OR1-EP5: Hymn of the Bridge (2)

Michael McNeil walked through the slightly noisy square in his somewhat faded uniform, closely followed by Lieutenant Heinz Meyer. A large number of soldiers were assembled here for training, tucked away in the safety of the rear of the Bechuanaland, where they didn't have to directly engage the Rhodesian rebels. From the demeanor on their faces, McNeil could detect the true thoughts within these young men. Many looked worried; when they had joined the army, they had only thought that their enemies were primitive natives, not realizing that they would actually encounter heavily armed rebels during their service. While the media had been claiming that the rebels were untouchable, those who knew the nature of the media certainly understood that the rebels were feared to be stronger than these optimists had predicted.

"I thought these jobs should be left to skilled non-commissioned officers." McNeil had been frowning as he felt a strange odor on this uniform of his, an indefinable intuition that perhaps could only be developed after long experience in the field. Now, as a soldier and a military man, he would only invite ridicule and sarcasm if he spoke of it to the sidelines. Soldiers were machines in war, and there was no need for personal will or those odd thoughts.

"Then you are probably going to be disappointed, the quality of our military personnel here has always been relatively low ... Hi, the better ones have gone elsewhere, who would spend their lives in the African colonies?"

"Is it hard to believe that the military has strange origin rules for personnel promotions?" McNeil asked casually, knowing that the GDI had such rules - it was one of the main reasons why James Solomon made sure to ask McNeil to go to military school once he knew he was planning to join the army.

"No ... no!" Lt. Heinz Meyer denied it in a huff, "We play by the rules and everything is done according to regulations."

McNeil had always suspected that the uniform he himself was wearing had been stripped from a dead man, but he had no proof. Bureaucrats who liked to embezzle supplies were always good at utilizing waste, and when soldiers objected to this, they used a variety of excuses to silence their objections and labeled the loudest of those objectors as potential insurgents who fomented unrest. If the vast majority of soldiers were unified on these issues, perhaps the cadavers would be a little more restrained. But, like ordinary citizens who act as spectators at a major event, soldiers will never waste time showing solidarity with an event that could get them into trouble, as long as something similar doesn't happen to them. Getting by was the norm, and many joined the military just to get by.

Lt. Meyer led McNeil to a group of black soldiers, pointing to the recruits who were jostling around:

"I'll leave their training to you. I repeat, the army is short of men here, and there aren't that many noncommissioned officers to use to fill job vacancies ..."

"I know." McNeil surveyed the more or less malnourished recruits with great inner concern. He wished the Defense or Guardian Corp had recruited some strong men instead of weak flagpoles. Technical positions do not require much physical fitness, but frontline combat units should never allow weak men to trek through the mountains.

According to the results of analysis by EU health experts and nutrition experts, there is widespread malnutrition among African natives within the EU, and most of those who appear to be physically fit are also in a state of sub-health. As a whole, most indigenous people are engaged in heavy physical labor and their personal time is completely filled with work, leaving a significant number of indigenous people with little time and energy to think about their health, not to mention their generally laissez-faire attitude towards raising their offspring. The few of them who have decent jobs and are self-disciplined seem to barely meet McNeil's standards. The recruits who were still raving and laughing like no one else in front of McNeil's eyes, then, clearly didn't meet McNeil's requirements.

"I know you're wondering why there are suddenly so many more black soldiers in our army." Lieutenant Meyer saw the doubt on McNeil's face, "In fact, His Excellency has issued a new order that calls for a large-scale enlistment of natives into the army to make up for the losses caused by the mutiny of part of the army. According to His Excellency's request, the army needs to receive at least twenty thousand indigenous soldiers."

McNeil was not discriminating against the natives; he was simply concerned that these people would not be able to play their proper role on the battlefield. Lieutenant Meyer handed over some more details to McNeil before leaving the place in a hurry and going forward to the meeting, leaving the forty-odd people in front of him to be dealt with by McNeil. McNeil glanced at the empty lapel pins and armbands on his navy uniform, picked up the whistle that Lt. Meyer had handed him, and blew the shrill whistle. The soldiers looked around in amazement at the loud sound that signaled the muster, only to find that it was a common soldier, no different from them, who was putting on the airs of an officer. Somewhat disconcerted by this, they decided to feign ignorance and continue fooling around where they were.

