by Clint Dohmen
“Wad.”
“Si,” another sailor shouted as he rammed wadding into the muzzle to prevent the ball from rolling out.
“Muoviti, muoviti più veloce!” Neno yelled at his crew to move faster, although the whole procedure was accomplished in under a minute.
“Give fire.”
The whole crew stepped aside as the gunner touched a lit match to the gunpowder in the touchhole. The cannon roared and jumped again, and for a third time the approaching column of horses rippled in a dervish of death and destruction.
Kojiro saw that the man at the head of the column still came on towards their position with barely a pause. Based on the magnificent horse that the man sat astride and his stag-antler wakidate, Kojiro guessed that man was Lord Kono himself. “At least we do not fight cowards,” Kojiro observed aloud to no one in particular.
Simon, standing nearby, heard the comment.
“I would prefer to fight cowards.”
“Invincibility lies in one’s self,” Kojiro responded calmly.
“Easy for you to say.”
“I did not say it. Sun Tzu said it.”
Simon didn’t ask, and unlike Aldo would have done, Kojiro did not elaborate.
“I must find out more about this Sun Tzu,” Aldo chimed in as he leveled his crossbow and fired across the barricade into a horse’s chest.
Kojiro watched Aldo and another member of the Tigre’s crew, whose name he had learned was Giovanni, manipulate their crossbows with deadly effect. That weapon is slow to reload but immensely powerful, he thought as he watched horse and rider tumble forward after being struck by Aldo’s shot.
“Reload, imbecilli!” Neno yelled.
Before Neno’s gun crews could get off another salvo, many of the Kono cavalrymen moved off the raised levee and into the muddy, water-filled rice fields. The cannons on the left and right flanks were having a similar influence on the Kono cavalry who poured into the rice fields, where they discovered a nasty surprise. The makibishi served their purpose, bringing horses to their knees and making their riders easy prey for the sparse but skilled Hosokawa archers.
As the riders continued to approach, enemy horse archers behind the charging cavalry began to loose their own arrows into the thin formations of Arai spearmen who were bracing for the cavalry charge’s impact. Simon again marveled at the archery skills of these samurai warriors, whose arrows shot true even while the archers galloped on horseback. Unfortunately, Simon’s admiration was tempered by the realization that the peasant spearmen, their best line of defense for charging cavalry, were becoming disheartened. As spearmen fell to arrows, and the fearsome drum-propelled Kono cavalry charge came relentlessly onward in spite of their losses, some of the villagers began to shuffle backwards.
A loud call rang out from the tall peasant who had been at the war council: “Banzai!” This cry, repeated up and down the line, halted the villagers’ backward slide, but their spears were neither steady nor strongly held.
“Banzai? Isn’t that the miniature pruned trees?” Simon asked Aldo. “Why are they screaming for shrubbery at a time like this?”
“That’s ‘bonsai,’ not ‘banzai.’ The former are those amazing, little creations, one of which I must obtain before we leave. The latter is clearly a rallying cry. Can you not hear the distinct difference in pronunciation?”
Simon listened as the last echoes of the word died out. “Nope.”
Chapter 10
NENO SAW THE giant black horse coming toward him. The cannon fire had not slowed this animal in the least, and it was bearing down on him and the gun crews. They would not get another shot off. Neno had seen cavalry amongst unarmored gun crews, and the results were not pretty. He would not rely solely on others to protect his men.
Kuro’s head was spinning with adrenaline; his nostrils flared, and he sailed across the levee toward the humans straight ahead. Another horse followed closely behind him, and behind them, more horses had rallied from the shock of the cannon. The iron tubes had not erupted again, and Kuro knew he would reach his destination. Kuro leapt clear over the iron tube, kicking a human in the head as he did so. The rush of horses behind him broke apart the barricade, and the Kono charge struck home.
After clearing the barricade, Lord Kono pressed his left knee into Kuro’s ribs; Kuro wheeled left and surged forward. The lord ran his lance through the eye of a peasant holding a spear. Then, even as more horses surged through the gap behind him, Lord Kono found himself surrounded by men with spears. His steed, sensing danger, kicked with his rear legs, then raised himself up in the air and came crashing down with his forelegs onto an Arai spearman.
