Chapter 13
March, 1864
Mito, Hitachi Province
General Zeng Guofan of the Chinese Imperial Army instinctively flinched as the ancient arquebuses belched forth a wave of smoke. His mount and those of his adjutants momentarily skittered but none bolted. Moments later, realizing his party had overrun their own forces, Zeng commanded his twenty officers and bodyguards to withdraw northwards along the coastal road towards Mito, the last major city north of the Nihonjin Imperial capital of Edo.
Arrayed across the fields north of the city sprawled two armies, one comprised of forty thousand Chinese soldiers trained in the modern style…and one of twenty-five thousand Samurai, the exalted warrior-class of Nihon. Oddly, as the Chinese Army marched along the spine of Nihon, the Samurai acted almost independently from the modern army developed for the Emperor of Nihon by those foreign mercenaries. Unsurprisingly, the embryonic army failed against the experienced Chinese Imperial Army fresh upon the conquest of the lands north of the Mongols.
If the Russians failed to slow the Chinese Army, the damned Nihonjin certainly would not.
Returning through the advancing lines of the Chinese infantry, the sixty-three-year-old General nudged his horse towards a low rise along the road. As fortune would have it, the topography of Nihon finally moderated from the stark mountains into what passed locally for a plain north of Edo. After months of sporadic partisan attacks emerging from the hills upon isolated patrols and garrisons, the Chinese Army was finally able to march unimpeded by geography and weather. Too many good men expired in the winter months, stranded far from home. Fortunately, the renewal of summer provided hope that the campaign to conquer Nihon, already half accomplished, might shortly conclude.
Perched atop the local hill, taking advantage of the “commanding” view, were Feng’s primary assistants: Zuo Zongtang, Feng’s longtime subordinate of a dozen campaigns, and Li Hongzhang, a forty-year-old administrator whom Feng mentored for the past ten years.
Zuo was a dogged…if unimaginative…soldier while Li was perhaps the most well-rounded civil servant Feng had come upon in decades. No doubt the man probably would be tapped by the Mandarin’s bureaucrats soon for the governorship of some important Province.
Considering the discipline and flexibility of the younger man’s mind, Feng considered such a fate a waste of talent.
Joining his subordinates upon the crest, Feng looked upon the open rice paddies below, yet to be flooded for spring planting. Across the fields marched tens of thousands of soldiers advancing upon a mass of Samurai arrayed across a similar assortment of low knolls opposite Feng’s position. Occasionally, a handful of Samurai cavalry raced forward, fired a few arrows into the Chinese ranks and retreated just as swiftly.
“Did you see what you desired, sir?” Zuo inquired. The orders had already been given to the Regimental commanders. There was little more for the Generals to do now but wait.
“Yes,” Feng replied absently, noting the sudden silence of the Chinese artillery pounding the enemy as the infantry approached the Nihonjin lines. “As best I can tell, the Shogun possesses no avenue to flank our forces…nor an easy path to retreat. Tokugawa Yoshinobu is a fool. He should have massed his armies in the mountain passes.”
“Sir,” Li inserted, brows knit in confusion. “Is there truly no manner for the Shogun to strike from an unexpected direction? I cannot comprehend why the Nihonjin cannon and muskets are so few…and obsolete. Just months ago, those Columbian Generals fielded a force armed with modern…”
“I cannot explain, Li,” the General shook his head, noting the Chinese infantry suddenly halt as ordered. The Samurai line, wielding spears, those wicked curved swords, bows as often as muskets, visibly jolted upwards in surprise. They’d obviously expected the Chinese ranks to advance with the bayonet upon the heavily armored and trained swordsmen. For the life of him, Feng could not comprehend the stupidity of this assumption. “Nothing the enemy has done makes sense. Perhaps those reports of a massive breach between the Shogun and the Emperor’s camps…”
The remainder of Feng’s statement was cut off as the Chinese ranks belched their first volley forward into the Samurai lines. Despite the heavy armor common among the Samurai warriors comprised of an array of steel, bamboo, leather and other components, the balls of the latest model Chinese muskets and the Columbian-produced rifles possessed incredible penetration power, easily cutting through the armored breastplates and shields. Within moments, the first rank of Chinese infantry stepped back to reload, allowing their fellows to step forward and emit another massed volley.
