Kim and Mao

Kim and Mao

Fire!

"More arrows to the left flank—fire at will!"

Kim shouted from atop the battlement, desperately defending the southern garrison of the king's army. He knew that if the invaders breached his position or overran them, the kingdom would fall. It had been a brutal war, and with only five thousand men and women holding against a hundred thousand foes, hopelessness gnawed at him.

Kim couldn't help reflecting on how this power had been thrust upon him. He had been a poor youth, content in solitude, until General Sao—the garrison's commander—took him under his wing. It surprised everyone; Kim wasn't a soldier but an aide to the general. His reverie shattered as an arrow whistled past, missing him by a finger's breadth. Snapping back to the present, he surveyed the battlefield and was shocked to see invaders gaining a foothold on the right flank. They scaled the walls with ladders and grappling hooks, exploiting the thinner defenses there.

A grim smile crossed Kim's face—they had fallen for his gambit. "Eagle Squad, to the right flank!" he bellowed. "Bless them with the oil!"

Satisfaction surged as a hundred sappers hurled burning oil over the invaders, met with agonized screams. He signaled the bowmen squad: "Flaming arrows—loose!" They obeyed without hesitation. The ground below became a maze of flaming corpses and writhing men, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh. Relief washed over Kim as the enemy trumpets signaled retreat.

He ordered every squad leader to a hasty meeting in the command tent. "This won't last," he told them. "We need to end this war."

"We need reinforcements from the capital," Eagle Squad's leader complained.

"That'll take two weeks," Pak, the logistics leader, explained. "We don't have five days left to hold this garrison. We're too few."

"So what do we do?" Jung, the infantry leader, asked.

"Tonight, I'll infiltrate their camp and kill their king in his command tent," Kim declared.

"No!" they exclaimed in unison. "That's too dangerous!"

"Don't forget—the men look to you," Pak urged. "If anything happens to you, we're sunk."

Kim sighed, meeting each man's eyes. "I guess it's time I told you the truth. I'm the last student of Master Mao."

"Impossible!" Eagle Squad's leader burst out. "Master Mao died twenty years ago—and you're barely nineteen!"

Kim smiled and shook his head. "Master Mao died two years ago."

"That's impossible!" they shouted, forcing him to raise a hand for silence. "Please, let me explain."

"As you know, Master Mao was a prince—the king's younger brother." They nodded. "He despised politics. With his brilliant mind and unmatched swordsmanship, he was one of our country's greatest warriors. I was just a baby when he adopted me and raised me as his son. He taught me everything he knew, and I believe he recommended me to General Sao." The leaders stared, stunned and speechless.

"Master Mao had a son, too," Kim continued, "but like his father, he shuns titles—even with his uncle as king."

"Where is he?" Pak asked.

"Oh, the little rascal's around—nearby, if I'm not mistaken. He's probably watching me right now."

"Can we meet him?" Eagle Squad's leader pressed.

"Probably not, and that's for the best. He's stubborn, troublesome, and terrible at following orders. But he's my little brother—and we'll both infiltrate the enemy camp tonight. Only we, as Master Mao's students, stand a chance."

"You know, if the king finds out about his nephew, he'll want to meet him."

"Oh, the king already knows—or will soon, if Master Mao was right." At that moment, a curse echoed from behind a cabinet, followed by a bang against the wall. "Damn, the fool and his loud mouth!"

"Who's there?" Pak demanded, drawing his sword.

"Shut up!" came the voice, followed by retreating footsteps.

Kim laughed heartily. As the others turned to him, he grinned. "Gentlemen, that was my brother—Mao."

At the capital, the king muttered, "Mao... my nephew," as he peered into his scrying glass, searching. He turned to his court. "General Kung, when will the army reach the southern garrison?"

"Your Majesty," General Kung bowed, "they'll arrive in two weeks."

"That's too long. My nephews are infiltrating the enemy camp tonight."

"Your nephews, Majesty?"

"Yes. It seems my brother adopted a son and had one of his own—I never knew he married. We must hurry to save the prince. I won't abide losing my brother's children—treat them as my own. See to it with utmost urgency. If they get killed, heads will roll. I want to see them here in the capital at once."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Now go—hurry the preparations."