A Small War (1)
The year 4070 was a truly strange one.
Was it because the weather had turned colder and so many people were dying?
"What's gotten into these people all of a sudden? Have they come to their senses?"
"Hm? Sales are down. Is that a good thing for you?"
"Of course it is."
Sales of liquor, tobacco, tea, and chocolate had all dropped across the board.
In exchange, country after country had come asking them to bring food to their ports.
Total revenue had fallen sharply, but since the food they sold was cheap and plentiful, that just meant more to hand out to people, didn't it?
"Let's just be generous with it."
"We'll load the ships to the brim."
"I wonder if they've built any ports big enough for our ships to dock at."
If the ships couldn't get in, it would be a real disaster.
They'd have to shuttle back and forth hundreds of times with sailing ships or small vessels.
Well, either way, the number of people starving to death would drop considerably.
So for several years they hauled food to Europe in massive quantities, and the continent slowly began to regain its strength.
The influx of peasant serfs had dropped off sharply. Word had it that life outside wasn't so bad anymore, either.
"But another war? The Ottomans again?"
Europe had burned through its navy over the years, but its armies were still going strong. The Austria-Poland front was holding firm, even against the Ottomans and their fairly terrifying military power.
"Not the Ottomans. They're fighting each other this time."
"Good grief, what next..."
The kids born once life got livable weren't even grown yet, the little fools...
Well, I suppose they'll all be scrambling to buy weapons and food again...
"This really has nothing to do with us, right?"
"It's a war between the Protestants and the Catholics."
"Figures."
Well, another business opportunity then. And it works out nicely for us, because all that gold the colonies send home gets sucked right into our coffers.
The Ottomans and Europe both should have hit runaway inflation ages ago, yet somehow they're perfectly fine.
"There are a lot of Protestants here too, you know."
"Well, where there are people, there'll be religion, I suppose."
"A lot of them. A whole, whole lot of them."
Why are you looking at me like that? And why so nervously?
"Have you ever heard of the Angel Church?"
Ah... this is not how it's supposed to go, kids...
"Surely not."
The embarrassment is mine to bear... It's just not fair, snatching my name and using it however you please.
"Ah..."
"Puhuhuhu."
"I should go abroad for a while."
"And that's not all. Lutherans, Calvinists — especially the Puritans, there are so many of them here."
No wonder I'd been noticing more sharp-looking, well-groomed people around lately.
"So that's why the serf intake dropped even though the population went up?"
"Yes. This place is the holy land of Protestantism now."
So basically everyone's gathered here except Catholics, Muslims, and Buddhists, huh?
"Don't they fight amongst themselves?"
"Not yet? And if they don't want to get kicked out, they'd better not."
"True enough."
If you want to make a living inside these walls, there's no room for internal squabbling.
"Why does it feel like everywhere we go, we end up collecting the downtrodden?"
What can I do? They say they've got nowhere to go, so the least I can do is feed them and send them on their way.
There aren't even that many people, so surely nobody's going to cause any real trouble?
Thud. Thud.
"Whoa? It really has gotten so much better."
"Yes. They say production is now moving into full-scale manufacturing."
Making vulcanized rubber was old news; the trick had always been the technology to mass-produce it into actual products.
Daehan's population was simply enormous — handcrafting things one by one was useless.
And now, here it was: the first sneaker straight off the factory floor, held in my hand.
The petroleum industry still wasn't quite there yet, so this was just rubber glued onto a leather sole, but it was pretty good.
"Still, tell them to keep up the quality research. This isn't the end of it."
Rubber had found plenty of uses already...
"For now, tell them to go full speed on shoes with this. It'll be far more comfortable than leather shoes."
"Isn't it a bit heavy, though?"
"Better than hobbling around in hobnails, no?"
"Ah... right."
That's true. We're still nailing metal studs into leather shoes and stomping around in them.
Wonderful for the blood circulation, let me tell you.
At a glance it looks like I have a mountain of work to do, but in truth I barely do anything anymore.
At some point the kids started handling everything themselves, leaving me to skim reports from the sidelines and offer a remark here and there.
