The Whiteout

Icy sleet pelted our gaunt faces while wet, muddy snow bit us about the ankles. It wailed and squeaked pitifully beneath our feet. The cold seeped through, soaking into fabric, finding ways between layers of cloth. Straw mats we had fashioned into coats were heavy on our backs, bending us closer to the ground. Some of the men had pilfered raincoats and armour from the fallen Amanto, but judging from their unhappy expressions, those were hardly an improvement. From the skies, we must have looked like mouldy mushrooms scattered over the forest floor. I certainly felt like a mushroom, damp, crooked and rank.

"I hate winter," somebody grunted. I was tempted to tell them to shut their face. Nobody liked winter when they had to march miles and miles through it, while snow went from slush to rock-hard shards of –

I was saved the trouble. "And I hate whiny bitches, but such is life." It was Sakata, bless him.

"Yeah, shut the hell up, man," others agreed.

"We're all miserable. Suck it up."

"Suck what now?"

"Wouldn't mind if you were up for it, friend!"

I barked a tired laugh with a few others. The complainant mumbled something in protest, but it was drowned out by another violent gust of wind. My men groaned, lowering their heads and pushing onward, feet burying deeper into the freezing muck. I squinted at the horizon to reassure myself of our bearings. This was, after all, my homeland. I had promised my soldiers a place to stay, and so I would deliver. First, we needed to get off the mountain, though. We had camped on its southern side last night. It had been chilly, but not too terrible. However, now that we were on the north-western slopes, the capricious autumn that had caressed us with its golden light and sweet smell, turned into a vengeful, young winter. The temperature was falling rapidly and the sky was a uniform grey, not a break between the clouds anywhere in sight. The snow was becoming steadily thicker and drier, piling up quickly. Damn. I knew we had at least another three hours before I could give my tired five-dozen a roof over their heads. My only hope was that the whiteout threatening us held out until we reached it.

I shrugged my shoulder straps more securely on. Pots, pans, weapons, and other assorted pieces of luggage jingled in response. Behind me, other jingles echoed the sentiment eagerly. We were all tired, sure, but we were doing fine. Our spirits were high. I was careful about optimism, habitually quite sceptical of good luck and fair weather, but it was difficult to deny the recent upturn in our fortunes. We were doing fine, we were doing better than I had ever thought. We were doing! As if on cue, I heard murmuring, humming, a half-recognized melody. Then someone started singing,

"Deer will hardly make a sound

"Since the ground is mossy.

"Sure they move with grace and all,

"But smell a lot like pu-"

Men snorted while the singer stretched the syllable, banging an expectant rhythm on his armour until a comrade picked it up,

"Pu-shing forward through the snow,

"I wish for four warm walls,

"Maybe for a pretty girl,

"Who would lick my ba-" More laughter punctured the wheezing wind as the drumming became louder.

"Ba-king in the sunlight

"Is hardly any better." I sniggered, recognizing the voice and corresponding Southern accent. It was the newcomer, the merchant's son. Sugimoto or Sakaguchi or something.

"Still I think that summer heat,

"Makes the ladies we-"

"We—ather does not worry me,

"I might have caught a tick!" Sakata took over, predictably off key.

"And while you're there to check it out,

"Won't you suck my di-"

Everybody joined in now. "Dee—eer will hardly make a sound, since the ground is mossy…[1]"

"Captain!" I turned to see Takasugi lengthen his stride to catch up with me. As he passed Katsura, he gave him a teasing bump against the shoulder. His friend grunted, stumbling under the weight of his luggage, and Takasugi smirked.

I waited for him to fall into step with me.

"Sir," he greeted me with a half-bow.

"Not sure if you should call me that anymore. Captain."

Takasugi tried to look less smug than he felt but I saw a smile escape onto his thin lips. "It would feel weird if I didn't," he said honestly.

