Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Herero War (1)
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Late April 1904.
While the Russo-Japanese War raged on in the Far East, I arrived at the port of Swakopmund in German South-West Africa—the land that would one day be known as Namibia.
But my face hadn't brightened once during the entire voyage from Germany to Africa.
First, there was the relentless seasickness that tormented me at the most inconvenient times.
Second, my honest reluctance to bicker with the Herero people in the sweltering heat of Africa when I already had more than enough to worry about with the Russo-Japanese War.
And third, Erich Ludendorff—wearing the same dissatisfied scowl as me—being right here, stuck to my side as my staff officer of all things.
'I don't recall ever hearing that Ludendorff took part in the Herero War.'
It would have been far more realistic if Hermann Göring's father, the former governor of South-West Africa, had been in this position instead.
It was obvious that Ludendorff had been sent here with me as part of Waldersee's schemes.
After all, he'd played the role of cheerleader for Waldersee's lackey at the submachine gun demonstration last time.
Who knows? Maybe he'd been ordered to shoot me in the back when no one was looking.
Of course, I had no intention of going down without a fight.
"Baron Hans von Choi?"
As I watched the German soldiers who'd come with me from Germany disembark from the transport ships one by one to suppress the Herero uprising, a group of men who appeared to be Schutztruppe officers from the colonial protection force approached me.
The one who seemed highest-ranking among them greeted me first.
"Welcome to South-West Africa. I am Colonel Theodor Leutwein, Governor of German South-West Africa and overall commander of the Schutztruppe here."
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Baron Hans von Choi. And this is my staff officer, Major Ludendorff."
"...Erich Ludendorff."
Ludendorff, apparently displeased that I'd introduced him first, saluted Governor Leutwein—his superior—with a sour expression.
Governor Leutwein returned Ludendorff's salute before turning to me.
"It'll take quite some time for all the troops and supplies to unload, so why don't you come with me to Windhoek first, Baron?"
"I understand it's over 250 kilometers from here to Windhoek. Are we riding horses?"
"Haha, that was the case until a few years ago. But the railway connecting Swakopmund and Windhoek was completed the year before last. Of course, it can't compare to the ones back home."
"That's more than enough."
I smiled faintly at Governor Leutwein as thoughts of Windhoek came to mind.
Windhoek.
The central hub of South-West Africa and future capital of Namibia, it was a place where plenty of German-style buildings still stood even in the 21st century.
It was also a city not far from Okahandja, where Samuel Maharero and the Herero had sparked their rebellion.
"Hasn't the Herero rebellion reached Windhoek yet?"
"We've managed to hold them off so far. Now that reinforcements from the homeland have arrived, I can finally breathe a little easier."
Governor Leutwein sighed in relief, rubbing his chest—he'd clearly been deeply troubled by the fighting with the Herero up to now.
"We'll discuss the details once we're in Windhoek. Everyone's waiting for you, Baron."
"Very well. Lead the way."
I nodded at Governor Leutwein's words and followed him toward the train station.
There sat a single train at the station—far more worn than those in Germany, but it looked serviceable enough.
"Fantastic."
Ludendorff muttered sarcastically, clearly unhappy with the train we'd have to ride, in his usual state where everything displeased him.
But if we didn't take it, we'd be crossing the African savanna teeming with wild beasts on horseback for days. So despite his grumbling, Ludendorff obediently boarded.
Vroooom—!
The train let out a deafening whistle and slowly began chugging forward.
I sat on the hard seat in the passenger car, gazing intently at the African savanna I'd only ever seen in documentaries.
In the distance, a herd of zebras drank from a small lake.
A truly peaceful scene.
But knowing what lay ahead, it left a bitter taste.
"Full salute!"
Snap!
Our group finally reached Windhoek the next day after taking the train, entering the city amid the salutes of the lined-up Schutztruppe soldiers.
Of course, it was a "city" by African colonial standards—little more than a large village compared to Europe.
"As the heart of South-West Africa, there are quite a few white people here. German settlers?"
"Most of them, yes. There are also plenty of Brits and Boers. South-West Africa borders British South Africa, after all."
Governor Leutwein, riding beside me, replied as we made our way through the streets.
I slowly took in the colonial residents.
A good number wore hungry, bloodthirsty expressions, eager to finally give the Herero a lesson. Others frowned at the sight of my skin color, their displeasure plain.
The German settlers in South-West Africa seemed steeped in racism, whether due to the influence of their Boer neighbors down south or the nature of Africa itself.
'No wonder the Herero rebelled.'
German settlers never treated the Herero or other African natives as equals.
Just like South Africa during apartheid.
And that had led to the Herero rebellion.
Considering it that way, these settlers were little more than useless trash.
I gave the German settlers a cold, disdainful glance before heading with Governor Leutwein to the governor's residence.
"Welcome, Baron."
Upon arrival, colonial officials and German officers—already in Windhoek ahead of us—greeted us.
They saluted or bowed courteously to me, likely due to my title as the overall commander of the rebellion suppression, personally appointed by Wilhelm II.
