Frost and Flame: The Expedition of Shiraishi Munenori
Frigid winds swept across the snowfield, swirling up shards of ice crystals. Shiraishi Munenori reined in his steed, which shifted restlessly in knee-deep snow. Behind him, one hundred and twenty thousand Date soldiers formed a winding dragon formation. Their black armor stood stark against the boundless snow, like a colossal dragon coiled along the border of Snezhnaya.
"The first line of Snezhnaya’s defenses lies ahead," said Akiyamagi Akira, his deputy, riding up close. Frost crusted his brows and beard. "Scouts report Snezhnaya has deployed an army unlike any we have ever seen."
Shiraishi Munenori narrowed his one good eye—he had lost the other forever in the Battle of Odawara a decade prior—and stared toward the distant horizon. Nothing stretched forth but endless white snow and scattered dark specks.
"No force shall thwart the Date clan’s ambition," his voice rasped, firm and unyielding. "Lord Masamune has entrusted me with this expedition to Snezhnaya. I shall not fail his expectations."
Hidatsugu Mitsuyo galloped back from the vanguard, confusion and unease etched on his young face. "Lord Shiraishi… Snezhnaya’s army is unnatural. They are not living men—more like… iron boxes."
Shiraishi Munenori frowned. Since landing across the sea a month prior upon this land shrouded in eternal winter, the Date army had faced negligible resistance. Yet instinct told him the true trial was at hand.
"Pass the order: deploy the Crane Wing Formation. Artillery forward, arquebus corps on both flanks, cavalry standing by for a charge."
Commands rippled through banners and war drums. The seasoned Date army fell into disciplined formation with remarkable order amid the foreign snowscape. White breath billowed from the soldiers’ lips, as if the entire host labored for air.
The dark specks on the horizon slowly came into focus.
"What manner of abomination is that?" muttered Ishibashi Shigemori, his hand trembling on the hilt of his katana.
Snezhnaya’s army finally revealed its true form—thousands of man-sized metal constructs with no legs, gliding forward on caterpillar tracks. A long iron barrel jutted from the top of each machine, glinting with cold metallic luster under the sun. These tracked mechs stood in rigid square ranks, advancing silently. Only the crunch of treads crushing snow merged into a low, thunderous rumble.
"Fiends of the snow!" A soldier stumbled back in terror. "Yokai of this frozen realm!"
Shiraishi Munenori let out a cold snort. "Mere trivial mechanical trickery of Snezhnaya! Artillery corps, prepare to fire!"
Thirty Date cannons were wheeled to the front lines. Gunners adjusted their aim frantically, loading gunpowder and cannonballs.
"Eight hundred paces… seven hundred… six hundred and fifty… FIRE!"
Deafening cannon fire shattered the snowfield’s calm, thick gunpowder smoke billowing forth in an instant. Cannonballs screamed toward the mech formation; several struck true, blowing machines to shrapnel and scattering metal debris across the snow.
Cheers erupted from the Date ranks.
But the jubilee died swiftly.
The tracked mechs did not halt—they accelerated forward. Worse still, gaps left by destroyed units were instantly filled by those behind, their formation unbroken and intact.
"Impossible…" Hidatsugu Mitsuyo stared aghast.
When the distance closed to three hundred paces, horror descended.
Iron barrels atop the mechs belched tongues of flame. A relentless staccato rat-a-tat echoed like the reaper’s cackle. A wall of endless metal bullets swept toward the Date lines, impenetrable and merciless.
Frontline Date soldiers fell like wheat scythed by an invisible blade, dropping in droves. Snow was stained crimson in an instant, screams ringing out without cease. Their armor proved as fragile as paper against the small rounds, offering no protection at all.
"Hold your ground! Stand firm!" Shiraishi Munenori roared, his voice drowned out by the machine guns’ thunder.
The Date formation frayed into chaos. Some soldiers charged forward, only to be cut down within steps by the hail of bullets. Others retreated instinctively, crowding together in panic.
"Arquebus corps, return fire!" Akiyamagi Akira shouted his order.
The Date matchlock men fired reluctantly, but their rate of fire was far too slow. Bullets dented the mechs’ iron hulls only shallowly, inflicting no real harm.
"It is useless…" Ishibashi Shigemori paled. "Ordinary weapons cannot slay these monsters."
