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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 25, 2021 15:08:31 GMT
The Siege of Charlotteville Part 1
Charlotteville, Republic of the Congo
May 6 1965
“You know what this is, don’t you Captain?”
“No sir?”
“This is a damned trap. And we’re the rats caught in it.”
Major Sean Hughes looked out across the dry golden grass towards the dense verdant brush. At least they had a few clear fields of fire until the tree line. Beyond it, the ground sloped up towards the high ground surrounding them, which were dotted with ant hills and stunted trees. All in all, it wasn’t good ground, but it was the ground they had. And holding it was vital to their mission.
“The Jerries said that about Tobruk as well, sir.”
“You’re right about that, Patrick. Well, we’ll make do with what we’ve got. I want us dug in good and proper. Put three platoons to work on trenches, all around the place. This isn't Tobruk, though - it's Rorke's bloody Drift! We're here surrounded by hills on all sides."
"I see what you mean, sir."
"Well, the boys at Rorke's Drift didn't have machine guns, mortars and our other toys. I’ll see the officers downstairs in my quarters in half an hour.”
“Very good, sir.” Captain Patrick Quinlan, second-in-command of Company A, 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers saluted crisply and climbed down the stone stairwell of the three storey house that served as the company headquarters, leaving Major Hughes alone on the roof with his thoughts.
Operation Motorman was the first offensive sweep carried out by 8th Infantry Brigade since they had arrived in the Congo two weeks ago from Rhodesia. The festering chaos and bloodshed since Congolese independence in 1961 had boiled over the border far too often, leading to the deployment of British and Commonwealth troops to ‘restore and maintain order’, or at least that was what was being said in high minded and honourable speeches in the rarified corridors of the League of Nations. That rhetoric always sounded great and worthy to the politicians, but the real reason for the presence of British forces was far more direct - the mines. Ever since Rhodes’ British South African Company had won the Scramble for Katanga against old King Leopold’s Belgians, there had been intense interest in the riches beneath the surface of this wild land. Whilst the larger proportion of the copper belt and the more exotic minerals lay south of the border, there was still huge fortunes to be made in that part of the region that lay in the Belgian Congo. Coal there was, and iron, lead and copper, all in great plenty, but there were also wealthier pickings, such as the Charlotteville Mine.
Here, in the midst of the rolling savannah and broken-topped hills, had lain a moderately prosperous tin, columbite and tantalite mine that had seen far better days back in the era of the Great War. A chance discovery by a travelling American talking rabbit had change all that with the glint of shining blue in the soil. For here lay the world's largest deposits of solantium, that modern miracle mineral so vital to space rockets, along with rich, deep seams of gold, silver and copper that had only been discovered less than ten years ago. It had turned the quiet mining village into a boomtown almost overnight, drawing attention from Europe, the United States and Britain. The cosy conglomerate of British investors, the BSAC and the Union Minière du Katanga had seen their profits severely disrupted by the spiralling strife that lead to Congolese independence and the subsequent near collapse of the new country had brought production to a near halt.
This state of affairs was one that could not be tolerated and, if the central government in Leopoldville could not keep order in its peripheral provinces, then there were others who could. The French were up in the north, the Belgians around the major cities and the Americans starting to try their luck in the east. Prime Minister Eden had ordered the first Commonwealth brigade to the border in early 1963 and since then, the ambit of their operations had been gradually spreading. Now, with Barton and Labour in power, a new and aggressive strategy had issued down to African Command from London for the Katangan border to be stabilised. Motorman was part of that, seeking to locate and neutralise rebel base areas in Mobo, Malemba-Nkulu and Manono Districts; the 1st Royal Irish Regiment and 2nd Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers were tasked with the former two areas, whilst the 2nd Ulsters were in reserve back at Mitwaba on the border and the tanks of the South Irish Horse were split between the three columns.
