# **Chapter 19: Dushikou's Last Stand**

  The first problem at Dushikou became apparent during the initial formation.

  Wei ordered all troops to assemble in the garrison yard.

  Only ninety showed up.

  "Where are the other eighty?" Wei asked Major Qin.

  "Deserted. Died. Reassigned themselves to easier duty." Qin gestured vaguely. "They're around. Somewhere. They'll show up when it matters."

  "It matters now. Find them. I want every soldier accounted for in thirty minutes."

  "That's not how things work here—"

  Wei's voice went cold. "I don't care how things work here. I care how they're going to work starting now. You have thirty minutes. After that, I assume anyone not present is a deserter and issue warrants accordingly."

  Qin's face flushed. But he turned and started barking orders.

  Zhang watched the chaos unfold—soldiers scrambling to find their missing comrades, officers running in different directions with no coordination.

  "This is worse than Xuanfu," Zhang said quietly.

  "This is what happens when leadership gives up." Wei studied the ninety soldiers who had showed up. They looked like refugees. Equipment falling apart. Posture defeated. Eyes that didn't focus on anything.

  "Can you fix this?"

  "We'll find out."

  ---

  Thirty minutes later, one hundred forty-three soldiers stood in formation.

  Still twenty-seven missing. But better.

  Wei walked the line, observing.

  Half the troops didn't have proper armor. A third were carrying weapons that should have been decommissioned—cracked spear shafts, crossbows with frayed strings, hand cannons with rusted barrels.

  "Equipment status?" Wei asked Qin.

  "We haven't received proper resupply in six months. Weapons maintenance is... minimal."

  Wei picked up a crossbow from a nearby soldier. The string was so worn it would probably snap on the third shot.

  "You're sending soldiers into combat with equipment that will fail them. That's not leadership—that's murder."

  "We don't have replacements—"

  "Then we make replacements. Or we scavenge them. Or we requisition them from garrisons that have excess." Wei dropped the crossbow. "But we don't send soldiers to die because we're too lazy to fix their equipment."

  Qin's jaw tightened. "You think it's that simple? Just fix everything with discipline and will?"

  "No. I think it's that hard. Which is why most commanders give up and accept failure." Wei turned to address the formation. "Listen up! I'm Regional Commander Wei Zhao. I'm here to rebuild this garrison. Not because the Ministry ordered it—though they did. Not because I enjoy fixing disasters—though I'm getting practice. I'm here because when the Oirats come back, every garrison on this frontier needs to be able to fight. Including this one."

  A soldier in the back called out. "The Oirats already destroyed us! We had seven hundred troops before Tumu! Now we have one hundred forty! How do we fight with that?"

  "By being seven times better than you were before." Wei's voice carried across the yard. "Tumu happened because we had numbers without discipline. Training without doctrine. Bravery without brains. You lost because the system failed you—bad leadership, bad strategy, bad luck. But that changes now."

  "How?" another soldier shouted. "How does anything change when we're this broken?"

  Wei pointed at the soldier. "What's your name?"

  "Private Yuan, sir."

  "Private Yuan, how long have you been at this garrison?"

  "Two years, sir."

  "In those two years, what have you learned about fighting?"

  Yuan hesitated. "Basic drill. Wall defense. Not much else."

  "Exactly. You've spent two years learning to stand in formation and look disciplined. But you haven't learned to fight. That's not your fault—it's your leadership's fault." Wei gestured at the assembled troops. "Every soldier here has potential. But potential without training is useless. So we're going to train. Hard. Fast. Professional. And in four weeks, you're going to be soldiers who can actually fight instead of targets waiting to die."

  "Four weeks isn't enough—"

  "Four weeks is what we have. So we make it enough."

  ---

  The assessment took the rest of the day.

  Wei divided the garrison into groups and had his cadre evaluate each soldier's capabilities.

  **Results:**

  - Forty soldiers: Basic competence. Could follow orders, knew fundamental drill.

  - Sixty soldiers: Minimal training. Knew how to hold weapons but not use them effectively.

  - Thirty soldiers: Basically untrained. Recent recruits or survivors so traumatized they'd regressed to civilian level.

  - Thirteen soldiers: Actively detrimental. Discipline problems, insubordination, or complete psychological collapse.

  Wei gathered his officers that evening.

