CHAPTER 49
Shakespeare
By November 1917, Vorbeck and his intrepid army escaped to Portuguese territory again, as the Allied Army of Belgians, British, South Africans, Portuguese, Indians, Nigerians, and Rhodesian troops forced the Germans south. Portuguese East Africa was in such inept political turmoil and general military incompetence that the Germans found little resistance, except from the British and South African troops in coastal towns like Port Amelia and Mozambique.
The Germans were moving south toward the Portuguese town of Chiruinba. The skies were gray and threatening. It was the beginning of the fall rains. They rode three abreast.
“Levi, did you read that newspaper being passed around about a revolution in Russia? That could only benefit us … I mean, if we won’t have to fight on two fronts in Europe, it would—” Markus was interrupted by a returning scout who galloped up and brought his horse to a jarring stop in front of them.
“Enemy troops a half mile to the east, moving this way!” he shouted.
Colonel von Vorbeck, who was riding in the lead group, responded, “Pass the word along the file. Captain Levi, bring up two companies of askari and reinforce them with four additional machine gun units. Form a firing line along that small rise. You’ll have a good field of fire. Strengthen your flanks; we don’t want to be outflanked. Captain Mathias, withdraw the porters and supply train back up the trail a quarter mile and rest them. Keep them ready to move out.”
The colonel was always quick and decisive when immediate action was needed: “Sergeant, send out scouts to the enemy’s farthest flanks, but absolutely no contact. We don’t want to lose the element of surprise. Quiet; be absolutely quiet.”
“Yes sir, Colonel.” With that, the sergeant, Levi, and Mathias turned their horses to task.
The German askari were superb soldiers. After more than three years of hit-and-run fighting, they moved swiftly and knowingly into position for yet another ambush. It wasn’t long before the scouts returned, leading their horses on foot. One scout communicated, in a loud whisper, “Three hundred yards.” He pointed.
The first enemy troops were spotted coming through the tall grass. Through hand signals, the Germans relayed that fact back to Colonel von Vorbeck. The askari were as disciplined as any Berlin-trained soldier. They kept low and silent. The grass tucked into the front of their headgear allowed them to see but not be seen. More forward contingents of the enemy appeared, moving slowly to within less than one hundred yards of a lethal confrontation.
The machine guns opened up in unison, mowing down the tall grass and vegetation like a scythe through wheat. The enemy in that field of fire were sliced through with a stream of bullets and died without a sound. It was another successful ambush that sent the enemy South Africans reeling in retreat. The expected counterattack came and was resisted until dark settled over the bloodied ground and the guns fell silent. Only the moans of the wounded were heard as the Germans slipped away into the darkness.
Two days of marching brought the intrepid band of three thousand hardy souls to a relatively safe region near the ramparts of the upland plateau that spread out for a hundred miles towards the Indian Ocean in northern Portuguese East Africa.
A tented encampment was set up on the high plateau with the expectation that it would exist for at least several weeks and maybe until the beginning of the New Year, 1918. The colonel ordered scouting parties out in all directions to a distance of five miles and was repeated every few days. Outer sentries encircling the camp were a half mile out and still others were closer in.
Markus and Levi returned from the mess tent on the run but were still pretty well soaked when they dashed into their tent.
“Ooh, there’s a chill in the air tonight,” Markus observed as he peeled off his shirt. The strange carved figure of Nyaminyami given to him by Sisibeco dangled from a leather strap.
“You still wearing that thing?” Levi asked, with a smile.
“Oh, ja. This brings me luck. Powerful magic!” They both were smiling.
“Well, I guess it’s worked for you so far. Maybe I should get one of those.”
“You’ll have to go to the BaTonga people along the Zambezi. I wonder how far we are from them,” Markus replied but paused in thought as he put on a dry shirt.
“Levi, you remember I told you about that beautiful black woman at the village who took me in? Her name was Sisibeco. What a woman! Her skin! Oiled and smooth as silk—and naked. When she leaned over me, it was all I could do not to reach up to those lovely—”
“Hold on, friend. Save it for your dreams, will you? I’m horny enough without you conjuring up visions of a pretty black.” Levi was also getting out of his wet clothes.
“She was more than just beautiful,” Markus continued. “She and I had something … a connection, even though we couldn’t talk. We had a special—”
“You didn’t!”
“No, no! Not that I didn’t want to,” Markus’s voice trailed off.
“All you need is to bring a couple of light-skinned black kids home to Helena,” Levi laughed. “She’ll love that!”
“But haven’t you wanted to … ?”
“Of course, but wanting and doing are two different things. It’s not like Samoa. We’re both married and with a kid each,” Levi spoke while wringing out his shirt, the water dripping onto the damp earth.
“Well,” Markus began, “there’re a number of women among our blacks—wives, widows, daughters, and what not, of some of the porters. They make themselves available for a little silver. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it … And we’ve heard them at night, right?”
“Ja, it’s tempting, but …” Levi didn’t finish.
A bit later, Markus was on his bunk, staring at the tent ceiling and listening to the rain beat down. Levi was at the small, wooden table, only eighteen inches square, writing in his diary by candle light. “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t agree.”