B, C, D and Support Companies were pushing up to the bridge at Kiambi along with the artillery. A Company was to hold the crossroads here just east of Charlotteville, with this nameless outlying hamlet being selected as the location for the brigade's forward operating base where the big 6" guns and MRLs would be brought up. It wasn't much to look at on first appearance, consisting of two dozen buildings, a garage, a disused bar and a nice, deep well, but that would change in time. For now, he needed trenches, sandbags, mortar pits and as much wire as he could get. The grass would have to go and then the brush line. If he put one of the Maxims and a heavy machine gun up here on the roof, they could cover two of the main approaches quite nicely, whilst the Stags could cover each end of the road and the extra machine guns on the Champions would add to the firepower of each platoon, if it came to it.
Major Hughes looked up to the nearest hill and saw a group of men darting for cover in the brush.
When it came to it.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Jul 25, 2021 15:22:37 GMT
The Siege of Charlotteville Part 1Charlotteville, Republic of the CongoMay 6 1965“You know what this is, don’t you Captain?” “No sir?” “This is a damned trap. And we’re the rats caught in it.” Major Sean Hughes looked out across the dry golden grass towards the dense verdant brush. At least they had a few clear fields of fire until the tree line. Beyond it, the ground sloped up towards the high ground surrounding them, which were dotted with ant hills and stunted trees. All in all, it wasn’t good ground, but it was the ground they had. And holding it was vital to their mission. “The Jerries said that about Tobruk as well, sir.” “You’re right about that, Patrick. Well, we’ll make do with what we’ve got. I want us dug in good and proper. Put three platoons to work on trenches, all around the place. This isn't Tobruk, though - it's Rorke's bloody Drift! We're here surrounded by hills on all sides." "I see what you mean, sir." "Well, the boys at Rorke's Drift didn't have machine guns, mortars and our other toys. I’ll see the officers downstairs in my quarters in half an hour.” “Very good, sir.” Captain Patrick Quinlan, second-in-command of Company A, 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers saluted crisply and climbed down the stone stairwell of the three storey house that served as the company headquarters, leaving Major Hughes alone on the roof with his thoughts. Operation Motorman was the first offensive sweep carried out by 8th Infantry Brigade since they had arrived in the Congo two weeks ago from Rhodesia. The festering chaos and bloodshed since Congolese independence in 1961 had boiled over the border far too often, leading to the deployment of British and Commonwealth troops to ‘restore and maintain order’, or at least that was what was being said in high minded and honourable speeches in the rarified corridors of the League of Nations. That rhetoric always sounded great and worthy to the politicians, but the real reason for the presence of British forces was far more direct - the mines. Ever since Rhodes’ British South African Company had won the Scramble for Katanga against old King Leopold’s Belgians, there had been intense interest in the riches beneath the surface of this wild land. Whilst the larger proportion of the copper belt and the more exotic minerals lay south of the border, there was still huge fortunes to be made in that part of the region that lay in the Belgian Congo. Coal there was, and iron, lead and copper, all in great plenty, but there were also wealthier pickings, such as the Charlotteville Mine. Here, in the midst of the rolling savannah and broken-topped hills, had lain a moderately prosperous tin, columbite and tantalite mine that had seen far better days back in the era of the Great War. A chance discovery by a travelling American talking rabbit had change all that with the glint of shining blue in the soil. For here lay the world's largest deposits of solantium, that modern miracle mineral so vital to space rockets, along with rich, deep seams of gold, silver and copper that had only been discovered less than ten years ago. It had turned the quiet mining village into a boomtown almost overnight, drawing attention from Europe, the United States and Britain. The cosy conglomerate of British investors, the BSAC and the Union Minière du Katanga had seen their profits severely disrupted by the spiralling strife that lead to Congolese independence and the subsequent near collapse of the new country had brought production to a near halt. This state of affairs was one that could not be tolerated and, if the central government in Leopoldville could not keep order in its peripheral provinces, then there were others who could. The French were up in the north, the Belgians around the major cities and the