  "The thirteen in the last category—can they be salvaged?"

  Captain Dong shook his head. "I talked to them. Half are deserters waiting for opportunity. Quarter are broken—PTSD so severe they can't function. The rest are just... given up."

  "Recommendations?"

  "Discharge the broken ones—send them home with whatever pension they're owed. Arrest the deserters for court-martial. The ones who've given up... try to rehabilitate, but don't waste resources if they won't cooperate."

  Wei made the decision. "Do it. I'd rather have one hundred thirty functional soldiers than one hundred forty-three that include saboteurs and liabilities."

  Major Lin spoke up. "That's harsh. Some of those men just need time—"

  "We don't have time. The Oirats could return next month or next week. We build combat capability with the troops who can be trained, not the ones who need therapy we can't provide." Wei pulled out training schedules. "The remaining one hundred thirty divide into three training tiers. Top tier—the forty with basic competence—they become squad leaders and team trainers. Middle tier—the sixty with minimal training—they get intensive drill and standardization. Bottom tier—the thirty untrained—they get fundamentals and basic integration. Four weeks. Go."

  ---

  The first week was chaos.

  Wei pushed the garrison harder than they'd been pushed in years. Eighteen-hour days. Constant drill. No rest except what was minimally required.

  Soldiers collapsed from exhaustion. Others quit—literally walked off the training ground and refused to return.

  By day three, Wei had lost another twelve soldiers to voluntary discharge.

  One hundred eighteen remaining.

  "This isn't working," Qin said after the third desertion. "You're breaking them instead of building them."

  "I'm filtering out the ones who won't fight. Better to lose them now than during combat." Wei watched the remaining troops struggle through formation drill. "The ones who stay—they're the ones who can be salvaged."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Or they're the ones too scared to quit."

  "Fear can be useful. It means they care about consequences." Wei turned to Qin. "What would you do differently?"

  Qin was silent for a moment. "I'd... go slower. Let them adjust gradually."

  "And how did gradual adjustment work for you? Because from what I can see, gradual adjustment led to a garrison that barely functions and soldiers who expect to die."

  "That's not fair—"

  "Fair doesn't matter. Results matter. You've been commander here for two years. In that time, this garrison has deteriorated to the point of uselessness. So either my methods work or they don't. But we're not going back to your methods because they already failed."

  Qin's face went red. "You arrogant—"

  "Yes. Arrogant. Also effective. And since I'm the Regional Commander and you're the garrison commander who presides over failure, my arrogance wins." Wei softened his tone slightly. "Look—I'm not trying to humiliate you. I'm trying to save this garrison. If that means stepping on egos, I'll do it. Including my own if necessary."

  ---

  The turning point came on day eight.

  A supply convoy arrived—the first in six months.

  Wei watched the garrison troops unload it. Food. Ammunition. Replacement weapons. Medical supplies.

  Things they'd been without for half a year.

  "How did you get this?" Qin asked, staring at the wagons.

  "I requisitioned it from the regional logistics command. They've been sitting on supplies because no one was demanding them. So I demanded." Wei gestured to the goods. "Distribute it. Proper rations starting today. Replacement equipment for anyone with damaged gear. Medical treatment for everyone who needs it."

  The impact was immediate.

  Soldiers who'd been running on desperation suddenly had full bellies. Warriors with broken equipment got functional weapons. Wounded troops received actual medical care instead of makeshift field treatment.

  Morale shifted.

  Not to confidence—not yet. But to hope.

  Maybe this Regional Commander actually could fix things.

  ---

  Private Yuan approached Wei that evening while he was inspecting wall defenses.

  "Sir? Can I ask you something?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Why are you doing this? You could be at the capital. Comfortable assignment. Political connections. Instead you're here, in the worst garrison on the frontier, dealing with broken soldiers and incompetent officers."

  Wei was quiet for a moment, looking at the darkening northern horizon where the Oirats were somewhere out there, planning their next move.

  "Because someone has to. And because I've seen what happens when garrisons fail—Tumu, the capital siege, all the small battles that go unreported. Good soldiers die because their officers don't know how to lead them." He turned to Yuan. "I'm here because if I can fix one garrison, prove the doctrine works, then other garrisons will adopt it. And maybe—just maybe—we stop losing armies to incompetence."

  "That's... idealistic."

