By Rapscallion 26/03/2004
The dunes rolled out before him, but Capitan Claude ignored their blandness. Instead, he felt the wind in his hair and the throb of his horse beneath him. His troop of riders followed behind, but out here on patrol, he was alone.
The sun beat down, drying sweat as soon as it formed, but he pushed his horse just as hard as he would in the green pastures of home. He missed France, but his duty had commanded his presence here. The Bantu forces had swarmed across the Sahara without check, and he was under orders to ride down any patrols he found.
How could infantry move so fast? The Bantu had defeated several forces by simply having moved much farther than any cavalry commander could have imagined. Still, he would worry about that if he found any evidence of their passing. His patrol of chevaliers were more than able to ride down infantry, though many in his command would never see the triumphal parades of the Emperor. There were too many new faces in the ranks, though, people he had not had chance to consider brothers. He missed home, and though the open desert allowed him freedom and solitude, he would return to France in an instant.
He reined in Augustine at the head of a dune and stared out over the sandy expanse. If the Bantu had been here, they had already gone. They were out farther than their patrol should have gone, and he turned to face his men.
"Water your horses," he called out. "We return shortly."
Augustine drank greedily from the water Claude cupped in his hands. "Easy," he whispered, splashing the remaining water onto his neck and face. The horses nudged him for more, and Claude shook his water bottle to judge the contents. "Just a little more," he whispered, smiling softly. "We'll keep some just in case."
The ride back to the fort was uneventful, but the sight of vehicles outside the gate and in the compound caused Claude to rein in.
"Mon Capitan!" a sergeant called, running out to meet him. "We have ... guests from Algiers."
Algiers? He had no need of reinforcements, and there were no Bantu cities for hundreds of miles for him to require siege equipment. Why were there people coming from Algiers? He sniffed derisively at the wagons and tarpaulin-clad shapes on the back of transporters. What had the guest brought with him?
Claude made his way to his office. Sentries snapped to attention as he approached. He recognised neither. One opened the door.
"The general has been waiting for you, Capitan," he said.
General? What was a general doing here? The emperor had only sent three generals to Africa, and none of them strayed far from Algiers. He made his way into his office, ignoring the noise and stench of the engines behind him.
"It's been a long time, Claude."
Capitan Claude blinked in the dark cool of the office. "General?" he asked, snapping to attention. He recognised the voice from somewhere, but he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Still only a Capitan?" the general asked. "I thought we learned better than that at St Augustine."
St Augustine. Claude remembered the place well - France's most prestigious officer's school, and the inspiration for his horse's name. He had many memories of the place, of the architecture, and of the lessons in history and culture it had taught.
He also remembered the young man who was now older and a general. Claude watched General Pierre Groucie through narrowed eyes. "It has been a long time, sir," he eventually agreed. General, now, was it? They had trained together in the officer's school, and they had been friends, once. Pierre had eventually taken to avoiding Pierre. He had been too ambitious, too overreaching, and far too interested in the weapons under his command instead of his men and their welfare.
"A very long time," Pierre agreed. "I have spent my time wisely, and the emperor saw fit to send me here to use my skills."
A fourth general in Africa? Claude waited for the general to speak further.
"You are stuck in this hell-hole," the general continued. "I saw the maps, saw Capitan Claude Gastang on the lists, and decided that I should rescue you from the monotony of this post."
"Monotony, sir?" Claude asked. "I have no complaints."
"You should!" The general waved an arm around. "What is there here for a true man?" he demanded. "There is barely any civilisation here, and nothing advances much."
Still the same Pierre, Claude realised. Always seeking progress, and never taking an interest in what others wanted or thought. "The colonists preferred to keep their community small, sir," he said. "We have little more than a temple and some scarce farmlands, but the citizens are devout, and it was all they required."
Pierre waved a hand dismissively again. "Whatever," he said. "You were riding your horse on patrol, yes?"
Claude nodded. "Yes, mon general. It was a good patrol."
"I can tell from the look in your eyes," the general said. "You will have to let go of the past, though. If necessary, I will drag you kicking into the modern world. You cannot live in the past forever. Tradition will not defeat our foes, and the Bantu are improving their weaponry all the time."
"Sir." Claude allowed his eyes to roll to the window. He could still hear engines in the compound, but they were nothing like the engines he had heard before. Loud, growling motors - they sounded even filthier than Claude had heard before.
"Come and see," the general said, walking to the window. He pointed out at metallic shapes in the compound, each one freshly unwrapped. "Come and see victory."
Claude stared aghast at the machines. Two distinct types of vehicle stood in ranks. One sat on some sort of treadmill, though much longer than anything he had seen before, and it looked heavier than any machine had a right to be. A long muzzle protruded from the front, and men were working on each one. The other type relied on the wheels Claude knew, and it seemed much lighter and faster than the other sort. Only a small gun muzzle showed on the front, but it stank of oil. The air was thick with the scent of oil.