Americans starting to try their luck in the east. Prime Minister Eden had ordered the first Commonwealth brigade to the border in early 1963 and since then, the ambit of their operations had been gradually spreading. Now, with Barton and Labour in power, a new and aggressive strategy had issued down to African Command from London for the Katangan border to be stabilised. Motorman was part of that, seeking to locate and neutralise rebel base areas in Mobo, Malemba-Nkulu and Manono Districts; the 1st Royal Irish Regiment and 2nd Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers were tasked with the former two areas, whilst the 2nd Ulsters were in reserve back at Mitwaba on the border and the tanks of the South Irish Horse were split between the three columns. B, C, D and Support Companies were pushing up to the bridge at Kiambi along with the artillery. A Company was to hold the crossroads here just east of Charlotteville, with this nameless outlying hamlet being selected as the location for the brigade's forward operating base where the big 6" guns and MRLs would be brought up. It wasn't much to look at on first appearance, consisting of two dozen buildings, a garage, a disused bar and a nice, deep well, but that would change in time. For now, he needed trenches, sandbags, mortar pits and as much wire as he could get. The grass would have to go and then the brush line. If he put one of the Maxims and a heavy machine gun up here on the roof, they could cover two of the main approaches quite nicely, whilst the Stags could cover each end of the road and the extra machine guns on the Champions would add to the firepower of each platoon, if it came to it. Major Hughes looked up to the nearest hill and saw a group of men darting for cover in the brush. When it came to it. The Siege of Jadotville of but Darkearth verse style ore am i wrong. |
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simon darkshade
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 25, 2021 15:45:16 GMT
An adaption of it at the request of another reader. It has a different course and a different outcome; they may be Irish troops, but of a different army.
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Post by stevep on Jul 26, 2021 14:32:49 GMT
An American talking rabbit. He wasn't being pursued by someone with a speech impediment was he?
Is solantium turning out to be the replacement for cavorite?
Steve
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Post by lordroel on Jul 26, 2021 14:36:39 GMT
An adaption of it at the request of another reader. It has a different course and a different outcome; they may be Irish troops, but of a different army. Wait, what Army is using the Irish other than the British, the Americans. |
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 26, 2021 15:04:24 GMT
An adaption of it at the request of another reader. It has a different course and a different outcome; they may be Irish troops, but of a different army. Wait, what Army is using the Irish other than the British, the Americans. No, they are part of the British Army. My meaning was that they aren't from the Irish Army of @, which was rather low on resources and equipment even before being assigned to the @ UNOC. |
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 26, 2021 15:06:46 GMT
An American talking rabbit. He wasn't being pursued by someone with a speech impediment was he?
Is solantium turning out to be the replacement for cavorite?
Steve
Steve, He was not, but was simply on a holiday. Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Solantium is used in more modern rocket engines and has some properties like cavorite, but not as strong whilst in atmosphere; it is a bit more powerful in space. The ideal situation from a British perspective would be to find a goodly sized new deposit of cavorite. Simon |
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Post by lordroel on Jul 26, 2021 15:14:37 GMT
Wait, what Army is using the Irish other than the British, the Americans. No, they are part of the British Army. My meaning was that they aren't from the Irish Army of @, which was rather low on resources and equipment even before being assigned to the @ UNOC. Even then, the Irish in OTL kicked ass, now imagine the Irish doing the same with Darkearth verse equipment. |
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simon darkshade
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 26, 2021 16:47:56 GMT
In @, there were 155 Irish infantry with FN FALs, Brens, 2-3 Vickers guns, several 60mm mortars, 3-4 Jeep’s and two Ford armoured cars.
Here, there are 252 men of A Company plus a small number of others that will be revealed in due course. They are armed with 4 2.5” mortars, 2 25mm Maxim Guns, 2 125mm WOMBAT recoilless rifles, 4 0.625” heavy machine guns, 2 Stag armoured cars, 4 Austin Champion jeeps and quite a few more GPMGs and LMGs.
