Assault on Zanzibar

by E. C. Williams

  What if the Zanzibaris had managed to equip their allied (or hired) fleet up to the level of technology they themselves had achieved during the war? The Pirate fleet he now faced would have had radio, powered towboats to aid war-dhows’ maneuverability in combat, more efficient breech-loading guns, and much more triple-A, mounted on special anti-aircraft hulls with no sail rigs to hinder the guns’ ability to fire at any azimuth and any angle, each with its own dedicated towboat.

  He imagined a hundred-dhow fleet of Zanzibari war vessels so equipped, and realized that he would have inevitably inflicted less damage, and suffered greater losses, than he had against the northern fleet.

  If he failed to land a knock-out blow during this round, wasn’t there a strong possibility he would soon face such a fleet? The RKN’s technological edge would still be there, but much reduced – and the Pirates would still have the advantage in numbers.

  He had quality over their quantity – but where had he read that, in war, at some point, quantity can have a quality of its own? Some twentieth century warlord had said something like that.

  And if the Pirates managed to re-take Mafia Island, whatever happened at sea wouldn’t matter at that point, because Taffy One, after evacuating whatever remnants of allied troops it could manage to lift under fire, would have to retreat all the way to Hell-ville to find a base of support.

  Right back to the situation at the beginning of the war, in other words, and a major defeat for the Republic of Kerguelen Navy.

  Reports from Mafia were not encouraging. Sam decided that his tactical priorities must change if he were to achieve his over-riding strategic goal.

  Sub lieutenant (L) Donnie Rigal was not encouraged. Pirate attacks on his sector were repeated and pressed hard. The company commander whose platoons were on either side of him in the line had “requested” the “loan” of two of his SLAR men to bolster the eastern end of the line, where apparently the enemy was on the verge of turning the allies’ flank. Donnie had balked at this, the request turned into an order, and he finally demanded the order be written. It was now stashed safely in an inner pocket. If his sector crumbled for lack of firepower, he wasn’t going to carry the can for this remote Réunionnais officer.

  Ammo re-supply, by runners from Company, barely kept up with expenditure as his seamen-gunners fought off attack after attack. And in between attacks, replied to continuous harassing fire from the bush. There was a shortage of hand-grenades, very useful in defense, and when a sweat-soaked trooper brought a crate of them, Donnie was exceedingly grateful –until he read the markings on the crate.

  “Green smoke! What the bloody hell do we need with GREEN SMOKE grenades!”

  The trooper who had humped the heavy load through a klick of dense bush responded to this lack of gratitude with the eloquent shrug that clearly said, don’t ask me, I’m just a grunt like you, what do I know? And disappeared back up the line.

  No hot chow appeared, nor any chow, cold or hot. Donnie’s boys were subsisting, so far, on the “iron rations” in their knapsacks.

  Purified water was brought up, however, very welcome since all had drained their water bottles long since. One of the water carriers passed on a cheerful rumor – many Pirate troops were suffering from dysentery and consequent massive diarrhea from drinking the water from jungle streams. Donnie retorted that the fighters facing him seemed pretty fokken healthy.

  Unknown to Donnie, the Commander in Chief, Island Defense Force, callsign Doring, was worrying about him, his seamen-gunners, and his Réunionnais comrades. Without a clear visual demarcation between friend and enemy, he dared not use air attack or bombardment by the gunboats in Forbes Bay to support the new east-west line. But without support from somewhere, that line was going to be breached, his flank turned, and the island’s defenders rolled up. As a precaution, he ordered the Réunionnais and the NBEF to cooperate in extending an east-west line from their juncture, as a fallback point. But he dared not weaken the main battle line too much, or the Pirates could break it there, turn the NBEF’s flank, and isolate the MTF

  The problem was orange cloth. When Landry had so insouciantly called for orange panels and orange flags, it had driven the MTF logistics folks into a frenzy of searching for whatever orange cloth it could scrounge. Orange flags, orange panels, and orange fabric were on no one’s table of equipment, and the only possible source for it was the civilian sector. Quartermaster troops were double-timing from village to village in the interior behind their front, begging for orange cloth, then contracting with village women to stitch it into flags and large ground-panels. The islanders hated the Pirates and were grateful for the allies’ sacrifices – but nothing was free. And the island women, finding orange particularly becoming, were reluctant to part with their favorite sarongs and head-cloths. Since there was not yet a money economy on Mafia, the Réunionnais quartermasters emptied their stores of knives, hatchets, machetes, axes, and jungle green uniforms as trade items.