I eyed his dark uniform suspiciously – the one he had chosen for himself. It seemed somewhat ominous, winking at me from underneath a stolen Amanto coat. Ever since we destroyed that aircraft harbour (a Terminal, I heard it had been called) in Mino[2] two months ago, Itou had made his commandos a permanent fixture, and installed Takasugi as their captain. Which made the question of who commanded whom right now even more questionable than usual. Takasugi was a strange one, with his flashing green eyes, his magnetic arrogance, and his prickly sense of humour. I was still not sure I liked him at all.

I nodded. "What's on your mind?"

"What's our bearing?" Figures he didn't come up here to chat.

Sighing, I pointed to the front where the spruce forest became thinner and the snow knee-deep. "We go Sou'-Sou'-west for another hour and a half. Two hours in this shit," I corrected myself moodily.

"And then?"

"Straight downhill until I say stop."

Takasugi pondered. "Once we clear the forest, we should take a rest and put a sentry up front to scout ahead. Sir."

I shook my head. "No stopping. This storm'll only get worse. We need to move fast. Besides, the trees will cover us all the way."

"All the way to where exactly?" he had to shout over another gust of wind.

I mulled words over in my mouth. "There's an old manor house. It's been abandoned."

Takasugi's narrow nose furrowed suspiciously. "Is it safe?"

"As safe as anywhere. There's water and a small village off the beaten track where we can get food, supplies. We can lay low for the worst of the winter. Slip back up the mountain if we need to."

He shook his head. "A village? We can't trust the villagers."

"They won't go to the Shogunate."

"How can you be sure?"

"It was my village."

I stared stubbornly ahead even as snow showered my face like icy shrapnel. We walked on in silence, the song of our comrades having dissolved into friendly banter. I had learned since their arrival that, while most of Yoshida's students were indeed country rubes and motherless slum dogs, Takasugi and Katsura were the exception to the rule, both the scions of wealthy samurai families. Hence, I knew that when I told him it was my village, Takasugi understood that I did not simply mean this was the village of my birth, but that it was truly my village. Mine by right of inheritance.

Takasugi ran a hand over his hair, shaking ice and snow from it. "Where are we anyway? Are we still in Hida[3]?" He had not asked how long it has been since I last visited my home, or why I knew the house would be abandoned. I could not tell whether this was politeness, gentleness or disinterest on his part. Whatever it was, I was grateful for it.

"No. We passed into Shinano[4] a while ago." Waving my hand about, I painted the horizon we could not see for the storm had thickened over it like curdled milk. "But these are still the Hida mountains. To the South of us is Norikura. To the North are Hotaka and Yarigadake."

"Hmmm," Takasugi pretended to know what I was talking about.

I chuckled. "You're a Nagato boy, aren't you? More of a seaman, less of a highlander."

"I suppose you could say that, sir," he shrugged. "Still. It's good to know the lay of the land. In case we have to backtrack over it without you."

This was why I did not like Takasugi. He was so very fucking nonchalant about people dying sometimes. He had a point, though, I had to admit. "Aizawa knows his way around," I nodded over my shoulder. Somewhere at the very back was my old school mate, now one of my lieutenants, guarding the rear with his squadron. "And I am sure we could find a few more men from this region among us."

Takasugi nodded. "Yeah, we have rather grown in number since the victory in Mino. Commander Hashimoto is, erm, cautiously pleased, I think he had put it. He was your master, was he not?"

I frowned. "Hashimoto is not Commander."

Takasugi gave a maddeningly knowing smirk. "Well, actually, Itou is thinking of upgrading himself into a general, now that we finally look like an actual army. Which means promotions will likely be happening all around." He snorted, eyes glinting sharply. "Not that rank means very much right at the moment. Nothing but how many deaths you are directly responsible for."

For a moment, I thought he was being coy, but I realized that was not it. His habitual aggressive smirk was betrayed by hidden insecurity in his narrowed eyes. "It's good that you see it that way."

