OR1-EP4: Prelude to the Millennium (5)

The news that somehow came to light caused an uproar. It had long been widely speculated that Jacob Herzog would take tough action during his tenure, but no one expected the Governor-general to actually kill the natives in secret. The tragedy in northern Rhodesia was masked by the illusion of a fire, and behind it was a massacre perpetrated by the defense forces on the Native Reservation. The citizens of the EU were outraged, believing that the humane Governor-general had completely betrayed their trust, and that only the resignation of the Governor-general himself, and his acceptance of the law, could console the victims - both the dead natives and the tools who had perished in the course of their duties.

According to the old calendar, today was supposed to be Sunday. Sunday was not a special day in the Republican Calendar, it was only a legal holiday in the A.T.B. Calendar, which was still in use in the Britannian Empire. Early that morning, Michael McNeil arrived in civilian clothes at the nearby church, which had originally been a temporary resting place for the priests of Palaskas. The Greek priest, who spoke with a Hellenic accent, had returned to Europe and was currently manned by a tall, thin cleric. Sitting in the front row of the pews, McNeil did not like this priest, although he knew that the clergyman in front of him was the cleric who had been in charge of this church since before Palaskas came to South Africa, McNeil still preferred the chubby Greek. He did not discriminate against fat people; on the contrary, he thought that those who were corpulent helped to enliven the atmosphere, whereas tall, thin men usually represented curmudgeonliness and seriousness.

The name Michael, from the Hebrew, is the Archangel Michael who serves God and resembles Him. McNeil himself was more or less a half-believer, and he heard that priest preach several times during his time with Father Palaskas. The God in Palaskas' mouth was merciful, while the guy in front of him portrayed God as a brutal judge. This skinny, bony cleric stood at the pulpit and preached in a frightening tone of voice about the absurdity of apocalyptic judgment and the impending catastrophe that heaven had sent down on mankind. Rumors about the end of the world are all over the place, and none is more famous than the fashionable millennialism, which suggests that the end of the world will take place in the year 1999 of the A.T.B. calendar. For its part, the EU only recognizes the republican calendar, and all theological conclusions or rumors based on extrapolations from old calendars hardly find a market in the EU.

"This is the great day which the Lord has appointed." The priest was still rambling on, "Just as He punished the Egyptians, all heretics and idolaters will ..."

McNeil hunkered down dismally in his seat and contemplated his life. He was undoubtedly guilty, if assessed by whether he had offended social justice, and he considered himself a sinner. It was for him, then, to take steps to atone for his sins. Now that he had sent pensions to the families of those who had died, his next task should focus on the indigenous people.

"I've got to do something." McNeil said to himself.

At eleven o'clock noon, McNeil left the church, first eating at a nearby restaurant, then helping Old Jake contact the moving company. He made up his mind that he had to get Old Jake to move to Europe, this hellhole in South Africa was not suitable for living. Of course, worries gradually emerged within his heart, an old widower with millions of euros in his hand was afraid that he would become the target of certain criminals. McNeil had heard of cases where caregivers had murdered old people and changed their wills, and he was always worried that he would be killed by a caregiver, but he never thought he would have to worry about someone else one day.

McNeil thought about the fact that he had never been to Paris, and decided to find a chance to go to Paris recently to find a suitable place to live. Around twelve noon, McNeil returned to the neighborhood where Old Jake lived and rested in a nearby tavern.

"Your business doesn't seem to be doing too well these days." He greeted the tavern owner with a smile.

"Inevitable." The owner wiped his glass, "The last owner of the store sell fake alcohol."

He looked at the television set up nearby and got lost in thought. It was here that he and Old Jake had last seen the news of the death of Stephen II, the late Emperor of the Britannian Empire, and the rise of Charles III had been bad news for Britannia's rivals. Right now, the TV screen was showing nutrient-less commercials, and the few patrons left in the bar weren't interested in what was on it.

"If only I could afford this car." One diner looked at the sedan that appeared in the commercial, "Ugh! If only ... if only I could afford a car like this, I would not be living the life I am living now."

"That commercial shouldn't be on TV." McNeil spoke up, "Who would watch TV all day if they could afford a car like this? They should put the ad outside the office buildings of those companies; it's enough that food ads only need to appear on TV."

"Right on!" Another customer clapped his hands, "The ads should be put up for people who can afford to spend money."

However, after only a few minutes, the trashy ads disappeared without a trace, replaced by Governor-general Herzog standing in front of the screen holding a speech. To be fair, McNeil wasn't sure what the Governor-general was planning. The Governor-general's move to first impose speech controls in the press, but then to allow unfavorable television programs to be broadcast, was really puzzling.

"EU citizens of South Africa, I apologize for interrupting your lives at this time, but I think the time has come for some things to be properly resolved." Governor-general Herzog read the speech word for word, "South Africa has been plagued by violence over the past few months, and the safety of its law-abiding citizens is being seriously jeopardized. In defense of the freedom and lives of our citizens, I, as Governor-general of South Africa, by the powers vested in me by the Consul and the Senate, have decided to root out those most immediate threats."

There was a chaotic coloring in the Governor-general's eyes through his dark-rimmed glasses, and McNeil couldn't find out what he was really thinking from the beginning.

"... But anyone with a modicum of common sense will realize what the real threat we face is. To be precise, the root of the threat is one that we have created, and that is the various inequalities that persist in South Africa." The Governor-general looked up and straight into the camera as he spoke, "Some would say that legally everyone is equal; but I would say that this equality on paper never existed in reality. I believe the citizens of South Africa await my response, and I am ready."

Governor-general Herzog's purpose never changed. He wanted to completely wipe out the natives who were capable of resisting, and then he would draw in the descendants of the natives who were already integrated into society and make them his allies. In any case, the situation in South Africa had to be under the Governor-general's control, and any group that wanted to be his ally had to abide by this ironclad rule.