“What?”
“Shakespeare.” “What? Who?”
“Shakespeare … you know, the English writer.”
Levi finished writing in his diary, looked up, and went on, “I don’t agree with him about life ‘signifying nothing.’
“Shakespeare? What are you talking about?”
“Shakespeare, from Macbeth, I think. It goes something like ‘life is a walking shadow that struts on a stage,’ and something and something, ‘and then we hear him no more, a tale told by a fool, full of fury, signifying nothing.’ Well, that’s not exactly right, but it’s the idea. I was just thinking about that quote.”
He looked over to his friend as Markus swung his legs over the edge of his cot.
“Why?” Markus asked. “What made you start thinking about Shakespeare, of all people?” A crack of lightning and a few seconds later a long, thundering clap interrupted their conversation.
“I don’t know what made me think of that verse … I guess it’s this endless war, endless fighting and running. What the hell are we doing, making these sacrifices day in and day out for years?” He looked across at his friend.
“When did you arrive in East Africa?” Markus asked.
“Ah, I don’t recall the date … early 1915, before the Konigsberg was sunk.”
“Well I’ve been here since a few weeks before the war started August 1914!” They both were silent as the endless rains hammered their tent.
Levi couldn’t suppress his frustration: “It’s almost 1918, for God’s sake! How much longer are we supposed to continue this bloody, ridiculous campaign?”
“Better not let Vorbeck hear you talking like that, he’ll—”
“I’m just talking.” Another long silence. “What I was really thinking about was that Shakespeare line about life having no meaning. As I see it, this war drives home for me just the opposite. I mean, what I treasure most: Kathi, Rebecca, Kalvarianhof, Mama and Papa—you—and our life before the war. It was a wonderful life, wasn’t it, Markus?”
He was waiting for an affirmative.
“Ja, of course—except for several situations.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Levi immediately recalled his sister’s letter and the reason that brought Markus to Africa in the first place. “If we just had news from back home,” he said as he blew out the candle.
Royal Portuguese Crest
CHAPTER 50
Tragedy
They hadn’t been asleep for more than two hours when a corporal carrying a lantern called out, “Captain Levi, wake up, sir.” He was outside the tent.
“What? Oh, come in, Corporal. What is it?”
“One of our patrols detected a column of several companies of enemy nearby. They appear to be heading in the direction of the coast. The colonel ordered you to report to him; I think for some action tonight, sir.”
“Right. Thank you, Corporal.” Levi struck a light.
“For God’s sake, I have to go out in this?” he mumbled to himself.
Markus was awake and asked, “You want me to come along? You’ll need several officers if we have action.”
“Kind of you to offer. I know how much you love getting soaked!” They both smirked at the joke.
“Heading for the coast? Doesn’t sound like the British to me. What do you think, Levi?
“I haven’t a clue.”
They dressed, strapped on their side arms, and left the tent. Their horses were already saddled with rifles in their saddle holsters. Two companies of askari had formed up in double marching lines. They were up to their ankles in the powdery soil turned to soupy mud. The intensity of the downpour muffled sound. The darkness of a moonless night made communication difficult. The troops were used to it and pretty much knew what was expected of them without receiving direct orders.
The scouts rode beside Captain Levi, with Captain Mathias farther back, leading one of the two companies. They guided their mounts at a walk, on a course estimated to intercept the enemy column. Their plan was to arrive and establish a firing line for the ambush before their adversaries arrived.
Soon after arriving at the ambush site, the first volley of rifle fire, with their flashes of flame, lit up the night and completely surprised the enemy. Markus was down the line, fifty feet from Levi, when he realized who they had ambushed. He was shocked and appalled.
“Good God! Cease fire! Cease fire!” He screamed at the top of his voice. His company stopped firing almost instantly. Half of Levi’s company continued firing, having not heard the order. Markus jumped up and ran toward Levi’s troops shouting, “Cease firing!” The enemy troops not dead or wounded ran into the darkness of the night.
“What? What is it? Are they some of ours?” Levi shouted at Markus.
Markus came running up in a very agitated state. “No, no!” he gasped. “They’re not ours; they’re Portuguese! Didn’t you see their uniforms? They’re Portuguese.”
“Have you lost your mind? They’re the enemy!” Levi blurted out. “Sergeant, send out scouting parties. Double them, and prepare for an enemy counterattack.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“There won’t be a counterattack!” Markus shouted, “They don’t want to fight. They don’t want to have anything to do with this war! Didn’t I tell you General Albuquerque said so? He told me—”
“You’re crazy … and insubordinate!” Levi yelled in anger. “Now get back to your men and prepare them for the counterattack. Verdammt, Markus! Now they know we’re here, and we hardly dented their strength.”
“But—”
Levi stepped up to Markus, grabbed him roughly, swung him around, and pushed him in the direction of his company. “Go!”
Markus was in a daze as he stumbled back to his company and slumped down behind cover. His sergeant had seen and heard the exchange and realized Markus was in no shape to command. He heard Captain Levi’s order, so he directed the askari to prepare for a counterattack. All was in place as the Germans waited for the enemy’s first shots.
