Five Days in Hanseong (1)

After the first gunshot, the fighting within the capital began spreading from Unjongga in all directions like a wildfire, growing fiercer with every passing hour. The most savage combat raged along Six Ministries Street, where the city's principal government offices stood clustered together, and in Myeongnyebang, the commercial district.

Bang, bang-bang! Thunk!

Gunfire crackled through every quarter of the capital, a raucous popping like beans roasting in a pan.

"Hey—get down!"

"They're shooting! They're shooting!"

Every time a shot cracked or a shout went up, someone would drop, shriek, or scramble for cover—a sorry spectacle playing out in alley after alley. And the suppression officers, watching their own soldiers carry on like this, were beside themselves, their faces twisted as they stormed about in a fury.

"At this rate, when the hell are we supposed to put down these rebels?!"

There were several reasons the Gaehwadang's uprising had not been easily crushed, and why the exchange of fire between both sides had grown steadily more ferocious. First among them: a considerable portion of the Front Royal Guard who had joined the Gaehwadang were high in morale and armed with quality Western rifles.

"Don't give them a moment to breathe—press them! Fire!"

"Fire!"

Bang! Rat-tat-tat!

Meanwhile, the royalist forces charged with putting them down—the Gyeongsayeong garrison inside the capital, along with a handful of palace guards, patrol troops, and the Police Bureau's combined force—were armed with everything from obsolete matchlock muskets to a motley assortment of Western guns, and even their ammunition supply was unreliable. Among them were fellows who had even dragged out rusty spears and swords that had clearly been gathering dust in the armory, fallen into formation by accident, and then been kicked back out of the line by furious officers.

Bang, bang-bang!

"Urgh!"

"Gah! They're shooting again!"

When several suppression troops crumpled like sheaves of straw under a farmer's scythe—cut down by Front Royal Guard soldiers lying prone on the roofs of mansions and shops, pouring fire down on them—the officer who witnessed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it unleashed a torrent of curses.

"Damn it, damn it!"

A force of nearly a hundred men, flinching and falling back before a handful of fifteen or so?

"Get up on the roofs across the way and shoot—snipe them, set fire to the place underneath, I don't care!"

Hong Gye-hun, Commander of the Royal Guard, who had hastily reorganized the Geumwiyeong troops and surrounded the mansions and alleys the Gaehwadang rebels had fortified, was in much the same predicament.

Thud!

"Guh!"

When the head of an officer advancing ahead of him burst apart, Hong Gye-hun—who had been walking behind and was now thoroughly splattered with the man's brains—spat a curse.

"Son of a bitch!"

Compared to the Front Royal Guard who had risen up and joined the Gaehwadang, the hastily assembled suppression force was inferior in both training and quality. No—it was dire.

"If I'd known it would come to this, I would've waited until nightfall!"

Hong Gye-hun cursed the officials who had been dismissed and vanished from this post, and the King who sat secluded in Changdeok Palace. If they hadn't accidentally opened fire on the capital's civilians, putting down this rebellion would never have become this difficult.

Hong Gye-hun recalled the face of Cho Yeong-ha, who had been dragged out ranting that the instant a single gunshot rang out in the capital, everything would be over—right up until the moment of his dismissal. Every word of it had been right, a hundred times over.

The Gyeongsayeong commander and the superintendent were right. Even if it meant delaying the crackdown until the night curfew, we should have waited for the people to disperse of their own accord.

But it was already too late. Had it all begun when the King, enraged at Cho Yeong-ha's stalling over the people's safety, had him dismissed on the spot? Someone on the suppression side had accidentally fired into the swelling crowd, and the situation had come to this.

Bang! Bang-bang!

"The resistance is too fierce, General!"

An officer, drenched in someone else's blood, reported that they couldn't force an entry. Hong Gye-hun gave the order.

"Tsk! Load a cart with sacks of grain and push it in. Get it right up against the wall and we can drag them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Of course, two or three soldiers would have to be sacrificed in the process.

"Hah."

Watching the casualties snowball because of their own grave mistake, Hong Gye-hun, commander of the suppression force, let out a low sigh. The capital's streets were already a maze. And now the rebels had dragged carts and junk into every corner of that maze, throwing up little barricades and earthworks, while sniper fire rained down from walls and rooftops. How long would it take to clear all this and seize their stronghold at Gyeong-u Palace?

