OR1-EP5: Hymn of the Bridge (18)

Michael McNeil stood on the edge of the cliff, looking at his comrades who were trying to climb upwards. They waited for a reply from Smilas as another battle raged on the other side of the valley. The Fifth Infantry Regiment, with a force of a thousand men or so, was attempting to accomplish a miracle that no other force dared to imagine: intercepting the rebels rushing to the southwestern front. With the main body of the defense forces still gradually reducing the space in which the rebels could move, Governor-General Herzog hoped to wipe out the main body of the rebels on the spot - thus turning the valley from a shortcut for the rebels to support the front line into a hope of escape for the rebels. Smilas would inevitably face a frontal assault by the rebels, and he was in a precarious position; there was no way he could hold off the rebels with the two hundred or so men he had in his hands.

A black soldier climbed up the rope with difficulty, and the men hastily seized him by the arms and dragged him aside to inquire about the situation below.

"The actual situation is not far from what Major Smilas reported." The black soldier lay panting on the ground, "He has recruited some militia from the fleeing refugees from the surrounding villages and towns to establish a new line of defense and is looking to engage in a prolonged battle."

McNeil frowned and said nothing. Both Colonel Duttmann's and Smilas' forces would have to hold out here to ensure the success of the plan - and to take a step back and at least ensure that they could flee the battlefield. The soldiers under Duttmann, despite their equally heavy casualties, could, after all, use the terrain to their advantage against the enemy, but Smilas would have no such luck. If the enemy forces attacking that town were as numerous as the rebels currently besieging Duttmann, Smilas would only be able to hold out for a few days before falling.

The young soldier stepped aside under a tree and pulled the strange timepiece out of his pocket, which had less than a month left on it. At the time when the mysterious man had told him that there were 120 days left, McNeil had just assumed that the other man was telling a joke. Now, he had a growing sense of foreboding, a fear that grew from the bottom of his heart with each passing day. He doesn't understand what kind of trap Colonel Duttmann has walked into, or what kind of deal the Defense Forces' top brass has made with the rebels, or whether Governor-General Herzog himself has acquiesced to these deals - he must try to survive this battle, which is bizarre in every way, if he is to have any chance of investigating the truth behind it.

In the last few days, the soldiers' will to fight had declined at a rate visible to the naked eye. Most of the soldiers who appear before McNeil's eyes have been wounded, and it's hard to see a soldier in the barracks without a bandage on his body, black or white. Worse than this problem was the sound of screaming in the field hospitals, a sound that always created an urge to rush into the wards to end the suffering of the severely wounded. Attrition posed a particular problem, and both Smilas and Colonel Duttmann had requested support from their superiors, who did not seem intent on sending soldiers. Supplies wouldn't help, what they needed were men, more men, men with arms and legs, living men who could rush to the front lines and join the fight.

"This is too strange." Dumiso Tutu followed close behind McNeil as they slowly made their way off the cliffs and across a section of rail line controlled in the hands of the defense forces toward a rest stop not far away. Colonel Duttmann had established that temporary station as a small fortress where he was sure the rebels would crash and burn. However, his order some days ago to blindly order the occupation of positions left behind by the rebels as they retreated had had disastrous consequences, as the defense forces had suffered a crushing defeat in a rebel counterattack, and most of the positions had reverted back to the rebels.

"Strange things are only going to get stranger. Believe me, anything that happens in a war makes sense."

"I mean, here we are fighting in blood and our superiors don't care as if we don't even exist." Dumiso Tutu sighed, "Well, I know that in response to Governor Herzog's call, we've taken in a lot of ... that ... here."

He looked at McNeil in embarrassment, pride and inferiority intertwined in his chest. Natives and Negro seemed to carry with them an insulting connotation, and while they themselves could make jokes about these terms with each other, they could never voluntarily claim such epithets in the presence of outsiders. Africans does not seem to be specific enough, the black people of Africa do not consider all people with black skin to be fellow citizens, and then again there are already African Britannians. Their ancestors have founded many countries, unfortunately none of them have been able to get the iconic mark put on them. The French, the Germans, the Italians ... These are the identities that European civilization has given to the natives. So, what exactly are the blacks of Africa? Zulu? Bantu? Abyssinians? They are just black Africans in the eyes of Europeans, there is no difference.

"You can use whatever vocabulary you want ... But if you can't face up to the past yourself, you can't expect those guys who are otherwise oblivious to reality to give a fair assessment of history." McNeil stretched out his right hand to hold the wall; he always felt like he'd hurt his nerves with the last gunshot wound.

