Advance Guard is the prologue of my upcoming novel, God’s Keeper
“This is a day of judgement,” Major Heneker announced to the troops assembled in Itu forest.
“Today, manipulation and exploitation will be banished from the Southern Protectorate. Today, impunity and plunder will surrender to reason and justice.”
Interpreters translated the Major’s words into Hausa, Yoruba, and Efik.
James Chadwick, outfitted in khaki like the other British officers, was indifferent to the speech.
He had heard a lot of lofty words that were quickly forgotten on the battlefield.
“I expect courage from you,” Heneker continued. “I expect determination from you. The enemy is fierce, but he’s no match for the good soldiers of the British Empire.”
He pivoted to the barefoot carriers standing to his right, haversacks, and machetes dangling from their lithe bodies. “Effiong, where’s my package?”
A diminutive carrier opened a rucksack, retrieved a shiny green bottle, and presented it to the Major.
Heneker held the champagne bottle aloft. “Tomorrow is Christmas. I’ll celebrate the birthday of Jesus at the palace of Eze Aro.” He locked eyes with the British officers. “For you thirsty bastards hoping to join the party, the answer is no.”
Laughter rippled through the ranks.
Heneker put the champagne bottle back in the carrier’s rucksack. “All right, gentlemen, let’s march. Godspeed to all of us.”
The headman of the hospital carriers lifted a blue flag and marched towards the river bank.
Ten of his men followed suit, carrying hammocks and aluminum jars filled with sterilized water.
The ammunition headman marched to the river bank with the red flag of his unit.
Behind him, a lanky carrier lugged the barrel of a Maxim machine gun. Another carrier piggybacked the gun’s tripod and two thousand rounds of ammunition.
Sixty-two carriers marching in a straight line transported the wheels, barrel, and ammunition of a 75-mm artillery gun.
Heneker approached Chadwick. “Captain, ready to go?”
“Yes sir,” replied Chadwick, glancing at a metal lapel pinned to Heneker’s ammunition pouch. The lapel was inscribed with a golden harp, a scarlet crown, and the Latin words Quis Separabit — Who Shall Divide Us.
“Compass?” Heneker asked.
Chadwick tapped a lump in his trouser pocket. “Right here, sir.”
Heneker leaned forward, his nose almost touching Chadwick’s face. “This expedition is very important to the Secretary of Government.”
“I know, sir,” Chadwick said.
“I won’t save you this time.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Good.” Heneker strode off.
Chadwick put on his pith helmet.
Soldiers prepared for combat in different ways. Some hummed songs; some traded jokes.
Chadwick was still searching for the right preparation ritual.
He marched the three hundred soldiers and carriers under his command to the armored steel canoes anchored at the river bank.
They were the Advance Guard and their objective was to soften up the enemy before the arrival of Major Heneker’s Fourth Column.
The soldiers bundled themselves into the canoes. Chadwick took his place in the lead canoe. His second-in-command, Captain Sam Davidson, sat beside him.
The river was calmer than Chadwick expected.
Cold dry winds gusted from the north.
The lead canoe sailed from the river bank.
“I love boat cruising,” Davidson quipped.
Chadwick ignored the joke. He hated the bush wars of West Africa, preferring the Boer War raging in the southern corner of the continent.
Down south, the weather was cooler, quarters cleaner, and opportunities for promotion greater.
They disembarked at Azumini river bank and marched under the shadows of gigantic, hundred-foot-tall trees.
Chadwick had seen silver-grey monkeys jumping through the trees two weeks ago on a reconnaissance trip.
The monkeys were gone now.
The bugle for food break blew at 9 a.m.
Carriers swung their machetes at a jungle thicket and cleared out a hundred square meter space.
The Advance Guard settled down to eat in the cleared area.
Chadwick opened his ration box and took a tin of wheatmeal biscuits and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce.
He filled a small, ceramic plate with the Worcestershire sauce.
Eating delicacies from home always energized him.
He dipped a wheatmeal biscuit in the sauce.
A shout went up.
Chadwick glimpsed a water carrier darting into the bush.
Three native soldiers pursued the runaway carrier.
Chadwick understood the predicament of West African carriers.
The average carrier moved seventy pounds of equipment, fifteen miles a day. A carrier wasn’t paid for his efforts and wasn’t eligible for a medal of honor, no matter how hard he worked on the battlefield.
Chadwick knew that some carriers would desert if they could. He had prepared for such a scenario.
He munched the tasty wheatmeal biscuit and checked his pocket watch.
The soldiers had about three minutes to catch the carrier. If they failed, the expedition could be delayed.
An escaped carrier was a risk on two levels.
First, the carrier could be captured and forced to divulge details about the expedition to the enemy.
Second, the other carriers and native soldiers would be emboldened to desert.
Chadwick wished they had horses instead of carriers. But a mysterious tropical disease called nagana had killed off the horses of the Southern Protectorate.
The soldiers caught the carrier within two minutes and dragged him before Chadwick.
“How many lashes?” Davidson asked.
Flogging was illegal in the British Army, but Chadwick still used it to punish insubordinate native soldiers and carriers.
The prescribed punishment for a delinquent soldier or carrier was Field Punishment One. The offender was tied to a tree for twenty-four hours.
An alternative punitive measure was Field Punishment Two. The offender was chained to an artillery wheel and dragged along as the troops marched.
Chadwick felt that field punishment and flogging were ineffective curbs on the behavior of native soldiers and carriers.
“Shoot him,” Chadwick said.
Davidson seemed surprised. “The troops won’t be happy if we shot one of our own.”
“What about the body?”
Cannibals devoured dead soldiers left behind in enemy territory.
The Commander-in-Chief of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, Viscount Montgomery, had instructed army units in West Africa to bury their casualties in friendly villages.
“We’ll leave it here,” Chadwick said.
Davidson’s eyes widened.”We can’t do that.”
Chadwick raised his Lee Enfield rifle and aimed at the carrier. “We can.”
Chadwick fired. The carrier fell.