Pathway to Japanese Literature

Upper Part I

A man right in front of him was thrown forward as if struck, staggered, clutched his head with both hands, then collapsed.

“Take cover! Take cover! Take cover!”

Hijikata continued barking orders like this and threw himself flat against the earth.

“Damn it, I’m hit!”

A scream more akin to a death god’s shriek than a human voice erupted above Hijikata’s head. When he whirled around, Shibusawa—bloody foam bubbling from his mouth—had discarded his spear and was clawing frantically at his armor’s fastenings.

“What happened?”

Shibusawa, eyeballs bulging and entire face convulsing, dropped to his knees and collapsed toward Hijikata.
Because Hijikata dodged, he rolled onto his stomach and stopped moving.

“He seems to have been shot, but where—”

He thought but couldn’t pinpoint where.

“If it didn’t hit the face—it shouldn’t have pierced the armor—”

This war marked Hijikata’s first experience with Western rifles’ destructive power.
Observing their French-trained troops—mere cowering Hatamoto samurai—he concluded Satsuma’s British-drilled forces would fare no better.

(If it truly comes to close combat, what use are rifles—)

He had thought—but if they could demonstrate this level of effectiveness at fifty meters—their capabilities demanded thorough study.

Then grabbing the shoulder with his right hand and rolling the body face-up, he found the corpse lying with half-open eyes and a blood-smeared mouth gaping wide—yet no wounds marred its face.

(Could it pierce through the breastplate?)

When Hijikata examined the breastplate, there was a small hole.
Right where the lung would be.

When he raised his head, gunpowder smoke billowed up above Gokō-no-miya’s white walls—scattering in the wind only to surge again—while simultaneously, a terrifying noise reverberated through the forest, sky, and houses.

Before he knew it, five or six soldiers lay collapsed in the street.
Under the eaves of houses on both sides of the street, four or five soldiers each stood rigidly, gripping spears.
And when Hijikata issued some command, they prepared to move, their gazes fixed intently in his direction.

Overhead, near and far, bullets flew incessantly with a whizzing sound.
The surrounding soldiers all lay flat on the ground, raising their heads to glare at the enemy on the slope above, but none dared to stand.

A soldier holding a spear raised his helmeted head while advancing on his belly.
From behind him came soldiers clad in bamboo armor and white divided skirts—heads wrapped in cloth bands—advancing inch by inch in the same manner.

“Look out!”

The gunfire could be heard, but it didn’t seem to enter through the ears from outside—instead, it felt like something growling somewhere deep within the ears themselves. Small dust clouds rose in several places across the ground ahead. “Gah!”

When a cry rang out and he turned around, a man was spurting blood from his forehead before collapsing forward limply.

Along Gokō-no-miya’s walls, figures of enemy soldiers flickered into view through the gunpowder smoke.
The moment Hijikata saw those figures,

“Damn you!”

As he shouted, fury surged hotly through his veins.
In that instant, seven or eight soldiers—

“They’re out! The potato samurai!”

With that shout, they charged forward like possessed beasts.
The one in the center staggered.
The soldier at the front raised his spear with one hand, shouted something, ran a short distance, then collapsed.

The two men threw themselves back onto the ground as before.

“Fools! I told you not to charge!”

When Hijikata shouted, the remaining men had all fallen.

“Retreat! Crawl back as you are—retreat!”

Hijikata thought that if night fell like this, they would be annihilated.

“Retreat!”

A sharp voice rang out. When he looked toward it, there was Shūhei—Kondo Isami’s son—wearing a white headband and glaring at Hijikata.

“Don’t die meaninglessly!”

Hijikata glared back and shouted.

“If you can’t fight while pinned down by rifle fire, you’d be better off charging into battle!”

Shūhei, having shouted this,

“Charge!”

Pushing off with one hand to stand, he raised the spear high in his right hand.

“Attack!”

he shouted.
The soldiers beneath the eaves broke into a run.
From both sides came twenty or thirty men each pouring into the street.
As gunfire intensified until white smoke swallowed the forest—men collapsing, men staggering, men scrambling for cover—within moments only seven or eight remained.

“Shūhei!”

Hijikata thought it would spell disaster if Shūhei died while Kondo Isami wasn’t recovering from wounds in Osaka.
As he began to rise, Shūhei staggered and dropped to his knees.

“I told you!”

Hijikata stood up shouting at the top of his lungs just as a bullet whizzed past his ear.
With that sound, he flattened himself like a serving tray.

“Someone! Shūhei!”

he shouted.
One man tried to take Shūhei’s hand and drape it over his shoulder, but both men collapsed.

