A Picture is worth Ten Thousand Words
To paint with great skill is a gift from the Heavens that should not be abused or misused. Pictures can be more moving and more detailed then long sermons espoused in temples, churches and mosques. As Confucius said, a picture is worth ten thousand words. - Bunthan Sandthadwet, Khmer Painter
He surveyed the terrain and smiled. His troops would be well positioned to deal with the advancing Tibetans and he had every confidence in their capabilities to deal with it. It had been years since the Ayutthayan, no, the Khmer Army had fought battles against foes of their relative strength. They had been paying too much attention to the Empire and hardly had the sufficient experience.
The campaign months ago against the Mughals had helped the soldiers and morale was up while unexpected problems that had arisen were fixed and recorded for use in the future. They had been preparing for a further advance against the Mughals when news arrived of the Tibetan invasion. He regretted his decision to ignore the warning of the Marquis of Loei as well as Minister Dobias on Tibet.
That would not matter, with the 4000 troops he had here backed by Bengali cavalry, he would smash the Tibetan offensive and send them back to Lhasa for daring to move against an ally of the Empire. The Empire rolled off his tongue so easily, so naturally, it was surprising that but a few years ago she had not existed. He and his brother saw eye to eye on this matter. It was time for them to stretch her wings. Wings that had been grown and nourished by their grandfather and father would now be used.
The world will realize that the Khmer Empire is not to be messed with. We are a rising force in the world to mess with us is to flirt with death herself. Here and elsewhere, he would cement that reputation. On the battlefields of India, he would test the weapons of war long developed by the brightest minds in Asia. He looked at the weapons in the hands of his army. A new era was dawning.
Looking to his side, he observed the intense and strong intensity of a passionate artist at work. Sandthadwet was sketching a Khmer soldier as one would appear as well as making loose sketches of the positions. He had asked to come, more like jump at the opportunity, to see and paint the armies of the Emperor in action. To catch an image of the work of the Heaven as they cut down their foes, and show the people back home what was happening.
The Tibetans were moving forward now, he could clearly see them. The Bengali officer in charge of their horsemen was quite competent and had moved his troops in a position to support and defend the flanks of the Khmer infantry. He would recommend him to the Sher Khan upon reconvening with the Bengalis after the Tibetan rabble had been dispersed. The Tibetan archers fired a volley, an exercise in the hopeless technological gap between the two forces.
They did damage, not much, but the fallen were simply replaced in the ranks. As the Tibetan melee soldiers charged, the line held firm and presented their no longer glistening guns. They aimed, so to speak, and fired. The first line moved back while the second came up to replace them. Another volley and the Tibetans were halted. Fools, you do not suddenly stop charging a defensive line armed with guns.
He had learned that lesson years ago, drilled into his head by his military instructors. Facing a defensive line armed with guns, soldiers either must continue the charge till they reach them in hand to hand combat or withdraw. Stopping left you like sitting ducks on the battlefield. The soldiers in the Khmer ranks knew that, they remembered their training and discipline. It was the same facing charging cavalry. If they stood their ground, they would have a chance. If not, they would be cut down trying to flee.
The battle was over momentarily as he disregarded the tactics he had used before against the Mughals. The Tibetans were not true foes on the battlefield, sheep led by cows. They were no Mughal Army as he observed them breaking and fleeing the field. It was just so different from fighting the Mughals, fighting them he had participated in the fighting itself. But this time there had been no chance for it. Again, his desire for personal glory had been given off for the good of the army.
The Bengali cavalry had carried out their charge and forced the Tibetans from the field. One army down, one more to go, hopefully it would be no different. Fighting farmers, yak-herders, there was no point. They were sheep led to the slaughter. All their skill, if any, in the sword was nothing compared to the might of the gun. It was a sad picture, a picture of the future where personal valor and bravery would be swept away.
By machines firing bullets at a rapid pace, to slay thousands and turn the tides of war. The future, of impersonal death where you would not see the soldier whos firing at you, it was disturbing. Looking at Sandthadwets painting, he was struck again by how quickly he had worked. The painting was almost done, a splendid one, showing the full disciplined ranks of the Khmers firing against the unruly Tibetans.
It would be a painting sent back to Ayutth-, no, Khmeria for the notables there to see the efforts of the war they were bankrolling. He had no doubt more soldiers would arrive, and then, the Mughals would be finished. He had faith and confidence. A little reminder popped up in his head, on advancing against the Mughals he would order the army not to fraternize with the native population.
He looked into the distance and had a vision.
Khmer soldiers marching in full triumph in the Mughal Capital, one worthy of the ancient Generals of old, he, Prince Ramesuan of the Khmers, would leave his name there.
Of course, you're going to find out soon enough anyway, so why bother?
but you did kinda request it... 
