Mercenaries of Africa

Story-idea
Lord who seeks adventure amongst men
Boer who fights for his home, only to be betrayed
German who fights for his nation
British mercenary who hopes to find a home

The sun broke over the skyline, dazzling the azure waves of the Indian Ocean. As it crept over the sky, the sun illuminated Cape Town, one of the many outposts held by the British Empire. Mostly coastal towns, a few inland rails connected diamond mines that spouted amongst the stones.
Cape Town was, by 8:00 AM, jumping with activity despite the warm 95 degrees Farenheit of Africa summer. It was mostly on the docks, where steamers loading up on coal for the trip around the cape. A convoy of 3 ships, steaming steel beasts, were heading with a determined edge into the harbor. Finally securing a dock, gangplanks clacked and cackled onto the wooden quay. They were steel transport ships with three steam driven screws, steel and coal. Impersonal as the age of Imperialism and Industrialism could be.
As the three ships disembarked sailors, the mercenaries exited. Wearing a mottled tan-khaki uniform, they were regaled in putees and trousers, with a thick leather belt holding the shirt in. Strapped across their chests were bandoliers of ammunition, and atop their heads floppy flet caps.
On the right shoulder, the emblem of fear across the British Empire, the rising orange sun over a red field. Some were British, others French, Belgians, Dutch, Spanish, Swedes, Germans, Italians, Afrikaaners, Americans, and whoever else signed onto the Lord Green Company.
Lord Green himself left the boat like his mercenaries, wearing a blue plume on his felt cap. A man among men, he distained most ornamental trinkets. A broad man, his brownish hair was turning slightly gray, contrasting to his darkening tan. With a grim, drawn complexion, his black eyes seemed either beedy and ravenous, or joyous and comforting.
When he was twenty, he had taken a comission in the British Army, but the pay and action didn't suit his interests, or provide enough excitement.
After Afghanistan and her massacres, he left the army, and raised a mercenary company. Over 1,500 soldiers in the company, paid per comission. When he was hired, it was by African colonizers, France, Belguim, Britain, Germany, but a couple times he had been hired by locals, trading diamonds and gold for their services.
Now, the British governor had called in the mercenaries, and not just him. The Lord Mountbatten Corp, Marquis de Vambois Company, Heer von Braak Company, and many more. The Zulu and Boer's were becoming to much a nuisance. The Zulus would raid towns and kill the settlers, steal the cattle, and set the homes aflame. Boers would attack, rape the women, kill the men, pillage the town, then retreat into the lands that were South Africa. The British Commonwealth army was to small, and to stretched out defending India.
Now, Lord Green sought the Governor while his men unloaded gear to be taken to the trainyard. Walking through Cape Town, he finally found the small army the was the Governor's bodyguard. Working his way in, he finally met the governor. A tall Anglo-Saxon, his thick black hair was drawn into a ponytail, while a small mustache grew across his upper lip. A tall, shallow man, his paler complexion contrasted to the black carriage.
"Come inside, Lord Green, and welcome to South Africa. How was your trip?"
"Very nice Governor French, we did meet a storm off the Ivory Coast, but otherwise the trip from Gibraltar was calm. I've come to ask about orders."
"Well, Lord Green, the Boer groups have struck the city of Port Nolloth and are now besieging the defenders. I've sent the HMS Regal and the HMS Scorpion along with a small convoy of supplies to nourish the city, but I want the Boer's driven back to German Angola, across the Orange River."
"I see, I trust all money is in order, Governor Green."
The Governor blanched a little at the mention, but drew out a small leather book.
"My accoutant has confirmed 2,500 pounds sterling for your Company, with another 5,000 upon completion of services. All deposited in the Bank of England."
"Very good, Governor French, good-day sir." Stepping out of the carriage, he left the cordon of red soldiers, heading to the trainyard. As he entered upon the loading dock, his colonel-of-men approached. A medium sized Frenchman named Henri Petain Renault, he was proud of his goatee, and his slick black hair, always carrying a comb.
