A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

"We don’t know when that ship’s docking, do we?"

Morohira muttered. He did not recall Isabella mentioning a time.

"No, we don’t, but Ishi reckons it could be early morning."

The way Togashi phrased that caused the captain to raise an eyebrow and inquire further.

"How does she know?"

"Just a hunch, she said."

Came the less than reassuring reply. But it was met with his fearless grin – lack of information was not likely to hold him back, nor should it. It did not change what they had to do in the least.

They simply had to charge out and destroy the guard’s forces, and then, the port would be theirs, and they could wait for the shipment as they pleased.

But because they did not know the timing, they were already on the water and the sun had yet to fully ascend into the sky, with patches of darkness still present at a few regular points.

Unfazed they were, and without weariness. They charged forth with dominance. Even though their vessel appeared to merely be that of a trading ship, they still moved as if they had full control of the area around them.

And to an extent, they did. They were near their bows at all times, ready to take up any opportunity that might present itself. Because they had no experience with the weapon, Akiko and Rin saw to it that the others would always have a supply of ammunition in the battles to come, whether oil or flame or both.

"Heheh, she’s certainly slower."

Rokkaku stated jovially. Without the second mast and the oars, their progress was not as fast as it usually happened to be.

"We’ll speed up soon enough."

Came the captain’s reply, as he stood at the prow of the ship, squinting, making sure all ahead looked as it ought to.

Soon they passed the familiar site of the Dressing Room, but contorary to the norm, today they simply sailed past, to attack the waters beyond.

Though they were clad in their black armours, they still felt rather n.a.k.e.d, which was odd, since an extra mast and oars did not exactly provide extra protection, merely speed.

Perhaps it was their paranoia, then. It felt as if everyone at the port could already see through their disguise, and were laughing in their direction, waiting for them to be caught, and their foolishness exposed.

But apparently their disguise was not too bad after all, as they sailed past the first guardship with barely a glance being had in their direction. They continued forwards so that they might find a better position, and fire at all three sh.i.p.s simultaneously. It was likely that such a position did not exist, as the sh.i.p.s were a fair distance apart, but still, it did not hurt to try.

The guard sh.i.p.s were roughly strewn in a triangle atop the water, as they sought to protect the various gateways to the port at the same time. And now their little vessel was drifting towards the middle of it.

Without realizing, the deeper they went, the quieter the crew became, even though there was no chance of the enemy overhearing them. The tension that had not been present for so long finally started to show it’s thorny self, and latch onto them.

But there were no strangers to its embrace, and with that nervousness came a strength, as they did not attempt to resist it, they merely acknowledged it’s presence and acted in accordance with it.

Soon they had a clear shot lined up for at least two of the sh.i.p.s, yet Morohira did not yet give out the order for them to take it. It seemed he was reluctant to begin without having the odds set entirely in their favour, which was most unusual for him.

The guard sh.i.p.s were continually moving – gently rowing in time with the lapping waves, as the crew attempted to expend as little energy as possible without actually staying idle, and allowing the cold to weaken their muscles and their minds.

And so, it was with great excitement that they saw the third ship – the one that had insisted on staying out of reach of their bows – row into range.

"Prepare yourselves."

Morohira intoned, not too loudly. All the sh.i.p.s were a good few hundred metres away, and a single shot would test to limits of their bow’s draw strength. But because the targets were so big, such a distance did not matter.

Closer it sailed, pushing the water out of it’s way with domineeringly, with it’s crew of matchlock wielding guards strutting the deck lazily.

It was him – the captain – that nocked the first arrow, filled with its pouch of oil. And it was he that loosed it first too. All their attention was focused on such a shot, for it would determine the outcome of the battle.

Fortune was with them that day, as it landed in the centre of the wooden deck.

"Eh?"

The guards flinched upon the sudden arrow collision, and struggled to make sense of what had just happened. They stared at the thick black liquid that now coated the deck, and it took them a few moments to truly comprehend what it was.

But that proved to be fatal, as Rokkaku launched a flaming arrow of his own, and turned that thick black liquid into a raging inferno.

WOOSH

It caught quickly, and spread across the entire deck within seconds. It even travelled up the armour of the crewmembers unlucky enough to be splashed upon the initial collision.

Chaos ensued, of a magnitude that even Gengyo would have been proud of.

In maddened attempts of escaping the flame, the screaming crew members flung themselves overboard, glad of anything that could help cool the searing fire that threatened to consume them. But many such people – having not known how to swim – were merely choosing an alternate form of death, yet there were some lucky enough to latch onto an oar, and pull themselves back above the waters surface, and suck in a lungful of air.