“Someone!”

Not a single person came to Shūhei’s side.

II

“Stay lower!”

Exposing buttocks to the enemy while crawling away in retreat was not something the Shinsengumi could do as a matter of honor.
The people began to scatter chaotically, farther and farther back.

(That was close)

One man, upon seeing a bullet strike the spot where he had been taking cover and send up a cloud of dust, panicked and scrambled backward on all fours.

“Stop panicking! You look disgraceful!”

One man shouted from the rear, prodding backsides.

“Disgraceful. Look who’s talking.”

One man, to the person next to him,

“My armor here’s a Myochin piece—a family heirloom passed down for generations. But even this… I wonder if bullets would pierce it.”

Lowering his head and adjusting his armor sleeves, he asked this.

“Who knows?”

The instant he answered, the man wearing Myochin armor clutched his head over the armor with both hands and twisted his lips.

“Did I get hit?!”

When one looked at the man’s face, it was contorted in agony, every feature twisted with pain.

The soldiers in the last row quickly jumped under the eaves and fled along them.
One soldier turned his back to the enemy and began frantically crawling away on all fours to escape. Then two, then three more panicked soldiers scrambled out in the same manner.

“How disgraceful, Isoko! Suzuki!”

The soldiers under the eaves fled along the eaves while shouting at the troops crawling on all fours with their backs to the enemy.
The soldiers, without a word, moved even faster, working their arms and legs.

The enemies at Gion Shrine, upon seeing the Shinsengumi retreat, began clambering over the wall one after another and advanced with spears.

“Halt!”

Hijikata shouted.

"They're out!"

"They’re here!"

They all stood up shouting in unison.
Along the walltop, several plumes of white smoke lined up horizontally once more before vanishing into the forest.
When fourteen or fifteen men raised their war cry and charged forward, the enemy panicked and retreated behind the wall.
And the gunfire intensified, the gunpowder smoke thickened.

"Take cover!"
"Don’t overextend!"

Of the seven or eight men who had charged forward, half took cover under the eaves while the other half fell, staggering as they crawled back in retreat.

“Cowards!”

One man glared at the enemy with bloodshot eyes.

“Where’s our rifle unit?”

“They said this area would be handled by the Shinsengumi alone—apparently they moved toward Sumizome.”

“Send a messenger—”

“Fools! After all that boasting to the rifle unit, you think we can go begging to them now?”

The men retreated inch by inch, crawling in a frenzy of rage, frustration, and humiliation.

It was New Year's Day.
The wind blowing down froze bitter cold, at times hurling gritty sand into their faces.
The stench of gunpowder smoke drifted through.

The armor weighed heavier than they'd imagined, the tassets hindering their crawling.
Those wearing hakama had soiled their fine Sendai silk trousers—woven from flat-patterned cloth—with dirt, while men in black crepe haori fastened with cords and bamboo cuirasses muddied their sleeves in puddles.

No one beyond their unit watched as they crawled before the enemy—sneering at themselves through bitter grins and self-loathing—yet

(In the next battle)—they consoled themselves by thinking.

Hijikata

“Kamimura, can you fire a rifle?”

Hijikata asked.

“I cannot.”

“Ryūkō, what about you?”

“That sort of thing? I could pick it up right away—”

Hijikata shouted loudly.

“Is there anyone in the unit who can fire a rifle?”

he shouted while crawling.

“If it’s 3-monme bullets…”

Someone answered from afar.
“Snider or Chassepot rifles.”
“We can’t handle Western rifles.”
“Is there no one?”
No one answered.

III

No one said anything.
When defeated soldiers tried to run through them and fell,

“Fools!”

They knocked them down or struck them.

“What the—?!”

When he stood up and glared, but upon seeing the Shinsengumi standard, he immediately ran off.

“Is this all?”

They had erected square flags emblazoned with a large "Sen" character at both front and rear, but only eighty people had gathered beneath those banners. With over two hundred fifty men, they had sallied forth from Fushimi Magistrate Office, but a hundred seventy had been cut down at Gokō-no-miya without even crossing spears. After that, they retreated to Hashimoto and fought somewhat in a night battle, but when rifle fire rang out, no one would venture forth anymore. When they reached Hirakata, defeated soldiers were clamoring without ranks or order—on the embankment above, among the reeds below, inside houses. Dozens upon dozens of boats—large and small—lay moored there, but they filled immediately and departed downstream one after another.

At the boat landing area, spears flashed as a large crowd of people shouted while pushing soldiers, striking them, stabbing them, and brandishing spears.

Along the river atop the embankment, lower-ranking soldiers staggered away in a dark, interlinked chain.