"Lord Green, we've loaded the Enfields, and ammunition. Men are equipped with the Colt 5 shot revolvers, and fourty rounds for the pistol. The Krupp 6-inch howitzers, 4-inch cannons, and ammunition are being loaded as we speak. The horses for the cavalry have been loaded in. All supplies and water canteens are stowed in the red rail-cars. Blue have ammunition, and brown have troops inside."
"Very good Colonel Renault, I want a rail to Port Nolloth."
"Lord Green, I've checked the rail charts. We can't go farther than Vanrhynsdorp, then a 300 mile march north to Port Nolloth. There is a road, so it won't be so bad to cross the land."
"I don't want to cross the land on foot. Go ahead on the next train to Vanrhynsdorp, secure 100 wagons for our men and ammunition, and get more water. Don't worry about expense, I've got at least 1,000 pounds sterling sitting in our treasury."
Saluting, the Frenchman hurried away, gathering four men to assist him as he gathered the supplies in Vanrhynsdorp.
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Thunderheads accumulated on the eastern horizon of pre-dawn as Lord Green watched the Boer siege lines. Sitting on the hill crest, all of Port Nolloth spread below his field-glasses. To his left, Owen Island and Owen bay, where factories and other manufacturing facilities were being defended by the Commonwealth garrison. Here the HMS Scorpion swept most of the land with his powerful naval artillery. Then northward, Port Nolloth, a city besieged. Already the northernmost half was taken by Boer troops, covered by artillery on the hills that ringed Port Nolloth. In the middle of the harbor was Robbe Island, where Commonwealth artillery fired on the city. The supply ships were docked on South Point, moving supplies up to British Port Nolloth. The most dangerous part of the siege was the supply line between the docks and the city proper. A narrow shoreline road stretched into the city. Defending the road, the ramparts were strong, but a determine Boer push had already broken through, turned back by the timely intervention of the HMS Scorpion.
Sketching the positions, Lord Green knew the Boers knew he was nearby. Several patrols had passed below him, searching for his company of men. His men were only three or four miles behind him, preparing to storm the hill and set up the artillery.
A month of travel northward was only interrupted by night-time attacks by Boer troops. Armed with German rifles, Lord Green knew the German colony of Angola probably was supplying them. He wouldn't be surprised if the artillery that the Boer troops possessed were Krupp manufacture. Slowly standing, Lord Green pulled the strap for the field glasses over his head and let them hang. Mounting his brown quarter horse, he rode down the gradual slope, through the scrub and brush that grew on the northern extremes of British South Africa. When he arrived at camp, the cavalry were mounting their horses, the artillery hitched to ammunition wagons, and infantry checking their Lee-Enfields. Riding to his tent, a breeze swept along the desert and scrub, fortelling the storm.
"Lord Green, the men are ready. 1st Regiment is loaded and ready to go. 1st Squadron is ready and waiting. 2nd Battery has lost a wheel on a cannon, and needs a a new one. 5th Regiment is staying to defend camp."
"Thank you Renault." Lord Green stepped past his colonel into his tent. Picking up his notebook, Lord Green pulled out his colored pencils and drew in troops. While doing so he spoke to his colonel.
"Colonel, the Boers have taken half of Port Nolloth. Their artillery commands the town from the nearby hills, probably twenty feet high. The Commonwealth holds all the rest. The problem is that the Boers are about to finish off the Port. The supply lines stretch from the docks a mile south to the city proper, and that can be broken at any point. If they can cut it and expand the gap, then the Port is lost. The supplies can't get to the city, and it shall be lost. The HMS Scorpion can cover most of the road. It can't stop determined men, and the Boers are not going to be in lines. We can win this battle, but it is going to take the cavalry and infantry. I want the cavalry to ride hard and hit the Boer artillery positions. Have them take an extra rider, another infantry man. While they ride, send infantry to secure the road, and position the artillery on the hills to the south."