The terrifying facemask and kabuto of Lord Kono, the brutality of his giant steed, and the swiftness of his deadly blows with both the point and butt of his lance spread fear amongst the peasants. They gave ground, and every yard they gave was quickly filled with more lethal Kono samurai on horseback. That fire-tube was an unexpected obstacle, but now we will win this day like we have won every other, Lord Kono thought. And I will have those tubes to use myself in the next battle.
Simon could not take full advantage of his sword skills amongst the crowd of spears, swords, and horses near the barricade. He moved off the main road toward the edge of the rice fields. Here, he had room to maneuver amongst a sparser formation of samurai and peasants holding the line between the center road and the left flank. Bloody marvelous charge, he thought, as the Kono samurai who had moved off the road advanced toward him through the rice fields. Most of them were on foot since their mounts had either been shot out from under them or hit makibishi. The mud was slowing their advance considerably, and the archers were doing their work. Perhaps like Agincourt in 1415, the mud will save an Englishman again today.
The enemy peasants also moved through the rice fields, having fled the road in terror of the cannons. Although the cannons were silent now, the peasants did not go back to the road.
The first dismounted Kono cavalryman reached Simon just as Kojiro joined him in line. Simon roared a primeval cry and bashed the Kono samurai’s head with his shield. He then cleaved downward with his flat-bladed, double-edged sword using all the muscle in his powerful six-foot-three frame. His blade did not penetrate the man’s shoulder armor, but the force of both his blows sent the man crashing to the ground. Before the man had time to recover, Simon stabbed his blade into the gap between his armored mask and cuirass, pushing through the man’s neck and into his spine.
“Very ugly,” Kojiro remarked at Simon’s brutish tactics. Kojiro then swung his two blades in his trademark circular motion through the air, parried an attack on his left, and drove his other blade into the abdomen of a lightly armored peasant on his right. He removed that sword from the peasant and chopped the hand off the samurai on his left. Kojiro swung his blades in that same windmill motion again and went to work on his next two opponents.
“Flashy, I’ll give you that,” Simon barked out from inside his fully encapsulated helmet.
“Remember where to strike,” Kojiro reminded him.
Prior to the engagement, Kojiro had been kind enough to instruct Simon in vulnerable points in the samurai armor, and Simon had paid close attention. Simon himself was armored from head to toe with custom-made German plate armor. Not only were there few vulnerable places in this armor, the enemy had no idea where those few places were. Although the armor was heavy, Simon moved adroitly enough, and he used his shield as both an offensive and defensive weapon. The Japanese were not used to fighting against a shield, and Simon’s use of the shield, accomplished swordplay, and deft movements began to build a body count.
“Invincibility lies in one’s self,” Kojiro reminded Simon as he gave an almost imperceptibly approving nod to Simon’s kills.
Simon still had no idea what he was talking about, but he recognized the complimentary nod. The Arai samurai who fought beside them were better than the dismounted Kono swordsmen they faced, but the Arai line was being pushed back by the sheer
weight of numbers arrayed against them.
The samurai to Simon’s left fell, and his victorious opponent turned and swung his katana at full strength into Simon’s back. It did not penetrate the armor, but it did dent the metal. If Simon lived through this battle, he knew he would feel that one in the morning. Simon used the ten-inch advantage of his combined sword and arm length to shove the Kono over the three-foot drop into the rice field. In the pause that followed, he brought the hilt of his sword crashing down on the head of another Kono samurai approaching from his right.
The Kono samurai was briefly stunned. Simon swung his sword in a wide arcing motion, bringing the blade through the back of the Kono samurai’s left knee, where it found another gap in the armor. With Simon’s power, his blade cleaved the lower half of the samurai’s leg clear off. He dropped onto the stub of his leg, blood surging from open arteries. Simon reset with a high guard to take on the samurai he had pushed into the ditch, but Kojiro killed the man before he got the chance.
