Another World at War

Chapter 46: Rorke's drift

Location: Rorke's Drift, South Africa

Unit: Scots Guards, British Army

Date: 21st April 2025

Gillie's vehicle descended the hillside, revealing a small settlement with its distinct red-roofed buildings. Surrounding the area were multiple lines of entrenched soldiers, predominantly South African forces supported by the remaining British platoons in the sector. Each soldier lined up along the trenches, rifles at the ready, some even aiming behind them. With their service rifles in hand, they stood prepared to open fire should the Oceanic Empire advance this far.

As the gate swung open for the front vehicle, the entire convoy entered, manoeuvring through the streets of the settlement.

Gillie hopped off his vehicle and noticed a group of officers saluting each other in the distance. He sighed, briefly checking on the convoy. A squad of Scottish soldiers emerged from one of the Husky TSVs, prompting Gillie to remark, "No Scotland, eh?"

One of them chuckled, replying, "Aye, Sergeant. But I'd rather have this weather than the constant rain back home."

Gillie joined in the laughter, nodding. "Aye, I suppose so. Let's stick close to the trucks. I'm sure the Lieutenant will have something for us soon."

***

Gillie made his way through the camp, climbing a hill to gain a vantage point overlooking the last of the civilian vehicles as they departed from the drift. The cars bounced along the slightly damaged roads, disappearing behind a mountain. Letting out a sigh, Gillie turned his attention back to his fellow soldiers. He observed them intently as they set up machine gun nests, and anti-tank positions, and placed tank traps in the surrounding fields.

They all knew their duty, their resolve unshaken. They were to stay behind, covering the escape of any remaining civilians and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. This had been the pattern ever since the NZA forces were pushed out of North America. Run, hide—those were the actions humanity had been reduced to. Gillie despised being pushed onto the defensive. It gnawed at him, the inability to actively fight and make a difference driving him to frustration.

Shaking his head, Gillie's gaze fell upon a figure standing at the edge of the defences, looking out as well. The man had a mixed-race background and possessed a remarkably well-built physique. He held an old Vektor R4 assault rifle, its position firmly gripped between the magazine well and the grip.

Carefully descending the hill, Gillie approached the figure. He noticed the man wore British army MTP camouflage with a South African flag affixed to his shoulder. Gillie tilted his head slightly, speaking up, "Can I help you, sir?"

Instinctively treating the man as an officer, Gillie had addressed him as "Sir." He anticipated a lighthearted response or a quip about a promotion if he had made a mistake. However, the atmosphere around the man suddenly turned dark, accompanied by an aura that sent a shiver down Gillie's spine. The man's reply was cryptic, "No, I'm just wandering."

Gillie swallowed, quickly regaining his composure. He felt the need to confirm the man's identity, "I don't see your unit badge. Can I see some identification, Sir?"

The South African let out a sigh, "That's classified. Just call me Safari."

Gillie scrutinised him, his grip tightening on his rifle. He persisted, "Don't make this difficult. I just need some form of identification."

Safari sighed again, seemingly resigned to the request. "Fine, Sergeant," he reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to Gillie. "You want to look through it? Go ahead."