The Storm That Shook the World

by Walter Soellner

  For the first few seconds, Markus thought he heard thunder way off toward the coast. The lead horse pulled up, and the others followed. They all turned in their saddles and looked back toward the Indian Ocean.

  “That’s not—” he was interrupted.

  “That’s cannon fire … from a ship!” Martenn shouted.

  “Sir, you think the Konigsberg’s shooting at that aeroplane?” one of the Uhlans asked.

  “Hard to tell. Let’s move to higher ground and see what we can see.” Markus spurred his horse forward, and the small company was soon at a point that overlooked the long view to the coast six miles away. Several of the men with binoculars raised them to their eyes. Even at this great distance, faint puffs of smoke from the blasts of cordite-packed shells were seen. The low rumble of the big naval guns on the British ships swept over the group many seconds later, just faintly.

  “Holy Mary! It’s the British … That damned aeroplane did it. Now the Brits know where the Konigsberg is!”

  The soldiers sat there with the bright sun to their backs, passing the binoculars back and forth, watching in silence. They waited for a long time, straining to see a response from the Konigsberg. Nothing.

  “Captain Looff isn’t going to give his exact position away by returning fire. Besides, he’s got no way of telling the position of the enemy,” Lieutenant Martenn offered. Nobody said a thing. Finally, he concluded, “Nothing we can do. Let’s move out.”

  It was a hard, three-day ride to Vorbeck’s headquarters. Early in the second day, one of the horses dropped in its tracks, breathing hard from the effects of the tsetse flies. The Uhlans stopped, dismounted, and began stripping the fallen horse of its saddle, bridle, and other gear. It seemed to be very perfunctory, the soldiers taking no particular interest in the downed animal. Markus remembered how their mounts in Bavaria and China were so kindly cared for, so valued.

  As soon as the horse was stripped, a corporal drew his revolver and shot the horse in the head. The escort leader noted the frown on Markus’s face.

  “JA, I know what you’re thinking. How could an Uhland shoot his mount like that? But this is Africa, not Germany. A good horse, a healthy horse, here in Africa, along the coast in these tsetse-fly-infested jungles, lasts about three months.”

  Markus looked incredulous.

  “That’s right, three months, but maybe only two months, or even one! One month for a splendid horse that back home would give good service for years. But, this is Africa … If you want to save horses, stay away from the coastal jungle.”

  They both stared at the horse for a few moments; then he shouted, “Mount up!”

  Lieutenant Martenn knew Captain Mathias was new to German East Africa, so he offered to give a bit of information on the realities challenging Vorbeck’s army. Markus assured him he was interested to hear it.

  “Before the war, our patrols lived off the land. That is, we traded for killed game from scattered villages and for other assorted food. It was the way small military units survived in East Africa in normal times. It was of mutual benefit.” He paused to take a compass reading. “Off to the right, you’ll find an animal track,” he ordered to the lead rider.

  “Fortunately our colonial governor, Doctor Schnee, developed a good relationship with the indigenous people, insisting the military pay for any cattle or crops appropriated. He built trust, thank God, and it’s proving extremely valuable to us now that hostilities have commenced.”

  Markus interrupted Martenn, “That is so different from the way the blacks were treated early on in Southwest Africa. The Herero people were practically wiped out after they revolted.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about that disgraceful action. Doctor Schnee had a very different approach, and it’s working well.”

  Martenn called a halt for a well-deserved break. As he and his troops sat in the shade, he continued, “You know, German East Africa is a huge colony of vast distances, inhospitable terrain, dangerous animals, and enemies all around. There are virtually no roads. These animal tracks,” he pointed, “beaten down over centuries, serve as our only pathways through the landscape. Fortunately, before the war, we built an east-west railroad across the colony from Dar es Salaam to Lake Tanganyika. Across the lake is the Belgian Congo, our enemy. To the north lies British East Africa, and to the south, Portuguese East Africa, both also enemies. So you see the predicament we’re in. Ja, so a second German rail line was built from the port of Tanga on the Indian Ocean, west to just south of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our rail lines are the only speedy way to move troops and supplies, so we are doing everything possible to protect them.