“Move!”

“It’s the Shinsengumi!”

The people descended from the embankment amidst the swirling commotion.
Someone who appeared to be an administrator
“Boats?”
“Eighty people.”
“Two large barges.”

The people watched silently and enviously as the Shinsengumi, who had arrived later, received preferential treatment. When they transferred from the small boats to the barges,

“There’s still room. Hey, you there!”

With that, the administrator-type figure beckoned. Five or six men who appeared to be Hatamoto retainers came running with pale faces, kowtowing profusely.

“We beg your pardon.”

“It’s cramped and tedious, but...”

They kowtowed profusely to Hijikata.

“Boatman! Depart quickly!”

Hijikata bellowed.

One man took off his armor and

“What’s the use of this?!”

he shouted, throwing it into the river.
Everyone had disheveled hair, pale dirt-caked faces, and bloodshot eyes.

“What will become of us?”

One of the Hatamoto asked.

“Don’t know.”

A man washed his face with river water.
Those trying to tend their wounds,

“Food,” he said.

“Here’s some water!”

those who were told such things—and one man again stripped off his armor and threw it into the river.
Two or three men, coordinating with the boatman, used their spears as makeshift oars to push the boat out.
The Hatamoto had formed a tight cluster, shrinking into themselves as they silently bowed their heads.

“So you’re Hatamoto?”

“Yes.”

“Did you accomplish anything noteworthy?”

“The rifles were quite—”

“Are you scared of rifles?”

“Unlike your esteemed self, our fortitude proved inadequate, so we simply—”

Hijikata—

“Rifles don’t pick favorites based on courage.”

“Ha ha ha!” they laughed loudly.

Along the riverbank, defeated soldiers endlessly ran, walked, leaned on shoulders, limped—some carrying no weapons at all, others using spears as staffs—all continuing their retreat while gazing toward the river.

Faintly, the sound of cannons occasionally echoed.

IV

Tenmabashi, Kōraibashi, Shianbashi—every docking spot along these bridges was choked with boats. The air thrummed with boatmen’s shouts, panicked voices clashing, limbs flailing, luggage tumbling, anger flaring, quarrels erupting.

The Shinsengumi forced their way through using spears and bare hands, shoving aside vessels as they pressed toward the stone embankment. Townsfolk crowded everywhere—wives clutching children, men bent under trunks, elders shouldering furoshiki-wrapped bundles—

“Where’s Iwata-ya’s boatman?”

and

“Hold that hand tight! Get lost and I’m not coming back for you!”

Shouting such things, they pushed through the crowd and descended to their boat.
Then people boarding from the boats and those disembarking collided with each other.

“Upbound boat here! Any passengers?”
the boatman shouted.
To this, from the bridge above,
“How much ’tis to Kizu?”

and raised a hand.
Amidst such commotion, there was someone on the bridge, leaning on their elbows and gazing down blankly.

“Oh my, the Shinsengumi—even the Shinsengumi have been defeated, it seems.”

“Mr. Kondo—that man is here.”

“Oh my, it’s Hijikata.”
“Mr. Kondo’s the one in black robes—the man who was shot by a rifle—recuperating at the castle now.”

The town too was packed with vehicles and people.
Rumors had arisen that Satsuma-Chōshū troops would come storming in by evening or tomorrow.

The Shinsengumi members pushed past both townspeople and samurai, trotting hurriedly toward the castle.
As they approached the Kōraibashi entrance, people on horseback and on foot were fiercely coming and going.
The guards who were always stationed inside the guardhouse on the right side wearing hakama were nowhere to be seen.

When they ran up the stone steps and entered the inner bailey, a person wearing armor was standing there.
A person passed by their side—

“Armor’s useless.”

he said.
The man didn’t seem to grasp what had been said to him and kept watching the Shinsengumi depart.

When they reached the front of Hyakujōshiki, Hijikata shouted, “Wait here!”

he shouted.
And when he looked at the Hatamoto,

"You’re still following me?"

"Yes."

"You lot, return to Edo at once."

“Yes.”

The Hatamoto looked up at Hijikata with weakened eyes while replying thus.

The path back—they hadn’t known what condition it was in.
Even if they returned, these were Hatamoto who had been in Edo exchanging even their armor for money.
They were people who had received some military funds and barely managed to catch their breath.

(The Shinsengumi members can survive on their own—)

they had been thinking.

“We humbly request to join your unit—”

Hijikata entered without replying.

“Where’s the kitchen staff?”
“Food!”
“Food!”

said two or three people.

“I will handle it.”
“I’ll go discuss it immediately.”