  "That's pragmatic. I'm not trying to save the world. I'm trying to save enough of the frontier that the Empire has a functional defensive line. If that makes me idealistic, so be it."

  Yuan nodded slowly. "For what it's worth, sir—the troops are starting to believe. Not in the Empire or the Ministry. But in you. That's worth something."

  After Yuan left, Zhang appeared.

  "Inspirational moment?"

  "Honest moment. I'm too tired to be inspirational." Wei rubbed his eyes. "How's the training progression?"

  "Better than expected. The top tier is ready to start teaching the middle tier. Bottom tier is still struggling but improving." Zhang paused. "We might actually pull this off."

  "We'd better. Because I burned a lot of political capital getting those supplies. If this garrison doesn't show results, the Ministry will use it as evidence that my methods don't scale."

  "So no pressure."

  "Just the usual amount."

  ---

  On day fifteen, the garrison faced its first real test.

  Oirat raiders—thirty riders—hit a nearby village and burned it.

  The village refugees fled to Dushikou, bringing news of the attack.

  Major Qin immediately went into panic mode.

  "Thirty raiders means there's a larger force nearby! We need to reinforce the walls, pull in all patrols, defensive posture only!"

  Wei studied the tactical map. "Where exactly did they hit?"

  "Five *li* northeast. Small farming village, no strategic value."

  "Then why hit it?"

  Qin blinked. "Because... they're raiders?"

  "Raiders target resources or conduct reconnaissance. A farming village has minimal resources this time of year. So it's reconnaissance." Wei pointed to the map. "They're testing our response. Do we cower behind walls or do we respond? Our answer tells them about our capability."

  "You want to send troops out? Against Oirat cavalry?"

  "I want to demonstrate that Dushikou is no longer passive. That we respond to threats instead of hiding from them." Wei turned to Dong. "Take First and Second Companies. One hundred troops. Track the raiders. If you can catch them in terrain that favors you, engage. If not, just demonstrate that we're willing to pursue. Make them nervous about operating freely."

  Dong grinned. "About time we took the fight to them."

  "Don't get heroic. This is a demonstration, not a battle. Engage if you have advantage, withdraw if you don't. Clear?"

  "Crystal."

  ---

  Dong's force moved out an hour later.

  One hundred soldiers in good order, moving fast, weapons ready.

  They looked competent.

  Wei watched from the north wall until they disappeared over the horizon.

  Qin stood beside him, clearly anxious. "What if they get ambushed? What if the thirty raiders are bait for a larger force?"

  "Then Dong follows doctrine—fighting withdrawal, fall back to defensible positions, don't get decisively engaged. He knows this. He's run these scenarios a hundred times."

  "But these troops haven't. They're barely trained—"

  "They're adequately trained for this mission. That's the difference between barely functional and actually capable." Wei lowered his telescope. "Trust the doctrine. Trust the leadership. If I second-guess every decision because troops aren't perfect, we never move forward."

  The engagement happened four hours later.

  Wei heard it—distant crack of crossbow volleys, the rumble of hand cannons.

  Then silence.

  Two hours after that, Dong's force returned.

  All one hundred soldiers. Three wounded—minor injuries. No fatalities.

  Dong reported directly.

  "We caught them in a box canyon. They tried to escape north, we blocked the exit with crossbow teams. They tried to charge through, we hit them with sustained fire from elevated positions. They broke after losing maybe ten riders. The rest scattered. We didn't pursue."

  "Our performance?"

  "Solid. First Company held the line without panic. Second Company's fire rotation was clean—no misfires, good timing. Discipline held throughout." Dong paused. "These troops aren't elite, but they're functional. They followed orders, supported each other, didn't break under pressure. That's huge."

  Wei felt satisfaction mixed with relief. "Casualties breakdown?"

  "Three wounded—one arrow graze, two twisted ankles during the canyon scramble. Everyone walking, no serious injuries."

  "Equipment losses?"

  "Minimal. Used about twenty percent of our ammunition. A few damaged weapons—nothing critical."

  Wei turned to Qin. "You see? Adequately trained troops with competent leadership can engage Oirat cavalry successfully. It's not magic. It's doctrine and discipline."

  Qin was staring at the returning troops with something like wonder. "I didn't think... I mean, these are the same soldiers who could barely hold formation two weeks ago."