This represents quite a leap in firepower, but does burn through a lot more ammunition, which is limited. They will also be facing a different opponent and a different challenge.
However, they do have a more receptive command and a lot more airpower, even if it is a long way away.
Charlotteville is where the town of Manono is in @. All distances are in DE measure:
65 miles to Kiambi
155 miles to the Rhodesian border
483 miles to the nearest airbase (@ Elisabethville)
1282 miles to the nearest bomber base (Salisbury, Rhodesia)
The consequences of those distances are:
1.) Charlotteville is beyond the range of any artillery
2.) Given the state of Congolese roads, a relief column would take at least 3.5 days once they are in place
3.) It is beyond the combat radius of both the Hawker Hunter and the de Havilland Spectre fighter bombers of the Royal Rhodesian Air Force
4.) The Canberras can reach it, but would need time to fly to bases in Northern Rhodesia for operations
5.) The nearest airborne or airmobile forces are in Kenya and the nearest RAF strike planes (TSR-2s) are on Cyprus
6.) RRAF and RAF Fairey Rotodynes could make an aerial relief trip, but would need to move in hops
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 27, 2021 13:04:42 GMT
The Siege of Charlotteville Part 2
Hughes had a little over two hundred and fifty men on strength in A Company, consisting of his regular four rifle platoons, the weapons platoon of 2.5" mortars and heavy machine guns, their requisite four snipers and attached batteries of a pair of Maxim Guns and WOMBATs from the battalion Support Company. He would have been a lot happier if he had the troop of Super Centurions and battery of 125mm Light Guns usually attached to his company, or even a few of the 3.5" mortars - primacy of firepower was one of the Army's watchwords, whatever the front. It seemed darned unnatural to be stuck out beyond the range of the guns, even if they were nominally behind the lines; Major Hughes had been in enough action in Africa to know that counted for close to naught here.
Whilst he lacked heavy weapons, he made up for it with his men. He would not swap his superb group of veterans for any others in the whole Army. His tough core of sergeants were all veterans of Korea, Malaya and the Six Day War of ‘56, whilst CSM Prendergast had been through the Western Desert, Siam and Indochina in World War Two on top of that. His five young lieutenants were good, reliable men, all blooded in the Far East and Captain Quinlan was equal parts thoughtful scholar and steady warrior forged in the hard fought campaigns in Aden, Burma and Kenya. The men were a good mix of professionals and young volunteers, accustomed to hardship and finely honed by their training. Their spiritual needs were well met by their company priest, Father Crilly, whose simple piety and wry humour served as a good example to his flock.
Yet all of this was essentially ephemeral without what he really needed - some skerrick of firm intelligence or indication of what they might be up against. Prior to the launch of Motorman, the brigade intelligence officer had indicated that there were at least ten thousand Simbas in Congolese Katanga, along with a large number of other deserters from the Congolese Army, various mercenaries and assorted militia groups. The numbers in and of themselves were not the crucial matter, as a British brigade could take on any such force of rabble in the field, but where they were. This was more like Kenya and Malaya than Egypt or Korea, with an elusive enemy who held back in the jungles and wilderness and move among the people like a frog in the water. Charlotteville itself was likely to be of no help, with the mercenaries hired by the mining companies sticking strictly to the defence of the mine and their properties in the town. There were just too many unknowns to the whole situation, so he would have to start unveiling the secrets of this place one by one.
"Sir? The officers are waiting downstairs."
"Excellent."
A short climb later saw him before his subordinate commanders in the sparse room that served as his quarters. They were an eager bunch, he'd give them that much.
