The Divine Move by Dylan Kwok
Ishida must defend his clan, but the invincible Western army is approaching, led by a dirigible with predictive capabilities - should his loyalties remain with General Ii and the Emperor?
Just below the clouds, it drifted, white smoke trailing from its aft.
For most airships, cruising so low would've been a strategic error: first, it left it vulnerable to storms, and second, detection by the enemy.
The hands of the Sanada feared neither.
Even now, its thirty-man crew strolled about the deck, gazing down on the land like gods. They could see every tree, hill, ford, knoll, man and beast.
And everything could see them.
It was only when the din of camp life petered out did Ishida realise something was happening outside. Rolling up his maps, the lanky young captain stood, peeled open his tent flap, and stepped out.
The harsh mid-morning light assaulted his eyes.
As Ishida adjusted his kepi to block the glare of the sun, he glanced about. Everywhere, the soldiers stood, necks craning and eyes squinting at the distant spot in the sky, arms limp by their sides, mouths uniformly in a grim line.
Several of his junior officers had pulled out spyglasses.
Ishida didn't need to look to know what hung in the clouds there. Still, he did.
Slowly, his arms fell to his sides.
After a few minutes, murmurs began to run across the tents, and all at once the clatter of camp life resumed. But there was a different ring to it now - the morning lethargy was gone, with every man now speaking, rushing, eager to fill the silence that had engulfed them moments before.
Sergeants began to yell.
Ishida stared at the dirigible a while longer as the men dispersed back to their duties. He turned to one of his retainers, a young ensign whom he had grown up with. "Go tell Major Takeda that I need to speak to him after the officers' meeting," he said, then pulled the man closer. "Discreetly."
The crew of the Sanada saw the Eastern clans spread over the hills like a patchwork rug. Already, the two spotters who first saw them were pecking away at the registers and adjusting dials, logging the information into the mechanical brain of the airship. Along the portholes near the keel, three signallers refilled their kerosene signal lamps, ready to relay whatever instructions the machine spat out for the army below.
The chief cartographer inspected the hasty map the spotters had created from their initial observations. He frowned at the monolithic pile of black blocks that represented the Eastern army. Fishing a few out, he plonked a few white blocks into the mix, and told the spotters to readjust the dials.
He looked out at the nondescript mass of their enemy. From this distance, there was no way of figuring out where the clans who had agreed to defect were situated, but he was not worried. They would find out as they got nearer.
He turned to the spotters, who had finished. Satisfied with their computations, he nodded. They cranked the lever.
All at once the gears and pistons sprang to life, and a small puff of steam escaped from the machine's exhaust. The cartographers and spotters sat down. The rest of the crew, who had shown up when the excitement began, returned to their posts. They were still three days' march away. There was little chance it would issue any important instructions.
The whirrs and clicks fell silent. A punched card rolled out and dropped into the tray.
It was blank.
As expected.
At this, the spotters and cartographers stood, and pulled out their compasses, spyglasses and pencils. They had three days to create an accurate and up-to-date map of the landscape and the enemy positions that the Sanada needed for more accurate computations.
They had a lot of work to do.
Ishida sat at the end of the table, hands thrust into his jacket. Around him, the riflery officers were peering over the sand tables, moving painted blocks about, discussing strategy.
"We can't make proper formations on the battlefield. It'll be too obvious what we're doing."
"Cursed Westerners. What if we just use a smokescreen?"
They looked at the quartermaster. He shook his head. "There's not enough phosphorous to sustain that for a whole battle. Besides -" he stopped short. It didn't need to be said. What was the point of a smokescreen when the enemy could predict their movements, smoke notwithstanding?
They turned back to the sand table.
"Can't we use cannons to take the ship down?"
"That's ludicrous. They don't have half that range."
Ishida sat back, one ear on the bickering, his mind elsewhere. It wasn't that the others were completely foolish - they had at least understood that the enemy strategy relied wholly on the Sanada - but unless anyone could come up with a reasonable plan to take it down or outsmart it, they were doomed. The whole army might as well commit ritual suicide right now and save themselves the embarrassment of abject failure.
Or, of course, they could surrender. Apparently the Western army was merciful.
Which made Ishida wonder what he was still doing here.
When the civil war had broken out, the Ishida clan had declared support for the young Emperor, and his father had led the majority of their forces into battle for the Emperor, gambling that their house would be rewarded for their loyalty.
Their first opponent had been a force led by the Sanada.
Now, a year and many bloody battles later, Ishida was left considering their clan's bleak position. Besides a skeletal force protecting his family lands from opportunistic raiders taking advantage of the civil war, he led the remainder of their clan's troops, a few hundred men, nearly a nameless clan in the fifty thousand strong Eastern army.
Siding with the Emperor had not turned out well for him or his family.
Ishida trained his eyes on the man across the table. This older officer, with a grizzled chonmage topknot, sat back with eyes closed, one hand on his ceremonial katana and the other fingering a flintlock pistol - both gifts from the late Emperor.
The only man brilliant enough to turn the tide of this war.
Finally, General Ii sat forward and put his pistol on the table with a clack. The tent fell silent.
"Gentlemen, you know our enemy and who's leading them. So why are you harping on like fishwives at the market?"
The Sanada drifted along. Below deck, the available crew - engineers, signallers, navigators - sat, kerosene lamps on the table with logs open.
They were inputting battle data.
In between engagements they would take information on troop compositions, movement and layout from historical battles and log them into the machine, which then recorded the victor's strategy - and the loser's missteps - in its database in case it ever faced a similar situation.
It wasn't that much different from the military academies where trainees studied historical battles to gain experience.
The key difference between the airship and a human general was that the Sanada could remember far more battles, with perfect detail. Where an experienced commander could study hundreds of battles and perhaps command a dozen or so - if he survived - the Sanada had studied every recorded battle in the last two millennia. It knew every strategy and move ever done, how the belligerents had fought, and how exactly the victor had won.
With it in the sky, there was no need for generals, or senior officers, in the Western army. The ground troops took instructions from the semaphore system and acted accordingly.
They hadn't lost a battle yet.
Neither had the grizzled man at the head of the table who had been the late Emperor's premier general, which was why Ishida was so intrigued by what Ii would say next.
The general spun his flintlock on the table before he began to speak.
"I have considered all your ideas seriously. But our unique enemy forces us to play differently." All around, the officers pulled out oily notebooks and worn pencils. "Issue the black powder, shot and kerosene to the men. Tell them to be ready, but to keep to their tents, and ignore the enemy."