  "They're not the same. They've been trained. They've seen that the doctrine works. They've gained confidence through success." Wei gestured to the formation. "That's what four weeks of proper training produces. Not perfection—but capability."

  ---

  The next two weeks solidified the transformation.

  The garrison drilled constantly. But now the drill had purpose—troops could see the connection between training and survival.

  The engagement with the Oirat raiders had proven that the doctrine worked. That they could fight and win.

  Morale improved dramatically.

  Wei observed it during formations. Soldiers stood straighter. Responded crisper. Maintained discipline without constant oversight.

  More importantly—they trusted their officers.

  On day twenty-eight, Wei conducted the final assessment.

  He assembled the entire garrison and ran them through a full tactical scenario—simulated assault on the walls, fighting withdrawal, counter-attack, casualty evacuation.

  Everything they'd learned compressed into one intensive drill.

  They performed well.

  Not perfectly—there were mistakes, timing issues, coordination problems.

  But they were functional.

  Wei called a halt after two hours.

  "Assessment complete. Results: adequate performance for garrison defensive operations. You're not elite troops. You're not going to win glory or medals. But you can hold these walls against anything short of a major army. And that's the standard."

  He paused, looking at the assembled soldiers.

  "Four weeks ago, this garrison was broken. Demoralized. Barely functional. Today, you're soldiers. Professional soldiers who can execute doctrine under pressure. That transformation didn't happen because of me—it happened because you chose to believe it was possible and worked for it. Be proud of that."

  A cheer went up. Small at first, then building.

  The garrison that had been waiting to die now believed it could survive.

  ---

  Wei met with Major Qin that evening for final transition discussions.

  "You resume full command tomorrow. The cadre stays another week to ensure the transition is smooth, then they move to the next garrison."

  Qin nodded. "I owe you an apology. I thought you were arrogant and naive. Turns out you were just competent."

  "I'm still arrogant. But yes, also competent." Wei pulled out doctrine manuals. "These cover everything we've implemented. Fire rotation, fighting withdrawal, defensive coordination, supply management. Follow them and the garrison stays functional."

  "And if the Oirats come in force?"

  "Then you hold as long as possible and request reinforcement from neighboring garrisons. The regional defensive network is designed to support each other—no garrison fights alone."

  "What if reinforcement doesn't come?"

  Wei met his gaze. "Then you hold anyway. Because that's what soldiers do."

  Qin was quiet for a moment. "You really believe that? That we should die defending a position even if it's hopeless?"

  "I believe you should make the enemy pay for every *zhang* of ground and withdraw before you're annihilated. There's a difference between holding and martyrdom. Know when to fight and when to fall back."

  "The Ministry won't like retreat doctrine."

  "The Ministry isn't here. You are. Use your judgment. Save your troops when possible. Sacrifice them when necessary. That's command."

  ---

  Wei's convoy departed Dushikou the next morning.

  One hundred eighteen soldiers formed up to see them off—everyone who'd completed the training.

  They stood at attention, proper spacing, weapons ready. Professional.

  Private Yuan stepped forward. "Sir! Garrison thanks you for your service!"

  Wei returned the salute. "Garrison earned it through your own effort. Keep training. Stay sharp. When the Oirats come back, make them regret it."

  The convoy moved out.

  Zhang rode beside Wei. "Two garrisons rebuilt. Thirteen to go."

  "Thirteen to go. Six months if we're lucky. A year if we're not."

  "Think the Oirats will give us a year?"

  Wei looked north toward the frontier's edge, where enemy territory began.

  "No. But we work with the time we have. Next garrison is Zhangjiakou—supposedly better than Dushikou but still undermanned."

  "What's the main problem there?"

  "Political infighting. The garrison commander and his second-in-command hate each other. Troops are split into factions. Combat capability is decent but coordination is terrible."

  "So a different kind of broken."

  "Every garrison is broken differently. That's what makes this interesting."

  Zhang laughed. "Your definition of interesting is deeply concerning."

  "Probably. But it's the job."

  The convoy rode north toward the next disaster waiting to be fixed.

  Behind them, Dushikou stood on its walls, watching them go.

  A garrison that had been broken was now functional.

  One piece of the frontier restored.

  Thirteen more to go.

  ---

  **End of Chapter 19**