The Field of Ice and Blood — Part 1
A short story with rival gangs in Japan amid the beauty of Hokkaido
The Sun ascended slowly above the land of the rising Sun. The sky was ice crystal clear and the low Sun was so red that it looked as if it escaped from a Japanese flag.
The last few hours were dead quiet in the frozen Tokachi wheat fields, in Hokkaido; a male barn owl just finished hunting rodents hiding among the wheat fields and the snow.
The owl caught two red squirrels, a crying rabbit and a small snow-white lizuma weasel; it caught its last prey despite having hidden perfectly in the thick snow and barely making a sound.
It stood no chance against the barn owl’s acute hearing though. It was a good night’s harvest for the male owl, his mate and their four fledglings.
Yet as the snowed wheat-fields started to be illuminated by sunlight another picture started to develop. The whiteness of the snow was broken at multiple spots by red splatters.
It looked like red syrup on shaved ice, which the Japanese people are particularly fond of. Like that ice-sweet treat much of that red liquid was diffused into the snow.
However, on closer look, as the Sun shed more light into the fields, one could see that they were full of bodies. The bodies were of men wearing suits. There were eight clusters of them with each cluster consisting of nine to ten bodies. 76 men in total.
Some were face down; the frozen eyes of others were staring at the blue sky; some were on a kneeling position holding a katana, which lay either on their side or was in their gut; five men had even misplaced their heads.
There were also many who appeared to have died from bullet wounds, and quite a few machine guns were scattered around the frozen wheat field.
Everyone was dead. Did anyone survive this carnage? Was there a last man standing -or crawling- who could at least explain what happened in that field? Or was our feathered predator the sole witness?
Let’s go back 36 hours, to the VIP room of a strip club in Susukino, the red-light district of Sapporo.
“Like I have been saying for a while Daisuke-dono, with all due respect to the yakuza families of Tokyo, our yakuza clan here in Sapporo, and the smaller clans in the rest of Hokkaido, have always done things our way.
So we have to respectfully decline your ‘protection’ against the Russian mobsters. We will take care of bratva on our own. This is our land, not theirs. It is a matter of honor and pride you see.”
“But oyabun Hideyo-dono our intelligence has suggested that at least a hundred bratva men have already set foot in Hokkaido. We suspect they’re preparing something big, starting from the north end of Japan. Do you have the men to deal with so many adversaries while also running your business?
Our protection is genuine; we ask nothing in return, no fees, expenses or cuts. It’s not entirely selfless either as you must have guessed. We want to stop the Russians here, before they set foot on Honshu.
From what we can tell they’ve been arriving in Hokkaido directly from Sakhalin, quietly, and that’s why our men have not noticed them pass through any of the southern airports. That kind of secrecy is very alarming.”
The two men were interrupted by a topless waitress who wore just a pink-purple g-string, pink high boots and two pink stars attached on her nipples.
To a foreigner’s eyes she might have looked underage, but she was actually 21. Her name was Yuki Hanako and she came to refill the two men with warm sake and fresh sushi.
She was oyabun Hideyo’s most trusted working girl. She and her younger sister were orphaned when their parents died in a car accident a decade ago. Oyabun Hideyo, who’s a distant relative, took them both under his wing.
He officially adopted both so they were spared foster care. He raised them like a true father and never laid a finger on them.
Yuki, which means ‘snow’, bowed gracefully and asked:
“Would you like anything else oyabun?”
“No thank you Yuki-chan, that will be all. Go back to your business,” oyabun Hideyo said and smiled widely.
Oyabun Hideyo is the head of Sapporo’s yakuza clan and the most powerful man in Hokkaido, the northernmost and coldest island of Japan. Sapporo is Hokkaido’s capital and largest city. The aforementioned Tokachi wheat fields are located 160 miles due East.
The man Sapporo’s oyabun has been talking with is Daisuke Ono. He is the man chosen by three Tokyo yakuza clans, and one from nearby Yokohama, to represent them. He is a kind of impartial ‘ambassador’.
