[hider=the battle]
Six thousand men. Six thousand men was what he should have had, soon to grow and grow! Alas politics had served him poorly. Instead of six thousand he had one thousand six hundred and forty, plus his own division. The other four thousand four hundred odd were being left to rot, neglected by Captain’s who didn’t know what to do with them. Even those who thought they were trying their best were wasting the NDV. This was a critical time in their development and Osamu needed his creation close to him, where he could guide them. Now was not a time to tolerate deviations from the plan. Never the less, deviations had occurred and he would have to cope as best he could. He quietly believed the NDV would pass back to him in full before too long and without drastic action on his part. For now, he just had to cope. 
 
His best and most fanatically loyal men were the first to be given to other Captains because Osamu knew he didn’t have to worry about them. He kept under his own command the freshest men. They were also loyal but lacked the zealot’s edge and some of the temper of battle. They needed the most guidance so Osamu kept them close. One unit Osamu had directly under him was the 4th Regiment of the Line, nicknamed the rag men for the uncoloured and poorer quality cloth they wore beneath their armour in contrast to the higher standards enjoyed by many other units. Also with him was the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regiment of Horse. Some of his heavy dragoons or half n halves as some called them. These men were true zealots and Osamu would have let another Captain have them, but he needed some cavalry in his force. Also with him was B Company, 2nd Battalion 1st Sappers Regiment, who had many uses. Thankfully Osamu had been able to hold onto a disproportionate amount of his precious guns. They were still being made and some of the artillery still awaited their cannon. He however, had managed to keep not merely the 2nd Artillery Regiment but also the 1st divisional Artillery under his direct control and keep them equipped and supplied. 
 
But just what Osamu done with this undersized battle group? He had deployed them to protect one of his most prized possessions, his new found factories. Factories which even now churned out weapons and armour as well as some vital construction materials. Progress was slow, but meaningful and whilst the true industrial might of the soul society still lay in the hands of the enemy, this was a very important and promising start. 
 
The defences around the factory had, in the main, been repaired to pre occupation condition and some modifications had been made to better suit the, unique, needs of the NDV. Work was however, still ongoing, and civilian labourers swarmed across the walls, banks and ditches like ants. Patrolling the tops of the walls were a few NDV members and the majority of the guns at Osamu’s disposal had been placed at strategic locations along the wall or in a position to fire over the wall by mounting them on taller buildings and earthworks behind the wall. Meanwhile, the majority of his men were down in the courtyards, loading bays and open spaces around the factory, drilling, being inspected and receiving ever more training. All the while, great plumes of black smoke bellowed out from the factory chimneys behind them. 
 
All was as it had been yesterday, and the day before that until a watcher on the wall cried out. 
“Riders returning!” Four horsemen from the 2nd Horse were riding back from their patrol beyond the wall. After the initial questioning they were allowed in through the access gate and the men seemed to be in some state of apprehension. There was much earnest whispering and worried looks before a runner went to report to Osamu personally. The runner did not feel able to convey the horsemen’s words sufficiently and so only insisted that Osamu come to hear the men out himself. Normally the Captain would have been annoyed by this. If he spent all his time traveling from place to place to learn what he needed to know he would never get anything done. He was reliant on solid reports coming to him. However, the runner was an old aides of Osamu’s, one who knew his preferences. If this man though Osamu needed to come then Osamu trusted in his judgement and was worried by what he might find. 
 
His four riders wore the standard clothing that the whole NDV was beginning to wear. They had sturdy, brown leather, boots that came up to a little bit below the knee and they wore a buff coloured pair of heavy cloth trousers and a thigh length coat to match as well as similarly coloured riding gloves. Each man wore a plain, seemingly dull, breast plate and back plate just as Osamu did but this metal was far from common steel. They also each wore a three bar lobster pot helmet and gauntlets with forearm guards. Every man had a sturdy belt, with a straight edged sword at his left and a few pouches for general use. Every man also had what was known as a, short chamber Hayashi 1.0 rating soul bolt projection weapon, or SCH1.0 for short. These weapons resembled the old Martini-Henry from the living world but were entirely different in their engineering and design, though not their use. Developed by Captain Hayashi of the 12th division, on the request of Osamu, this weapon was purpose built to fit the needs of the NDV and had been in development for almost 80 years, along with the other unique weapons currently in the hands of the NDV. These weapons, from the SCH1.0 all the way up to the Multi Fire Hayashi 110.0 rating soul bolt projection weapon, or the MFH110, had been named the Hayashi series and Osamu prized them greatly. Osamu had always treated the 12th well, both their division and their captain and the pair had always enjoyed a good relationship, and now it was paying off. 
 