"Right, chaps, gather round and have a look. This is the short of it - we've got to get our defences up here to hold against anything that might come through. This is to be our forward base, not just for the Rangers, but the whole brigade when the time comes. Battalion seemed to think and still does that the main force of Simbas in this area were all across the river, but that doesn't rule out any trouble here. We know from the Rhodies and Saffies that they may be damned savages, but they're not entirely stupid, at least down this way. If I was in the shoes of Mpolo, or whatever they think that commander's name is, then I'd strike here first and cut our forces in two.
So, we need to dig in here and dig in deep. Trenches all the way around, along with all the wire we can get, and then sandbag redoubts and gun positions here, here, here and here." He stabbed at the map with his pencil. "Once that is done, then we burn off that grass as much as possible and thin out the tree line - we've plenty of explosive, so we are going to damn well make use of it. Make sure we save as many of the branches and trunks as possible."
"What for, Major?" asked one of his lieutenants, a bright young lad from Galway.
"We don't have any field guns, Dornan, but no need to advertise that to any of our watching friends out there. I want you to head into town and beg, borrow or buy these items." He slid a short list across the table. Dornan nodded as he read it, understanding spreading across his face.
"DeLarge, I want you to take out a patrol this afternoon. Look like you're hunting and make a show of it. Make sure you have a gander at anything that shouldn't be there."
"Yes, sir."
"If there's no trouble, then we've kept the men busy and all is well. If there is, then we're going to be darn well ready for it."
The next few days passed without issue, with the men of A Company proceeding to dig their trenchline at good pace and clear out the surrounding fields methodically. Their activities continued to attract attention from the hills and in the surrounding plains and forests and DeLarge's patrol had found evidence of large bodies of men passing through the area, making little effort to obscure their tracks. Something definitely seemed to be brewing.
It was Saturday afternoon when it happened. Hughes was in his office, drawing up a list of supplies to radio to Mitwaba for the next helicopter flight when the alarum bell began clanging urgently. Grabbing his rifle and hastily throwing on his flak jacket, he ran outside, urgently scanning the burnt stubble of the field before them for a threat.
"What is it, Clancy?" he yelled up to the sentry on the rooftop.
"Out there, past the gap in the trees, sir. Look!"
Major Hughes raised up his binoculars and peered out in the direction Private Clancy had indicated.
There, stumbling through the grass in terror, were three little children, their ebony skin scarlet with blood.
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stevep
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Post by stevep on Jul 28, 2021 14:45:25 GMT
The Siege of Charlotteville Part 2Hughes had a little over two hundred and fifty men on strength in A Company, consisting of his regular four rifle platoons, the weapons platoon of 2.5" mortars and heavy machine guns, their requisite four snipers and attached batteries of a pair of Maxim Guns and WOMBATs from the battalion Support Company. He would have been a lot happier if he had the troop of Super Centurions and battery of 125mm Light Guns usually attached to his company, or even a few of the 3.5" mortars - primacy of firepower was one of the Army's watchwords, whatever the front. It seemed darned unnatural to be stuck out beyond the range of the guns, even if they were nominally behind the lines; Major Hughes had been in enough action in Africa to know that counted for close to naught here. Whilst he lacked heavy weapons, he made up for it with his men. He would not swap his superb group of veterans for any others in the whole Army. His tough core of sergeants were all veterans of Korea, Malaya and the Six Day War of ‘56, whilst CSM Prendergast had been through the Western Desert, Siam and Indochina in World War Two on top of that. His five young lieutenants were good, reliable men, all blooded in the Far East and Captain Quinlan was equal parts thoughtful scholar and steady warrior forged in the hard fought campaigns in Aden, Burma and Kenya. The men were a good mix of professionals and young volunteers, accustomed to hardship and finely honed by their training. Their spiritual needs were well met by their company priest, Father Crilly, whose simple piety and wry humour served as a good example to his flock. Yet all of this was essentially ephemeral without what he really needed - some skerrick of firm intelligence or indication of what