"Yes Lord Green."
Saluting, Renault hurried outside and spoke with the regimental captains. A mumble of voices replied, the men breaking off to perform their duties.
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Johann von Ruuk watched the town below. Port Nolloth had resisted most Boer efforts. City fighting was taking a toll on his men. The road to the city had been cut, but it needed a determined push and luck. The German, Von Grahm, had produced most of the effort amongst the men. Johann didn't like the Prussian man, with his staunch and rigid military discipline. The short Prussian, with his thick black mustache, blue kepi, and thick and heavy face. It had no second chin, but it was thick and muscular.
Johann von Ruuk patted his artillery. Krupp cannons, purchased for less than market-price. German Angola had produced most of the Boer ammunition. With the ammunition came money, and young Germans. About 500 Germans worked with the Boers, providing a solid Prussian core, drilled with rifles and sabre.
Looking around, the crews were sleeping on the hard turf, knowing they were safe. A series of trenches cut across the hillside, sentries changed every two hours at night, four in the day. The hillside trenches would break up any cavalry charge, undoubtedly. Then the artillery and rifles would slaughter the cavalrymen. The Prussian had sent his core down to the road, preparing defenses of wire and trench.
Johann watched his men, feeling a maternal surge. They were more his sons, his brothers, uncles, cousins, than anything else. He had gone north with them, fought the Zulu, the Brit, the Belguim. He had trekked with some into the wilderness, hunting African game. Then the urge to go home. His wife had given birth two weeks ago, and his two sons were just growing. His home was on the hillside, overlooking tilled fields and pasture.
When the sun appeared over the horizon, it was quickly muffled by the black thunderheads, sweeping across the desert, bringing thunder and rain, life and nourishment to a home few could stand.
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Arthur Priest hustled with the 2nd Regiment, moving out of camp in the pre-dawn. A month of marching from Cape Town had given all men, horse, and gear a distinctive tanned appearance. Armed with a Lee-Enfield and enough rounds to construct a hundred lead frying-pans.
Then his pistol and knife, and two "grenades". They were sticks mounted with a small black cylinder. Bought from a German company, the 2nd Regiment and 3rd Regiment were told "use them to clear troops from positions. Don't hurl them after you twist, wait three seconds." Just twist the heads, and throw. Five second fuse. Then, the Lord said "and don't blow you hand off either, or you'll be shipped home."
Arthur Priest knew what that meant. Home, Wessex, brick factory. To Arthur, the Brigade was a release to adventure, see the world, go to foreign ports. Calcutta, Cape Town, Dakar, and many other towns the world over. Each felt like another port. Arthur hoped to see a new land, and say, "this is my plot, and I shall till the land." In Wessex, the land had been tilled by his families hand for generations, and now it was covered up by stone and steel.
Moving along the coastline, he saw the factory pipes and buildings clustered on South Point. He saw the steel towers on the cruiser HMS Scorpion. The pang of Wessex, and the industrialism that it was resounded in his heart. Then the low rumble of thunder, except when it ended, he heard a freight train move by. Then an explosion amongst the pipes and factory buildings.
"Boer artillery lads, keep moving. They haven't seen us, so don't expect the poundcake yet!" His sargeant was a country man, paying for his son to have a better life, working in the Bank of England. Arthur kept on moving forward, jogging to the position. Another rumble, another freight train. Then more artillery, this time a higher pitched whine. Commonwealth Artillery. Arthur knew the British troops had artillery, but he didn't expect them to fire back. The lack of ammunition in a siege seemed to mean they didn't have much to work with. The Boer artillery started to fire more rapidly, but the freight train didn't sound. Ahead, firecrackers lit up, as the Boer troops began to open fire.
"Alright men, line abreast, skrimish line, get the bastards!"