McNeil sighed as he reintroduced the end of the whistle into his mouth, took a deep breath, and started blowing the whistle with his amazing lung capacity. Now not only the soldiers in front of him, but also the other nearby soldiers who had lazily stayed in place to rest were startled, and they gathered around, half-annoyed, half-surprised, wanting to see what kind of officer was here. McNeil's attitude undoubtedly created an unquenchable hostility in these soldiers, who could not figure out why this fellow countryman, who, like themselves, had just entered the barracks a few days before, was so unforgiving.

Seeing that all forty or so of the eastward-facing soldiers had finally stood up, McNeil lowered his whistle, his tone full of disparagement:

"If the enemy were planning to drop bombs on our heads right now, you'd already be dead."

"There aren't any enemy troops right now." A black soldier explained, "I hear that air control is still firmly in our hands."

"The situation on the battlefield is changing rapidly, and that is a dangerous view for you to take." McNeil stood up and patted the dirt and dust on his uniform, "Gentlemen, Lt. Meyer won't be back today, and probably won't be back tomorrow, and the training of this platoon has been handed over from him to me. I'll give you all a minute to organize those messy things in your hands, hurry up."

Even among the EU army, McNeil's position was somewhat awkward. Like these soldiers who were surrounding him, he was an ordinary soldier who had just enlisted in the army, or a Training Soldier to be precise. The intermingling of the functions of the African Colonial Guardian Corp and the National Defense Force caused the EU to arrange different positions for different ranks, a characteristic that was particularly evident in the soldiers and non-commissioned officers. As early as the French Revolution, the new armies abandoned the old dynastic rank designations in favor of using duties exclusively for officers, traditions partially inherited by the EU. McNeil's supposed authority came entirely from the trust and support that Adalbert Herzog had placed in him, and the supreme commander of the unit was currently Colonel Karl Duttmann, an officer who had been brutally beaten in public by McNeil in the first place and who was bound to hold a grudge, and perhaps the Colonel would have taken steps to embarrass McNeil if it hadn't been for Adalbert's protection of McNeil.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed that EU's African army had actually gotten to the point where the basic fireteam was not matched with a commander." McNeil reflexively went to touch his pants pockets, only to remember that he was wearing this uniform that had certain strange smells, and resentfully put his hand in front of his body. Smilas was right, the armies in Africa were just window dressing for some people, and the state of disrepair was appalling.

A minute later, McNeil looked at the soldiers who had fallen to their sides and sighed uncontrollably.

"I'm not interested in punching and kicking you guys, and anyway, when we get to the battlefield, you'll be the first ones to die and not me." He called out to a few strong soldiers to go with him to carry the equipment, these equipment including uniforms and helmets were everything a soldier had to carry to fight in the battlefield, including weapons, ammunition and supplies, and the full set of weights was considered a big burden even for adults. The black soldiers stood silently and watched as McNeil and the other sweaty soldiers carried the equipment in front of them. Winter had arrived in the southern hemisphere, and the weather in the north of South Africa wasn't exactly cold, with average temperatures always above freezing. If it had been summer, McNeil would have just passed out from heatstroke on the spot.

"I don't know if the Lieutenant has explained to you the main problems our army is currently facing." McNeil took out a set of equipment and put it on his body, "From Bechuanaland to Rhodesia, the terrain along the way is rugged, and there are many places where it is not possible to use a vehicle ... and sometimes it is necessary to cross mountains. Heavy marching is a test that our army must face, now you stand in squads and fire teams and follow me."

Someone tried to question this and was immediately stopped by his companions. Even those who were slow to feel anything, at this point, had noticed the murderous aura that McNeil carried with him-people don't have come near. He didn't need to use a strong tone of voice or intimidating actions to coerce the other party, he only needed to make the other party realize the seriousness of the situation to make the others obediently follow his instructions. However, to McNeil, this was still far from his ideal goal; those military wizards who could truly go down in history were guardians who could make their enemies feel intimidated by their will and faith alone.

As soon as the black soldiers heard McNeil's order, they swarmed up with seven hands to get the equipment that belonged to them. While asking the other white soldiers around them questions related to these black soldiers, McNeil asked the others to carry the machine guns, mortars, bazookas, and other equipment as well.

"I think I've seen you before." One of the soldiers who was carrying the machine guns with McNeil said.