The majority of the men about Osamu though, were not as well dressed as the horsemen, though they had the same armour and weapons. The 4th Regiment of foot had been the last to receive their uniforms and the term uniform was putting it kindly. Simply stated, Osamu had run out of appropriate cloth. As a result these men wore rough, lower quality fabric. It looked like a washed out grey as there were no dyes at his disposal and a casual glance could see that the various materials had come from a number of different sources. Even their boots were patched and inferior, made of scraps from various other shoes. Therefore, the 4th Regiment were known as the rag men. Turning his attention to the lead rider Osamu said. 
“Your report?” The leader of the riders took a moment to glance at his colleagues before saying cautiously. 
“Sir, the hollows are massing out there. It’s difficult to tell how many exactly. The horde was constantly shifting and more were joining it but we estimate some twelve thousand men sir.” Those kind of numbers were a genuine threat to a force such as the one Osamu had at his disposal. Had he been in possession of his combined force he could crush a foe like that. But he was significantly under desired strength. Osamu, ever the leader and aware of his need to inspire confidence in those around him, showed no sign of alarm. Instead he simply enquired. 
“Location, movement and class?” His confidence seemed to be rubbing off on his scouts as the reported with visibly less worry. 
“Location, due south about twelve miles. Moving north but slightly erratically. Class, it seems to be a type C force sir. It may be a type D but the numbers make it hard to tell.” That, at least, was some good news. Osamu had developed a broad strokes method of assessing the strength of a hollow force, it was no substitute for solid and in depth intelligence but it was a handy quick guide for working with minimal information. Simply put, the closer to the letter A, a hollow horde was, the lower the proportion of powerful beings and the higher the proportion of weaker ones. A class A force had no menos, a class B had a scattering of gillians, a class C had a few more gillians but still with lower ranking hollows in the significant majority. There may also be a few adjuncha leading the mob, or their arrancar equivalents, and so on. Of course, the class of the army only told you half the picture. The size of the horde mattered as well, and no matter how you looked at it, twelve thousand was a lot of men when compared to just over one thousand five hundred. 

Wasting no time Osamu turned to face his number three seat. The man shared a few similarities with Osamu, both were roughly the same height and both had dark hair. His number three looked as though he had seen a bit more of life than Osamu, his face was weathered and worn. This his appearance seemed to be mirrored in his expression and attitude yet he also appeared spritely an aware. Indeed he was a man prone to taking a perverse pleasure in his work as well his own attitude and outlook. He seemed like an old fox, a tad aged but a fox none the less and what is more, he liked it. His slightly long hair was swept back, revealing a high hair line that might have just been starting to recede, certainly he had a few visible flecks of grey in his slightly grubby hair. He also had a half-hearted boxed beard, which he seemed to grow more out of convenience and laziness than any kind of stylistic flare. But oddly it worked on the man. His nose had clearly been broken far too many times and mischievous blue eyes stared at everyone, seemingly all at once. They were the sorts of eyes that said, I know, to anyone who looked at them too long. 
 
“Number 3.” Said Osamu sharply but without aggression. “Notify the men, everyone is to go to their post. Evacuate the workers on the wall, oh, and get those men in from the farms.” His number 3 didn’t even speak. He just gave a little nod and went about his business. After just a few moments men were dashing back and fourth at great speed. Soldiers ran to their positions, civilians ran for the gates that led deeper into the city whilst Osamu’s number 3 and a few other shinigami ran to the fields. When they returned they brought with them a few farm labourers, who swiftly joined the retreating civilians, but more importantly they brought fifty members of the Ichigawa house into the compound. These men were not warriors, even by Ichigawa standards. But they bore the Ichigawa name and Osamu expected them to act accordingly, or at least according to the noble mythos rather than the unfortunate reality. 

It seemed the Ichigawa might just live up to this myth, or at least it looked that way for about thirty seconds. At first they were seemed solid, if a tad arrogant and cockshaw. They would have taken great pleasure in doing what they believed Osamu and his motley crew could not. That was, until they heard of the numbers coming towards them. This fact, perhaps combined with the odd pacifist policy the Ichigawa appeared to have adopted, suddenly seemed to drain their enthusiasm as well as a bit of colour from their cheeks. They began making their preperations to go whilst Osamu repeatedly demanded they uphold some semblance of honour and stand and fight. The Ichigawa however, were more concerned with leaving whilst ensuring their newly reclaimed farms remained intact. One man even had the gall to demand Osamu march his men out and fight in the fields, to protect the farm houses. That would have surely resulted in slaughter and it was a worthless thing to protect. Only the most rudimentary advances towards functioning agriculture had been made and there was certainly no harvest to protect. The only thing of value was the soil and not even hollows could irrevocably taint that whilst under fire. 
 
