Is This Also Diplomacy?
Was this even diplomacy?
With Fujiwara Yoriyoshi dead, the enemy army began to collapse at terrifying speed.
Boom after boom thundered from the far side of the field, and men were dropping like flies. Who in their right mind would just stand there and watch that happen?
"Aaaagh! I'm running!"
"Spare me! Spare me!"
Soldiers and samurai alike had surely expected some of them to die — but wasn't this a bit much? People scattered in every direction, fleeing for their lives.
"No! Come back!"
"You wretches, where do you think you're going!"
There was no chasing down each and every deserter, and the faces of Hirohito and Michinaga had gone utterly pale.
What kind of war was this? Ten thousand men, at a rough guess, seemed to have died right before their eyes.
And Yoriyoshi, standing all the way back at that distance, had been killed with a single shot.
"Th-this... let us withdraw for now!"
"Withdraw where, pray tell?"
"Back to the estate. Quickly."
Flee or not, they had to return to the estate first and gather up their families and people, didn't they? Hirohito felt a suffocating frustration. How had it come to this?
"Hee hee... heh heh..."
"What is the matter with you?"
"Heeheehee—HAHAHA!"
Hirohito had gone completely mad, muttering to himself as he wandered off alone. Michinaga, left behind, was in no better shape.
He would have to go back to the estate and report the news, of course — but if he returned to the capital, he would lose his head for the responsibility of such an absurd defeat.
It truly had been such a tiny fortress. It should have crumbled in moments...
"Haha. So he's abandoning us."
If he simply vanished, or died somewhere along the way, would everything end as his own personal failure? And would his family survive it? The worry gnawed at him.
What on earth is this situation?
"They all ran away?"
"Looks like it."
"Wait. Then who's supposed to clean all this up?"
"Ah..."
Ugh. Unbelievable... A situation nobody had thought through. Who was she supposed to give this job to? Left out in the open, the stench would get completely out of control.
"Ugh. Even the kids are going to hate this one."
"Ask the villagers. Tell them there's good money in it — we need people to gather the bodies and burn them."
"Yes, ma'am."
They had thrown the bombs from close range at night, so the ground before the fortress was an absolute hellscape. Body fragments scattered everywhere, blood spattered across the walls — if hell had a picture, wouldn't this be it?
"I really hate war."
"Yeah..."
Well, look at that. The bomber's finally growing a conscience?
"I wish we had some kind of burning bomb. Then there wouldn't even be bodies left."
Oh, so it's just the corpses you hate. You love the part where everything explodes.
Fine, they'd kept firing because it was dark and they couldn't see — but why in the world did they keep going after the sun came up?
If we just hurry up and build rifled guns, snipe the heads off the fools playing around back there, wars would be over in no time.
People dying pointlessly for nothing — what even is this?
"Ugh, I'm so annoyed."
"My lady?"
"I'm going out for a bit."
"Where to? To go see the Emperor?"
"To show the organization the taste of its own medicine, is it?"
"Yeah. They're all dead men."
She'd need some preparation to really make it count against them. She couldn't exactly show up empty-handed, after all.
She wrapped up the fighting at the mine and took a ship back to Sinsi for now.
An expedition needed a plan and proper preparation before anything else.
"I'm sorry, what? An expedition?"
"Why? Is that a problem?"
"Not at all? The more money we spend, the happier we are!"
Having too much money is its own problem...
"Keep the people entertained somehow."
"Namdo and the train tours are already at full capacity..."
"Then build them something new to play with. Go on."
"Thank goodness the hunting excursions have been selling so many guns and gunpowder, at least..."
This is a disaster. There's genuinely nothing left for other countries to sell us...
Ah, so this is why developed countries start with their textile industries and pass everything else down to developing nations...
"Let's try offloading some of our work onto other countries."
"What kind of work, exactly?"
"Silk reeling can only be done by hand, can't it?"
Labor-intensive work gets shipped elsewhere. That's just how it goes.
"That's true."
"We're better at turning silk into finished goods, right?"
"Yes."
"And drawing thread from cocoons is the same no matter where it's done, isn't it?"
"Oh! So we import the raw thread and manufacture the products to sell ourselves?"
Looks like she understood some of it, at least.