  “You know, away from the rail lines, human porters, hundreds of them, and in some cases, thousands of them, have been recruited and paid to transport our military supplies. Some mules and horses are also used in upland savannah and mountain regions where the tsetse fly isn’t so much of a threat. But only the indigenous people of our colony can resist the harsh conditions and the diseases. This war here in Africa is as much about staying alive as it is about fighting the enemy.” Martenn stopped, looked over to Markus, chuckled and concluded, “Welcome to your final destination.”

  Colonel Von Vorbeck, Commander of Imperial German Army in East Africa

  CHAPTER 36

  Dar es Salaam: German East Africa

  The capitol of German East Africa was bustling with Arab, Indian, Portuguese, and German traders and businessmen, compounded by hundreds of additional military personnel since war had been declared back in Europe. Many were packing to get out of the coastal city, fearing an eminent British attack. Markus had finally arrived at military command headquarters.

  “So this is the airman who was lost and is finally found?” Colonel Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck grinned as he sized up the captain standing at attention before him. “At ease, Captain. That was quite a trek you pursued. How long was your journey here?”

  “Seven months, sir, close to eight.” Markus hesitated before adding, “If I may, sir, I was never lost; I just kept heading toward the rising sun. However, I was found three times: first in a tree by the BaTonga people, then by a Portuguese Army patrol, and finally in the Indian Ocean by Captain Max von Looff of the SMS Konigsberg.”

  Markus could scarcely withhold a smile. When Vorbeck let out a hearty laugh, everyone in the commander’s office joined in.

  “Sit down, sit down, Captain Mathias.” The colonel eyed him again for a long moment. He looks like hell, he thought. “Ja, I hear you landed your aircraft in a tree, and I suspect those deep scratches on your face have their own story.”

  “Yes, sir.” Markus involuntarily touched his cheek.

  “Later with that,” the colonel said, growing decidedly more serious. “I’ve also been informed that the electrical apparatus you were transporting has survived. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir, except for several vacuum tubes that I’m sure our wireless station here can replace.”

  “Good. You probably know that our main relay transmitter in Tonga has ceased operations … as well as our wireless stations in Cameroon and, of course, German South West Africa. That’s why it’s essential that we expand our transmitting abilities here. We’re the last operational station in Africa.”

  “Yes, sir, I know. I’ll be upgrading our transmitter equipment and evaluating the communications system here in the colony over the next few weeks.”

  “Very good, Captain. One of the staff officers will brief you on accommodations and give you an overview of the colony. That will be all. Good to have you.”

  “Yes, sir.” They exchanged salutes, and Vorbeck turned away. As Markus was about to leave, Vorbeck turned back around.

  “Captain.”

  “Sir?”

  “Make sure the transmitter is portable; we may have to move it out of Dar es Salaam.” The colonel was staring at Markus, and then smiled slightly, “And by the way, a friend of yours has been asking about you: Captain Solomon Levi.”

  Map of Kilimanjaro/T
anga Area, German East Africa

  CHAPTER 37

  A Tear in the Eye and the Massacre at Tanga

  Since restoring the railroad trestle bridge at Tabora just before war broke out, Levi was assigned to a position on Vorbeck’s headquarters staff. His China experience in the field, fighting the Boxers at the same time that Colonel von Vorbeck served in China, created a bond between them, a sense of trust through mutual experience.

  Markus, freshly arrived in the colony, made inquiries to find his lifelong friend, whom he had not seen in almost two years. After receiving permission for a brief visit, he traveled west fifty miles along the rail line to a sisal farm being used as a military supply depot. The farmhouse had been commandeered and the barns and outbuildings were piled high with military provisions. Dozens of German soldiers of all ranks and a company of askari were loading and unloading war material.