None the less, the Ichigawa continued to protest as they withdrew. Though none went so far as to repeat the allegation of treason, as they were all too aware they were surrounded by men who would kill upon hearing such an accusation, they did launch a few choice words at the Captain as well as demoralising the NDV by claiming no one would ever come to rescue them and that Kuroda would do the Soul Society a service to lock them out here forever and let them be slaughtered. The final words that could be heard from their lips, before they found the safety of the higher districts, was. “You’re all going to die! Can’t you see? You’re all going to die!”
There words left an odd chill in the air, a heavy silence. Down in the loading yards on young volunteer from the rag men muttered to the colour sergeant in a shaky and afraid voice. 
“He’s right. Why is it us?” The colour sergeants reply was slow, calm and level, built to give an odd form of confidence. 
“Because were ‘ere lad, and nobody else. Just us.” There was a few more moments of odd silence before the colour sergant began to walk about and start gesturing men back to work. Soon, all was as it was. The key to keeping them men in good spirits at this stage, was to keep them busy. 
 
Still, the foe continued to draw closer as Osamu and his rag tag contingent made things as ready as they could be. The majority of their efforts were spent on making the breach in the wall defensible, as well as constructing a make shift redoubt in the main loading yard, to fall back upon when necessary. But all too soon the foe could be made out from the walls. The drums hammerd and the bugle blasted, all men to their posts. Drill was the backbone of NDV infantry training and Osamu drilled raw men hard, it was the only way they would learn. This emphasis on drill served Osamu well as his men fell neatly into their positions. Using shunpo he appeared near his divisional artillery chief and said wit ha vicious little smile. 
“Well, it’s time to put these beauties to use. Open them up and make it count.” With those words signals and commands went out to all the guns along the fortifications. Rounds were loaded, setting adjusted, trajectories set before finally the cacophony of guns erupted like some below from the bowls of the earth. Osamu soaked in the moment, the first shots in anger that these guns had fired. The first barrage on this scale hear by any ears, seen by any eyes. This was a very special little moment in his life and he wished he could have dragged it out just a little bit longer. 

Hayashi had out done herself, these bigger pieces could fire a number of different charges and the choice of the moment was the burst charge, which would sail harmlessly some distance and then explode in a starkly beautiful radial detonation. It was good for putting holes in great masses of men and it performed fantastically. The first wave of hollows took horrific losses coming in, they were densely packed, poorly coordinated and over confident. What is more, there were not expecting for power at anything close to these kinds of levels. The first wave didn’t even make it into range of the infantry. Enemy moral had collapsed and the hollows had run well before they got close to the wall. 
 
The cheer that went up from the NDV was frantic and great, too great. Osamu believed they were too easily swayed by the tide of battle, elation at temporary victories often turned to despair at setbacks. The older men here, those with a few battles behind them, remained far quieter. They knew this wasn’t over. Thankfully Osamu had ensured an even distribution of veterans throughout the greener men, to keep them in check and provide some backbone until the recruits steel was tempered. Osamu’s belief that all was not over was confirmed just a few minutes latter when a second wave came in. 
 
This wave comprised of fewer hollows, spread out over a large area. Again the cannon fired and again the foe was beaten back in a similar fashion, but having taken far fewer casualties in the attempt. They were learning, or whatever intelligence commanded them was learning. The first wave was a standard attack, the second was designed to probe their defences. The third, might just do some damage. Osamu did not know the nature of the commander standing across from him, if there even was one. But he had to assume the beast was intelligent and would target the things that had been causing him the most grief. Turning to one of his runner Osamu calmly declared.

“Find what kido men we have, put them with the guns ready to erect barriers.” As the runner went about his task Osamu took out his note book and scrawled a small entry, reminding him to further develop his counter battery fire precautions. 
 
His precautions were well justified as the foe soon engaged in the very tactics Osamu had predicted. Gillian appeared, at some distance and en masse. They did not attempt to charge the walls, merely hung away at some distance, clearly preparing some action. Osamu meanwhile, did not even have to give the order to fire, his artillery chief did that for him. 
“Range, five thousand meters. Two second beam, left right sweeping shot. Stick to your sections. Fire!” At this order the guns sounded once more, with a beam shot such as this a man could better see the substance of the deadly artificial spiritual energy. It seemed to be a highly concentrated beam of near corporeal, electric blue energy. Odd waves and fluctuations could be seen within the tightly contained shaft of light, though their cause was not immediately apparent. The effects of these shots however, were obvious for all to see. They cut into the flesh of the gillian like a blade into butter. The sweeping left to right arcs, whilst brief, cut down small sections of the line at a time. Clearly the foe was not ready for this and their first retaliation shots were sporadic and poorly targeted. The problem was however, that despite Osamu’s many guns, there were more gillian. 
 
