Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Herero War (3)
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"Is everyone gathered?"
"Yes, Baron."
When Samuel Maharero and the Herero tribe refused to surrender, I immediately summoned Governor Leutwein and the other German officers.
The Herero had chosen to fight against Germany to the bitter end.
Now, I had to make them pay the price for that choice with my own hands.
"In the end, it has come to this."
Governor Leutwein couldn't hide his bitterness upon learning that the Herero had opted for war.
He must have genuinely hoped Maharero would surrender.
Governor Leutwein had a considerable friendship with Samuel Maharero from their ties during the Nama uprising, and in the original history, he was the man who strove to resolve this issue peacefully despite being branded a race traitor by bloodthirsty German settlers.
Of course, Leutwein's actions were ultimately driven by the goal of maintaining peace and stability in the colony.
But even hypocrisy can be a form of virtue in the end.
Without him, rebellions would have erupted dozens more times in South West Africa.
That was why I had persuaded the Kaiser to keep Leutwein in place as governor and commander of the South West Africa Schutztruppe.
But since Samuel Maharero had chosen war over peace, if the Herero wanted to fight, reality left me no choice but to respond in kind.
I snapped out of my thoughts and focused on the strategy meeting at hand.
"Major Ludendorff, explain the operational plan."
"Yes, sir!"
At the order from Governor Leutwein, who was serving as overall commander, Ludendorff—his chief of staff—responded with vigorous energy.
Ever since arriving in Africa, Ludendorff had always worn a stormy expression, but with battle now imminent, even he looked deadly serious and tense.
'Well, this would be his first real war, after all.'
"Scout reports indicate that around 60,000 Herero have gathered on the Waterberg Plateau. Excluding civilians, their fighting force is estimated at a minimum of 3,000 and a maximum of 6,000. To counter this, our forces will encircle Waterberg and launch attacks from all six directions using a total of 3,000 troops."
One might think that's too few, but in fact, it was more than double the force Lothar von Trotha had deployed in the original history's Battle of Waterberg.
Adding reserves and native mercenaries like Hendrik Witbooi, our total strength approached 5,000 to 6,000.
"We must ensure the Herero can't escape from Waterberg. Samuel Maharero must be captured at all costs."
Ludendorff nodded at my words.
In the original history's Battle of Waterberg, Trotha had failed at this, winning the battle against the Herero but failing to suppress the rebellion.
Due to Trotha's carelessness, the southeastern encirclement weakened, and Maharero and the Herero noticed, breaking through to flee into the Kalahari Desert.
Trotha executed all Herero prisoners on the spot and immediately pursued the escapees.
In the process, countless Herero died from starvation, dehydration, and German pursuit forces, but Maharero ultimately succeeded in escaping South West Africa with about 1,000 tribesmen.
He then fled with the Herero survivors to the adjacent British Bechuanaland Protectorate—today's Botswana.
Trotha, who had hoped to end the Herero rebellion in a single battle, was furious.
To make up for his failure, he began massacring every Herero left in South West Africa.
Men were shot, women and children driven into the desert to die of thirst.
Thinking back now, Trotha was truly ridiculous.
To cover his own incompetence without regard for political consequences, he unleashed a bloodbath across South West Africa.
'He could have just accepted their surrender.'
In fact, after Waterberg, the Herero had offered to surrender to Trotha, but he refused.
He wanted to wipe them off the map entirely.
For no real gain, at that.
"We've already prepared for that. The Herero won't escape Waterberg."
"But marching to Waterberg will take at least two months by distance. Isn't there a risk they could slip away north or west in the meantime?"
"Don't worry about that."
Governor Leutwein answered in my stead.
"I've sent Captain Lettoforebeck's Schutztruppe cavalry and Hendrik Witbooi's Nama under his command to Waterberg. If the Herero try to flee, they'll have to get past them first."
"Excellent. Governor, issue orders to all units. From this moment, we march on Waterberg to end the rebellion."
"Yes, Baron."
Led by Governor Leutwein, the officers saluted me in unison.
I wasn't a soldier, but I returned their salute and gazed toward the distant north, where the Herero waited.
"Chief, scouts report a large German force spotted not far from here."
"How many?"
"Thousands."
"I see."
Samuel Maharero gazed out over the vast African savanna at his subordinate's report.
Maharero loved this view.
Gazing at the grandeur of nature let him momentarily forget the brutality and filth of the human world.
But this beautiful land would soon be stained with human blood.
And it would be by Maharero and the Herero's own choice.
Maharero wanted to accept the surrender offer from the young baron who had come from Germany.
Word from other tribes said the European German army was on another level from the African Schutztruppe.
They had large cannons in abundance and plenty of rifles.
