Send In the Elephants
By Ramses II CP

Part 3

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1226, Bukhara

A visitor to the city of Bukhara might find the calm silence of the streets strange, considering the circumstances. Over eight thousand Mongol soldiers encircled the walls, with several more armies in range to reinforce them should the first wave's assault somehow fail. Their defenders were fewer than two thousand poorly trained Muslim conscripts and militiamen, led by two generals from the city's most recent conquerors, the Rajputs. Ahh, but there was the note to explain the odd complacency one could sense on the ground; the city's most recent conquerors were the fourth such to hold that title in less than ten years. Not so long ago the Ghazni had come, driving away the Kwarezmshah from Bukhara, and had admistered the city for a few short years until a war with the Rajputs on the other side of the Ghazni lands had drawn their defenders away, and the Kwarezmshah had returned and retaken Bukhara. Soon the Rajput tide lapped into Kwarez lands, and the leaders of the Kwarezmshah were hunted like goats across the plains. When the last Kwarez general fell to an assassin's blade, an ambitious former captain took control of the city and demanded taxes of the people. A year later the Rajputs arrived, slaughtered the rebel garrison, and took their place as overlords of Bukhara.

Now, just a few years after they arrived, the Rajputs themselves were in grave danger of being expelled, but to the citizens of Bukhara it was very nearly business as usual. All those who had relatives or family distant from the conflict had already left and the remaining young women of Bukhara knew how to disguise themselves and where they might hide if the besiegers broke into the city. The oldsters had become good friends with death, that ever faithful companion who had swallowed up so many of their fellow citizens. Indeed, the people of Bukhara sat waiting and watching patiently, certain that they had already seen and weathered the worst Allah could bring the bear.

They were wrong.



Apara of Malwa understood very well why he had been placed in command of Bukhara. He was expendable. His loyalty was questionable, his reputation was that of an underhanded alcoholic, and he found the essential business of overseeing the collection of taxes an intolerable bore. His companion in the city, Mahlakadeva of Mewar, had never even led men in the field, and was best known for his debauched parties. In short, Arjunavar the Cunning was using the two men to draw more of his nobles out of India to serve, either family members to avenge Apara and Mahlakadeva in the event of their loss, or young nobles desperate to make a name for themselves struggling to emulate their supposed heroism in the event of their victory in defense of Bukhara.

At the moment, the latter outcome struck Apara as incredibly unlikely. He was deep in his cups and feeling maudlin about his lot in life. Mahlakadeva, not yet drunk but well on his way, had been arguing all evening that there must be some way to hold the walls, and shooting down the inexperienced commander time and again had crushed what little courage and hope the liqour could build up in Apara. Now, at the utter nadir of his belief in victory, and suffering from the aching need to vomit, Apara was suddenly aware of the deep reverberation of mighty Mongol horns outside the walls. Staggering to his feet, he waved a hand at Mahlakadeva and mumbled 'Get'em ready, mungrels ish attacking. An' bring me a bucket!'



Runners were sent rapidly to wake the garrison troops, and in some disarray they arranged themselves on the walls, javelin throwers intermixed with archers all along the north wall where the enemy had concentrated his siege engines. A short company of Kshatriya warriors, the sole heavy infantry in the city, held the gates. At the square Apara and Mahlakadeva were struggling to get their elephants in a battle formation.

Initially the defense went well. The Mongols attempting to scale ladders died in droves under a shower of javelins. One of the Mongol siege towers lit the night sky with an inferno from the profusion of fire arrows.



With the ram approaching the walls Mahlakdeva was first to arrive at the gate. He immediately ordered all present cavalry to sally out and find room to ride. The horsemen poured forth from the gates, overwhelming the first company of Mongol infantry at their ram. The massed fire of hundreds of enemy archers inflicted horrific losses amidst the mercenary cavalry, but the Mongols abandoned their first attempt to bring a ram to bear on the gates and the remaining Rajput horsemen were able to withdraw.



As the battles on the walls intensified Apara finally reached the area of the gates. Seeing the cavalry attempting to return to the safety of the walls he noted through the open gate that the enemy were bringing up another ram, and ordered the mercenaries to sally again. Despite an overwhelming volume of fire from the Mongols they were able to drive off a second company of Mongols and force them to abandon their last ram in the open ground before the gates.



Unfortunately for the few surviving mercenaries Apara, noting that the Mongol siege tower had lowered it's ramp, ordered the gates barred shut. None of the Rajput hirelings would return. To the right of the gate the javelin infantry was holding it's own against the onrushing horde, but this was still just the first wave.



