Chapter 26 - The Art of War (Part II)
Something is not right.
He doesn’t know what or why. It is impossible to rationalize, simply because there is no logical way of analyzing such an abstract process. It is nothing born out of hard facts or evidence. Rather, it is that peculiar tingling sensation when one is standing at the cusp of victory, yet cannot help but turn one’s head back from the glorious finish line because an insidious voice over his shoulder keeps whispering that it is all for naught.
It is over.
“General, the 8th legion reports the enemy is unilaterally withdrawing all along the western flank with catastrophic losses,” came the exultant report from one of the officers manning one of the communications station in front of him.
“Sir, the 11th and 12th legions report inflicting heavy casualties on the east field all along the Yangtze River. They are currently requesting permission to pursue and harry the enemy,” chimed in another voice excitedly.
“General, message tagged URGENT from Colonel Zhao: ‘Most honored General Xiao, the enemy is in complete disarray, no relief forces in sight. I hereby request permission to engage the exposed rear of the enemy on the central axis of the Wei Hao upper peak to crush all resistance,’ end of message,” exclaimed the excited voice of his own personal aide, Colonel Yan, looking at him expectantly, a deep scarlet suffusing his cheeks in tremorous excitement.
Something is definitely not right. This should not be happening.
“General, shall we strike while the iron is hot?” urged the same voice, burning with fervor.
It was not supposed to go down in this fashion. The order of it was all wrong. It made no sense whatsoever. A deep furrow began to dig its stubborn way along his brow, his eyes narrowing unconsciously as he glared down at the giant strategic map occupying a large portion of the space in the center of the room.
In this age of holographic displays and interactive interfaces, his strategic map was indeed a relic of a bygone era. It was a simple ink and paper representation of the Wei Hao Peaks and the surrounding area, with topographical information as well as his own minucius notes occupying most of the available space.
Not that it was necessary. He had an eidetic memory, and could perfectly recall every single word in each one of his careful notations, detailing topography, altitude, flora, fauna, weather patterns, possible angles of attack, withdrawal routes, and a plethora of other relevant information.
An ancient wise man once said, “If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete.”
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Thus, General Xiao Ming always made sure to thoroughly know both himself and the enemy before engaging in a battle. Even Heaven and Earth could not escape his purview. To him, it was the only sensible form of waging war.
Else, why engage in a fight in which you did not have assured victory? It would be the extreme of folly, a wasteful gesture.
General Ming despised being wasteful.
Instead, General Ming believed in the addition of small numbers and the incremental multiplication of facts which would unequivocally lead to one specific outcome. What about luck, emotions, instinct? Merely the bastard offspring of lesser minds, a byproduct of desperation and a sprinkling of perceived good fortune. After all, though fortune may seem a fickle mistress, in the end she was ever even-handed in her judgments.
Thus, Xiao Ming took pride in the fact that he had never been described as a warrior, but rather as an artisan, or an artist. Ever he had dedicated himself to the arts rather than physical exertions. His view of the battlefield was that of a sere philosopher seeking profound truths which were timeless and immutable. Others may attribute his undefeated streak of victories as mere happenstance. However, Xiao Ming knew better.
He was a craftsman, and he took deep pleasure in slowly, exhaustively and systematically preparing each and every single ingredient, which he would in turn just as meticulously incorporate into the final product: the perfect victory.
That moment when all those compounds and amalgamations came together into one single sublime victory, that more than anything was what gave him a skin-tingling wave of pleasure that had become his most savoured delicacy.
“General? Another message rated EXTREMELY URGENT from Colonel Zhao: “Most exalted General Xiao, I must humbly compel you to grant permission for engagement of exposed rear of enemy central forces. Time is of the essence, crucial to act now. Complete assurance of absolute annihilation of the enemy forces if action taken now. 76,000 troops awaiting..”
“75,233 men,” General Xiao corrected absentmindedly, his gaze still bound to one particular location of the gigantic map which stood before him. It was a place where a plateau gave way to a deep valley right below the skirts of the Wei Hao peaks. Next to a red X mark, a row of neat, uniform handwritten letters read, “Location of enemy reinforcements (93.75% probability, response time: 250 ~ 300 ms).” However, those weren’t the words that held his attention. Rather, his eyes were riveted, as though trying to bore a hole through the ink and paper, on the very next sentence:
“Cmd. Officer (99.25% probability) General Michael Lee”