OR1-EP5: Hymn of the Bridge (3)

It was another overcast day, and the soldiers moved listlessly along the endless road, the long line snaking along like a centipede. The complexity of the road and the terrain made it impossible for them to advance in armored vehicles or trucks as usual, so they had no choice but to march on foot here. Over this hill, they would enter Rhodesian territory, where heavily armed rebels awaited them. Since the beginning of the rebellion, the South African-affiliated Guardian Corp and defense forces had only engaged the rebels in a few skirmishes, with both sides exercising restraint, hoping to be the first to find a break in the enemy.

Colonel Karl Duttmann, one of the few of this army still sitting in his vehicle, did not want to advance with these soldiers of dubious complexion, but planned to take a detour through the panhandle to reach his destination. This course would undoubtedly have been a desertion of the troops, except that there were so few officers who shared his laziness and contempt for the natives that it was surprising that no one objected to it for a time. Of course, the clever colonel would not desert in front of his soldiers; he would make sure that all these soldiers, who deserved nothing more than to be fooled by him, began to climb the hill before he could make his leisurely escape.

"Let's hope the enemy knows exactly what they've got in themselves and don't do anything that's going to make a fool out of them." Duttmann said in a relaxed tone to Smilas, who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, while his expression and tone of voice suggested that the commander didn't quite believe the words he was uttering himself.

"They're too busy clearing out the natives in their own territory to care about us." Smilas took out the most recent intelligence and began to analyze the situation. As Smilas had said, the African Britannians were trying to create a pure nation, and the first thing they wanted to do was to wipe out all non-Britannians. In order to carry out these acts of slaughter, the rebels had to send out a large number of troops to carry out targeted killings and escort those Inferior People in large numbers. This waste of time and resources undoubtedly provided South Africa with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but the next event threw them for a loop: ordinary African Britannians joined the war in droves, hunting natives, non-Britannian whites, and suspected foreign spies in armed militias throughout the region. They would not let the defense forces through; they already saw the EU as the enemy. No one wanted to take on that charge, even though the EU had countless ways to legally suppress opposition citizens, and parties who actually confronted the opposition with strong-arm tactics or even ordered fire toward citizens were sure to bury their futures.

Colonel Duttmann reached out with his right hand and stroked the scar on his face. He had probably lost more prestige from being beaten in public by McNeil, a hobo, than he had suffered from the injury back then.

"I've heard that the locals ... seem to be assisting the rebels, and that they are making organized efforts to sabotage the lines of communication." The colonel looked impatiently at the soldiers, who seemed even lazier than himself, and wondered just how long it would take the recruits to make it to the other side and whether they would meet the enemy halfway. The war had begun, and the enemy, perhaps cowed by the face of the righteous, had chosen instead to let the ordinary citizens who had been held hostage rush up to their deaths. A bunch of cowards, that's what Colonel Duttmann gave them.

Adalbert Herzog ran back from the front and stood in front of the vehicle to report his new findings to the colonel.

"The neighboring municipalities have blocked the roads, it seems they don't welcome us."

The Colonel frowned, realizing that his plans needed to be revised immediately. He could transfer his anger at MacNeil to Smilas, but never to Adalbert. Even if Governor-general Herzog had fallen on hard times, he was still the de facto Governor-general of South Africa, capable of easily crushing a minor player like Duttmann. Since McNeil had already taken Adalbert as his new patron, Colonel Duttmann did not dare to think of retaliating against the other for the time being.

He wanted to sit in his car and give orders to Adalbert, and when he remembered the thought, he found that he had actually left the car and was standing in front of Adalbert.

"Have the friendly forces open fire with them?"

"It looks like both sides have once again exercised restraint." Adalbert reported the information he knew without a smile, "But it's not just the African Britannians who have swarmed against us in South Africa with the help of the rebellion in the north, either."

The implication of this statement could not have been clearer; Adalbert believed that even if the Governor-General introduced a new bill in favor of the natives, the natives would not be willing to work for the South African Defense Force. The hatred between the natives and these colonizers from Europe was a long memory passed down from generation to generation and could not be dissolved by a few kind words and symbolic orders from the Governor-General. In fact, even as the African Britons massacred the natives, there were still some natives who thought they could struggle in Rhodesia to resist South African rule - but of course, they invariably fell victim to the Britannians.

