The Tiger and the Dragon
While Yi Sun-sin was mopping up the remnants of Hideyoshi and Ieyasu’s forces in the Tono-no-Seto Strait, Hwang Jin and Jeong Yeo-lip were chasing down the shattered remnants of Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin.
Shingen watched his foam-flecked horse gasping for breath and glanced over his shoulder. The Joseon troops that had appeared out of nowhere were still firing without pause as they closed in.
“Damn it all!”
He spat a curse and yanked on the reins. The animal could not last much longer. If it collapsed now, he would die without accomplishing anything.
“That cannot happen.”
Grinding his teeth until they creaked, he wheeled his mount around. The night before, he had sent every soldier forward exactly as he had promised Oda Nobunaga, confident of victory. Yet the moment his men crossed the Ota River and approached the enemy, something had risen into the sky and blazed with light. The startled troops wavered, but the barrier troops drove them on; retreat would mean no second chance.
As expected, the men reached the foot of the mountain. They pushed through the hail of bullets, using roots and slopes for cover, and closed the distance. Victory had seemed within reach. The enemy possessed only guns and short swords; once the long-sword troops leapt into their lines, the battle would be over. It would be like charging straight into a line of matchlockmen.
Then the nightmare began.
A thunderous explosion erupted, and from several points the enemy spewed long tongues of flame. At the same instant, a tremendous blast of fire engulfed the densely packed slope. The men could do nothing but scream in agony. The horror did not end there. Burning soldiers tumbled down the slope, tangling with those behind them. The entire valley burst into flame. Every soldier turned and fled. Even the reserves waiting in the rear threw down their weapons and scattered in all directions.
Shingen had no choice but to flee with his personal guard. Staying meant capture. Escape proved no easier. Once clear of the battlefield, the world turned pitch black. He had hoped to use the darkness for an ambush, yet it only hampered his own movements. Lighting torches was impossible; the enemy would be upon them at once. Forced to follow the Ota River upstream, they trudged across sucking sandbanks until the horses were spent.
Just as he thought it was over, light spread from the east. Dawn had arrived. From the west came the roar of Joseon troops in pursuit. He had been told there were no enemy forces in that direction.
“Curse it! I should never have gotten involved.”
He had joined the campaign after hearing Oda Nobunaga’s boasts of superior strategy, confident that the Joseon army, armed with guns, numbered no more than thirty thousand. There had been another plan as well: once the war ended, he would join forces with Uesugi Kenshin to strike Oda Nobunaga and divide the realm between them. That alone would have been profit enough. He had judged it wiser not to overextend against Joseon if he could simply split the country in two. So he had gathered every nearby daimyo and marched with an army of fifty thousand each, enough to match the hundred thousand men Oda Nobunaga had promised to field.
All of it had ended in mutual self-deception. Against the Joseon army’s overwhelming firepower, only three thousand cavalry remained; everything else was lost.
Shingen turned his horse and studied the approaching Joseon troops.
“What the hell is that?”
He had always believed a commander should wear splendid armor, yet these men did not. They were all dressed in identical black uniforms and yellowish vests, making it impossible to tell who led them. Still, one figure stood out unmistakably: a giant whose warhorse looked like a pony beside him. When the man raised his hand, the troops behind him halted and spread left and right into a crane-wing formation.
Shingen pushed past his retainers and muttered, “That must be their commander.”
He wanted to test the man’s strength, not with guns but with steel. Only then would he have no regrets even in death.
“Wait here.”
“My lord!”
“You must not!”
“They have guns!”
Shingen raised a hand to silence their protests.
“This war is already lost. Say no more.”
“But—”
At his glare the retainers lowered their eyes. They knew further protest was useless.
“If I fall, charge at once!”
“““Yes, my lord.”””
They bowed in obedience, yet one man clenched his teeth until his lips bled. It was Anayama Nobutada, Shingen’s son-in-law.
What a madman I followed. If he wishes to die, let him die alone. Why drag every retainer and soldier down with him?
He could not voice the thought. His head would leave his shoulders instantly. He had followed Shingen only because the man had given him his daughter; surely he would not kill his own son-in-law. Yet Shingen was the sort of lord who had once beheaded a valiant general simply for losing a battle. He pretended to be a devout Buddhist only to draw religious factions to his side. He had even driven out his own father to seize power—cruel, merciless, terrifying. Nobutada had never known when death might come, and now it seemed it would come at Shingen’s own hand.
Shingen, oblivious, laughed brightly and spurred his horse forward, reciting the old motto of wind, forest, fire, and mountain.
“Swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce as fire, immovable as a mountain. When we strike—”
“Madman!”
Anayama Nobutada spat the word under his breath. Even with his entire army destroyed, the man could still revel like this. He had clearly lost his mind. Nobutada exchanged glances with the other commanders. The moment their lord fell, they would deal with his loyal retainers and surrender.
The man wearing the demon-mask helmet rode out alone and shouted something. Hwang Jin turned to his interpreter.
“What’s that bastard saying?”
“He challenges you to single combat, sir.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Commander. He wants a duel with real blades, no guns.”
“Hah. Playing games.”
Hwang Jin snorted and handed his machine gun to his adjutant.
“I’ll finish him in one stroke. Wait here.”
“Commander! His Majesty said commanders should not lead charges personally.”
“You expect me to watch that spectacle and do nothing?”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“Didn’t I just say I’d end it in one blow?”
“Ah…”
The adjutant grinned, understanding.
“Anyway, the men are exhausted. Let’s finish this here.”
“Understood, Commander.”