The tracked mechs advanced steadily, machine guns never ceasing their barrage. Date soldiers perished by the hundreds, casualties climbing at a horrifying pace.
Shiraishi Munenori’s eyes blazed red. Watching his rigorously trained men cut down like straw tore at his heart.
"Artillery corps, switch to scattershot! Cavalry, prepare a suicide charge!"
The order was obeyed at once. Loaded with scattershot, the cannons unleashed devastating fire at close range, shredding dozens of frontline mechs in a single volley. At the same time, three thousand Date cavalry let loose earth-shattering war cries, surging from both flanks to charge the mech formation.
It was a tragic, brutal sight. Horsemen brandished katana, weaving through the bullet storm atop their mounts. Riders fell one after another, yet more pressed onward to reach the mechs. They soon discovered the constructs boasted overwhelming ranged firepower but clumsy close-quarters combat.
"They falter in melee!" a cavalry centurion shouted triumphantly, his katana slashing hard at a mech’s top barrel.
A glimmer of hope stirred within the Date army.
Yet at that moment, a new contingent of foes emerged from the rear of the battlefield. Clad in white fur coats and bearing strange tubular weapons, they moved with the speed of wind.
"Snezhnaya’s Captain-class troops!" someone cried in terror.
These elite Snezhnaya warriors known as Captains rushed into the fray. Their shoulder-mounted weapons unleashed beams of icy blue light. Wherever the beams struck, Date cavalry—horse and man alike—froze into solid ice sculptures, then shattered into countless shards.
One Captain stood apart: masked uniquely, moving with ghostly swiftness, his long blade shimmering with an eerie violet glow. The Date army fell like grass before his path.
"That is their commander!" Akiyamagi Akira pointed toward the enigmatic Captain.
Shiraishi Munenori ground his teeth. "Assemble the Loyal Vanguard! Charge with me!"
"Lord, you must not!" Ishibashi Shigemori pleaded urgently. "You are our supreme commander—you cannot risk your life on the front lines!"
"In this desperate hour, there is no divide between general and soldier!" Shiraishi Munenori drew his treasured sword Aoe, its blade glinting cold beneath the snowlight. "Only samurai fighting for the glory of the Date clan!"
Nearly five hundred of the clan’s finest samurai rallied around him—most hereditary vassals of the Date house, resolved to fight to the death.
"Target the enemy commander! Fight until the last man if we must—we shall claim his head!"
The suicide corps surged forward like an arrow loosed from the bow, charging straight for the battlefield’s center. Using terrain and friendly cover skillfully, they evaded most gunfire, closing in on the masked Captain’s position.
The Captain clearly noticed the party charging straight for him. Surprise flickered in his masked eyes, quickly giving way to disdain. He gestured, and the surrounding mechs and Snezhnaya soldiers parted to clear an open stretch of snow.
"How amusing…" The Captain’s voice sounded low and distorted through his mask. "You would duel me in the samurai’s way?"
Shiraishi Munenori halted twenty paces away, leveling Aoe at his foe. "I am Shiraishi Munenori, Chief Elder of the Date clan! State your name, foe!"
The Captain let out a faint chuckle and offered a crisp Snezhnayan military salute. "Commander of Snezhnaya’s Thirteenth Mech Legion, codename Froststar. It would be my honor to send you to your final rest, Lord Shiraishi."
Before the words faded, the two clashed in a blur of motion.
Though past forty, Shiraishi Munenori’s swordsmanship remained peerless. Aoe carved sharp arcs, forcing Froststar back step by step. Yet Froststar’s movements were uncanny and elusive, evading lethal blows at the very last instant each time.
The battle raged on all around them. For all their bravery, the Date forces were pushed back relentlessly by the mechs’ overwhelming firepower. Akiyamagi Akira and Hidatsugu Mitsuyo strove to rally the broken ranks, while Ishibashi Shigemori led the surviving arquebus men in a last stand.
"Do not yield! For the glory of the Date clan!" Akiyamagi Akira raised the battle standard high, rallying his men amid the crossfire. The next instant, a burst of machine gun bullets tore into his chest, blood gushing forth like a fountain. He stumbled yet clung stubbornly to the flagpole—until another bullet struck his skull.
