Chapter 192
Chapter 192
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 192
Chapter Title: Supreme Commander Kim Unhaeng (2)
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The five provinces attached to my title were Hwanghae, Gyeonggi, Chungcheong, Jeolla, and Gyeongsang.
The reason I hadn't included Gangwon was simply to keep the Qing in mind, but if I could prove the necessity, they'd probably hand it over in reality (there were no troops in Gangwon Province anyway).
In other words, it meant I was to take command of all available Joseon forces and resolve this crisis, whether by fighting the Qing or the British.
If I failed? My predecessor as Supreme Commander of the Five Provinces, Gang Hongrip, was a perfect example.
Branded a traitorous minister, the path to Chief State Councillor would be cut off, and my life would be in danger. If the Qing hadn't intervened, Gang Hongrip would have been summarily executed without question.
And given the king's current scheme to fool both the Qing and the British, it didn't seem like Emperor Qianlong would come to my rescue.
Therefore, the first thought that popped into my head was rebellion.
Common sense dictated that Joseon troops were a million times easier to deal with than Qing or British forces. Not only were they weaker, but I knew them inside and out. Know yourself and your enemy, and you'll win every battle, as they say.
Alright. First, I'll channel "Lee Seonggye," overthrow the government, and form the Jangdong Shogunate... no, the National Reconstruction Supreme Council. On the coasts, negotiate with the British to buy time and somehow make it past the Imo Incident year.
Then, afterward, negotiate with the status window to set quests like "Appoint as Minister," "Appoint as Deputy Minister," or "Appoint as Chief State Councillor" to pay the tuition fees. That woman definitely said they were hoping I'd complete it fully, right?
By then, the king would be nothing more than a royal edict vending machine. If it was too easy mode, I could add a condition like "before turning forty" to make it flash-in-the-pan proof.
It was rebellion all the way. Handing control of hundreds of thousands of troops (on paper) to one man from the start was practically an invitation to rebel.
Out of old sentiment, I'd let the king live out his days comfortably, reading his beloved Qing novels. As for Suksung, who was begging to see the prince on palace tours... I'd take her to London later and show her a British prince. Just warn her not to get too close because of the smell.
And to make that happen, I first needed to win over or sideline the old man in front of me.
As the Inspector-General (a wartime temporary post that could issue orders even to the Supreme Commander), I fixed my burning gaze on Park Mun-su, who had summoned me.
And Park Mun-su, who had been staring silently back at me, spoke first.
"I understand your loyalty and resolve, but don't rush into things."
What? Had he seen through my "patriotic resolve"?
As I tensed up, Park Mun-su continued with a calm expression.
"Even as Supreme Commander of the Five Provinces, the troops you'll lead will mostly have to be drawn from the Seven Armies. His Majesty's consideration is likely to ensure that those five provinces can properly supply grain, fodder, clothing, and weapons. Unlike Gang Hongrip's time, when they hastily gathered numbers and froze or starved to death, this is a relief."
"Pardon? Isn't this about raising troops from the five provinces?"
"What are you talking about? Where are the troops there? You disbanded them."
I felt like I heard something crumbling inside me.
The most critical function of Joseon provincial armies—"rebellion"—was what I'd overlooked in my pursuit of administrative efficiency. The price was the grave I'd dug for myself.
Soldiers who should have been exempt from corvée after their service, but were trapped in prison with their families due to local officials' schemes and forced into "service for the nation," might rebel.
But central armies were too hard to rebel with.
The Supreme Commander wasn't a field commander, and aside from the Training Command, the soldiers from other garrisons were still under their individual generals. I could only issue orders to those generals.
And the commanders of the Seven Armies were without exception high-ranking politicians of the "Sado Seja faction." Deception or bribery was nearly impossible. If I went to Kim Sung-eung and said let's rebel, he'd just ask why I hadn't already.
Park Mun-su seemed oblivious to my shock.
"And anyway, not just this incident, but for the past decade or so, the backbone of the kingdom's strategies has been the naval forces. The cavalry and infantry just need to escort the general and show some dignity, don't you think?"
"Even if the marines doubled in number, they couldn't hold off the English fleet."
"I don't know why you're afraid of the English with only ten thousand men, but assuming that's true, your job as Supreme Commander isn't to say whether we can or can't block them. The only report a Supreme Commander sends is of victory."
I clung to a sliver of hope.
"Does Your Excellency, the Minister of the Board of Personnel, have a good plan?"
"I wouldn't know. That's why we need you."
My fist twitched upward for real. If a Supreme Commander punched the Inspector-General, it'd make for a rare historical anecdote, but I held back. He'd die of natural causes soon enough anyway.
"And I'm needed to keep you from recklessly ruining the grand strategy with your flighty ways. As an old man, I'll provide the weight you lack, so show me some of that renowned Chun-sik ingenuity."
"...I'll survey the situation first."
By the time I cooled my head on the way back, rebellion seemed too hasty.
Not just practically unfeasible, but the bigger issue was if the status window rejected that kind of quest.
