African Business Chronicles

Chapter 75: The Great Escape

Early morning.

The sun slowly rose above the horizon.

Its fiery red light lit up the East African grasslands, where animals grazed peacefully.

Suddenly, their ears perked up—they twitched slightly.

A burst of hurried, chaotic footsteps echoed in the distance.

"Bang… bang… bang…"

Gunfire shattered the calm of the grasslands.

Animals, having never heard such noises before, froze in confusion, warily staring toward the west.

Soon, a group of people appeared.

Some animals abandoned their grazing and bolted in all directions.

These people weren't strangers—they were local African natives, about forty to fifty of them, panting and fleeing in a panic.

The animals, sensing danger from these spear-wielding, bow-carrying Black men, instinctively recalled their ancient memories:

"Danger!" That was pure instinct.

The natives didn't look much better. They lacked the courage they usually had when facing wild animals. They were disorganized and panicked, thinking only of escape.

A hundred meters behind them was a group of colonial soldiers and militiamen.

Torr, sheriff of Roean Village in the northern plateau, rode a black stallion, leading soldiers and conscripted villagers in pursuit of the fleeing natives.

To keep pace with his men, he didn't ride too fast—after all, two legs can't outrun four.

Except for these natives—Torr had never seen anyone run so fast.

He and his men had been chasing this group all night.

Just the day before, Torr had destroyed a nearby native tribe per the colonial government's orders.

Although East Africa's grasslands were vast, the Black population wasn't dense. The tribe this group belonged to was the only one within 100 kilometers of Roean.

Torr had easily wiped out their village, but some resisters had escaped in the chaos.

He personally led a squad to hunt them down. Nightfall had delayed them, but today they tracked the weakened fugitives quickly.

The gunfire earlier was a warning shot.

But instead of slowing down, the natives ran even faster.

To them, the colonists' firearms were demonic weapons. The roar of the gun was the roar of a demon—and to be struck by it meant death.

Their survival instinct kicked in fully. Fueled by desperation, they pushed their bodies to the limit to escape these "agents of the devil."

Long used to sprinting across the savannah with wild animals, these natives were incredibly fit. In no time, they widened the gap again.

"Damn it, what do these people eat to run like that?!" Torr cursed in frustration.

"All units, keep chasing—we're not letting them go today!"

The entire grassland turned into a stampede: startled animals, terrified natives, and relentless colonial soldiers.

Then suddenly, Torr shouted, "Stop the advance!"

His sharp eyesight had spotted a river ahead, cutting off the natives' path.

"Now let's see where you run to. Everyone, prepare to surround them slowly."

The natives, seeing the river, were filled with despair. Despite living on the plains, they rarely swam—only fetching water.

Was this the end?

Not quite. A few who knew how to swim stepped into the river to try crossing.

Torr noticed and quickly shouted, "The river might not be deep! Don't let them escape—charge!"

But things didn't go as Torr expected.

The moment a few natives entered the water, screams rang out.

On the bank, others watched in horror as their companions were dragged under.

Crocodiles burst from the water, jaws clamping down on the swimmers.

Blood instantly dyed the river red.

"God bless us," Torr murmured in delight.

Seeing that the river was a death trap, the rest of the natives gave up.

They dropped their weapons, knelt, and begged Torr for mercy.

They had no will to resist anymore. They might have run, but they would never dare fight back.

Torr rode up slowly to the groveling natives.

Thinking about the trouble they'd caused him, his anger surged.

He raised his whip and lashed their bare backs viciously.

Seeing that he hadn't used the weapon that roared like a demon and only whipped them, the natives actually felt relieved.

Lying prostrate, they spoke in strange tongues, begging for forgiveness and kowtowing repeatedly.

Finally venting his anger, Torr stopped punishing them.

"Bind them," he ordered his men, "and take them back."

The natives were tied up into a long line by colonial soldiers.

With rifles pointed at them, the entire group slowly marched back.

...

Scenes like this played out repeatedly across East Africa.

Of course, there were exceptions.

Some larger tribes, unwilling to submit, fled deeper inland instead of fighting.

That was exactly what the colonists wanted. As long as the natives headed west, they would remain on the move across East African territory.

Their only real chance at survival lay in two directions:

Northwest—to Uganda, Burundi, and Rwanda.

Southwest—to Zambia and Zimbabwe.

The colony used a "pocket formation" strategy to drive out the natives.

To the north, Kenya was part of the colony's future expansion plans—it was dry, sparsely populated, and not ideal for resettlement.

To the south lay Portuguese territory—not an easy target either.

The east was fully under colonial control—letting the natives return there was out of the question.

As for capturing small tribes, that was mainly for doing business with the Zanzibar Sultanate—selling them back to recoup costs.

But most natives were herded westward.

They would inevitably fight with the native tribes and nations already living there over land and resources.

Letting the western interior descend into chaos fully aligned with the colony's interests.

On one hand, it would disrupt the social systems of more developed native states and destroy their ability to resist.

On the other, these tribal wars would reduce the native population—something Ernst didn't have to do himself.

As a colonizer, Ernst knew he couldn't whitewash his role. But being indirectly involved felt different than direct action.

Just look at Belgium's Leopold in a previous life—despised and cursed by all for his brutality.

Even among colonizers, his cruelty made Britain and France seem like saints.

Only the Japanese would later manage to make Leopold look better by comparison. When it came to dehumanization, no one was worse than Japan.

This gave Ernst a bold idea.

If Leopold was that "outstanding," maybe in this world Ernst could help him rise again.

After all, Ernst knew he couldn't clean his own record. Better to have someone worse out front, to make him look normal.

Just like Americans: when people talk about Native Americans, they'd rather shift the topic to civil rights.

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