1705AD
Five years later, the Russian army was advancing, 100,000 artillery, cavalry, infantry and auxiliary units blazing a red trail through Mongol territory, west, towards the fortress of Kassite. A fortress Dessaman Durdahagn was sworn to protect.
Dessaman was the captain of the guard. A local boy, son of a peasant, risen quickly through the ranks. He was given promotion to minghaan officer, commander of a unit, at just 26. Then the war against the Arabs had come, and, like all true soldiers, Dessaman had been looking forward to fighting for his empire.
But a senior administrative official, an incompetent, snobby, aristocratic type that regarded all the lower classes with contempt had ordered him to Kassite, and with him his command, the Sixth minghaan of Crossbows, with the smug message We need officers on the frontier too. Implying that they didnt rate him.
And despite his wishes, he had had to go. His men and him. And, in the years that followed, he had sat at his desk, reading reports of victory after victory won by other men, other officers, glorious stories of valiant battlefield deeds and reputations being woven. Woven by other officers. Dessaman knew that he would never now command a higher post, not competing against such a wealth of more experienced and decorated officers, such as the Arabian campaign had produced. He was destined to sit there, in this rotting fort forever, his men forgotten, their weaponry rusting, new rifles going south instead rather than to the fortresses of the north. He had to watch his men, however hard he drilled them, slowly decaying into inactivity, gambling, drinking, their numbers decreasing as well, Dessaman knew, as veterans were discharged and recruits, like everything else, going south. F**king south.
But then, on the first of March 1700AD, Dessaman was woken early by his second in command, a tough, reliable, if rather dull-witted man, named Hurku.
Sir, two things. First, theres a f**kin army on the horizon. Second, why didnt you tell me we had new kit comin? His voice was excited.
Dessaman jerked himself awake. Numbers? he asked, sitting up.
Hurku looked cagey. So far, we reckon no less than four thousand have come through the pass.
You f**kin reckon? What did the patrols say?
Hurku looked at his feet. Idle tossers didnt go sir. Apparently, they went and got drunk instead. Said they thought it werent worth bothering patrolling any more.
Damn them! Dessaman was on his feet. A soldier should never let himself go soft! Yet he conceded, it happens.
Hurku turned. Ill have them executed sir.
No, dont bother.
What? But sir, its standard army punishment!
Dessaman finished dressing. Yes, but then there was the second thing you mentioned. New kit? I didnt know it was coming. Hurku looked surprised. Which means, Hurku, that someone high up thinks we need it urgently. In which case, I might need every man we have.
They went and inspected the new kit.
F**king beauty! cried Hurku, lifting a brand new rifle out of the box and hefting it up onto his shoulder. About time we got some of these.
Dessaman was reading the inventory list. One for every man in the minghaan. And enough ammunition to bring down a bloody army. I dont like this.
Hurku was stroking his new weapon. Speak for yourself, sir.
Just then, a messenger came running down the stairs. Sir, theres a body of men approaching the east gate. Our men he stressed, and it looks like a minghaans worth.
Interesting said Dessaman, still trying to pinpoint exactly what was going on. He knew there was some action ahead for sure now; exactly how much, he didnt know. Maybe this new force would know.
At the east gate two hours later, a minghaan of riflemen were let into the fortress. They marched in, their ranks messy, chattering. Dessaman ground his teeth. Here was an even poorer unit than his, who were now up, kitted out and assembled in the courtyard, waiting for the new force, silent as protocol dictated, he noted, with a hint of pride and a hint of contempt for the new units commander. He studied the way they marched, the way they kept shifting their rifles from shoulder to shoulder, as if the weight was cumbersome. Dessaman deduced that they too had only just received the new weapons.
The west gate was swung shut; the last of the men marched into the fort, took their places in the courtyard and fell silent. Their officer approached Dessaman.
Sogos Rubbunkdreik, minghaan officer of the Twenty-Seventh Riflemen began the officer, a young man, barely old enough to shave, thought Dessaman, sneering inwardly. My orders are to place myself and my unit under your control, as the senior minghaan officer present, for purpose: defending the fortress of Kassite from the approaching hostile Russian forces At the mention of this, Sogoss lip trembled slightly, but he clamped it shut and gave Dessaman a cold stare, waiting for a reply.