Chapter 11
THE PROCESS OF aging had slowly snuck up on Inotogo Arai. It had begun with a subtle graying of the hair, an odd wrinkle or two around the eyes, and an increased soreness in the joints. The stamina, strength, and speed of his youth had waned, replaced by experience and wisdom, but this was a trade he would go back on right now if he could. Aging was a curse for all, but much more so for a man who lives and dies by the sword.
Lord Arai sat astride his warhorse, surveying the developing bloodbath. He looked detached, breathing deeply, as screams of pain, fear, death, and rage filled his ears. There was something else that filled the battlefield’s air: a stench. It was the foul odor of blood, excrement, and fear. To any unbiased observer, however, Lord Arai showed no sign of being disturbed by any of this.
When he had battled at a younger age he had sliced through his enemies with power and speed. As he got older, he had had to adapt to his new body. He learned long ago that developing precision, not power, would suit an older man. His swordsmanship now, at least as told by witnesses, bordered on magical. With a flick of the wrist, his razor-sharp, Arai-forged blade would find a chink in his enemy’s armor that no one else had seen, and a light slash across an inner forearm would open a major artery and kill an opponent half his age. No need for theatrics, no need for an excess of power. Timing and precision were the keys to his skill. Let the blade do the work was his mantra.
Now, as the Kono cavalry spearhead edged closer and closer to his archers and the battle turned against him, he took measured breaths and thought of an old proverb. If you know the art of breathing, you have the strength, wisdom, and courage of ten tigers.
Lord Arai turned to his retainers, grouped tightly around him. “We will charge the center. Notify the Hosokawa archers to clear a path.”
The retainer blinked. “But lord, it might be better to wait.” The retainer was worried, and he was right to be.
If you fall, we all fall. The men’s morale will crumble. We need to stay here, he thought.
Lord Arai wore his distinctive silver and charcoal armor, and on the front of his kabuto the maedate was a horizontal crescent moon. At the side of his kabuto, his wakidate were golden falcon wings. These symbols were unmistakable; he would be a magnet for the arrows, spears, and swords of the Kono, and his loyal bodyguards knew it. They did not want him to die. And Lord Arai was not as young as the last time he had led them into battle. The retainer hesitated and humbly said, “It would be very difficult for us to protect you if you should decide to go forward.”
The lord turned slowly to him. “I thank you for your concern, and I understand your intentions, but we will engage.” Lord Arai knew it was a risk, a huge risk, but if the Kono reached his archers, they would massacre them. The center would fall. If the center fell, the battle would be over whether he lived or not.
He gave his familiar counsel to his bodyguard as he strung his bow: “Take arrows in your forehead, but never in your back.”
Lord Arai then signaled his entry into the battle by drawing an arrow and sending it hurtling twenty yards into the neck of a Kono rider. As the rider tumbled from his mount, Lord Arai drew his katana and shouted, “Arai!”
His fifteen-man bodyguard drew their weapons and shouted “Arai!” as one.
Pointing his sword forward, Lord Arai charged through the parted archers and straight into the lead Kono cavalry elements. His bodyguard, as ever, raced into the battle right beside him.
Chapter 12
SIMON AND KOJIRO did not initially notice Lord Arai’s entry into battle. They were too busy fighting for their lives. Simon tried to remain vertical, but his armor was being pummeled from all angles and directions, and he was being battered mercilessly with strikes so swift he could barely see them. Luckily, the enemy had yet to draw his blood.
Although Simon had played his advantages to the hilt – height, reach, strength, the enemy’s unfamiliarity with his shield and armor – he was reaching the point of total exhaustion. What had started as a chilly morning and pleasant noon had turned into a hot afternoon with neither water nor shade for relief. And this is how the Teutonic Knights met their doom at the hands of the Lithuanians and Poles at Grunwald in 1410: heat exhaustion. Why do I think of shite at times like this? Goddamn Aldo!