they might be up against. Prior to the launch of Motorman, the brigade intelligence officer had indicated that there were at least ten thousand Simbas in Congolese Katanga, along with a large number of other deserters from the Congolese Army, various mercenaries and assorted militia groups. The numbers in and of themselves were not the crucial matter, as a British brigade could take on any such force of rabble in the field, but where they were. This was more like Kenya and Malaya than Egypt or Korea, with an elusive enemy who held back in the jungles and wilderness and move among the people like a frog in the water. Charlotteville itself was likely to be of no help, with the mercenaries hired by the mining companies sticking strictly to the defence of the mine and their properties in the town. There were just too many unknowns to the whole situation, so he would have to start unveiling the secrets of this place one by one. "Sir? The officers are waiting downstairs." "Excellent." A short climb later saw him before his subordinate commanders in the sparse room that served as his quarters. They were an eager bunch, he'd give them that much. "Right, chaps, gather round and have a look. This is the short of it - we've got to get our defences up here to hold against anything that might come through. This is to be our forward base, not just for the Rangers, but the whole brigade when the time comes. Battalion seemed to think and still does that the main force of Simbas in this area were all across the river, but that doesn't rule out any trouble here. We know from the Rhodies and Saffies that they may be damned savages, but they're not entirely stupid, at least down this way. If I was in the shoes of Mpolo, or whatever they think that commander's name is, then I'd strike here first and cut our forces in two. So, we need to dig in here and dig in deep. Trenches all the way around, along with all the wire we can get, and then sandbag redoubts and gun positions here, here, here and here." He stabbed at the map with his pencil. "Once that is done, then we burn off that grass as much as possible and thin out the tree line - we've plenty of explosive, so we are going to damn well make use of it. Make sure we save as many of the branches and trunks as possible." "What for, Major?" asked one of his lieutenants, a bright young lad from Galway. "We don't have any field guns, Dornan, but no need to advertise that to any of our watching friends out there. I want you to head into town and beg, borrow or buy these items." He slid a short list across the table. Dornan nodded as he read it, understanding spreading across his face. "DeLarge, I want you to take out a patrol this afternoon. Look like you're hunting and make a show of it. Make sure you have a gander at anything that shouldn't be there." "Yes, sir." "If there's no trouble, then we've kept the men busy and all is well. If there is, then we're going to be darn well ready for it." The next few days passed without issue, with the men of A Company proceeding to dig their trenchline at good pace and clear out the surrounding fields methodically. Their activities continued to attract attention from the hills and in the surrounding plains and forests and DeLarge's patrol had found evidence of large bodies of men passing through the area, making little effort to obscure their tracks. Something definitely seemed to be brewing. It was Saturday afternoon when it happened. Hughes was in his office, drawing up a list of supplies to radio to Mitwaba for the next helicopter flight when the alarum bell began clanging urgently. Grabbing his rifle and hastily throwing on his flak jacket, he ran outside, urgently scanning the burnt stubble of the field before them for a threat. "What is it, Clancy?" he yelled up to the sentry on the rooftop. "Out there, past the gap in the trees, sir. Look!" Major Hughes raised up his binoculars and peered out in the direction Private Clancy had indicated. There, stumbling through the grass in terror, were three little children, their ebony skin scarlet with blood.
Now are they refugees or bait? That's one thing the commander has to consider. Going to help them could expose some of his men while leading/directing them through defences could give info to anyone watching. Although i think there's no minefields or other such obstacles apart from some barbed wire?
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Post by simon darkshade on Jul 28, 2021 18:10:29 GMT
You are right to be suspicious, but you should shift them beyond a tactical suspicion (draw men out) to a strategic one (create atrocities that can’t be ignored and present a devil’s alternative). So here, they are genuine survivors of something terrible.
They only have wire, no land mines; they do have the British equivalent of Claymores and a few drums of petrol.