When one of the Hatamoto stepped out, the remaining people also—
“Please wait a moment,”
they said—and ran off.

“Please wait a moment.”

With that, they ran off.

Five

Kondo Isami sat wearing a black crepe haori and kimono, still in informal attire.
“Were we defeated?”
At the corners of his mouth, he showed a faint smile and stared fixedly at Hijikata’s face.

“Brilliant—a total rout.”

"Why?"

"We couldn't move hand nor foot.
Rifles."

“Rifle?”

“Yeah.”

“Against rifles… we can’t even lift a finger?”

“You don’t know about sanmomme and gomomme bullets.
“They’re hard to hit with beyond fifty ken—sixty at most—but Western rifles are effective up to two or three chō.
“There’s no Ittō-ryū or Munen-ryū.
“Armor and helmets—pierced through like tofu.”

“Can’t they be trained? When they look down the barrel, what exactly are they aiming at—”

“Ahahahaha!”

Hijikata burst into loud laughter,

“It’s a step forward from Hamaguri Gomon.”
“Moreover, the allied Denshūtai are useless.”

“Our rifles are useless, and the enemy’s...”

“The enemy uses French-style Chassepot rifles, but with the shogunate’s coffers empty, they supposedly bought cheap ones—there were even rumors of discarded rifles with bent barrels or something.”

“That seems plausible.”
“And who was killed?”

“Hmm... Shūhei, Yamazaki, Tōdō—”

“All by rifles?”

“Right.”

Kondo remained silent for a while, but
“Isn’t there any way?”
“I believe there is, but—”

When he said that, he remembered the bullet wound on his shoulder.

(This was an ambush.
If those peering ahead had been spotted, they wouldn't have been shot.
Kenshin had even cut down soldiers along with their rifles.)

Hijikata took out a small, round bullet from the money pouch in his breast.

“This is the bullet. I pried out the one that fell right before me. It nearly got me—just two sun away.”

Kondo glared as he looked but did not even attempt to take it.

Lower Part: One

“It’ll work out somehow.”

Leaning against the worn handrail of the Kaiyō Maru’s deck, Iwata Kinchiyo looked at his friend’s face.

“You’re being naive.”

The sky had cleared completely.
The waves were calm.
It was hard to believe that until two days ago, they had been part of the war raging on the visible shore.

Kinchiyo had managed to board a Shinsengumi boat in Hirakata, and when fleeing the castle, upon immediately hearing that the shogun had escaped from Tenmabashi to Tenpozan via reed boat, he spurred his horse and made it in time to board this vessel.
It seemed his friend, who had also said he would come by horse, had been delayed, but

(He probably fled to Kishū, but even Kishū—who’s friend or foe there is unclear. Hikone and Tōdō had turned against us too—what a lucky man I am.)

Just as he thought—

(It’ll work out somehow.)

He could feel confidence welling up.

“They say Osaka Castle’s treasury only had three thousand ryō, and Edo—well, you saw how that turned out.”

In Edo, Oguri Kozukenosuke worked tirelessly to secure military funds, but borrowing from France was the only option available—and even the funds those two received amounted to a paltry sum.

“Public sentiment’s rotten—and if this turns into a losing battle..."
“We can’t even eat now—what will become of us?”

“Even if you worry about that—”

Kinchiyo said this, but upon entering Edo, he couldn’t help feeling that luck might slip away.
Among the Hatamoto of considerable standing, there were those who lacked mosquito nets.
People who possessed armor were rare.
At the going rate of one hundred koku for one hundred ryō, many Hatamoto transferred their stipend rights to townspeople and retired.
And so, unable to endure any longer, there was an instance where the Hatamoto submitted a petition to the shogun.

“We pawnbrokers do hereby declare: Weapons, garments, long/short swords, tools and such deposited at our establishment shall receive loans at half or one-third their value, with interest collected at high rates. Even samurai in direst need—though they devise means to secure gold—shall find no lenders available when required.”

Such was the state of affairs.
And amidst all this, the Hatamoto were learning the shamisen and traditional dance.

“If we fortify ourselves in Kōfu—”

A voice rang out.
When the two turned around, there stood Kondo and Hijikata.
The two bowed deeply and respectfully.

“In Hachiōji, the Hyakunin-dōshin will gather—at least two platoons.”
“Two battalions of vegetable-clad troops—we’ll have them join our side.”
“At Kōfu Castle, under Katō Suruga’s command, three thousand men will assemble—and with the Hatamoto added, five thousand will be promptly gathered.”
“With this, shall we not give battle?”