"Maybe. I used to work for Colonel Duttmann, and there were plenty of opportunities for you or other soldiers to see me then." McNeil coped absentmindedly, not thinking that these common soldiers could really understand what was going on at the time. Colonel Duttmann's campaign in northern Rhodesia had been disastrous, and while the army did later take the opportunity to kill a large number of natives and essentially eradicate the threat of native armies, the incident had drawn public scrutiny and caused Governor-general Herzog to eventually be forced to prematurely publicize a bill that had been set up to appease the natives. As a result, the Governor-general's good intentions angered the African Britannians, who felt that the Governor-general was going to use [poor, poor inferiors who could be easily bribed] to part with their birthright privileges, and the rebellion was from then on, an inevitable event that would happen sooner or later.

McNeil remembered the conversation he and Adalbert had had the last time they went to see the governor.

"These people don't know any better; they don't even realize that His Excellency has the best of intentions." Adalbert Herzog fought for his father, "These guys who are used to stealing from people instinctively think that only people who are doing nasty things with them can talk to them ..."

The Governor-general himself looked listlessly at a report and slurred:

"Yes, if they had been more sensible, I would have been able to quickly solve the economic problems South Africa is currently facing, or at least they could have been delayed until the next Governor-general before they erupted ... Then I could have gone back to Europe and continued to make my way."

Hearing these words, McNeil habitually looked aside to Adalbert, who, with a white eye, chortled loudly:

"You are also for your own selfishness? Can't it be? I thought Your Excellency was the only conscience in South Africa-"

"The only conscience is dead, Adalbert. Jorge Dias was a good man, and good men do not live long." Governor-general Herzog looked gravely at his only son through his black-framed spectacles, "The world struggles on earth for self-interest, and you dare to say that you enlisted in the army without any semblance of personal motive?"

For a long time, indigenous people have been discriminated against in Africa, and they were confined to low-end manual labor jobs. In the era of rapid industrial development, this model was popular, and both native Europeans and colonial Africans believed that EUs could live in this state for a long time. However, the shrinking of traditional industries left a large number of indigenous workers unemployed, and their inability to work in the relatively higher-end service sector ultimately resulted in their being rendered jobless. As a result, a strange phenomenon emerged in the African colonies: on the one hand, a large number of unemployed people (mainly indigenous people) were unable to find jobs for a long time, which became a huge hidden danger; on the other hand, many jobs could not be recruited, and the laws of the economy made white people give up decency and become a lower-middle class group that they used to look down upon. If the colony does not adjust at the official level, it will be toppled by the wrath of whites and blacks together, and what may be born then could be horrors beyond the boundaries of communal identity. There were a handful of associational organizations that took advantage of this widespread discontent to carry out subversive activities in secret, and the EU always viewed them as hostile forces that were out to do wrong.

"The days of whites being lords and blacks being lackeys are well and truly over, but some people don't realize it." Governor-general Herzog grimly scrutinized the two young men in front of him, "Imagine that there is no one to fill those positions, then the so-called well-paying industries that are a tower in the sky will also wither away ... Letting the natives have the same right to education and the same right to work as we do, precisely for our own sake. It's for the sake of our children and grandchildren not being decent slaves."

"Unless ..." McNeil pondered for a moment, "One learns from the Britannian Empire and classifies most whites as second-class citizens as well."

"Indeed. But we have no nobility, nor do we have a concept of their fictionalized Britannians at our core like the Britannian Empire." The Governor-general sighed, "Who is the core? The French? The Germans? Or the English? We have no subject."

Even if Governor-general Herzog's motivation was to have more political accomplishments during his term in office, he at least tried to explore a new program that would work in the long run. The African Britannians who opposed him did not have a mature response to these economic problems, but simply claimed that it was the unworthy natives who were taking their jobs and wealth.

McNeil left these musings behind and had the other soldiers gather and head for the west side of the barracks. There was a mound to the west, and if a war broke out here, it might be able to serve as one of the main fire points used to ward off enemy incursions.