Takasugi nodded carefully. Yes, good, I thought. Good that he understood that in wartime, prestige meant duty, and command ultimately meant guilt. I felt a stretching in my face and realized, with a lag, that it was an approving smile. Crap, I was turning into Hashimoto! Then I considered again the man before me. He had the self-awareness to know he was young and green as well as the cold reason to know what that meant. The angry pain I had seen in him before was honed to a point now that he was given purpose, and I began to see the wisdom of Itou's decision to make him captain. He would do well, yes.

"Hashimoto was my master," I sad, rather gently. "I attended his school against my father's wishes, though. He wanted me to stay in house, train with his retainers."

Takasugi chuckled. "Hah!" He saw me raise my eyebrows inquiringly, and seemed as though he would continue to speak. Then a rather melodious voice carried over the wind.

"My feet are chaffed, my muscles sore,

"From this awful muck.

"I don't know how to say this but

"Ma'am, I'd like to fu-"

Takasugi and I both turned in disbelief. It was Katsura. He had finally come up with a rhyme.

"I don't believe it," Aizawa shook his head, gasping for breath from laughter.

"You didn't hear him, I did! He was right behind me," I insisted.

"Tell me again!"

"Erm," I tried to recall. "My feet are chaffed, my muscles…"

"Sore!" he supplied.

"Sore from this awful muck. I don't know how to say this but, ma'am, I'd like to fuck."

Aizawa rolled backwards, cackling. I refilled both of our cups with rice brandy. We hadn't eaten properly for a week, and this was the first alcohol we have had in months. Naturally we jumped on it like moths into a flame. I felt telltale warmth crawl up my arms, robbing them of sensation along with speed, strength, precision... Stop it, I told myself. Stop it for tonight!

"Ma'am, I'd like to fuck, mercy! Oh, sorry, thanks," Aizawa nodded graciously when I pushed the cup before him but soon we dissolved into sniggering once more. "Ma'am, I'd like to…" I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Honestly, sir," Katsura sat a few paces away from us, surrounded by a small group. "How is that even still funny? Hasn't it been enough already?" I had to give him credit; he managed to sound polite even as Sakata and a few others murmured the song under their breaths but I could see his jaw work.

Aizawa waved at him joyfully. "You are a loss to poetry, son."

"Any particular ma'am to whom you'd like to dedicate your verse, lieutenant?" I couldn't resist. Katsura's friends buzzed with renewed glee.

"No, sir," he mumbled.

Takasugi threw an arm around Katsura's shoulders, "Now, Zura, you might as well tell them about… Gintoki, what was that woman called?"

Sakata wriggled fingers for the merchant boy – that Saka-something – to pass the pitcher of alcohol to him. "What woman?"

"The one from the village. Zura's-"

"My name is not-" Katsura began but was cut off.

"Oooh, yeah," Sakata sounded enlightened. "Eerm, her name was… Fuck, I can't remember. Naaaa- oko? Nami? Naaaa-"

"Her name was Ayana, you fuckwad!" Katsura shouted. His perfect diction and cool composure were finally slipping. Takasugi, Sakata, and the rest exploded into giggles.

"Who was this Ayana?" Aizawa wanted to know.

"It doesn't matter!" Katsura insisted, throwing his head back and gulping down an imprudently large mouthful of alcohol.

"She was the, eeh, rope maker's… mother?" Takasugi scratched his forehead.

"Nah, she was the fishmonger's grandmother," Sakata pondered out loud.

"She was the blacksmith's wife!" Katsura screamed as more heads turned towards us with interested grins. "And you two assholes were right there panting after her with me, so don't pretend like - "

"So you like the older lady once in a while?" Aizawa surmised sheepishly. "I wouldn't have guessed it."

I, who had had Katsura pegged as a boy-lover[5], held my tongue and chuckled into my cup of alcohol.

"Once in a long while," Takasugi put in, balling tobacco to stuff into his pipe.