"We hand off to foreign countries whatever doesn't risk major technology leakage even if we teach it, along with the dangerous jobs. We'll buy it, so go make it."
"Oh! I'll compile a list and get started right away."
"Mm. Good, good."
Preparations for the expedition moved slower than she'd expected. Ships were the first problem — no matter how many vessels Daehan had, more than half of them were posted abroad.
The coastal defense fleet amounted to maybe a hundred to two hundred ships in port for rotation, repairs, or rest — and half of those had to be held back just in case.
What she needed right now were large warships.
"By the way, my lady."
"Mm?"
"We're not planning to occupy the place, are we?"
"Of course not?"
Why would anyone occupy it? Once the current round of kernel-extraction was finished, there'd be nothing there but a farming nation. They'd be fit for nothing but slaves to us.
"Then go with that plan."
"Which plan?"
.
.
.
Preparations complete, twenty Horned Whales set sail from Ryeonhwa and, after a month at sea, arrived at Naniwa.
"Knew it."
She'd known it was a port city, but the waterfront was shabbier than she'd imagined — no berth anywhere that could take something the size of a Horned Whale.
"We'll send someone ashore first."
"You'll have to cross over in a small boat."
"Understood. We'll be careful."
Horned Whales sit heavy and low in the water, after all. Run one anywhere carelessly and it would ground on the spot.
"What do you think their answer will be?"
"Does it matter?"
"Heh heh heh. Fair point?"
Months ago, she had sent word that the Fujiwara lot had attacked Iwami, that people had been injured and property damaged, and demanded compensation. Within one month!
The sum was enormous — if they agreed, they'd take the money and be done; if they refused, they'd reap what they sowed.
"Let's kick back and enjoy ourselves for a month or so, then?"
"Understood, ma'am!"
And enjoy themselves they truly did. Eating, sleeping, resting, even discreetly taking depth soundings along the way. As expected, there was simply nowhere a ship this big could dock.
Bang! Bang!
Good grief. Is it just that rifles are impressive to look at? The noise is enormous.
"Why are they shooting at everything out there?"
"They say they're catching passing birds to eat?"
Fair enough, fresh meat does sound nice. But... the bullets are lead. Is that okay?
"Lead bullets are bad for the body. Shouldn't you stop them?"
"We've hunted and eaten game like this since the old days. Is it bad for us?"
"Doesn't it give you stomach trouble, or make your head foggy?"
"A little Holy Water fixes us right up..."
It works on lead poisoning too? What on earth is that stuff even made of? I absolutely have to experiment with it later. I'm dying to know what it actually is.
"Oh? There's a boat coming."
"Their reply, perhaps?"
A small boat waiting at the far dock rowed toward them. A little oar-powered skiff crewed by youngsters — in terms of speed, forget about it.
So. The reply:
"They say, 'Begone!'"
"Without paying up? Just 'go away'?"
"They say we're the ones who must pay, for the injuries our soldiers suffered!"
The sheer gall! If they had come and attacked us, I could at least understand. But weren't they the ones who marched in first?
"How much?"
"They demand we hand over the mine. Or their army will come in and take it, they say."
So, hand over everything and clear out.
"That's just extortion."
"Shall we be extortionists right back, then?"
"Why not? Only a few days left until the deadline. Draft a rough letter and send it — tell them that from day one of the next month, we'll handle things our own way."
Thank goodness. They weren't about to end this by simply paying compensation.
And then, the first day of the month arrived.
Boom! KRA-KOOM! Crash! KABOOM!
They began smashing everything in the vicinity. The slingshots had been reworked so they could hurl Fist Potatoes as well.
Mortars, more or less. The arms snapped if you overused them, which was annoying, but the shots flew decently enough. It was practically target practice.
Crude as they were, the crews gleefully pounded everything but the waterfront to rubble — even the buildings that looked like shipyards. What fun!
Crash! KRA-KOOM!
"They burst so nicely."
"Probably because so much of it is built from wooden planks."
Even the pillars are flying apart, but sure.
They were deliberately starting from the far edge and working inward. The people needed time to flee — these were all going to be their own workers someday, after all. Couldn't have them getting hurt.
"Not much here, so this wraps up fast."
"Go on down, ma'am."
