Three columns of British forces crossed in Zululand on January 6, exactly as Shakan had predicted. They were under the overall command of Lieutenant-General Lord Chelmsford, whose expertise leaned more to the lord and less to the general side of his titles. He led six thousand regulars and colonial volunteers along with nine thousand levied natives. He felt the core force of British regulars more than enough to deal with any African force, even though experienced officers and the Boer advisers on his staff made dire warnings about the capabilities of the Zulus.
Besides, his troops had twenty field guns and ten rocket launchers, a potent mix of firepower that he believed should cow any dark-skinned foes, who were armed with spears and ox-hide shields. Chelmsford saw no possible way such a foe could offer a threat to a British regular.
Chelmsford had never heard of Custer. Even though that battle had taken place less than three years earlier on the American continent. If he had known the details of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, he might have been startled to see the similarities between his plan of splitting his force into three columns and Custer’s ill-fated plan. Then again, Chelmsford was a man whose imagination was limited to his field of vision, so the similarities would most likely have escaped him.
The British movement did not go unnoticed by the Zulus. Cetewayo had been sufficiently impressed by both Shakan’s vision and by the reports of his spies in the Transvaal of British preparations so that he sent out reconnaissance patrols along the border. His immediate concern Was the column that posed the most immediate threat, the central column.
Nominally under the command of Colonel Glynn of the Twenty-fourth Regiment, the central column crossed the Buffalo River near the Swedish missionary at Rorke’s Drift. The command was only nominally Glynn’s due to his misfortune of having Chelmsford and the general’s staff accompanying him. Not content with being in overall command, Chelmsford also issued orders to Glynn’s men as if they were his own and the central column his specific command.
It was a long formation of almost five thousand men, eighteen hundred of which were European. Using oxen to pull their wagons limited the rate of advance to that of the lumbering beasts.
They moved in a thick mist and drizzling rain that did · little to keep morale up. Mounted troops from the local militia led the way, into the Buffalo River. Trouble struck the column immediately at the river as several of the mounted troops, up to their necks in the water, were swept away and drowned. The column was delayed as Chelmsway and drowned, The column was delayed as Chelmsford ordered flat-bottom pontoon boats brought up to move his less expendable regulars of the regiment across the river. Chelmsford left behind a small force of infantry at Rorke’s Drift before pressing forward into Zululand.
Sitting on his mount, watching the troops file past, · Lord Chelmsford felt quite confident that he would soon have the African nation under British rule. Which was only appropriate. After all, the sun never set on the British Empire.
Noting that it was early afternoon and knowing how long it took to make an appropriate camp and get his tent erected, Chelmsford ordered the column to halt, only a few miles into enemy territory, overruling Glynn’s protests that they should push on farther to maintain the initiative. It was tea time and a civilized man always paid attention to such details, He also overruled Glynn’s orders to prepare a proper encampment with barriers and outposts.
Shakan climbed to the top of Isandlwana. She shivered, feeling a chill in the air, one that cut to the bone and that no amount of clothing could alleviate. She felt some warmth on her collarbone, pulled away her robe, and looked down, noting that the crystal amulet around her neck was glowing very faintly.
This was the place she had seen in her visions. Besides the chill, there was distinct feeling of evil about the hill.
Shakan knelt down and began to pray as her mother had taught her. Not prayers to a God, but prayers for courage from within.
The MH-90 Nighthawks came in high and fast from the east toward the operational area. The MH-90 was the direct descendant of a program from the early twentieth century called the Osprey, which had failed. Each craft was over sixty feet long and capable of holding forty combat-equipped troops in the cargo hold. Each stubby wing had a powerful jet engine mounted on it and could rotate from horizontal to vertical to allow lake-offs and landings just like a helicopter. When the wings rotated back to horizontal the craft could fly at just over the speed of sound just like any other jet. On top of all that, the fuselage and engines were pressure sealed, and the craft could operate for limited amounts of time underwater.
In the rear of the lead Nighthawk, Colonel Chamberlain had his suit on night vision and full combat power mode. He’d done one hundred twenty-seven combat equipment drops, but each one brought a level of anxiety. He was the rearmost soldier in the plane, right next to the back ramp. His chute was rigged to the back of the combat suit at four contact points.
“Six minutes.” The pilot’s voice was flat, emotionless over the secure command frequency.
Chamberlain echoed the command on the platoon net to the men and women on board. Then he continued with the jump commands. While at the academy, Chamberlain had attended the Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia, one of the last classes to graduate there before the post was destroyed in the final phase of the Shadow War. He imagined that the Black Hat instructors who had taught him so many years ago would have approved of similar jump commands being used for this operation, even though they would have not recognized the technology.
“Get ready,” Chamberlain called out. A red light began flickering in the rear of the plane, just above the ramp.
“Outboard personnel, lock in,” he ordered. He took a step toward the center of the plane, where two steel rails ran from the forward bulkhead to the tail. He straightened and the locks on the top of his helmet slid into the two rails securely. “Inboard personnel, lock in.”
The rest of the platoon attached themselves to the rail. The red light stopped flickering, confirming that all the soldiers were securely fastened. Still, Chamberlain followed procedure.
“Confirm lock in.”
From the front most soldier toward the rear of the plane, each man and woman counted off, confirming they were in place and ready.
“Three minutes,” the pilot announced. “Depressurizing in thirty seconds.”
“Check suit pressure,” Chamberlain ordered. Again, all confirmed their suits were sealed and they were on internal oxygen.
Secure in his suit, Chamberlain noticed no change as the cabin was depressurized. He did a quick switch of views on his internal screen, tapping into the cockpit’s display, getting a view of the terrain ahead. Through swirling snow, he saw mountains to the left and right, with a narrow valley in between, just as planned. The winds were high, beyond normal safety parameters, but it did not occur to Chamberlain to call off the jump.
‘’Two minutes,” the pilot announced, and Chamberlain relayed it to the platoon.
The plane jerked hard right then left. Locked into the rail, the soldiers weren’t really affected, but each knew something wasn’t right.
“Incoming,” the pilot’s voice had yet to change in affect.
Checking the pilot’s view, Chamberlain could see red bursts come from the high ground to the left, arcing toward them.
“One minute,” the pilot said.
Chamberlain changed his view to his own. A crack appeared in the rear of the plane as the back ramp began to open. Cold air swirled into the cargo bay. The red light was a steady beacon above the opening.