The formations were set and the order was given. In the early hours of the morning, the light of the sun still had not greeted them. The rain bounced off the conical shape of the ashigaru's helmets. There was a grimness in the air and on their faces. They held their spears upright and waited.
The flatness of their simple formation was comfortable and uncomplicated. The peasants knew where they would have to move. That was it. That was the one change they could hope to make fluidly. It was the only chance they had at not being out manoeuvred by the Takeda forces.
Gengyo sat in the centre, on his horse, a few metres out onto the muddy field. His white horse pawed at the ground, dragging grass up by its roots.