Witnessing the death of his comrade, Hidatsugu Mitsuyo let out a bestial roar and led dozens of soldiers in a suicidal charge. Torching incendiary flasks, they rushed the nearest mechs. Blasts erupted, engulfing several machines in flames—but Hidatsugu and his men perished in the blaze as well.
Ishibashi Shigemori fared slightly better. He uncovered a critical flaw in the mechs: their undercarriage treads were vulnerable. Organizing another suicide squad, he ordered them to crawl forward with explosives to target the tracks directly. The tactic bore fruit, disabling over a dozen mechs. But as he repositioned his men, Froststar materialized before him in an instant.
"Clever tactic. Far too late, however." Froststar’s blade lashed out like lightning.
Ishibashi Shigemori raised his katana to block, only for his sword to snap clean in two. His head soared through the air, shock frozen on his face.
From afar, Shiraishi Munenori watched his three most trusted generals fall one after another, his resolve fraying into disarray. Seizing the split opening, Froststar lunged forward, his blade piercing clean through Shiraishi’s left shoulder.
"Ah!" Shiraishi cried out, nearly dropping Aoe.
"You of the East are always ruled by your emotions," Froststar sneered, withdrawing his blade and letting blood bead along its edge. "On the battlefield, that is a fatal flaw."
Shiraishi Munenori dropped to his knees, blood spreading rapidly across the snow. He glanced about, surveying the carnage: the Date army lay utterly routed, corpses and wreckage strewn across the field. Remaining mechs continued to gun down any surviving stragglers without mercy.
"So this… is the end," he murmured to himself, visions of his wife and child far away in Dewa flashing before his eyes.
Froststar pointed his blade down at him. "Any final words, samurai of the East?"
Shiraishi Munenori lifted his head with great effort, unyielding fire burning in his lone eye. "Men of the Date clan… even in death… our spirits shall fight on."
Mustering his last strength, he launched himself forward, driving Aoe straight for Froststar’s heart. It was the pinnacle of his lifelong sword mastery, blindingly fast.
But Froststar was swifter still. His blade struck first, slicing clean across Shiraishi Munenori’s neck.
The world spun into darkness. The last sight Shiraishi beheld was Snezhnaya’s gray sky, and snowflakes drifting slowly down.
……
By dusk, the gunfire faded to silence.
The snowfield lay carpeted with the dead. Date black armor mingled with Snezhnaya white uniforms, the former vastly outnumbering the latter. Surviving mechs patrolled the battlefield, executing wounded Date soldiers who still stirred.
Froststar stood atop a small knoll, mask removed to reveal a young, cold-featured face. His deputy stepped forward to report the battle tally.
"Confirmed enemy fatalities: approximately ninety thousand. Fifteen thousand captured, the rest scattered. Our casualties: fifteen thousand total—four thousand killed in action, two thousand critically wounded, nine thousand lightly injured. Eight hundred and twenty tracked mechs lost; four hundred and thirty recovered for repairs."
Froststar nodded faintly. "Salvage the battlefield. Report the victory to Snezhnaya City in three hours."
"What shall we do with the Japanese general’s body?"
Froststar gazed toward the spot where Shiraishi Munenori had fallen, falling silent for a moment. "Prepare his remains alongside his three generals. Bury them according to their samurai rites. They were brave warriors—they merely chose the wrong battlefield."
The deputy saluted and departed. Froststar stood alone on the knoll, staring out over the blood-soaked snow. Cold wind stirred his silver hair, carrying the thick stench of blood.
The victory had never been in doubt, yet no joy stirred within him. He could not fathom the reckless courage of these samurai, charging headlong into certain death without hesitation.
"The people of the East… are a strange race indeed," he whispered softly. Replacing his mask, he turned and walked back toward camp.
In the distance, surviving Date prisoners were bound with wire, tramping forward under mech escort, their eyes hollow and stripped of all hope.
Snezhnaya’s standard flapped loudly in the bitter wind, proclaiming the inviolable sovereignty of this frozen land.
Date Masamune’s ambitious northern expedition crumbled to ruin, broken against Snezhnaya’s unstoppable tide of steel.
