The Russo-Japanese War
The 19th century, which had opened with keywords like Napoleon Bonaparte, King Jeongjo and Jeong Yakyong, and the birth of the young United States of America, drew its final curtain with keywords like imperialism, the great powers and their colonies, opium, and gunboat diplomacy — then passed the baton to the 20th century.
And now, four whole years into this new century.
The monumental year in which John Ambrose Fleming of Britain created the 'vacuum tube' and the 'diode,' firing the starting gun for the entire field of electronics.
The year I had been in this world for nearly a decade — the year my frame had grown to that of a middle schooler and the first wisps of a beard had begun to sprout.
1904 had dawned.
The first day of the new year.
As battalion staff officer, I did what I always did: read the North China Herald and the orders sent by General Shengjing, my commanding officer in name only, then briefed Battalion Commander Zhang Zuolin.
"These are the next bandit-suppression targets sent by General Shengjing."
"Read 'em out."
"Pu Jinsheng of Heishan County, and Yixian's father-in-law. Both commands number fewer than a hundred men."
"Send an envoy. Tell 'em if they join our outfit, we'll spare their lives. If they refuse, blow 'em to hell."
"Sir."
Over the past year, Zhang Zuolin and I had gone around the region and simply absorbed every band of fighters within reach — slurp, gulp, gone.
— All the opium in your storehouses, the weapons, the horses — it's all yours! Just leave us alive!
— How dare you have two good legs and two good hands and turn to banditry instead of farming and honest trade!
This is a grave crime deserving of summary execution on the spot! But our Battalion Commander is a man of boundless mercy, and he has declared he will grant you wretched, degenerate scoundrels exactly ONE chance to turn your rotten lives around!
— AAAAAHHHH!!!
Of course, the "absorption" method in question involved hauling artillery and cavalry up to their gates and asking them whether they'd like to live or die — but hey, what can you do.
When some two-bit self-defense militia is dragging field guns around the countryside, you'd say it's fine — wouldn't? you? — to employ slightly excessive methods, wouldn't you?
And in any case, since we were making bandit gangs disappear in the strictly physical sense, the law of conservation of mass dictated that law and order around Fengtian was steadily stabilizing.
The bonus was that our force, once a reduced-strength battalion of 250 men, had swelled into a unit pushing five hundred.
Three cavalry companies and two infantry companies.
Overwhelming power against any bandit gang.
We even had two artillery pieces to our name.
But against the ordeal that was coming, those five hundred men would mean absolutely nothing.
That was exactly why I spoke in a voice carved from stone.
"Russia and Japan are about to start a war."
It was 1904 by the solar calendar, but the lunar New Year hadn't even arrived yet — and already, the acrid stench of gunpowder was spreading across the world.
"Hm. Like every time before, won't it end as another mere provocation?"
"No, sir. This time war is absolutely coming."
Russia had dispatched 150,000 men — soldiers doubling as laborers — to seize Manchuria and build the Trans-Siberian Railway, while Japan was openly swinging battleships around like clubs right in front of Lushun, where the Russian navy was garrisoned, lobbing provocations with zero shame.
"They're not even pretending to stop. Not even pretending to hide it."
"And your evidence?"
"America and Britain have advised their citizens in Asia to evacuate."
"Those sonsofbitches."
Zhang Zuolin propped a boot up on the desk with a lazy clunk and packed cheap tobacco into his long bamboo pipe.
"Taeo."
"Yes, Commander."
"Who do you figure wins?"
"Who do you think, Commander?"
"Russia."
The end of the pipe glowed red.
"Hoo. They say the bastards' land stretches from the far West all the way to this East. However strong they get, how's a pipsqueak island nation like Japan supposed to beat them?"
"It can."
"Why?"
Just as I had answered instantly, Zhang Zuolin fired back his question instantly.
"Because Britain is standing behind Japan, of course. This isn't Russia versus Japan. It's Russia versus Britain wearing Japan's uniform."
