Novel Bin Chapter 85 - A Storm
Scouts were always stationed, keeping an eye out for any movement of the Oda army, waiting for the moment those banners began to descend that steep hill of theirs.
Of course, Oda was well aware of all the eyes on him. And when he had decided to move – according to the history books – they were not even made aware that he had gone. He covered an army of strawmen in armour, and planted their banners firmly in the ground, before seemingly disappearing into the mist.
But what you might call magic, is simply a trick. And a good magic trick involved misdirection. And as it happened, the gods were seemingly on his side.
"The sky darkens."
Gengyo commented, as he instructed the men through various drills.
Huge grey clouds clawed their way across the blue sky, sullying the beautiful colour. In a country, on the other side of the world, such a sight would have been lamented, for all they knew were grey skies and drizzly rain. Yet here, when the heat was as cruel as it was, the announcement that there would be a little rain was met with cheers, for it meant things were likely to cool down.
The rest of the men looked up, just in time to see a cloud reach out over the sun.
"Looks like rain."
Niiro muttered. He was not as much of a fan of the wetness as the rest, and did not relish the idea of walking around in sodden clothing.
The sky flashed with a bright light, before immediately growing dark again. And then, a few seconds later, the low growl of an angry dog by the name of Thunder was uttered.
The men knew themselves to be in for a storm, but did their best to ignore it as the young commander had not given the order for them to go inside. Seemingly, he wished for them to continue.
The first fat droplet hit the ground heavily, instantly being absorbed greedily by the dry, cracked earth.
To them, it was merely rain, but to him, it signified a far bolder plan that was being set in motion.
’So, your advance begins, does it Nobunaga?’
He thought, as a smile begin to decorate his face. A certain thrill was present in his heart for what he knew would be an exciting fight. It would be an odd one as well, for he commanded far fewer men than Oda Nobunaga – but he supposed, in all, he might be said to have the advantage as the army he was a part of was truly ginormous. Yet, he could not rely on them in the least.
His true advantage lay in his knowledge of when, and how the attack would be carried out. He was not aware of the day, but he was certainly aware of the conditions. A thunderstorm on one day in June, as Imagawa and his army sat camp within the gorge of Dengaku-hazama. And each of them had been met.
In waiting, and standing siege, they had allowed the smaller army to play the role of a sneaky cat. So, was that the wrong decision? Perhaps. But Gengyo did not concern himself with whether it was the wrong or right decision – he had no say in that. He simply had to act to make that plan work.
"Are we going to keep training in this, lad?"
Nakatane asked, seeing the rain begin to come down heavier.
"Aye, it will do us good."
Gengyo responded, joining among the ranks of men, showing that he was not about to cower in the face of measly water.
They accepted his decision, and put more heart into training, now that the young man had framed it as a test of their character. No man wished to be the first to fall in the face of simple drizzle.
And then the great bladder of the clouds seemed to contract, and the rainfall became heavier, more akin to rifle fire. The droplets were thick as well, and within a mere few minutes of standing there, they were soaked.
It was uncomfortable, but it was necessary. He would rather be soaked now than dead later.
The men gritted their teeth, and did not complain, even as the cold started to seep in. The cold inspired by the elements was nothing compared to the freezing chill inflicted by fear.
Not that their complaints would have been heard had they tried to speak them. The rainfall was far too loud for that. They were a sight to behold, as they stood there, all that remained of the initial 150. The Special Forces donned their black armour and helmets, which looked even more fearsome with the droplets of rain that ran off it.
As one, they thrust out with their spears – not a single one of them lagging behind – they sliced through the fat globules of water with authority, unflinching as the droplets began to run down their faces and into their eyes. Men, and commanders, stood as one, bearing the weight of the discomfort together.
It was symbolic, but not in a way they could understand. It was meaningful – extremely so – to the larger picture.
If Oda were to burst from the trees then and there, and see such men waiting to face him, it would have caused even him to pause. Even the grand unifier of Japan would have to take a deep breath, and calm himself, faced with such unwavering discipline.
They did not know it, but they were already facing off against an enemy. On the other side of the forest, by now, Oda’s men would be standing in position, waiting. They thought this to be mere practise, mere drills, but they were already engaged in combat.
It was a waiting game, and two commanders – very different in origin, and very different in the number of the men they commanded – faced off, waiting for the same signal.