Dessaman pondered. Here was confirmation that the approaching army was hostile, he had suspected as much. That they were Russian bothered him. He would have thought the Khan would have at least sent word before declaring war on Russia. And sent more forces than this miserable excuse for a unit.
Orders received and understood Dessaman motioned to Sogos. We need to speak. Men Dismissed! he bellowed over his shoulder as he strode towards his office, Sogos at his heel.
What? How bloody many? Dessaman repeated, astonished at such a figure.
I know, nightmare, isnt it? Sogos was nervous, picking at his lip.
Dessaman sank back into his chair. A hundred thousand. Siege with them, all the troop types they needed, the Russians. He tried to visualise a way that five thousand could hold a fortress against such a host. Failed.
Thats got to be their whole army Dessaman said. So why isnt the Khan up here, rallying troops to go out against them?
Maybe he cant raise such a number so quickly around here replied Sogos.
Then why the hell did he declare war?
Maybe Russia declared.
Dessaman snorted. And maybe your mummy never f**ked your daddy neither he sneered, but Id be prepared to bet that she did. Sogos visibly shrank, cowed by this hard-faced officer who swore like a trooper.
Sir, the Khan may be on his way. We should hold out for as long as we can.
And there was me thinking we should just give up and let them murder us said Dessaman, his voice dripping with cold irony. Were gonna give the bastards a fight alright son. So, tell me, whats our main advantage?
Thats clear. We have rifles, and they dont.
Thats right. The best they have is poncy little Cuirassiers, even the name sounds girly. Thats what we tell the men, anyway. The actual fact is that those Cuirassiers arent half bad fighters. He paused. But were Mongols. The hardest and best trained race in the world.
Sogos, who had traced his roots and considered himself a Persian ethnic, kept quiet at this, and shifted in his chair. Noticing his discomfort, Dessaman snorted and told him he could piss off, and Sogos obliged, keen to go.
Once he was alone, Dessaman lay back in his chair, put his feet up on his old, crooked desk and closed his eyes. He desperately wanted to be elsewhere. Anywhere, anywhere but this cold, northern fortress, standing in the way of a Russian horde. Hell, hed signed up at 14 to get out of this place. Now he was back, back to die here, although he didnt feel death. It was just that his life had been a waste. Or so he felt.
Underneath his feet, the desk collapsed, jolting Dessaman to his feet and back to the present as his feet were suddenly resting on thin air. He swore, and kicked the pile of timbers in frustration.
Frustration. The story of his life.
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GENGHIS: And so, Caesar, rest assured, we will come back for you. But for now, handover some cash, and well leave off you.
CAESAR: Ha! You cant cope! The whole continent is ablaze with war, and you need ME to agree to peace!
GENGHIS: Care to bet on that?
CAESAR:
Oh alright, you win! Heres 20 Gold, and my maps. Big deal I know.
GENGHIS: Thank you Caesar, your co-operation is noted.
CAESAR: So what?
GENGHIS: So youre our most trusted ally on this continent.
CAESAR: Thats saying a lot. NOT!
Caesar exits
GENGHIS: Right then. Kassite is lost, you say, Kolai?
KOLAI: Odds of twenty to one? No chance in hell. And we cant reach them.
GENGHIS: Whos their commander?
KOLAI: Let me see
one Dessaman Durdahagn, 35. I remember him actually, he had promise. Hard bastard.
GENGHIS: If he had promise, why didnt we take him on campaign?
KOLAI: Dunno, officials didnt like him probably. He swore a lot. Hes loyal, though sire; he wont flee.
GENGHIS: Good. Kachiuns no fool; hell figure the situation out. Right then. Onwards towards Corinth.
Genghis rode back to Ecbatana, and Kolai led his men deeper into Greek territory, approaching a river. On the other side of the river was Corinth, a wealthy Greek city. It was no fortress; it would fall easily.
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This fortress will not fall easily with men like you in its defence! Dessaman shouted. He believed it too; for all their piss-poor quality, the men were still Mongols.
It was 1711AD and the Russians were finally readying for their assault. Dessamans men had withstood the hurling of boulders at their defences from the opposing trebuchets, and even managed some rifle fire at the artillery. A night raid Dessaman himself had led had taken out 500 Russians and sabotaged 10 machines, all at the cost of just 28 men. Although the Russians could, of course take the losses.