Before striking China in the back with the Second Sino-Japanese War and Pearl Harbor, Japan was an indispensable chess piece in Britain's defense of the East.
Even if the piece got smashed, the British would just stuff more money into their back pockets.
"And when the war begins, it will begin — without fail — with a Japanese surprise attack."
"If it's those bastards, that's a given."
An ordinary person might ask, 'Huh? Wasn't Pearl Harbor the only time they skipped the declaration of war?'
And I would proudly set them straight.
The Japanese have declared war exactly ZERO times in their entire history!
The First Sino-Japanese War — opened with a surprise attack on the Qing navy off Asan Bay.
The Russo-Japanese War, soon to come — opened with a surprise attack on the Russian navy anchored at Incheon.
The Pacific War — opened with a surprise attack on the American navy anchored at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
Their whole mental architecture runs opposite to a normal person's. Why warn anyone, they'd reason, before you sink the sashimi knife into their belly?
I'm certain these bastards are chronic backstabbing addicts who can only scratch the itch by knifing someone unawares — or they find the very concept of a declaration of war to be some tedious, pedantic ritual — or they simply cannot comprehend what one even is.
I rapped my knuckles on the map.
"Unless Japan neutralizes the Russian navy at Lushun and Incheon and seizes command of the sea, it cannot advance beyond the Korean Peninsula."
So: crush the Russian navy, take every stretch of water around the peninsula.
March on Hansong — Pyongyang — Uiju, then cross the Yalu River and smash into southern Manchuria.
And the core rail hub of southern Manchuria — the line running Chongnyong–Liaoyang–Lushun — was right here in Fengtian, where our battalion was garrisoned.
Only by holding Fengtian as a base could anyone run the bare minimum of supplies needed to push north into the freezing, snow-buried reaches of northern Manchuria.
Zhang Zuolin mulled for a moment, then tapped the map twice.
"And if we helped the Russians?"
"Throwing sugar cubes into the ocean. The vanguard forces already deployed number over 300,000 between the two armies, easy — there's nothing a five-hundred-man outfit can do about it."
I paused, choosing my words.
"Commander."
"Yeah."
"Russia may be closer now, but soon Japan will push its way right up to our front door."
"And?"
"That's when we side with the Japanese army."
Why.
Am I insane, telling the commander to back the Japanese?
Five hundred men — half-trained, and not even my own — how exactly would we stop an army of over 200,000?
I couldn't manage it if I forged hand grenades out of pinecones.
Didn't I say so? I must bide my time and bury my blade until the day of ruin — until the Day of Judgment when Angelo Moa and Patman descend.
I absolutely, categorically cannot be exposed as a Korean.
Right now Japan is facing the greatest enemy in its history and planning a full-spirit panty-wrestling match.
Ah — if the panties are in the pot, that makes it naked wrestling, doesn't it.
Of course, we know Japan wins the Russo-Japanese War. But for a Japan with no sight of the future, their lips must be cracking dry with nerves right about now.
Because if they lose, they dive in single file into Tokyo Bay, and every asset in Japan gets seized as collateral and sold off.
They'll stay terrified right up until they send the Russian Baltic Fleet to the Dragon King's palace in front of Tsushima — probably.
So: squeeze every drop of profit out of them, and roll that snowball as far as it goes.
Until you become the strong, the weak must always fight efficiently.
If I die here, where else would you find such a pointless dog's death?
"Declare neutrality, sell supplies to both the Russians and the Japanese, and once Japan's victory is a sure thing, side with them."
"I follow the gist."
Neutrality? As if anyone would honor it. Obviously Russia would demand cooperation first and threaten our lives if we refused.
But that's the point. It's our justification.
When the Japanese army later advances on Fengtian, we'll have our script ready: 'We declared neutrality, but those Russian bastards took our families and our village hostage — what could we do?'
