A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

In the Matsudaira camp, they had spent the entire morning - and early afternoon - training. But as the thunderstorm storm drew in, the commander had looked up at the dark, heavy clouds, and judged that then would be a good time for a break – he did not want the gunpowder to grow wet.

And so they had gathered within their tents, escaping the worst of the rain, as they sat exhausted, glad of the chance to be able to sit down and get something to eat.

Though, they had been made to remain armed, for training would resume once the rain had lessened – and many found themselves wishing that it never would.

Their commander was a serious man, and seemed to take personal offence whenever they gave something less than their maximum effort. He expected the best from them at all times, and drilled them ruthlessly.

But when it came time for them to unwind, he was one of the men, and took the time to eat with them by the warm fires, learning more about those that served under him. This fostered a comradery that was unusual for such a large army, and despite all that he expected of them, they still strove not to let him down.

He strolled through the camp now, since that rain had lessened, and greeted the various men that he passed.

"Ah, Arai, you’re still smiling! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look unhappy. Got any tips for a grumpy old man?"

The men responded unguardedly to the commander’s playful questioning, knowing that he would not take offence no matter how savagely they joked.

"I reckon the secret is not thinking boss, Arai is missing a good bit of kit upstairs!"

One of Arai’s friends responded on his behalf, and all the men shared a laugh, Arai includeInsteading of growing upset, his smile only widened, and he agreed with his friend.

"’Tis true I reckon."

He said good naturedly.

It was the kind of reaction that was typical of the men of the Matsudaira army. Within them, Matsudaira had deliberately fostered an easy going nature, that had begun at the top with his patience and leniency toward his officers. He felt great distaste for the behaviour of the Imagawa councilmen, where they would openly snap at one another for the smallest of reasons, and do everything they could to extract even the smallest amount of pleasure from making someone elses day worse.

He actively punished anyone that stepped out of line in that regard. He had taught his officers to follow his ethos, and if a recruit struggled to keep up with the training, then they would be spoken to, but their words were not to contain malice. Things were to be kept friendly, anything else was unneeded.

The behaviour of the officers, and the relaxed attitude they let off soon rubbed off onto the soldiers, as they were able to deal with the stressful task of learning new techniques without the fear of being torn apart by the fellow men should they fall behind.

He had done this simply because he judged it to be ideal, and was the kind of environment he wished to be a part of. But, outside of his predictions, it also yielded good results on the battlefield, as was noticeable within the siege of Marine.

The comraderee that the men had soon lead to an increased morale, and a calmness in the face of danger, as they employed the mindset that they had adopted during training – that of patience, and steady work.

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

As he spoke with a group of his men, they had heard the distant sounds of explosions. It was different to that of the gunfire that they had grown so used to – not that it would be common to hear gunfire anyway, as theirs was the only army under Imagawa that employed matchlocks.

The men stiffened, knowing it to be serious. Matsudaira responded calmly, turning to one of the officers that had accompanied him.

"Gather the men. We shall investigate that noise as though it was the sound of enemy gunfire. It does not matter if it turns out not to be – it’ll be good practise for getting our formations right."

He ordered, offering answers to the man’s questions before he could even give voice to them. That was another one of the reasons why the unit was so tightly knit – the officers were always kept in the know, and informed officers meant informed and reassured men.

"Sir!"

He bowed stiffly at the waist before turning and running at a jog to begin the assembly.

"Do you think it’s really enemy gunfire, boss?"

One of the men asked, curious. It had certainly not sounded like it.

Matsudaira shrugged, answering honestly.

"I’m not sure, but we will certainly find out. Are you ready for a fight?"

The man flexed his arm, patting his bicep, as if to demonstrate his strength.

"It’s them who’ll need to be ready!"

The other men was nodding. None of them felt apprehensive about the thought of a battle. Whatever forces the enemy had would likely be numerically inferior to theirs. Also, they were confident in their training, and were ready to demonstrate the power of the matchlock.

Matsudaira patted his shoulder.

"That’s exactly the right attitude. We’ll be sure to crush them."

With that, he turned and walked back to his tent, throwing on his battle armour, before mounting his horse and riding toward the front of his men who were all ready and waiting.

He was a cautious man, and had them march forward in a defensive formaton, with veteran yari units covering both wings incase of a flanking attempt, and experienced men covering their rear. Making up the centre were 1000 matchlock wielders, each holding a loaded rifle that was ready to unleash death with the slightest pull of the trigger.

By now Oda was nearing Okabe’s camp – or atleast, what remained of it. His men galloped behind him furiously, driving their horses to the limits, as the infantry behind them were ran ragged, attempting to catch up.