He picked up his flintlock, and looked at assembled officers - a collection of the Emperor's own retainers and lords from the various clans - his eyes challenging anyone to ask a question. His eyes swept over Ishida, who dodged the gaze.
Instead, Ishida turned to look at his fellow officers. Half the faces were furiously writing in their notebooks, which Ishida knew was an act. What was there to write? The orders were too brief. They were probably just trying to hide their confusion.
The rest, like him, were looking around in bewilderment, eyeing each other to see if anyone else understood the orders.
He caught Major Takeda's eye, who shook his head slightly. It appeared the brilliant young officer was just as lost as the rest of them.
Hearing no questions, General Ii holstered his flintlock and stepped towards the tent flaps.
Takeda finally spoke up. "And then?"
General Ii turned. "That is all."
Another junior officer exclaimed, "How will that work? You didn't explain anything!"
Ii turned his gaze towards the frustrated officer. "You're officers, not an unthinking rabble." He smiled, then said, "Contemplate."
Down on the ground, the Western clans had set up encampment on the hill opposite the Eastern army. Spotters from each clan and company waited for the flashes of light that would come from the great airship, ready to relay the orders to runners.
Sometimes the instructions made sense, sometimes they didn't.
But no one thought twice about obeying them.
The first few battles had been tough. The troops couldn't comprehend how a mechanical airship, crewed by mere cartographers, signallers, punched card operators and engineers, could outsmart a human general. Besides, many were unsure why they were even supporting the upstart prince at all, especially with commanders like Ii on the child Emperor's side.
Yoshiyasu had claimed that the boy on the throne was illegitimate, and that he, as the brother of the late Emperor, had a stronger claim to the throne. Whether it was the cries of illegitimacy or his offers of riches that had enticed the Western clan lords, they had chosen to side with him.
The Western lords, in turn, had ordered their retainers to swear fealty to Prince Yoshiyasu, and follow his single, simple order: obey the mechanical airship.
Then one Eastern general was defeated. Then two. Then three.
The child Emperor's coalition began to tremble.
By the ninth or tenth battle, Eastern clans had begun to defect, the embattled monarch had fled the capital, and the Western soldiers who were once terrified that their lives were in the hands of a cold machine praised its name and the name of their prince.
Across the seas, other nations watched the civil war with unease. If Yoshiyasu won, the Sanada would continue its conquests abroad.
How could anyone defeat it?
Ishida entered the officers' mess and sank onto a bench. A simple meal of rice and stew was set in front of him. The other officers had chosen to drag the meeting on for hours without their commander, in hopes they could figure out the rationale of his plan, but to no avail.
At some point, he had left to inform his men of the decision.
His face still burned at the scene: standing before his men, explaining to them orders not even he could comprehend.
There had been questions. Many. They weren't going to dig trenches? Lay traps? Build walls? What was the point of encamping so early if they weren't going to make use of their advantage? Wasn't the plan basically suicide?
Looking at the worried faces of his men - the townsfolk who had agreed to enlist, the peasants that had been press-ganged into service, and his lifelong retainers, he had no words.
As Ishida sat, thinking, eyes glassy, poking at his food, he realised he was sitting alone at the table.
His eyes swept across the room to a mass of officers crowded around the head table, dead silent.
He joined them. "What's going on?"
A fellow whispered. "General Ii's playing Go with Takeda."
"So?"
"Takeda is winning."
Ishida craned his neck to see the familiar white and black stones on the kaya-wood board. Takeda, playing white, controlled most of the board, and at the corner of his mouth quirked the slightest of smiles.
Ishida frowned. Takeda was a good player, but Ii was the undoubted champion. How had the game gone so wrong for the general? Was this the same Ii who had told them earlier that his strategy was to lie back and ignore the enemy? Had he been in his right mind?
Ishida glanced about, recognising the look of consternation on the faces of the other officers, the same look his men had when they were issued their orders in the afternoon and the same one he now wore. If Ii couldn't even control the outcome of a single Go match, how were they going to overcome the Western army? With his irrational plan at that?
Ishida scanned the board again. Takeda's white stones were arrayed across the board in long strings, surrounding pockets of empty intersections where Ii's black stones had been captured and removed. It didn't look like the old man had many more moves he could play to survive the game.
He returned to his seat to continue his meal, but before long a low murmuring broke out among the throng. They were dispersing. He waved an ensign over. "Takeda won?"
"No."
"Ii pulled through?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
"He adjourned the game."
"So early in the evening?"
"It appears so."
Ishida sat, thinking, his meal turning cold. Ii had left, and the chatter had mostly returned, but around Takeda he saw several of the most senior clan heads - the more superstitious ones - gather. They spoke in hushed tones, but Ishida could make out the conversation.
"You can't win, Takeda."
"Why not?"
"We fight in a few days. It's a bad omen if Ii loses tonight."
Ishida could see the hard line of Takeda's jaw as the major rebutted. "Given his orders this afternoon, I think our defeat is inevitable."
His comment was ignored. "Throw the game, Takeda. That's an order."
"The same way Ii is ordering us to throw our lives away?"
"You think you know how to defeat the Sanada?"
The voices had risen, tense, heated, and around the mess, most of the officers had given up the pretence that they weren't eavesdropping. Takeda's eyes swept briefly over the unintended audience and bit back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Relaxing back into his chair, he responded.
"No, but I know that none of you do either. That's why you're pretending that if Ii wins the game we'll win the battle." Standing, he stalked out of the mess.
The remaining officers erupted into conversation.
Ishida put down his bowl and went over to the abandoned board, eyes scanning the positions of the stones. Takeda's stones were strung about the board in a superior position. Had Ii seen a path to victory and stopped the game to relish in his own genius, or was he truly at a loss of how to win?
Ishida studied the board carefully. There was still room for Ii to move, but if there was a move that would turn the game about, Ishida couldn't find it.
They'd just have to wait and see.
Across the Eastern encampment, the lights were coming on, one by one.
The crew of the Sanada watched with little interest. Since the first day the cartographers had finished mapping out the battlefield, the Eastern clans had made no attempt to reorganise.
Below them, the lights of the Western army shone, just as brightly. After the first few battles the few officers remaining on the ground realised the psychological effect of flaunting their position did far more damage to the enemy than a surprise attack ever could - and with the Sanada hanging in the sky like a storm cloud, it wasn't like they could conceal their presence.
But the mood among the Yoshiyasu's foot soldiers was different this night. Instead of the slow, arduous drag of oiling barrels, taking shot and powder, and fitting out cannons, each task was done with haste.
The Western clans had spent a good long time while ravaging the countryside hunting one man, the one general left undefeated, still protecting the child on the throne, and the only obstacle preventing Prince Yoshiyasu from displacing his nephew and ascending the throne.
