By Junior Remy Haring

Portuguese East Africa (Mozambique) – Deutsch Mittelafrika Border

In a series of stories told from multiple perspectives from all over the world– collectively known as the Kaiserreich Files (inspired by the titular mod for Hearts of Iron IV), blogger Remy Haring explores an alternate history, one in which the Central Powers won the First World War.

April 15, 1937

It was a warm, humid dawn. Insects were chirping, and you could see the stars. There was no civilization for miles–only the dense jungles of this far-flung Portuguese colony. The golden crucifix on my uniform glistened in the glaring sunlight. I could hardly breathe behind the mosquito mask. I missed Lisbon: the salty air, seeing the magnificent royal palace towering over the city and the beautiful churches and, most importantly, I missed peace. I didn’t want to be fighting a brutal bush war. My thoughts were broken by distant gunshots. The Germans were out there. My commanding officer João looked toward the source of the gunfire and shouted, “We will attack the enemies of Christ and Duarte II! To arms!” It’s time, I thought, quiero ir para casa, I want to go home. We were launching an offensive against the Germans. I drew my rifle and joined the rest of the squad. We advanced north into Deustch Mittelafrika. 

We were marching in a single-file line through the treacherous forest. Who knew what poisonous insects or apex predators could be lurking here, or, worse, we may even be walking straight into a German ambush. I heard João whisper a prayer that we would defeat the German heathens. We wandered the forests for who knows how long when we stumbled upon a small local village deep in the jungle. It was a series of small, circular huts that formed a ring. When we entered the village, we were met by a group of locals. None of them spoke Portuguese, and none of the troops spoke Ngoni. While João was searching for Germans, I sat down leaning against the huts. A little boy, about five or six came up to me with a big smile and gave me a pineapple. I smiled at him, and he skipped away. Back home, I was always told that the colonies were filled with savages who did not recognize the one true faith, but when I looked around, they just seemed like people. I saw two guys working together to build a hut, a child trailing his mother, maybe what I’ve been told since birth is wrong…

My introspection was interrupted when a German soldier was found hiding in one of the huts. He was forcefully grabbed by João and interrogated.

“Where is the rest of your squad!?” João barked.

“I-I don’t know, I vas part of a lost patrol und the people–” he stuttered.

“–harbored a protestant heathen,” João finished for him. “We have ways to make you talk, heretic.” He turned to us with unfeeling eyes. “We must show the natives here what happens when they harbor heathens.” He gestured to the ring of thatched homes and ordered, “Burn. It. All.” 

When I turned to the soldier next to me, he had struck a match with no expression on his face. He tossed it at a thatched hut–and another, and another like a storm of embers. The fire began consuming the village. Madly, my platoon cheered. I froze. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak; all I could do was watch as the village structures collapsed in on themselves and burned. I heard screaming, a screaming I sometimes still hear when I wake late at night.

*Charms of Mozambique. A Portuguese colonial song.