Once I'd already rebelled, I couldn't "try another method" afterward. Even if I failed as Supreme Commander and political ruin loomed, it wouldn't be too late.
So for now, focus on the dirty quest the king had dumped on me.
As I'd told Park Mun-su, to decide the next direction, I needed to assess the situation. Responses would differ 180 degrees depending on whether the Qing or Britain won. Japan's future moves mattered too.
I went to the cages labeled "Suncheon Prefecture" and "Ulsan Prefecture," then released the pigeons.
Now that Chun-sik Delivery branches spanned nearly the entire country, Namhae Temple's Han Jung-ryang and Ulleung Island's Commissioner Park Sang-sun would launch ships immediately. At minimum, they'd learn faster than official reports.
Coincidentally, Kim Unhaeng's appointment as Supreme Commander of the Five Provinces happened on the same day as the Battle of Nagasaki.
As Kim Unhaeng was screaming, cries of agony erupted on this battlefield too.
Mongol cavalry might evoke images of light skirmishers.
But whether the Mongol Empire, the Qing Dynasty, or even Europe, nobles never wore light armor anywhere.
Their lives were too valuable. The current Eight Banners were clad in heavy plate armor, including horse barding.
The sepoys were similarly equipped. As the charging Eight Banners drew their bows, Major Smith bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Mogul Horse, forward!"
The priciest cavalry unit surged ahead.
And they performed exactly as Major Smith hoped. The Mogul Horse charged, their gleaming iron armor deflecting the Eight Banners' arrows. With proper protection, mounted archery from strong bows was nothing to fear.
The sepoys displayed spearmanship impossible for men in such heavy armor.
From horseback, they crouched low with spears in hand, then thrust in unison. The spear tips, fooling the eye on distance, struck like cobras, punching holes in the faces of several lead Eight Banner riders—the one spot their heavy armor didn't cover.
"Arrrgh!"
The Eight Banners didn't sit idle either. Sepoys who failed to target exposed faces were soon cut down by sweeping swords and spears.
When it came to their own mounts, the Mongol Eight Banners were second to none—even Kim Unhaeng wouldn't envy them. The savage warhorses trampled the heads of fallen sepoys at their riders' command.
Some sepoys miraculously stood and raised spears; others even drew pistols in the chaos.
But a furious horse's hind kicks were fearsome; its teeth even more so against the thin skin of primate faces—easier torn than paper. The unlucky victim screamed before being stabbed dead.
In the narrow streets, the two cavalry forces clashed without yielding an inch. Greatswords, iron rods, clubs, and sabers crossed, spraying blood.
"Heavy cavalry," which had held the top spot in unit combat power for most of human history, remained formidable even in the 18th century. The "knights'" valor burned bright, heedless of the twilight to come.
William Draper, watching through a telescope, couldn't hide his admiration.
"Never thought I'd say this about Asians in my life, but they're magnificent! Was this how Richard the Lionheart fought the Saracens?"
Robert Clive, meanwhile, looked somewhat uneasy.
"We can't afford more sacrifices. Reinforcements are hard to come by. Stick to the plan."
Colonel Draper nodded.
"I don't want to tarnish their courage and honor, but no choice."
The retreat drum sounded. With cavalry entangled, falling back wasn't easy, but Major Smith calmly disentangled the fight. Meanwhile, British infantry advanced, forcing the Eight Banners to withdraw.
Colonel William Draper's command was artistic. To the music of drums and pipes, the British retreated step by step, inflicting damage on the Qing.
It looked like the classic "fought well but overwhelmed by numbers" defeated army. That was how the Eight Banners commander, Qing Gunja-bu, saw it.
"Push a bit more. Those bastards will break like an overstretched tendon snapping!"
A law applied in nearly every naval battle. A command born of a seasoned commander's experience.
Indeed, moments later, as the British scattered every which way upon reaching Dejima, the Eight Banners savored a peak thrill.
Time for the Mongols' favorite human hunt. The Eight Banners roared in joy at greening the earth once more.
Their prediction was spot on.
The next instant, the number of breathing humans in Dejima's narrow confines plummeted.
Cannon fire, far surpassing field guns in caliber and volume, rained down. Nearly ten frigates and brigs fired in salvo—all but the too-large Elizabeth, unable to enter.
The thunder shook heaven and earth. With pre-sighted impact points per the plan, at this range, misses were impossible.
The densely packed Eight Banners were annihilated by naval bombardment they'd never seen—thus never prepared for—hitting land.
Gunners traditionally feared cavalry, but a few yards of water flipped the matchup.
Dutch wooden buildings crumbled in secondary blasts. A few British soldiers who hadn't fled far enough got caught too.
But the captains blamed the army's slow feet, not worth halting fire for. No fool in the Royal Navy would.
Sepoys poured in through the disorganized Eight Banners. The Indian cavalry, worthy of British respect, showed its true worth.
With Qing forces not mustering all of Kyushu's troops, Qing Gunja-bu had no attack force left. The Green Standard troops, shattered by initial British salvoes, were no longer reliable.
