A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"General is it?" Gengyo mused.

"Indeed. Your men would retain their lives. We could leave here this instant and march upon Suruga. With your skill and mine, our march would be unhaltable and you would have your fair share of the spoils."

"Tempting. That is tempting... However, doing that under the command of another man – that doesn’t seem too appealing." He smiled, seeing Shingen twitch in irritation. He quite enjoyed making him angry.

"We outnumber you by more than half. Our equipment is far superior. This is folly – a folly that you will pay dearly for." He jabbed with his finger to ill.u.s.trate each stabbing point. It was unfortunate to lose such a powerful asset over something as meagre as pride.

"Better equipped? I might have to disagree with that." With the rising tensions, Gengyo remained as calm as ever.

"Pah. One can tell with a single glance. Your gods have abandoned you – with the rain your matchlock rifles are useless."

"Ah." He pulled a face as though shocked, suddenly realizing something. His eyes flickered up towards the dark sky and he received a few fat droplets of rain with his cheeks. "I suppose the rain would spell trouble for a matchlock rifle. That is terribly unfortunate." He spoke as if it didn’t concern him, which only served to irritate Shingen further.

With the mane of horsehair on his helmet growing sodden, the warlord whirled around on his horse, pausing to deliver one final line before pushing his heels into the sides of his horse. "Confidence is fine. The moment you are defeated with it in your heart, then you realize it to be arrogance. I will humble you and then I will claim your service. Do not disappoint me."

Gengyo raised his eyebrow, watching him leave. "That goes for you too, Shingen."

Both men returned to their armies. Surprising no one, the negotiations had failed. Gengyo reclaimed his position at the front, and slowly removed his helmet. With the rain, it felt uncomfortable. He ran his hand through his damp hair, slicking it back, eyes on the battlefield, waiting for Shingen to make his first move. From this moment on, it would be Matsudaira’s strategy. They had two surprises up their sleeve. The rest would be a bloody slog.

From his position, he could see Shingen split off from his Generals and replace them with a bodyguard of a hundred men. They made their way past the main bulk of their army and set up their headquarters on a small hill, taking full advantage of its vantage point.

With their extensive training, any order Shingen gave would be reflected in the army within seconds. From his belt, he slipped a wooden war fan – a gunbai – from his belt and ran his palm against its smooth surface. When he lifted his arm high into the air, the fan went with it, and the bow samurai began to slowly walk forward – the opening act.

Holding back against the urge to give an order of his own, Gengyo continued to wait. At any moment, their rifle-wielding elite could pull their triggers and unleash a surprise volley on the advancing bowmen, but it was down to Matsudaira to decide when the most appropriate moment for that would be, so they could make maximum use of it. The flintlock nature of their rifles meant the rain did not render them out of action as it would a matchlock weapon.

A line of three thousand bow samurai – an obvious threat capable of defanging their army entirely by themselves. It was such that they immediately occupied a General’s attention and he neglected to observe what was happening behind the wall the had created. Shingen commanded his men like he wielded his sword – with fluidity. One movement flowed into the next and already they were assuming the Crane’s Wing formation behind the distraction he’d placed in front.

Even Gengyo did not notice that. A soldier would focus on the threat in front of him. A detached strategist was placed to observe every point of the field at once.

Step by step those bow-wielding samurai came forward, stone-faced and bows partially drawn, ready to fire at any moment. Behind Gengyo, he heard tales of light movement, easily mistaken for the pattering of the rain. Turning his head, he could see the elite slowly making their way to the front – the first whisperings of Matsudaira’s orders could be seen.

Shingen observed that slight bit of movement from across the battlefield and squinted in suspicion. From everything he knew of the matchlock weapon, in this rain, they were nothing but empty baggage and yet the Miura forces were pushing them to the front as though they actually posed a threat. A bluff? Perhaps. He would test the waters first and continue to hold their attention as the movement behind him was completed. His slowly tilted his fan forwards and the bow samurai slowed before coming to a halt.

He signalled for them to act cautiously, and prepare for retreat, until then though, they slowly drew back the string of their bows, with arrows already nocked, and they aimed up towards the sky.

"Damn..." Matsudaira muttered, deep behind the main Miura army. As to be expected of the Tiger of Kai – his eyes were sharp. Such a trap would not go unnoticed. It was a shame, for if they had travelled even ten more metres forward, then he was confident they could have destroyed him.

Regardless, he gave an order of his own. His was not done with extravagant fan waving, but with a messenger, for they had not trained for any other variation. The elite soldiers were to fire immediately.

The order was delivered much slower than he would have liked, but it could be no different. It was a delay that gave Shingen an advantage over him, but it was all he had to work with for now. The bow samurai managed to loose a few eager arrows before the triggers were pulled and the rainy day was given crackling lightning befitting of its dull setting.

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