The Colonel's only remaining intelligence was being used to make a fortune. He was still under fifty and had a chance to be promoted to general, provided he was given a positive evaluation by his superiors. The EU had a system of evaluating officers that could be fatal to colonels. Some would be considered to have the potential to be promoted to senior general, others would only be promoted to brigadier general, and the rest of the colonels, of course, would have nothing to do with generals. This evaluation from the top could decide the fate of the colonels, and those who had rough tempers or feuded with their officers were in for a treat. Duttmann's goal was the same as most of the officers who had come to Africa to make their way, he didn't want to be confined to a colonel's position to muddle through the rest of his life.

"Prepare for battle." The colonel threw this out dryly and returned to his vehicle to resume his rest. Adalbert saluted his superior solemnly and turned to run into the ever-moving line, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Unlike Duttmann, his birth meant that he didn't need to use sidetracks to gain the attention of his superiors, and he himself had joined the army for the most part to fulfill his own aspirations in life - the other half because of his growing sense of crisis. Adalbert Herzog believed that a new world war would break out soon, if not in five years, then in ten. When the war did come, he would need to be in a position and a position strong enough to defend himself.

The men of the Fifth Infantry Regiment presented a single serpentine formation, marching in regular order along the mountain roads, the black soldiers mixed in with the original veterans, and from a high altitude it was probably a viper, and vipers are always colorful. When Governor-general Herzog announced the enlistment of the natives, it was suggested that two separate divisions should be created, an idea which was at once rejected by the Governor. There was no doubt that the Governor-general would not stake his chances of victory on the loyalty of the natives at such a dangerous time, and he decided, after much deliberation, to mix the soldiers in the original units rather than create separate new formations. In terms of basic combat units, commanders at all levels also called for the dispersal of blacks, trying to avoid an all-black situation in the entire basic unit. Nonetheless, basic commanders did not always carry out their orders faithfully, and factors such as manpower shortages limited their options.

Michael McNeil was at the front of the line, one of those first few dozen men among the infantry regiment to ascend the trail. Frankly, he didn't have a good relationship with the other soldiers, who resented the man's foul-mouthed and unforgiving nature. The only thing that earned him respect was his ability to fight, skills that were vital for new recruits who hadn't yet had the chance to face the battlefield. The more they learned, the less likely they were to die in thin air. Long before the unit had decided to choose this path, McNeil had joined the squad in charge of advance reconnaissance, cautiously judging any dangerous events that might occur along the way before reporting the summary to his superiors.

He and Duttmann were already feuding, but McNeil was confident that the fellow bent on officialdom would not deliberately come after him at this time. For Duttmann, only by winning the battle in front of him would he have any hope of continued promotion. Commanders embarrassing junior soldiers could lead to a chain reaction, not to mention the fact that the natives who had recently joined the army had always been very sensitive, and Colonel Duttmann might have been mindful of this before he didn't go after McNeil.

"McNeil, what exactly do the rebels in Rhodesia do?"

A couple of black soldiers followed him, the wizened young men wishfully thinking they could save their lives with McNeil's skills.

"They are Britannians, following the Britannian Empire ... If you've been paying attention to the news lately, you've seen the photos or images where the lion flag, symbolizing the Britannian Empire, has been raised on Rhodesian soil." McNeil chewed his gum for the first time in months. Before, he was too busy catching his breath or in a state of precarious fear to enjoy life. Now that more than a thousand officers and men were advancing with him, he could at last feel completely at ease. Even if the colonel himself was wrong in the head, it wasn't so bad that all his superiors had made the same mistake, was it?

The media was accustomed to labeling various groups of people so that they could be propagandized. After mingling with the soldiers, McNeil realized that they were not as bad as he had expected or as the media had made them out to be. The natives may lack the opportunity to receive an education and generally have a low level of culture, but at least they don't follow the example of some civilized people who consider taking from the people and tricking them as a character to be proud of.

McNeil glanced at the rear of the army, and then looked at the trail that still could not be seen to the end, and temporarily decided to rest for a few minutes at the roadside. The soldiers sat down by the side of the mountain road, and from time to time vigilantly watched the surrounding wind and grass. Hopefully those usually lively and active critters wouldn't disturb their rare moment of peace, or else these ferocious men wouldn't mind firing at any suspicious target.