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 7, 2021 20:07:56 GMT
The Siege of Charlotteville Part 3
Major Hughes had seen many sights in his twenty three years of service in the Army - mass graves in Korea, the aftermath of carpet bombing in Egypt and the ravages of werecrocodiles in Kenya. None of those could bear a candle to what had been wrought in this wretched native hamlet - the horror, the cruelty, the blood. It was beyond anything he had seen.
There had been perhaps a hundred people living here up until this morning, men, women and children, going about their lives in peace. Now only the three terrified children survived, having slipped away in the midst of the dreadful orgy of destruction.
Every single one of the nicely fashioned huts had been smashed, the bestially torn bodies of the strewn about the wrecks. A pile of bodies a dozen deep was stacked in the square like cordwood, mounted with decapitated heads. Tiny babies had had their brains dashed out against the charnel stained walls and the barely recognisable corpses of women lay in pools of congealed blood where they had been ravaged. All of the bodies seemed to have had their bellies ripped open and their entrails strewn about the bloodstained square, whilst the men had been gelded. In its midst, a white missionary had been crucified upside down and his eyes out out.
“Savages. Damn bloody savages.” Sergeant-Major Prendergast finally spat out in icy cold hate as he stood next to Hughes, breaking the horrified silence that had held the search party spellbound as they had entered the village.
“You’re almost right. This goes beyond savagery. It will have a reckoning.” He turned about. “Lieutenant Ryan! Get this photographed and then get D Platoon over here to bury the poor sods.”
“Sir.”
“Father Crilly?”
“Yes Major?”
“Give them a proper prayer and a godly burial. And pray to the Almighty that we have a chance to meet those responsible and give them a taste of the Lord’s vengeance.”
“Of course.”
“Quinlan! Get Lieutenant Dornan’s section into the Landies - we’re going into Charlotteville.”
When they arrived in the town, some 15 minutes later, it was in the early stages of a panic. European storekeepers and Congolese civilians alike couldn’t seem to decide whether to load up and flee or board up and hunker down. There was a clamour of raised voices and near wailing from up ahead.
“I think this is where we’ll find who we’re after. Up to the mine office and let’s be quick about it.”
Pulling up outside the gabbling, milling crowd, Hughes pushed his way through their ranks with an assured authority, not seeming to notice or need the two privates with their rifles at port arms trailing behind him.
“Who’s in charge here?”
A harried grey haired man in a heavily sweat soaked white shirt halted his placatory gesturing and turned towards the Major. It was M. Raymond LeBontemps, the Site Directeur of the Charlotteville Mine. Hughes had met with him and the other local prominenten on the afternoon of their arrival at the crossroads base. It looked like he’d aged ten years in that few days.
“The Mayor fled this morning, so I am the last man of authority left.” LeBontemps began in heavily accented English. “The news came through in the night - the Simbas are coming, coming with blood and death. We have had natives streaming in from the villages, telling of all sorts of rumours of butchery and terror. The nearest ANC force of any size is 300 miles away at Kamina, so they are less than useless.”
Hughes nodded. The airbase at Kamina was the veritable jewel in the crown of Congolese Katanga, having been built up by the Belgians into the largest airfield complex south of Cairo; in many ways, it was the key to Central Africa.
“There are supposed to be Belgian Army troops at Kamina.”
“There were. The last group flew out for Leopoldville two days ago, according to the ANC commander I spoke to on the radio.”
“Damn. The Simbas. How many?”
“My scouts say at least four thousand, maybe five.” A new voice joined the conversation, marked by a notable Scandinavian lilt. It came from a tall, tanned man with cropped white blond hair, icy blue eyes and a military bearing, clad in the jungle green fatigues of the Katangan Gendarmerie and bearing a well-used Thompson gun slung over his shoulder. “Captain Roland Andersen, Force de Securite of the mine. They are a few hours away.”
“Hmm. Not great, not terrible.That sounds like the force the rest of the battalion is trying to bring to ground. Once they’re back, we’ll give them what for. How many men have you got here, Captain Andersen?”