Before the artillery could load and fire a second time the hollows fired another salvo, with fresh hollows stepping into the places of their fallen comrades they could get off new shots almost instantly rather than wait to recharge. This second barrage landed largely on target. The majority of the shots smacked into the walls, many others sailed harmlessly overhead but they were zeroing in swiftly. A few shots even landed in that elusive sweet spot on the very top of the wall or earthen defences behind. For the moment the kido barriers protecting the guns held, but some of the infantry were not so lucky. Their basic armour may have protected them against attacks from some of the lesser hollows out there but against a cero, it may as well have been paper. Some poor souls were blown from the ramparts like dust, others simply disintegrated. Still, the shots that landed this perfectly were few and far between. 
“Lie down!” was the cry from sergeants and junior officers alike. “Lie down now!” This the men on the walls, bar the artillery men, all gladly did. A few people poked their eyes over the edge to keep track of what was going on, but the vast majority lay safely on the walkway, below the crest of the ramparts. There then followed a few minutes of exchanging fire, gillians and cannon pounding away. But, it was a battle the cannons were fated to win. True, some hollows shots hit home and a few one or two even broke the kido barriers, sending man and machine hurtling into oblivion. But the cannons were smaller targets, better shots, better protected and better suited to the task. So, the Gillian were forced to withdraw to a safe distance whilst Osamu and his men readied for the next attack. Each time the foe had come at him they had learnt from a previous mistake. They hadn’t mastered it yet but at this rate it would only be a matter of time until his line was put under real strain. 

When the hollows did come again, sometime later, it confirmed Osamu’s belief that they had been learning. They opened up with barrage after barrage of gillian ceros, which were answered by Osamu’s own guns in fine fashion. But soon conventional hollows began to surge forward and with the conventional artillery focused on fending off menos there was little to nothing to pound them hard on the way in.
“Open up the Howitzers.” Was Osamu’s calm command, as he made another note in his little book. The Howitzers were indirect fire weapons, hiding behind the wall where the foe couldn’t touch them. Their shots would arc up and fall down upon the foe in spectacular style. The problem was however, that they couldn’t see what they were shooting at. They were reliant on spotters telling them where their shots landed and then correcting accordingly. This could be a time consuming process were it not for the pre-arranged fire lines. Sometime called phase lines Osamu had insisted his artillery crew set them up when defending any position or if they believed battle was likely at any point. During the calm imaginary lines on the ground would be drawn and the field guns and howitzers alike would zero in on these imaginary lines, make a note of the trajectories necessary to accurately hit these lines and then move on to the next line. So, in the heat of battle a spotter could simply call out “Fire on phase line two” and the shots would ring in on target, first time. Even when a foe was not standing on a phase line the spotter could readily give accurate corrections based on that phase line such as “phase line two minus ten vertical degrees.” It would not be quite as accurate but for a mass of foes like this it would do the job. 
 
The shots reigned down and did their job, bot Osamu had far fewer howitzers than conventional guns and whilst the foe would be battered they would still close far closer than ever before. Indeed, too close for Osamu’s liking and close enough to finally come within effective infantry range. 
“Rise up, rise up!” Went the cries from sergeants and junior officers alike. “Range, five hundred meters. Volley fire. Fire!” One SCH1.0 produced a sharp crack when firing, hundreds produced a rolling boom like distant thunder. There was a pause of about five seconds before the cry of “Fire!” went up again and once more the rolling boom sounded out and more hollows fell. But the sheer number of hollows meant they could afford to keep coming, coming ever closer to the wall. Eventually they drew close enough to start climbing it as best they could, but this thing was built to last and they had difficulty finding purchase. Their mad scrambling and wails of defiance meant little as the NDV kept on raining death down upon them from above. But some hollows, by climbing over bodies, helping hands and great leaps managed to get to the top of the ramparts. 
 