"Long, looooong while, right, Zura?" Sakata leered.

"M'name's not, Zura," Katsura hiccoughed. "M'name, is, Katsura! Assholes."

"Oh, that's right! What did she call you?" Takasugi clamped his shoulder but looked to Sakata who was merely shaking his head, laughing. "She had a name for you. Wait, what was it, it was precious…"

"Shinsuke, I swear…" Katsura's hand bunched up in Takasugi's collar and he made to stand up but managed only to bob more severely on his axis. It was becoming clear that he could be quite a mean drunk.

"A nickname? Really?" Aizawa gave me a look with his eyebrows raised, and I replied with an awed whistle.

"It wasn't sugarplum…" Takasugi indulged us, lighting the pipe. "Cocoapuff? Snugglefluff?"

"Cockmuffin," Sakata suggested, pouring for Aizawa and myself. "Prickbunny. No?"

"I can see what you are, doing," Katsura squeezed out. "It's not gonna work!"

"Honeyballs?" Saka-something gave an educated guess. I could tell why Sakata liked him.

"You stay out of this!"

"Sweetiestick?"

"Cumfairy! Cumfairy, I'm sure of it!"

"Why is it you two asses get along only when you gang up on me?" Katsura wanted to know. His friends shrugged.

"Don't be so hard on my lieutenant," I told Takasugi. "He knows women are like fine wine. Better when aged."

"Nah, it's not even about age. Zura likes them married and inaccessible," Sakata giggled, sloshing some of the rice brandy over the floor mats. He mopped the wet spot with his sleeve. I stared at it distractedly. I had been surprised how well everything in the mansion was holding up. The mats had been stowed away carefully and were neither dusty nor mouldy. The roof was patched, its ducts cleared. Someone in the village was taking care of the place.

The merchant boy joined in with a spurt of laughter. "Not enough danger in your life, so you wanna run after other men's women? I approve, Zura, but it's a pretty extreme sport."

"Don't you call me Zura as well, you little fart weasel!"

"Fart weasel! That was it!" Sakata proclaimed. "That's what she called you!"

The whole room echoed with jeers, and the sound suddenly struck me mute. Twenty years ago, this was what it had been like. When I was a boy, and the mansion was full of my father's retainers, drinking as we were, teasing each other as we were, lounging about as we were, this was what the air had smelled like, and this was what the brandy had tasted like. I shook my head at Aizawa's questioning gaze, dragging myself back into present time. The merchant's son laughed loudest, his rather rich voice bouncing off the walls in a syncopated rhythm.

"Well then, what about you, newbie?" I addressed him. "You get any with that mophead?"

"Ca'tain, really? Did ya really have to bring that up?" Sakata gave me a pleading look, his own unruly locks falling to his eyes. Takasugi sniggered, delighted that both of his friends were being needled now. Smoke escaped his mouth seductively, reminding me of the old dragons.

The merchant boy shrugged good-naturedly. "I like my women like I like my eggs. Over easy."

"Hah! A player to boot," Sakata beamed. "Here's to beautiful curls and luscious locks!" The two wavy haired men embraced each other and gulped down their drinks to cheers from some neighbours.

"What about you, Captain?" I heard Takasugi ask and his voice betrayed a mischievous lilt. I waved my hand, but the younger men were already perked to attention, staring at me. Even Katsura expressed his interest with a stifled burp and a hazy glare. "You got any, growing up in the mountains?"

"Was there any back in his day?" somebody heckled.

"Yeah, Captain, what about you?"

"That was a long time ago," I went for my best impression of an old man whose life was either too rich to recount, or too distant to remember, neither of which was true. To Takasugi and the others, I must have been ancient enough for they looked as though they would drop the subject.

Unfortunately, Aizawa was my age. Those tricks didn't work on him. "Oh, Mikkun was pretty over easy in his time. Tell them about Yoshiwara." I gave Aizawa a dirty look but he only grinned at me.

