Shadows of the Crane Wing
July 1592. Joseon's summer was brutally hot.
Even standing still, sweat poured down in streams, and wearing a thick padded bulletproof vest—layered cotton armor—made it sheer hell. The sweat trickling down his back and soaking into the crack of his ass was the absolute worst.
"It's hot as hell, Commander. Do we really have to wear this? I'm gonna steam to death."
Choi Ga, lying prone beside him, lolled his tongue out, panting. His face was flushed red like a ripe persimmon.
"If you don't wanna die, keep it on. Jap matchlocks burn hotter than this weather."
He replied in a low voice, eyes fixed forward.
This was a forested cliff on the coast overlooking Gyeonnaeryang strait, between Geoje Island and Tongyeong in Gyeongsang Province. Amid the deafening screech of cicadas, one hundred elite Yiho Army troops lay in ambush, holding their breath.
Why had they come all the way to this southern tip instead of Geumsan Castle?
Simple reason. Today, right here, a massive battle that would decide Joseon's fate was about to unfold.
A few days earlier, Mi-ryeong had brought shocking intel.
"Uncle, big trouble. Word is the Jap fleet's massing at Gyeonnaeryang. The scale... it's enormous."
Wakizaka Yasuharu. The famed Japanese commander who'd crushed 50,000 Joseon troops with just 1,600 at the Battle of Okpo. His elite navy of over seventy ships was targeting the waters off Hansando.
That's the bastard. The one who made Governor Lee Gwang waste 50,000 men.
When Jeolla Governor Lee Gwang offered him a coastal defense post and urged him to march north together, he'd refused flat-out. Knowing the future, he couldn't shove his elites into that obvious deathtrap.
Thanks to you, I survived, Wakizaka. And today, I'll repay that debt right here.
Admiral Yi Sun-sin planned to lure them into open waters and annihilate them.
The Battle of Hansando.
That legendary clash from the history books was nearly upon them.
He'd immediately selected Yiho Army elites and raced here. Their job was straightforward: when the battered survivors crawled ashore to escape the sea, cut them down. Operation Cleanup.
"Bro, this really happening today?"
He asked Na Dae-yong beside him.
Gone was his usual calm; the man fidgeted, gnawing his nails.
"Yes. The messenger from the Left Naval Command confirmed it. Today's the decisive battle."
Na Dae-yong's gaze locked on the sea, a mix of anxiety and anticipation in his eyes.
No wonder. A month ago, they'd stripped Jeonju Castle of massive stockpiles of wrought iron and gunpowder. And the perfected iron plates he'd hammered out night after night like pounding rice cakes—they'd all gone to Yeosu.
"Left Naval Command had hulls ready, but armoring them was dragging on. Our finished plates cut construction time in half."
Na Dae-yong clenched his fist.
"My babies... The ships I designed sleepless nights away, calibrating angles and balance. Finally seeing the light of day. Will they move just as I planned...?"
The materials from Deok-ryeong and Na Dae-yong hadn't gone to waste. Left Naval Command's craftsmen used them to complete the legendary beast: the fully armored turtle ship.
The father of the turtle ship, Na Dae-yong. For him, this battle wasn't just a fight. It was the moment of truth for his life's work.
"But bro, you sure it's okay sticking with me?"
He changed the subject, glancing at Na Dae-yong. Technically, the man was Admiral Yi's staff officer. Was it right for him to be here?
Na Dae-yong grinned and waved it off.
"Don't worry. General Jeong Geol's at Left Naval Command. Older than me, a ship expert—the father of the panokseon.
"Helping you finish the land turtle ships is how I aid the admiral. Sea's for Jeong Geol and Yi Sun-sin. Land's for us. Perfect, right?"
"Perfect."
He chuckled. Yeah. Everyone doing their best in their place.
"No sweat, bro. Your designs are flawless. Unbeatable."
He reassured him, pulling out the cheolligyeong—a telescope—from his bosom. Seo Baek-seol had bought it from a Ming merchant for a fortune. Lenses weren't great, but better than naked eye.
He extended it and scanned the sea.
"Here they come."
Tension rippled through the group. Even the cicadas seemed to hush.
Far off, in the narrow Gyeonnaeryang channel, a forest of masts appeared. Dense as trees.
One, two, three... ten... twenty... fifty... Couldn't count them. Easily over seventy ships—a massive fleet.
Flags emblazoned with "Jap" whipped in the wind. Decks swarmed with matchlock- and spear-armed troops like ants.
Wakizaka Yasuharu's armada. Intimidating. Huge ships, overwhelming numbers. They blackened the sea, explaining why Joseon's navy had fled in fear.
"Whoa... what the hell is all that? They covered the ocean."
Choi Ga muttered, awestruck. Landlubber thugs rarely saw ships; this scale would cow anyone.
Soldiers nearby buzzed.
"Can our navy beat that? Outnumbered bad."
"Shouldn't we bail too?"
Defeatism. The real enemy.
He lowered the telescope and turned to them.
"Don't pussy out."
His voice was calm but firm.
"Numbers don't win battles. And right now, they're rats in a trap."
"Trap? Sea's wide open."
"Watch. The admiral'll serve 'em up sashimi-style. Nice and neat."
Then it happened. A few Joseon panokseon appeared at Gyeonnaeryang's mouth. Five or six—tiny fleet.
Pathetic next to the Japs. Like a kid facing a giant.
"Waaaaah!"
Jap cheers echoed even here. Like hyenas spotting prey, their ships accelerated, oars thumping.
"Whoa? Our guys are running?"
"They're done for! Too slow!"
Yiho troops stomped in frustration.
But he saw it. The panokseon weren't fleeing full tilt.
Just close enough to tease, baiting them.
"Not running—luring. Ever fish? Big catch needs good bait."
The panokseon slipped out of the narrow strait into open waters off Hansando, drawing the Japs along.
Wakizaka's fleet chased eagerly. Breaking into open sea, they spread out to encircle, arrogance radiating. Sails full, like hawks diving on prey.
That instant.
Dong—dong—dong—
Heavy drums shook the sea. Heart-pounding bass.
Fleeing panokseon wheeled about. Joseon's main fleet emerged from island cover.
One, two, three... Massive panokseon in a line.
Not straight. Wings spread wide, cradling the Jap fleet.
Long lines flanking left and right. A giant crane unfolding its wings.
Crane Wing Formation.
"Whoa..."
An involuntary gasp escaped him. Seeing that textbook tactic live. A perfect semicircle on the water, embracing the Japs. Death's hug.
The Jap fleet faltered, panicked. Too deep in. Retreat cut off, front and flanks in cannon range.
At the formation's heart, panokseon parted. Two strange ships surged forward.
No flat decks. Rounded roofs spiked with iron bolts, gleaming black armor in the sun.
Dragon heads on prows.
Turtle ships.
"Th-that's...!"
Na Dae-yong choked up, yelling.
"Look at her move! That stability slicing waves! My balance calculations nailed it! Agile even armored heavy!"
Overcome, he gripped his arm.
"Gunports, rower protection... Exactly to my blueprints! No—real thing's better! And see your plates shining! That was the final masterstroke perfecting my design!"
Pride of the designer, gratitude to his partner.
The turtle ships charged fearless. Dragon mouths belching red smoke into the enemy center.
"Showtime."
He stowed the telescope, gripped his Misuk.
Tension crackled over the sea. Calm before the storm.
He could almost see Admiral Yi's hand rise.
"Admiral. Board is set."
He muttered to the sea.
"Now drown the bastards. We'll wait here with the nets."
Kwaang!
First cannon roar. The curtain rose on the Battle of Hansando.