Zulu Wars by Bob Baynes

Captain Long looked down at his sweat-soaked red tunic.  His trusty Martini Henry rifle glowed a dull red from the rate of fire he was pouring in to the enemy lines ahead of him, the pain in his right shoulder was almost unbearable from the relentless and vicious recoil for which that particular weapon was renowned.  Between the controlled volleys of British fire, the whooping war cry of the attacking Zulu Impi seemed to get louder and louder.  Why was he here, why had Lord Chelmsford’s force been ordered to cross the Buffalo River into Zululand?  The whole plan was barking mad.

Long was a good staff officer, but not a natural leader of men.  Not that the two qualities were mutually exclusive.  His appointment until the invasion had been as the Commander in Chief’s, Lord Chelmsford’s, senior liaison officer working with Sir Henry Bartle Frere, the High Commissioner for Southern Africa.  The policy of the British government was to forge a peaceful arrangement in South Africa, but Long soon learned that Sir Henry had other ideas.  He didn’t want to negotiate anything; he wanted the glory, his legacy if you like, to be seen as increasing the boundaries of the British Empire by subduing the natives by force.

Long’s military knowledge of the Zulu was comprehensive.  He had read of their prowess in battle, he knew that they were a formidable force; every male in the Zulu kingdom was a trained fighting warrior, not only at an individual level, but also as a disciplined army.  Yes, they lacked modern weapons, and were armed only with their short assegai stabbing spears, knobkerries and cow hide shields, but the whole nation was capable of being rapidly mobilised, their leader was the very competent King Cetshwayo.  And they had that most sought after quality that every army wants but rarely has; huge numbers of warriors.  Cetshwayo could afford to lose 20,000 men, and still win.  While they had no staff colleges to train their leaders, their tactics were sound, tried and tested.  Crucially, they were a match for better trained and equipped adversaries.

Long knew that disaster was possible, probable even, if the invasion was not planned with sufficient knowledge of the Zulu Impi.  Long was caught up in political intrigue; attempts to warn London of what was being planned either failed or were not convincing enough to be elevated to the highest levels.  At a local level he was not sufficiently high enough up on the social ladder to have the ear of anyone with the necessary influence to affect the flawed plans.  The commanders were dismissive of a socially unconnected junior officer, they just didn’t know, or want to know, who he was.  When that failed he attempted to influence the planners by delivering seminars on Zulu tactics, but his lessons of their most successful tactic, an enveloping manoeuvre termed the ‘Horns of the Buffalo’ were ignored or openly scorned.

Long’s dangerously contrary views to the ‘establishment’ became clear.  He was returned to the infantry line of battle commanding a company of troops.  Sir Henry Frere ordered Chelmsford’s army to invade Zululand. Long reflected on his failures to prevent the disaster that now faced 16,500 battle hardened and well trained British troops. 

Long pushed another round into breech of his rifle, the Zulu Impi now 10 yards away.  He was aware that the right of the British line had fallen, ammunition was running out and the Zulus were coming in for the kill.  The soldiers were fixing bayonets, fighting back to back as the Zulu’s surrounded them. It was all hand to hand fighting, no surrender expected or accepted.  As Long fired his last round, he fixed his bayonet and wondered how he could have prevented the slaughter. He prepared for his last stand. 

He only felt the first stabbing spear enter his chest; the last thing he remembered was the small sad knots of men in red tunics lying motionless all around him, the masses of battle crazed triumphal Zulu warriors.

…………  Darkness closed in.