Flames licked the deck hungrily, and boring a hole through in seconds, as a bits of burning timber fell and gave rise to flame on the lower deck as well.

But their crew could not watch such a site in satisfaction. There were still two more guard sh.i.p.s that needed putting down, and no doubt they were in a rather panicked state themselves, after seeing one of their allied vessels burst into a sea of flame.

But from their movements, it seemed as if the ship’s commanders had not yet seen from whence such a fire sprung, and so their prospects at victory were not too slim.

Ii loosed his oil pouch first. Even upon first release, it was obvious the shot was much too low, and he tutted in disappointed. But to his surprise, it still managed to land, and burst out over the side of the ship – yet it was still not good enough.

Thankfully, they had multiple people shooting in case of such an event, and with Sasaki’s arrow, their deck was rendered slick with oil.

FLOOOOSHH

Three flaming arrows were released in unision, and a second ship burst into flame. This one, it seemed, had been caught less off guard, as while the guards were struggling in the flames, some attempted to return fire, and shot towards them with their matchlocks. Luckily, such shots were not given the time to be aimed properly, and they harmlessly flew past them.

Yet by now the third ship was well aware of who was causing such trouble, and it began to row madly to its side, so that it could expose them to a full wave of matchlock fire.

Frantically, the Red Feather ship attempted to loose oil pouch arrows. But it was too no avail. They were too rushed under the pressure of the incoming volley, and the arrows landed far before their intended target.

"TO THE LOWER DECK!"

Morohira barked fiercely, as he dove down the stairs, hoping his men would be wise enough to do the same. But it seemed they needed no order, and had already halfway retreated themselves – there was no way they wished to bear the brunt of that matchlock fire.

A series of crackling sounds rippled across the port as the guardsmen unleashed their first volley using the new weapon that their commander had spent so much coin on. And as they felt the recoil of the matchlocks against their shoulder, they felt almost sure that the enemy had no chance of surviving. They were out at sea, so they did not have to worry about their elevation being wrong – they merely had to aim straight. No doubt their shots were perfect ones.

Yet in their eagerness to pull their triggers, they had neglected to consider the event in which the crew managed to dodge that first volley, and as the men returned to the upper deck and prepared their bows, they were left frantically trying to reload.

When facing their enemy anxiously trying to push ammunition into the end of their barrel, the Red Feather crew smiled mercilessly, and drew back a number of oil-pouched shots, taking their time to line it up perfectly, for time was something they had a great deal of.

Three shots were fired, and three shots were landed. Men and ship alike were coated in the black substance.

They knew what was to come, as they had just watched their comrades fall to the same fate. And so – before even the flaming arrow was fired – many flung their rifles aside, and dove overboard, seizing an oar as they fell into the chilling depths.

"Haha... Look at them."

Morohira chuckled condescendingly, drawing the bowstring toward his cheek, not flinching as the hot flames of the burning arrow boiled his skin. And then, he released.

In comparison to their usual brute-force efforts, this was a good deal more measured, and he did not feel quite the same adrenaline rush as that arrow of his landed, and bathed their ship in a scorching flame.

Their simple tactic of flame was more than enough to crush the undisciplined guardsmen, and their ranks crumbled in fear against the prospect of death.

But even with those sh.i.p.s sunken, there were still many more waiting to take their place amongst the port, and by now the were ready, having seen the commotion, and they were well on their way to barring their path.

"How pleasant it will be to blast such ants away with a single fire of a cannon."

Togashi muttered, seeing their likes come closer. Very soon, he wagered, their tactic would be rendered obsolete, and they would be put in a position where they would have to fight more honestly.

There was only so far fire could go, after all. These new sh.i.p.s were undoubtedly equipped with countermeasures, such as water buckets and the like. And whilst water could not directly extinguish their oil-burning flame, it could go far in wetting the dry wood, and preventing it from spreading too rapidly.

Their prospects – whilst they had enjoyed an early victory – were certainly grim, and still, there was no sign of their target on the horizon.

Wood splintered past his ear, as a stray musket ball collided with their mast.

"DOWN!"

He heard Morohira bark. On this flat ocean surface, the matchlocks held the undoubted advantage, as they could fire a lot further. They were simply forced to weather the storm, and attempt the same tactic as before, though by now another ship was pulling its way from the port and within seconds it too would be ready to harass them with its musket fire.

The situation was looking a lot more grim than they would have liked. Their trump card had only gotten them so far, but by now it was obvious that their trading skiff was also involved in some kind of piracy – perhaps it was even in league with the black flagged vessel – and it was being dealt with by the entirety of the city guards forces, with no man spared.