The men's singing had distracted them from a distinctly acrid smell. Burning… Shang could definitely smell burning… but there was no smoke hanging heavily in the air…
The village had been raised to the ground. Shang felt a sudden, punching coldness in his stomach. But the army? Where was the army? And where was…?
I don't understand. My father should have been here…
The men realized he was thinking aloud. For once, he didn't care what they thought of him. Shang's imagination, independent of his logical mind, tried to explain. There must have been a change of plan. A change in military intelligence, perhaps, and his father had had to retreat. The village had had to be sacrificed for the greater good of the campaign…
No. He knew his father would have kept his word; he would have protected the people at all costs. At all costs…
This was why he knew, before the other troops did, what was waiting on the other side of the village… the sickening sight of a field of corpses, rotting where they had fallen.
Search for survivors…
There was still a chance, surely, a chance for a general… and even if they didn't find him, he could easily have been taken prisoner. A general would make a good hostage, as extra leverage to negotiate with the Emperor ... they could expect a good ransom, even, if it was money they were after.
No. He knew, even as the men brought him his father's helmet, that the Huns did not negotiate. The Huns were not interested in money. They took no prisoners. They took pleasure in it. The men were shielding him from his father's corpse – the Huns must have enjoyed themselves with the body of a general ... Shang corrected himself sharply. It was too much to think of – he could feel rage beginning to burn him, as he had seen it burn men before, so that they had no reason, no thoughts apart from grief. And there was no time for mourning. He could give his father only the barest of funeral rites. The soldiers would have to remain unburied, even. The best way – the only way – to commemorate his father's life – would be to defend the Pass, to stop the Huns from reaching the City, the Emperor, and the people. Even if they couldn't stop them completely, they had to try; they had to slow them down so that the City could prepare itself.
He stood up from his father's helmet and shield. They would have to act as a memorial to the fallen. They weren't his any longer, even if they were his by right. One of the men, Ping he thought, had left something the men had found of the villagers', a girl's doll, still charred by the flames. His father had died defending her. A soldier should expect to die in battle, he thought sadly, but never better than to die defending what was right.
He turned round. The men felt his loss… but now, of all times, they couldn't slow down. They had to fight. He had to lead them. He felt the responsibility as almost a physical weight – they were the only soldiers left that stood between the enemy and victory. The task was almost impossible. It would almost certainly mean all of their deaths, but they would be repaid with honour, as his father had been.
Wearily, he put young Ping at the rear, with the wagons and ammunition. Ping was responsible, yes, but at least, he thought, that way he would be protected from the heaviest combat. Family duty demanded this much from him, even if he was only engaged, not married, to Ping's sister. He had been a fool to contemplate marriage at the very beginning of a war. At least, with his death, Fa Mulan would not have to enter such a long mourning period as a widow before she could marry someone else, someone more reliable, like a farmer or a shop-keeper, he thought bitterly. He stiffened his resolve as he mounted his horse. Everything was better off as it was – Fa Mulan had never met him, would never need to grieve for him. No, he would have no sons to continue his family name, but then they would not suffer the indignities of being fatherless … and have no need to grieve for him either. Shang would spare anyone the pain he himself was beginning to feel.
He turned around to see Ping sadly leading his horse. Perhaps Ping would live long enough to describe him to Mulan, the sacrifices he had had to make. That was perhaps the best honour he could now hope from this life.