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)
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