By the mental standards of an army that hasn't yet graduated to prisoner-beheading contests, they'd rather pat a few hundred men on the shoulder, say 'Right, let's do well together going forward,' than manufacture a hostile paramilitary force of that size in their own rear.
Zhang Zuolin sucked thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment, then spoke.
"Talk it over with the other officers first, then we decide. Go on now."
"Yes, Commander."
I gathered up the documents and the map and stepped out of Zhang Zuolin's room.
Thud.
And the moment I crossed the threshold, the documents and map in my hands went clattering across the floor.
"Ah, my apologies, Staff Officer. Too small for me to see, that's all."
"...Not at all. Entirely possible, Deputy Commander."
"Heh heh. Right, right. Entirely possible. Off you go, then."
Deputy Commander of the Patrol Battalion of the Central Army: Zhang Jinghui.
That bastard — built like Tojo Hideki without the glasses — was one of the outfits we'd swallowed while expanding back in our self-defense militia days.
And he's bald.
He'd clinched the deputy commander's post because his force had been roughly our match in size and he was about Zhang Zuolin's age — the problem being that this bastard absolutely despises my guts.
Well, I can mostly guess why.
He scrapes together a hundred men and gets handed a deputy commander's chair, and then some staff officer shows up green as spring grass with barely any merits to his name — of course his hackles went up.
Zhang Zuolin shields me, but these officer bastards, Zhang Jinghui included, still haven't shed their bandit instincts: bully the weak, bow to the strong. That's their native tongue.
'Commander! Surely the obvious answer is to back Russia!?'
'The Staff Officer argues otherwise.'
'The pup's got a quick head, I'll grant. But would you stake the lives of these five hundred officers and men on the three inches of tongue of a boy who isn't even a grown man?'
'The Staff Officer brought arguments to support his position. Do you have arguments, Deputy Commander?'
'Because we yellow men have NEVER once beaten the white man! Go ask every officer in the battalion. Not a single one! Not a soul besides that pup will say we should side with the Japanese!'
There it is.
Yes. Well. It's not incomprehensible.
The East spent the last century as the West's tasty tonic broth — no wonder they've curdled into defeatism.
That doesn't mean I have to forgive them for treating me like dog shit, but I can at least understand it.
And anyway, these officer bastards are all second-year middle schoolers in spirit — fists first, brains a distant second.
The exact opposite of me: the body of a middle schooler, the mind of a grown man.
So I fight with my head. Obviously.
"Have my horse saddled."
"Sir? Staff Officer, where are you headed?"
"The Baguadao trading house. There's a matter to discuss regarding the battalion's supplies."
"Ah! Understood, sir! I'll have it ready right away!"
I took the reins the quartermaster handed me and rode out of the compound.
◇◇◇
"Hey, Zhang San! You leave that sitting there and every passerby will gawk at it, won't they?"
"M-my apologies, Elder."
"Now, commerce — commerce, my boy — comes down, in the end, to how many eyes you can catch and hold—"
I dismounted in front of the village's largest shop, watching an old man rattle off a machine-gun barrage of scolding at his utterly exhausted staff.
"Why, back in my day—"
"Master Zhang Ziyun."
"Hm?"
The kindly-looking old man turned at my voice, and his face broke into a wide, crinkled grin.
"Well, if it isn't young Taeo! No message, no warning — what brings you? No wait, look at me, woolgathering. Come inside first, at least have some tea."
"Thank you."
So he led me toward the guest room, chuckling like I was his own grandson: the sixty-odd-year-old merchant Zhang Ziyun.
Why are Zhang Zuolin, Zhang Jinghui, and Zhang Ziyun all named Zhang, you ask? Beats me.
Half of Korea is named Kim, isn't it?
Anyway — fifty trading houses, meaning the chosen representative of several hundred merchants, he was effectively the civilian head of Baguadao, the village where our battalion was garrisoned.