"Tanks and scout cars," the general said, smiling to himself. "See the large gun on the tank? That's the vehicle on tracks. The shells from that will go through several ranks of troops, or even the walls of a building. The scout cars have machine guns on them, and they can fire many bullets into infantry very quickly."
"I see, sir," Claude said.
"I don't think you do," the general snapped. "Not yet, at any rate. The others were not convinced, but I took them back to the academy at St Augustine, and I showed them. You remember old farmer Gerbeau?"
"Of course," Claude slowly replied. The very mention of the old farmer's name brought back memories of magnificent cheeses and fine roast geese. He could still taste the banquets.
"He didn't see," the general said, stroking his moustache. "He tried to stop us using the tanks on his fields."
"You didn't," Claude hissed. "Sir," he added through clenched teeth.
"Run him over?" General Groucie asked whimsically. "Hardly, though I was tempted." He smiled at the old memory. "I had to fire a round into a barn of his to persuade him that I was going to demonstrate the tanks on his land whether he liked it or not. Took the building down in one shot."
"What did he do, sir?" Claude asked softly, aghast.
"He went off muttering - you know how old men cannot see the future." The general grimaced. "He sold his farm - wouldn't let his son take over - and moved to be with his family in Paris, I think. A shame, really. The supper table was never the same after that. Still, you should have seen the pasture after I'd shown the Capitans what these new machines can do."
"Really, sir," Claude said, struggling to keep his temper in check.
"You go out on patrol regularly," the general continued. "The scout cars are much faster than the tanks, and their weaponry is more suited to how you think. I think you'll find them most useful of all."
"Me, sir?"
"You." General Groucie smiled grimly. "Far better than the carbines you use these days," he said. "This is the future, and the defeat of our enemies. We have this technology before they do, and we will slaughter them." He paused and eyed the sabre at Claude's hip. "Reports say you don't just have that for ceremonial purposes," he added. "You'll not need it any more. The Bantu just won't get close enough to you."
"It has served me well, sir," Claude replied, more defiantly than he normally would have done.
"Has is right, and these will serve the emperor well," Groucie said. "No more fodder to rot in the granary - those barrels are all the fodder you will need." He pointed to a number of soldiers who were rolling several heavy cylinders into a line against a wall. "You don't look impressed."
"Is there any honour here, sir?" Claude asked.
Groucie shrugged. "There is no honour in losing," he said. "I aim to conquer Africa for the emperor, and this is how I will do it. A horse is very noble, I am sure, but it cannot keep up with these machines, and it tires where these do not." He shook his head. "Metal protects you, and you will have far greater weaponry than you now have."
"But sir-"
"Romance is good in its place - the history books and legends - but we now have a war to win," General Groucie snapped. "Those are our orders, and we will win this war." He stared out over the ranks of machines and technicians. "You and your men will start to learn to use these weapons at first light. You will also find room to store these machines - sandstorms can make their upkeep difficult."
"I shall try to obtain lumber for shelters, sir, though it is scarce in these parts."
"Just use the stables," the general said.
"What of the horses, sir?"
The general shrugged. "We will not be needing them," he said. "I would like you to note that the swill I ate on the way here should not befoul the mouth of a Frenchman, and I desire the cooking of home." He patted his holstered sidearm. "The horses, Capitan, have had their day. I trust I make myself clear."
"Yes, mon general," Claude whispered. He walked out of the office, his head reeling, and made his way to the stables. His men would still be there, and he had to talk to them.
*****
"Your meal, mon general," the cook said, placing a covered platter onto the table.
"Good, good," Groucie said, sniffing appreciatively. "The sauce smells exquisite." He glanced around. "Is the Capitan not joining us?" he asked.
"He had matters to attend to, monsieur," the cook said, shrugging slightly.
"More for me, then," the general said, lifting the cover. He blinked. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, stabbing with his fork at the cogs and bolts in sauce.
"He had matters to attend to, monsieur," the cook said, shrugging slightly.
*****
Claude stared out into the twilight. Dark skin did not show against the dark shapes hunkered down over the dunes, but those were men out there. He had taken his men out to find the Bantu, and the Bantu had found him. There were hundreds of them.
"We're surrounded," he said.
"Yes, mon Capitan," the sergeant agreed.
"There is no honour in losing," Claude said.
"Sir?"
"A lie," Claude replied. "Just the fancy of one who does not know." He glanced at the shapes against the dunes. The light had not faded too far - he could make out the unfamiliar shapes of new weaponry silhouetted against the darkening sky. This was perfect.
He looked round at his troops for the last time. Empty eyes stared back.
"Charge!"