Yesterday the signallers had caused a flurry of excitement in the camp by reporting that the Ii mon had been spotted among the standards of the Eastern army.
And if his clan symbol was present, he would be too.
Ii Torajiro had finally come to die.
The sky was a dark purple, and all around Ishida, the men trailing back to their tents from the mess faded into silhouettes. He glanced around. In front of him stood a larger tent with the Takeda mon, its flaps closed. The customary retainers posted around the entrance were gone.
Ishida looked back and forth. The few men outside were gathered in huddles, puffing away at pipes and chatting amongst themselves.
No one seemed to notice him.
Quickly, Ishida approached the tent. Pulling the flap aside he plunged into the gloom, where a dozen pair of eyes sat, blinking at him. He squinted, trying to recognise the faces.
Takeda, sitting at a low table in the middle of the tent with a map spread out over it, nodded at him. He gestured to a spot and said, "Take a seat."
Ishida sat down, eyes darting left and right. He hadn't expected so many clan lords to be here, planning to defect. It appeared the cryptic afternoon meeting and the evening game of Go had done more damage to morale than expected.
After a few minutes Takeda began. "I have received orders from the Sanada," he said, pulling out his notebook. He flipped it open.
"The orders are as such: when the battle begins you are to wait for Ii's main force to engage the Western army. Once it is clear they are locked in battle, you are to flank them from your established position. Cut off any escape routes and make sure no Ii loyalists flee."
Takeda snapped his notebook shut. Immediately an officer spoke up. "Are they not going to issue us orders like they do their other troops in regular battle?"
Takeda shook his head. "It seems they have deemed it too troublesome to teach our officers the codes they use to send their orders. There's not enough time to learn. Besides, the Sanada can operate perfectly fine even if some of its allies are acting independently."
Ishida shifted uneasily in his seat. Finally, he said, "This was not what we were told at first. Why the change of plan?"
Takeda replied. "It seems that Yoshiyasu is wary of Ii's battle prowess, and wants all the support he can get." He gave a tired smile. "Turns out he didn't have to worry so much."
"So what is Yoshiyasu going to do with those of us who agreed that we would only desert during the battle? Like we agreed to do?"
Takeda responded. "You will receive what you agreed upon as well. Yoshiyasu recognises that some of you swore oaths of loyalty to the Emperor and are uncomfortable with an outright defection. As long as you stay out of the battle and don't flee, you will be rewarded as agreed. However," he continued, "Yoshiyasu has said a greater reward awaits those who fight for him in the battle. The choice is yours."
Another officer called out, "What will you do if we tell Ii tonight what is being planned?"
Takeda turned to him. "Nothing. What can he do about it, anyway? His brain is addled. His hands are tied." He looked around the assembled men. "So, who's with me?"
The spotters of the Sanada were gathered on the starboard side, gazing intently at the single flashing strobe among the sea of lights that was the Eastern encampment. Since they saw the first message in the pre-dawn light, they had been taking turns to watch all day the tent which they had marked as belonging to Lord Takeda.
Now they were writing down the list of clans that Takeda was sending them. Next to them, the signallers were copying down the names furiously, and two of them had already begun informing their own army camped below them of the developing situation.
As name after name was read out, the cartographers sitting at the map they had drawn flicked off black blocks from the pile representing the Eastern encampment, replacing them with white ones.
The chief cartographer walked around the map, counting the white blocks. When the armies had first assembled, the black pieces had had a slight advantage. Now, they were outnumbered three to one.
He smiled. Their odds had never been so good.
The Eastern army was doomed.
After Ishida left Takeda's tent he wandered the other tents, thinking. Was this the best way to preserve the Ishida clan?
As he had been leaving, he spotted Takeda passing a torn page from his notebook to a retainer with a lantern. No doubt he would be informing the Western army which clans had chosen to defect and which chose to desert.
How would Ii react if he learnt whose names were on the list? Would he be furious at the number of traitors? Would he berate them for their lack of honour?
Ishida thought about his own father, who had died in service for the Emperor, against this very enemy. Would he care that his sacrifice was all for nothing? That in the end his own son would join arms with the army that killed him?
But what could Ishida do about it? Either he clung to his honour and died in battle, or he clung to his life and forfeited his honour.
He relished neither prospect - but for the lives of his men, he had chosen to desert. His retainers might be willing to die for the Emperor, but he was not willing to let them. Already, too many of the Ishida clan's men had died in this savage war.
Not that he was going to divulge the plan to them yet. There was no point worrying them further. As their lord, they would follow his orders unquestioned in battle. As he neared the centre of the camp his eyes landed on General Ii in his faded uniform standing nearby, pipe clamped between his teeth. The man plucked the pipe from his lips. "Captain Ishida," he called out.
"Sir." Ishida approached with a bow.
"I noticed you said nothing when I gave my orders."
Ishida moistened his lips, unsure if the general expected a response. What could he say? He had no confidence in the plans. His men had no confidence in the plans. It appeared that half the lords and officers that served under Ii had no confidence in his plan, especially after seeing the state of the kaya-wood battlefield in the mess tent. Ishida kept silent and fiddled with his lanyard.
Finally, the general broke the silence. "Have you read the reports of how the Sanada commands?"
Now Ishida spoke with clipped urgency. "It's as ruthless as Ukita, as conservative as Hojo, and as inspired as Mori. Every battle, it plays just right to keep its forces intact while devastating ours."
A chuckle. "You almost sound like a Western sycophant."
Ishida lowered his gaze, chagrined. What could he say? Ii wasn't wrong.
The general knocked out the spent tobacco of his pipe and pulled out a leather pouch. "The Sanada is a machine." He handed the pouch to Ishida, who took it and released the drawstrings. The sweet aroma of tobacco wafted out. Ii pinched out the dried leaves to pack his pipe, then continued. "But it's part of a larger machine. Its crew is part of it. The Western army on the ground is part of it. The Eastern lords and their men who have chosen to defect are - or will soon be - part of it."
Ishida stood, face and hands frozen, at this proclamation. Ii glanced askance at the tall young officer as he picked the tobacco leaves. "I'm not oblivious to the undercurrents of discontent. Surely you, Ishida, closer to the ground, must know better your fellow lords' opinion on my leadership and strategy."
Ishida controlled his breathing. With great deliberation he said, "I am aware, sir, that there are many who are questioning your strategy."
The general chuckled as he picked up a few final leaves. He motioned for Ishida to tie up the pouch while he lit the pipe with a match struck against his leather belt. As he puffed hard, fragrant, bluish smoke was followed by the amber glow of the tobacco.