Unlike these youths, who had been swept along by the tide of the times in a war environment, McNeil had joined the army when the world was at its rarest peace in decades. With both the GLA and the Brotherhood of NOD ravaging the globe laid to rest, and GDI's New Order almost completely victorious, McNeil decided to join the military at the time out of personal will rather than external coercion. He has often since lamented that he made the right decision at the right time, and that in a few years the world would have been plunged back into a never-ending war that would not stop until the established order and morality of human society had completely collapsed.

He looked at the soldiers sitting beside him. These recruits were no older than 20 years old, early 20s at the most. They joined the army with their own agenda, some hoping to become war heroes and make a name for themselves after the war, others simply for the paycheck. It was getting harder and harder to make a decent living, and the burden of life weighed equally on every man's shoulders. This apprehension was especially prominent in the case of the natives, who often had only meager savings, and any economic windfall would greatly affect their already meager lives.

"How much money do you make as soldiers?" McNeil tentatively asked the black soldier on the sidelines.

"A lot, I've never seen so much money in my life." They couldn't hide the joy on their faces, and some of them began calculating on the spot how to spend the money properly - even though they didn't yet know if they would survive the war. The money is just numbers to the financial institutions, and if EU officials are willing to take the risk of inflation, they can go ahead and issue paper money indiscriminately.

Children in the Middle East may have to learn how to survive war from an early age. By contrast, these indigenous youths are happy, even though they may live in poverty, and they never have to worry about being blown to bits at any moment by shells falling from the sky. So they grossly underestimated the brutality of war, which is not a tragedy that happens in front of their eyes, but a treasure chest of opportunities for the poor in propaganda films. Had they lived in a war zone in the Middle East for a few years or worked as mercenaries, they would have scoffed at similar agitation. Unfortunately, the young men around McNeil have yet to realize this, and continue to see the war as an opportunity for them.

"Should get other works, it's not a job for everyone."

"Jobs aren't easy to get, McNeil." Another soldier who passed in front of him said, "And the ones I can do ... don't pay enough to even let me pay my rent."

McNeil nodded, he certainly didn't want anyone to become a bum. The young man in camouflage looked at his watch and stood up from the ground, patting the dirt and dust from his pants and motioning for the soldiers to follow him onward. They had fallen behind for a while, but it didn't take long for McNeil to catch up with the foremost soldiers straight away, resuming his role as the front-runner. Before long, they finally broke out of the sparsely vegetated hills, and the road down the mountain zigzagged to several towns not far away. Lieutenant Heinz Meyer took out his binoculars and observed the distant posts set up by the neighborhood residents, and he reported the situation to Adalbert, who immediately called Colonel Duttmann and informed the officer that he had not detected any friendly troops ahead.

Colonel Duttmann, who had driven the jeep the long way around, arrived late, and looking with satisfaction at the soldiers who were passing in front of him, he asked, not without complacency, to Smilas, who was counting the number of heads:

"Why haven't the friendlies arrived yet?"

"They were delayed on the road, and I heard that they had encountered guerrillas."

"Then we need to get out of here and get to our destination as soon as possible." The Colonel saw that his white gloves were dusty, and disgruntledly rubbed them on the steering wheel a few times, and scrutinized the stains on them before returning them to his coat pocket with a sense of relief.

"I'm afraid not, sir." Adalbert, who had greeted us from the front, discouraged, "Our superiors gave us orders to wait for friendlies, and unauthorized action by our troops could put them in danger."

"What's the danger of-"

"You should follow orders, and so should I." Adalbert had no fear of the colonel's threat.

Gene Smilas' stare made the colonel feel like a thorn in his side. Reluctantly, he jumped from the jeep and looked out over the distant town, shouting in a fit of rage:

"So, we're to wait in the field for the rebels to hit us? These guys who don't know how to change ... They said before that they would be able to quickly quell the rebellion by relying on the Airborne Corps, but so much time has passed, and I haven't heard of them taking any of the cities."

This doubt was likewise tucked away in the hearts of other commanders. The Airborne Corps, which had high hopes, had indeed raided the major cities of Rhodesia as ordered, yet their results were not as much as expected. In most areas, the Airborne Regiment was caught in a bitter battle, and they had to face not only the rebels, but also the African Britannians who made no secret of their hostility. These citizens frequently launched attacks on the Airborne Regiment, causing the elite troops to suffer heavy losses, and the army was not at liberty to attack civilians. It was well known that the Senate valued the general election above all else.

When the defense forces broke the news to Governor-general Herzog, his reaction was completely within the expectations of his handlers:

"What are you waiting for?" Governor-general Herzog looked angrily at the dumbfounded officers, "These people dared to attack the Airborne Corps, how could they be civilians? They are clearly trained spies and agents!"