"Yoshiwara? Really, Captain?" the merchant boy gaped. Matching ooh's and aah's echoed from our growing audience.

"That must have cost a pretty penny," Sakata commented.

"Is it true, Captain?"

"Yes," I admitted. There was a general kafuffle of excitement.

"How was it?"

"Wait, this was before it was burned, right?"

"Obviously, you twat."

"That was a long time ago."

"Hookers are hookers," Sakata put in. "It's all the same shit."

"Yeah, but some hookers are the oiran," I said, with great gusto.

"Wait, you had the oiran?" Aizawa quirked his head.

"No," I admitted. "But I had the girl who would later become oiran."

Now the circle around us widened as heads turned to listen to my story. I felt myself grow drunk on more than booze, retelling a memory I had not thought of in a long time. I remembered the finest brandy I had ever drunk, and the softest skin I had ever touched. As was telling my battle-mates, my blood-brothers, all about it, I also remembered the young man who foolishly thought that this memory would surely be the most important memory of his life. How easily that young man had been deceived into believing the world could not change itself without his help. I shook my head against melancholy thoughts, and drank, listening to happy chatter. Yoshiwara was no more, somebody lamented. But others have heard that it was being rebuilt underground, that all the survivors would continue their lives there. Under the watchful eye of the traitor's government, I thought but did not say it out loud. The night was too beautiful to bring in cold whispers of reality. So I sat back, watching Katsura slowly slant sideways. Sakata had gone to find the latrine a while ago, and did not return. Then the merchant boy began telling of his encounters with prostitutes, and did so with a lot less poetic nostalgia than I had managed. The assembled men, Aizawa included, leered, jeered and gaped. Takasugi had gone to rummage through his luggage only to produce an old shamisen after somebody had started egging him on. He looked a little bit shy as he twisted the strings tighter, looking for harmony.

"He'll be good," I murmured out loud.

"What?" Aizawa asked me. "You've heard him play before?"

I shook my head. "No, that's n… Never mind."

I thought of the conversation we had on the mountainside, and found myself wondering what Takasugi had been going to say about his family, his childhood, his master. I wondered what sort of life he had led, and how that life had brought him to where he was now. Was it all that dissimilar from my life?

I thought he would be a good commander then, certainly a fine Captain. Now, watching how easily men crowded to him, how avidly they awaited his word, I thought he could possibly be more than a Captain. If we really won this war, if we really won it… I blinked at myself, confused. I hadn't thought about winning in such a long time. Not since the day it started, probably.

No. If I was going to be honest, I hadn't thought about winning since the first battle. I had gone into it excited, cocky. A foolish young man who believed the world could not change if he did not change it. I knew it was dangerous, sure; it was the battlefield. The battlefield was dangerous. And wonderful, and majestic. The battlefield was all anyone had ever talked about. It was everything I had ever been schooled for, the culmination of all of my life. And I went into it as they had taught me – excited, cocky, and ready to sacrifice myself. I came out of it a coward.

Yoshida's students seemed to come out of it commanders, leaders. Heroes. I wondered how Yoshida had spoken about battlefields. Would I even be able to understand that lesson?

"Where are you going?" Aizawa asked me.

"Take a piss," I muttered back.

"Captain? Are you alright?"

"Oh, don't mind him. He gets really philosophical when he's drunk," I heard Aizawa wave somebody down and I smiled as I found my way around out of the room. The night air struck me as a cold splash of water but it failed to sober me up. The walkway was damp beneath my bare feet, but smooth and solid. Exactly the way I remembered it. I looked up, searching the horizon for my village, but I could not see it. All around me, large clods of snow were falling in eerie silence. The sky was a uniform ashen-pink on all sides of us, and it seemed for a moment that we were alone in the universe.

Or I really was drunk. I snorted at myself and caught a movement in the corner of my eye. Seated in the darkness just a few steps from me, was Sakata, feet off the walkway and dangling carelessly in the cold air. He nodded to me in his usual, nonchalant way.