"They're not just questioning my strategy, Ishida."
Ishida kept his mouth shut.
Ii continued. "As I was saying, the entire Western army, and their allies, are now part of this machine. Like a well maintained cannon, when you light it, it kills people." He held up the spent match. "But who lights it?"
Ishida thought for a while. "Yoshiyasu?"
"No. Us."
Ii pointed to the sky. "The Sanada is waiting at the board. Its white stones are arrayed in chains around us, the black stones. It remembers with perfect clarity hundreds and hundreds of matches and knows instantly what move to execute when we place our next stone."
Ii pulled on his pipe, making it glow brighter in the darkness.
"But what if we pulled off a move it has never seen before?"
Ishida felt the sweat beading at his hairline despite the cool night. Did Ii really have a coherent plan, after all that, or was this the ramblings of a man who knew he was beaten? Most of the commanders and men - himself included - had been unsure which it was. But standing in front of the veteran general, Ishida saw in Ii the sharp eyes of an experienced Go player who had calmly analysed the board, played daringly, and was confident that the victory was his.
But how was Ii so assured he would win? What solution had he seen that no one else had?
Ishida couldn't fathom it. Ii was hemmed in the front by the Sanada and the Western army and in the back by would-be traitors. It was a textbook example of encirclement. The battle would be over the moment it started. Unless -
"Your plan is to garrison here and see what it does."
Ii chuckled. "See what it does? Oh, not at all. I know what it will do."
He pointed his pipe at the sword hanging from Ishida's bandolier. "You won't have to use that on yourself, I promise. Tomorrow, you'll see. Tomorrow, we make our divine move." He looked Ishida in the eye. "Do I have your full support?"
Far above, the Sanada was in place. Its spotters could see the stars on the kepi of the Eastern army, the gesticulations of the sergeants, and the glint of the officers' katanas.
Below the airship, the Western army was ready, rifles cleaned, boots polished, lamps lit and sights clear. The war was almost at an end.
The only people not ready for battle were the airship's signallers.
The spotters had logged in the Eastern army's positions all morning and afternoon, but no instructions were forthcoming.
It wasn't a gear problem. They could hear the whirr, and could smell the smoke from the engine running, and the grease of freshly oiled gears. But every punched card came out blank.
They weren't worried. This happened. Sometimes it waited for a better hour to strike.
It was only as the sun began to set that it became obvious no battle would happen today. For the Eastern clans to attack blind now, while the Sanada could see every flash of light from their lamps and guns, would be slaughter. The troops on both sides settled down to wait, flintlocks in hand and boots on.
Perhaps the fight would start at dawn tomorrow.
Ishida rose early.
In that first week, most of the men woke the same time he did, but as the tension began to drain and reveille calls were pushed back - by Ii himself - he was more and more alone in the wee hours.
He stepped out of his tent, eyes flying to the Sanada, silhouetted against the clear blue sky.
Across the plain, the Western army sat. For the first few days they had made a big show of assembling their lines, but as the great ship continued to lie dormant in the sky, the men kept more and more to their tents, mirroring the actions of the Eastern army.
As he stalked about the camp, he spotted Takeda sitting in front of a clear table in the otherwise empty mess tent, with a handful of fellow conspirators around him, whispering fiercely.
It was clear they weren't here for breakfast.
Ishida glanced about. The tent was quiet. They would not be disturbed.
He joined them.
As he sat down, the others looked at him.
"I thought Ii's orders meant he would do nothing until the Western army was close enough to fight!" hissed someone.
"This wasn't part of the plan."
"Are there any more orders from the Sanada?"
Takeda sat, palms flat on the table. Despite the long days of rest, there were shadows under his eyes. "Our orders from the Sanada were simple: wait until the battle starts."
"Are you sure it hasn't said anything else?"
At that, Takeda bristled. "You look into the sky and watch the ship all night, then you can tell me."
They fell silent. Finally, another officer said, "You're implying that our orders from Ii and the Sanada are the same: standby and do nothing."
The clan leaders stared at each other after this proclamation, each unsure of what to say. There was nothing left to discuss. Takeda stared forward, refusing to deign any of the other officers with a glance. One by one they stood up and began slinking off to their tents.
Ishida stood. As he turned to leave, Takeda sighed. "He won."
Ishida looked at Takeda. "Won what?"
Takeda let his head loll back. "The game of Go, of course." He eyed Ishida from his slumped position. "In case you were wondering." He closed his eyes.
Ishida looked at the tired major for a long while before he stepped out of the mess. He gave the sky a perfunctory glance.
They had been here for two weeks.
There was a shared look of exhaustion among the crew of the Sanada.
They had developed a system. Every hour, one of the spotters would punch in the positions of both armies into the machine - they had long ago memorised the order of dials to turn, keys to press, and levers to crank. They would hear the whirr, the turning of gears, and then a click. They would check the paper tray.
They would see a blank card.
They had tried everything. The chief engineer had ordered that every gear be tightened and retightened, every spring wound and rewound, every jewelled escapement tuned and oiled, and every lever reset and cranked just to be sure the mechanical brain was in perfect functioning order.
Nothing.
The only thing that had changed was that the coal bins were almost empty. The stokers' faces were pale beneath the layers of coal dust as they inspected the depleted tender. The ship floated by hydrogen - so it would continue to float without fuel - but it would be at the mercy of the winds.
And more importantly, the mechanical brain would stop working.
There was silence on the ship as the captain announced his decision. Already they had tarried too long in the expectation of battle; to stay any longer would leave them drifting like a cloud.
They would have to let the troops on the ground know.
It was nearly last light, and Ishida was sitting outside his tent when he saw it: several sodium-coloured flashes from the Sanada.
Boots on, weapon slung, he rushed to the command tent.
As he ran he heard the voices of the men around him rise to a crescendo as they, too, saw the same flashes in the sky as the ship begin to rise and turn away.
Ishida joined a throng of commanders crowding the entrance to the marquee. He looked around the gathered faces. Every face - conspirator and loyalist - gazed intently on the man at the centre, ready to hear what he had to say.
General Ii looked at the crowd. He caught Ishida's eye, but his face remained inscrutable. He spoke to the assembled commanders.
"Get the men ready within the hour. We fight at sundown."
No protestations, no questions. The sergeants and junior officers dispersed, leaving the senior command to hammer out the plan of attack with the veteran general.
Ishida ran to inform his men, one eye on the path and one eye on the enemy. Across the field, the Western encampment was ablaze in strobes, beams flashing into the sky from every quarter as the confused men begged for orders from the almighty dirigible.