For many of the NDV this was their first taste of getting this close to a hollow. They could feel the heat of its breath, stare down its gullet. If they were sufficiently stupid they could even reach out and touch it, feel the heavy, pulsing flesh. This would be a test of character but a part of Osamu’s training was to develop physical and moral courage ad well as an instinctive inability to let your fellow men down. As a unit his infantry were immovable unless ordered otherwise and it showed. Rather than flinch or cower in fear the instinctive reaction of the foot soldier was to surge forward and plunge his bayonet deep into the foe, twisting the blade and wrenching it out to create a bloody, messy and agonising second hole in the beast. If this was not enough to bring the foe down he would do it again, and again, being joined by his comrades until the beast fell. NDV Bayonets were unusually long, to help deal with bulky hollows and they were certainly effective. Combine this with the serious disadvantage that climbing a wall posed to a foe and these hollows were repelled once again. Even the breach held, though there the foe had inflicted some slightly more serious casualties as they only had improvised defences to contend with there. 
 
In the brief calm the sounds of the wounded and dying filled the air, it was a deeply unpleasant noise but Osamu shrugged it off. Even the men of the NDV coped admirably. They were distressed by the noise and the sight of their friends dying, the iron smell of blood. But they stood firm and any wobble in their moral was swiftly detected and corrected by the veterans scattered amongst them. Osamu made a few more notes in his little book whilst touring the wall, giving off the reassuring image of an unshakable and confident commander, helping to stiffen the men’s resolve in the process. Medical supplies, water and other necessities were passed around as men took advantage of this brief moment to refresh and ready themselves as best they could. All too soon though the foe came again. 

When they did come the foe made a crucial mistake. Previously they had been attacking along the whole wall simultaneously. Now they were focusing their whole attention on one point, the breach. This was a sound strategy so long as they could rely on closing. But they couldn’t. The gillian all focused their fire on the breach, creating a small patch of aramagedon. Men, or pats of men, went flying and cartwheeling through the air in a grotesque display of bone, sinew and semi roasted flesh. A gesture from Osamu and the word went out.
“Pull them back from the breach!” 
 
What remained of the platoon that had held the gap withdrew rapidly and swiftly took shelter behind more solid patches of wall, tending to their wounds and desperately reorganising. Their shinigami leader was doing an excellent job of keeping them together but there was now an obvious hole in Osamu’s defence and the hollows, sensing weakness, surged forward. The problem for the foe was that by attacking only one spot every single one of Osamu’s guns could focus on the task at hand. The closest guns focused on the gillian whilst everything else made the approach to the breach a living nightmare via a combination of direct and indirect fire. A cockroach couldn’t survive on the field. The flashes and smoke were so overwhelming you couldn’t see what was going on but a few hollows somehow made it into rifle range, whereupon those on the wall by the breach, put volley after volley into them. It was an utter massacre and whilst the platoon that had manned the breach was knocked almost entirely out of action the price that the hollows paid for it was staggering. 
 
Again, the foe withdrew but Osamu knew that there were far more where that they came from. The foe could afford to make these kinds of mistakes. He could not. He barely had a chance to breathe before the next assault came and this time it was a slightly more cunning one. At first it appeared to be a more normal assault. The gillian becan their bombardment across the whole wall and the artillery responded. Hollows of various descriptions massed for an offensive but Osamu could see something moving around behind the line with his binoculars.
“It’s a distraction he quietly said to himself.” Before using shunpo to come down from the wall and stand amongst his reserves. “The enemy is moving to cross the wall into the civilian region of the district and come behind us. Split the cavalry in half and send one to each flank, shadow the enemy as they position but do not engage, stay a street or two back from the wall. Take two shinigami blocks to each flank and have them oppose the force on the wall. Let the enemy break through the centre. Then sweep them up with the cavalry and close the gap behind them. Go!” It was all said swiftly but clearly, various junior officers moved seamlessly into action and the plan was duly carried out. The cavalry rode off into action and the small concentrations of shinigami that Osamu kept back to deal with particularly troublesome situations moved out as well. 
 
Osamu’s swift action turned out to be only just in the nick of time, the hollows were already trying to scale the wall when the shinigami arrived on the ramparts to stop them. Conventional hollows had enough problems getting past the NDV when assaulting a position as strong as this. Even the lowest of the shinigami would be a near impossibility for them under these circumstances. But every man there knew that something bigger was coming. The gillians started to throw the weight of their fire against the shinigami, starting to soften them up and inflicting some casualties whilst re positioning to evade Osamu’s artillery then the adjuncha came. Whilst fighting up a wall was still a big handicap for them, they of all people might be able to pull it off. Some could even leap onto the ramparts in a single bound and start fighting toe to toe with their adversaries. 
 