His first order was to ask the other soldiers to join him in crossing the mound and reaching the other side. This was not a difficult task, and could easily be accomplished by well-trained soldiers. At McNeil's command, he himself rushed out ahead of the others, with the other forty or so men following sparsely behind, not looking very neat. The other soldiers were somewhat taken aback as they watched the group disappear into the distance. It was not unusual for a basic officer to entrust a soldier or non-commissioned officer to handle the management of the soldiers on his behalf, but these agents would mostly deal with both sides at the same time in a respectful manner, instead of taking out an even more ferocious aura to drill the soldiers than the original master officer like McNeil did. It was only a few days ago that Governor-general Herzog had ordered the mass enlistment of the natives into the army, and these natives, who had enlisted only on the basis of enthusiasm or some other motive, were bound to need a long period of exercise before they could catch up with the average of the ordinary soldiers, and McNeil's approach was more or less hasty.

"How much do you suppose these men get out of joining the army?"

"Maybe just to stay alive." One of the soldiers who was cleaning the barrel of his rifle responded to his companion's query, "Assuming that the rebels are victorious, our days will go on as usual, not so much for them natives."

The African Britannians were quick to follow through on most of their platforms after Rhodesia declared its independence. One of the main ones was to build their area of control into a pure Britannian nation, and not allow those filthy natives to taint the Britannian bloodline. The African Britannians began by ordering all employers not to hire natives, and then ordered the forced relocation of natives from all over the country to a designated area to be centralized and guarded by heavy troops. A direct result of Governor-general Herzog's boldness in recruiting natives was the massacres committed against them in the north. Armed groups of African Britannian militia shot anyone with a different skin color, sometimes even Turks or Spaniards who happened to be trapped in Rhodesia. When the African Britannians thought they could rely on such tactics to increase internal cohesion, they pushed the natives to the brink of extinction. The natives had lost all means of maneuvering except to take up arms and fight, and could not afford to sit back and wait for death.

McNeil hoped that these young Aboriginal men, who had joined the army to save their lives, would be able to ignite a fighting spirit, and he was quickly disappointed. The soldiers continued to follow loosely behind him, looking like office workers who had decided to do their job for their superiors. He wanted to reprimand these unaware young men, but he gave up. The former commander, who was carrying a few dozen kilograms of packages on his back, stopped in his tracks, and stood beside the dirt road watching the soldiers slowly pass before his eyes.

A few hours later, the party finally returned to the camp, where over a hundred people were gathered at the gate, awaiting the return of this peculiar group. McNeil was undoubtedly at the head of the pack, and with a look of relief he ran through the gate, unloaded his full gear, and jogged around the neighborhood for a while before sitting down to rest on a stump on the side of a tree. It was another ten minutes before a large group of other soldiers arrived. They soon saw McNeil sitting on the side of the road, and labor and discontent drove them forward to demand an account. McNeil was unmoved in the face of the multitude's verbalized reproaches and sarcasm.

"That's all?" He returned indifferently.

Hearing this, the black soldiers suddenly fell silent. Some well-informed soldiers told them that McNeil was a combat expert capable of fighting one against ten, and in case both sides fought, it was still unknown whether they could beat McNeil.

"I thought people would be more attentive when running for their lives, looks like I was wrong." McNeil stood up, "In the 152nd year of the Republican Calendar (second half of the A.T.B. 1943 - first half of 1944), the Chinese raided Omsk, and more than a thousand of our men were blown up in their beds on the spot because they were still asleep. Going back even further, in the 150th year of the Republican Calendar (second half of the A.T.B. 1941 - first half of 1942), more than a hundred thousand of our troops were surrounded in Katherinestadt because the then-commander himself was delayed five minutes in his sleep, and only 67 of them survived." He turned around to see the other soldiers gathered around and raised his volume so that these spectators would also understand what he was thinking, "I'm just an ordinary soldier like you - but frankly, I don't want to fight alongside you, because you'll probably end up quickly becoming corpses that can't even touch the edge of the battlefield."

He walked off in the direction of the barracks in the courtyard, and no one stopped him. What McNeil had said was certainly true, and a classic counterexample to be nailed to the history of shame. However, these natives didn't necessarily see the EU as their homeland in their hearts, much less the history of the EU as their past. They were forced to fight in this war, and if they didn't, they would have to die.

No one wants to be a hero if they can survive by being passive-aggressive.

TBC

Chapter Notes:

While the Britannian Empire may place less emphasis on racism based on skin color, the same cannot be said for Britannians abroad.

In fact, as late as A.T.B. 2014 in the canon of the Code Geass universe, the EU and the Chinese Federation were still fighting over the Siberian region.