  Markus looked around eagerly for that familiar face he longed to see. Levi was in among a small grove of linden trees the German farmer had planted several years earlier. He held in his hand a small branch of linden leaves and looked at them intently. Markus saw him from a distance and, at first, rushed toward his friend. He stopped short, out of sight, and was taken by the silhouette of a man he had shared most of his life with. There was something melancholy in his stance, in the way he bent to examine the leaves. As if, in the leaves of the linden tree, Levi was seeing, or possibly remembering, memories of a different time and place. Markus felt a rush of emotion as he slowly walked toward his friend.

  Levi heard the footsteps, “Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be right there, Sergeant. Give me a moment.”

  As he turned, still looking at the leaves, he said, almost to himself, “There appears to be a rust blight on the—” He stopped in mid-sentence and stared a long moment at the thin, gaunt man before him.

  “Markus! Markus! Mein Gott, you’re here. You’ve survived, and you’re here!”

  They rushed together in a bear hug of an embrace, each holding the other in a long, tight clutch. Levi was shocked to feel Markus’s bones through his ill-fitting uniform.

  “Ja, this is the best day I’ve had since arriving in this God-forsaken country,” he managed to say.

  “Oh, my dear friend, how are you?” Levi’s look was one of concern as they stood there arm in arm.

  He was shocked again when he saw Markus’s face up close, with the deep, purple scars and his deeply tanned and weathered skin. Markus noticed his friend’s subtly disturbed countenance.

  “Oh, it’s all right, Levi. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really. I acquired a few souvenirs from a leopard in Portuguese East Africa on the way here. That’s all.”

  They both half-smiled, but Levi was hard put to conceal his concern, a tear was in the corner of his eye.

  “And you! Look at you, a captain!” Markus looked at Levi’s insignia. “We should have saluted, sir!”

  They laughed awkwardly and trailed off into silence. Both men were looking down, averting their eyes.

  Finally, Levi spoke in a low voice: “I was so worried about you. Even more so than when you were missing in China. For months, we heard nothing. Most everyone thought you perished somewhere in the vastness.” His arm made a sweeping gesture.

  “Then, through a South African wireless intercept, we heard about a crashed aeroplane found in the bush. We figured it had to be you. But had you survived? That we didn’t know.”

  Again, silence.

  “Your Helena must have been so worried. When we got official confirmation from the Konigsberg that you were alive and on board, I insisted on sending a message through the neutral Portuguese to the British occupying our colony in the South West. They contacted your father-in-law at the ranch and then let us know of the contact. It was good of the Brits.”

  “Thanks so much for doing that … always looking out for me, just like old times.”

  They looked at each other and hugged a second time, with big grins on their faces. “I’m sure you’ve heard they sank the Konigsberg in the Rufiji River.”

  “Ja, I heard. I would have had a much tougher time getting here if it wasn’t for Captain Looff and that ship. Did he and the crew survive?”

  “Oh, that’s a great story!” Levi livened up. “Not only did he and most of the crew survive, but they got off most of the big guns and ammunition before the British arrived. Now Vorbeck has the biggest artillery pieces in all of East Africa!”

  The two long-lost friends laughed long and hard, as an involuntary release of emotion from the months of stress for both of them.

  “Ja, so here we are in another war on another continent, my friend. How did this happen?” Levi asked.

  “God only knows,” Markus said, shaking his head and adding, “Helena and little Rupert and I were living a wonderful life at the ranch and in Windhoek. You should see the little fellow, Levi; he’s going to be a fine German-African!”

  They both burst into howls when Levi added, “Or African-German!”

  After they composed themselves, Markus added, “And I got that wireless station running as smooth as a conductor’s watch. Now it’s all gone, and we’ve got this mess.”

  “Yes, I know. And I came from Baghdad to fix a bridge!”

  “How is Katherina and Rebecca and your folks … Have you heard anything?”