"Let's go!"
Their own Dolphins had arrived during the stay. Flat-bottomed hulls, so they should manage well enough.
Grrrunch
"Ahh! It's scraping the hull!"
"This won't sink us. Hahaha!"
The ship's bottom scraped along the shallow bottom bit by bit, and they just kept cruising right on in. No — barreled right on in. How thick can their nerves be?
A crude dock, roughly boarded over with timber and packed with earth and stone.
"They really did build this half-heartedly, huh?"
"Careless, and you could knock the whole port apart with a ship."
"Let's walk carefully..."
It wasn't the ship that looked ready to break — it was the harbor.
The soldiers lined up in formation as they disembarked at what passed for a port.
"This is their capital region, and it's a dirt road?"
"Let's hope it doesn't rain."
"Still, being first feels good. Heh heh heh."
Each of the twenty ships carried a crew of a hundred and fifty, of whom only a hundred would disembark for the march — and with supply lines in mind, the plan was to build temporary encampments at regular intervals along the route.
Marching at the front alongside her was going to be fun, so the soldiers fought over the spots until it was settled by lottery.
"Heh heh heh."
And then, the perverts — the ones gazing lovingly at that massive iron column.
"Haah..."
"So jealous."
"Do better in the next lottery draw!"
They'd organized into squads of four: three carrying rifles, gunpowder, and Fist Potatoes, and one hauling the slingshot. Everyone wanted that last role, so they were even drawing lots for it.
In modern terms it would be the posting everyone avoids — and here they were fighting to do it. Baffling.
"Shouldn't you hate that thing? It's heavy and the maintenance is a pain."
"What do you mean?"
"The slingshot."
"Isn't that the only true weapon of the bunch?"
"Why?"
"It EXPLODES!"
A new branch of troops who charge into battle with mortars instead of rifles might be born at this rate.
Oh! Isn't that what artillery is? Except these guys seem determined to charge the front line...
Screeeech
"Move out!"
Clank, clank, clank
At the signal, the iron plates of their armor clashed together, the clatter ringing out surprisingly loudly.
"Heh heh. This'll be fun."
"How many do you think will come out to meet us?"
"They say over ten thousand came last time?"
"Really? Wow... I wish I'd been there..."
No rigid parade-ground angles, no iron military discipline — just their Intelligence Bureau friends ambling along, cracking jokes, taking it easy.
But for all their lazy, lackadaisical manner, the eyes scanning the surroundings for anything suspicious were sharp as razors.
"Hey, do you kids actually know the way?"
"We were told to just follow the river upstream!"
Right — because none of you has ever been this way before.
Fascinating creatures, really. On unfamiliar ground they scout carefully and proceed with caution, sure. But these kids march in a straight line every single day.
Wandering around like that, they still manage fewer casualties than the navy and army veterans who fought actual wars. Impressive.
"By the way, isn't that thing heavy?"
"I won't pretend it's light, but think of it as exercise and it's nothing!"
Goodness, they positively dazzle.
They'd be marching across open ground and firing rifles, so carrying shields was out of the question — what they'd dug out in the end was plate armor.
She'd always assumed full plate armor was tremendously thick, but it turned out to be thinner than she'd imagined?
Still, watching arrows glance harmlessly off it as long as they weren't direct hits had genuinely startled her.
The angle of the plates apparently mattered more than anything, so they'd rounded the curves out generously — the younger soldiers in them were starting to look rather cute.
Like chubby little bears.
"Still, make sure they know not to wander too far forward in front of the arrows."
"That's easier said than done in a fight, ma'am."
"Reloading means standing up to do it, so it's awkward, right?"
The eternal limitation of muzzle-loading rifles — you had no choice but to reload on your feet.
When there was time, she'd have them build breech-loaders too. Black powder would tolerate a bit of degradation, surely it would fire with a fulminate percussion cap?
"Bows shoot faster and more, but the gun's heavier punch makes it better. The rounds fly farther, too."
"And it's easier, right?"
"Very. Even with assist tools, hitting anything with a bow was far too hard."
Wasn't this the biggest reason bows got phased out? They simply took far too long to master.
And once you got used to guns and explosives, nothing else could hold your gaze — that's just how it goes.