Bang!

"Guh!"

"Keep your heads down! Sniper!"

Thud!

"Another one dead!"

And so they met a street battle from hell. Following Hong Gye-hun's advice, soldiers approached the alley with grain sacks piled on carts and rickshaws—and the officer leading them from the front had his skull blown apart and crumpled to the ground. The troops who witnessed it froze again with a shriek, and would no doubt fall back once two more men died.

"Damn it. Their guns are better than ours..."

The Geumwiyeong ranks had been completely abolished after the military revolt of the Imo year and should not even have still existed. Under the original military reforms, they shouldn't have had weapons—they shouldn't even have had troops on the books. But the Geumwiyeong had lingered on, kept alive by the demands of palace sentry duty and the trust of soldiers native to the capital. When word came that the Gaehwadang had launched their coup, they had hastily raided the Military Affairs Bureau armory and armed themselves.

"They should have at least been trained to hold a firing line!"

Hong Gye-hun, who had earned a meteoric promotion through past merit, swallowed a groan as he watched his own men mill about in a pathetic display, ducking and hiding from bullets flying off the rooftops.

"Nngh."

He wanted nothing more than to storm Gyeong-u Palace this instant, drag the rebels out, and put their heads on pikes in the marketplace. But with the Geumwiyeong troops carrying on like this, even a week wouldn't be enough to properly pacify the shopping district along Unjongga, north of Cheonggyecheon.

Meanwhile, the Gaehwadang's situation was hardly any better, even as they somehow held the line against a numerically superior suppression force, clinging on by a thread.

The leadership, having regrouped their army at Gyeong-u Palace and barely managed to calm the people who had come pouring in with matchlocks and bows dragged from their homes, declaring they would stand with them—and sent them back to their houses—now faced one another with grim expressions. They had spirit. But their future was not bright.

"...We're holding Six Ministries Street, where the principal government offices are concentrated, reasonably well, with no small help from the people. But it's only a matter of time before they break through."

"The Front Royal Guard and the cadets simply aren't enough."

"And we have far too many assets to defend relative to our capacity."

At Park Yung-hyo's and Seo Gwang-beom's respective analyses, Kim Ok-gyun, their leader, nodded with a heavy expression. As they had pointed out, the Gaehwadang government had to protect the people of the capital against the tyrant's fierce assault, while also safeguarding the government institutions in order to preserve their legitimacy. Moreover—

"They can reinforce their numbers."

"We've collected every round of ammunition from the Military Affairs Bureau and the Gatekeepers' Office, so we shouldn't have to worry for the time being. But if this becomes a prolonged fight..."

Casualties were mounting, and the ammunition would soon run dry. When Yun Chi-ho and Pyon Su pointed out this painful reality, the atmosphere among the leadership grew heavier still. Kim Ok-gyun gave a bitter smile and spoke.

"It will be hard, but Yun-gyeong will have to hold on."

"We're asking a terrible thing of that friend of ours."

For now, Seo Jae-pil was holding the Cheonggyecheon stone bridge connecting Myeongnyebang and Six Ministries Street with everything he had, blocking the suppression force's advance. But as the losses accumulated, even he would have no choice but to fall back. The suppression army could receive reinforcements from the Gyeonggi Haebangyeong or the Jinmuyeong outside the capital. On this side, they had only the Front Royal Guard who had stood with them from the moment of the uprising.

Hong Yeong-sik, who had been studying a military map depicting Hanyang's topography in meticulous detail, spoke up.

"If we can get a message to Namhansanseong—or get word to our Right Royal Guard stationed at Cheongsu-gwan outside Seodaemun—couldn't they strike the suppression force from the rear?"

"Hmm. That."

"Cross Inwangsan?"

A few cadets' eyes lit up at Hong Yeong-sik's insight. As he had said, the Right Royal Guard near Seodaemun was a modernized force whose officer corps was packed with men recommended by Gaehwadang figures, and the Left Royal Guard at Namhansanseong was a unit that Park Yung-hyo, formerly of the Geumneungwi, had organized and trained himself. If they could be persuaded, there was a strong chance they would join.