The Nihonjin stood their ground, their commanders apparently paralyzed as Chinese fire thinned the ranks. Finally, the Shogun…or whoever commanded the enemy…signaled for their forces to advance. Their position already thinned, the smoke-obscured field prevented anything resembling a unified advance but individual units managed to stumble forward even as the Chinese infantry continued their withering fire. Sprinting forward with spear, sword and several other weapons in hand, the Nihonjin warriors attacked with reckless bravery despite the numerical disadvantage. Only at this point did the enemy provide even the most basic of artillery fire…largely with ancient and obsolete brass cannon…augmented by arrows, of all things.
Finally, a few dozens, then perhaps one or two hundred, Samurai reached the Chinese line. Those at the fore hastily plugged in their bayonets, while those to the rear continued to reload with abandon and fire over their fellows’ shoulders, ignoring the frustrated Samurai’ shouts to duel. Occasionally, a blade reached Chinese flesh but this proved to be the exception.
In the meantime, the modern light Chinese artillery open fired, pummeling those Nihonjin still milling about the original Nihon line.
“General,” Zuo grunted, “May I recommend the reserves advance along the left flank and turn into the enemy rear?”
“Mmm, an excellent idea, Zuo,” Feng nodded. “Dispatch most of the cavalry to the right to run down the survivors…”
“Yes, sir.”
Feng remained silent as his subordinates sprinted to fulfill his commands. Over the next twenty minutes, the brave but stupid Nihonjin somehow managed to gather themselves again and again to charge the Chinese Imperial Army lines…to the same result. Even the bravest, most well-trained warriors could be scythed down by the dozen in the face of well-organized modern infantry. As the Emperor of Nihon’s faction in their recent civil unrest came to accept, the days of individualist skilled warriors had passed. If nothing else, the Europeans taught China that fact.
Presently…and a bit belatedly…the Chinese countermarches to the enemy flanks commenced. Feng feared he would not bag remotely as much of the Nihonjin Army as he’d hoped. Fortunately for the Chinese General, the Shogun’s army proved ineptly led…largely due to the political divisions playing out across the battlefield at that very moment.
Three hundred yards south:
“Damn!” Shouted Tokugawa Yoshinobu’s uncle, perhaps the most powerful man in the government. “The enemy lines don’t break!” Like Yoshinobu himself, the elder man was better known for his administrative skill than his martial abilities.
After the Emperor’s faction of fanatics managed to turn Komei’s ear with their promises of modernization, the Shogunate nearly rose in rebellion, an event likely only forestalled by the invasion of China. Prodded by their foreign mercenary Generals, the young Samurai of the Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa and Tsu, mainly southern Domains controlled by Daimyo’s loyal to the Emperor, eagerly sought to prove their superiority by driving the Chinese back into the sea as their ancestors had once before.
Largely relegating the Shogunate and their northern Daimyo allies to “partisan” activity throughout the hinterlands, the southern reformist faction marched heedlessly to their deaths at Niigata.
Now, I fear the Shogunate shall do the same at Mito, Yoshinobu thought, ignoring his bickering relatives and advisors. Taking in his allies, the Shogun wondered if the destruction of the three-hundred-year Tokugawa Bakufu was just. Perhaps we have become decadent and corrupt, as our enemies say. It is a pity we couldn’t have died together.
Yoshinobu drew his sword and nudged his horse forward, ignoring the calls of his fellows. If the Tokugawa Shogunate was to end on this day, then at least he would die among his supporters.
The following day, Yoshinobu’s body was found among twelve thousand Samurai dead…
The flower of the Samurai class, including hundreds of nobles, died upon the dry rice paddies of Mito, forcing Emperor Komei and his family to flee Edo for the southern mountains.