"Never mind. I mean, the superiors aren't going to see us dead because we have too many blacks here, are they?"

"Tutu, those who have the power to participate in decision making don't care about black and white, only profit." McNeil sighed, "It's simple - in a deal, a third party that tries to influence both sides to reach an agreement is treated as a common enemy."

A few soldiers were taking away the wounded lying on stretchers, along the path were shocking trails of blood. The rebels had done everything they could to open up this road, attacking by many different methods, all of which had been thwarted by the defense forces. But this does not seem to have been the work of Colonel Duttmann. Rather, Adalbert Herzog gained command and dominance in these battles, responding flexibly with limited forces, confusing the rebels as much as possible to buy time, and then taking the lead in attacking the rebels' most vulnerable striking force. The rebels suffered heavy defeats for days on end and were unable to advance more than half a step forward, except to continue throwing more bodies off the mountain.

McNeil and Dumiso Tutu walked into one of the tents, and Adalbert caught a glimpse of McNeil at the head of the line, and dropped his work at hand, saying cheerfully to McNeil:

"It seems to me that the other troops may have to take action. Yesterday, the Airborne Corps sent helicopter units along to clear the rebels' supply lines, and now they don't have any of the corridors that carry supplies."

"Good news wow." McNeil smiled back, "Looks like Lt. General Wood finally couldn't resist showing off. So, what's the situation in the rebel rear?"

"I heard that there was a massive march in Salisbury, mainly because the rebels' lies have been exposed." Adalbert pointed to the main cities in the rear on the map, "As you know, the rebels have been hoping to win this war without affecting civilian life, but the bombing of them by our forces has completely destroyed most of the facilities that maintain the basics of life in the cities. The rebels have not been withholding civilian supplies in order to keep their citizens loyal to them, and lately they must be at the end of their rope."

"That's a given." McNeil wasn't surprised; all of the resources the rebels had looted during the war had been reinvested into the war machine, making it nearly impossible to distribute them to civilians. It was a miracle that they hadn't immediately taken supplies from civilians to keep the war going, and the breaking of that miracle was directly related to the Defense Force's pressing. This was also thanks to the fact that the Defense Forces always had firm control of the air force; if there had been a rebellion at the air base at that time, it would have been impossible for the Defense Forces to have air power as they did now, or to completely block all material contact between the rebels and the outside world.

He and Adalbert recounted Smilas's countermeasures, and Adalbert patiently listened to McNeil go over all the details before picking up the plan he'd drawn up earlier, scrutinizing it for possible loopholes.

"He should know that the enemy he is facing is beyond his ability to cope with."

"Even if we can only hold off the enemy for a few days, it would be a major victory for the overall battle." McNeil shared his concern, preferring to analyze the impending melee in a positive light, "The rebels are leaving the northern border empty because they believe the Airborne Corps will not attack across the border. Now that they are being held back and our forces are exhausting the rebels with a sustained offensive, it would be the end of the line for the rebels if the Airborne Corps were to launch an onslaught at this point. They have no way to withdraw their main force back to the north, and their only maneuvering force is now here against us ... Even if the superiors are indifferent to our sacrifices, we should be clear about the role we are playing in this war."

"That's quite philosophical."

When every soldier knew his place in the current battle, then the army might not have to worry about soldiers losing their will to fight. Unfortunately, most soldiers are not even motivated by defending their homes and fellow soldiers in a war, but by finding a job where it is easier to make a living. The reasoning is the same for those of indigenous descent who joined the military in exchange for citizenship. Their fanaticism and valor were motivated by the gains at their fingertips, and if Governor-General Herzog or anyone else refused to honor the promise, the consequences would be unthinkable.

By mid-afternoon, McNeil led a dozen men to an open area, ready to block any enemy troops that might come up the hill. The rebels arrived an hour later, with fewer and fewer native soldiers around them, and it looked as if the rebels had been unable to capture enough strong men. McNeil ordered the rebels to open fire as they struggled up the hill, and the rebels chose to retreat after judging that they were unlikely to succeed in charging in front of the opposing position, a battle in which neither side suffered any greater losses. Adalbert's demand that it was better to suffer losses in battle than to lose more men coincided with McNeil's thoughts.

The rebels, who had been slow to make progress, began to grow restless. Most of the rebel soldiers were optimistic, believing that they would inevitably be able to defeat the brutal South African Governor-general and that the Britannian Empire would be generous enough to assist. But the better-trained officers, especially those who had defected from the defense forces, had seen the noose around their necks. The Defense Army's encirclement net was getting smaller every day, the Airborne Corps was eyeing them and ready to attack, and three-fifths of the rebel army was trapped on the southwestern front. They knew that the Britannian Empire couldn't possibly give them any more support, and even more so, they knew that the Britannian Empire was never going to go to war with the EU, and that all they could rely on was themselves.

