard, a loud, contemptuous bark.

"Six hours!" Hadaha bellowed to his subordinates, gesturing dismissively at the distant trenches. "And look what they do with it! They dig in the dirt like peasants hiding from a tax collector! Is this the Emperor's grand new army? Men who are afraid to meet an honorable charge head-on? We will sweep these dirt-diggers into the sea before lunch!"

His contempt for the new methods was visceral. To him, war was a matter of courage, momentum, and the glorious, earth-shaking charge of cavalry. Trenches were for cowards.

"Signal the cavalry!" Hadaha commanded. "We will lead with a glorious charge directly at their center. Break their spirit early! The honor of the Eight Banners demands it! Ready the banners! Sound the advance!"

From his platform, Meng Tian raised a German-made brass telescope to his eye, observing the enemy preparations. "Predictable," he said, his voice a low rumble. "He sees the trenches as a sign of weakness, not as a weapon. He thinks they are walls. He does not understand they are a channel, designed to guide his men into a killing field."

Ronglu, ever the pragmatist, looked on with keen interest. "His charge will be formidable. He has over eight hundred horsemen. Will your lines hold against a full cavalry charge, General?"

"They are not meant to hold," Meng Tian replied without lowering the telescope. "They are meant to kill."

The ground began to tremble. Hadaha's cavalry surged forward, a magnificent and terrifying sight. Colorful banners snapped in the wind, horns blared, and the riders screamed their war cries, a wave of horse and steel designed to shatter the nerve of any infantry line. They thundered across the open field, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

But Meng Tian's men did not fire. They waited. The general watched, his face impassive, as the cavalry crossed an unseen line marked by small, innocuous-looking white flags. The kill zone.

"Artillery," Meng Tian said, his voice calm but carrying absolute authority. "Shrapnel shells. Volley fire. Target designated zones one through three. Infantry, forward trench, section one, rapid fire at will."

The response was instantaneous and mechanical. From hidden positions behind the main line, a dozen new 75-millimeter cannons, their crews drilled to perfection, roared to life. Seconds later, hundreds of red flags shot up among the charging cavalry as the artillery umpires signaled devastating, direct hits. Entire squadrons were ruled to have been shredded by airborne storms of metal.

Almost simultaneously, the forward trench erupted in a continuous, deafening roar as the infantry, armed with their Hanyang 88 repeating rifles, unleashed a torrent of simulated fire. The sound was not the stately, separated volleys of old musketry, but a constant, ripping noise like canvas being torn. More red flags blossomed across the field, a garden of death. Hadaha's magnificent charge dissolved into a chaotic, simulated rout two hundred yards from the first trench line. The umpires ruled over seventy percent of the cavalry as casualties.

From his command post, Hadaha screamed in frustration, his face purple with rage. "Cease! Cease this madness! This is not battle! This is a coward's butchery! There is no honor in it! They refuse to face us! Where is the clash of steel on steel?"

On the observation platform, Meng Tian finally lowered his telescope. He turned to Ronglu. "Honor is found in victory, and victory keeps the Emperor's soldiers alive. A dead hero is just a corpse in a field. His Majesty demands victory, not honorable deaths." He turned his gaze back to the field, where Hadaha's demoralized infantry was now beginning a slow, ponderous advance. "Now, the counter-attack."

What happened next was even more bewildering to the old-school commanders. Meng Tian's forces did not simply sit in their trenches and wait. While the main body of Hadaha's infantry was pinned down by a relentless, accurate fire from the trenches and two new, water-cooled Maxim machine guns (represented by umpires waving flags at an almost comical speed), two smaller companies that Meng Tian had held in reserve emerged from hidden flanking positions.

But they did not advance in a neat line. They moved in small squads of ten, one squad rushing forward while another laid down suppressing fire. They used every dip in the terrain, every small hillock, for cover. It was a fluid, predatory advance. They coordinated their attack with the artillery using a simple system of colored signal flags, bringing down simulated fire on enemy strongpoints just moments before their final assault. The command and control were seamless.

Within the hour, a company of cadets had flanked Hadaha's entire position. His command post was declared "overrun," and a cadet captain symbolically accepted the surrender of the one-eyed general's sword. The war game was over.

Ronglu slowly began to clap, the sound sharp in the sudden silence. "Incredible," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Utterly incredible. The Bannermen never even made it to your trenches." He walked down from the platform to meet the fuming General Hadaha. "General," he said gently. "It appears the battle is over. Your forces have been… neutralized."

Hadaha snatched his sword back from the cadet and spat on the ground. "This is a foreigner's trick! A coward's ploy! This is not how the warriors of the Great Qing should fight!"

Meng Tian strode up, his shadow falling over the humiliated general. His voice was as cold and hard as iron. "You are correct. This is not how they used to fight. This is how the Emperor's soldiers win. Adapt your ways, General Hadaha, or you and your glorious memories will be buried by those who have."

Without another word, he turned his back on the sputtering old warrior and addressed Ronglu. "The men are learning the new doctrine, but their movements are still too slow by half. The coordination between flanking squads needs to be faster. We will run the drill again this afternoon."