  Landry only found this out after repeated demands to Wyd to explain the delay. Aghast at his oversight, he then ordered the other two divisions to join in the effort, but it all took time.

  That’s why the orange flags and panels followed the green smoke grenades, which were in the division arsenal, along with an explanation for their use, a long time after both would have been most useful. Better late than never, thought Donnie as he had his gunners hustle to put orange flags in trees, stake panels out on the ground just behind his line, and standby to throw smoke grenades as far forward as humanly possible at the first sign of approaching aircraft.

  An air strike by the Chole Bay Air Force had a dramatic effect on the battle, the two dive bombers attacking with 50kg anti-personnel bombs and following up with strafing. Pressure on the east-west line lessened significantly – almost ceased entirely – allowing a brief respite for the allies to improve their positions and extend the line farther.

  But there was a long delay between air strikes. The fueling problem had been solved by the discovery that the standard one-and-a-half-inch fire hoses on the stores schooner had a brass nozzle that would fit into the aircraft fuel tank fill pipes, and a shutoff at the nozzle. By connecting several, they could be used to refuel the planes quickly, using a P-250 fire pump. Of course, the fire hoses thereby became useless for their intended service, but that was a problem for another time.

  But bombing up the two Puffin-Bs, and especially reloading ammunition for their guns, from a small boat, was a lengthy, tedious, and hazardous process. It could not be hurried.

  And the motor-gunboats’ recoilless rifles proved useless in the indirect-fire role. Designed to have a very flat trajectory, their barrels had to be elevated almost vertically to attempt indirect fire, lofting the shells up to the end of their trajectory and hoping they fell on the enemy. Most of the time, they didn’t, and in fact soon proved as dangerous to friends as to foes -- to themselves, as well, since at that elevation the back-blast scorched the side of the boat and threatened to set it afire. The gunboat skippers could have told HQ that on receipt of the order, but their “can-do” attitude and determination to carry out to the best of the ability any order given them made them give it a try. However, as soon as the danger became apparent, they ceased fire and reported the problem back up to IDF headquarters.

  Landry, a gunner himself, saw the problem immediately – kicked himself for not realizing the order had been stupid – and gave the gunboats another mission, one they could carry out. They were to range along the invasion beaches, shooting up the stores dumped there, destroying what they could and hindering the enemy re-supply effort from that end of the pipeline. This was easy and fun, and they did it with enthusiasm and efficiency.

  But during the long interval between air strikes, the Pirates attacked repeatedly. Landry was getting reports that the defenders were stretched to the limit, short of ammo, and at immediate risk of being overwhelmed.

  Landry was on the verge of issuing a preparatory order for a fighting with
drawal to the second east-west line, accompanied by a turning move on the part of the MTF, pivoting on the junction point between the MTF and the NBEF, to create a new, stronger east-west line of defense -- a desperate move fraught with all sorts of risks.

  The he was notified of a personal-for-Doring-Actual voice radio call incoming from Boer that lifted his heart.

  “Hey, Frank, this is Sam Bowditch,” said a familiar voice, completely ignoring radio procedure.

  “Commodore, I mean Boer, this is Doring, over.”

  “Never mind all that, Frank. This is a personal secure frequency for my use only. I’m calling to tell you that the enemy fleet is retiring toward Zanzibar, and for now the pressure’s off me. What can I do to help you? Over.”

  “Wah, Commodore, does that mean you’ve whipped ‘em? Over.”

  “Only temporarily. I’ll still have to deal with them sometime. But now I want to support you. Tell me how.”