"Munch munch. Mmm-mmm."
Even when I wander around like this, leisurely eating ice cream, everyone just goes about their business as if that were perfectly normal.
Tap-tap-tap. Ka-chunk.
"Oh?"
A brisk, oddly familiar sound from somewhere nearby.
Clack.
"Whoa?"
It was coming from the office next door, so I peeked in — and what did I find? Someone was producing documents on a typewriter.
I'd long since seen the kids running printing presses when they made their newsletters — setting movable type into a plate and stamping out copies.
But this? A typewriter was an entirely different story, wasn't it?
"What are you staring at so hard for?"
"Hrk—!"
"Puhaha. What's the matter?"
Don't startle someone when they're deep in serious contemplation!
The typewriter was truly a marvel.
"Is it really that fascinating?"
"Yes! A typewriter is an incredibly difficult thing to build!"
By this era's standards, it was a machine of staggering precision! Honestly...
"Oh? You call it a typewriter? Our master craftsmen built it — we're just trialing it out."
"How is it? Pretty good, right?"
"It's great for strengthening your fingers."
So it still took a lot of force to press the keys. Well, it'll improve.
Is that why so many people typed with two fingers back in the day?
As I wandered around afterward, I found all sorts of wondrous things I'd been the last to know about.
Clang!
"Simple tea really is best in one of these new cups. So convenient."
"Isn't it amazing? It never rusts."
I'd assumed they'd made the cups out of brass, but it turned out to be stainless steel.
"Wow... you kids really make and use all kinds of things, don't you? Why didn't I get any?"
"You're supposed to use glass or porcelain, Miss. That stuff is for the common folk."
Since only the premium goods made their way to me, I hadn't the faintest idea what the kids were eating and drinking day to day.
Excellent. Keep up the good work.
"You'd be flabbergasted if you saw the machine that sews clothes."
"What? We have a sewing machine?!"
"Augh, you startled me..."
My voice had gotten away from me. Ahem. Ahem.
A sewing machine, huh. Yes, well, it's nice not having to stitch everything by hand, isn't it.
"Aren't they incredible, our kids?"
"Aren't they just?"
So that's why they'd been churning out mountains of goods to sell — they'd moved on to machinery.
There's really no reason for me to visit a factory even on the mainland, is there.
Though we do have an awful lot to sell, don't we? We'll need new products to replenish all the gold draining out.
Pyeong-an Naru was ringed along its border by a concrete wall three meters high. It wasn't a brutish solid slab, of course — the interior was packed with earth and gravel.
"You cowardly dogs! Come out and face us!"
"Then come over here yourself, you fool!"
"Grr."
Friction flared constantly along this border, with Catholics deliberately coming all the way over to pick fights.
The fortress and port guards were Daehan personnel, but security outside the walls was handled by the residents themselves.
"All that swagger when you can't even get over the wall."
"Damn it all..."
The residents were mostly Protestant — and the ones who taunted them about it were a problem too, but...
Whoosh. Thunk.
"Gah! What the—?! He threw a rock!"
"Puhaha!"
The Catholics had finally started throwing stones.
The outer patrols were little more than walking beats, each man carrying nothing but a spear, and with no armor to speak of, blood was soon streaming down one guard's head.
"Come here! I'll kill you!"
Whoosh whoosh, whoosh whoosh!
"Whoa! Are you insane! Take cover!"
He roared and swung his spearhaft wildly, and before anyone got seriously hurt, the crowd backed away.
"Get over here!"
"Are you crazy? You come here!"
"GRAAAAGH!"
The tables had turned completely — now the outsiders were the ones jeering, and the people inside were the ones fuming.
Whoosh. Thunk.
"Ugh! They threw another one?"
"Puhaha, took another hit! What a moron!"
"Nngh!"
The enraged defenders began casting about for a plan.
"All right! Catch! I'll load the rocks up for you!"
"Yeah! Thanks!"
They were paired off two to a man, so one of each pair had crouched down to pass stones upward.
"Take THIS!"
Whoosh. Thunk.
"Gah! That one really hurts..."