"Now, there's still time before the next supply delivery. Placing an additional order, are we?"
he asked, taking a sip of the steaming tea.
"Clothing? Or ammunition?"
Mm. Every time I meet this man, the experience is thoroughly astral.
Do you now understand why I, a battalion staff officer, need to sit down with a merchant and civilian representative?
There is not a single thing in this frontier army that arrives through proper channels.
Uniforms, ammunition, artillery — none of it comes down from above; we procure it ourselves from wherever we can.
The higher-ups will condescend to send down 'the uniform color shall be this' — and that's about it.
......Though honestly, if I were them, I'd probably do the same.
Our outfit, whatever we call it — militia, self-defense corps — was built mostly from former bandits, no? Garbage stock, essentially.
The powers that be figure: hand out some official letterheads, set the bandits killing each other off, and above all never, EVER hand heavy weapons to anyone, just in case of rebellion.
"If it's artillery you're after, I could push a little harder. Grease the palms of the right people under General Shengjing a bit more, and I might smuggle out a gun or two—"
And so Zhang Ziyun bribes senior officers and quietly siphons off artillery to sell to us, while we protect his merchants and periodically raid bandit hideouts, paying him with the proceeds.
Now THAT is true self-reliance. A genuine win-win relationship. Heh heh heh.
"Clothing, ammunition, artillery — we're short on all of it. But this time, I'd like you to procure something else."
"Just say the word. There's nothing under heaven this Zhang Ziyun can't get his hands on."
"Leather. Hides, furs, tanned leather."
"Whatever for?"
"We're making winter gear."
I repeated to the puzzled old man, word for word, what I'd told Zhang Zuolin.
"Soon all of Manchuria will be a battlefield. So in advance—"
"......You're all raving mad, the lot of you. Why does everyone leech onto killing and dying like flies to honey? Fine. Stockpile grain early. And those winter coats — they're for the famine and the disasters, then?"
"No."
"Eh? Then what in blazes are they for? What are you plotting?"
Just as the old man across from me had done, I took a single sip of tea — and set the cup down.
"We won't be the ones wearing them. Neither you nor I. For now, that's all you need to know."
◇◇◇
February 8th, 1904.
The Korean Empire. Incheon.
"The Japanese monkey bastards just keep multiplying."
"Best we sortie from Incheon, rendezvous with the main fleet at Lushun, and circle back."
"Ah — ah — you are currently blocking the path of the Imperial Russian Navy. Kindly change course at once to avoid a collision."
"For the Empire! Drive out the Russian savages!"
"The future of the Empire hangs on every single bullet, every single shell! All forces to battle stations!"
"Tenno Heika Banzai!"
"All ships — open fire!"
BOOM!
The proud officers and men of the Imperial Japanese Combined Fleet, sortied from Incheon, launched a surprise attack on the Russian navy steaming toward Lushun.
"Sukin syny!!"
"You insane bastards!!"
The cruiser Varyag and the gunboat Korietz, stabbed in the belly without warning, fought on regardless.
"...Japanese officer over there. Hear me well. Aboard this ship there are only the wounded and civilians. Each of them is someone's... husband, someone's father. Let them go. Do you understand?"
The Japanese army answered with torpedoes and shells.
"Flashing signals from enemy vessel ceased!"
"Enemy ship — sinking!"
"Excellent. The Russian navy is annihilated! Now we issue the declaration of war and advance on the Yalu and Manchuria!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
May 1st.
Shattering the Russians' feeble resistance at the Yalu River, the Japanese army set its first boot on Manchurian soil.
June.
The Japanese army encircled Lushun Port, the main naval base of the Russian fleet, and began hammering it with attack after attack.
To break the siege, and to hold it, the two armies clashed hour by hour, day by day.
And then, September.
"Are you Zhang Zuolin?"
"That's me."
"I come from Commander Aleksei Kuropatkin. Stop sitting on the fence. Choose a side."
The time had come.