The Governor-general then ordered that the army should do its best to eliminate rebels and agents disguised as civilians. Even so, most of the officers had reservations about this, not wanting to turn their guns on their own countrymen in a civil war that should never have happened in the first place (it remains to be seen, however, whether or not the African Britannians see them as countrymen). To avoid the dilemma, some commanders simply chose to balk. As long as they don't have to face armed civilian attacks, they don't have to raise their butcher knives.

But Karl Dauterman is clearly not one of those people. On the contrary, if he could build his ladder to the higher echelons with the lives of his compatriots, he would not hesitate to do so.

Smilas had calculated the colonel's mind and wasted no time in suggesting:

"Let's move into a nearby town."

"We might run into guerrillas." The colonel was weighing the pros and cons; he didn't want to become a war criminal before he'd done any good.

"They wouldn't dare attack us." Smilas laughed, "If they dare to attack the army, it's an organized enemy force, and we can wipe them out on the ground."

Smilas' persuasion gave the Colonel a piece of his mind, and he immediately ordered the army to follow the left fork of the road toward the nearest town. Half an hour had passed when McNeil, who was at the head of the charge, saw the roadblock at a distance, and there seemed to be gunmen nearby who had long been ready for their arrival.

Lt. Heinz Meyer looked back a few worried moments and ordered his men to stand ready to engage in battle. He himself then took a few steps forward and shouted at the townspeople:

"We are the National Defense Force, and we are now going to pass through you to attack the rebels ..."

A few bullets struck him at his feet as a warning. Disappointed, Lt. Meyer withdrew, only to be surprised to see more than a hundred men scrambling forward. He reflexively stopped one of them and inquired:

"What are you doing?"

"The Colonel has orders: anyone who resists is a member of the rebel army." One of the sergeants said with a big grin, "This place looks like it has quite a few rebels, we'll have to clean it up in earnest."

McNeil cried out at the sight, and tried to dissuade the men, but they had already rushed past the spot where the party's bullets had struck and opened fire on the guard post. The townspeople, though armed with rifles and other weapons, were quickly defeated by the heavily armed soldiers, who couldn't lift their heads from the intense bullets. With the cover of friendly fire, McNeil approached the barricade along the edge of the road, rolled over it and overpowered one of the militiamen who tried to shoot at him.

"Hands up!" He easily snatched away his opponent's weapon and pinned the militiaman to the ground. The soldiers who followed him saw the scene and without hesitation fired at the militiaman who was no longer able to resist, killing him instantly. McNeil was furious, he caught up with the soldier who had killed the militiaman, grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and roared:

"He has put down his weapon, what the fuck are you doing!?"

"We don't take prisoners, and besides we don't have to show mercy to the enemy." The soldier retorted with a straight face.

No one would show unnecessary mercy. The dozens of militiamen who were ambushed near the roadblock were all killed or executed, and the defense forces stepped on their corpses to open the road leading to the town. McNeil couldn't stop shaking his head and sighing as he watched the scene.

"Thank you!" A black soldier who looked to be only sixteen or seventeen years old walked up to McNeil's eyes to thank him, "If it wasn't for you hitting the enemy ambushed in the trees just now, I would have died."

"That's my job, nothing to be thankful for." McNeil waved his hand carelessly, "Be careful next time, don't expose your position at will."

Colonel Karl Duttmann walked past McNeil's eyes accompanied by Smilas, he caught a glimpse of a corpse being stepped on under McNeil's feet and said sarcastically:

"So, the Hero isn't so kind after all."

"Keep this title for yourself, I do not use it." McNeil replied back and turned his head to drag the corpses of the townspeople with the other soldiers to a large pit nearby to bury them.

A sub-lieutenant ran panting toward the colonel and shouted from a dozen or so people away:

"They still resist, we have a sacrifice on our side-"

Colonel Duttmann picked up a large-brimmed hat that was at his side, and with great bravado he barked orders at his subordinates.

"Hear that? These traitors dare to fight back ... Slaughter them all, leave no one behind!"

TBC

Chapter Notes:

Bearing in mind that, due to the absence of devices such as artificial satellites and the underdevelopment of aviation technology, the mode of warfare in the Code Geass universe remains more ... traditional.

In any case, the Native soldiers would not miss the opportunity to get back at the white Europeans.