“However, this differs from the Shinsengumi’s influence in Kyoto, so those gathering under us—”

“We’ll establish that as an official government office and present it as the shogunate’s command.”
“If they don’t gather under the shogunate’s orders, then it can’t be helped.”

The two men were sitting on the sail ropes, talking.
Kinchiyo

“At least let me fight hard in Kōfu—won’t you please add me to your current ranks?”

Kondo nodded.

The sailors were working desperately, but the defeated soldiers were on the deck, smoking and laughing.

II

Kondo Isami held junior councilor status.
Hijikata Toshizo held a council seat.
The unit was named the Kōyō Chinbutai.
All members without exception were granted junior retainer status.

Iwata Kinchiyo and Suzuki Ryūsaku received conical war hats with gilt linings and recounted their combat experiences to the newly joined troops.

“Beyond matchlocks, you wouldn’t know anything about rifles.”
“That’s exactly why we lost the Chōshū Expedition.”
“First among foreign rifles are the three-band types.”
“Then there’s the Enfield and Spencer—those’ll scare you shitless.”
“At three chō out—boom—you’re done for.”

“Three chō is too far—can they even hit anything?”

“They’re made to hit. In Fushimi, that’s why seven or eight hundred Shinsengumi men got wiped out.”

The two hundred eighty-strong troop advanced along the Kōshū Kaidō from Shinjuku Ōkido on the frost-whitened morning of February 27.
Two cannons were loaded on the horses' backs.
The Kanagawa Napa Corps came from behind and fired them.
Then came forty rifles of various types.

Hijikata insisted they gather more, but there was neither money nor supplies.
Commander Kondo made a bitter face.

“Hijikata, such rifles—”

He had done nothing but hinder.

The Sappeitai, Denshūtai, Aizu soldiers, Hatamoto, Shinsengumi, and that ragtag bunch—they were acting more for themselves than for the main family.
A great number of those who had joined were people who had no idea how they could make a living without enlisting.

And so, the Shinsengumi with those people, the Aizu soldiers with their Tohoku dialect, the Hatamoto with trendy phrases—in this manner, they formed into separate groups, eyeing each other warily.

Up to the Ōkido area, townspeople followed along both sides of the troop and at its front and rear, murmuring as they came. When they passed through Ōkido’s black gate,

“Thank you for your service.”

“We’re counting on you.”

The townspeople shouted in unison.
The soldiers

“All will be well.”

they answered, raising their hands.

Three

As they neared Fuchu, people had already come out to greet them.
For both Hijikata and Kondo, having left their hometowns long ago, meeting the local people as Kondo of the Shinsengumi—Kondo and Hijikata, bearing the weighty roles of junior councilors—was a matter of pride.

“Plenty of sake and firewood.”
“We’ve prepared them.”

The crowd gradually swelled, clamoring as they pressed in around Kondo’s horse on both sides.
Upon entering Fuchu, large houses had curtains hung, and the people prostrated themselves to welcome the two men.
At one house

“Lodging for Lord Kondo Isami and Lord Hijikata Toshizo”

A newly made signboard bearing this inscription stood there.
Before it, the two men dismounted from their horses.
The troop members were guided by townspeople to lodge at temples and large houses.

A woman with a wind-reddened nose and thick white powder that clung poorly ran through the town.
Young men stood before the government office clutching rusty spears and sticks.
A drum had been prepared for emergencies and hung beneath the eaves of Kondo’s house.
Peasants stroked the cannon’s load while

“This here’s what they call a cannon—when you fire it with a boom, a huge ball flies out two chō!”

and peered into the cannon’s muzzle through gaps in the wrapped straw tubes.

Kinchiyo and Ryūsaku drank sake while teaching Edo’s popular songs to the hostesses sent for their entertainment.

“Along the Kōshū Highway,

We plant pine trees,

But what do we pine for?

Pining for word from afar.”

“My, what a fine voice you’ve got! This samurai here’s quite something!”
The hostess leaned against Kinchiyo. He slipped his left arm around her shoulder.

“Now for a Kamigata tune.”

“Miya-san, Miya-san,

Before your noble steed,

What flutters there so fair?”

“Who’s there?”

An Aizu soldier shouted from the next room.
When Kinchiyo fell silent,

“You’re singing seditious trash.”
“What do you mean by ‘imperial enemy’?”

The Aizu soldiers slid open the fusuma door.

“Hey!”

Kinchiyo respectfully prostrated himself.
"You'll sing that song through!"
"That's what you do with peasant troops—"
"'Crush them!' comes—"
"Isn't this under your precious hollyhock?"
"You fool!"