But this had all been part of the plan. On the signal the shinigami allowed their centre to be broken and for the adjuncha to pour through and bound onto the street below. From here they had planned to spread out and get behind Osamu’s position. In actuality they had walked into a trap. Once the last of the adjuncha were through, and no longer supported by their gillian, the gap closed Osamu’s guns swept up the last of the attackers outside of the wall whilst the cavalry emerged from hiding and surrounded the foe. With cavalry on three sides and shinigami on a fourth the foe was in a truly desperate situation. Even though they were adjuncha they had been out manoeuvred and they were outnumbered. The horsemen put up a firm and suprisingly skilful defence, horse and rider as one. These were perhaps the best swordsmen in Osamu’s NDV force, able to block and deflect a great many blows and using the speed of their horses to evade others. The horsemen were being cautious rather than aggressive, trying to stay alive and keep the adjuncha bottled up whilst the shinigami attacked from the rear and did the real damage. Should the adjuncha turn to face the true threat then they would suddenly find several horsemen stabbing them in the back.

 
Of course, this fight was not as clean as it would have been had the adjuncha been surrounded by shinigami alone. The horsemen were skilful but still fragile compared to their black robed counterparts. A single hit from an adjuncha would cleave most of them clean in two and these hollows were savage and desperate. Rider after rider fell, the groans of men drowned out by the mad panicked scream of horses, but they held firm long enough for the shinigami to sweep up the opposition. By the end the street was a mess of blood and body parts, belonging to rider, horse and hollow alike. However, the assault had not merely been repelled to utterly ahnihalated. Should the foe try a similar attack a second time Osamu may have been over stretched but the foe didn’t know that. Again, the hollows seemed to withdraw as they readied themselves for another offensive. Meanwhile Osamu’s improvised flank protection forces returned to the factory compound to lick their wounds and reorganise. 
 
The foe had been frustrated at every turn but they had improved with almost every assault. None the less, the enemy had already taken losses in the thousands. Surely they couldn’t keep this up for much longer. As things turned out Osamu was right in this regard but he was also right suspect continual improvements. This time there was a delay of almost two hours between assaults as the foe prepared themselves for their last great effort. The mood amongst the NDV could only be described as tense, they all knew it wasn’t over and they all knew it was going to get worse. But, as tense as they may have been, they stood. They had come this far on their own, there was real confidence growing amongst them, fuelled by their sense of shared purpose and strengthened by shared experience. So, when the foe did at last appear, they stood ready and they stood firm. 
 
The last of the gillian, still great in number, appeared all around the factory complex just as before and opened fire, only to receive the same counter fire as before. Osamu wonderd how the enemy had this many menos to spend, little did he know that the foe had receieved reinforcements during the battle. Still the gillian were more accurate now and were starting to land hits directly on Osamu’s precious guns with increasing frequency. The kido barriers held back some blows and the protective screens the shielded the crew held back a bit more. But a combination of volume and power made some losses inevitable. Every now and again white hot cartwheeling metal would be sent hurtling down from above, before cooling slowly in a twisted heap. That would be all that was left of the gun, the crew totally vaporized. None the less, the exchange of fire was in Osamu’s favour. Then, the regular hollows came again, on all fronts. This was far too like a previous offensive for Osamu’s comfort. It was too easy, he knew his foe was better than this. 
 
A flash of, not so much inspiration but rather understanding, hit Osamu. He knew what was going to happen and he knew what to do about it. Of course he didn’t truly know but it felt just as certain and time would prove him right.
“Take the reserve guns, set them in the redoubt to fire on the breach, do not replace the losses on the walls or earthworks. Do not man the breach itself. Take the reserves from the 4th set them up in a semi-circle behind the breach. Put reduced effectiveness sections in the redoubt including dismounted dragoons. Set the Bears up for counter charge. The orders were carried out, all be it a tad slowly. The infantry moved swiftly and the battle worn sections, such as the dragoons and those who had first held the breach, were grateful to be in the redoubt. But the guns were horse or ox drawn, depending on what Osamu could find. Plus they had to be lifted over the redoubts defences and put carefully into position. Osamu and his personal guard sped up the process by hauling some of the guns personally but they had other things to be doing. 
 