Above, the lamps were going out on the Sanada, as it gently rose into the clouds, melding into the darkness of the night.
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For most airships, cruising so low would've been a strategic error: first, it left it vulnerable to storms, and second, detection by the enemy.
The hands of the Sanada feared neither.
Even now, its thirty-man crew strolled about the deck, gazing down on the land like gods. They could see every tree, hill, ford, knoll, man and beast.
And everything could see them.
It was only when the din of camp life petered out did Ishida realise something was happening outside. Rolling up his maps, the lanky young captain stood, peeled open his tent flap, and stepped out.
The harsh mid-morning light assaulted his eyes.
As Ishida adjusted his kepi to block the glare of the sun, he glanced about. Everywhere, the soldiers stood, necks craning and eyes squinting at the distant spot in the sky, arms limp by their sides, mouths uniformly in a grim line.
Several of his junior officers had pulled out spyglasses.
Ishida didn't need to look to know what hung in the clouds there. Still, he did.
Slowly, his arms fell to his sides.
After a few minutes, murmurs began to run across the tents, and all at once the clatter of camp life resumed. But there was a different ring to it now - the morning lethargy was gone, with every man now speaking, rushing, eager to fill the silence that had engulfed them moments before.
Sergeants began to yell.
Ishida stared at the dirigible a while longer as the men dispersed back to their duties. He turned to one of his retainers, a young ensign whom he had grown up with. "Go tell Major Takeda that I need to speak to him after the officers' meeting," he said, then pulled the man closer. "Discreetly."
The crew of the Sanada saw the Eastern clans spread over the hills like a patchwork rug. Already, the two spotters who first saw them were pecking away at the registers and adjusting dials, logging the information into the mechanical brain of the airship. Along the portholes near the keel, three signallers refilled their kerosene signal lamps, ready to relay whatever instructions the machine spat out for the army below.
The chief cartographer inspected the hasty map the spotters had created from their initial observations. He frowned at the monolithic pile of black blocks that represented the Eastern army. Fishing a few out, he plonked a few white blocks into the mix, and told the spotters to readjust the dials.
He looked out at the nondescript mass of their enemy. From this distance, there was no way of figuring out where the clans who had agreed to defect were situated, but he was not worried. They would find out as they got nearer.
He turned to the spotters, who had finished. Satisfied with their computations, he nodded. They cranked the lever.
All at once the gears and pistons sprang to life, and a small puff of steam escaped from the machine's exhaust. The cartographers and spotters sat down. The rest of the crew, who had shown up when the excitement began, returned to their posts. They were still three days' march away. There was little chance it would issue any important instructions.
The whirrs and clicks fell silent. A punched card rolled out and dropped into the tray.
It was blank.
As expected.
At this, the spotters and cartographers stood, and pulled out their compasses, spyglasses and pencils. They had three days to create an accurate and up-to-date map of the landscape and the enemy positions that the Sanada needed for more accurate computations.
They had a lot of work to do.
Ishida sat at the end of the table, hands thrust into his jacket. Around him, the riflery officers were peering over the sand tables, moving painted blocks about, discussing strategy.
"We can't make proper formations on the battlefield. It'll be too obvious what we're doing."
"Cursed Westerners. What if we just use a smokescreen?"
They looked at the quartermaster. He shook his head. "There's not enough phosphorous to sustain that for a whole battle. Besides -" he stopped short. It didn't need to be said. What was the point of a smokescreen when the enemy could predict their movements, smoke notwithstanding?
They turned back to the sand table.
"Can't we use cannons to take the ship down?"
"That's ludicrous. They don't have half that range."
Ishida sat back, one ear on the bickering, his mind elsewhere. It wasn't that the others were completely foolish - they had at least understood that the enemy strategy relied wholly on the Sanada - but unless anyone could come up with a reasonable plan to take it down or outsmart it, they were doomed. The whole army might as well commit ritual suicide right now and save themselves the embarrassment of abject failure.
Or, of course, they could surrender. Apparently the Western army was merciful.
Which made Ishida wonder what he was still doing here.
When the civil war had broken out, the Ishida clan had declared support for the young Emperor, and his father had led the majority of their forces into battle for the Emperor, gambling that their house would be rewarded for their loyalty.
Their first opponent had been a force led by the Sanada.
Now, a year and many bloody battles later, Ishida was left considering their clan's bleak position. Besides a skeletal force protecting his family lands from opportunistic raiders taking advantage of the civil war, he led the remainder of their clan's troops, a few hundred men, nearly a nameless clan in the fifty thousand strong Eastern army.
Siding with the Emperor had not turned out well for him or his family.
Ishida trained his eyes on the man across the table. This older officer, with a grizzled chonmage topknot, sat back with eyes closed, one hand on his ceremonial katana and the other fingering a flintlock pistol - both gifts from the late Emperor.
The only man brilliant enough to turn the tide of this war.
Finally, General Ii sat forward and put his pistol on the table with a clack. The tent fell silent.
"Gentlemen, you know our enemy and who's leading them. So why are you harping on like fishwives at the market?"
The Sanada drifted along. Below deck, the available crew - engineers, signallers, navigators - sat, kerosene lamps on the table with logs open.
They were inputting battle data.
In between engagements they would take information on troop compositions, movement and layout from historical battles and log them into the machine, which then recorded the victor's strategy - and the loser's missteps - in its database in case it ever faced a similar situation.
It wasn't that much different from the military academies where trainees studied historical battles to gain experience.
The key difference between the airship and a human general was that the Sanada could remember far more battles, with perfect detail. Where an experienced commander could study hundreds of battles and perhaps command a dozen or so - if he survived - the Sanada had studied every recorded battle in the last two millennia. It knew every strategy and move ever done, how the belligerents had fought, and how exactly the victor had won.
With it in the sky, there was no need for generals, or senior officers, in the Western army. The ground troops took instructions from the semaphore system and acted accordingly.
They hadn't lost a battle yet.
Neither had the grizzled man at the head of the table who had been the late Emperor's premier general, which was why Ishida was so intrigued by what Ii would say next.
The general spun his flintlock on the table before he began to speak.
"I have considered all your ideas seriously. But our unique enemy forces us to play differently." All around, the officers pulled out oily notebooks and worn pencils. "Issue the black powder, shot and kerosene to the men. Tell them to be ready, but to keep to their tents, and ignore the enemy."
He picked up his flintlock, and looked at assembled officers - a collection of the Emperor's own retainers and lords from the various clans - his eyes challenging anyone to ask a question. His eyes swept over Ishida, who dodged the gaze.