But Park Yung-hyo, after careful consideration, was the first to object.

"While we were busy agitating the people, Cho Yeong-ha, the Gyeongsayeong commander, played us like a fox. Rather than attack us, he moved first to seal us in—and everything south of Cheonggyecheon has slipped completely from our hands."

"Damn."

"Crossing Inwangsan to request support is the same problem. Do you think the tyrant, having already reported our uprising to the Gyeonggi Provincial Office, hasn't made arrangements outside the capital as well? We should put even our precious handful of troops on the defensive line first, buy time, and negotiate with them."

He added that the Rear Royal Guard, which had advanced toward Gyeonghui Palace the moment the uprising began and successively occupied Donuimun and Sungnyemun, had shown not the slightest interest in their situation—clearly, they were loyal to the tyrant. Then Park Yung-hyo closed his mouth firmly.

To put it as generously as possible: the Gaehwadang was holding out well. But they were living on borrowed time.

"We're surrounded."

As one cadet sighed, the Gaehwadang was trapped in the capital with Inwangsan at their backs—whether by the deep cunning of Cho Yeong-ha, the now-dismissed and wise suppression commander, or by a fate handed down from heaven itself.

As night approached, the capital transformed into a lightless, pitch-black abyss.

"They're coming!"

"Don't those bastards ever sleep?!"

"Sons of bitches!"

When a cadet watching the suppression force's movements from atop a half-collapsed wall—deliberately knocked down for cover—shouted, Seo Jae-pil, who had been pulling wounded troops to the rear, answered at once.

"Don't fire until they cross the center of the bridge! The more ammunition we save, the better!"

"Yes, General!"

Seo Jae-pil's eyes followed the young cadet as he dashed out in haste, then turned to a drillmaster of the Front Royal Guard.

"What about the request for support this afternoon?"

The drillmaster hung his head, looking ashamed.

"...Enemy movement was observed near the principal palace. Immediate support is... difficult."

"I see."

It was the answer he hadn't expected anyway. Telling the man to just keep the remaining soldiers in order, Seo Jae-pil sent him off, then sat down where he was for a moment, cleaning his fouled sword, lost in thought.

The gunfire that was ringing out from Unjongga has gone silent for a while now. Our soldiers have been taken, one way or another.

It had been a small force of fewer than thirty men, but they were an elite detachment of the finest soldiers selected from the Front Royal Guard, together with martial artists from the Chung-ui-gye. Most of them were strong in both martial prowess and stubbornness. In other words, they were not the sort to surrender easily.

There was smoke rising earlier. Did they set a fire?

Seo Jae-pil conceded that the suppression force had likely committed deliberate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arson, and tried to stay calm. The horrific deaths of his revolutionary comrades were playing out before his eyes.

"Hoo."

During the day they had occupied alleys and civilian houses, forcing a war of attrition that bought enormous time against the suppression army. But the suppression command was no pack of fools—they had clearly found a way to neutralize the soldiers sniping from the rooftops. That fury had likely been paid for with the lives of the captured Chung-ui-gye members.

If I survive, I will make sure the people of Joseon never forget your courage, for as long as I live.

Listening intently to the noise from outside with a grave expression, Seo Jae-pil sighed deeply.

Some were doing their best to paint a hopeful tomorrow, comforting the comrades around them. Others were tearing open ammunition pouches and distributing rounds, steeling their will to fight. Some clutched wounded comrades who groaned in pain. Others fidgeted with serviceable firearms, busy hiding their nerves ahead of the coming battle.

"..."

Seo Jae-pil committed each of their faces to memory, then swallowed as he looked up at the stars drifting at their leisure through the pitch-black night sky. The soldiers outside were brave men who had joined a just cause in step with the changing times. And they were men who would soon fall. Once the Gaehwadang had abandoned the capital, proclaimed their revolutionary platform, and spoken before the people, there was no way out.

Far off, beyond the bridge occupied at Unjongga, flames leapt up, and spear-points glittering in the moonlight sent their light this way.

"The enemy is attacking!"

The sentry's desperate voice from outside snapped Seo Jae-pil from his reverie. At the same moment as the sentry's cry, the young cadet from before came looking for him.

"General! They're attacking!"