Soon Osamu’s insight would prove correct. High class foes began to emerge. At first there was a light scattering of them on the fronts away from the breach. These were almost exclusively plain adjuncha and the ydid not assault the wall directly. Instead, they drew close to the wall and then used their strength and speed to throw more conventional hollows up at the ramparts. Volley after volley of fire dealt with the majority of foes but with adjuncha assisting them more hollows made it onto the ramparts, where vicious bayonet fighting ensued. The enemy waited a few minutes, hoping Osamu would commit his reserves to fighting on the walls. This did not happen but the foe did not know this. So they launched their final offensive. A concentration of their very best tore towards the breach at great speed. Osamu’s howitzers opened up on the approach to the gap but they were of limited effect. Some hollows went down but every man in this narrow front offensive was tough and fast, some could stomach the blows others could evade them. At this moment the gillian started to close as well, surging forward towards the wall in a last ditch attempt to overwhelm the foe. 
 
This was a mistake on the gillians part, movement made their shots less accurate and the closer they came the more effective Osamu’s guns were. The Captain wondered why they had done this but the answer would soon be made clear to him. Suddenly the narrow front offensive of the foe’s elite hit the breach and began to move through the gap. Nightmarish adjuncha led the way, all muscle, teeth and claws. What they ran into however, was their own little slice of hell. The semi-circle of infantry opened fire, hundreds of shots poured into the foe. In addition to this the reserve cannon opened fire from the redoubt, blue beans of oblivion sailed over the reads of the firing infantry and hit the gap in rapid succession. The combined effect was to vaporize some, tears the limbs off of others and blow back those lucky enough to survive. The cacophony of screams and roars was immense and it only increased as the shots rained down time after time. 
 
After a few moments thought the torn and twisted wreck of an adjuncha was thrown forcibly into the men. It’s sheer weight sent troops flying and after it came several more adjuncha who leapt through the gap. The stupid ones turned and tried to attack the infantry semi circle from behind, only to receive further volley and cannon fire from the redoubt. The smarter ones zigzagged towards the makeshift final defence and headed straight for the cannon. Some took blows from the mighty guns at the very last moment, ripping open their bodies and sending their remains hurtling in a wide array of directions. Others took so many shots from lesser infantry that the slowed down, became wounded and eventually killed under the sheer weight of fire. One or two though reached their objective, bore down on the vulnerable crew and were about to eviscerate their troublesome foe when they found the blades of shinigami in their throats. Osamu and his personal guard lay in wait for them and now they erupted forth to deal with the foe. Spinning blades and shining kido marked their entry to the field but the true adversary was here as well. 
 
Behind the adjuncha, through the same gap in the line, came arrancar in force. A few of them had been scattered in the various offences but never to a degree worthy of note or such as which would pose a threat. Now through, there was a concentration of them. 
“Focus on the others, stay out of their way!” Was Osamu’s cry to his infantry who silently obeyed. The canon did a decent job of keeping the arrancar’s options closed but at this close range the arrancar were moving slightly faster than the cannon could turn. Osamu made a mental note to address this latter but for now he had some killing to do. 
 
Blade on blade, this was always oddly satisfying to Osamu, he was king here, he was in charge and he liked it. Furthermore this allowed him to vent and express himself almost freely. His guard were also capable, though not as capable as him. Still, they could go toe to toe with these ruffians and do well. The heavy clang of blade on blade, and the wet tear of blade on flesh filled Osamu’s ears, the scent of blood teased his nostrils and the look of fear and surprise on his foes faces pleased his eyes. He even enjoyed it when they put up a fight worthy of the name, he would drag the moment out, passing up obvious opportunities to cut his foe down just to extend the pleasure. Normally he wouldn’t be so foolhardy but he had been having a very bad week or two and he needed cheering up. All the while he gave off the almost evil smirk and would occasionally laugh and mock his foe.
 
Eventually though, the star exhibit appeared. An arrancar that was barking out orders even now. This was obviously the intelligence behind the enemy’s actions and his presence here explained why the gillian had been so stupid. Whilst he was back behind the line he could give orders. But now he had come forward there was an inadequate command system left behind to give sensible orders in his stead. As such hollows were being left to make up their own minds and the dull intellect of the gillian said charge, even if doing so meant death. Others were stalling and enemy coordination was breaking down. Victory was now within reach but first this enemy leader had to fall. The foe was a large man, about six feet two and built like the toughest guy around. His skin was dark, sharply offsetting his bleach white coat, blonde hair completed the odd lock and his remaining mask, which had the look of a melting face, was roughly two thirds intact.
“That one is mine!” Bellowed Osamu, who sprung down from the rampart with a light and confident step before sauntering towards his foe. 
 