寒霜与火焰：白石宗实的远征
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冰冷的寒风卷过雪原，刮起一片细碎的冰晶。白石宗实勒紧缰绳，战马在深及膝盖的积雪中不安地踏着步子。他身后，十二万伊达军将士排成蜿蜒的长龙，黑色的甲胄在苍茫白雪中格外醒目，如同一条巨龙盘踞在至冬国的边境。
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“前方就是至冬国的第一道防线。”副将阿衫白邱驱马靠近，他的眉毛和胡须上已结了一层白霜，“探子回报，至冬国派出了一种我们从未见过的军队。”
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白石宗实眯起独眼——另一只眼睛在十年前的小田原之战中永远失去了——凝视着远方的地平线。那里除了无垠的雪白和零星的黑点，什么也看不见。
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“不管是什么，都挡不住伊达家的野心。”他的声音沙哑而坚定，“政宗主公将远征至冬的重任交予我，我必不会辜负他的期望。”
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东驲光漾从队伍前方快马奔回，年轻的脸上带着困惑与不安：“白石大人，至冬国的军队...很奇怪。它们不像活人，更像是...铁盒子。”
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白石宗实皱起眉头。自一个月前跨海登陆这片被永恒寒冬笼罩的土地以来，伊达军遭遇的抵抗都微不足道。但此刻，直觉告诉他，真正的考验即将来临。
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“传令下去，布鹤翼之阵。火炮队前置，铁炮队分列两翼，骑兵预备突击。”
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命令通过旗号和鼓声迅速传达。伊达军开始有条不紊地展开阵型，这支身经百战的军队在异国的雪原上展现出惊人的纪律性。士兵们呼出的白气在空气中交织升腾，仿佛整支军队都在喘息。
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远方的黑点逐渐清晰。
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“那是...什么鬼东西？”石林茂盛喃喃自语，他握着武士刀的手微微发抖。
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至冬国的军队终于显露出真容——数千个齐人高的金属造物，它们没有腿脚，而是依靠两条履带行进。每一台的顶部都伸出一根长长的铁管，在阳光下泛着冷硬的金属光泽。这些履带机甲排列成整齐的方阵，无声地向前推进，只有履带碾压积雪发出的嘎吱声汇成一片低沉的轰鸣。
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“妖物！”一名士兵惊恐地后退，“是雪国的妖怪！”
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白石宗实冷哼一声：“不过是至冬国的奇技淫巧！火炮队准备！”
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伊达军的三十门大炮被推至阵前，炮手们紧张地调整角度，填入火药和弹丸。
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“距离八百步...七百步...六百五十步...开火！”
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震耳欲聋的炮声撕裂了雪原的宁静，浓烈的硝烟味瞬间弥漫开来。炮弹呼啸着飞向履带机甲阵列，有几发准确命中，将数台机甲炸成碎片，金属零件四散飞溅。
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伊达军阵中爆发出欢呼。
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但他们的欢呼很快戛然而止。
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履带机甲阵列并未停下，反而加速前进。更令人恐惧的是，那些被炸毁的机甲空缺很快被后方的补上，阵列依然完整。
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“怎么可能...”东驲光漾瞪大了眼睛。
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当距离缩短到三百步时，恐怖降临了。
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履带机甲顶部的铁管突然喷出火舌，连绵不断的“哒哒”声如同死神的狞笑。无数金属弹丸形成一道密不透风的墙壁，向伊达军阵地席卷而来。
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前排的伊达军士兵如同被无形的镰刀收割，成片倒下。鲜血瞬间染红了洁白的雪地，惨叫声此起彼伏。甲胄在那些小弹丸面前如同纸糊，丝毫不能提供保护。
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“稳住！稳住！”白石宗实大吼，但他的声音被机枪的咆哮淹没。
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伊达军的阵型开始混乱。一些士兵试图冲锋，但没跑出几步就被弹雨击倒。其他人则本能地向后撤退，挤作一团。
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“铁炮队还击！”阿衫白邱高声下令。
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伊达军的火绳枪队勉强开火，但他们的射速太慢，子弹打在履带机甲的铁壳上只能留下浅浅的凹痕，无法造成实质伤害。
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“没有用的...”石林茂盛面色苍白，“普通武器伤不了这些怪物！”
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履带机甲继续稳步推进，机枪持续喷吐火舌。伊达军成片倒下，伤亡数字以惊人的速度攀升。
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白石宗实双眼赤红，他看着自己精心训练的士兵像稻草一样被割倒，心如刀绞。