Treating me lightly would be tantamount to insulting the Kaiser himself.
Of course, who knew what they truly thought.
Whatever the reason, it was good for me.
I acknowledged their greetings, left the unpacking to the servants, and headed straight to the conference room with the officers.
Ludendorff shot me a silent protest at being dragged into a military briefing without rest, but I couldn't care less about his mood.
What mattered to me was crushing the Herero rebellion as quickly as possible and returning to Germany.
"Everyone, take your seats."
As I sat at the head of the table, the officers and officials followed suit one by one.
Some clearly resented me taking the highest seat, but none voiced it.
Even Governor Leutwein—the highest authority here aside from me—sat beside me without complaint. What could they do about their dissatisfaction?
Once everyone was seated, I swept my gaze across the room and slowly spoke.
"I assume no one here is unaware of the role His Majesty the Emperor has assigned me, so I'll skip introductions and get to the point. First, Governor Leutwein, what's the current situation?"
"The Herero have withdrawn from the cities they occupied, like Okahandja and Omaruru, and are now concentrated in the Waterberg Plateau to the north."
Waterberg.
The site the Namibian natives called Ohamakari, where the Battle of Waterberg—the turning point of the Herero War in original history—had taken place.
"However, their retreat doesn't mean the rebellion in those areas is fully quelled. The Herero uprising has spurred northern tribes, like the Ondonga Kingdom, to take up arms against us as well."
"What has the Schutztruppe been doing all this time?"
"We're short on resources and manpower to suppress the revolt, Major. And South-West Africa is vast. Do you think we requested aid from the homeland for no reason?"
Governor Leutwein didn't snap at Ludendorff's snide remark but sighed wearily in response.
Still, how long was this old man going to wear that sulky face?
Ludendorff clearly resented being dragged to Africa because of me.
And Leutwein had a point.
The Schutztruppe stationed in South-West Africa numbered only about 2,000.
The navy had sent marines and other reinforcements to assist, but they added just a few hundred.
Yet Maharero's Herero rebels totaled around 80,000, with at least 5,000—and up to 7,000—warriors capable of combat. They harried the Schutztruppe with guerrilla tactics across the savanna.
It was no wonder the Schutztruppe had struggled to suppress them.
But now, the German forces—including troops from the homeland—commanded over 10,000 men.
No native uprising in South-West Africa had ever drawn such a massive force, so the Herero were likely in quite a panic.
"Perfect timing to negotiate with the Herero."
"You plan to offer Samuel Maharero terms of surrender?"
"Yes. It seems promising. Any objections?"
Murmurs rose.
The conference room grew noisy at my words.
Governor Leutwein eagerly agreed, but the others weren't thrilled about talking with the Herero.
The officers from the homeland, unfamiliar with colonial affairs, were especially problematic.
"Baron, do you really think those Herero savages will surrender just because we tell them to?"
"Why show mercy to rebels in the first place? Just crush them with our forces."
"Of course, if necessary. But first, I believe we should assess their situation firsthand and open dialogue."
My mention of going into enemy territory myself to scout quieted much of the opposition.
As soldiers, they understood the value of reconnaissance. Negotiations provided perfect cover.
"In the meantime, prepare to attack the Herero if needed. If they won't listen, we'll have to make an example."
The officers nodded as if it were obvious.
Sigh. Why were they all so bloodthirsty?
"Then, Baron, shall we head to Waterberg together? What about Major Ludendorff?"
"I'll stay here and refine the operational plans with the other officers."
Ludendorff quickly replied, clearly uninterested in following me into rebel territory.
At that moment, an unfamiliar officer raised his hand.
"May I accompany you, Baron?"
"That's fine by me, but you are...?"
"Captain Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck."
Lettow-Vorbeck.
My eyes lit up at those six syllables.
Of course, many wouldn't know him.
Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck shone in the obscure African theater of the far more minor World War I, not II.
Yet he was the Lion of Africa—Germany's hidden genius—who bedeviled 300,000 Entente troops with just 3,000 Germans and 10,000 Askari black soldiers through guerrilla warfare despite the odds.
'In a way, he's the predecessor to the Desert Fox, Rommel.'
Rommel ultimately lost and left Africa, but Lettow-Vorbeck never suffered a defeat until the German Empire surrendered.
His postwar stature was immense; even Hitler and the Nazis left him alone despite his public rejection of their recruitment.
'Jackpot.'
I knew he'd been deployed to South-West Africa for the Herero War at this time, but meeting him in person was even more impressive.
A desire to recruit him surged within me.
Lettow-Vorbeck was a proven master tactician, validated by history.
He was also a man of character, earning the respect of his black soldiers through humane treatment.
Though during the Herero War—the making of a future guerrilla expert—he'd supported Trotha's scorched-earth tactics to end the revolt quickly and prevent native guerrilla warfare. A black mark on his record.
Of course, with no massacre planned this time, things would be different.
"Excellent. Captain Lettow-Vorbeck, you're with us."
A perfect chance to build rapport with him.
I couldn't let an S-rank talent slip away.