Now the siege was ready. From the shabby, worn down battlements Dessaman could see a ram was ready, and there were siege towers. For all the bombardment, the walls of Kassite still stood high enough to merit such measures. Likely to be costly, thought Dessaman.
He gave the order for the men to space themselves round the wall. A full three-quarters stood on the western wall, where the assault was concentrated. The rest were spread out round the remaining three walls, to make sure any surprise attacks were rebuffed. Dessaman of course stood above the western gate in the centre of the western wall. In the centre of the action.
The Russians advanced, bringing up the siege towers and the ram. Mounted, Cuirassiers. They reached the wall in no time under a haze of riflefire, poorly aimed and slow. Dessaman reckoned his men that were choking from the rifle fumes numbered more than the Russians who lay immobilised or dead on the bank.
In places, the Russians had rode straight into traps; covered pits that had been hastily dug and filled with barrels of gunpowder. The explosions when these pits were discovered were devastating, killing scores of Russian horsemen at once. However, Dessaman had exercised caution with them, knowing that his own walls were vulnerable to such explosions.
The traps exhausted, and the Russian charge undeterred, the siege towers came up against the walls. Dessaman braced himself and his men for the fight.
Here they come, lads! Ripe for the kill!
The men cheered and bellowed their contempt. The first of the siege towers disgorged a lot of Russians onto the walls. The Russians charged forwards with their maces, only to be met by a hard-faced Mongol officer and his men, wielding rifles.
Boom! And several of them were blown back over the wall. The ones that werent were dispatched with sabres.
The Russians kept coming up through the siege towers, and Dessaman and his men kept facing them. The Cuirassiers had guns, but couldnt load them very fast, so there was one round from them, and then they were discarded, as the Russians drew their sabres and charged the Mongols. From the corner of his eye, Dessaman noticed Sogos fighting like a warrior, using his rifle like a club to dispatch two Russians that were running up towards him. That one had more guts than Dessaman had first thought. He noticed Hurku shoot a Russian from point blank range, then another.
Then Dessaman looked below him. Beneath the walls, the ram had come up to the gate, and was almost there. F**k. He needed to put it out of action. Withdrawing, he called to his second-in-command.
Hurku!
Hurku appeared, blood smeared on his face.
Take twenty men and down to the gate. I want it barricaded to hold as long as possible.
Hurku left. Looking around, Dessaman called for a runner.
Tell Captain Raghai to get his men to focus on shooting at the ram. The ropes. They must be destroyed. If hes dead already, find another captain. The runner nodded and ran off. Dessaman waded back into the line. The fighting was intense now. The numbers of the Russians were forcing the Mongols back. All men save fifty were now on the western wall. Those fifty would be needed soon. The predicament was unsolvable, despite his mens valour.
Strangely Dessaman found himself, as he subconsciously loaded and fired, loaded and fired, slashed with the sabre, he found himself thinking about the fact that this was the first time a Mongol army had ever fought a defensive city battle. The thought was astonishing really. He, Dessaman Durdahagn, was the first, in over 5500 years, to attempt to hold the walls of a fortress against an invading army. That had to count for something. Maybe his whole life hadnt been a waste. Hed left a mark of sorts.
A crash from below jolted him out of his thoughts. By the Russian cheering, hed guess that the gates had collapsed. Raghai had obviously not been able to destroy that ram. He sent the spare fifty men down to hold the gate with Hurku.
He reloaded and fired, reloaded and fired, slashed the sabre down.
Then he found himself facing the Russians, and only five men were by his side. He looked to the sides, and Russians were charging down at him, slaughtering his fleeing soldiers. He had run out of men. Save these five.
Remember me Dessaman shouted at the Russians as the first Mongol officer who fought you upon the walls.
Then they were upon him. His sabre slashed about, wildly gashing flesh. Then it was torn from his grasp. He snapped his head into the nearest Russian, knocking him out. Then a sabre appeared in his stomach. His blood froze. Another sabre appeared. Another. Dessaman felt cold. Very cold.
Then he lost all feeling whatsoever.
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Genghis had been expecting it, but he still swore when he heard the news.
KOLAI: Kassite has fallen, sire, as we knew it would. The 5000 there managed to take down at least twice their number though.
GENGHIS: Bugger it! Cathers will be laughing in our faces.
