Another one of the carts rumbled into position. They did not leave it long before they tossed in the oil followed by a lit torch. They barely had enough time to run away before a massive ball of fire was spat into the sky, followed by a fist of pressured air that punched straight through the solid brick wall.
When the Hojo men peered through it, they could see the flank of the Miura forces. They only needed to expose one more hole to their rear, and then they would be able to overwhelm them with ease.
The word came to the Hojo Generals that their bowmen had been dealt with.
"Bah, it matters not," one of the generals spat, "we will be ridding ourselves of this man and his pointless resistance soon enough."
"He’s done remarkably well with what little men he has," the young commanding general mused, "have his other forces not left their stations in the other two fortresses?" He asked the messenger.
"No, my Lord, they haven’t budged," the messanger said.
"And yet he still managed to eliminate all of our missile troops... Splendid. An impressive display," the man commended.
"Will you stop with that? It makes a man uncomfortable, hearing his ally continually complimenting the enemy. We’re going to be cutting his head off in a few short minutes, so you had better stop getting so attached," one of the older generals said gruffly.
"Oh, for true, even with the bowmen gone, I think he is overestimating himself to think he can stand against the full might of our army," the man said.
And then another boom rang out. A signal, letting them know that the final cart had managed its way into position, opening the way for their entry through the back wall.
"And there’s our little signal," the young general said, "prepare your men. A quarter by the front, a quarter by the east, a quarter by the west and the rest from the south. It’s time to overwhelm him."
"Now we’re talking," the generals pulled tight the reigns of their horses and kicked the beasts into a trot, running down the line of their soldiers, barking their orders.
Gengyo and his army only just perfected their new formation in time. Clouds of dust were still hanging in the air from the recent explosions, and the sulphurous scent of gunpowder hung with it.
The men stood still in the formation for now, a complicated mass of spiralling soldiers. Gengyo was on the outer section, his rifle in his hand, glancing here and there, half expecting to see an enemy arise from the smoke.
When the order to march was given, their little machine would be kicked into gear. Gengyo’s heart beat quickly as he thought about it. There was nothing better than that. That thrill of battle. Thousands of men’s lives held in the balance. It was as close to godhood as a man was likely to experience.
The earth began to tremble as the Hojo’s massive army began to move. The sheer scale of it was more than anything they had faced in the past, but their knees did not go weak, nor did they tremble. It was a matter of course for the Miura men.
The Hojo men made them wait, showing nothing, only offering to them the sound of their marching, as though they were taunting them. They hid behind the stone walls, using them to disguise their movements, as they worked their way into position.
The Miura men looked this way and that, expecting the enemy from any direction. They flexed their fingers upon the grips of their swords, and they checked their rifles again, then again, assuring themselves that a bullet would be coming out the end of it.
BOOM!
From nowhere, another explosion went off, sending more rocks flying into the air. An explosion that shouldn’t have existed – for all the carts were already accounted for – and this one was even bigger than the rest.
Yet all it did was serve to try and unnerve them. The enemy already had all the openings that they needed. It might have rattled some of the newer recruits, like the Uesugi bowmen, who sat scattered through that swirling formation clutching bows rather than rifles, but it did nothing for the rest. They merely glanced at it mildly as though they were looking upon the antics of a naughty child.
And then, the enemy revealed themselves. Masked warriors charged through the open gate in front of them, bold and brave and full of blood thirsty, proudly carrying the blue Hojo banner.
More poured in from the left. Just as many as from the front, and just as blood thirsty. Spears and swords and fire bomb-throwers amongst them too, rushing to the front, attempting to unleash their missiles before their allies entered into the fray.
And then just the same came from the right, samurai and peasantry alike, all of them screaming with the same anger, feeling hot the humiliation they had been forced to endure, no longer fearing the rifles that were pointed against them quite as much, merely wishing to do anything they could to lash out and get rid of that horrible feeling that haunted their hearts.
Then, to the rear, everything else was put. Cavalrymen and generals stacked on top of each other, intending to drive in the final nail themselves.
Morohira sniffed his snot back up into his nose, then he cleared his throat and spat a globule of phlegm out onto the floor. "Ten men each before you get to die," he said, "else I’ll spend eternity torturing you in hell." He looked to them with the eyes of a demon and none of them doubted his words.
It was left to Jikouji to pull the lever and start up their machine. No new command was given, only one that they already knew. "QUICK MARCH! FIRE AT WILL!"
And then it began, a conveyer belt of standardized destruction.