Spreading out laterally, Arthur kept on jogging, hoping to get to the positions before the end of the battle.
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Lord Green watched as his horsemen rode on. Shots flew across the land, the Boer artillery thundering away. Luckily, the commander only knew the mercenary cavalry, and nothing of the mercenary regiments moving to assault the Boer troops that held the south. The sound of oxen grew louder as the wagons and artillery mounted the hill. The 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Regiments were already on the downslope, heading for the Boer lines. The 2nd was sweeping the coastline of Owen Bay, heading for South Point and her factory. The 6th, 7th, and 8th were moving to reserves on the reverse. 5th was at camp, while 9th rode with the cavalry, and 10th provided back-up.
The cavalry had rode across the hill, heading for the Boer artillery. Sentries fired a couple shots, then withdrew. The cavalry rode on, but then the horses tumbled. The first three lines got wrecked, the other five breaking away. Luckily, the cavalry sargeants knew to dismount the regulars, letting them pick off the artillery crews. The cavalry had then turned the entire area into a dust bowl, galloping around, trying to save the wreck cavalrymen in the trench.
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Arthur Priest heard the crack of a bullet, felt the wave of air. Aiming quickly, he pulled the tigger and felt the kick of the rifle. Swinging down the lever, he reloaded the rifle, aimed and fired.
The Boers had struck many of the 2nd Regiment, the accurate fire forcing the mercenaries to duck and cover. Cocking the lever again, Arthur found a head and popped in a shot, watching as the head flew backwards, dismay and shock written on the features. The sargeants and lieutenants had held the lines together, slowly shifting companies to outflank the Boer troops. Commonwealth troops had added firepower, hitting the Boer right flank, rolling up the Boer positions.
(feedback please...I need to sleep, edit later)

Here the Boer's were professional. Inching forward, Arthur took aim at another Boer. Crack, a bullet smacked a nearby stone. Firing, Arthur struck the Boer in the cheek, sending the Boer tumbling backwards. A frieght train moved past, landing amongst the Commonwealth troops. An explosion of rose flame and shrapnel hit the men.
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Lord Green watched his artillery chief shift the pieces into place. Several were already opening up, popping smoke into the town and into the Boer artillery position. Others were firing guide rounds, colored gas that maked range.
The cavalry had retreated under the fire. Tens of horses were now maimed, their hooves and legs broken by the impact. Some men were remaining in the trenches, firing away into the smoke that surrounded the Boer artillery.
"Lord Green, Captain Henry Portham of the Commonwealth," Renault spoke, gesturing to a man in a scarlet Commonwealth uniform.
"Captain Portham, I see your men are joining in."
"Yes my lord, the colonel suggested we lend a hand. The HMS Scorpion is now sailing to flank the town, preparing to open up with her lighter pieces."
"Very good Captain." Lord Green scanned the battlefield. His cavalry were reforming behind the hill.
"Renault, order the 6th Regiment to assault the Boer artillery. Send the 7th on the right flank. Cavalry is going to charge into the Boer troops that are holding the 2nd Regiment up."
"Yes Lord Green."
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Johann von Ruuk slid the bullets into the Mauser rifle. The mercenary cavalry had charged the artillery, stumbling into the trenches. The banshee scream of the horses still filled the air. The cavalry had carried a second rider, who now harassed the artillery. Then the mercenary artillery was laying down smoke on his position, obscuring his view.
"Herek' Johann called to his second 'pull the artillery back. Withdraw all the Boer's. I don't give a jackass if Von Grahm doesn't approve. The artillery is null, unless the wind shifts. The mercenaries are sending in more men, and our line in the south will be surrounded. Retreat."
"Aye colonel!" the second called, as he scurried to a trench, where the telegraph station was positioned. The city was connected to the telegraph. Johann couldn't see the battlefield, by he knew what the mercenaries planned to do. Hit the artillery, drive them away, secure Boer troops for interogation and hit the Boers at the other towns.