Instead, Ishida turned to look at his fellow officers. Half the faces were furiously writing in their notebooks, which Ishida knew was an act. What was there to write? The orders were too brief. They were probably just trying to hide their confusion.
The rest, like him, were looking around in bewilderment, eyeing each other to see if anyone else understood the orders.
He caught Major Takeda's eye, who shook his head slightly. It appeared the brilliant young officer was just as lost as the rest of them.
Hearing no questions, General Ii holstered his flintlock and stepped towards the tent flaps.
Takeda finally spoke up. "And then?"
General Ii turned. "That is all."
Another junior officer exclaimed, "How will that work? You didn't explain anything!"
Ii turned his gaze towards the frustrated officer. "You're officers, not an unthinking rabble." He smiled, then said, "Contemplate."
Down on the ground, the Western clans had set up encampment on the hill opposite the Eastern army. Spotters from each clan and company waited for the flashes of light that would come from the great airship, ready to relay the orders to runners.
Sometimes the instructions made sense, sometimes they didn't.
But no one thought twice about obeying them.
The first few battles had been tough. The troops couldn't comprehend how a mechanical airship, crewed by mere cartographers, signallers, punched card operators and engineers, could outsmart a human general. Besides, many were unsure why they were even supporting the upstart prince at all, especially with commanders like Ii on the child Emperor's side.
Yoshiyasu had claimed that the boy on the throne was illegitimate, and that he, as the brother of the late Emperor, had a stronger claim to the throne. Whether it was the cries of illegitimacy or his offers of riches that had enticed the Western clan lords, they had chosen to side with him.
The Western lords, in turn, had ordered their retainers to swear fealty to Prince Yoshiyasu, and follow his single, simple order: obey the mechanical airship.
Then one Eastern general was defeated. Then two. Then three.
The child Emperor's coalition began to tremble.
By the ninth or tenth battle, Eastern clans had begun to defect, the embattled monarch had fled the capital, and the Western soldiers who were once terrified that their lives were in the hands of a cold machine praised its name and the name of their prince.
Across the seas, other nations watched the civil war with unease. If Yoshiyasu won, the Sanada would continue its conquests abroad.
How could anyone defeat it?
Ishida entered the officers' mess and sank onto a bench. A simple meal of rice and stew was set in front of him. The other officers had chosen to drag the meeting on for hours without their commander, in hopes they could figure out the rationale of his plan, but to no avail.
At some point, he had left to inform his men of the decision.
His face still burned at the scene: standing before his men, explaining to them orders not even he could comprehend.
There had been questions. Many. They weren't going to dig trenches? Lay traps? Build walls? What was the point of encamping so early if they weren't going to make use of their advantage? Wasn't the plan basically suicide?
Looking at the worried faces of his men - the townsfolk who had agreed to enlist, the peasants that had been press-ganged into service, and his lifelong retainers, he had no words.
As Ishida sat, thinking, eyes glassy, poking at his food, he realised he was sitting alone at the table.
His eyes swept across the room to a mass of officers crowded around the head table, dead silent.
He joined them. "What's going on?"
A fellow whispered. "General Ii's playing Go with Takeda."
"So?"
"Takeda is winning."
Ishida craned his neck to see the familiar white and black stones on the kaya-wood board. Takeda, playing white, controlled most of the board, and at the corner of his mouth quirked the slightest of smiles.
Ishida frowned. Takeda was a good player, but Ii was the undoubted champion. How had the game gone so wrong for the general? Was this the same Ii who had told them earlier that his strategy was to lie back and ignore the enemy? Had he been in his right mind?
Ishida glanced about, recognising the look of consternation on the faces of the other officers, the same look his men had when they were issued their orders in the afternoon and the same one he now wore. If Ii couldn't even control the outcome of a single Go match, how were they going to overcome the Western army? With his irrational plan at that?
Ishida scanned the board again. Takeda's white stones were arrayed across the board in long strings, surrounding pockets of empty intersections where Ii's black stones had been captured and removed. It didn't look like the old man had many more moves he could play to survive the game.
He returned to his seat to continue his meal, but before long a low murmuring broke out among the throng. They were dispersing. He waved an ensign over. "Takeda won?"
"No."
"Ii pulled through?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
"He adjourned the game."
"So early in the evening?"
"It appears so."
Ishida sat, thinking, his meal turning cold. Ii had left, and the chatter had mostly returned, but around Takeda he saw several of the most senior clan heads - the more superstitious ones - gather. They spoke in hushed tones, but Ishida could make out the conversation.
"You can't win, Takeda."
"Why not?"
"We fight in a few days. It's a bad omen if Ii loses tonight."
Ishida could see the hard line of Takeda's jaw as the major rebutted. "Given his orders this afternoon, I think our defeat is inevitable."
His comment was ignored. "Throw the game, Takeda. That's an order."
"The same way Ii is ordering us to throw our lives away?"
"You think you know how to defeat the Sanada?"
The voices had risen, tense, heated, and around the mess, most of the officers had given up the pretence that they weren't eavesdropping. Takeda's eyes swept briefly over the unintended audience and bit back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Relaxing back into his chair, he responded.
"No, but I know that none of you do either. That's why you're pretending that if Ii wins the game we'll win the battle." Standing, he stalked out of the mess.
The remaining officers erupted into conversation.
Ishida put down his bowl and went over to the abandoned board, eyes scanning the positions of the stones. Takeda's stones were strung about the board in a superior position. Had Ii seen a path to victory and stopped the game to relish in his own genius, or was he truly at a loss of how to win?
Ishida studied the board carefully. There was still room for Ii to move, but if there was a move that would turn the game about, Ishida couldn't find it.
They'd just have to wait and see.
Across the Eastern encampment, the lights were coming on, one by one.
The crew of the Sanada watched with little interest. Since the first day the cartographers had finished mapping out the battlefield, the Eastern clans had made no attempt to reorganise.
Below them, the lights of the Western army shone, just as brightly. After the first few battles the few officers remaining on the ground realised the psychological effect of flaunting their position did far more damage to the enemy than a surprise attack ever could - and with the Sanada hanging in the sky like a storm cloud, it wasn't like they could conceal their presence.
But the mood among the Yoshiyasu's foot soldiers was different this night. Instead of the slow, arduous drag of oiling barrels, taking shot and powder, and fitting out cannons, each task was done with haste.
The Western clans had spent a good long time while ravaging the countryside hunting one man, the one general left undefeated, still protecting the child on the throne, and the only obstacle preventing Prince Yoshiyasu from displacing his nephew and ascending the throne.