Bordering each camp were streams that had to be leapt over, but they were no problem for the horses.

They burst through the ranks of tents – sometimes even through the tents themselves, sending them crashing to the floor – and fanned out across the vast area that the camp covered.

Those foolish enough to move slowly let out screams as they were cut down. Some attempted to run, but their end proved no different, only the sword cut open their backs rather than slicing through their fronts.

The cavalry did not slow in the least as they levelled the campsite to the ground, hacking down all that stood in their way. Any men that they did not manage to kill would be dealt with by the infantry that came behind them, so none of them changed their course to give chase.

One thing was obscenely obvious after just moments of being inside the camp: they had been somewhat prepared for their coming. Only around 2000 men were left behind, which was far below how many they expected to find.

Some of them were fully armoured, and others were barely dressed. But all of them were running in the same direction.

’They were warned...’

Nobunaga cursed. But by who? The fire was too far away from them to see, and the distant explosions would not have been enough to catch their attention. A rider could not have been sent, as they would have taken longer to mobilize due to the horses being unsaddled and resting.

Who then?

A face flashed inside Nobunaga’s head.

’Him? That man in black? It’s possible... But how would he know that I would come here?’

He questioned himself, before realizing that such an answer was obvious: it was the closest camp to Okabe’s. Even an idiot would be able to guess where he might head next.

He vented his frustration by slaying yet another man, the blood splattering over his horse’s flank. The moist soil beneath those four hooves splattered everywhere, reeking havoc as the clumps flew toward the eyes of the hors.e.m.e.n behind him.

But they had grown used to such trivialities, and did not even flinch as it splashed against their men-yoroi. They merely did as their Daimyo demonstrated, and ended the lives of yet more men.

He gently directed his horse to follow a curving path as they turned, the arrowhead of men behind him followed splendidly. That was the beauty of such a formation. It allowed the outmost men to have one eye on their commander at all times, so that movement alterations could be done swiftly.

He followed the path the masses fled by, hacking down all that came before him as they cried out in terror.

Matsudaira’s decision to move was confirmed to be the right one, as they soon caught sight of the towering inferno that licked at the heels of the surrounding trees, threatening to burn them to the ground.

The smoke hung in the air like a thick mist, and it was immensely uncomfortable to walk through – disorientating as well – and they could not see Imagawa’s camp until they stumbled inside it.

To the commander’s surprise, the inside of the camp was chaotic, as men charged about, arming themselves. He had expected such preparations to have been completed far earlier than they were, and still, he had yet to catch sight of Imagawa.

He shook his head lightly at the incompetence of the man he was forced to serve, sparing a glance back toward the wall of flame. If not for that, he wagered, the camp would have already been razed to the ground by the attacking forces.

He wondered why the enemy had not decided to do that in the first place, instead of sowing the seeds of chaos with that massive fire of theirs, and the many explosions. Though, he supposed that in the end, the advantage would still be with the enemy, as they would not doubt be causing havoc elsewhere.

He held a degree of respect for Oda, who had - despite his numbers - not showed the slightest signs of weakness, and was now causing such fear and damage among the ranks of an enemy that far out numbered himself.

On that thought, Imagawa emerged, clad in his heavy battle armour that had been custom designed by a talented armourer, so that the chest piece would be able to make it’s way around his hefty stomach.

His elite guard rode out in front of him, a huge square shield covering more than half their bodies. Their primary purpose was to protect Imagawa from harm – which included projectile damage – and so they acted basically as a mobile wall that would encircle him at all times. The conditions of their role were so absolute, that they were forbidden to carry a weapon, and only had their shields. This was to dissuade any attempts at breaking formation to slay the enemy, and so that they might stay by their Daimyo’s side at all times.

In truth, it looked a little ridiculous, and he was embarrassed to be on the battlefield beside it. He doubted Oda would be surrounded by an elite guard, though he likely still stood near the rear, so that he might deliver orders more effectively.

The camp was filled with smoke, and the men struggled to breathe. Their gut instinct lead them to form up at the far end of the camp, where Matsudaira and his men were already ready and waiting.

Their unstable disposition that was so full of anxiety contrasted against that of Matsudaira’s men who – despite the heat – remained as cool as ice, as though they had been faced with a similar situation thousands of times.

It was a difference in philosophies, he supposed. Most men were trained to deal with certain situations extremely well. Yet he trained his to deal with everything in a calm and disciplined manner, no matter what it might be.

//Author’s Note

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