"I'm going now!"

Pushing the cadet aside, he sprang to his feet, sprinted to the wall in a single burst, planted himself beside the soldiers, and raised their spirits.

When the Front Royal Guard soldiers roared in response, Seo Jae-pil pressed the momentum and shouted.

"Open fire!"

"Fire!"

Bang! Rat-tat-tat!

As Seo Jae-pil swept his sword up and down, gunfire erupted from the cover positions prepared all along the far side. The drillmasters leading the soldiers had identified targets first and divided the firing sectors.

Bang!

"Guh!"

"Ugh!"

"Don't aim for the head—aim for the body! It's too dark to aim properly anyway!"

The senior soldiers fired, and the rest followed in sequence, attacking the suppression troops trying to cross the bridge and the river.

Thud! Thud-thud-thud!

Then a strange sound—not the sound of lead balls punching into human flesh—made Seo Jae-pil lean out beyond the wall where the gunfire was erupting. He spotted something and let out a groan.

Rumble...

"Good God."

The soldiers and cadets beside him, still pulling their triggers, reacted no differently.

"This..."

"Th-those bastards."

Thud! Thud!

It was a bizarre contraption: an enormous bundled sack perched on a rickshaw seat.

"Th-they've reached the center!"

"Shoot! Shoot them!"

When that bizarre thing, still intact despite the bullets punching into it, invaded as far as the center of the bridge, the atmosphere on the far side—which had been holding well at first—flipped in an instant. A soldier, terrified by the enemy shouts drawing closer past the bridge's midpoint and the bullets landing at point-blank range, cried out to his drillmaster.

"Th-the bullets aren't going through! What do we do?!"

It was too dark to see clearly, but Seo Jae-pil could make out the faces of soldiers seized by terror as the enemy approached across Cheonggyecheon—a far cry from their earlier ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grim resolve. In a fight, momentum was everything. All the more so when you were outnumbered.

"Hold fast!"

This would not do.

"...Don't be shaken by their cheap tricks!"

He needed a plan. First he ordered the soldiers to hold their positions and pour on the ammunition without stinting, then hurried to the rear.

"Huff, huff!"

There he found the wounded, and soldiers pickled in exhaustion from the fighting that had gone on since afternoon.

"Comrades."

He bit down so hard on his lip that he didn't even notice the metallic taste of blood seeping into his nostrils. Drawing his sword, he gathered the remaining Chung-ui-gye members and the cadets from Hosan School in one place.

"A hard fight is upon us."

If the line buckled in the middle of the night to the suppression force's ruse, it would be a disaster. If they were pushed back tonight and lost this position, Six Ministries Street—wide open, with no proper cover or terrain—would offer nowhere to fall back, regroup their remaining forces, and counterattack, nor any environment from which to hide and snipe. And if they failed to hold—

The leadership at Gyeong-u Palace dies to the last man.

In that fleeting moment, Seo Jae-pil conveyed a silent message with his eyes to the Chung-ui-gye members and the cadets. One by one, his comrades rose to their feet and answered with fierce enthusiasm. The time had come, they seemed to say.

"It's our turn."

"Good!"

"Let's go!"

Each of them left the Western rifles at their feet and boldly drew the sharp longswords at their hips. And without a moment's hesitation, they sprinted straight for the mouth of the bridge.

Bang! Rat-tat-tat!

"Fire until your fingers fall off! Don't stop shooting!"

"Fire!"

"If they cross the bridge, it's over!"

As they headed for the bridge, the growing roar of gunfire and the enemy's howls that they would kill every last rebel rang clearly in their ears.

"Fire!"

Bang! Rat-tat-tat!

Seo Jae-pil took in the sight of soldiers struggling, tearing open ammunition pouches, loading mechanically, and shouted.

"Everyone, get aside!"

"Move! Get to the sides!"

"Hurry, hurry!"

At the head of them, shoving aside the soldiers frantically trying to stop the sack-laden rickshaw pushing in, Seo Jae-pil gripped a long sword firmly in each hand. He issued a solemn command to his Gaehwadang comrades lined up broadly to his left and right.

A great war cry erupted. It was a magnificent sword-drawing assault that would not have been outdone by anything Japan had to offer.