Of all the Britannian military advisors, Andreas Darlton was the one that made the rebels the wariest. Darlton used to be an agent working on secret intelligence activities in South Africa, and was an air force pilot when he first joined the military. Darlton had never spoken to the rebels in a pleasant manner since they had completely lost air power, and the young officer from the Imperial Air Force was well aware that the rebels had buried most of their chances of victory.

Sitting in the temporary command headquarters, Darlton's expression was cold as he analyzed the battle situation. It was part of the deal between Emperor Charles and the EU that the Britannian Empire could not openly support their activities. The EU believed that a united Britannian Empire would bring them more economic benefits-at least for now-and the decided to drop its support for Grand Duke Louis. The real reason, of course, was that Emperor Charles couldn't break with the EU before freeing Britannia's economy from the influence of EU merchants, and he had no choice but to symbolically encourage the warriors still active in South Africa. Darlton knew this all too well, and he would not blame the Emperor for being heartless, nor would he dare. The Emperor was supreme, and Emperor Charles, who held real power in his hands, was a rare lord in the history of the Britannian Empire, and what His Majesty did must have a rationale.

"Captain Darlton, the chief has asked you to attend a combat meeting ..."

"I see." Darlton solemnly nodded to the guards, picked up the saber hanging on the side, and left the tent. Several rebel officers moved with him, men who did Darlton's bidding. Many of them had originally held higher rank and position in the defense forces than Darlton, whose understanding of military matters exceeded theirs by a great deal. On the battlefield, it was those who had the ability to bring the army to victory who should hold more power.

Andreas Darlton walked into the tent and saw the rebel commanders in green uniforms looking at him in unison instead of discussing some battle plan. He touched the pistol resting on his right side and walked forward as if nothing had happened.

"Last time I told you that you should be careful of the Airborne Corps, but it turns out that your army didn't listen at all. Now that the Airborne Corps has smashed your supply lines, I'm curious to know what other brilliant plans you all have?"

A staff officer in the corner was busy nibbling on bread, and their supplies were running out. If only the supply lines were cut off, perhaps the rebels could find a way to recover, what could be even more of a headache than the disruption of the supply lines was the horrific bombardment of northern Rhodesia by the defense forces. According to rebel statistics, hundreds of thousands of civilians have been killed or injured by the bombardment, gradually approaching the number of natives slaughtered by the rebels.

Standing in front of Darlton was Brigadier General Paul de la Rey, 45 years old, the commander of the 4th Infantry Brigade under the Volunteer Division of the Rhodesian rebels, who had previously been an army colonel in the defense forces. He said he was a brigade commander, but in fact, his unit was only about 2,000 men at full strength, and now after the fierce battle with the 5th Infantry Regiment, it had been reduced to the point where it was barely enough to make up an infantry regiment. The thankfully-topped brigadier general braced his hands on the tabletop, watching Darlton's every move.

"We underestimated the enemy." The Brigadier General spoke slowly, "We also suffered significant losses due to our own mistakes. However, they can no longer be corrected, the damage has been done, and holding them accountable will not help."

This statement set Darlton on fire. He knew very well that the defenses of the African colonies were not strong, and that the fact that the rebels were overwhelmed by the defenses only meant that these rebels were even more incorrigible. When the so-called War of Independence first broke out, most of the rebel commanders had gone so far as to pin their hopes of victory on the intervention of the Britannian Empire. They did not realize that the Britannian Empire had previously declined to the point of near-death, and that such an empire would not have the heart to support the rebels in Africa. Although the rebels have recently become much more cautious, they only seem to be returning to normal. As soon as they gained a slight advantage, they would soon forget and make fatal mistakes again.

"Ridiculous, then what do you think is the best approach?"

"Preserve strength." The Brigadier General gazed at Darlton, "Since the Empire is not destined to intervene, and we can't win ...," he suddenly drew his pistol and aimed it at Darlton's forehead, "it's unlikely that our betrayal will be spared, and if the diehard and lose the battle, the end will surely be to be put on trial. Since we will lose anyway, we might as well be tainted witnesses and take your heads to the Governor-general."