With that, the Aizu soldiers withdrew.
The hostess bared teeth at their retreating figures.

“What about tonight?”

The hostess squeezed his hand back.

“Maybe we oughta tag along to Kōfu too.”

“Why not.”

Ryūsaku

“Snow,” he said. When he opened the shoji, snow had begun to fall in flurries.

That night was again drenched in snow,
Let’s brew some egg sake,
At the sixth hour, they closed the shutters.

Two figures crossed four sleeves,

“Well well，we’re drunk.”
“Kinkō，Kinchiyo—hold me tighter，will you?”

The hostess pressed her pig-like body against Kinchiyo.

IV

A man

“A courier!” he shouted.
A samurai astride a horse with “Goyō” vermilion-inscribed across its belly armor came galloping through the snow’s mire, hooves kicking up slush.
“Halt!”

Kondo shouted.
Two standard-bearers waved their flags.

“Halt.”
“Halt!”

Two or three soldiers.
They spread out in formation.

“Halt!!”

“Why are you stopping me?”

Tightening the horse's reins, the samurai shouted with anxiety and anger.

“I am Kondo Isami, Commander of the Kōyō Chinbutai. Where does this courier hail from?”

“Oh—this urgent dispatch comes from the castellan of Kōfu Castle bound for Edo.”

“What news of the enemy’s movements?”

“That is precisely what I go to report.”

“How far have they advanced?”

“They entered Shimosuwa last night.”

“Shimosuwa? — How many ri remain to Kōfu?”

“Thirteen ri.”

“From here to Kōfu—is that all?”

“It’s seventeen ri from here.”

“Seventeen ri?”

Kondo turned to Hijikata.

“If we hurry, we can make it.”
“We must not let the enemy enter.”
“Hijikata, let’s hurry.”

Hijikata turned to the samurai.

“How large is the enemy force?”

“They’re reported as either five thousand or seven thousand.”

Hijikata looked at Kondo.

“With the Saiha-tai not following through, we don’t even know how to fire the cannons properly. And with this few rifles—there’s no way we can stand a chance.”

“You’re talking about rifles again—hurry. Just hurry.”

When the courier departed, the group hurried toward Hachiōji.
And volunteers from Hachiōji were there to welcome them.

“Advancing recklessly won’t accomplish anything.
“Even though the rear guard hasn’t arrived—and with a four-ri gap—”

And during that rest, opinions were voiced—and with the first day drawing to a close, crossing Sasago Pass on this snow-covered road proved impossible.
So they stayed in Hachiōji.
Sake and women were provided just as they had been in Fuchu.
It was said the Sennin Dōshin—some three to four hundred strong—would join as reinforcements.

“We’ll hold them at Kainuma, give them a proper scare, then push them into Kōfu.”
“By then, reinforcements ought to arrive.”
“The Saiha-tai might come tonight itself.”

When they drank alcohol, people came to think that way.
Kinchiyo and Ryūsaku were singing popular songs just as they had the previous night.

Five

The next day, they stayed in Ōtsuki.

On the fourth day, they crossed Sasago Pass, and spread out below them was the Kōfu Basin.
The first village was Komakai; from here to Kōfu was six ri, and the sun set.
When they asked the villagers, they said the enemy had entered Kōfu yesterday.

Along the half-dried muddy path, Kondo and Hijikata took two or three Yūki soldiers and went around selecting defense positions.
And they found a good spot in Kashiwao.
It was a place where they could overlook incoming enemy attacks at a glance and provided convenient cover for their allies to hide.

From midnight onward, they rounded up villagers and, with squad members assisting, constructed a small, misshapen position at the village outskirts.
The place looked like it would collapse if two or three people pushed against it, but the Kōyō Chinbutai seemed to think that a defensive position without a checkpoint would compromise their dignity.

"With this single position, ten men could hold off a thousand enemies," Kondo thought. "During the Battle of Hamaguri Gate, Chōshū soldiers were held back by a three-shaku gate for half an hour."

He imagined himself at this checkpoint, swinging his tachi to cut down foes—no matter how dire the circumstances seemed, even defending it alone appeared feasible against enemy overrun.

They gathered furoshiki wrapping cloths and rice bales to fashion earth bags and sandbags. Both squad members and villagers dug soil, packed it into bales, and stacked them beneath blazing watchfires. The stronger men rolled stones, hefted them up, and positioned rocks between earthworks. Two-shaku-high embankments eventually dotted the landscape between trees across half a chō.

Kinchiyo and Ryūsaku became cooks and directed women and children from the village to transport provisions.
The takuan pickles and rice balls cooled quickly, and people recalled the women and sake from days past.