Simon finished off a Kono samurai with a thrust to the eye, then quickly turned as he heard a bone-chilling scream. His visor restricted his vision, but he could see an Arai samurai being hacked to death by two Kono peasants. They stood over the helpless man whose helmet had been knocked off, and they were striking his bare head. One spear tip came down hard on the fallen Arai samurai, slicing through the jaw and getting stuck there. The peasant twisted the blade violently and kicked the man hard under the chin to free his weapon. The spear was retrieved when the jawbone broke in two. The Arai samurai was still alive, and the Kono peasant hacked down again.
Simon reacted angrily; he had shared sake with the man on the ground. In spite of his exhausted and battered body, Simon moved with surprising agility. The two peasants didn’t see the knight in his full armor approach, but they heard the rattle. It was too late. Simon smashed the edge of his metal shield into the skull of the first Kono peasant, sending him crashing to the ground. The second peasant turned and swung his spear, which hit the top of Simon’s helmet and sailed harmlessly off. If it weren’t for the helmet, the stroke would have taken off a piece of Simon’s scalp. He thrust his sword powerfully into the peasant’s unarmored groin, sending the peasant backwards, mortally wounded.
Simon walked past the two writhing Kono peasants and looked at his dying drinking mate. Poor bugger. Dark red blood disguised the deep gashes beneath the young face; his unblinking eyes stared wildly into space. It was a disturbing sight. Simon had seen such things before; they often came back to him on sleepless nights. He looked too long. Now this was another face he’d have to drink away into sleep.
Neno did not like to lose crewmen unless it was by his own hand. He was halfway around the world and had lost enough already. Sure, for the most part they were good-for-nothing, whoring drunkards, but then, so was Neno, and only he had the right to remove them from the ranks of the living.
But the first Kono rider on the giant black stallion had infringed on his rights. He’d clobbered the head of one of his sailors before Neno had had time to react. Poleaxe in hand, Neno had tried to fight his way toward that rider, but a wave of enemy cavalry prevented it. Alongside Aldo and Giovanni, who had abandoned their crossbows for swords, he’d had to fight like a madman to protect the rest of his unarmored gun crews. With his unnatural strength, uncommon skill with a poleaxe, and plain old meanness, he and several of the stouter spear-wielding Arai peasants had carved a semicircle around the guns that the Kono cavalrymen could not penetrate.
As Neno protected his sailors, a Kono cavalryman decided to try his luck. Neno used the hammer side of his poleaxe to trap the rider’s lance at the spearhead and pull it out of the man’s hands. He then reversed his
grip on his weapon and swung the triangular dagger with all his might straight into the man’s face, killing him instantly.
The Arai peasants near Neno had seen their share of skilled practitioners at killing, but they marveled at Neno’s use of his poleaxe. He wasn’t just killing cavalrymen; he seemed to have the advantage over the men on horses and not the other way around. Neno’s below-average ability to pick up their language and clumsiness around the village had not prepared them for the way he comported himself in battle. Inspired to be fighting alongside such a brute, two peasants moved in next to Neno and killed the next samurai that Neno unhorsed. This symbiotic relationship kept the gun crews safe for the moment.
Chapter 13
TARO HAD BEEN placed in charge of the critical mountain flank. If the mountain ridge fell, Kono riders would descend on the right flank of the Arai line and roll it up with little effort. Thus far, Taro had effectively directed his spear-wielding peasants and small cavalry contingent into positions where they had beaten back the Kono riders, including a critical stand around the temple, where the monks had joined in its defense.
Now, Taro had a decision to make. The Kono had not come for over half an hour, and his scouts reported only a few horse tracks retreating back east on the mountain ridge. Either he was being lured into abandoning the flank, or the Kono had not sent a strong attack along the ridge. If I stay here and the Kono use most of their men to attack below, my father will be vastly outnumbered and eventually fall. But if I abandon my control of the mountain and the Kono are waiting for me to leave, we will all be massacred when the Kono come pouring out of the mountains behind me. Ultimately, he decided he had to trust the skill of his scouts. They had tracked deer and bear in these woods since infancy, and he would rely on their reports.