Yesterday the signallers had caused a flurry of excitement in the camp by reporting that the Ii mon had been spotted among the standards of the Eastern army.
And if his clan symbol was present, he would be too.
Ii Torajiro had finally come to die.
The sky was a dark purple, and all around Ishida, the men trailing back to their tents from the mess faded into silhouettes. He glanced around. In front of him stood a larger tent with the Takeda mon, its flaps closed. The customary retainers posted around the entrance were gone.
Ishida looked back and forth. The few men outside were gathered in huddles, puffing away at pipes and chatting amongst themselves.
No one seemed to notice him.
Quickly, Ishida approached the tent. Pulling the flap aside he plunged into the gloom, where a dozen pair of eyes sat, blinking at him. He squinted, trying to recognise the faces.
Takeda, sitting at a low table in the middle of the tent with a map spread out over it, nodded at him. He gestured to a spot and said, "Take a seat."
Ishida sat down, eyes darting left and right. He hadn't expected so many clan lords to be here, planning to defect. It appeared the cryptic afternoon meeting and the evening game of Go had done more damage to morale than expected.
After a few minutes Takeda began. "I have received orders from the Sanada," he said, pulling out his notebook. He flipped it open.
"The orders are as such: when the battle begins you are to wait for Ii's main force to engage the Western army. Once it is clear they are locked in battle, you are to flank them from your established position. Cut off any escape routes and make sure no Ii loyalists flee."
Takeda snapped his notebook shut. Immediately an officer spoke up. "Are they not going to issue us orders like they do their other troops in regular battle?"
Takeda shook his head. "It seems they have deemed it too troublesome to teach our officers the codes they use to send their orders. There's not enough time to learn. Besides, the Sanada can operate perfectly fine even if some of its allies are acting independently."
Ishida shifted uneasily in his seat. Finally, he said, "This was not what we were told at first. Why the change of plan?"
Takeda replied. "It seems that Yoshiyasu is wary of Ii's battle prowess, and wants all the support he can get." He gave a tired smile. "Turns out he didn't have to worry so much."
"So what is Yoshiyasu going to do with those of us who agreed that we would only desert during the battle? Like we agreed to do?"
Takeda responded. "You will receive what you agreed upon as well. Yoshiyasu recognises that some of you swore oaths of loyalty to the Emperor and are uncomfortable with an outright defection. As long as you stay out of the battle and don't flee, you will be rewarded as agreed. However," he continued, "Yoshiyasu has said a greater reward awaits those who fight for him in the battle. The choice is yours."
Another officer called out, "What will you do if we tell Ii tonight what is being planned?"
Takeda turned to him. "Nothing. What can he do about it, anyway? His brain is addled. His hands are tied." He looked around the assembled men. "So, who's with me?"
The spotters of the Sanada were gathered on the starboard side, gazing intently at the single flashing strobe among the sea of lights that was the Eastern encampment. Since they saw the first message in the pre-dawn light, they had been taking turns to watch all day the tent which they had marked as belonging to Lord Takeda.
Now they were writing down the list of clans that Takeda was sending them. Next to them, the signallers were copying down the names furiously, and two of them had already begun informing their own army camped below them of the developing situation.
As name after name was read out, the cartographers sitting at the map they had drawn flicked off black blocks from the pile representing the Eastern encampment, replacing them with white ones.
The chief cartographer walked around the map, counting the white blocks. When the armies had first assembled, the black pieces had had a slight advantage. Now, they were outnumbered three to one.
He smiled. Their odds had never been so good.
The Eastern army was doomed.
After Ishida left Takeda's tent he wandered the other tents, thinking. Was this the best way to preserve the Ishida clan?
As he had been leaving, he spotted Takeda passing a torn page from his notebook to a retainer with a lantern. No doubt he would be informing the Western army which clans had chosen to defect and which chose to desert.
How would Ii react if he learnt whose names were on the list? Would he be furious at the number of traitors? Would he berate them for their lack of honour?
Ishida thought about his own father, who had died in service for the Emperor, against this very enemy. Would he care that his sacrifice was all for nothing? That in the end his own son would join arms with the army that killed him?
But what could Ishida do about it? Either he clung to his honour and died in battle, or he clung to his life and forfeited his honour.
He relished neither prospect - but for the lives of his men, he had chosen to desert. His retainers might be willing to die for the Emperor, but he was not willing to let them. Already, too many of the Ishida clan's men had died in this savage war.
Not that he was going to divulge the plan to them yet. There was no point worrying them further. As their lord, they would follow his orders unquestioned in battle. As he neared the centre of the camp his eyes landed on General Ii in his faded uniform standing nearby, pipe clamped between his teeth. The man plucked the pipe from his lips. "Captain Ishida," he called out.
"Sir." Ishida approached with a bow.
"I noticed you said nothing when I gave my orders."
Ishida moistened his lips, unsure if the general expected a response. What could he say? He had no confidence in the plans. His men had no confidence in the plans. It appeared that half the lords and officers that served under Ii had no confidence in his plan, especially after seeing the state of the kaya-wood battlefield in the mess tent. Ishida kept silent and fiddled with his lanyard.
Finally, the general broke the silence. "Have you read the reports of how the Sanada commands?"
Now Ishida spoke with clipped urgency. "It's as ruthless as Ukita, as conservative as Hojo, and as inspired as Mori. Every battle, it plays just right to keep its forces intact while devastating ours."
A chuckle. "You almost sound like a Western sycophant."
Ishida lowered his gaze, chagrined. What could he say? Ii wasn't wrong.
The general knocked out the spent tobacco of his pipe and pulled out a leather pouch. "The Sanada is a machine." He handed the pouch to Ishida, who took it and released the drawstrings. The sweet aroma of tobacco wafted out. Ii pinched out the dried leaves to pack his pipe, then continued. "But it's part of a larger machine. Its crew is part of it. The Western army on the ground is part of it. The Eastern lords and their men who have chosen to defect are - or will soon be - part of it."
Ishida stood, face and hands frozen, at this proclamation. Ii glanced askance at the tall young officer as he picked the tobacco leaves. "I'm not oblivious to the undercurrents of discontent. Surely you, Ishida, closer to the ground, must know better your fellow lords' opinion on my leadership and strategy."
Ishida controlled his breathing. With great deliberation he said, "I am aware, sir, that there are many who are questioning your strategy."
The general chuckled as he picked up a few final leaves. He motioned for Ishida to tie up the pouch while he lit the pipe with a match struck against his leather belt. As he puffed hard, fragrant, bluish smoke was followed by the amber glow of the tobacco.
"They're not just questioning my strategy, Ishida."
Ishida kept his mouth shut.