McNeil hurried sullenly toward Old Jake's quarters. Even if Governor-general Herzog had produced the long-prepared and blood-stained bill of Jorge Dias, it would have been impossible for him to convince the natives with this new set of laws. Even the fully assimilated natives would be horrified and abhorred by the massacre of their countrymen by the defense forces. Unless, of course, Governor-general Herzog wished to divert the hatred of the natives with another target, and looking at the whole of South Africa, the only power left to do otherwise was the African Britannians.

"... From now on, EU's South Africa will only have citizens, and only citizens." Governor-general Herzog's voice still echoed through the streets, "In order to accomplish this, I need your assistance. It is only when all citizens are united that we can hope to achieve this goal - to eradicate all discrimination from South Africa. At that time, we will not have to tread on a sea of blood of our fellow citizens to survive."

On the face of it, this seems to be a problem only between the European colonizers of South Africa and the natives. McNeil originally thought so, too, until he inadvertently talked about another important fact about South Africa while discussing this new bill with Jack Sr. and realized that Governor-general Herzog's actions were likely to piss off a group with a great deal of power and a slightly more fragile sense of self-esteem. The legal citizens of South Africa are, from the top down, Europeans, African Britannians, and natives. Legally, of course, all three were completely equal. Governor-general Herzog has already compulsorily elevated the status of the natives with his new bill, in the beautiful name of achieving de facto equality by nominal inequality, so the African Britannians are at the bottom, and they will soon feel it. No, it wasn't even necessary to wait longer than a few days; all it took was for someone to step forward and instigate discontent amongst the Britannian descendants against the Governor-general, and a large-scale conflict would soon break out.

Though the outlook wasn't promising, McNeil wanted to do his part for these causes. When he heard that the citizens around him intended to answer the call for a march, he volunteered to participate and take on the role of holding up the signs. It was a peaceful march, the Governor-general himself had given in and there was no reason for anyone to commit violence.

"I don't agree with you guys." Looking at McNeil, who was at the gate designing icons with the residents around him, Old Jake made a sweeping remark.

"One must always try first." McNeil looked confident.

"It's not that simple." Old Jake went back into the house before the cold continued to torture his old bones, "I was in a parade when I was young ... Hey, there are a lot of ways they can get in your way, like hiring a whole bunch of landlubbers ... Kids, and remember, if these last people who want to see a demonstration will allow you to take to the streets, there is only one thing that can happen, and that is that they have already prepared a countermeasure."

"I understand." McNeil nodded his head in a serious manner, "Go back to your rest, old man, you don't need to worry about such things."

McNeil believed that Governor-general Herzog had already offended the African Britannians, but the only thing he didn't expect was that these Britannians would act so quickly. The next morning, when McNeil, who was mixed in with the crowd, was marching with the parade, they ran into another parade of African Britannians. In contrast to the moderate slogans of the Aboriginal, which advocated the defense of indigenous rights and the implementation of equality, the Britannians were more radical, and some people even shouted hostile slogans that should never have appeared like South Africa belonged to Britannia.

McNeil, who was caught in the middle, had no idea what was going on in front of him, he only heard a gunshot, followed by a series of cries of alarm, the crowd began to run in all directions, and he himself was almost trampled by the crowd. The police, who were responsible for maintaining normal order, rushed to the scene, but the Britannians, who had been prepared for this, had already raised their clubs, and rushed unstoppably into the pro-indigenous parade. These bandits hit everyone on sight, and McNeil, not wanting to cause any trouble, ducked into a nearby store and watched the situation unfold as he broke out of the crowd. The outnumbered and heavily armed Britannian marchers easily crushed their opponents and then marched through the streets promoting their ideas with gusto.

"What are they talking about?" A citizen who had ducked into a clothing store with McNeil asked warily.

"Same old story, trying to get the government to give them autonomous status." McNeil poked his head out and looked at the thugs outside, giving up on the idea of playing hero. He might be able to take down a dozen or so with what he had, but he couldn't take on the hundreds of African Britannians out there, not to mention the fact that he wasn't sure who had actually authorized this violence.

"Citizens, this colony of South Africa was taken over by the Britannians, and by rights it is the Britannians who should govern." Someone outside with a tannoy shouted, "Since the Senate used to allow those pioneering Cossacks and other groups in the East to have autonomy, why do the Britannians get nothing in Africa? We are not against the EU; we just want justice from the Governor-general ..."

McNeil, who fled the scene in disarray, didn't dare go out to explore the situation until the evening. He decided to pay a visit to Adalbert's residence in the city, but was surprised to meet Gene Smilas.

"Don't get me wrong." Smilas held out a long set of keys, "Adalbert sent me to pick up some things, he's been busy lately."

McNeil hoped that Adalbert would never speak to Smilas about the collection, or the bearded officer with a heart of gold would inevitably find a way to extort a bit of property from McNeil.

"What have you been up to lately?"

"Catching spies." Smilas summarized succinctly. Rubbing his weedy chin, he said hesitantly, "A while back this place was practically the spy capital of Africa, now that it's suddenly quieted down, everyone suspects it's an enemy ruse. A few more days and we'll see just who's up to no good."

Hearing this, McNeil, without waiting for the other to go on, exclaimed exultantly:

"It's all over! There will be no more Britannian spies ... at least, not lately."

Smilas heard this, looked at McNeil with surprise, said nothing, picked up the package in his hand and left.

TBC.

Chapter Notes:

There is a claim that the EU Army has a Prussian tradition of military theory, and I'm currently looking for the source of that claim as well.

Poor Boers, or Afrikaners, are in a worse position than the African Britannians.