"Ca'tain."

"Lost your way from the toilets?" I asked him.

"Nah. I just couldn't stand listening to Takasugi rape that instrument any longer," he shook his head.

That was a bald-faced lie. I knew for a fact that it was Sakata who had produced that shamisen from god knows where, and presented it to Takasugi. I smirked at him and came to stand at his side.

"Weren't you going to go to take a piss?" he asked me lazily.

I was not going to rid him of myself that easily. "No, not really. By the way, how was it?"

"What?"

I nodded towards the side where a crumbling shack protected the latrine from the wind. It was pretty much the same gruesome little structure barely standing there since my childhood. Father had never once had it redone. "The shit-pit. Still in one piece?"

"No idea," he breathed, squinting in the direction I had indicated. "Never found it. Pissed in the snow."

I chuckled. "Aren't you cold as all hell?"

Sakata rocked his bare feet, snowflakes whispering around them ominously. "Nope."

He did not add he was used to it, but I heard it in his dismissive tone. He wasn't a kid from a fine family, I reminded myself. His accent proved as much. Neither was he from a merchant family like his fellow mophead, I was willing to wager. No. He was a kid who was used to being barefoot in the snow. My drunken curiosity became monstrous, and I sat down next to him. To his credit, he did not shuffle away, even though I could tell he wanted to.

"Why are you in this war, Sakata?"

"Whoa," he whistled gently. "That's quite a turn in the conversation."

"Does that mean you don't want to answer me?"

"Why are you in it?" he countered.

I refused to let him to buy time. "I hardly had a choice. You certainly did."

"Maybe I wanted to make a name for myself," he shrugged.

"Well, if that's it, you're lagging behind. Soldier," I commented. "Your schoolmate is already Captain."

Sakata looked back towards the warm illumination of the room and I saw, for the briefest moment, a smile linger in his sleepy eyes. "That little shit was always too popular for his own good. I'm fine in the back of the bus with Zura."

"Oh, I wouldn't dismiss Katsura," I told him honestly. "He'll make it high up as well. He has the balls and the brains for it."

"Not a chance," Sakata harrumphed. "Zura's got the personality of a sea urchin. Hasn't got a charismatic bone in his stupid face."

"You're wrong. You didn't see him when you two are not around," I said lightly, but then it struck me what a profound statement that was.

If Sakata felt the same way, I could not tell. His silence could have been meditative. But he could have just as easily dozed off.

"You didn't answer me," I reminded him.

"Neither did you," Sakata observed.

I pulled hands around me to chase away some of the cold, and stared ahead into the quiet frozen eternity. "Going to war or not going to war was not a decision I ever had to make. I only had to choose between going with my brothers, or staying behind. Hah, I thought you would get that!" I breathed happily when I saw recognition tug the sides of his mouth.

"Peer pressure is a fucking thing," he chuckled gently.

"And you chose to go with your brothers?"

"That and kill the demons, save the princess, get the magic fruit, rule the country. The full shebang," Sakata gestured to the invisible horizon. "I'm in it for the long run."

Bullshit, and we both knew it. I couldn't tell what he was skirting around, but I was sure he was skirting. "Try again."

He looked at his feet, compelled to honesty. "I told you. I'm here to bring even one delusional moron out of this alive. Swinging my dick."

I smirked. "I think you suffer from a serious god complex, Sakata, if you think you can save everybody."

His silence was long, and as it stretched so a darker mood enveloped me once more. I did not even notice when I began to speak. "I was the student of Hashimoto. Along with Aizawa, and Murakami, and few others. I had gone there against my father's will. Just before the war started, word came that he had disowned me. I saw my father again, much later, on a battlefield."