“Sergeant, double-check our flanks. Go wide. A flank attack is what I’d do.” Levi ordered.
The rains continued in the almost pitch-black night. Every ear was turned to detect the slightest sound that could be the enemy. Was that the sliding bolt of a gun or the sound of an animal finding its prey? They waited several hours, with nothing, nothing but the spatter of falling water. Dawn broke slowly with just a hint of light tinting the dark gray clouds.
The sergeant in Mathias’s company was at one end of the firing line, and Markus was at the other. As daylight slowly crept over the ranks, the sergeant came up the line to inquire about further orders. Markus was not at the far end.
The sergeant said something to the highest ranking askari, and then he went to find Captain Levi, assuming Captain Mathias was with him. Levi was crouched down talking to his sergeant. Both were soaking wet, as were all the other troops.
“Yes, Sergeant, what is it?”
“Sir, I thought Captain Mathias was with you. He’s not with the company.”
“What?” Levi rose quickly. “What do you mean not with the company? Did you check down the line?”
“Yes, sir, I spent the night at the far end, and the captain was at the other, nearest your company, sir.”
“Maybe he’s—the captain may be relieving himself. Did you look around?”
“Yes, sir, I sent out a couple of askari to search for him, sir.”
“Verdammt, now what?” Levi muttered under his breath. “Sergeant, take over the company while I go see what’s up.” He moved off quickly, his pace strident. He suddenly turned to ask, “Where did you last see him, Sergeant?”
“Last night, sir, just after he returned from your meeting with him. Just about here, sir. He was out of sorts, so to speak. Then I left to resume my position on the line.”
“Very good, Sergeant.” Levi looked around, thinking about what to do. He squinted into a misty rain as the day brightened to a lighter gray.
“Ja, so form up several search parties, Sergeant. Squad strength. Is the captain’s horse still here?”
“I believe it is, sir.”
“Have a mounted askari go back the way we came last night, see if the captain has returned to camp … and send out a squad to search the battle field for any enemy wounded. Have the men be especially alert; we still may be attacked.”
“Yes, sir.”
What in hell’s name has gotten into Markus? Levi thought. This could be big trouble for him with Coronel von Vorbeck. Come on, Markus, turn up and get back in ranks.
It was only a short time after the search squads went out that an askari came jogging up to Levi. “Captain, sir, you come quick. We find da captain.”
“What’s that?”
“In da mud, sir, with the dead Porta-guese. He …”
Levi’s throat tightened, and his heart raced. “You found the Captain with the dead Portuguese?”
“Ja, sir. He talking to da dead.”
“He’s talking? Take me to him. Now!” Levi started running in the direction the askari had come as the black soldier caught up with him. With the mist and dense foliage, it was hard to see which way to go without guidance.
“This way, Captain.”
They soon were at the ambush site, with several dead Portuguese soldiers half-buried in the mud. Levi could see Markus before he got to him. He only saw his back as Markus was half-sitting, half-kneeling over a prostrate body.
Levi could only tell it was Markus by his left shoulder epaulet that was not covered in mud.
“Markus, Markus! Are you all right?” Levi’s voice hung heavy with anxiety as he approached is friend. “Markus?” Levi looked around, scanning the dense vegetation. “You, Soldier. Get some more askari and form a perimeter around us, fifty feet out, all sides.”
“Ja, sir.”
“Markus, what … who is—” He stopped his question after a closer look at the soldier Markus was cradling in his arms. General Albuquerque? Is it? Oh, for God’s sake, why did it have to
be him?
He put his hand on Markus’ shoulder. “I’m sor—”
“Go away! Look what you’ve done … we’ve done.” Markus’s voice was breaking.
“He only wanted to get to the coast to save his troops. He wanted none of this … this killing, killing, killing. Now look what we’ve done.”
Markus was rocking back and forth, holding the general. “He saved me twice. He saved my life. He was like a father, and this is what he gets. I did this … I did this.”
Levi was at a loss as to what to do. He held back, squatting down near Markus. Only the rain drops hitting the mud and Markus’s choked breathing could be heard. Levi shook his head back and forth, thinking, What a mess! What a God damn mess!
Suddenly, General Albuquerque coughed several times and let out a long moan.
Levi drew close and bent over the old soldier. Markus and Levi’s faces were so close to the general’s, they could see his eyes flicker. He coughed again and spat out blood. Markus wiped it away from his lips.
“General, General, I’m sorry … I’m so sorry for this,” Markus whispered. “You saved me … I owe you so much, my friend.”
Albuquerque tried to make the sound for quiet, “Shhhhh.”
“It’s nothing,” he stammered and coughed again. More blood.
“I’m already dead … Don’t you remember? I’ve been dead for a long …” He stopped to try to clear his throat with a grinding, gurgling sound, “for a long time.” He moved his trembling hand up to his chest.
“Here, in here.” He patted his chest. “Letters … for my daughter … in Lisbon.”
His hand grabbed Markus’s tunic, and with the last of his strength, he whispered, “Captain, promise me ….” again the coughing and blood. “Deliver … them.” Gurgling and coughing and more moans. He tried to say something else.
The Storm That Shook the World Page 28