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Arthur watched as the rifle fire slowly pettered out. Then came the cavalry, riding from the hills where the Companies artillery was positioned Riding past, they were lost in a swirl of dust. The Boer artillery had stopped after a couple shots. Then the roar of the companies cannons, hurling shells into Boer positions. Crouching, Arthur scampered forward, other, less-experianced men almost strolled forward. Then a bullet whizzed in, and struck the recruit in the head. One down, a few others, a little wiser.
Scampering forward again, Arthur scanned the ground. The sound of rifle fire was ahead, in the city. Moving quickly, the 2nd Regiment scampered into the city limits. A couple cavalry were trotting nearby. Then a messanger.
"They are retreating, the Boers are retreating!"
Arthur felt relief wash over him, knowing the battle was over.
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Lord Green scanned the distance. The cavalry was being held away from the wagons and booty, the artillery and supplies. A determined effort had held the cavalry. Moving in, the 7th and 8th Regiments were following up, un-soiled from the battle. Messangers were sent back to camp, alerting the 5th Regiment to pack in and move to Port Nolloth.
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Johann fired into the milling mass of horseflesh and man. The rear-guard was using wagons to keep ahead of the encircling horsemen. The artillery was out of range. Johann knew the mercenaries would dog him to the Orange River. Since that was the case, Johann called ahead for pontoon bridges, and another Boer group, led by one Von Grippe, a Dutch military advisor. Firing again, Johann heard the cavalry rifle bullets whip overhead. It was hell trying to keep the mercenaries away, but he could do it.
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The setting is good and the story is promising. However, the sentences don't flow very well. I think you are trying to cram too much information in too few words.

Still, you've got me interested. Please carry on.
~:thumb:

Lord Green scanned the horizon with his fieldglasses, taking in the arid scrub and brush that were pimples on the face of South Africa. The Boer rear-guard had kept the cavalry back, eventually out-pacing his men, and making good their escape. Only a couple Boer soldiers were captured. They had said the same, that all Boer's lived north of Orange River.
Lord Green didn't believe them, so the next morning he had them excecuted and buried with the other Boers in the trenches where his cavalry were broken. The next week, Renaul ordered in wagon loads of ammunition, supplies, and rail-track. Building a rail-line to Port Nolloth took a month to complete. In the extra time the cavalrymen were re-training their new horses, men practiced with the grenades, and many became fishermen, using the Bay of Owen to fish in.
When the rail-lines were complete, Lord Green brought in more supplies. However, the unexpected surprise was the White Free Company.
Led by an American named Thomas White, the Free Company had hired mostly Civil War veterans, given them Henry-Martini rifles, Colt revolvers, and training. Artillerymen were given the latest Krupp artillery pieces. The company had contracted with Winchester to try out new weapondry, and one of them was a "Gatling gun"
The next day, it was rolled out of the cabin. Three more followed. Several barrels were clustered around a core, with a crank at the end. Mounted on an artillery chassis, the guns were arranged before targets, and opened fire. Few men ever forgot the day they met a Gatling. The thunderous repeating crack-crack-crack-crack resounded in the hills. Thirty bullets in under a couple seconds, sixty in thirty seconds, two belts in a minute.
Another surprise was the letter from the Governor.
"Lord Green,
I am writing to you on behalf of the African Trading Company. They have contacted me, and asked for your men to move to Uppington. The African Trading Company has several plantations there. A few days ago, the Company reported a Zulu migration, massive in size. They are moving southwest, across the land, heading to the Orange River. Uppington needs to be defended. I am thus contracting you for 5,000 pounds sterling to perform all nescessary duties to prevent the capture of Uppington."

Finally, after a month of preparation, Lord Green prepared his column. Marching from Port Nolloth, he headed across the low mountains, caught in the thunder-storm as it swept the plain.