Mito, Hitachi Province
General Zeng Guofan of the Chinese Imperial Army instinctively flinched as the ancient arquebuses belched forth a wave of smoke. His mount and those of his adjutants momentarily skittered but none bolted. Moments later, realizing his party had overrun their own forces, Zeng commanded his twenty officers and bodyguards to withdraw northwards along the coastal road towards Mito, the last major city north of the Nihonjin Imperial capital of Edo.
Arrayed across the fields north of the city sprawled two armies, one comprised of forty thousand Chinese soldiers trained in the modern style…and one of twenty-five thousand Samurai, the exalted warrior-class of Nihon. Oddly, as the Chinese Army marched along the spine of Nihon, the Samurai acted almost independently from the modern army developed for the Emperor of Nihon by those foreign mercenaries. Unsurprisingly, the embryonic army failed against the experienced Chinese Imperial Army fresh upon the conquest of the lands north of the Mongols.
If the Russians failed to slow the Chinese Army, the damned Nihonjin certainly would not.
Returning through the advancing lines of the Chinese infantry, the sixty-three-year-old General nudged his horse towards a low rise along the road. As fortune would have it, the topography of Nihon finally moderated from the stark mountains into what passed locally for a plain north of Edo. After months of sporadic partisan attacks emerging from the hills upon isolated patrols and garrisons, the Chinese Army was finally able to march unimpeded by geography and weather. Too many good men expired in the winter months, stranded far from home. Fortunately, the renewal of summer provided hope that the campaign to conquer Nihon, already half accomplished, might shortly conclude.
Perched atop the local hill, taking advantage of the “commanding” view, were Feng’s primary assistants: Zuo Zongtang, Feng’s longtime subordinate of a dozen campaigns, and Li Hongzhang, a forty-year-old administrator whom Feng mentored for the past ten years.
Zuo was a dogged…if unimaginative…soldier while Li was perhaps the most well-rounded civil servant Feng had come upon in decades. No doubt the man probably would be tapped by the Mandarin’s bureaucrats soon for the governorship of some important Province.
Considering the discipline and flexibility of the younger man’s mind, Feng considered such a fate a waste of talent.
Joining his subordinates upon the crest, Feng looked upon the open rice paddies below, yet to be flooded for spring planting. Across the fields marched tens of thousands of soldiers advancing upon a mass of Samurai arrayed across a similar assortment of low knolls opposite Feng’s position. Occasionally, a handful of Samurai cavalry raced forward, fired a few arrows into the Chinese ranks and retreated just as swiftly.
“Did you see what you desired, sir?” Zuo inquired. The orders had already been given to the Regimental commanders. There was little more for the Generals to do now but wait.
“Yes,” Feng replied absently, noting the sudden silence of the Chinese artillery pounding the enemy as the infantry approached the Nihonjin lines. “As best I can tell, the Shogun possesses no avenue to flank our forces…nor an easy path to retreat. Tokugawa Yoshinobu is a fool. He should have massed his armies in the mountain passes.”
“Sir,” Li inserted, brows knit in confusion. “Is there truly no manner for the Shogun to strike from an unexpected direction? I cannot comprehend why the Nihonjin cannon and muskets are so few…and obsolete. Just months ago, those Columbian Generals fielded a force armed with modern…”
“I cannot explain, Li,” the General shook his head, noting the Chinese infantry suddenly halt as ordered. The Samurai line, wielding spears, those wicked curved swords, bows as often as muskets, visibly jolted upwards in surprise. They’d obviously expected the Chinese ranks to advance with the bayonet upon the heavily armored and trained swordsmen. For the life of him, Feng could not comprehend the stupidity of this assumption. “Nothing the enemy has done makes sense. Perhaps those reports of a massive breach between the Shogun and the Emperor’s camps…”
The remainder of Feng’s statement was cut off as the Chinese ranks belched their first volley forward into the Samurai lines. Despite the heavy armor common among the Samurai warriors comprised of an array of steel, bamboo, leather and other components, the balls of the latest model Chinese muskets and the Columbian-produced rifles possessed incredible penetration power, easily cutting through the armored breastplates and shields. Within moments, the first rank of Chinese infantry stepped back to reload, allowing their fellows to step forward and emit another massed volley.
