A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

The stench of all those thousands of gallons of dyes was nauseating as it drifted out over the courtyard. Many a man felt light-headed, and they could feel the rumbling of hunger in their bellies. With the sun beating so strongly overhead, passing out became a very real risk.

"I expect you’ll be beginning to feel rather hungry around now, are you not? How about thirst, does it bother you? Good, then we are ready to begin our training," Jikouji was sat down on the cool stone steps, enjoying the shade provided by the overhanging roof of the palace. On his lap, there was a tray full of mouth-watering cooked fish, and he salted it aplenty, letting out many satisfied noises as he crunched down on it. In his glass, they’d been crushed several apples, allowing for a thick and refreshing drink. He smacked his lips as he enjoyed it.

He’d made the men stand there for more than two hours. He had not permitted them to talk, nor had he permitted them to move. Their hands were together behind them, resting in the small of their backs. They were only allowed to look forward, and never once were they allowed to itch, even as the droplets of sweat ran down off their forehead and towards their eyes. However tempting it became to brush them away, no one ever did, fearing the punishment.

Old Jikouji stood up and dusted himself off, finishing his last mouthful of fish, shaking his head in exasperation as though he could not believe just how good it tasted. Gengyo watched him with grim approval – there were few more sadistic than him.

"First, you will learn to listen. As soon as I begin to speak, you will bring your right foot in and clench your fists by your side. You will look stiff and alert as though someone has just slid a spear into your arse. You will remember this from now on," he paused a moment to look at them, before barking the next order. "UNDERSTOOD?"

"HAH!" They brought their feet in together, almost as one, slamming them into the ground, straightening their heads and looking forward, their fists clenched by their side.

The old general pulled a face and looked towards the pillar where Miura was standing. "In the name of the gods, what the hell was that? Are some of you deaf? Why were you still moving seconds after I had spoken? Do you think the enemy will wait for you to look around and guess what you’re meant to do by looking at your comrades? I think not. If I catch you falling behind, you will be shot." The way he said it, there was no question about whether he meant it. He’d willingly kill one man if it meant instilling discipline into a thousand.

At his words, the same servant that had brought him his food and had struck his gong for him came running. He bowed low and presented Jikouji with a loaded rifle, and he grasped it barely looking at the man. For Jikouji, a threat was no empty thing.

"Good..." he ran his fingers along the length of the barrel, "stand at ease. We will try this once again." The ranks of men slid their legs further apart and returned their hands behind their back, looking forward, a tenseness in them. Not a single man would dare miss this next order, not even the sweating generals by the front.

He let them wallow in silence for a few tense seconds, before he spoke up casually, "prepare," he hung on that first word, demanding that they respond to it, "for an about-turn." By the time he had finished his sentence, the whole army had stepped in at once. It was no longer a ripple that went across the crowd, but a single simultaneous movement. They stood to complete attention, praying that their fellow men had no fallen behind – they wanted done with this training and with this heat.

"Very good," he pronounced with a smile, "not quite as stupid as you look, are you? At this rate, we might finish before nightfall. Now, you will perform an about-turn at my command. Turn on your right heel – always your right heel, and then slam your left down beside it and return to attention. Do it swiftly, or my bullet will come searching for you."

Once again he gave them a few moments respite before he thickened his vocal cords and let loose a drawn about bark. "Abooooout... TURN!" He forced them to learn quickly. It would normally require a few attempts at practice to master a uniform about-turn, but they managed it first try – their lives depended on it. They spun on their right heel, while their left legs bent to catch up, and the wooden soles of their sandalled feet slammed into the floor, echoing across the courtyard, thousands of little noises congregated in a single massive sound with no outliers. They’d managed it simultaneously.

"Would you look at that, Miura-dono," Jikouji said – he always tried to address him with a more respectful honorific in front of lesser men, "they’ve only gone and mastered it. Should I let them eat, or should we teach these useless animals something harder?"

"Let them eat," Gengyo announced, pleased by their progress. He had seen the look of excitement on Matsudaira’s face as he felt himself a part of the uniform body. It would be a massive strategic advantage to be able to control their entire army in an orderly fashion, just as Takeda Shingen had managed to do, or perhaps even beyond that.

"You are too kind, my Lord," He turned away back to the edge of his steps. The men were still stood to complete attention with their backs to him. "Aboooout TURN!" He commanded, bringing them back to face him. "Go and get yourselves some food and drink. We will continue in half an hour." The men drifted away zombified to where the servants were waiting.