Impartial because he’s retired from the yakuza and now acts as a diplomat who resolves differences -usually territorial- between the families.
He is an experienced, competent and widely respected elder, whose reputation has reached even Hokkaido. But this is the first time he had to deal with a foreign threat.
“I understand Daisuke-dono, but I’ve made arrangements. I called the heads of the three smaller clans of the island and asked them to send to Sapporo as many men as they could. I got a call a while ago and altogether they pledged 80 men, who will arrive in the city later tonight.
Along with the men my clan can spare to tackle the Russians I now have almost 200 men under my command just for dealing with bratva. Many will work 16-hour shifts this month but they understand. And, no offence, they prefer that than having to rely on muscle from the capital.”
“None taken, oyabun Hideyo…” Daisuke said as he chomped on some tuna sushi with vinegared rice, which had a bit more wasabi than he could endure; he drank some water to cool his burning mouth and continued. Being a recovering alcoholic he did not touch the sake.
“…but what if the bratva has more men than that? And everyone of them has an AK-47? You know they do not use swords. We also use guns but usually as a last resort, since we tend to find them.. dishonorable.”
“You mean you use guns Daisuke-dono. We are strictly against guns up here, let alone machine guns. They are… obscene!” oyabun Hideyo made an expression of disgust.
Daisuke thought, but did not dare utter, that if they deal with a large number of armed Russian mobsters they will all die like lambs in a slaughterhouse; their pride and honor will be the death of them. Don’t they understand the Samurai days are long gone?
Daisuke Ono wanted to say more but he was wary of offending the elderly oyabun. So he gave up.
“Then I don’t think we have anything more to talk about oyabun Hideyo. I will relay to the Tokyo oyabuns that you respectfully declined their help. However if you need it after all it will only be one phone call away.
We have 70 men on standby in Aomori who can arrive in Sapporo in a few hours with the Shinkansen and we can also send another 100 via plane from Tokyo if required.” He took a card from his wallet and gave it to him with both hands while bowing.
“You already have my business cell but this is my personal one. You can call me 24/7, do not worry about waking me up. I know full well that we are not in a 9 to 5 business. So.. I suppose that will be all; I’m going to my hotel to rest and in the morning I’m flying back home.” Daisuke said while bowing once again.
“Thank you kindly for accepting my invitation to honor our humble city and my club with your presence Daisuke-dono. And I’m sorry if you go back home empty-handed but I think by now you understand why.
We will keep talking on the phone and I hope I will pay a visit to your city soon as well.” oyabun Hideyo stood up and bowed slightly.
Two men of oyabun Hideyo escorted Daisuke Ono downstairs. They passed through an assortment of ogling half-drunk customers and beautiful half-naked strip girls. A staggering customer was about to fall onto Daisuke and one of his escorts swiftly pushed him aside.
They escorted him to the same limousine which took him from his hotel and the same driver was inside. One of the men went back to the club and another rode shotgun with the driver. He was at his hotel in 5 minutes, despite the heavy snowfall.
All the while Daisuke Ono was inundated with worrying thoughts about the bratva, Russia, Sapporo, Hokkaido and Japan by and large.
‘What is the endgame of the Russians? Are they here to declare war or just to provoke us? They entered illegally, without permission or invitation, unlike last times. They even bypassed Tokyo.
Could they be politically motivated, perhaps by Putin, as a result of the dispute of our country with Russia over the Kuril Islands which has been flaring up lately? We know Putin has been in bed with them in the past, just like we’ve worked with our own government.
If Putin is using them to poke Japan’s behinds this is much bigger than Sapporo and Hokkaido, bigger even than the entire yakuza! Perhaps we should start talking with our government again?’
Daisuke Ono might have become a thinker if destiny had not led him into the yakuza’s embrace. He could get lost in thought and do internal monologues for hours. His intellect was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness; during his inner monologues he was much less observant than usual.
It was unlike him not to notice that he was followed from the strip club. Very discreetly, by a professional, but Daisuke Ono would have still smelled him.