  “Oh, Christ, sir, you’re an angel from Heaven. We’re in deep shit here. An immediate air strike is essential to save our asses, to begin with.” He went on to explain the problems the Chole Bay det had in providing timely air support, that gunfire support from the motor-gunboats had proved infeasible, and the recognition signals established to enable aviators to distinguish friend from foe.”

  “Roger that, Frank. We’ll launch a strike right now to support your east-west line. And tell Tony Faure he can send his two Puffin-Bs out to Mother to bomb up – even with the extra flight time that’ll be quicker than trying to do it himself.”

  “Thanks, Commodore. And we’ll have as many more air strike ops – as well as gunfire support missions by your schooners – as you’re willing to give us. A list, prioritized, will be on its way to your as soon as we can work it up.”

  “No worries, Frank – Taffy One is at your disposal for as long as the respite at sea lasts. But you’ll understand that if the enemy fleet comes back I’ll have to leave you to deal with them.”

  “Roger that, Commodore. And a million thanks. Doring standing by.”

  “Boer standing by.”

  Donnie and his boys were pleasantly surprised a few minutes later by another air strike – this time by four Puffins – and once again the Pirate troops facing them broke and scattered. Brave as lions in conventional fighting, air attack was a new and most unpleasant experience for them, and they had not yet learned how to stand up to it.

  The strike also offered an opportunity to the defenders of the salient formed by the “corner” where the front turned inward from the southern end of the north-south line. The Pirates had been attacking at frequent intervals hoping to bash in the corner and separate the two allied lines. The Réunionnais troops chose this moment to counter-attack, and drove back the enemy, disorganized by the air attack, creating a bulge in place of the corner, more easily defensible.

  When the strike by the Charlemagne element ended, it was soon followed by another strike by the Chole Bay Puffin-B’s. They had flown out to Charlie to bomb up – they had not needed fuel – and turned around quickly to hit the attackers again. The enemy forces committed to the attempt to turn the southern flank were by now so disorganized, and reduced by their losses, that they withdrew south, and that section of the front became quiet after days of bitter fighting.

  Donnie and his boys, and their allies on either side, now found some leisure to rest, to enjoy a hot meal prepared by a Réunionnais field kitchen that had taken advantage of the lull to move up to a position in their rear, and to re-supply. They particularly appreciated the Réunionnais version of iron rations, which included sweets, like coconut candy, and packets of powdered coffee and sugar. One only had to heat water and stir it in. Or if you couldn’t heat water you could drink it cold – not as good, especially in the morning, but the caffeine and sugar gave a welcome boost.

  This pleasant interval didn’t last long. Orders soon came up the line to prepare for a major assault.

  Landry had decided, while he had the resources of Taffy One in support, to roll the dice, and attempt to roll up the enemy line from each end. He sent a preparatory order to the MTF for an attack along two axes: The east-west line’s defenders would attack in a southwesterly direction, drive back their former attackers, and pin them on the shores of Forbes Bay. At the same time, the troops manning the salient formerly called the Corner, now the Bulge, would attack the enemy forces facing them, in an attempt to cut their line.

  In the north, the supposedly quietest sector, the Kikosi had been having itself a fine time. The Mafia Island troops had held their original line staunchly, raiding at night and counter-attacking, winning a series of little tactical victories. They had been deeply disappointed at being ordered to fail back, and then fall back again. Feeling victorious, but let down by their allies, they grumbled about the gutless wageni.

  At the third line of defense, the askari continued their aggressive style of defense. The patrolled every night, and often got into the enemy rear, spreading panic and confusion. The Pirates opposing the Kikosi wa Mafia did not get much sleep at night.

  Their role in the planned offensive, eventually dubbed Operation Joka (“Dragon”) – inevitably pronounced “Joker” by non-Swahili speakers – was to turn the Pirates’ northern flank and start rolling up their line from the north. They received this task with enthusiasm, especially when they learned they would be supported by air strikes and/or gunfire support from the sea.