Qing Gunja-bu clenched his trembling jaw and fist.
"...I'll lead the main force back! Send word to the Viceroy of Liangguang via another port. Since we go through Jeju anyway, tell Joseon to send their navy too!"
The Battle of Nagasaki ended in British victory.
But Britain wasn't unscathed. Unlike China, they couldn't mass-produce men, and powder and shot consumption hurt far more than local forces.
Above all, Chinese military power was far stronger than expected. Without Nagasaki's unique terrain, Britain might have lost.
This made striking Jiangnan and subduing China alone impossible. Were those useless Russians even fighting?
Drawing on Indian experience, Robert Clive investigated Japan's political system and key daimyo, then sent appropriate letters via captured VOC sailors.
It was time for an "Anglo-Japanese alliance."
Around the time Danuma Okitsugu was jumping up and down shouting "A colt from a gourd!", Kim Unhaeng received news of the Battle of Nagasaki before anyone in the capital.
With things as they were, the most urgent matter was compromise with Britain.
Excuses to the Qing could come later; Joseon's naval forces couldn't confront them head-on now.
Not a military buff, Kim Unhaeng knew little of navies, but over ten ships big enough to cross oceans meant at least ten times Gustav Willem's fleet. Factoring in troop quality and experience made it worse.
But to compromise, he needed something to offer.
What Europeans went crazy for? Treaty ports, obviously. Yet Kim Unhaeng couldn't help worrying about the first disease "English infection" via a treaty port would bring.
"If Britain floods us with opium, the blame falls on me."
Moreover, this was leagues beyond Jeju's opening.
Concessions or legations meant ceding territory, and even Qing, crushed in the Opium War, resisted Hong Kong's "cession" to the end. Land's meaning in East Asia differed greatly from the West.
What to give, then? As Kim Unhaeng pondered on the porch, he spotted his bickering siblings.
Ihwan had somehow gotten sugar, boiled it with potatoes into makeshift mashed potatoes, and Suksung was begging for some.
"No way. This is candy I earned the hard way—why give it to you?"
"Oh my. And you know how I'll rise high later?"
"Where'd you learn that? As a woman, you planning to take the civil service exam or something?"
"No need. Mother said I'll marry the crown prince someday."
They weren't poor—could get potatoes or sugar—but ancient or modern, "just one bite of ramen" was universal.
Kim Unhaeng stood. Before his lofty scholar image was ruined, he needed to scold the kids.
Who'd they take after, throwing their weight around already? The one who could via crown prince marriage was him, the vice king's grandson, not the brats.
After flicking their foreheads and snatching a potato, Kim Unhaeng paused mid-spoonful.
Maybe the glucose sparked it—his brain suddenly produced a brilliant idea.
"Wait, I have something to give."
While the British won at Nagasaki, James Cook and Admiral Hyde Parker on Ganghwa Island claimed their own victory.
A grander, holier struggle against the land itself than petty musket-and-spear fights—this was the greater feat.
Tuntian soldiers farmed mainly for their own food. Ganghwa's British tuntian commander, James Cook, carefully inspected this autumn's potato harvest.
"Already lots rotting or sprouting. I hear in America they freeze-dry them for decades—maybe here too? Joseon folks do something similar with fish."
Admiral Parker tossed his hoe aside.
"Potatoes now?! You've gone full farmer. You've gone to the Joseon government several times with your fancy maps—what'd you hear? Ransom talks? Repatriation?"
"I asked a few times, but that Chun-sik guy we met said it had to go through the king..."
"So we wait forever? With maps done, we could seize a ship and escape! You didn't just draw the maps Joseon wanted while surveying, right?!"
James Cook, who'd only drawn what Joseon wanted, looked sheepish.
Unlike Admiral Parker, as a civilian, cooperating with Joseon for release seemed sensible—but Parker's anger had merit now.
As Cook mulled excuses, a drawn-out shout echoed from somewhere.
"That howling..."
Distinctly Joseon's noble procession cry. Byeokje, or something?
Sure enough, a familiar high Joseon official soon appeared.
Former Southern Command military governor, now Joseon army commander-in-chief—a young faction (Chundang) general.
James Cook gasped at Kim Unhaeng's expression. "Drop a smile in East End slums and let it fester thirty years"—that'd make a face like that.
Anyway, it was the kind of face his wife would adore. Kim Unhaeng whispered to them.
"Don't you want out of here?"
Author's Notes
1. The Supreme Commander was a civil official, but in wartime, Joseon separately appointed an Inspector-General and inspectors above him. It had the advantage of civilian control but often caused command confusion.
2. Surprisingly, the EIC had no native cavalry until the 19th century. Instead, they used mercenaries, including famous heavy cavalry "Mogul Horse." Waterloo and other battles record warhorses biting enemy faces.
3. "A colt from a gourd" is a Japanese idiom for unexpected good fortune.
4. James Cook's freeze-dried potatoes refer to South America's "chuño." The fish is hwangtae. But since he was on Ganghwa, this isn't firsthand.