Ii continued. "As I was saying, the entire Western army, and their allies, are now part of this machine. Like a well maintained cannon, when you light it, it kills people." He held up the spent match. "But who lights it?"
Ishida thought for a while. "Yoshiyasu?"
"No. Us."
Ii pointed to the sky. "The Sanada is waiting at the board. Its white stones are arrayed in chains around us, the black stones. It remembers with perfect clarity hundreds and hundreds of matches and knows instantly what move to execute when we place our next stone."
Ii pulled on his pipe, making it glow brighter in the darkness.
"But what if we pulled off a move it has never seen before?"
Ishida felt the sweat beading at his hairline despite the cool night. Did Ii really have a coherent plan, after all that, or was this the ramblings of a man who knew he was beaten? Most of the commanders and men - himself included - had been unsure which it was. But standing in front of the veteran general, Ishida saw in Ii the sharp eyes of an experienced Go player who had calmly analysed the board, played daringly, and was confident that the victory was his.
But how was Ii so assured he would win? What solution had he seen that no one else had?
Ishida couldn't fathom it. Ii was hemmed in the front by the Sanada and the Western army and in the back by would-be traitors. It was a textbook example of encirclement. The battle would be over the moment it started. Unless -
"Your plan is to garrison here and see what it does."
Ii chuckled. "See what it does? Oh, not at all. I know what it will do."
He pointed his pipe at the sword hanging from Ishida's bandolier. "You won't have to use that on yourself, I promise. Tomorrow, you'll see. Tomorrow, we make our divine move." He looked Ishida in the eye. "Do I have your full support?"
Far above, the Sanada was in place. Its spotters could see the stars on the kepi of the Eastern army, the gesticulations of the sergeants, and the glint of the officers' katanas.
Below the airship, the Western army was ready, rifles cleaned, boots polished, lamps lit and sights clear. The war was almost at an end.
The only people not ready for battle were the airship's signallers.
The spotters had logged in the Eastern army's positions all morning and afternoon, but no instructions were forthcoming.
It wasn't a gear problem. They could hear the whirr, and could smell the smoke from the engine running, and the grease of freshly oiled gears. But every punched card came out blank.
They weren't worried. This happened. Sometimes it waited for a better hour to strike.
It was only as the sun began to set that it became obvious no battle would happen today. For the Eastern clans to attack blind now, while the Sanada could see every flash of light from their lamps and guns, would be slaughter. The troops on both sides settled down to wait, flintlocks in hand and boots on.
Perhaps the fight would start at dawn tomorrow.
Ishida rose early.
In that first week, most of the men woke the same time he did, but as the tension began to drain and reveille calls were pushed back - by Ii himself - he was more and more alone in the wee hours.
He stepped out of his tent, eyes flying to the Sanada, silhouetted against the clear blue sky.
Across the plain, the Western army sat. For the first few days they had made a big show of assembling their lines, but as the great ship continued to lie dormant in the sky, the men kept more and more to their tents, mirroring the actions of the Eastern army.
As he stalked about the camp, he spotted Takeda sitting in front of a clear table in the otherwise empty mess tent, with a handful of fellow conspirators around him, whispering fiercely.
It was clear they weren't here for breakfast.
Ishida glanced about. The tent was quiet. They would not be disturbed.
He joined them.
As he sat down, the others looked at him.
"I thought Ii's orders meant he would do nothing until the Western army was close enough to fight!" hissed someone.
"This wasn't part of the plan."
"Are there any more orders from the Sanada?"
Takeda sat, palms flat on the table. Despite the long days of rest, there were shadows under his eyes. "Our orders from the Sanada were simple: wait until the battle starts."
"Are you sure it hasn't said anything else?"
At that, Takeda bristled. "You look into the sky and watch the ship all night, then you can tell me."
They fell silent. Finally, another officer said, "You're implying that our orders from Ii and the Sanada are the same: standby and do nothing."
The clan leaders stared at each other after this proclamation, each unsure of what to say. There was nothing left to discuss. Takeda stared forward, refusing to deign any of the other officers with a glance. One by one they stood up and began slinking off to their tents.
Ishida stood. As he turned to leave, Takeda sighed. "He won."
Ishida looked at Takeda. "Won what?"
Takeda let his head loll back. "The game of Go, of course." He eyed Ishida from his slumped position. "In case you were wondering." He closed his eyes.
Ishida looked at the tired major for a long while before he stepped out of the mess. He gave the sky a perfunctory glance.
They had been here for two weeks.
There was a shared look of exhaustion among the crew of the Sanada.
They had developed a system. Every hour, one of the spotters would punch in the positions of both armies into the machine - they had long ago memorised the order of dials to turn, keys to press, and levers to crank. They would hear the whirr, the turning of gears, and then a click. They would check the paper tray.
They would see a blank card.
They had tried everything. The chief engineer had ordered that every gear be tightened and retightened, every spring wound and rewound, every jewelled escapement tuned and oiled, and every lever reset and cranked just to be sure the mechanical brain was in perfect functioning order.
Nothing.
The only thing that had changed was that the coal bins were almost empty. The stokers' faces were pale beneath the layers of coal dust as they inspected the depleted tender. The ship floated by hydrogen - so it would continue to float without fuel - but it would be at the mercy of the winds.
And more importantly, the mechanical brain would stop working.
There was silence on the ship as the captain announced his decision. Already they had tarried too long in the expectation of battle; to stay any longer would leave them drifting like a cloud.
They would have to let the troops on the ground know.
It was nearly last light, and Ishida was sitting outside his tent when he saw it: several sodium-coloured flashes from the Sanada.
Boots on, weapon slung, he rushed to the command tent.
As he ran he heard the voices of the men around him rise to a crescendo as they, too, saw the same flashes in the sky as the ship begin to rise and turn away.
Ishida joined a throng of commanders crowding the entrance to the marquee. He looked around the gathered faces. Every face - conspirator and loyalist - gazed intently on the man at the centre, ready to hear what he had to say.
General Ii looked at the crowd. He caught Ishida's eye, but his face remained inscrutable. He spoke to the assembled commanders.
"Get the men ready within the hour. We fight at sundown."
No protestations, no questions. The sergeants and junior officers dispersed, leaving the senior command to hammer out the plan of attack with the veteran general.
Ishida ran to inform his men, one eye on the path and one eye on the enemy. Across the field, the Western encampment was ablaze in strobes, beams flashing into the sky from every quarter as the confused men begged for orders from the almighty dirigible.
Above, the lamps were going out on the Sanada, as it gently rose into the clouds, melding into the darkness of the night.
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