From midnight onward, snow began to flutter down again.
People covered their heads with straw mats, entered nearby houses, and gathered around bonfires, spending the eve of their first war with both anxiety and excitement.

Six

Along the foothill stream, from the main road ahead, following the ridges of rice fields, the enemies approached.
They were soldiers wearing gaiters and conical war hats, their swords tucked into sashes at their waists and white bundles slung over their shoulders.

At a distance of four or five chō, they ran to the right, spread out left and right, and formed a horizontal line.
And advancing at a trot, they aimed their rifles.
When their captain barked an order, he crouched down and shouldered his rifle.
Kondo—

“Ridiculous!”

he muttered and smiled.
And then，to the soldier beside him，

“Fire a shot.”

At his order, the soldier immediately fired.
Kondo had been trying to catch sight of the bullet as it flew out, but with a bang that echoed through the trees, he couldn’t see the trajectory of its path.

(If I get used to it, I'll probably be able to see them.)

he thought.

“Fire again.”

“Commander, it’s too far from here.”

“Fire without speaking.”

Isami felt something white graze his eyes.

(That's the bullet's path.
If I study them, I'll surely see them.)

he thought.

The instant thick white smoke billowed simultaneously across the fields, woods and road ahead, gunfire echoed spectacularly through the mountains and rumbled across the land.
At the same moment came a dull thud - a bullet seemed to have struck an earth bag.
Kondo turned to locate the impact point but couldn't discern it.
Something whizzed past his ear.

White smoke filled the air, crawling low and flowing until soldiers, land, and forest all became indistinguishable.
From beneath that smoke, the enemy began to advance once more.
Hijikata raised his voice.

“Fire!”

he shouted.

“The cannons!”

“What the hell are those cannons doing?!”

A soldier shouted.
The artillery crew in the rear were crouching down to peer into their cannons and frantically adjusting the muzzles up and down.
One member, wearing a headband tied around his forehead,
“Got it!”
he shouted,

“Clear out! You’ll be blown to bits!”

They lit the fuse.
The soldiers felt their ears roar with a deafening bang.
A sound like air being ripped apart tore through.
The instant a tree before them split open like broken bone, white wood exposed beneath bark, earth erupted four or five shaku high before the sandbag barrier.

Their bullets fell into the smoke ahead and threw up dirt clouds.

(It’ll burst any moment now.)

The soldiers, Kondo, and Hijikata stared unblinking.
But nothing detonated.

“They haven’t lit the fuse!”

One man, panicking, lit the cannonball’s fuse and shoved it in.
Gunfire and cannon fire became intermingled.
Behind the soldiers, a dust cloud erupted.
The mountains roared as debris rained down on their heads like a downpour.
Seven or eight soldiers crouched down by the earthworks.

The forty riflemen and those beyond them held spears and swords at the ready, peering out from the earthworks with only their faces exposed.
One soldier leaned heavily against the fortification, pressing his body close as he watched the enemy advance.

Indeed, they do reach far.

Kondo watched from behind a standing tree as the enemy formed a skirmish line and advanced methodically, his gaze mingling contempt with reluctant admiration.

Seven

Kondo had his hand on his sword as if waiting for an opening between the bullets—in truth, he felt both raging fury and unbearable irritation at the ceaseless whizz of incoming rounds.
If there was even a small opening, he thought he could slip through the gaps in that sound and cut them down.

“Damn it!”

When someone’s shout rang out, a large body and a gleaming blade flashed in the corner of Kondo’s vision.

*(He did it.)*

And just as he took one step forward, the man staggered two or three paces ahead while keeping his sword raised overhead.
Then, his foot caught in a depression in the ground, he lurched toward a standing tree and finally supported himself by clinging to it with his left hand.

(He was wounded.)

Kondo thought.

(That's Suzuda.)

Seeing the man's profile as he leaned against the standing tree, he thought.
At that instant, the tree branch Suzuda was leaning against snapped with a crack, a large limb dangling just above his head.

"Suzuda!"

A small dust cloud rose at Suzuda's feet.
Suzuda used his sword as a staff, staggered back two or three steps, and collapsed.

The enemy soldiers were still over a hundred meters below.
And then, hiding in the shade of standing trees, along the edges of rice fields, and behind the walls of farmers' houses, they were only emitting white smoke.

Kondo recalled being shot in the shoulder in sumizome.
He couldn't believe something so small - a mere speck like a booger - could kill if it struck true.
A bullet - this small round pellet - felled men more decisively than Tennen Rishin-ryū's secret techniques honed through twenty, thirty years of study; even when wielded by peasant soldiers and potato samurai who'd practiced but three or five days, here Kondo could do nothing - utterly powerless - sheltering beneath this tree.