And with rocks now coming from above as well, the added drop made them strike even harder — blood began trickling in earnest.
"What are you going to do if you kill someone?"
"Are you lunatics? You threw the first stone!"
The ones who'd been taunted first and the ones who'd thrown the first rock were both guilty as sin, yet there they were, blaming each other.
"Damn it! Kill them all!"
"Throw the rocks!"
"Let's show them what we're made of!"
Clatter. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The crowd gathered outside began throwing in earnest — not just stones, but anything they could get their hands on, branches included.
"AAAGH! Take cover!"
There was a waist-high fence along the top of the wall, so the patrolmen hastily ducked down behind it.
"Call for reinforcements! These lunatics!"
"Hold on!"
The situation was escalating fast.
"Kwahaha! Serves you right — look at you, hiding where you can't even come out!"
"Bwahahaha! This is fun!"
But while the outsiders gleefully hurled their barrage, the residents inside had rallied even more of their neighbors and mounted a counterattack.
Fweee. Th-th-thud. Thunk.
"Gah! Guh-huh!"
"Help!"
"KYAAA! Run!"
With a fence to hide behind up top, the inside had an enormous advantage. Reinforcements kept arriving too, and the crowd that had gathered outside was finally driven off under a veritable baptism of stones.
"Kwahahaha! We won!"
"And don't come back!"
With nowhere to hide and hopelessly outnumbered, the Catholic side had no choice but to retreat.
"Damn it!"
"It hurts so bad!"
Both sides had thrown stones with deadly seriousness, so it was fortunate no one had died.
People fled with cracked skulls and noses and faces swollen like balloons.
"Damn it all. We need to gather more men."
"And we need cover. We're at far too great a disadvantage."
"We'll have to prepare properly."
And so they began rallying people. Even before this, plenty of folks had been idle at home through the agricultural off-season, weaving cloth or simply resting.
After all, this whole mess had started when they'd wandered down to the port out of sheer boredom to watch the spectacle, and a shouting match had broken out.
"So what do we do?"
"What if we build ladders?"
"That would be an actual invasion. If Daehan's army comes out, we're finished."
"Haah..."
Everyone knew, at least, that the land beyond that fence was Daehan territory. And everyone knew the terrifying rumors about Daehan, too.
"Then we just don't cross over. Simple."
"And how exactly do we get at them?"
"We can't use weapons."
Loosing arrows or hurling spears would be an outright act of war. Daehan would never sit still for that.
"What if we throw rocks like they did today?"
"Rocks?"
Rocks. Unquestionably a weapon, and yet — surely too ambiguous to call an act of war, no?
People had gotten hurt today, granted, but nobody had died, had they?
Well, if things escalated, this would kill its share of people too.
"Then should we get some lumber and make shields or something? With nowhere to hide, we're at a hopeless disadvantage."
"Now that's a good idea."
Nobody was going to throw from point-blank range, after all — the worst they'd face was a fist-sized pebble, small enough to fit in a man's palm.
Board it over with planks and it could be blocked easily enough.
In Lisbon, the Catholics were building shields and putting them to the test.
Fweee. Thunk.
A fist-sized stone bounced off the wood and clattered away.
"Oh! Yes, at this thickness we'll be fine."
"Good. Let's make them just like that."
The people set to making shields — or rather, things closer to doors lashed together from planks.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Smack.
"Tch. Hard to hit."
"Right? It's harder to aim accurately than I expected."
On one side they'd propped up a scarecrow, and target practice was in full swing — pelting its head with stones.
And three days later, in the heart of a village on the outskirts of Lisbon, the villagers who had methodically made their preparations finally gathered in one place.
"Everyone, thank you for your hard work until now. Tomorrow, we march to show those traitors what we're made of!"
"Yeah! Let's go! We'll win!"
"Rest well tonight, eat a good breakfast, and gather here. The village elder will prepare a special lunch for us."
"YEAH!!!"
With their resolve hardened, the villagers went to bed, hearts pounding, suppressing their excitement.
For tomorrow would be the day of reckoning — the decisive battle to judge the turncoat Protestants once and for all.