WARNING: This article may contain discriminatory language or curse words. Please understand the grumpy daily life of EU mercenaries and Britannian soldiers.

OR1-EP2: Battle of Rhodesia (17)

If McNeil were to pick something he regretted the most since the start of this mission, at the top of the list would have to be the mistake of letting the team rest for too long. As the roar and gunfire of the natives came from all directions, both McNeil and Roberts realized that they were in for a rude awakening. Not bothering to pack their bags, the men grabbed whatever items they could get their hands on and scrambled downstream for their lives. They had just left their original spot when they saw dozens of natives jumping out of the bushes on both sides, following them in hot pursuit. These ferocious natives were chasing them and shooting from the back at the same time, if not for the fact that the natives were always inaccurate with their shots, this round of surprise attack would have been enough to make all the members of the team suffer a fatal defeat. As the two groups of men chased each other, they saw a bend in the river ahead, where the water turned and then became turbulent. McNeil gave Roberts a wink, and the two of them turned around at the bend and opened fire on the natives chasing them, and several of the natives in the front were immediately shot and fell to the ground. However, the number of natives in the rear was too great, seeing that the more enemies they killed, the more and more enemies appeared, and the bullets in their hands were running out, McNeil could only order to continue retreating downstream and make other plans.

"Captain, we're running out of bullets." David Roberts followed closely behind McNeil, panting, "This won't work, they're chasing us too closely, we won't be able to escape."

"We must leave some of our men behind to cover the back, and leave the hope of living to the others." Just as McNeil finished saying this, he only heard a scream in front of him, it turned out to be a member of the team who had been shot in the thigh and flopped downward into the river. No one was there to help him, the crowd was all focused on their own escape, McNeil turned back for one last look, still hoofing it downstream in a mad dash. By the time the crowd crossed the next bend, miserable howls were heard from the rear, and it seemed that the members of the team who had been caught up by the natives were being tortured by those all-abominable primitives.

Seeing that the primitives, instead of busying themselves with the continuation of the chase, began to brutalize their companions, McNeil decided to continue to make an escape for the crowd. Together with Roberts, he carried a large number of debris to block the river bank, and instructed the crowd to do the same. The fingerless gloves that had been worn on his hands were worn out and his hands were bloody, but McNeil continued to work with the crowd to jam a rock into the roadside to prevent the natives from taking a shortcut and continuing their pursuit. When this new line of defense was complete, McNeil himself lit a fire, and the flames quickly spread to the bushes on both sides in the direction of the debris pile, and the banks of the river were plunged into a sea of fire. Roberts looked at this new wall of fire with satisfaction, and was about to address McNeil, when he saw a native recklessly pass through the wall of fire, and pounce upon one of the troopers in a ball of fire. This sudden turn of events not only shocked Roberts, but also really took McNeil by surprise. He couldn't imagine why these natives were able to launch an attack without any regard for their lives, unless the hatred of the natives towards them had reached an intolerable level, otherwise these natives, even if they were simple-minded, should always consider their own safety.

In the blink of an eye, several more natives passed through the wall of fire, these natives who were also about to be engulfed in flames, just like their previous companions, intended to use their own lives as the price of dragging these invaders down to hell with them. Frightened by the bravery of the natives, the crowd rushed to escape, but some were still unable to dodge and were caught in front of them and burned alive. McNeil, who had managed to escape, rushed to shoot across the wall of fire, hoping to stop the natives from charging blindly.

The other end of the wall of fire was a different sight. Several heavily armed Britannian soldiers looked with disgust at the natives assembled in front of the firewall, pointing their guns at their backs and demanding that they continue to go after the enemy. The Britannians would not waste their lives at a time like this, and these natives happened to be more than enough cannon fodder for them. Several of the soldiers made unedifying snide remarks while rushing to shoot at the feet of the natives who were unhappy with this arrangement to intimidate potential opposition. No one cared about the death or life of these natives, they were just tools used by the Britannian Empire to hold the EU in check, and once the mission was accomplished, the natives' value of use disappeared. Some soldiers even thought that the natives should be grateful to Darlton who taught them to face the harsh reality, it was better than letting the natives keep living in their own closed world.