The atmosphere in the tent froze as the crowd watched the scene with bated breath, even the staff officer hiding in the corner and stealing bread stopped chewing in fear. The officer had realized that the rebellion was unlikely to succeed, and he was planning to defect to the defense forces again, with the bargaining chip being the troops in his hands and the lives of the Britannian advisors.

"When did ... you make contact with them?"

"Long ago." The Brigadier General sneered, "Therefore, they gave me an assurance that they would not directly attack the troops that have decided to revolt ... I didn't realize that we have lost so many troops here, and we will soon lose our use. This is all because of you, if it wasn't for your adamant request to force an attack here, we wouldn't have had so many casualties."

Darlton laughed out loud and gazed at the Commodore in front of him with an expression of looking at a fool.

"For God's sake, what do you think this is? It's war! ... What great things can you do when you want to start a war without being mentally prepared to turn yourself into a corpse, cowering when you start a fight, and wanting to surrender at the first sign of a fight you can't win!?" He scolded angrily, "Just with you guys, you also want to fight for independence? I've never seen a more brazen scum than you in my life-won't you purge him now?"

A crisp shot ended the standoff as the staff officer in the corner raised his pistol and shot the Brigadier General through the skull. The Brigadier General fell to the table, gurgling blood staining the map. Andreas Darlton kicked the body away with a smile of total victory and patted the staff officer's shoulder appreciatively. Several of the officers beside the Brigadier General did not change their faces, as if they had known things would go this way.

"Gentlemen, I know that you may have once approved of this plan of collaboration with the enemy, but I do not care, for I am well aware that each of you has had your share of suffering ..." Darlton laid his pistol on the table, "but it is impossible for Governor-General Herzog to forgive you, you have the lives of millions of natives on your hands, and the Governor-general, who is eager to gain the support of the natives, will only choose to hang you on the gallows." With that said, he clenched his right hand into a fist and tapped it where his chest would be, "It is done, your only choice is to continue to fight for the independence of Rhodesia and the glory of the Britannian Empire, and in the name of His Majesty, the Emperor, I guarantee all of you the right to be exiled to the Empire and receive the honorary title of Nobility."

Darlton quickly arranged for new personnel appointments, replacing the Brigadier General with a corps of officers, while immediately contacting the rest of his colleagues in the Volunteer Division, asking them to be vigilant and remove any other possible traitors. After doing the aftermath, Darlton had become a real commander, and the first order he gave was to continue the strong attack at all costs, and the road to the front line must be opened. Otherwise, once the situation at the front changed, they would not even have a chance to escape.

The rebels' uncharacteristic quietness made the defense forces on the hill a bit puzzled, and many optimistically predicted that the rebels might stop their attack and started celebrating early. In the midst of this peace and quiet, a few furtive figures crossed the bridge and headed down the railroad line toward the road down the other side of the mountain. They bypassed the trains that held the supplies, and one of them suddenly took a few steps back and pulled some packages out of the wagon, but the man in front of him quickly noticed his movements and stopped him. A few of the men confronted each other in place for a moment, and seemed to come to a unanimous agreement, leaving the train at a quick pace, and finding a path through the nearby woods, they continued to tiptoe forward.

A dark shadow stood in front of them, its blackened muzzle pointing at the man at the front.

"Your Excellency, you're in good company." McNeil, who had a bandage wrapped around his head, stepped out, "The battle isn't over yet, where do you plan to go with a few guards?"

Seeing this, Colonel Karl Duttmann, who was wearing the uniform of a common soldier, couldn't be bothered to reply and turned his head to run. He had just taken a few steps when Adalbert Herzog appeared in front of him, swinging his pistol up and smashing it into his face, nearly shattering his mouth full of teeth. The Colonel, lying on the ground with his face covered, was dragged out by the soldiers behind Adalbert in a heap, while the rest of the guards were disarmed by McNeil and put into the nearest compartment.

Colonel Duttmann shivered as he looked at Major Herzog, who was filled with rage. Even Adalbert had joined in this time, and the seriousness of the situation was more than he had expected - he had always assumed that his men would never be able to defy him.

McNeil limped over to Adalbert and whispered:

"I guessed right - he's planning to leave us here and escape on his own. What's the point of that, though?"

"The chief has devised a plan to blow up the mountain in the nick of time, destroying the bridge and blocking the valley below." Adalbert eyed the overwhelmed officer, "I just can't imagine that he's lost even the basic moral fiber of being human."

TBC

Chapter Notes:

With the battle at a stalemate, there were bound to be officers among the rebels who tried to defect.

Unfortunately, the rebel commanders who rely on the Britannian advisors to command their armies seem to have lost control of their men.