“32.”
“How many people left in the town, Monsieur Le Directeur?”
“Seventy four whites, including the women and children.”
“And the blacks?”
“Them? Perhaps three hundred of the thousand or so. You can’t -“
“I can. We all bleed the same, Monsieur, believe me, I’ve seen enough of it this morning. If you flee south, there is still a chance that the Simbas will get you. If you stay put, they’ll butcher you all. Gather everyone up - and I mean everyone - and we’ll arrange our lorries to bring you to our compound. Any other outlying Europeans nearby?”
“Only a small American mission station at Myumba; Christians in Action. There was a group of Freedom Corps youngsters who went up there a week ago.”
“We’ll, they’re beyond any help we can offer, at least for the moment.” The Major then turned to Captain Andersen. “While Lieutenant Dornan gets on the wireless to my lads, get your boys and every white man with a rifle that you can muster. I’m going to get onto Battalion up at Kiambi and see about catching these devils between our anvil and their hammer.”
Hughes stalked out to his Land Rover and returned three minutes later with a face like thunder.
“What is it, sir? What did Battalion HQ say?” asked Dornan quietly.
“That we’re on our own.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“They’ve got their own fish to fry, Lieutenant. They made it across the bridge at Kiambi, mostly, but then the Simba blew the damn thing up with mortars and man-charges. Nine hundred men with all of our tanks and guns are stranded on the wrong side of the bally river, chasing after an enemy that is coming down to do bloody murder unto us.”
“They’ll find us much rougher to take on than women and children, sir.”
Hughes smiled grimly. “That they will, Lieutenant, that they will. Now, let’s get back; we’ve got a town to shelter and I’ve a battle to plan.”
It was past the middle of the afternoon by the time that the people of Charlotteville had been bought into the compound and provided with what little shelter the houses could provide. The cruel intensity of the African sun beat down upon them all and the flying ants were a dreadful nuisance to soldiers and civilian alike.
Hughes had split Captain Andersen’s gendarmes and the twenty six able bodied European men and older boys into two flying platoons as a reserve within the compound, but it was one that, hopefully, he would not have to employ. He now stood atop his headquarters building, scanning the hills and horizons for a sign of the enemy. There had been a strange noise in the distance on and off for the last ten minutes, but it seemed to have stopped.
There it was - that strange noise again, like a distant pounding edging closer. Hughes looked over at Quinlan, who was similarly perplexed.
“Damn funny. Like a…like a train.”
Prendergast climbed up the ladder onto the roof.
“Major Hughes, sir. Sentries have come in from the hill. They report Simbas to the southwest. Thousands of ‘em.”
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stevep
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Post by stevep on Aug 8, 2021 7:42:29 GMT
I'm getting vibes of Zulu with that last bit, although I doubt the Simbas are anything like as disciplined however, which may be the one saving grace.
Why only arming the white civilians? Lack of trust of the surviving blacks, or lack of weapons. I suspect that at least a few of them are determined to fight anyway given what faces them and their families if their overwhelmed.
No ground support is available in the short term but what about air? Some ground attack could be very effective, both in hitting concentrations of enemy and also the possible morale effect on such a rabble.
Steve
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simon darkshade
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 8, 2021 10:02:06 GMT
Steve,
The last part is based on the wording from Zulu, but the resemblance is more of a harbinger of difference.
It is a combination of some general distrust with not having a large supply of spare weapons at hand and not wanting civilians to get in the way. Hughes, like many of his generation on Dark Earth is not particularly racialist, but is definitely paternalistic and patronising towards the Congolese and other Africans in a cultural sense.
On air support:
The distances and bases outlined up thread create circumstances that make it very difficult to get modern air support on the scene in a short time. There are no tactical fighters that can reach them from Elisabethville in Southern Africa and staging, as said, will take time.
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