(How absurd.)

But at the same time, he felt something akin to terror—and despair.
Hijikata, sticking only his head out from the earthworks, was shouting something.

“Ah! The enemy—the enemy are—”

A man shouted and stood up.
The soldiers’ heads turned in unison in that direction.
On the mountainside, glimpses of the enemy’s white sashes flickered into view as sporadic puffs of white smoke rose with faint popping sounds.
Kondo noted there was a standing tree ahead but realized there was no cover to their rear.

“Retreat! To that position—”

With that shout, he took off running first.
A whizzing sound rang out, and he ducked his head slightly.

Eight

“If you go out, you’ll get shot!”

Kinchiyo pressed down on Ryūsaku’s head.

“But no one’s getting shot.”

“That’s because they’re staying hidden.”

“Don’t come closer. You call this warfare? This isn’t warfare. Those Satsuma-Chōshū bastards are too scared to die—that’s why they’re trying to intimidate us from a distance without getting close, they—”

Just as he finished speaking, smoke rose from the gate they had painstakingly built the previous night. With a thunderous explosion, the structure tilted—one of its pillars now missing half its mass.
The men

“Ah!” they shouted, half-rising to their feet. For the first time witnessing the cannon’s terrifying power—the very place where they had felt ten men could hold back a hundred now shattered by an invisible force—they knew their own lives would vanish just as easily in the next instant.

“Retreat!”

The shout reached them.

“Retreat, Kinchiyo!”

Ryūsaku stood up.

“Retreat?”

As Kinchiyo looked at Ryūsaku’s face and tried to stand up, Kondo came running.

“Retreat?”

Kinchiyo shot up.
When Kondo nodded and looked at Kinchiyo’s face, blood gushed from his forehead, trickling down from his cheeks to his lips.
Kinchiyo,
“Ah— I’m hit— done for...”
he muttered, and closed his eyes.
Ryūsaku

“I’m hit—a bullet got me.”

When Kondo had been shot himself, he hadn’t fully understood it—but seeing another man struck right before his eyes—immediately—

(We’ll regroup and fight again.)
(We can’t keep fighting like this.)

he thought.
His eyes shone with frustration, impatience, and anger, but

“Hijikata! Retreat!”

He bellowed and waved his hand.
Wearing his sword now seemed utterly absurd.
He felt as though he’d wasted twenty or thirty years.
Hijikata was smarter than me, I thought.

When he glanced back, the enemy were still firing from their concealed positions.
And in the sky, near their ears, overhead, bullets whined and buzzed as they occasionally thudded into trees, the ground, and sandbags.

(Dying from something like this?—No...)

As he thought this, he looked at Kinchiyo—mouth agape, both hands dangling limply at his comrade’s knees.

“Leave him, idiot!”

Kondo felt resentment toward the bastard who’d been shot dead.
He thought the bastard was trying to pull something.

Kinchiyo felt a searing thin object pierce from his forehead through his entire body, and immediately, half his consciousness slipped away. With that half-consciousness, he thought: So I finally took a bullet, huh. But this hurts less than being cut down by a sword. Dark... so dark...—Ryūsaku, louder—so dark the earth falls away beneath—grip my hand tighter—throat parched—Ryūsaku—don't stay silent, say something—Looks like I’m going to die—

Ryūsaku tried to stand up but immediately dropped prone.
When he realized no one was watching, he scrambled on all fours in panic toward the hollow.

Isami went to where the horse had been tethered at the rear and began untying the reins.
Just then, Tani Tateki and Kataoka Kenkichi emerged at the forefront, swords brandished.
Several allies were running toward them.
Isami considered joining them momentarily but dismissed it as folly—or rather, it felt like a bullet had struck him.

(I'll give it some thought tonight.
I've practiced swordsmanship for over thirty years.
Even I am less effective than farmers' rifles.
This is something that must be considered.)

Isami mounted the horse.
As soon as he spearheaded the retreat, the Kōyō Chinbutai collapsed into total disarray and began desperately scrambling up the mountain.

Ryusaku stumbled and slipped as he clawed his way upward, hands and cheeks getting scratched by bamboo grass and thorns in his attempt to reach the highway as directly as possible.

(If I flee to Edo—something will work out.
If things became truly hopeless, getting shot by a rifle would be easier than committing seppuku.
Kinchiyo died with that peaceful look—damn him.
But what a strange contraption.
Now samurai are finished.)

When he raised his eyes, neither Kondo’s figure nor Hijikata’s remained.