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“火炮队，换霰弹！骑兵队，准备决死冲锋！”
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命令被迅速执行。火炮换上霰弹后，在近距离展现出毁灭性的效果，一轮齐射就将前排的数十台履带机甲打成了筛子。与此同时，三千伊达骑兵发出震天的呐喊，从两翼冲出，向履带机甲阵列发起了冲锋。
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这是悲壮而惨烈的一幕。骑兵们挥舞武士刀，凭借马匹的速度在弹雨中穿梭。不断有人落马，但更多的人冲到了履带机甲面前。他们惊讶地发现，这些机甲虽然远程火力凶猛，但近战却显得笨拙。
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“它们怕近战！”一名骑兵百夫长兴奋地大叫，手中太刀狠狠劈向一台机甲的顶部铁管。
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伊达军似乎找到了一丝希望。
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但就在这时，一队特殊的敌人出现在战场后方。他们身着白色毛皮大衣，肩扛奇怪的筒状武器，行动迅捷如风。
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“至冬国的队长部队！”有人惊恐地大喊。
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这些被称为“队长”的至冬国精英战士迅速投入战斗。他们肩上的武器发射出蓝色的光束，所到之处，伊达骑兵连人带马被冻结成冰雕，随后碎裂成无数冰块。
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一名队长尤其显眼——他戴着独特的面具，行动如鬼魅般迅捷，手中的长刀闪耀着诡异的紫光。他所过之处，伊达军如割草般倒下。
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“那就是他们的指挥官！”阿衫白邱指向那名特别的队长。
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白石宗实咬牙：“集结忠勇队！随我冲锋！”
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“大人不可！”石林茂盛急忙劝阻，“您是主帅，不可亲身犯险！”
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“在这种绝境中，已无主帅与士兵之分！”白石宗实拔出佩刀“青江”，刀身在雪光映照下泛着寒芒，“只有为伊达家荣耀而战的武士！”
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约五百名最精锐的武士迅速集结在白石周围，他们大多是伊达家的谱代家臣，此刻已抱定必死决心。
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“目标，敌方指挥官！即使战至最后一人，也要取他首级！”
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这支敢死队如离弦之箭，冲向战场中央。他们巧妙地利用地形和己方士兵的掩护，避开了大部分火力，直扑那名队长所在的位置。
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队长显然注意到了这支直奔他而来的队伍，面具下的眼睛闪过一丝惊讶，随即变为轻蔑。他做了个手势，周围的履带机甲和至冬国士兵立刻向两侧散开，让出一片空地。
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“有意思...”队长的声音透过面具，显得低沉而扭曲，“想用武士的方式决斗吗？”
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白石宗实在距离队长二十步处停下，青江直指对方：“我乃伊达家笔头家老，白石宗实！来将通名！”
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队长轻笑一声，优雅地行了个至冬国军礼：“至冬国第十三机甲军团指挥官，代号‘霜星’。很荣幸送您最后一程，白石大人。”
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话音未落，两道身影已猛地碰撞在一起。
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白石宗实虽已年过四十，但剑术丝毫不减当年。青江划出一道道凌厉的弧线，逼得霜星连连后退。但霜星的身法诡异莫测，每每在千钧一发之际避开致命攻击。
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周围的战斗仍在继续。伊达军虽然悍勇，但在履带机甲的绝对火力优势下节节败退。阿衫白邱和东驲光漾试图重整部队，石林茂盛则率领残存的铁炮队做最后的抵抗。
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“不要放弃！为了伊达家的荣耀！”阿衫白邱高举战旗，在枪林弹雨中鼓舞士气。下一刻，一串机枪子弹击中他的胸膛，鲜血如喷泉般涌出。他踉跄几步，但仍顽强地撑着旗杆，直至又一发子弹击中他的头部。
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东驲光漾目睹这一幕，发出野兽般的咆哮，率领几十名士兵发起自杀式冲锋。他们抱着点燃的燃烧瓶，冲向最近的履带机甲。几声爆炸后，数台机甲燃起大火，但东驲光漾和他的部下也全部葬身火海。
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石林茂盛的情况稍好一些。他发现了履带机甲的一个弱点——它们底部的履带相对脆弱。他组织了一支敢死队，让他们携带炸药匍匐前进，专门攻击机甲的履带。这一战术取得了一定成效，十几台机甲因此瘫痪。但就在他调整部署时，霜星的身影突然出现在他面前。
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“不错的战术，可惜太迟了。”霜星的长刀如闪电般挥出。
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石林茂盛举刀格挡，但太刀应声而断，他的头颅飞向空中，脸上还带着惊愕的表情。
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远处的白石宗实目睹三位心腹爱将接连战死，心神大乱。霜星抓住这一瞬间的破绽，长刀突刺，精准地穿透了白石宗实的左肩。