The Nihonjin stood their ground, their commanders apparently paralyzed as Chinese fire thinned the ranks. Finally, the Shogun…or whoever commanded the enemy…signaled for their forces to advance. Their position already thinned, the smoke-obscured field prevented anything resembling a unified advance but individual units managed to stumble forward even as the Chinese infantry continued their withering fire. Sprinting forward with spear, sword and several other weapons in hand, the Nihonjin warriors attacked with reckless bravery despite the numerical disadvantage. Only at this point did the enemy provide even the most basic of artillery fire…largely with ancient and obsolete brass cannon…augmented by arrows, of all things.
Finally, a few dozens, then perhaps one or two hundred, Samurai reached the Chinese line. Those at the fore hastily plugged in their bayonets, while those to the rear continued to reload with abandon and fire over their fellows’ shoulders, ignoring the frustrated Samurai’ shouts to duel. Occasionally, a blade reached Chinese flesh but this proved to be the exception.
In the meantime, the modern light Chinese artillery open fired, pummeling those Nihonjin still milling about the original Nihon line.
“General,” Zuo grunted, “May I recommend the reserves advance along the left flank and turn into the enemy rear?”
“Mmm, an excellent idea, Zuo,” Feng nodded. “Dispatch most of the cavalry to the right to run down the survivors…”
“Yes, sir.”
Feng remained silent as his subordinates sprinted to fulfill his commands. Over the next twenty minutes, the brave but stupid Nihonjin somehow managed to gather themselves again and again to charge the Chinese Imperial Army lines…to the same result. Even the bravest, most well-trained warriors could be scythed down by the dozen in the face of well-organized modern infantry. As the Emperor of Nihon’s faction in their recent civil unrest came to accept, the days of individualist skilled warriors had passed. If nothing else, the Europeans taught China that fact.
Presently…and a bit belatedly…the Chinese countermarches to the enemy flanks commenced. Feng feared he would not bag remotely as much of the Nihonjin Army as he’d hoped. Fortunately for the Chinese General, the Shogun’s army proved ineptly led…largely due to the political divisions playing out across the battlefield at that very moment.
Three hundred yards south:
“Damn!” Shouted Tokugawa Yoshinobu’s uncle, perhaps the most powerful man in the government. “The enemy lines don’t break!” Like Yoshinobu himself, the elder man was better known for his administrative skill than his martial abilities.
After the Emperor’s faction of fanatics managed to turn Komei’s ear with their promises of modernization, the Shogunate nearly rose in rebellion, an event likely only forestalled by the invasion of China. Prodded by their foreign mercenary Generals, the young Samurai of the Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa and Tsu, mainly southern Domains controlled by Daimyo’s loyal to the Emperor, eagerly sought to prove their superiority by driving the Chinese back into the sea as their ancestors had once before.
Largely relegating the Shogunate and their northern Daimyo allies to “partisan” activity throughout the hinterlands, the southern reformist faction marched heedlessly to their deaths at Niigata.
Now, I fear the Shogunate shall do the same at Mito, Yoshinobu thought, ignoring his bickering relatives and advisors. Taking in his allies, the Shogun wondered if the destruction of the three-hundred-year Tokugawa Bakufu was just. Perhaps we have become decadent and corrupt, as our enemies say. It is a pity we couldn’t have died together.
Yoshinobu drew his sword and nudged his horse forward, ignoring the calls of his fellows. If the Tokugawa Shogunate was to end on this day, then at least he would die among his supporters.
The following day, Yoshinobu’s body was found among twelve thousand Samurai dead…
The flower of the Samurai class, including hundreds of nobles, died upon the dry rice paddies of Mito, forcing Emperor Komei and his family to flee Edo for the southern mountains.