Sakata did not ask me whether I had spoken to my father then, or ever after. I had the impression that he already knew the answer. That, just as Takasugi might have known what it felt like to lose everything, Sakata knew what it felt like to lose more than that. Unlike me, he did not have to forge the knowledge in the first fight, and quench it in the first blood. He knew beforehand. I dawned on me that he must have been a thousand times more frightened going into that first battle, than I had ever been. Yet he had gone, and he had come out.

"What a strange thing," I said after a moment. "Sometimes I get the impression you are older than I am. Must be the hair."

"Must be," he agreed easily.

"You had said a wise thing, once upon a time in that temple."

"I did?" he seemed surprised.

"Yes. It took me longer to figure it out, but the Shogun, and the bushido, and the country? They are bullshit. All you have is the man next to you, and the man commanding you. Everything else is a mass delusion, you know?"

"I suppose," Sakata shrugged but I could tell he was listening. The party behind us was growing quite loud, but the night carried no sound very far. We were still in this little cocoon on top of the mountain.

"Not that I was not willing to die for our cause. All of us were willing to die for our cause. It turned out, however, that some of us were not willing to die for nothing at all," I was struck by the spell of my own words, and went on, trying not to slur. "I had since learned that those who would sacrifice themselves achieve very little. They go out, looking for their magnificent death, and they usually find it rather quickly. Only the ones… who are willing to die for nothing, can choose to die at the right moment. When it really matters. The rest of us just stumble along behind you. Oh, shit, I feel like a goddamned Buddha."

"You sound drunk, Ca'tain," Sakata offered his expert opinion.

But I was on the verge of realizing something, it was right at the tip of my tongue. I tried to capture it. "You… are willing to die for nothing."

"There is nothing I am willing to die for," Sakata corrected, his teeth winked at me in the dark. They made a funny shape around the word "willing" and I laughed in understanding.

"So what are you willing to do?"

Sakata shrugged and remained silent. After a while, I went to the latrine. It was as awful as I remembered it. When I came back onto the walkway, Sakata was not there anymore, but I saw lonely footsteps in the snow. Crazy boy. If he comes back with chilblain and can't march, I will personally make him walk on his elbows behind us.

First, let me thank you for all your comments. I am not used to so many... Tells me a lot about how lively the Gintama fandom is here. Yay, I am home.

[1]The song was inspired by something I sung with my friends in elementary school, albeit in Croatian. I tried to adapt it to English… tried being the operative word, but I hope you get the idea. There is a rather upbeat, rhythmic melody to it that sounds a lot like a military chant, so I thought it might be something guerrilla warriors would pick up and improvise dirty lyrics to it.

[2]Modern-day Gifu province is made up of Mino to the southwest, and [3]Hida to the northeast. [4]Shinano corresponds to modern Nagano province. It is a very mountainous region, famous for its snowfall and volcanoes, some of which Mikuni mentions. Incidentally, Hagi is the old seat of modern-day Yamaguchi province, which was at the time made up of Suo and Nagato. It was also the birthplace of the historic Yoshida Shouin, and the place in which he was held before being transported to Edo for his execution.

[5]Let me note here that being a boy-lover was a perfectly acceptable thing in Edo-period Japan. In the military, it was treated on a DADT basis. Meanwhile, I wanted to slip in a Zura-is-gay joke in there. On the subject, of the three of them, I think Takasugi is gay (and not just because i ship him with someone in particular). Allow me a little rant and I invite you to comment on it.

Of the three of them, Zura and Gintoki both have very strong female opposites, and we get to see them interacting with those women in some pretty sexual ways. The only female opposite Takasugi has, is a groupie, and he has about as much chemistry with her as a he does with a watermelon (unless you're into that sort of thing). On the other hand, we see Takasugi being sexy with other men all the time: playing music with Bansai, being totally adored by Nizou, being totally obsessed with Gintoki. Also... Kamui. I rest my case. Somehow, I think that either Sorachi gave us an elegant bit of psychological profiling here, or I am just a little bit too high right now.