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“啊！”白石惨叫一声，青江险些脱手。
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“你们日本人总是太容易感情用事。”霜星冷笑着，抽回长刀，带出一串血珠，“在战场上，这是致命的弱点。”
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白石宗实跪倒在地，鲜血迅速在雪地上蔓延开来。他环顾四周，伊达军已溃不成军，战场上到处都是尸体和残骸。履带机甲仍在无情地收割着幸存者的生命。
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“看来...这就是终点了...”他喃喃自语，眼前浮现出远在出羽的妻儿面容。
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霜星举刀指向他：“还有什么遗言吗，日本武士？”
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白石宗实艰难地抬起头，独眼中燃烧着不屈的火焰：“伊达家的人...即使倒下...灵魂也会继续战斗！”
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他用尽最后力气跃起，青江直刺霜星的心脏。这是他毕生武学的精华，速度快得超乎想象。
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但霜星的动作更快。他的长刀后发先至，精准地划过白石宗实的脖颈。
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世界在天旋地转。白石宗实最后看到的，是至冬国灰暗的天空，和缓缓飘落的雪花。
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......
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黄昏时分，枪声渐渐平息。
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雪原上尸横遍野，伊达军的黑色甲胄与至冬国的白色制服混杂在一起，但前者的数量远远多于后者。残存的履带机甲在战场上巡逻，不时向还有动静的伊达军伤兵补枪。
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霜星站在一个小丘上，面具已经摘下，露出年轻而冷峻的面容。副官正在向他汇报战果。
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“确认歼敌约九万人，俘虏约一万五千人，其余溃散。我军伤亡约一万五千人，其中阵亡四千，重伤两千，轻伤九千。损失履带机甲八百二十台，已回收可修复的四百三十台。”
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霜星微微点头：“清理战场，三小时后向至冬城汇报战果。”
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“那名日本大将的尸体怎么处理？”
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霜星望向远处白石宗实倒下的地方，沉默片刻：“把他和那三名部将的尸体整理好，按他们的礼仪安葬。他们是勇敢的战士，只是走错了战场。”
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副官敬礼后离去。霜星独自站在小丘上，望着这片被鲜血染红的雪原。寒风吹起他银白的发丝，也带来了浓郁的血腥气。
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这场胜利毫无悬念，但他心中却没有喜悦。那些日本武士明知道是送死，却依然前仆后继地冲锋，这种疯狂的勇气令人费解。
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“东方人...真是奇怪的民族。”他轻声自语，重新戴上面具，转身走向营地。
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远处，幸存的伊达军俘虏被铁丝捆绑在一起，在履带机甲的监视下蹒跚前行。他们的眼神空洞，失去了所有希望。
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至冬国的旗帜在寒风中猎猎作响，宣示着这片土地不容侵犯的主权。
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伊达政宗野心勃勃的北伐计划，就这样在至冬国的钢铁洪流前化为泡影。
This chapter is based on real historical events. In 1939, Japan and Germany planned to launch a pincer attack on the Soviet Union. Accordingly, Japan marched north to invade Mongolia, preparing for a further northward advance into Soviet territory. However, in the Battles of Khalkhin Gol (Nomonhan), the Japanese army was confronted by the Soviet Union’s steel tide — a massive force of tanks and armored units — and suffered a crushing defeat. Having sustained extremely heavy casualties in this battle, Japan completely abandoned its strategic plan of invading the Soviet Union from the north and signed an armistice agreement with the Soviet Union.
此章节是有历史原型的，1939年日本和德国计划夹击苏联，所以日本北上入侵蒙古国伺机北进。但是在苏日诺门坎战役中，日军遭遇苏军的钢铁洪流（大量坦克装甲部队）因此惨败。那一役日军伤亡极其惨重，彻底放弃了北上侵苏的战略计划，并与苏联签订停战协议。
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