The Red Wind from the South
July 1592. The sun blazed mercilessly hot. But the heat at the Damyang inn burned even fiercer.
"One, two! One, two! Step in time, you lazy slugs!"
The open field behind the inn, converted into a training ground. Choi Ga's bellows drowned out even the cicadas' cries.
"Argh! Mercy, boss!" "My legs are cramping up!"
The recruits screamed as they stretched their legs wide. Word of the victories at Ichi Pass and Geumsan Castle had drawn able-bodied men from every corner of the land. Added to the existing forces, they now numbered a thousand in total. Bandit dropouts, deserters from the regular army, farmhands, even failed exam scholars—their backgrounds varied wildly, but now they all wore the same bright red pants dyed crimson, rolling in the dirt.
I lounged on a mat under the shaded canopy, savoring the fan breeze Mi-ryeong wafted my way as I took in the hellish spectacle. A cool omija tea cooled my mouth.
"Good. Real good. Those screams are hearty—they'll earn their keep."
"Uncle, isn't that too harsh? Their legs are gonna snap at this rate."
Mi-ryeong gazed at the training ground with worried eyes. Even to a fifteen-year-old girl, it looked brutal.
"Nah, it's fine. A split leg won't kill 'em. Better than getting your gut sliced open by a Japanese blade on the battlefield."
I chewed on some jerky and sat up. The past three months, since the great victory at Hansando, the Japanese had gone quiet as mice. With sea routes blocked and land supplies cut, they hunkered down to catch their breath.
It had bought us precious time. But I knew this peace was the calm before the storm. The hungrier they got, the more desperate their next assault would be.
"Speaking of, where's Na Dae-yong? Haven't seen him since breakfast."
"He's at the forge. Hasn't eaten, just wrestling with the Hyunmu wheels all morning."
"Figures. Probably cooking up some crazy scheme."
I tucked Mi-suk at my waist and headed to the forge. Hammers rang on iron, chisels scraped wood.
"No! Not enough spring! For mountain paths, it has to absorb shocks! If the cannon bolts loosen, we're all dead!"
Na Dae-yong hurled a blueprint aside, yelling. Dark circles hung to his jawline, hair a wild mess. The spitting image of a mad scientist.
"Easy there, brother. You'll pop a vein."
"You're here. Listen up."
He grabbed my hand the second he saw me. Sweat and iron stench hit like a wave.
"Log wheels are fine on flat ground, but on gravel or hills? Death traps. Every jolt transfers straight to the cannon—barrel warps, bolts fly loose. We'll blow ourselves up before firing a shot."
He showed me a shattered wheel fragment. Oak splintered under the Hyunmu's armored weight. It had crumbled climbing a mountain at Ichi.
"So I puzzled all night and found the fix."
Na Dae-yong beamed, pointing to Hyunmu No. 4's undercarriage. A strange device clung to the axle.
"Check this. Know what I sandwiched between the axle and frame?"
Thin wooden planks layered thick there.
"Added ash wood plates to the shock absorbers (iron and bamboo). Picked the springiest ones, stacked 'em high. They eat the shocks when iron wheels bounce—'wood springs,' I call 'em."
"Whoa... impressive."
"Not done yet. Look at the cannon base."
Black, tough material lined the platform underside.
"Thick cowhide (ox leather), soaked in oil. Four layers fixed tight. Kills the little vibrations from firing or wheels hitting rocks. Cushions the iron's hardness."
"...You're a goddamn genius."
"Hold on—the best part."
Na Dae-yong pointed to the wheels.
"Originally, one long axle linked both sides. One wheel hits a rock, whole cart twists. So..."
The axle split front and rear wheels, flexible wooden beams bridging them.
"Independent axles front and back, linked by springy beams. One wheel drops in a rut, cart stays level. Slithers like a snake. 'Four-wheel independent suspension,' my name for it."
I was speechless. Wood springs, leather pads, independent suspension. The pinnacle of Joseon-era shocks.
"Leather blocks wheel hardness, weight spreads over four wheels, ash grabs the shakes... Holy shit, this is insane."
"What do you think? Mountain roads'll feel like walking on clouds. Bet it whets your appetite."
Na Dae-yong grinned smugly.
"Problem's cash. Ash wood and cowhide? Money's bleeding out. One wheel costs an ox."
Na Dae-yong sighed. A sharp voice cut from behind.
"Don't sweat the money. I handled it."
Seo Baek-seol. She dragged a cart in, sweating buckets. It overflowed with jewels.
"What's all this?"
"What else? 'Special security fees.'"
She wiped sweat, smirking.
"Refugee yangban keep pouring in on rumors. They pay 'Kim Deok-ryeong protection zone' entry fees willingly. Desperate to live, they empty pouches—some lord even stripped his concubine's silver pins and tassels."
"Damn... you're a devil. Respect, boss lady."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
Money, tech, manpower. Yiho Company thrived amid war. Knowing peace wouldn't last, we prepared fiercer.
Time passed. Chuseo came and went; September arrived. Fields yellowed with ripe rice, cool winds chilled mornings and evenings.
Harvest season. War season. Japanese had to move or starve.
One late night, sleep evaded me. I polished Mi-suk in the yard. Ebony gleamed blood-red under moonlight.