The arrancar focused on Osamu, just as Osamu focused on it. It was obvious that Osamu was in charge and that Osamu was the man to kill and so battle between the two was inevitable. Facing off against one another it was as if the rest of the battle simply did not exit, this was all that there was. The two didn’t bother exchange words. Both knew that the other would not provide them with anything useful and neither had the time to waste. Osamu just sat back and let his foe make the first move. 
Osamu’s enemy seemed to favour quick repositioning and short strikes, the hollows would appear, thrust and reappear somewhere else with alarming speed. Osamu didn’t even relocate. He stood rooted to his spot and would turn to face his opponent where ever he appeared, parry the blow and ready himself for the next one. 
“Can’t you move? Are you that slow?” Taunted the arrancar, almost chuckling as he did so and Osamu was all to happy to play along with his delusion. To this end Osamu held his tongue and started to look worried and desperate, even afraid. The arrancar was loving it, smiling viciously and attacking ever more ferociously whilst Osamu remained resolutely on the defensive. This however, couldn’t last. It was only a matter of time until his foe worked out that Osamu was lying and then he would get more cautious. Osamu needed to find and exploit a gap before that happened. 
 
Osamu had found a gap but exploiting it would take careful timing. To preserve speed the foe was reliant on thrusting attacks, these could readily be shifted into defensive parries should Osamu try to sweep a seemingly undefended area and a riposte was possible if he attacked close to the blade. Still, he had a plan. As a thrust came in he knocked it ever so gently aside with the flat of his blade. Then, moving forward he ran his blade along his opponents, arcing down slightly to get beneath the hilt. However, the hilt was well designed and the pivot point compared to the bulk of Osamu’s body was so positioned that Osamu couldn’t just cut in the direction of his choosing. Furthermore, Osamu now seemed vulnerable to counter attack. Thrusting forward it seemed as though Osamu would be impaled through the face but Osamu was fast and amazingly mobile. Squatting down the blow sailed harmlessly overhead. He meanwhile had now sufficiently shifted his position that the hilt was not protecting the arrancar’s sword arm. A slight flick upwards and a tiny little twist and Osamu cut his foes hand off at the wrist. 
 
The sword came clanging down as the hand flopped lifelessly to the ground. Still with his fake look of fear on his face Osamu swept downwards and removed the stunned foe’s feet, sending him sprawling helpless to the floor. Unable to escape the arrancar reached up, charging a crackling red cero but it was too late. Another swift cut removed this arm at the elbow. A tiny flick of the wrist send it flying straight up into the air and as the arm fell Osamu placed his blade over his shoulder, held it with both hands and then swung it like a bat. The flat of the blade intercepted the arm as it fell and sent it hurtling over the walls, had Osamu been aware of the old game of baseball he doubtless would have made some amusing reference. As things stood however, he just smiled at the foe beneath him. 
 
Osamu could have finished it quickly but he didn’t want to. It had been a very bad few days and he needed to work some of it out. Kneeling down over his foe Osamu lifted his blade up in the air and brought the pommel crashing down on the arrancar’s head with a moist squelch and a slight crack. Osamu was not the strongest man alive, some may have been able to kill with such a blunt force blow but Osamu couldn’t, he relied on an edge to do the swift killing. But he didn’t want this to be swift. The arrancar choked and spluttered, trying to get free but there was no point. Osamu brought the pommel down again and again, slowly caving his foe’s skull in bit by bit. As the flurry of blows rained down blood spurted onto Osamu’s face, adding to the health splatter already adorning some of his clothes. As it became more intense the face of the arrancar began to change in Osamu’s mind. First it became Kuroda and the pommel came down, then it was the head of the Ichigawa house and the pommel came down. He hit faster and faster and the faces became a blur, various members of the Ichigawa house, other troublesome nobles and still new faces appeared. One of his aunts, an uncle, his brother, his father. Time after time the pummel came down long after the enemy was dead. What was left at the end was a smear rather than a skull. 
 
Rising swiftly Osamu advanced into the smoke and fire that was the breach, the guns stopping to let him advance. There he cut down man after man until, leaderless and panicked, the foe fled the field. Osamu did not pursue, leaving the safety of the compound would be fool hardy. Instead he just stood there for a few moments, ensuring the breach truly was secure. Then he gave a gesture and his men began to make ready for another assault, just in case. 
 
As things turned out no assault came. Osamu dispatched some scouts to ensure all was well and then he sent for his second and third seat, neither of whom had been present at the battle nor had the vast majority of his division. They had been seeing to other tasks as had the rest of his division but he wanted their aid in post battle repairs and analysis. When they arrived Osamu was in fine spirits, his mood significantly improved. Today was going to be a golden day for the Captain, he had decided as much. But tomorrow, tomorrow should be even better. But he was now expecting guests, he was not sure who it would be but he knew someone would come.
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