McNeil killed a few natives who wanted to die with him, but the fire had weakened and the number of natives who broke through the defense line began to gradually increase, so he could not eliminate so many enemies no matter what. He could only turn his head and run away. In his mind, he also considered the next countermeasures, someone must stay behind to intercept the natives, otherwise the people who jumped off the cliff to escape might be killed by the natives who caught up with him and shot them indiscriminately. However, at this time, the manpower around him was getting smaller and smaller, seeing that there were only 5 people left, and all of them were bruised and injured, this formation was unable to fight with the dozens of natives behind them. While McNeil was still thinking about the problem, his decades of vigilance prompted him to immediately lean back and slide the shovel, using the river to continue to float downstream. A few moments later, eerie muzzles appeared in the bushes on either side of him, and with them came a slogan:

"Open fire!"

Andreas Darlton stood at the back of the bush, watching the natives in front of him who were busy shooting at their enemies. Each of the neighboring tribes, many of whom had perished in the fires, resented the culprits who had started them, and would have liked to have taken these lawless outlaws alive and flayed them at once. McNeil, who was lying in the river, raised his upper body with difficulty, and fired a shot at a native on his left, who had half his body poking out. It struck the man impartially in the chest, and blood spurted several feet away, splashing directly into Darlton's face. The comrade beside the native backed away in fear at the sight, however Darlton raised his pistol and casually shattered the jewelry he wore over his left ear, threatening under his breath:

"Next time I won't miss on purpose ... the enemy certainly won't. Get your ass back in there and keep fighting!"

The interpreter next to him shouted this out, and the surrounding natives, fearful of Darlton's iron fist style, hurriedly swarmed forward like ants, and the gunfire poured into the center of the river like rain. However, the natives' marksmanship was ultimately too poor, and apart from adding a bit of debris to the river, they didn't manage to hit McNeil, who was using the river as cover. Only when they were out of the wind did McNeil pull up David Roberts, who had also dived into the river, and fled in the direction of where the falls were. The two men looked backward with their hearts in their mouths; there was no one following them, and now they were the only ones left.

Gunfire and explosions were heard from time to time in the distance. The natives, incited and intimidated by the Britannians, charged the lines of the 5th Infantry Regiment of the EU Defense Force in South Africa. Darlton ordered the natives to keep the old and sick at the forefront to act as shields for the marginally qualified young males at the rear, a brutal tactic that shook even the EU as an opponent. Adalbert Herzog, who was at the front of the defense line, saw these natives pouring into the line, and he closed his eyes and shouted to the friendly troops in the rear:

"Think of them as cattle, sheep and lettuce ... slaughter them all, don't leave a single one!"

The bullets had no mercy. Rifles, submachine guns, and machine guns played together, composing a Native death march on the outskirts of the reservation. The natives had nothing but numerical superiority, and could only charge blindly toward the defenses with the protection of those who were old and sick. Due to Colonel Carl Duttmann's slowness, parts of the line were quickly breached, and many of the EU soldiers chose to retreat in the face of this frenzied attack. Their choice was correct, the natives were finally stopped by the trenches and barbed wire and could no longer move forward. Those bold natives had just jumped into the trenches and were about to climb upwards when the EU soldiers above them smashed incendiary bombs down on their heads, burning the natives into a charred mess. Some of the natives were pulled to the point of skinning as they tried to cross the barbed wire fence, and the EU soldiers who had been waiting were unhurriedly slicing their throats and pushing the bodies into the trench.

Gene Smilas rushed into the tent, narrowly avoiding being knocked over by the colonel in his military coat.

"Monsieur, où allez-vous ?"

