Chapter Forty: The Ambush (Part One)

The Russian officer had no inkling that he had made a fatal mistake. He believed the battle was over and that the bandits had fled far into the distance. After simply posting a few sentries, the rest of his men were warmly welcomed by the local Russians and ushered into the grand square where a lively party was being held.

All around, the searchlights were lit, their beams covered with colorful fabrics by the mine owner, casting a rainbow of hues across the festivities. The men retrieved the mine owner’s finest wines from the cellars, while the women donned their most dazzling attire. Domlikshava, too, endeavored to forget her sorrow, sitting at the piano and letting her slender fingers play cheerful melodies to entertain the victorious men.

On the edge of the square, the captured bandits and rioting laborers were tied to tall posts. Stripped to the waist, they shivered as the cold night wind pierced their skin and cut to the bone. If no one came to their aid, they would freeze to death during this jubilant Russian night.

The Russians sang and danced with abandon; their legendary capacity for drink was on full display. Their dependence on alcohol was so deep that a night without several cups meant sleeplessness. Such an occasion demanded complete intoxication.

Over a thousand people drank heartily together. Crate after crate of fine liquor was rapidly consumed. Some, soldiers included, were already drunk. Though the officer had warned them to watch their limits, once the drinking began, Russians felt that to stop short of drunkenness was unworthy of the occasion.

The officer paid his men no more mind and remained at Domlikshava’s side, lavishing her with compliments on her music, her singing, and her beauty. Domlikshava did not dislike this young, handsome Russian officer; from time to time, she returned his praise with a radiant smile, making the officer feel as if bathed in a spring breeze.

Such was the Russian soldier’s attitude toward Russian and Chinese women: had it been a Chinese woman, the officer would not have hesitated to tear off her clothes, but toward a Moscow beauty, he maintained the utmost courtesy.

Their gazes met, exchanging glances ever more electric, as if each could read the other’s heart. The Russian officer knew she would not escape him now; a few more encounters, and he might just win her over.

While the Russians were lost in their revelry, more than two hundred bandits lay in wait on the cold earth along a narrow lane two miles from the mine, using the surrounding weeds for cover. The sounds of merriment drifted to their ears, accompanied by the tempting scent of liquor and roasted meat.

This site had been carefully chosen by Yang Xiaolin. The mine lay two miles ahead, the Russian military camp behind them. Here, Yang Xiaolin would ambush the Russian force.

Tang Yulin’s heart trembled with apprehension. He wanted to attack the rear camp, reasoning that the Russian garrison there would be smaller, or perhaps wait until the party ended and then attempt to infiltrate the mine. There was a chance of success in such a plan. But Yang Xiaolin insisted on striking this very unit—a bold move, like pulling the sharpest tooth from the tiger’s mouth.

Tang Yulin’s voice quivered. “Brother Yang, shouldn’t we reconsider? If the Russians aren’t routed and reinforcements come from either direction, we’ll be finished. The distance is so short!”

Both front and rear were just over a kilometer away—a man with a rifle could cover it at a run in under five minutes, ten at most with preparation. It was truly dangerous. Yang Xiaolin’s eyes were fixed on the colorful lights within the mine. “They’re holding a party. That means they have no idea we might return.”

Tang Yulin nodded. “Yes, but there are five or six hundred Russian soldiers. Can we really take them?”

“We can.”

Yang Xiaolin’s reply was firm. The fact that this force, after combat, had made no effort to confirm the enemy’s withdrawal and had immediately joined the festivities spoke poorly of their commander’s abilities.

Moreover, Yang Xiaolin reasoned that whether he struck the camp or the mine, this force would inevitably reappear—they were his enemy, sooner or later. Better to strike first.

Yet he knew the odds were only thirty percent in his favor—no more than a slim chance. His hope lay in luring the Russians into his ambush, causing chaos with a sudden attack, allowing the bandits to charge down upon them. Crucially, the main camp and the Russians at the mine must not send reinforcements.

If the ambush was discovered, or if the first volley failed to break them, or if, as Tang Yulin feared, reinforcements arrived from either side, defeat would be certain.

Would these things happen? Though he spoke with confidence, Yang Xiaolin’s heart was uneasy.

As the moon climbed high into the sky, its luminous light did them no favors, making the bandits’ makeshift camouflage seem even more precarious.

He waited anxiously for nearly two hours, feeling his hands and feet grow numb with cold. Judging by the night, it must be around ten o’clock. The revelry from the mine began to subside, with only the occasional burst of laughter drifting through the night mist. It seemed the Russians’ party was drawing to an end.

Yet the gates of the mine remained tightly closed. Yang Xiaolin began to wonder if the Russians would return to the camp at all that night. If they chose to remain at the mine, he would have no choice but to withdraw.

The other bandits grew restless too. Despite Yang Xiaolin’s repeated orders for silence, whispers continued to rise from the grass.

He decided to wait one more hour. If the Russians still did not appear, they would leave.

No Russian officer dared let his men spend the night outside the camp. Though Russia’s army was among the weaker of the great powers, leaving a unit outside overnight risked disaster and severe punishment if the commander found out.

A little drinking was acceptable; subordinates would not complain, and if superiors investigated, everyone would share the blame. But after the drinking, they must return to camp. The officer surveyed his men—gone was the formidable bearing with which they had entered the mine. Faces flushed, many had bared their chests despite the cool night breeze, still warmed by alcohol.

Some could barely walk, needing to lean on their comrades. But the officer was unconcerned—a few miles’ walk, even at a slow pace, would take less than half an hour. By morning, they would be lively as ever.

He gazed into Domlikshava’s sapphire eyes and said with deep feeling, “Meeting you has made this my happiest night since coming to the Qing Empire. I fear I will not sleep at all tonight.”

Domlikshava lifted her head to look at him, her face carrying a trace of intoxication as well. “I feel the same. Your uniform reminds me of my father.”