  “The last time I saw Katherina was in Baghdad. I haven’t heard a thing since.”

  The two friends rode the train back to Vorbeck’s headquarters in Dar es Salaam. During the ride, Levi filled Markus in on the military action to date in the colony. There was plenty to tell.

  “At the outbreak of war, from the very beginning, Vorbeck pushed for swift engagement with the enemy. He felt, still feels, that the way to protect the colony is to threaten the enemy in his own territory. He contacted Captain Tom von Prince, a retired army officer who has lived in East Africa for years. Prince felt war was coming as early as 1913 and had raised his own private volunteer defense force made up of Usambara farmers. That’s the tribe up around Mount Kilimanjaro—very disciplined whites, very loyal blacks.”

  Markus listened intently while Levi obviously enjoyed relating the news.

  “On August 15, just two weeks after the outbreak of war in Europe, Vorbeck sent Colonel von Bock and Lieutenant Boell on raids across the border into British East Africa, using Prince’s volunteers. They captured a garrison town called Traveta, but the British King’s African Rifles stopped them from going farther. Since then, it’s been a continuous series of small raids against the British and the Uganda Railroad; that’s just over the northern border.”

  Markus was thoroughly engrossed in the history lesson, knowing that he and his friend would probably be engaged in other such actions in the near future.

  “The British seemed as unprepared for war as we were, so things were fairly quiet for a while except for our raids. Then we discovered the British had an invasion fleet off our coastal town of Tanga, very close to our border with British East Africa. This was the first week of November, last.”

  The two were interrupted by a skinny native boy selling tea. “It’s good, sirs. They grow it down south near Lake Tanganyika. Good German tea, sirs!”

  They both chuckled at the unnatural idea of Germans growing tea and the young fellow’s infectious smile. The boy poured two tin cups of the brown liquid from a large container on his back as the rail car swayed back and forth. Levi gave the boy twenty pfennig, and the boy’s eyes lit up.

  They handed back the empty cups as Markus said, “So, continue.”

  “Ja, last November, the British formed up this invasion force and—oh, we learned so much from the Brits and Indian soldiers we took as prisoners. What a sorry lot! Their ill-conceived invasion of our colony was made up of a couple of good British units, but mostly it consisted of poorly trained, poorly led British India units.”

  Levi was warming up to his storytelling, and Markus was taking it all in.

  “It was called the Indian Expediti
onary Force and consisted of the 27th Bangalore Brigade, the 63rd Palamcottah Light Infantry, the 13th Rajput’s, the 2nd and 3rd Kashmir Rifles, and the 2nd Loyal North Lancashire Regiment and some others. Their intent was to sail into Tanga Bay, land eight thousand troops at three different landing beaches, and then take the town of Tanga.” He paused.

  “Their troops were then to roll west up our northern rail line and recapture Taveta and the town of Moshi at the end of the line … and apparently take the whole Mount Kilimanjaro region where most of our troops are concentrated. We know all this because we captured so many dispatch pouches. They intended to bring the whole of East Africa under British rule by this single action!” Levi stared at the floor, smiling. “Imagine, German East Africa, almost as big as the Fatherland and France combined! You know this, ja?”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Levi was enjoying himself and sweating profusely. He got up for a moment, stepped outside their compartment, and looked both ways down the carriage aisle. “Where’s that tea boy?” he said to no one.

  Returning to his seat across from Markus, they both gazed out at the passing landscape before he continued. “Well, it was a disaster from the start. We learned that the Indian troops had been on the transports for three weeks sailing from India. Many were weak or sick, the poor bastards. And get this: several of these units didn’t even speak the same language, and most units hadn’t seen action in a generation! On top of all that, they had just been issued a new, different rifle two weeks earlier, with almost no hands-on training. Some units didn’t even have their allotted two machine guns.”

  In response, Markus shook his head slightly, with a perplexed look on his face.