Facing them, though Maharero hated to admit it, was reckless for the Herero.
After the baron left, the Herero leadership debated surrender endlessly.
Some, like Maharero, believed surrendering under such generous terms would benefit the tribe's future.
Others argued to strike a heavy blow before more European reinforcements arrived and negotiate better terms.
The tribe sided with the latter.
Many Herero still underestimated the Germans, scarred only by fights with Schutztruppe.
Maharero tried to persuade them it was too risky, but to no avail.
The debates grew fiercer, forcing Maharero to decide.
His choice could mean life or death for the Herero.
"If you refuse surrender, we could leave this place and go elsewhere."
That was his final plea to the hawks.
Other tribes might not abandon lifelong lands so easily, but the Herero weren't indigenous here.
They were nomadic herders, following grazing lands with their livestock.
As long as they had their cattle—the tribe's lifeline—they could leave German South West Africa for anywhere.
"There are friendly tribes in British Bechuanaland. They'd take us in."
The British wouldn't expel them if they swore no trouble.
But the hawks didn't take well to abandoning Waterberg.
"If we leave carelessly, the Germans could wipe out the tribe. Besides, Ohama kari here is a natural fortress surrounded by mountains and rivers. Wouldn't it be better to hold out?"
"And it's not certain those Bechuanaland tribes would welcome us. A few hundred or a thousand, maybe—but tens of thousands? I doubt it. Remember how the local tribes, Nama included, treated us when we arrived."
"Besides, leaving means fleeing the Germans like scared monkeys. I won't cower."
Maharero furrowed his brow at the hawks' words.
They refused surrender and flight—only war remained.
"Give me time to think."
Chest tight, Maharero stepped outside for fresh air.
His mind cleared, plunging him into deep thought.
He wanted to force them to lay down arms, but that would fracture the tribe.
The hawk majority would fight the Germans without him anyway.
Their hatred for Germany ran deep.
And Samuel Maharero couldn't stand by while fellow Herero died needlessly, even if they defied him.
In the end, he decided.
Even if it was the worst choice.
"We fight."
"!!!"
The tribesmen leaped up at Maharero's return, as if awaiting those words.
Maharero snapped from reverie, opening his eyes.
Herero warriors had gathered around him.
He spoke curtly.
"Prepare for battle, everyone."
"Waaaaaaaaah───!"
June 1904.
On the Waterberg Plateau, the land the Herero called Ohama kari echoed with the war cries of tens of thousands.
Their voices reached even the ears of Hans, marching toward Waterberg with the army.
"......Looks like they've reached their destination."
I muttered, shielding my eyes from Africa's scorching sun.
Those distant cheers were unmistakably Herero.
They knew we were coming.
"Governor, from what I know, this area is usually teeming with wildlife, but it's eerily quiet now."
"Animals have keen instincts. They sense it too—a great human battle is coming."
I listened to the governor answer my subordinate's question while riding steadily beside me.
Unlike my father, I rode well—not just that, I'd nagged Crown Prince Wilhelm, the adult equestrian champ, into teaching me.
Otherwise, under this blazing sun, even if not marching on foot like the troops, I'd have spent the last two months puking from motion sickness in those jolting supply wagons like cargo.
"You've arrived, Baron. And Governor."
"Captain Lettoforebeck."
Captain Lettoforebeck, who had led the cavalry around Waterberg to keep the Herero in check, saluted from horseback.
But he wasn't alone.
Beside him, an elderly black man eyed me with interest.
"And this is?"
"Ah, you haven't met him yet, Baron."
Noting my curiosity, Governor Leutwein realized his oversight and quickly spoke up.
"This is Hendrik Witbooi. Nama chief, supporting our forces under contract with me."
"Hendrik Witbooi. At last, I meet the baron already legendary among the tribes."
At Leutwein's introduction, Witbooi bowed cheerfully and extended his hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Chief Witbooi."
I shook it firmly without hesitation.
Delighted I didn't refuse a black man's handshake, a smile spread across his face.
Hendrik Witbooi.
The Nama chief often mentioned by many.
One of Namibia's national heroes, a symbol of resistance to German colonial rule—his face even graces their currency later.
Of course, right now, he fought for the German Empire as a mercenary against the Herero.
I hoped he'd stay on our side this time.
"Captain Lettoforebeck, any unusual Herero movements?"
"No, sir. I expected a few escape attempts, but they've hunkered down in Waterberg for a siege battle."
"Hmph. Samuel, that fool...... I don't entirely fail to understand his decision, but it's a pity."
Governor Leutwein shook his head darkly.
Yes, truly regrettable.
It could have ended peacefully, yet blood must flow.
"The die is cast. Let's do what we must."
Battle of Waterberg.
The final battle to decide the Herero War had begun.