"Les indigènes ont attaqué et nous sommes en danger ici." Colonel Duttmann said reasonably, " Pour le bien de tous, nous devons nous déplacer vers un terrain plus sûr. "

" L'offensive indigènes a été contenue, le major Herzog s'assure qu'ils ne franchissent pas la deuxième zone de défense. " Smilas said disgruntled, " En tant que commandant, vous ne pouvez pas fuir la bataille. "

" Vous ne comprenez pas ..., c'est ce qu'on appelle un changement stratégique ! " Duttmann sneered, " Vous êtes des experts dans votre domaine, mais vous ne comprenez rien à la stratégie ... Les indigènes vont certainement attaquer à plus grande échelle, et nous ne pouvons pas les laisser faire n'importe quoi. "

The colonel did not listen to Smilas' advice, hurriedly got into a jeep and fled the battlefield in a puff of smoke, making Smilas angry. Returning to his command, Smilas had no time to clarify the situation when he heard a report that a group of about 700 native troops were advancing in the direction of the command. Smilas was scared out of his wits, because the colonel thought that concealment was worth all the defenders, so he did not arrange a heavy guard around the headquarters, and as a result, when the natives hit home, Smilas had nothing at hand except for the guard company. Smilas, who just now had intended to criticize his superior officer in all decency, also gave the order to retreat. Ten minutes later, the natives flooded the command post, having failed to capture a single valuable target.

McNeil and David Roberts, who knew nothing of this, had reached the edge of the falls. To McNeil's dismay, the waterfall was not very large, and the difference in height was far from daunting. In that case, the natives might simply choose to continue the pursuit rather than give up.

"Do you think the army really pays everyone?" Roberts asked hesitantly as he looked down the waterfall, "I don't really trust their reputation."

"Maybe the living ones have a chance at a bounty and the dead ones get nothing." McNeil said coldly, "They always do, no need to be surprised. We've got to get to the colonel alive, and hopefully he won't be poked and prodded to death somewhere by the natives to-night."

"And will you go for the dead man to claim the reward due him?" Roberts asked solemnly.

"I'm not sure, but I'll do my best. Every one of you is indispensable to me, or we wouldn't even have a chance to escape here."

Suddenly, Roberts pointed behind McNeil and opened his mouth wide, as if he had seen something extremely terrifying. McNeil turned around as a reflex, only to feel a kick on his waist, and his entire body involuntarily fell towards the waterfall below. His hands waved haphazardly in the air, trying to grab hold of something, but there was nothing but water spray in mid-air.

"Take my share with you, don't die!" Roberts shouted at the bottom.

"You stupid-"

McNeil's voice was drowned in the waves of water. David Roberts looked back with relief at the other natives who were gradually encircling them. He knew that McNeil had a special value to those in the army, and if it was McNeil who survived, he would not only get his fair share, but also the share of the others. Over a hundred thousand euros was an astronomical sum for a worker like him, and he might not earn that much in his life after that - if he went to the colonel for the money instead, the colonel would just send someone to throw him out.

"I surrender!" David Roberts shouted, "You're Britannians, aren't you? I know you can hear ... take me to your officers, I have something to report!"

It was very dark, and the other man had no flare in his hand, so he had to keep on his guard. Andreas Darlton heard this and rushed up to see what was going on. He had to go to another battlefield to direct the natives, who would not obey orders, to continue their attack, and it would be good if he could get any valuable information.

"Walk over here slowly with your hands up." Darlton shouted, "What unit do you belong to? Report the number!"

"Land force Lieutenant David Roberts, 3rd Guardian Brigade in South Africa, National Defense Force of United Republics of Europa."

David Roberts wouldn't have thought that another use of his now vanished identity would be in this context.

"Coincidentally, I happen to be one rank above you, except I served in the Air Force." Darlton laughed out loud, his inner guard relaxing, "Your incompetent chief of the EU still thinks we're ignorant of his little scheme. I'm sure he's already decided to run away after realizing we attacked HQ directly, no one can stop these natives you've enslaved from pursuing their freedom. Well, what information do you have? Spill it."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Roberts, who had come to Darlton, threw a grenade at Darlton's feet.

"Fuck you, Britannian bastard."

Darlton's blood froze and he even forgot to run away. The surrounding Britannian soldiers quickly stacked themselves into a human wall in order to rescue their officer and lunged towards the grenade while pushing Darlton out of the way. After a loud bang, Darlton, who had been blown to the ground, could only see debris and wreckage all over the ground, and his fellow soldiers, who he had spent so much time with, were pulverized along with David Roberts.

TBC

Chapter Notes:

A recent search for information on the internal political ecology of Britannia revealed a number of contradictory accounts that were truly troubling.