After the thunder storm passed, Lord Green marched onward, across the arid desert, finally reaching Upington. A bridge of steel crossed the Orange River, Upington plantations on both sides of the river. On the eastern bank, it was mostly buildings. On the western bank, it was plantations. Already, outposts to the east were reporting massive groups of Zulu men, women and children, cattle and gear. The reports were about a day old, and they were fourty miles off. The White Free Company had moved along with the Lord Green Company, and they were building two bastions of firepower on the eastern bank. Houses were torn down, ditches built, and ramparts of dirt piled up. Artillery were based inside the ramparts, with Gatling guns placed along the rampart walls.
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Arthur Priest was tired. A day under the South African sun, slaving away on trenches along the town perimeter. Houses on the eastern bank were non-existant. Pillars were used to shore up the two forts, Fort White and Green. Planks were used to make the trenches permanent. The surrounding area was cleared. On the western shore, observers linked telegraph wires to the two forts. In two days, Upington was fortified beyond many expectations. The White Free Company kept most of their men inside the cordon, reserves to supplement the defenders. Artillery was set up along the western bank. Lord Green Regiments held the cordon and the Green Fort, the White fort occupied by the Americans.
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Johann watched the industrious movements of the mercenaries. The entire eastern bank was a military camp. The western bank was plantations, and less fortified. Smirking, the Boer formulated a plan. The Boer troops had trekked to Angola, re-loaded and geared. Now they were marching onto the arse of the mercenaries, bottled between the Zulu's and the Boers.
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Lord Green watched as the day dawned over the horizon, where the Zulus were going to come from. Green had kept his horsemen in camp as well as the 1st Regiment. The Americans were almost entirely in the rear of the formation, prepared to move in.
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The first thing Arthur noticed about the Zulus was that they were numerous. Hundreds of thousands. An entire tribe, maybe a confederacy of tribes. Hundreds of thousands of men, and then the supporting women, children, and cattle. When the dawn broke, they were a mile away, and as they approached, the host grew larger. Finally, the entire plain before him was Zulus. From the river banks they stretched, a cordon of African women and cattle. The men assembled into bands, and moved forward. Shamans spinkled water on them, hoping to make them invulnerable. Then, horns sounded, and the Zulu tribes advanced. Sitting on the ramparts, Arthur watched with interest as the Africans advanced. Then the thunderous discarge of cannons and howitzers from both bastions of Western technology. The Lord Green cannons fired colored gas, marking ranges. Then the actual rounds. The Zulus advanced, chanting a chord. The rounds sent dirt above the heads of the Zulus, tossing them like rag-dolls. The Zulus advanced. Then the strangeest sound, the crack of rifles. The Zulus had Mauser rifles, and were firing at ranges that only a marksman could hit with. Arthur slid back into the fort, like the others. The cannons contiuned to fire, a steady sound that comforted Arthur. The hands of God brought down shells, thundering across the sky, crashing into the ground with a gout of flame and shrapnel.
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Lord Green watched the vicious fire from the artillery. Standing on the roof of a plantation house, the rounds were deadly, and caused casualties like no other.
"Red shell, your's fell short, hold the position for another second" one of the observers called out, relayed down the wire to the telegraph station in the fort.
"Blue shell, you hit them dead on, load with a smoke and identify." Another observer called. The Zulu cordon encircled the band of mercenaries. Already a couple bands were within the extreme rifle-range. From reports he had gotten, some Zulus were firing rifles.
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Arthur knew the range was extreme, but he also had enough rounds to allow for error. Pulling the trigger, he and other men let a volley crash, sending bullets whirling over the flat plain. He could imagine the swift thunk as the bullet flew into meat and bone.
Then replying fire, scattered, but fire none the less.
After firing a couple rounds, Arthur watched as the Zulu men picked up the pace. More shells came crashing into them, and they sought to avoid the heaviest fire. However, that brought them into range of the rifles more quickly. It was eighteenth century thought, out-dated, out-moded, deadly to the user.
