Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 467: Welcome to the Jungle
Germany had inherited a large portion of Africa following the central powers victory during the war, and what did they decide to do with it? Immediately announce an era of transition from colonial rule to local independent governance.
How was this possible, and when would it be achieved? Through much effort to leave a semi-functional state in their departure, basic education of how to maintain what was left behind, and a how to guide on ruling a semi-modern nation was a good start.
As for the second question, the answer to this was somewhere between five and twenty-five years.. The period was to be determined, as the Germans tried their best to help the locals, who had never crafted a functional and lasting civilization fill the gaps in their limited understanding of governance.
Creating a nation-state from nothing was hard work, and a lot of investment. And it was because of this that the Germans approached this not as some missionary conversion goal, nor some method of retaining control over former borders.
Instead, they educated local and powerful tribal figures, who already had the people's ears, and got them together in a way where borders could be redrawn that were agreed upon different tribal identities, religions ,and their needs as communities.
In other words, Germany was orchestrating the formation of a very, very primitive government, one more in line with ancient Mesopotamia than modern industrial civilized nations.
After all, one simply could sustain what had already been built in the region, it was 5,000 years too advanced for the locals who had never domesticated livestock, dug irrigation, or sewn a field to manage without the thousands of years of collective knowledge and experience to do on their own.
So the Germans had to educate a generation in basic civilized concepts such as written language, arithmetic, and science. Hoping they would be the torchbearers for whatever came after they left.
And if the locals crashed and burned even after all that the Germans had done? Welp, their hands were washed clean of the failures of those who came after. No guilt would be had for the failures of others, who were given every opportunity to succeed and still managed to fuck it all up.
Nor would any animosity remain from the German perspective for past grievances with the locals. But the Germans would, of course maintain mercenary presence, to act as a stability for those who would pay for it, preferably the local governments they left behind.
A self sustaining, profit-based force that paid for their needs with the money, and raw materials given to them by the locals in exchange. Even if they needed to pay for these security services, and "infrastructure" projects with mineral, timber, and oil rights.
This mercenary force already had a name, and while they were primarily operating in war zones across the world, like the Balkans, and Latin America, Africa was home to a large and semi-permanent contingent of these men.
Battle-hardened veterans of the Central Powers, who signed up beneath the banner of the werewolf, were sitting in an armored vehicle, internal temperature control modified into the e-10 8x8 wheel armored fighting vehicle kept them nice and cool, as the camouflage cotton uniforms helped wick the sweat that poured out from their pores.
These men had been in the Congo for a very long time, over a year, providing security operations between villages that fighting over everything from spirit visions to blood feuds, ancient slights to tribal vendettas. These men had seen the most vicious acts humans could inflict on one another — and they were still shocked.
At least in Europe, during the War rules were followed, civilians were for the most part protected, torture, rape, kidnapping, and mutilation all outlawed by the Hague. The punishment during a time of war? No tribunal, no court marshal, your superior officer's sidearm pressed against your skull, and a summary execution, no time for prayer or last rites, just death's embrace.
But here, these men witnessed tribal warriors use old firearms from the previous century to engage in all kinds of atrocities towards each other in a way so bloody and gruesome that even these men who had survived the trenches felt sick to their stomachs.
Law and Order required brutal, and swift retaliation against offenders. And often these men lit the homes of offending tribes aflame with napalm spew forth from their flammenwerfers.
If the men of an entire tribe were engaged in the rape and slaughter of another, then that tribe would burn. Justice wasn't some dainty lady in silk. No — out here, she was a battered whore in rags and blood, wielding flame and steel. Out here where civilization was enforced at gunpoint, she was most cruel to those who invoked her ire.
To balance the scales of justice in a world incapable of understanding 20th century German Imperial Law, or its Anglo-Saxon counterpart, only an eye for an eye made sense, and thus the scales of justice were balanced with blood.
A young recruit, recently dispatched to the Congo after passing through his basic training and infantry school at the top of his class, clutched the semi-automatic rifle in his hands. It was a recently refurbished weapon from Great War stockpiles.
The parts had been refinished, the barrel replaced, and the stock had been swapped out from wood that would rot and gnarl in the jungles of the Congo to a bakelite-fiberglass composite.
As much as the Werwolf Division was a mercenary company, it was also a research group, providing valuable field testing in hostile battlefields for the latest improvements, innovations, and inventions.
And the introduction of Bakelite-fiberglass composite materials in the construction of weapons furniture was a huge bonus for soldiers in tropical environments. The stock had a plum hue and a feldgrau canvas sling.
Some of the other mercenaries eyed his weapon with envy. They had yet to upgrade, as a kit that one already owned often required personal funds to upgrade, and here in Africa, a single mark went a long way towards leisure of every variety.
One of the more veteran soldiers could not help but remark. As they heard shots ping off the hull of their armored fighting vehicle, the young recruit flinched, as the grizzled and haggard mercenary chuckled at his timidity.
"Relax, the fucker is probably shooting at us with an old martini, henry. Black powder doesn't possess the speed to pierce the hull of this metal beast. Hell, you'd need at least a TUF round to pierce its hull…
Let them take their shots. There's nothing in this world these tribesmen possess that can screw with even the tires on this thing… By the way… that shiny new rifle of yours, does it have the new scope as well?"
The moment the veteran asked this question all eyes turned to the fresh recruit, they clearly wanted to know the answer, and potentially rob the man blind if what he said matched their desires.
After all, those scopes were currently being issued exclusively to marksman like himself, they included an improved ballistic drop calculator, one that could calculate range based upon the trajectory of either a standard 8x33 Kurz or a 8x57mm Mauser cartridge depending on the zero, and the average height of man-sized target a gradually increasing distance below a chevron and its horse shoe.
The functional theory was that if one looked at this engraved but not illuminated reticle, and placed the top of the chevron at the target that was your zeroing distance, and the first hashmark below it was 200 meters out, followed by another smaller hashmark below at 300 meters, 400 meters, and finally one final one at the bottom which was 800 meters.
The top of the horseshoe acted as CQB engagement distances, and the sides were movement estimates at the average speed of a man in full kit during a combat sprint.
It was a very modern optic that Bruno had given the general ideas to his engineers who specialized in optics, one that he had taken from his last life, stripped of the illumination and batter requirements, but kept the science and mathematics behind the ranging options.
Whether it was an optic for an assault rifle, or a designated marksman rifle it was infinitely better than the primitive unmarked crosshairs that were the norm of the era. And because of this, it was an optic highly desired by all mercenaries in the field.
Once the man realized he was quite literally a young pup in the den of starving wolves who were looking at him like he was on the menu for the night, he shook his head, and lied, denying it was a new model optic, and instead one of the older ones hat still used a very primitive reticle.
"Unfortunately no, by the time I was issued the rifle, those had yet to become to be issued at large. I was not one of the lucky few to get my hands on the first batch…"
Upon saying this, the soldiers returned their attention elsewhere, almost as if they weren't all that interested to begin with. Just when the veteran who inquired was about to say another word, the vehicle came to a stop, and the crewman of it yelled to their back seating area as the gunner began to pop off rounds from above.
"This is it boys, end of the line! Go do your fucking jobs!"
The hatch immediately opened, revealing a village that was already partially on fire deep in the jungle, and the veteran simply patted the recruit on the shoulder as he passed by, while speaking the words that would forever live in his mind from this day forward.
"Welcome to the jungle kiddo…"