Civilized man had, from the beginning of time, sought to subdue nature, to make it bend toward their will. Yet here they were, waiting. The outcome of the battle dependent entirely upon the signals of nature.
"AWOO!"
They thrust out once more, splintered an imaginary army to pieces.
His heart began to beat faster as he felt the slightest change within the weight of the rainfall. So slight, that he wondered whether he had imagined it. His grip on the spear tightened, as time slowed, and his mind was filled with anticipation.
"Oda-sama, our time draws near! I shall ready the men."
A man spoke to his leader from within the darkness of the forest. A young man, in his mid-twenties nodded. This was likely the biggest battle of his career, and one would expect to see a trace of nervousness upon that youthful face of his.
But instead, as he led one of the most ambitious military charges in history, he wore a mask of stoicism that seemed like the epitome of reliability. Not all the men who fought under him today did so willingly, but even those that disliked the man would have to bow low – very low indeed – to truly give his courage its due.
He sat upon his brown mare, unmoving, as the water drizzled down his face. In one hand, he held the hilt of his sword, and in the other, he embraced the golden broach of the Oda flower, that his father had gifted him on his death bed.
He acknowledged the beating of his heart. He acknowledged it’s rapid pace. He acknowledged his nervousness. And to each, he did not resist. He did not try to rid himself of the anxious quiver. He merely accepted them. He knew them to be symptoms of a healthy body.
’What would I be if I did not feel nervousness, right now, in this moment?’
He thought to himself, feeling the rainfall begin to lessen. The vibrations upon his armour grew fewer in number, and his grasp upon his sword grew tighter. Waiting under his command were 2,500 men, each ready to move forward should he give them the word. It was a responsibility that few could bear.
’Father... The Oda clan will not die today.’
He made that firm promise, and unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, raising it high into the air, directing his men forward, as he spurred his horse into motion.
Soon, he was moving. Time went so slowly that it seemed remarkable that he was so suddenly in motion. His body felt odd, apprehensive of the danger ahead, and it took a conscious effort for him to calm his mind.
His mounted men followed behind, swiftly, whilst men armed with matchlocks and katana made haste to bring up the rear.
They charged through the forest, nearing the narrow gorge, expertly swerving to avoid any trees that got in their way.
Gengyo heard the sound of approaching hooves, and his smile would have widened, but what he had been waiting for had still yet to arrive.
’...’
His mind went black. Everything should have been set in motion perfectly. Had he judged their character incorrectly? No. He hadn’t, surely not. Still, the anxiety remained, as the sound of galloping hooves became audible to the rest of the men, who were silently practising with their spear.
Had they not been engaged in their drunken antics, the whole camp might have heard it too.
"...Hooves."
Nakatane breathed lightly, wondering whether they belonged to friend or foe. Seeing the expression etched upon the young retainers face, he thought it might well be the latter.
"Miura... Do my ears deceive me?"
"They do not, Niwa-san. Those are the hooves of the approaching Oda army, 2500 strong. And yet we, a mere 130, stand in their way."
The men heard his words, and gulped. But they did not show cowardice – the opposite was done. They held their spears ever more firmly, resuming the position that they had spent the entire afternoon practising. The bow ashigaru assumed their position behind the spearmen, aiming their bows at the ready.
"How are we meant to deal with this... The rest are not prepared for battle. We’ll be slaughtered."
He analysed the current situation, and reached that conclusion, speaking it calmly.
His young retainer did not reply, and soon light was cast upon the approaching men, and a mass of armed warriors were revealed.
They neared the edge of the treeline, and the Niwa army held their position firmly. It would be a lie to say they did not feel fear, but none gave way to thoughts of fleeing.
Fmmmm...FWOOSSSHHHHHH
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
The sound of a line of oil giving birth to flame. The sound of caskets of gunpowder exploding one after another. The sound of the forest becoming a field of a hell.
"...With chaos, Niwa-san."
Gengyo whispered, his words drowned out by the chaotic noises, as the fire reflected off his eyes, and he caught sight of the leading man. Their gazes met, and with a wall of fire between them, Miura Tadakata became acquainted with the Daimyo of the Owari province, and leader of the Oda clan – Oda Nobunaga.
//Author’s Note
Battle time fellas.