Hwang Jin rode slowly forward. Shingen raised his spear, shouted something, and burst into loud laughter.
“Has he lost his mind?”
It certainly seemed so. For the past three days Hwang Jin had been in Kyushu with the Second Cavalry Division, restoring order until the security forces arrived. This land was nothing like Joseon. Even when villages were ravaged by pirates or Jurchens, Joseon commoners helped one another and shared food. Here, plunder, arson, and rape occurred everywhere. Whenever he found such men, he shot them without mercy; they did not deserve to live.
Three days earlier he had received an urgent summons. The enemy had launched an all-out offensive; reinforcements were needed. He crossed the sea to Shimonoseki, then rode madly over two hundred kilometers of mountain roads to the camp at Mount Ushida where His Majesty was said to be. Along the way he encountered fleeing enemy cavalry. Scouts trailing them reported that the war was already over. Hwang Jin decided to pursue anyway; capturing the fugitives took priority. By the time they reached the enemy, both horses and men were spent. That was why he had stepped forward—to cut down the enemy commander quickly, deal with the rest, and finally rest.
He halted fifty paces from Shingen and drew his bow. The man bellowed and charged with his spear raised.
“Madman.”
Hwang Jin nocked an arrow, drew, and released.
The shaft flew like a streak of light and buried itself in the charging man’s open mouth—an impossible shot that could have threaded a coin. It was over.
When their commander fell, the remaining troops turned on one another briefly, then dismounted and knelt as one.
Jeong Yeo-lip stared in disbelief and let out a hollow laugh.
“What in the world…?”
The captured enemy commander was a woman. The beard glued to her face hung in tatters, and her lower garments were soaked in blood. Yet it was true.
“Is this really the so-called Dragon of Echigo?”
“Yes, Commander. The crest and helmet match the descriptions, though I have never seen her in person.”
“Could someone have taken her place?”
“The expressions on the other commanders suggest otherwise.”
At the king’s order they had set out at dawn to hunt the enemy, but instead of chasing them they had waited at the likely escape route. As expected, the fugitives came down the valley, moving cautiously. Once they passed the hidden scouts, a signal shot rang out from a revolving pistol. The startled horsemen spurred their mounts and galloped straight into the layered wire entanglements waiting ahead. They had been heading for the transport ships at Tono-no-Seto Strait, unaware that Hideyoshi and Ieyasu had already been crushed by Yi Sun-sin after wasting time arguing.
Trapped between mountains, they had planned to sacrifice their rear guard if pursued. Instead they rode into a deathtrap. The lead riders became entangled in the wire and fell with their horses; those behind tried to flee up the slopes only to be shot down by hidden Hwaryeokgun marksmen. Men and animals tumbled together in chaos while gunfire echoed through the valley. Nets flew toward the splendidly armored commanders. In the midst of it all, Kenshin was taken without even having the chance to resist. Only then did the rest kneel, realizing further resistance was pointless.
They had captured an enemy commander no one had expected—and she was a woman. Jeong Yeo-lip shook his head.
“Clean this up quickly and let’s return.”
“Yes, Commander.”
With the enemy commander and the bulk of their cavalry in hand, they saw no need to pursue the scattered infantry.
Even after the battle ended, Yi Yeon remained atop Mount Ushida. The previous night’s tension had left him mentally and physically drained, yet he could not return to his tent. Although the victory had been total, he would wait until the pursuit parties returned. That was a lord’s duty. He had been certain of victory and had therefore prepared traps instead. Still, unease lingered. The numerical disparity had been overwhelming, so he had readied grenades packed with Yonghwa-tan and extra oxidizer. Both man and beast feared fire, and history was full of battles decided by incendiary tactics. This time was no different. The moment the desperate enemy charge met the fire attack, they abandoned everything and fled. The result was horrific. The broad plain at the foot of the slope was carpeted with charred corpses, and the stench hung thick over the land.
Seon Geo-i, one of the inner commanders of the Royal Guard, approached with a commander of the Joseon Eastern Army and bowed.
“Your Majesty, may we begin?”
“Yes. There may be disease. Dispose of them quickly.”
“Understood, Your Majesty!”
Seon Geo-i had brought the Royal Guard to protect the king. With Jeong Yeo-lip gone in pursuit, he had been left in command of the ten thousand Eastern Army troops. While the exhausted Hwaryeokgun rested, the battlefield had to be cleared.
As the field was being policed under his direction, a courier galloped up on a lathered horse. Yi Yeon rose at once; the man’s face was alight with excitement.
“What is it?”
“Your Majesty! Glorious news!”
“Speak.”
“We have found the enemy’s hidden grain stores!”
“What?”
“While searching the mountains across the river we stumbled upon them. The stores lie deep in the forest where the fire never reached, and everything is intact.”
“How much?”
“More than we can measure.”
Yi Yeon had been worried. He planned to use the captured men to open the Kanto Plain and then strike Ming. He had already ordered surplus rice and chickens shipped from Joseon, but there was no telling when they would arrive. The prisoners had to be fed immediately, and he had assumed the enemy’s own rations had burned. Yet here they were, untouched.
“Excellent. Well done.”
“It is nothing, Your Majesty. And there were many large chests containing this.”
The courier drew a fist-sized lump from his robe. Yi Yeon’s eyes widened.
“Is that not silver?”
“Your Majesty! This is silver?”
The courier had clearly never seen it before.
“It is. Go at once and bring everything back.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
They were short of silver anyway. He had already spent one million two hundred fifty thousand nyang to secure mining rights in Liaodong, and every remaining ounce was being converted to gold for the future.