To the left of the gates the Mongols scaling the ladders were making better headway, having cleared a section of the walls to allow their men to make the transition from ladder to rampart in relative safety. Apara commanded the Kshatriya warriors up onto the left wall to halt the advance of the Horde and prevent them from capturing the gatehouse.



The news only got worse, as the second and third wave of reinforcements reached the walls around the gatehouse, and began to scale the ladders as well. Hundreds of Mongol infantry swarmed near the ladders, almost under the effective arc within which the archers could fire their arrows. It was a scene of incredible chaos, as the Mongol archers fired their arrows in steep arcs while the Rajput archers were forced to lean dangerously over the wall to attempt a direct shot.



Sheer numbers were wearing away Apara's army. Half his archers had fallen, and two heavily abused companies of javelineers had fled for the square already. The Kshatriya warriors were holding their ground against the primary Mongol push left of the gates, but seventy men could only hold back several hundred for so long. Apara, an experienced commander of men, could see that this was the crisis point. One of the armies would break, and it would be soon. Either dispair would overtake the Mongols or the Rajputs, and there was only one thing Apara could do to influence the course of the matter. It was time to sally his personal guard and push forward the elephants into the maelstrom. Shouting to get Mahlakadeva's attention, Apara attempted to win a little courage for his men by repeating his Maharaja's successful battle cry, 'Send in the elephants!'

Apara himself was one of the first out of the gates. He attempted to direct his men to make their charge on the left, and most of them responded, but the scene was one of unutterable chaos. He had underestimated the Mongol's numbers. They had thousands of men waiting to climb the ladders, and hundreds more using the siege tower on the other side. The Rajput's main hope, that their archers could inflict sufficient losses to drive away the remainder, had failed due to the incredible volume of fire the enemy had lofted in response. Almost all of Apara's archers were dead now, and his javelin men were on the verge of breaking. Only the valiant Kshatriya warriors still gamely fought to hold the gatehouse.



Now, here in view of the madness of the battle, Apara knew the full measure of despair. Turning to look back he attempted to order Mahlakadeva back into the city, to organize some final defense of the square, but it was too late. The eager young fool had ridden out standing tall and proud, and was already dead. His arrow ridden corpse dangled over the side of his personal elephant, which looked half crazed with it's own bristle of arrows protruding from thick, gray skin. Glancing back in the direction of his attack, Apara saw the fifth wave of Mongols rounding the corner of the city walls, and at last knew the number of his days. Even so, with the knowledge of his own certain death strong in him, he fought his war beast as best he was able, crushing and rending the flesh of the tightly packed Horde beneath him until at last his elephant collapsed and threw him to his death.

With the fall of their commander's banner, and the death of his elephants true panic now struck the ranks, and such few men as still defended the walls fled in fear, except the remaining Kshatriya warriors. They would stand there on the left and fight to the last man, but to no avail. Mongol infantry from the right side captured the gates and threw them open, allowing the enemy cavalry into the city. Few men from the walls escaped to see the desperate last stand at the square.



When the sun began to rise over Bukhara that day the last living Rajput soldier in the city was surrounded and made to watch as the Mongols carried out a merciless plan of extermination in the streets. Working in haste but with great effeciency the Mongol soldiers moved from house to house, dragging out every peasant they could find and putting them to the sword. Less than an hour later the enemy would depart, leaving Bukhara to the dead and dying, but also leaving that lone soldier to carry the tale.





It was a dark day for the Rajput empire. The greatest defeat in the history of the nation. Two nobles and an entire city lost, over two thousand men gone into their graves, and countless peasants piled in the streets of Bukhara to show our people the price of defiance. The Maharaja commanded that another army move in to restore order, and Bukhara became once more a part of the empire, but it was changed beyond recognition. Those few locals who survived the rapacious conquest swore that they would never again rest complacent at the thought of just another battle.



The Mongols themselves rode away back east to trouble the central plains with more battles. They would never again lay siege to a city, Some guessed that the losses inflicted on the Horde at Bukhara had changed the enemy almost as much as it changed the city. Others simply pointed out that the Mongol invasion was never primarily about territory, it was about dominance. If the Maharaja didn't bend knee after the butchery of Bukhara then what purpose would further sieges serve? Either the Khan would break the Maharaja's armies, or he would withdraw in defeat, and for a time following Bukhara it appeared that the Rajputs might be forced to accept nominal Mongol control of their people as the enemy won victory after victory, and killed Indian noble after noble. Only when the Rajput forces outnumbered the enemy could they claim victory, and it was ever costly even so.

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Then came the year 1231, the year of the elephant.