Knock knock.
Urgent yet restrained knocks at the gate.
"Who is it."
"It's me, Commander. Mi-ryeong."
Mi-ryeong. Past bedtime. I opened the gate; her face was ashen, clutching red-sealed letters—not a teacup.
"Come in. What's up?"
She bolted the door inside.
"Intel came in. From heart informants in Namwon and Gurye."
She unrolled a map on the table.
"Weird Japanese moves in Gyeongsang. Scattered units converging."
"Converging where?"
"Changwon, Gimhae, Haman... arrows point here."
Her slim finger stabbed the map.
Jinju Castle.
"Jinju..."
I muttered.
"Don't know names, but flags galore. 'Horizontal bar with three stars,' 'nine stars,' 'plum blossom'—dozens of units massing."
I matched flags in my head. Horizontal bar three stars (): Mori clan. Nine stars (): Hosokawa. Plum (): Maeda. Only Ukita Hideie could muster these daimyo.
"Troop count?"
"At least thirty thousand? 'Mountains moving.' Could be more."
Thirty thousand. Breath caught. Ichi's thousand, Geumsan's two thousand—different league.
"Why Jinju?"
"Gateway to Honam. Breach it, and Jeolla's granaries fall; Yi Sun-sin's rear exposed. They're starving now."
Mi-ryeong nailed it. No girl—seasoned strategist.
"Good work. Round up the officers. Emergency."
Soon, key figures gathered in the inner quarters. 2 a.m. war council.
"Thirty thousand?! Insane!"
Choi Ga shrieked. Na Dae-yong bit his lip silent. Seo Baek-seol gnawed nails.
"Reality. They're all-in to break supply lines."
I slammed the map.
"Two choices. Hole up in Damyang till they come. Or hit first, block 'em."
"Wait, obviously! Plains against thirty thou? Annihilation!"
Choi Ga jumped. Seo Baek-seol chimed.
"Right. We're not regulars—why bleed in Gyeongsang? Block here if Jinju falls."
"Wrong."
I shook my head.
"Jinju falls, we're done. Thirty thou with momentum? Damyang's ash in a day. Wait for fire in your yard? Or stop it at the gate?"
"But... we got just a thousand."
"That's why we go. Kim Si-min's at Jinju. Link up, we got a shot. And..."
I eyed Na Dae-yong.
"We got Hyunmu."
Na Dae-yong nodded slow.
"Aye. This 'Hyunmu' carves paths through thirty thou. Mountains? Wood springs and leather buffers hold."
"Decide. Go or no?"
Eyes on me. I gripped Heuk-mi-suk.
"We go. Smash their noses flat."
"Got it! Let's do this!"
Choi Ga balled fists. Seo Baek-seol sighed, already listing supplies.
"Rice, powder—all of it. Three thousand onigiri for the road."
Next dawn. Yiho Army thousand strong, four Hyunmu lined the yard.
Three months: dung hauls, iron tots, rice guzzles—for this day. Leaner, muscled, eyes alive. Real soldiers.
"Move out!"
My command launched the advance.
Damyang to Jinju. Over Jirisan foothills—brutal trek. Flatland: day or two. Hauling tons of Hyunmu? Hell.
But Na Dae-yong's genius shone.
"Whoa! No bouncing!"
Over rutted gravel, Hyunmu glided. Wood springs swayed shocks; leather damped vibes.
"Push! Harder!"
"Heave-ho!"
Mud traps: dozens heaved. I slung Mi-suk, shouldered Hyunmu's rear. Muscles ballooned, veins popped.
"Commander... gonna die..."
Choi Ga gaped.
"No dying talk. Slack here, Jinju folk die."
Refugee lines en route: wretched. More near Jinju.
Women barefoot with babes, boys carting lame elders. Eyes: terror, hunger.
"Aigoo... soldiers! Where to?!" "Japs coming! Mountains black with 'em!"
They called us mad—walking into hellfire we fled.
I met their gazes. Shared onigiri, asked.
"Jinju status?"
"Surrounded! Not a ant escapes! Kim Si-min barred gates, holding—but how long..."
Three days nonstop. Blisters burst, shoulders flayed—no stragglers.
At last. Pass crest: Jinju Castle.
"......"
Breath stopped.
Japanese camps ringed it. Red, black, yellow flags choked plains. Thirty thousand's visual crush: beyond imagining.
Faint drums from walls. Not fallen. Kim Si-min held.
But siege ironclad. Layered stockades, trenches. Cavalry patrolled gaps.
"Commander... punch through that?"
Choi Ga paled. Frontal? Impossible. No ant gap.
I stroked Hyunmu. Cold iron. Springy wood beneath.
"Not punch."
I opened the rear hatch, gripped handles.
"Smash in."
I bellowed outside.
"All units! Charge prep!"
Four Hyunmu crested slope abreast. Gravity's sprint.
"Show 'em. Joseon's Xiang Yu delivers!"
I stomped, shoved Hyunmu.
Rumble—
Metal behemoths churned dust, thundering at Japanese rear.
"Nanda yo? (What the—?!)"
Turning Japanese eyes reflected hell's tank legion.
October 1592. Heart of First Battle of Jinju Castle. We weren't saviors.
We were the calamity. The Japanese calamity.