Firing away again, the ground almost came alive as bullets knicked the ground and scrub, or biting flesh and bone. Hundreds fell to the accurate rifle fire. Then the Gatling guns opened up at 300 yards.
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack. The barrels whirled around, firing death into the ranks. Thousands were mowed down. Staring in morbid fascination, Arthur watched the Zulus were cut down like wheat. Death's scythe was swift. Some watched, others fired into the crowd. The Gatlings were murderous, cutting down hundreds of the Zulus.
Some got through, and rifle Zulus fired at the rotating death. The others scrambled for the trenches. Then the grenades at extreme ranges, popping aloud. Some were timed to explode amongst them, blasting apart their bodies.
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Lord Green watched the battle unfold. He thought the Zulus would stop after the Gatlings, mowed down in the hundreds. They pressed on, into heavier fire, and grenades. Then the sound of battle came closer. Turning, he watched as Boer riders appeared and attack the camps. Already the 5th Regiment seemed overwhelmed, the cavalry riding out to fight the Boer riders. The reserves of the White Free Company were split, some sent to the front to bolster the trenches, others sent to fight the Boers.
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Arthur was surprised when some artillery turned their fire away from the Zulus, and back at the camps. Then the ultimate surprise. The Zulus got into the trenches. The last men in the charge, they were ferocious and blood-thirsty. Wielding short spears, they stabbed into the human flesh. Pulling out their revolvers, the men fired until they were empty, and then picked up dead men's revolvers. The Zulus charged, were cut down, then surged again. Bullets crackled overhead, as another Zulus brigade charged in, using the lull in Gatling fire to surge the men in the trenches. Firing into the trenches, it was firing into a barrel, striking several men with the high-velocity rifle bullets.

Johann watched as the mercenary cavalry galloped out. Riding with his men, some dismounted, others remained on horseback and rode to encircle the mercenaries. The Boers on foot had attacked the camps, which were surprisingly garrisoned. Artillery shells had started landing, accurately, on the Boer positons.
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Arthur swung his rifle as a club, cracking the ribs of a Zulu attacker. Pulling out his pistol, he fired a round into the chest, and pushed him away. Firing again into another Zulu, Arthur was surprised. The Zulus had surged over the ramparts, where the Gatlings were opening fire into the Zulu crowds. The artillery crews picked up rifles and pistols and repelled the Zulu attackers. The final wave of men had crushed all opposition in the trench, and the Zulus surged up to attack the bastion. Now the crews were defending against the Zulu attackers.
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Lord Green watched as the Boers were repulsed from the camps. The cavalry were driven off, despite the encirclement of his cavalry. Accurate artillery fire has broken holes in the surrounding Boers, and the riders had exploited every one. However, Lord Green knew the Zulus were surging into the forts. The trenches had stopped the first wave that hit them, but the other few reserves broke into the trenches.

The battle between Boers and Zulus was assured after the Boers finally broke. Fleeing across the desert and prarie, the Zulus faced an even greater force, and were forced to flee. The slaughter was amazing. He had opted to retreat, letting the Americans hold the city. Returning to Port Nolloth, he had contracted hundreds of men to fill his ranks. The Boers were soundly beaten, and Commonwealth Regiments were holding the lins along the Orange River. Trenches, wire, roads and Gatlings backed up the defenses. Cannons and rifles, depots and rails secured most of South Africa.

Then the French contracted him. In Dakar, the Spanish had stirred up local tribesmen. Now a genocide was going on between the Ambaq and the Haljii, one Sunni the other Shi'a Muslims. The French were simply caught up in the feud. Then the Spanish moved in and gave the Ambaq, the Sunni, more advanced weapons.

Sitting in a cafe', Lord Green scanned the map. Sitting on the coast, he and his company were charged with capturing the head-tribesmen of the Ambaq. THe Haljii were willing to cease attacks if the Ambaq were moved to the north.