  The plan for Op Joka, with appendices, ran to a dozen pages. It was delivered to division HQs by hand of officer, but, lacking a fast aviso, Landry had no choice but to transmit it to Taffy One by radio, fully encrypted. A brief, separate message stated that H-hour would be promulgated later, but that all units should achieve full readiness within twenty-four hours. Sam saw that as a strong hint that H-hour wasn't far off. Two appendices were devoted to surface gunfire support and close air support, respectively. Taffy One was going to be very busy off Mafia Island for a day or more, regardless of what the enemy fleet did. They were far enough away now that Sam would have ample notice of their return.

  Gannet, shadowing the retiring enemy fleet, had been carefully counting vessels still afloat. By now, crews had been removed from vessels too heavily damaged to save, then sunk. Some dhows still showed streams of water ejecting overboard, indicating that they had been holed below, but damage control was proceeding. Gannet and his observer compared notes, re-counted, and came up with the same number.

  “Boer, this is Gannet. Enemy fleet now numbers thirty-two surviving vessels, I say again, there are now three two enemy dhows remaining, break. Four of these are pumping out, over.”

  “Gannet, Boer. I copy thirty-two enemy dhows, break. Interrogative their current position and movements, over.”

  “Boer, Gannet. Enemy formation now in Zanzibar Channel abeam Stone Town harbor entrance, break. Some Leaders entering harbor channel, others appear to be continuing north, over.”

  “Gannet, Boer. I require precise count enemy vessels entering Stone Town harbor and those proceeding onward once all have either entered or passed, break. Continue shadowing vessels by-passing Stone Town, break. Require periodic reports, over.”

  Gannet acknowledged. Sam wondered what the enemy was going to do. It was extremely gratifying to know for sure that Taffy One had reduced the Pirate fleet, not by half, but by fully two-thirds. Although the enemy still outnumbered the RKN task force by six to one, his schooners had demonstrated that they could attack the Pirates at will, inflicting loss and damage, at no risk to themselves.

  When the enemy fleet returned to battle, Sam could now be sure of the outcome. Barring, of course, some bit of extreme bad luck – a thought that made him rap firmly on the wooden arm of his chair.

  Twenty-three

  Operation Joker, as it came to be known by everyone but the Mafia Islanders, kicked off at first light the next morning. In the north, the Kikosi, having quietly thinned out their line and placed the troops thus released on the start line t
he night before, watched the fortification anchoring the northern end of the enemy line pulverized by rapid 37mm fire from Hornet, once again commanded by a now-chastened and re-calibrated Jake Mesny, lying blacked-out, invisible from the shore.

  The askari swept around the little fort the instant this fire ceased, and struck hard. The Pirates found themselves engaged from all sides by rifle, SLAR, and mortar fire, and fell back in confusion. Askari bayoneted those who didn’t react quickly enough.

  In the south, the MTF launched twin attacks, one mounted from the Bulge against the enemy line, the other from the Orange Line against the Pirate force now cut off from the enemy main body. An air strike from Chole Bay scattered and disorganized the Pirates facing the Orange Line troops, who quickly drove them all the way to the northern shores of Forbes Bay before their officers could gain control of them, form them into a defensive line, and dig in. Isolated there, cut off from any possibility of reinforcement or re-supply, they became irrelevant to the battle.

  Wasp and Scorpion aided the breakout from the Bulge with gunfire support, and, at sunrise, a four-plane strike from Charlemagne attacked the entire enemy line, bombing and strafing.

  The Pirate rear soon filled with troops separated from their units, or wounded, in some cases missing their weapons. The enemy line crumbled, and the Pirates fell back toward the beach, as their officers made frantic attempts to rally them to stand and fight. and finally, they organized a defense. It stiffened and held long enough to dig in and create a redoubt and a haven for some of the stragglers.

  The main area held by the enemy was now a rough oval of bush and beach no more than a kilometer across. Many of the fighters were sick or wounded, but still fighting. Pirates, as had been proven repeatedly, rarely surrendered, and fought fanatically to the death.